Tuesday, 28 April 2009

• Pleasant Days

   

  Even with Frederick’s help—he was practically carrying her—each step was a torment. Both of them were unsteady as they lurched and slipped their way up what seemed to be a mountain of hard, sharp stones, punctuated by the occasional stretch of loose sand. Anne's attention was required for each step. So much so, she could not attend to the bantering of the two men and their voices were lost in the sound of the waves and her own laboured breathing.

  They halted suddenly. She was grateful for the rest. Frederick’s arm was about her waist and shook as much as his voice. "Finally."

  Harville lifted the lantern and gestured with his hand. "Your accommodations for the night." They stood at the edge of a hole about four feet deep.

  She felt him sigh rather than heard it. "I thought the only hole in the ground I'd ever go into was a grave." Anne knew she ought to be alarmed by the prospect of sleeping in little more than a hole in the ground, but her aching body refused to allow her to more than stare into the pit.

  "Just be glad Providence saw fit not to put any of us in a grave tonight, Captain." Harville bent and looked around. "Did you see anything besides this bale of wool?"

  Frederick saw Anne seated on the edge and jumped in. He took the lantern and crouched. "I saw—these." He held up another lantern and a wine bottle. "G-give us a light." Using some dried grass they managed to feed enough of a flame to light the second lantern. "Help Miss Elliot and then be on your way."

  Harville did little; it was Frederick who lifted her down. "Is there anything else?"

  "There is little, but another bottle of spirits, and a couple of empty crates."

  "We've made it just in time." Harville lifted the hatch, ready to close it. "The wind's picking up."

  Wentworth crouched and pulled Anne down to a crouch. "Close us in then. Remember. Day after tomorrow at the Keystone."

  "And you're buying, Captain." Harville laughed a little and then closed the hatch.

  "What is this place?" Anne was just realising she was out of the weather.

  "It's a hide. They're dug out to give us a place to secrete a haul. Most of the time boats make signals and are met on the beach by those living nearby, but if the weather is too dirty, like it is tonight, we leave the goods in a hide like this." He looked around and found a place to hang the lantern. A burst of wind screamed overhead. She could feel a breeze across her cheek. He shivered. "We've got to get settled for the night." Anne could see no place for them to lie down and sleep.

  He crawled by her and pushed a bale of wool, wrapped in coarse cloth, towards one corner of the hole. There." He tested his handiwork. "This should keep off any wind that leaks in." The idea of cool air sent a chill through her.

  She crawled to him. "Where will we sleep?" He had removed his coat and was now unbuttoning his waistcoat. She dreaded what more he might remove. “What do you think you are you doing?

  He easily slipped out of his waistcoat, and arranged it and the coat on the bale. “The cold and wet naturally draw all the warmth from the body. The sooner we get out of our wet clothes, the better." He now struggled to loosen the knot in his neck cloth. "You will be wonderfully surprised how well that tiny flame will warm this small space.” It finally joined the other things. He did not remove his shirt, or anything else, to her great relief.

  His next move was to seat himself and remove his boots and stockings. "You should remove yours as well. It is amazing how cold, wet feet make you miserable." She sat back so that he would not catch her in the mouth with his elbow. "My boots will not likely be dry by morning, but your small shoes should easily be." He held out his hand. "I'll put them closer to the lantern."

  She said nothing, but rearranged the skirt of her dress over her feet.

  Frederick scowled and moved close. His fingers brushed her ankle as he took the hem of her skirt and lifted it. "Where are your shoes?" He looked up and his scowl deepened as he awaited her answer.

  She wanted to pull her cold feet back out of his view. His tone and gaze accused her of being a careless child. "I lost them when I fell in." She expected an exasperated sigh, or to hear him click his tongue at her sloppiness.

  Instead of a scolding, the scowl disappeared. "Of course they did." He said it more to himself as he took her left foot in his large hands and rubbed at the spots of mud around her ankle and the soiled sole. He pulled his hand away, looked at it, and then with a jerk turned her foot awkwardly.

  This surprised and angered her, but before she could speak, he put her foot down gently and looked at the sole of the other. He then crawled to his clothing.

  Anne looked at her feet. Large spots of blood-soaked stocking overlapped to cover most of both soles. She felt suddenly ill and panicked. She looked to see was Frederick was about.

  He was examining the interior of his waistcoat; tossing it aside, he picked up his coat and did the same. She saw him smile a little and then heard the sound of ripping fabric as he began to tear out the lining. After a bit of a struggle to pull out the lining of the sleeves, he glanced around, leaned back, reaching for something near the bale of wool. With the bottle of wine in hand, he returned to her side.

  "You must remove your stocking." He was ripping the sleeves from the rest of the coat's lining.

  Anne untied the stockings and pushed them down, he removed them and took the ribbons that had held them up. "These will do very nicely." He put everything aside, poured some wine in his hand, and began to clean the wounds. The wine stung a great deal but she did everything in her power to keep still. He took one of the stockings and began to wipe her foot, carefully daubing at the wound. "Fortunately, the stockings kept the worst of that sand out, but the wounds are still filthy." Again, this was more to himself than to her. He next took the sleeve lining and began to wrap it around her foot.

  "Why did you keep quiet? I would have carried you rather than make you walk up those cruel rocks. I thought you had shoes." He finished by tying the ribbon around the sleeve. When he released her foot, she pulled it back.

  She put out her other foot. "Of course you did not do it on purpose. No caring person would do that to another. To be honest, I did not even notice they were gone. I was just so cold." She pulled his great coat closer at the thought of the water.

  *

  The tone of her voice was sad and resigned. She at least recognised that while he may be thoughtless in not enquiring about her shoes, he did not take her up the slope on purpose. He began the ministrations on her and was determined to distract them both. "Both the heat and cold are wicked indeed. However, while the heat makes every bit of you uncomfortable—especially of there have been biting insects at you—" He smiled at her. "—the cold has a special brutality of separating your mind from your body." Wentworth thought he'd very much welcome some of heat at the moment.

  Anne cried out and drew her foot away suddenly. "I'm sorry, it hurt very much." Of her own accord, she put her foot back in his hand. "So, you have experienced both great heat and cold?" She grimaced as he continued.

  He looked more closely at her left foot. She'd likely stepped on a shard of a shell and gotten deeper cuts on it than the other. "Oh yes. When I was first at sea, I was here on the Irish coast for a time. Though—" he looked up, "I never took a swim in the winter." She smiled at this. "I have seen men so cold they did not know they've been desperately injured. Not until they see the blood—" He looked away and resumed his work.

  "You must think me ridiculous. I did not go into the water on purpose, I swear it."

  "Of course you did not. No rational creature willingly jumps into the Irish Sea at Christmastime. And you, above all things, are a rational creature." He finished tying the ribbon around her foot and studies it for a moment.

  She was so small and delicate. He'd forgotten that. Everything he'd done this evening took advantage of her inferior size and frailer nature. The ribbons were blue and uncannily matched the lining of his coat. The frayed ends were tied to prevent the advance. Had things gone differently, she might have been lost to the sea that night. Had Providence chosen such a course, he wasn't sure that he'd not have given up and gone to the bottom with her.

  The thought disturbed him greatly. Over the past two years, he'd entertained anger, bitterness, jealousy, and glimpses of relief at not having the Baronet for a father-in-law, but he'd never given a thought to self-murder. The shock of seeing her again, the violent interruption of his plan for the Baron's Bride, her being forced into his care, and now, their close proximity was playing havoc with his normally sanguine temperament and good judgement. He was completely knackered and knew she was likely more so. He released her foot. "We should settle in for the night."

  He edged into the space past her. The walls were rough and as he leant against in various places, yet found none comfortable. A small, somewhat smooth section was reluctantly chosen. "Take off my coat." He sat up and reached towards her to unbutton it, but saw that his hands were shaking. He stopped.

  She looked confused, but began to unbutton the coat as she was told.

  "Hand it over."

  She removed the coat and handed it to him. He arranged the coat to cover them. When he looked up to summon her, she was removing her outer clothes.

  “What do you think you are doing?”

  She was struggling to remove a close-fitting jacket. “What you said about the cold and our clothing made a great deal of sense. This spencer is unfashionably thick and will take some time to dry. The ship was cold and I always wore this. Father was quite put out with me. ‘I am very tired of seeing it, Anne,’ he said.” She was finally free and spread it on the bale along with his things.

  He couldn't help but smile. For a moment, they sat perfectly still, looking at one another. There was nothing left for them to do but make the final sleeping arrangements. He held out a hand to her. "Now you."

  *

  His intentions were clear. "I hardly think that the two of us sleeping one next to the other is anything approaching appropriate, Captain." Perhaps appealing to his past honour would make him see sense.

  Frederick looked at her for a moment. He had the advantage; she knelt before him in her wet dress, icy errant breezes inveigling their way under the wooden lid of the hide causing her entire frame to tense with cold. "With those wet clothes, I hardly think you will survive otherwise." He held out his hand again.

  The hope of being warm was most persuasive. The thought of being so close to him again was enticing, but frightening as well. "I will not."

  He pulled back his hand, tossed away the coat, and placed himself next to her. "If you'll let me pass, you may go lay down. I'll cover you." His eyes were unreadable in the gloom.

  "Then you will be cold. We are both wet." She would not be intimidated and continued to meet what she was certain was his severe gaze.

  "True. Nevertheless, there is only one cloak. Either we both use it, or you alone use it. You make the choice." Frederick turned at a sound outside. The lantern was struggling to give off more than just a flicker of light, and his stern face was colder than the wind. He was serious that he would remain exposed in order for her to be warm.

  Anne shook her head. "Go back. I shall join you."

  He nodded to her and struggled back. "We shall be warm in no time. As I said, the candle will put off a surprising amount of heat." He arranged the coat and himself and offered her his hand.

  It was suddenly all too much. Just seeing him again so unexpectedly would have been sickening enough, but to see him in his now corrupted state was an even worse shock. Then, to be thrust into the midst of his crimes, and now expected to depend upon him for warmth, and sleep with him in this place that was little more than an animal's den, was the last straw.

  Before Anne knew what was happening, he pulled her to him and held her tightly. "Don't make too much of this." He shifted to accommodate her.

  She now shifted. "You need not hold me so closely. I've nowhere to run." A breeze touched her back.

  He adjusted the coat. Warmth replaced the chill air. "Not that you could. There is nothing nefarious in this, but the closer we are, the warmer we will be." There was more adjusting. Soon they were quiet.

  The wind continued to blow above them. The space was warming and the scent of the earth was growing almost pleasant. He now and then chaffed her arms to warm her more quickly. She endeavoured to remain awake and keep as much of her dignity as possible by not allowing herself to relax too much.

  Even with such precautions, she occasionally let go—though quickly resuming her posture of caution—and grew warm at his touch.

  "Really Anne, you are taut as a bow string. Please, relax, or neither of us will ever sleep." He did not sound angry, merely a little out of sorts. "If it eases your mind, let me assure you that I am not in the least pleased to have you back in my arms." He said this in almost a whisper.

  He could be serious, or he could be teasing her. Or he could be telling her something she longed to hear. The weariness forced her to allow her muscles to ease. Though it annoyed her greatly, she enjoyed melting into his grasp. The sound of the wind soon disappeared and was replaced by the rhythm of his breathing and the steady tattoo of his heart. It was not long before she began to drift off, and regardless of how he might genuinely feel, she was happy to be in his arms once again.

   

  • 3:29 PM
  • 191 Views
  • 6 eProps
  • 4 Comments