Chapter 4

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.

“May I assist you, Miss?” A man with a florid round face and moustache touched his hat and peered at her.

He was a little shorter than she, and his soft voice assured her. “Thank you, sir. I think I—“

He touched her shoulder. She resisted the urge to shrug it away. In her present predicament, she could little afford to give offence. “You look to be out of your element, my dear.” He moved closer, reaching to take her hand.

Her mother had always said that quality was obvious, and it heartened her that despite her appearance, the man saw her truly. “Thank you again, sir. I would appreciate—“

The man took her arm suddenly and they started to cross the street, away from Lady Dalrymple’s home. “Come this way, girlie. I got a room just up the street.”

His intention was obvious, even as her quality was being ignored. She set her feet and the fine blue kid slippers skidded on the cobbles. “No. I will not come with you.” In her head, her voice sounded shrill and piercing. She pushed against him and tried to get back to the sidewalk. The man pulled harder and she was sliding across the street even as she struggled.

She was beginning to lose her balance when someone took hold of her. “Let her go, Munson!” Whoever her rescuer was worked Munson’s hand from her wrist and gave him a push. He fell and slid a bit, tumbling in front of a carriage turning the corner. The man was sprawled in the street, gaping at the driver. The driver pulled his horse to a stop just short of running over the man. Munson half-rose from the cobbles and scuttled like a crab out of the way. Meantime, her knight led her out of the street.

“Gad, girl, you’re havin’ a terrible sort of day.” She pulled her bonnet out of her eyes and looked directly into the wide, anxious face of the meat man. He shouted to someone nearby. A young, ungainly man joined them. “This is my son, James. You go and chase him a good long way off. He’s always hangin’ out here, making trouble.” The boy touched his hat and left them. “Are you all right, miss?” He stepped back and looked her over in a respectful manner.

Anne jerked her hand from his and stared at him. She was suddenly hot and wished to be away from everyone. People were beginning to gather round them. “What’s she been up to?” someone asked. The meat man explained about the foul man, Munson.

“Did he hurt you, Ma’am? Munson’s a devil he is.” The man’s boy joined them and assured his father than the man was well away from the area. “Head back to the cart before it’s stripped down to the bones. Where do you belong, Miss?”

Though, by all accounts, her sister and father were just inside the house, the only face Anne Elliot wished to see was that of Frederick. She cleared her throat and began to walk to the door. People were losing interest in the scuffle and were beginning to move on. “Here. I am staying here.”

The man made a clicking sound with his tongue as he followed her. “I thought they threw you out. Besides, you oughtn’t be seen in the front. They won’t like it inside.”

“My father is here. I must get inside.” The kid slippers were not enough to protect her foot from a large stone in her path. The pain reminded her of a better place. “My cousin lives here.”

The man, still following, said, “Begging pardon, Miss, but you don’t look like you belong—“

“I belong here, sir!” Anne spun around to face him.

Her good-hearted rescuer stepped back. He touched his hat. “I can see you are upset, Miss. And I believe you when you say you belong here. But, and no offence intended, you don’t look like they will welcome you upstairs.” He touched his hat again and left her to save his wagon from the street.

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.  

She remained well out of sight of the door. There was nothing to do but consider and watch. Very soon, a weathered but otherwise fine carriage pulled up before the door. A groom carefully picked his way off the top and tapped on the house door with his whip. The door opened and the groom began to speak with whomever answered. Anne envied both of the parties for life was blissfully uncomplicated when you belonged somewhere.

As she wrestled with her deepening melancholy, the groom broke away and ran to the carriage. He wrenched the door open and did his obeisance. A small woman with fox skin cloak emerged from the house. Following her was Elizabeth, and after her came her father.

The woman with the cloak was undoubtedly their cousin, the viscountess. An enormous hood concealed her face making it impossible for Anne to see her and form any meaningful opinion. The woman was perhaps more sickly than her known age would indicate. She was taking a great deal of time mounting the carriage and this put her sister and father to waiting.

They did not speak. Elizabeth's faultless manners served her well as she stood with perfect posture, looking straight ahead. Her father, on the other hand, could not remain still. Elizabeth was able to ignore his fidgets until he tapped his walking stick against a bronze planter and it rang out in the chill air. Elizabeth did not look his way, but did frown.

Anne's best opportunity was within her grasp, and to her great relief, Sir Walter glanced her way. She saw recognition in his eyes.

Everything wicked and hurtful that had happened in the past few days was nothing for he saw her and she would be taken in. She felt herself smile and her body begin to move of its own volition.

Elizabeth was now disappearing into the carriage and her father’s glance grew cold. He turned, took hold of his hat and proceeded to follow his eldest daughter.

“Father! Father!” Anne hastened to them.

He was leaving her! She called again. This time, he paused, his shoulders sagged, and he straightened, and turned to her.

Anne continued apace. Elizabeth’s face now appeared alongside their father’s. They looked directly at her.

Elizabeth's expression was that of studied disdain. There was, Anne thought, a hint of surprise in her eyes. Her father's expression of chilly contempt brought her to a halt.

Anne and Sir Walter stood staring at one another. Everything about him was flawless. The elegant beaver perched on his head was tilted just so. The overcoat fit perfectly through the shoulders and waist. The perfect weight wool had been expertly dyed to the season's most fashionable colour. The length was exactly right to show her father's well-formed calves clad in stockings of the snowiest white. The picture was finished with expertly buffed pumps on his feet complete with genuine silver buckles just large enough to be stylish. The baronet was the epitome of the perfect gentleman. It was his cold, lifeless eyes that betrayed him as being less than a perfect father. 

Elizabeth and the smaller woman had joined them on the sidewalk. The baronet said to the woman: “You see, it is as I said. My younger daughter is not only stubborn, but rebellious as well. She has endangered herself to go against my express wishes and come here.” To his daughter he said, "Even if she feels no duty to her father, I do know mine. Anne, you will be pleased to meet our cousin, the Viscountess, Lady Dalrymple." The ladies exchanged greetings with Anne acutely aware of her dire appearance.

Lady Dalrymple smiled. However, it was full of pity for Anne’s father and not for Anne’s comfort. She looked to Sir Walter. "Please, do not be troubled. The unexpected arrival of your second daughter will not disrupt the household overly much. We will mange." She touched his arm and turned to enter the carriage.

Sir Walter looked to the carriage and then to Anne. She thought there might be a shred of love in him and that he was considering remaining. He looked to Elizabeth. "Stay with your sister; you will not be missed at the dinner." He stepped up to enter the carriage, but turned. "We will discuss this tomorrow, Anne." He disappeared and the carriage lurched away.

A chill breeze blew and Anne felt suddenly cold to her soul. A footman cleared his throat, drawing their attention to the open door. Elizabeth snatched her arm. “You have wrecked everything, thank you very much!” She thrust Anne inside.

As Elizabeth led Anne through Lady Dalrymple's house, she wondered how her father reacted to it. Everything was just slightly out of sorts and haphazard. The colours of the curtains were too bright, elements of architecture were too large for their context, and what bits of furniture she could see were left over from a by-gone age and more than looking their age. She knew her father’s exacting standards would be violated by the absence of a dignified order.

*  *  *

“You may leave me.” Anne dismissed the maid sent to help her. At first, she hurried through he bath, but the hot water surrounding her began to pull the tension and fear from her body. She was finally warm through, and clean after days of only feeble attempts at cleanliness. The idea that she would sleep in a decent bed tonight and wake to her customary life was at first luxurious. As she soaked, all that became insignificant. Now, when she compared the comforts and the company of her family to Frederick, she would far rather have his company in any dirty cottage, with even old Tomas in residence rather than be where she was.

She rested her cheek against the edge of the copper tub and wondered just where Frederick was at precisely that moment. Surely, he is back to the cottage by now. If that were the case, he would be on foot by now, making his way over the cold and rocky shore south to the meeting place. If he was anything like her, the approach of evening would bring with it hunger. He had every confidence that Harville would be waiting still at the designated inn. One way or another, she prayed that he would be fed, warm, and sheltered soon.

She reluctantly finished the bath and prepared for bed. She had no expectation that she would be required downstairs for the rest of the evening. Her nightclothes were fetched and she was dressed. As the clean cotton flannel warmed against her skin, she felt a pang of guilt that she was safe, and that Frederick was, perhaps, still on the edge of things.

Anne took a seat at Elizabeth's dressing table and the maid began to comb out her hair. There had been no opportunity for Elizabeth to speak until now, and she did not fail to take it. "When we return to Kellynch, you should reprimand your maid, Anne. She packed you nothing but mended rags. The one on your back was the least offensive gown I could find."

The maid just then pulled her hair and Anne yelped involuntarily. To Elizabeth, she said, "What does the condition of my under garments matter? They are clean and presentable enough for just myself." Anne and her sister never saw eye-to-eye on what she was coming to consider trivial matters.

Nothing about Anne's interior life had much changed after Frederick's departure. For quite some time she had fully expected another young man to come along and enliven her heart and mind, sparking within her the same feelings of excitement, anticipation, and adventure that Frederick Wentworth had. However, this had not happened. In fact, this spring, she had noticed small things about herself shifting. This was particularly true after, unbeknownst to her family or friends, she turned down a respectable proposal offered by a young man from Uppercross.

Charles Musgrove was a kind and generous young fellow. He was not handsome or remarkable in any way, but he was of solid character, good family, and was genuinely kind to her. Her refusal could be put down to sheer astonishment. His proposal was awkwardly put, and she assumed it was nearly as much a surprise to him as it was to her. After she had, as gently as possible, refused him, she took some time to walk and to think about what she had done. Even after a time of quiet reflection, she realised she felt neither regret, nor the desire to repeat such and self-conscious occasion with any other man. Something had grown cold in her and it was then she had begun to take an odd sort of pride in her little denials of pleasure. It had started with turning down her favourite food in a meal when it was offered.  Anne was also stinting about her personal needs. As long as her behaviour went unnoticed, she felt safe, but having these little things so obvious even Elizabeth could see was nerve wracking. 

She was startled to notice Elizabeth had taken the opportunity of her being trapped beneath the comb to stand over her. "How you could present yourself to our noble cousin when you are so disdainful of your appearance is beyond me. Honestly, Anne, you are becoming a frump, and now I see it is from the skin out." She stalked off to take a chair by the fire. "I was frankly embarrassed when the maid opened your cases to unpack them."

Her sister was right of course, but hearing it out loud left Anne surprisingly untouched. What did touch her was the invasion of her privacy. She turned to Elizabeth. "Why did you take it upon yourself to unpack my cases? You brought two trunks of your own. You could not possibly have needed anything in mine."

Elizabeth hesitated. She rose and went to the window. "Because, it was thought all the cases and trucks were mine. It would have looked ridiculous if I had not unpacked all of them." She grew quiet and intent upon looking out the window, and away from her sister.

The maid finished and was dismissed. Anne rose and put on her robe. "I suppose it has been a great burden to bear since Father told the viscountess that I did not make the journey at all, and that I am a reprobate child who would dare to come across the channel on my own."

"What else was he to say when you went off with that pirate? How were we to present ourselves to Lady Dalrymple? ‘You see, Cousin, Anne chose to leave us for the company of a masked bandit of the sea.'"

"I did not leave you and father, and I did not go off of my own accord. What would have been wrong with telling her the truth?"

"What precisely is the truth, sister? We were told that when you were taken from us you allowed yourself to be locked in a room with that horrible man with the disgusting black kerchief. When we were released, we were told you were seen rowing off with him and his colleague. I hope he was at least handsome." She finally took a seat at the dressing table. Her posture remained erect, which suited her angry state.

Anne thought to say he was indeed handsome, but instead, said, "I did not go willingly. I fell overboard and nearly drowned. I could not be returned to the ship. If it were not for Frederick risking his own life to pull me from the water himself, I would have died." Just speaking of it brought back the feeling of the frigid water closing over her head, and the wet clothes, the fetid smell of the hide, and all the rest.

Elizabeth's brow shot up and her posture, if it was possible, became more erect than before. "Frederick! That man was Frederick Wentworth?" Her natural grace never faltered as she rose from the chair and approached Anne. "No wonder you went with him. You have been mooning over that wretched sailor for two years now." She was close enough that Anne could smell her sweet, floral perfume. She was almost certain she could feel the heat of her rage as well.

Elizabeth turned away suddenly. "I can only pray that no one at home will find out about you and a proven libertine cavorting in the wilds of Ireland together."

Anne could not endure her taunts. "No such thing happened! He took care of me. I was injured and he cared for my wounds. He was a perfect gentleman the entire time." She could feel her fingernails biting into the flesh of her hands. “We stayed in a cottage with a family who gave us aide and shelter in exchange for Frederick’s helping with painting and plastering.” The lie about the family slipped out so easily, Anne wondered at her own integrity.

Elizabeth turned on her. "Plastering and painting! Is the story he told you to tell? And why would he bother as he has obviously tired of you and left you off here, besmirched. You might as well have run off and married him two years ago, Anne. The gossip would have died down by now, and there would not be any danger of scandal to your sisters reputations." She left the room, slamming the door behind her.

*  *  *

When the viscountess returned from her engagement, a smaller room, in another part of the house was arranged for Anne. Her trunks were brought from Elizabeth's rooms and she was left to arrange herself as she wished. She spent the rest of the evening strictly alone. On the following day, when she would have expected that her father would call for her, he did not. The only person Anne saw was the maid who brought her meals. The girl did not speak English, and while the food was very good, she grew tired of fried cutlets and potatoes for every meal.

On the third day, just as the small clock by her bed sounded ten o'clock, there was knock at the door. The breakfast dishes had been cleared away, and it was too early for luncheon. This gave Anne hope that her exile was drawing to an end. She found Elizabeth and a footman standing before her. "You are required downstairs. There is an officer of the Navy wishing to ask you some questions." It was impossible to read Elizabeth's expression, but her voice quavered a bit. Something was upsetting the quiet of the Dalrymple household, and Anne was being summoned into the thick of it.

It would do no good to ask Elizabeth any questions as they went downstairs. By the time they reached the stairway, her silence made it clear she was in no humour to speak. The only sound as they approached the sitting room was the click, click, click of Elizabeth’s hard-soled slippers.

The footman opened the door to her father already occupied with a young, good-looking man in a fine blue and gold uniform. The young man watched her father with an expression she knew all too well: feigned concentration.

Sir Walter was in what Anne recognised to be his Pontificator's Pose. He had chosen to place one hand on the mantle, between two very red, very garish chinoiserie vases. (She wondered that his highly refined sense of taste would allow him to remain so close to such bad imitations.) The other hand was placed in his coat pocket, with the thumb out so as not to look as though he was actually using the pocket.

Elizabeth motioned Anne to enter ahead of her. It did not bode well that Elizabeth refused her customary precedence. They entered the room and the young man rose in acknowledgement. Her father nodded but did not introduce them, or slow his address. Though Elizabeth had entered after her, somehow she managed to take the seat farthest from everyone. Anne was forced to take a seat closer to the others than she cared for.

“As I was saying, the Navy is said to be of a vital, national interest, but I have always been shocked at the lack of standards and judgement shown concerning its manning.” Anne had heard this speech before and knew where it was leading. Nevertheless, she was shocked that he would have the nerve to speak so to a man actually in service to the Crown. She looked at the officer to see his reaction, and then noticed another, less decorated man standing off to the side, holding a notebook. He at first looked bored, but at second look, he was quelling a smile. It was clear her father had said something amusing before their arrival.

Sir Walter paused and the young man saw this as his cue. “I can understand, sir, your concerns. The press does indeed bring us men who are not very skilled, but to hoist a sail and swab a deck, not much in the way of intelligence is required. However, we do take into service a fair number of skilled men and they more than justify—”

The Baronet sighed deeply and bowed his head. “No, lieutenant.” He looked up, pausing for affect, and then changed his stance. “In my experience, great intelligence is not needed in most avenues of life. It is the look of them to which I object, sir. I have seen the average sailor and I am appalled. Such lowly fellows are ambassadors to the world for the Crown and they are a frightful lot to gaze upon.” He stopped for a moment to brush his cuff. “Even the officers are dreadful; scarecrows in most cases.” He paused for another moment. His expression shifted to a more open mien. “Of course you are an exception to this, and I have known one or two other officers who are not too unsightly—”

Anne knew it pained him to say this, as Frederick Wentworth was assuredly one of those "not too unsightly" officers.

Her father paused in his speech and the young man took this opportunity to speak. “Am I to take your meaning to be that you think the men who serve in the Navy should be more good-looking?” Anne could hear in the man's voice a struggle between believing her father was serious with this absurd opinion, or that her father was trifling with him.

Sir Walter cleared his throat. “As I was about to say, the Navy is, in essence, a fleet of ambassadors of the Crown, and I do think it important that our finest looking representatives should be—”

“Sir, I am amazed at your—”

The door opened and Lady Dalrymple entered. “My dear Daniel, it is a pleasure to see you. It has been an age.” She held out her hand to the young man. To the others, she said, “Daniel is the son of old friends from the north. We used to spend summers at Grass Manor, the family seat.”

The young man turned upon her entrance and now bowed as one raised to perfectly execute the courtesy. It was confirmed to Anne that their acquaintance was more than casual when he took her hand and kissed it. “Ma’am. It has been an age. I was at school when last you visited Grass Manor. However, Mother speaks of you all the time. She will be pleased when I write and inform her I have had an opportunity to see you again.”

Lady Dalrymple’s expression was one of great fondness. Anne looked to her father, who was frowning at the pair. Elizabeth had the appearance of a cat looking to dart away at the first opportunity.

“I see you have met a cousin of my late husband. Sir Walter Elliot and his daughters are visiting from England for the holidays.” She took a seat and indicated that the others should do the same. She called for tea as well. “I heard voices as I approached. What have you all been discussing with such enthusiasm?”

Daniel looked at Sir Walter and smiled. To Lady Dalrymple, he said, “Your cousin and I have been discussing the Navy.” He glanced again at the Baronet. “He has some rather unorthodox views, to say the least.”

The tea arrived and as it was being poured, the viscountess stated, “I must say Sir Walter, if there is anyone from whom you would gain a solid knowledge of the Navy, it would be Lieutenant Daniel MacMurphy. His father is certain he shall be First Lord of the Navy one day.”

MacMurphy laughed. “The Admiral is showing his parental pride in that statement, and is far too optimistic. The chances of an openly Irish officer taking that post is nil, I’m afraid. But, the sea is my calling and I do look rather well in the uniform.” He and the viscountess laughed together. Anne saw much to like in the young man’s self-deprecation and joined in the laughter. Her father and Elizabeth were separate, dismal pictures sitting out of the way.

“What brings you to visit an old family friend, dear Daniel?”

He straightened and put down his cup. “To tell the truth, Lady Dalrymple, I’ve not come for a visit actually. I have come to ask some questions particularly of …”

“Miss Anne Elliot,” the second man said. He had looked up her name in his little notebook.

“It is our hope that she will be able to assist in capturing a brazen smuggler who tried to take command of the … Baron’s Bride, the ship she and her family were aboard when they sailed to Ireland.”

Lady Dalrymple smiled with sympathy at Sir Walter. Then to MacMurphy she said, “There is some mistake. Miss Anne did not sail with the rest of the family that day. She arrived some days later. And I assure you, there has been no mention of smugglers on either voyage.”

The second man stepped forward, handing the notebook to the Lieutenant. “This from the ship’s manifest: Two officers, twelve regular seamen, 3 passengers. I see listed here the names of Sir Walter Elliot of Somerset, Miss Elizabeth Elliot, and Miss Anne Elliot. Is this not correct, sir?”

Sir Walter did not respond immediately, but did look up and seemed was surprised that everyone was looking his way. MacMurphy repeated the question and Lady Dalrymple added, “Yes, Sir Walter, we would all like to know if this is correct.”

He stood. “If it is my daughter you must speak with, here she is.” He started to the door.

Lieutenant MacMurphy rose as well. “Sir, I am sure your daughters will be more comfortable if you remain.” It was clear by the set of his jaw this was not a point of propriety, and that the Baronet's staying was not in any way a suggestion.

Sir Walter turned and tugged at his cuff. “Very well. But I cannot allow such a trifle to take up your time, dear lady." He smiled and nodded to the viscountess. "I am sure you have much more pressing—”

“I have nothing pressing, Sir Walter. Please, be seated so the Lieutenant may continue.”

Her father knew his lie was exposed. He now could not avoid being humiliated before his daughters, and more importantly, before a woman whose good opinion he had taken months to cultivate. Anne was sad for a moment that she would be a part of it, but there was no choice for her. She must tell the truth.

Her father returned to his seat and the Lieutenant was back in charge of the situation. “So that we are clear, you are Miss Anne Elliot, are you not?” He indicated Elizabeth.

Though she was fearful, Elizabeth was not one to be mistaken for her younger sister.

“No.” Her spine became as straight as a ramrod. “I am Miss Elizabeth Elliot. Anne is my younger sister. I am curious as to why you care to question her and not me.”

MacMurphy looked from Elizabeth to Anne and then back again. “Beg pardon, Ma’am. I mistook you for your sister as you entered last. And because, Miss Elizabeth Elliot, the captain of the ship was questioned, and told officers that when he was taken to the hold, he heard the instigator of the boarding talking to a cohort, a cove named Harville, that he was to take the maid to another room and lock her there until he could speak to her. Later, the 'maid' was identified as Miss Anne Elliot. Unless you have something pertinent about this man, I have no questions for you, Miss Elizabeth Elliot." Anne breathed a sigh of relief when Elizabeth remained silent, turned ever so slightly, and looked into the fire. She would not give Frederick away, and neither would Anne if she could possibly avoid it.

"Now, Miss Anne, is this manifest correct.”

“Yes.”

“The only passengers on Baron’s Bride were members of your family. You were wrongly identified as the maid.”

 “Yes.”

 The Lieutenant glanced at the notebook. “Were you separated from your family and taken to another part of the ship?”

“Yes, I was.”

“Was the man who entered the room, Frederick Wentworth?"

Sir Walter turned to Anne, red faced, jaws moving but saying nothing. Elizabeth was shrinking farther into the back of her seat. The Baronet rose. "Does this mean that filthy pirate was Wentworth?" His expression was as hard as the one given to the footman who had broken a saucer clearing away tea the previous week. Anne supposed her father equated both as personal affronts to be raged over and the results endured. "And you went off with him, putting the name of Elliot in jeopardy for that lowborn sponger—"

Anne rose as well. "As I told Elizabeth, he saved my life when I fell overboard—"

Sir Walter turned on his other daughter. "You knew it was that contemptible man and you said nothing to me—"

Elizabeth was now up and ready to defend herself. "Father, I only found out when she returned—"

"QUIET YOU LUBBERS!" Everyone turned to the lieutenant's assistant.

MacMurphy apologised to Lady Dalrymple. "Mr Foley was boatswain on my last cruise. That marvellous voice comes in handy, as you can see." He then smiled to the Elliots as he handed the notebook to his assistant. "If you will all please be seated again, we may continue."

“I shall not belabour the point, I think it is clear from the reaction of all the parties that the man was Wentworth. How precisely do you all know the man, Miss Anne?”

Anne glanced at her sister and father. Both looked more interested in other parts of the room than in the questioning. “My family has known him for a while. He came to Somerset some two years ago.”

“So, you all have a social connection with Wentworth”

The Baronet stiffened and turned a shade redder at this suggestion. Elizabeth too took umbrage but merely cleared her throat. “Yes,” was all Anne thought prudent to say.

“Did you know the man was Wentworth when he entered the room?

She was bound to tell the truth, but the truth at this point was more complicated than Mr MacMurphy indicated. “No, I did not.”

The Lieutenant looked bemused. “It has been established that you did know the man. Was he so altered that you did not recognise him?”

“No. But I was bound and my eyes were covered.” He father looked disinterested still. Elizabeth’s expression signalled shock.

”So, you were treated as a prisoner and not a confederate?”

It was Lady Dalrymple who objected to this. “Surely, Daniel, you do not think a young woman of such a good family would be a party to this despicable action.” Anne was sure that her exalted cousin was less concerned with salvaging Anne’s good reputation than she was concerned with being even slightly connected to a proven criminal.

MacMurphy nodded to the lady. “You would be surprised, Ma’am, at the despicable things ladies, uh, females, get themselves up to these days.” He turned back to Anne. “But, eventually, you did see his face?”

To know she was suspect now made establishing the truth more an imperative than ever. “Yes, he eventually freed me.” The memory of those first few moments of freedom and recognition washed over her, but then made her sad almost immediately.

“What did the two of you speak of, Miss Anne?”

“He asked if I knew the owner of the ship, which I did not. And he asked from whom we obtained passage.”

Before the Lieutenant could ask anything further, Sir Walter stood. “All the travelling arrangements were made through my solicitor, John Shepherd of Crewkherne. He was rather insistent that we should take this particular ship. If you have any questions pertaining to the ship, he is your man.” Sir Walter regained his seat, looking quite assured that if anyone was in league with a smuggler, it was John Shepherd of Crewkherne.

At this, MacMurphy paused and glanced at Foley, who was writing furiously. The man finally caught up and nodded to his superior. “Did Wentworth ask anything else?”

“He asked what our business was in Ireland. I said we were on our way to Dublin to visit our cousin.”

“And did you name your cousin?”

“Yes, I did.”

The Viscountess was visibly shaken at this. “Did he, at any time, admit to boarding the ship for the purpose of smuggling?”

"I was not getting rich in the Navy. This afforded me more—opportunities." His statement did not precisely use the word, but it was an admission of sorts. The question was: if she told this to the Lieutenant, was she sealing Frederick’s fate as a criminal in the eyes of the Navy? Anne reasoned that was already done. “Yes, he did.”

As to punctuate the sentence, a long case clock struck the eleventh hour. All in the room started at its loud, discordant peal. Anne’s nerves were completely worn by the time the last, harsh note sounded. 

Everyone seemed grateful that MacMurphy took a moment to collect his thoughts.

“Miss Anne, you claimed earlier that you fell overboard, and your cousin has said that you arrived some days after your family. Your father says you went off with Wentworth. Where were you and what were you doing in those intervening days?”

The room grew more silent than she thought possible. All the looks were frightful and suspicious. There was nothing to be done but tell the truth. However, she did shorten the story by leaving out their staying the first night, alone, together in the hide. All listened, some with amusement and others with revulsion, as she told about the cottage, Aine and Tomas, Frederick’s working in exchange for their keep, the feast the day after Christmas—here too she abbreviated the story to exclude her disastrous Christmas pudding—and their eventual arrival in Dublin in the borrowed pony cart. “Frederick … Captain Wentworth put me down, at my insistence, in the alleyway in the late morning.”

MacMurphy again took his time preparing. “So, by your own admission, this man you know to be a thief kept you away from your family for days, and when he finally did release you, brought you to the home of your very prominent and very wealthy cousin? Am I correct?”

The man had deliberately portrayed Frederick as the worst sort of criminal and man possible. What was worse, he had easily done it with all the information she had so willingly given him.

A thoughtful MacMurphy took the notebook from Foley and slapped his hand with it. "I wish to thank you all and bid you all a good day." He turned to lady Dalrymple. "My lady, I hope I may send the Admiral and Mother your best."

A frowning Viscountess rose and took his arm. "You certainly may. I will see you out."

Everyone, at once, seemed to mill about the room. Anne remained in her seat, sick that her attempts to tell the truth had been perverted into the wickedest of lies.

Sir Walter disentangled himself from his Elizabeth. "Lieutenant MacMurphy, are there not more things you wish to know about the ship? My daughter and I may be of further service in answering any questions to aid your valiant prosecution of this blackguard."

Anne was dismayed, but not surprised, that her father would further ingratiate himself to the officer by offering up more, and perhaps spurious information about the ship and the man he loathed. She rose, not knowing how she might defend Frederick without handing the authorities additional evidence to be further twisted to prove his guilt. It was not necessary. Before MacMurphy reached the door, he turned.

The Lieutenant did not like her father, that was clear enough, and the insinuation that he would need Sir Walter’s assistance was more than enough. "Sir, I have found out all I need, but allow me to enlighten you to some things. Your ship’s passage was so cheap because the Baron’s Bride itself was being used to smuggle gunpowder stolen from the Royal Dockyards in Liverpool. It was stuffed to the gunwales with it and you are damn lucky the captain of the Abraham--the ship that intervened—knew this and was shooting only warning shots for fear if hitting the magazine and blowing you all to kingdom come. Further, it is very likely that your friend, Wentworth, was not after the Bride for herself, but the gunpowder. This is why he so quickly abandoned the effort when the shooting started. Why he took your daughter hostage is unclear, and whether your solicitor knew about the smuggling and the like is worth further investigation as well. As for your assistance, thank you but there is nothing more for me to learn from you."

 He again took the lady’s arm to leave, but this time it was Lady Dalrymple who had something more to say. “If it is questions you desire, Sir Walter, be assured, I have several plaguing me at the moment.” She turned and they left the room.

The door closed and the nuisance clock struck the quarter hour. Its shorter, off-key song was an ideal prelude to Sir Walter’s explosive resumption of his harangue against Elizabeth's betrayal. She in turn mounted a vigorous defence. Anne hadn’t the stomach to enter into the fray, and knew to do so would only give her father and sister a common adversary on which to turn.  She eyed the closed door. Without a backwards glance, she left the room.

 The Lieutenant and Lady Dalrymple were conversing easily as he donned his overcoat and scarf. “I assure you, Ma’am, Wentworth is not the sort to break into your home to harm you. He is a coward at heart and stays to sea where he uses the skills he learnt in the service to steal and flee with as little effort as possible.” He went on to assure her that he would indeed remember her to his mother.

Anne put down the loathing she felt for the young man and approached. “Lieutenant MacMurphy, may I have a word with you.” Her tone was meek and as respectful as it possibly could be to the man who had just spent an hour speaking despicable things about Frederick's character.

He was ready to dismiss her when his expression changed. He excused himself from Lady Dalrymple. “I don’t know what else there is to say, Miss Anne.”

“I have known Frederick Wentworth for several years now, and I feel, in my heart, that he is no smuggler, no matter how things look to you.” She glanced at Mr Foley and he looked away, busying himself with his gloves.

The Lieutenant continued to button his overcoat. “Miss, I see that you are genuinely concerned for this man. And I assure you that I take no enjoyment in tracking him down.” He glanced towards the viscountess. He took out his woollen gloves. “I do not broadcast this, but I served for a very short while with then Commander Wentworth. I gained great respect for him, not only as an officer, but also as a man of honour. To be placed in this position gives me no pleasure. However, the Navy is not terribly concerned with either of our feelings. All that matters at this juncture are his actions. And his actions are unquestionably, criminal. In spite of my feelings on the matter, I shall take what knowledge I have gained here and bring him to justice.” He bid her a good day.

As he turned away, Anne caught his arm. “What will happen if you find him?”

“When I find Wentworth, he will be taken to a prison and go before a Court Martial board. With the evidence given, I am confident he will be found guilty. This will strip him of his rank, and while it is possible he could be transported, I feel it more likely he will be hanged.” MacMurphy paused, his expression a mirror of what Anne felt, and then he walked away.

To no one but herself, she said, “But is that justice?”

Later, Anne silently crossed the entryway, having waited some time for the footman to leave his post so that she might leave the house.