Chapter 3

Tomas was mumbling as he rose from the table. The faint growl receded as he left the room. Wentworth remained to finish his wine. He said nothing but stared at the door for a moment. Cavan appeared and went into the unfinished room. Soon, Wentworth’s name filled the house, followed by a string of invectives. He rose from his seat slowly and smiled at Anne. “It is wonderful to be so universally loved.” He made a noise with his tongue and left them. Anne attempted to converse with Aine but she was not receptive and answers to Anne’s comments were short. They did their work in silence.

The day went on quietly with the only sound of the scraping trowel, brushes being dipped into paint, and Tomas’s swearing. Every quarter hour a lovely chime sounded from the clock on the mantle. Aine found small household tasks to busy her hand. She offered nothing to Anne. “You are our guest and must not be put upon.” There was little to occupy Anne other than listening to the clock’s soothing tick and watching the golden pendulum swing.

It was a relief, well after dark, to be called into the new room.

They all gathered to bestow the proper compliments on the workmanship and beauty of the space. “It is all thanks to our new friend, Captain Wentworth. I do not think Tomas could have finished without you. We will see each stroke of the plastering and think of your helping hands.” Aine had placed herself next to him, and touched his arm as she complimented him. Her smile was most beguiling and Frederick seemed to receive it with pleasure.

Anne turned away to further examine the workmanship of the room. To her untrained eye, Frederick’s work did look respectable. His willingness to undertake a task so foreign to him was a lesson worth learning. She came to an unfinished place in the wall, a nook the size of a small closet, next to the hearth and asked what it was for.

Aine joined her at the alcove. “It is to be used later. It will be used to store all of those troublesome things that accumulate about the house that just seem to get in the way.” She touched one of the edges, smiled at Anne and then went to join the rest.

It seemed to Anne an odd place to store things for the house, but it was not her place to judge how another woman arranged her home. She turned to join the others just as Aine placed a kiss on Tomas’s cheek. Anne was repulsed by the kind gesture. This strong reaction surprised her for, certainly, what passed between these people in the way of affection was none of her concern.

The overt effusive warmth brought the old man to the limits of his goodwill. With a great deal of sputtering--but no swearing--he practically shoved the women out. Again, Anne’s attempts at conversation with Aine were rebuffed. The girls were taken up to Aine’s bed, while Cavan, Tomas, and Frederick’s voices murmured late into the night talking. Anne tuned over and over in her little bed. At first she strained to hear the men’s conversation. When this proved impossible, she endeavoured to look forward to returning to her family. All she succeeded in doing was tiring herself further, and deciding that the night she shared with Frederick in the hide was not so bad after all.

*  *  *

The men had stayed so late in the new room that Anne fell asleep before Frederick came to his place by the fire. In the morning, he was not there, though the fire was blazing away.

Cavan and the girls were absent for breakfast, and other than Tomas’s observation of how being rid of two hungry mouths would be a relief, the morning was amiable. As they were leaving, Aine saw to Anne’s comfort with a bonnet and pelisse and a small packet of food. “Just a bit of a reminder of your time here at the cottage.” She did not look at Anne, but only Frederick.

As the cart jostled them, Anne savoured the short bits of closeness they had shared throughout their impromptu adventure. She particularly enjoyed recounting their conversation after she awakened that first night. It was a shame that Tomas had made them miss a second. They were well away from the cottage and Frederick had still said nothing. She reckoned that their friendly interlude was over and he was back to thinking of his smuggling. It saddened her, but she changed her mind when a sudden jog of the cart sent her flying and a strong hand pulled her back and set her right against him.

“You can’t get away that easily, Annie.” She looked up to see him smiling in a very sly way. He was unshaven when they met on the ship, and was even worse now. His hair had seen no comb for as many days. She had not thought it possible, but he now, at a glance, looked more the vicious smuggler than at first. But she knew him, and knew there was no viciousness in him. In fact, he looked more endearing then ever. In an instant she realised as dishevelled as he looked, she must be far worse.

She looked away and touched the bonnet Aine had given her as they left. It was frankly a very ugly bonnet, but it covered her head. She despaired there was nothing to be done to improve the dingy brown, rough wool pelisse that was far too big for her. Anne decided these gifts were Aine’s way of rewarding her for spoiling the Christmas pudding. She ventured to comment, “If escape is no use, I shall stay put.” She felt sufficiently clever then to put aside thoughts of her appearance for a time.

They rattled on for not too far before Frederick leant back, rested an arm behind her, and relaxed his hold on the reins. Anne noticed his hands were bare and that there were still tiny flecks of whitewash on them. “What did our hostess give us as a reminder of our lovely visit to the cottage?” He did not look her way, but kept his eyes on the road.

As she untied the string and opened the parcel, she said, “While this was a nice gesture, we are not so far from Dublin that we need provisioning, do we?” She opened the wool cloth that bound the packet to see several smaller parcels wrapped in cheesecloth. There, prominently placed, was a note. Across the note, in a feminine hand, was the word, “Frederick.”

She was tempted to keep the note to herself, but quickly regained herself. What was it to her if Aine was so forward as to send him a note? Anne suspected Aine knew she would be the one to open the packet and find the message. It was likely a more formal mode of thanks for helping finish the room. It was likely innocent and Anne’s fears and suspicions were wasted.

“What is it?” He pulled the horse to a halt.

She started. She hid the inner packet from his view and pretended to study the contents. “Aine has sent us a few bits of things left over from the dinner yesterday.” She paused, reluctant to touch the ordinary paper.

This is childish, she thought. I am a grown woman, and he is a grown man. He has shown he no longer has any partiality to me, and he should be given every opportunity to know of this woman’s feelings. She knew this too was a childish notion, but she would do what was right. She handed him the note. “This is from Aine.”

He looked surprised, but pleased. He took it, sniffed it, and put it in his pocket. “Walk on,” was all he said.

Anne was dying inside, wanting to know more, but how to inquire without being overly prying. “I don’t imagine that a woman living on this lonely strip of coastline would have much opportunity to have any fine perfume.” She studied the smaller packets of food in the bundle.

“Apparently not. Aine’s note smells of beef.” He laughed a little at the joke.

“I wonder that she did not send up some of my Christmas pudding.”

The easy smile disappeared and Frederick sat straight in the seat. The topic was obviously not to his liking.

He glanced her way for an instant and still said nothing. She was about to continue when he said, “I don’t know a lot about most women, but I know about her kind. She is the sort of woman you wishes to be the only woman around. You were a threat to her.”

“Me? How silly.”

“She was very kind to begin with, but I imagine something happened, something was said that changed everything.”

Anne considered this. It was true. Once Aine’s suspicions about her and Frederick’s past were confirmed, her demeanour was noticeably tinged with annoyance.

“Well, what was it?” Frederick looked at her, waiting for her to tell him what had caused the change in Aine. Anne could not tell him, of course.

He saved her having to obfuscate. “Keep it to yourself then. Whatever it was, she has made it clear she did not like it. It is just as well, she is the sort to avoid.”

His cryptic statement was followed quickly by, “What did you think of our hosts?” His expression remained serious and while the question was odd, but she assumed it had something to do with his change in mood.

“I think they were very kind to take in strangers. Particularly one as needy as me.”

“Yes, it was. And to feed us such a grand meal, that was more than hospitable I think.”

“It was very good. Aside from the pudding. I have to thank you for your comments. You lied very convincingly with that story about Liverpool Pudding."

"Yes, it was a rather good one."

“Why did you do that?"

"Aine was cruel to you. I am always put off by those who enjoy themselves at someone else’s expense."

"She did not like your manoeuvre.”

“And why should I care?”

“She is very pretty. And pretty women seem to have men’s natural sympathy.”

He laughed quietly, as though she amused him somehow. “That is true, but please remember that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and that, oft times, beauty is only hiding desperate wickedness.” The statement was harsh and cold and a little surprising. While she knew he spoke of Aine, she knew he would, perhaps, apply the same reasoning to her sister, Elizabeth. “What did you think of the table Aine set?”

Again, such an unexpected question caught her off her guard. He obviously wished to leave the question of Aine’s behaviour behind them. She thought for a moment about the table and the food that was served. Before she could answer, he asked, “What sis you think of the beef?”

“It was very tasty. Well-cooked I thought.”

He smiled and leant close. “I meant, what did you think of them having beef at all. Cattle do not do well anywhere near the shore but sheep are another matter.  And believe me, when you are poor, if you scrape up enough to have a celebration at all, the feast would centre on mutton.”

What he said she knew to be true. She thought to mention that they had a saddle of mutton on Christmas as well, but thought better as it was only one of several meats on the table. Any comparison was best left unsaid. “I was surprised at the quantity, and now that you mention, the quality of the food. The wines were all excellent vintages and Aine had spices in abundance.”

“What of the tableware?”

Anne grew warm. “I must tell you, I was curious about all of it and did take a peek at the china. It is French.”

“French you say.”

“Yes, a very fine pattern. And the silver was from ________ in London. It is not cheap and I am surprised that Tomas would be so generous a man when it came to things of the household like that.” The blue kid slippers she wore also came to mind. “What did you think of the table?”

He glanced her way. “I too think it was very fine, but I don’t have any experience of fine china.”

She was pleased she could help him. “The crystal was very fine as well. I was quite surprised that Aine allowed the little girls to use any of it.”

“Thank you. I thought it was all rather out of place; I needed and expert eye to confirm my suspicions.

Anne laughed. “I am no authority, sir. But, I do know the feel of fine glass when I hold it.”

He made no reply. She noticed he was looping and unlooping a length of the thin leather reins. After a while he suddenly said, “Is it important about the table. As for Tomas’s generosity, I have discovered that he and Aine are not married and that everything in the cottage is Aine’s.”

This news was almost more unsettling than the idea of them being married. “But he lives with her. They sleep in the same …”

“As far as I can tell.”

“He is the father of her child?”

He laughed again. “That is a question I did not feel I could ask.” He shifted in the seat and she swore he was now closer than before. “When I spoke with him late in the night, he hinted at many things. If I want to know more, when I bring the cart back, I may stay and learn from him.”

“And will you?”

“I think I have no choice.”

Anne desperately wished to ask why he felt so, but his brow knitted itself and his mouth set hard again. Their time of polite conversation was ended.

*  *  *

It was not long before Anne noticed more people on the road. Some were walking alone or in groups of two or three. Occasionally, parties were driving large farm wagons. These were usually filled with hay. Passengers took full advantage of the warmth it provided. More often, other vehicles on the road were small carts much like theirs. Sooner than she liked, they were entering the outskirts of Dublin. She marvelled at the bustle of carts, carriages, people and animals clogging the streets. She also marvelled that Frederick was not in the lest bothered by the change from country quiet to city commotion.

Anne remembered the address from her cousin’s letters and Frederick asked a passer-by. “That was obviously wrong,” he said when the directions took them into a section of town completely unsuitable for the residence of a viscountess. They were soon set right and making their way through streets lined with rows of elegant row houses. “I would have expected your cousin to have a grand mansion.” Frederick was making conversation while a cart of chickens and a groom, attached to a highly polished barouche, sorted themselves out.

“They do. My father was somewhat disappointed when the invitation was for town and not the estate. He assumed they wintered in the country.”

“Ah,” was all he said.

“Lady Dalrymple said it was small, but adequate.”

He made no sort of response this time.

The groom and the man with the chickens made vile gestures at one another and each went on his way. The stream of traffic began to flow again. They passed a row of houses capped by one that took up double the space. “That would be your cousin’s home,” he pointed out. Anne looked back quickly and saw that it not only took up the space of two houses, but also had a large fence circling the side. It was a very fine and more than adequate to Anne’s way of thinking.

The end of their time together was coming quickly and she wished to speak to him just a little more. “Would it be better to go in through the front door, or should I go in the back way?”

He looked her over, smiling. “Not to be rude, Anne, but I do not believe you could get through the front door no matter who you claimed to be.”

She looked down. It was true. There was not a footman in all of England—or Ireland—who cared for his job, who would allow such a frowsy thing inside his master’s house. “I see your point. There will be a benefit to me using the rear entrance.”

“That is?”

“With the usual tradesmen and such, no one will likely notice you leaving me off.”

“Clever girl.” He turned into the alleyway. “You would make a good spy, Anne.” He was smiling at her as he halted the cart.

“Or smuggler.”

His brow furrowed. “No, never that.” He looked towards the house.

There was a heavyset woman looking over greens offered by a gaunt man with a garish plaid shawl about his shoulders. There were two other young women plucking chickens. They sat on a bench against a metal railing surrounding what would be a stairway to the cellar. There were no other servants to be seen in the back courtyard. A wagon promising fresh and wholesome meats was parked with a man unloading a side of beef from it. Frederick handed her down and she waited until another, younger man, hauled down a crate and started to go inside. “Thank you for watching over me, Frederick.” She offered her hand. There was much more she wished to say, but fear again kept her silent.

He took it with both of his. “It was my pleasure, Annie.” Neither wore gloves and his hand was very cold. He held hers for some time. “You had best go while he’s still inside.” He leaned closer and touched her cheek. “Don’t let them bully you.” She reluctantly let go of him. “Off with you now.”

He did not wait for a reply, but mounted the cart and tapped the little horse to move along. She watched for a moment, but soon crossed the alley to the house. Had she watched longer, there was a great possibility she might embarrass herself by chasing him down. She walked through the courtyard to the door. There was no one nearby so she went inside by herself.

The heavy woman entered right behind her and asked who she thought she was. “My name is Anne Elliot. My father is the Sir Walter Elliot. He and my sister are staying with our cousin, Lady Dalrymple.”

The woman looked confused for a moment, and then narrowed her eyes. “I don’t know what your trick is missy, but the baronet’s only daughter is right safe upstairs. She grabbed Anne by the arm and began to pull her along. “But we’ll get to the bottom of this scheme. Mrs Tong!”

*  *  *

Frederick slowed and then halted. He saw she had crossed the alley and watched her going into the house. He willed her to look in his direction just once more. She did not. The door began to close when the heavyset woman followed her. The door closed for good.

*  *  *

The hot, moist heat of the kitchen was most welcome. The atmosphere was chaos. A harsh woman's voice called for more pigeons. "Her ladyship has invited another for dinner to even out the table." Anne had given little consideration to how her disappearance would affect her family, or their hostess.

She and the woman halted before a tall, angular woman in black. "Look what I found, Ma’am.” The heavy woman pressed in behind Anne.

There you are." The woman glared at her. As she studied Anne’s clothing, her mouth set in a hard line. "You got no water or comb where you live?" The woman poked at her cheek and then lifted up the cloak. "What's this mess? You was told to wear black if you was to work upstairs." The woman began to pull Anne along as she called for "Mary."

“No, Mrs Tong, this ain’t the new girl. This one claims to be on of Sir Walter Elliot’s daughters.” Honeyed derision dripped from her voice.

Mrs Tong stopped and Anne was pressed between her and the heavy one. The woman faced her and studied her more closely. “You’re an ugly, nasty liar. Sir Walter’s eldest daughter was the only one to make the trip.”

The heavyset woman shoved Anne with her shoulder and sneered when Anne looked her way. She turned back to Mrs Tong. “But I am Anne Elliot. My sister is Miss Elizabeth Elliot and my father—“

Tong grabbed her arm and turned to back to the door. “Shut your mouth, liar.” The woman pushed her out the door, into the path of the meat man. Anne stumbled against him. The door to the house slammed shut. The curtain whipped aside and the heavyset woman stuck out her tongue and then disappeared.

“This house is the worst on the route.” The meat man puffed his cheeks and hefted a huge cut of meat in his arms. Anne opened the door for him. “Thank you, Miss.” He paused. “Count yourself lucky they didn’t take you on.” He nodded his head and went inside.

Anne stood for an instant when she thought of Frederick. She ran to the alleyway in hopes that he was not yet out of sight. She scrutinized the traffic but did not see his tall frame in any of the little carts about the way.

There was nothing to do but go to the front door.

The alleyway was suddenly empty. No tradesmen were evident. The serving girls and their chickens had disappeared. The only living things in the space were Anne and the horse pulling the meat wagon. She looked to the open gate leading to the street. A great many people passed on the other side. It seemed preferable to be out on the street. 

She stayed close to the stonewall as she followed the sidewalk around to the end of the block. The sidewalk felt crowded. Everyone stared as they passed by her. The rough wool of the pelisse brushed against her hand and reminded her how she must look to those who had been able to take some care with their appearance that morning. On market days in Uppercross, there were many people about, and they all looked at her, and even greeted her. There was an amazing difference between home and now. She knew practically all of those others by name. But here on a respectable street in Dublin, she felt abandoned and vulnerable to everyone. The only comfort she had was of the dark grey stone wall.  

From nowhere, the harsh voice of Mrs Tong filled her mind. “You are an ugly, nasty liar. Sir Walter’s eldest daughter was the only one to make the trip.” Anne stopped and rested her head against one of the stones. She had read the letter her father received from Lady Dalrymple, stating she looked forward to meeting him and his daughters again. Their cousin was expecting both Elizabeth and Anne. But the woman had said only one had made the trip. Several explanations must be possible, but only one seemed to serve at the moment: Sir Walter had not told Lady Dalrymple of the events that took place on Baron’s Bride. He had not told her anything to do with Anne’s disappearance. Her father was not looking for her. Her heart began to pound and she felt light-headed. The only person in all of Ireland who cared about her was gone.  

Anne watched him drive away. Again, she was alone. “—you don’t look like they will welcome you upstairs.” She leant against the wall again. It was true. While she had the courage at the moment to knock on the door, and even enough to say her name, she had not one thing on her person which would identify her as anything but the ugly liar from Mrs Tong’s accusation. Her father had seen to it that no one was on the look out for her.

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