Chapter Text
Anne’s spirits were worn down by the constant talk of Captain Wentworth wherever she went. Since his recent arrival in the neighbourhood it seemed that no one wished to converse on any other topic. Of course, it was natural that Mrs Croft enjoyed talking about her brother; indeed, her evident fondness for him and pride in his accomplishments was a true reflection of her warm, affectionate character. And of course, dear Admiral Croft, being a navy man himself, could be expected to introduce Captain Wentworth’s exploits at sea as a topic of conversation with some regularity. And Captain Wentworth being the captain who more than any other had been spoken of with respect by poor Richard Musgrove, it was understandable that Mr and Mrs Musgrove felt moved to pronounce him a good and fair captain at every opportunity. But the Musgrove sisters, the Miss Hayters, and Anne’s own sister, Mary, all appeared incapable of conversing without alluding to how handsome he was, how gentile his manners, how brave and noble he must have been when in command of his ship! And even Charles, who could usually be relied upon to be a voice of sense and reason, found it necessary to give a daily account, imbued with much admiration, of Captain Wentworth’s abilities with a gun. If she could just be allowed to go about her daily life without this assault—for thus it felt to her, she was confident she would have been able to continue adequately enough, despite knowing that he was nearby, that he was staying at her own dear Kellynch. But the Lord had seen fit to test her strength several times each day, and she felt weighed down by the burden of his presence, even when he was several miles away and no doubt unmoved by her own proximity.
Anne had therefore, despite the increasingly winterish weather, got into the habit of taking solitary walks in the nearby woods or wherever else she could be confident of encountering no other soul. She would go for several hours if she could be freed from family and social demands, just to enjoy the restorative quiet. She longed to be where the only chatter was that of the rooks in the treetops squabbling amongst themselves. She longed to be where there was no mention of a certain naval captain.
It was a heavy, overcast day, with great banks of rain clouds gathering over the hills to the east of Uppercross. But Anne knew from experience that it would be an hour or more before the wind brought the rain to Uppercross Cottage, and she would be safely indoors once again before the deluge began in earnest. Mary was not happy about Anne going out, not so much out of concern for Anne being caught in an early downpour, but because it vexed her that she herself had no such freedom, being caught up this morning in supervising both her offspring and servants. Anne waited until Mary was in the kitchen having a rather querulous conversation with her cook and then slipped out into the lane, walking swiftly in the direction of the woods. A gusting wind necessitated her holding onto her bonnet at times, but it was not unpleasant—just the movement away from the cottage, the swift movement of her feet kicking through the last of the fallen leaves, was enough to bring ease to her careworn spirits.
At the place where the lane curved south towards Kellynch she climbed over the heavy wooden gate across the gap in the hedge and took the path into the woods. Soon she was out of sight of the lane, truly hidden amongst the trees, and this invisibility brought a great relief to her. She walked along the familiar track, patting the great oaks along the way and listening to the wind stirring their higher branches. She delighted in seeing the squirrels about their work of collecting the last few acorns before the winter fully set in. Every few minutes she reluctantly glanced up through the canopy of branches to check the progress of the storm clouds, but all was as expected. She would have time to walk her usual circular route through the oaks and birch and beech, and would be back at the lane before the heavens released even their first raindrops.
She was just inspecting a scattering of chestnut shells on the ground alongside the path when she heard a terrible noise, a bellowing imbued with fury or fear or some other equally disturbing emotion. She stopped dead and tried to listen over the sudden hammering of her heart. The noise came again and then again, a desperate roaring, unmistakenly animal in origin. Indeed, she was now certain it was a deer, in tremendous distress or pain. She hurried in the direction of the noise, gathering up her skirts with one hand and clutching her bonnet with the other. The nearer she got to the source of the bellowing, the more frantic the creature sounded. As she skirted around a patch of briar, she at last saw the reason for the animal’s cries. Some fifteen or so yards ahead of her was an immense red deer stag caught in a thicket of holly and blackthorn branches. Its antlers and legs were hopelessly tangled, and the poor beast was thrashing about wildly and bellowing all the while. Beside it, with his coat shed, shirt sleeves rolled up, and labouring to free the poor beast, was Captain Wentworth.
Hiding behind an oak and barely able to catch her breath, Anne watched as he plunged his hands into the thicket again and again, snapping the branches that held the stag captive. She knew she ought to show herself and offer to help, but she feared to be an unwelcome distraction, or worse, to disturb the deer further and perhaps make the situation even more perilous for Captain Wentworth than it already was. And indeed, what would she be able to do to aid him? She could think of nothing. Besides, the honest truth was that she feared injury from the stag, which was now kicking violently with the one leg and hoof that had thus far been freed. So, somewhat ashamed of her own timidity, she remained concealed behind the broad oak and watched Captain Wentworth’s valiant efforts to free the poor animal.
She watched him struggle with branch after branch, his forearms torn bloody by the thorns. The air was full of the animal’s cries and Wentworth paused in his work to try to calm the panicked beast. He patted its flank and even as it attempted to kick out at him, he said in a strong, reassuring voice, “Hold still, I say! I will help you if you will let me. I assure you we are both keen to be done here, my friend.” Anne’s heart swelled to witness him be so kind to such a creature that might cause him grievous injury at any moment!
Captain Wentworth persevered for many minutes, no doubt fatigued and in great discomfort, but at last a final branch gave way and the stag, sensing its freedom, cried and reared up. But as it leapt away, its hind legs kicked back and caught Captain Wentworth in the chest and Anne watched, horrified, as he staggered. For a moment it looked as if he would manage to keep to his feet, but then he tripped backwards over a tree root and even across the distance between them she heard the sickening crack as his ankle was wrenched or broken or God knows what. His anguished curse did not drown out her own involuntary cry, which he clearly heard because his head whipped round in her direction and he called, “Who’s there? Show yourself, for God’s sake!” She came out from her hiding place and hurried to where he was sprawled upon the ground.
When he saw her he cried out, “Miss Elliott, what in God’s name are you doing here?”
“Captain Wentworth! Please excuse my intrusion. I was out walking when I heard the noise from that unfortunate stag and came to investigate. It is lucky I am here. I can help you back to Kellynch before the storm is at its worst.”
He looked perturbed by her suggestion and shook his head, emphatically. “I thank you, madam, but I do not wish to trouble you. I fear my ankle is significantly injured and it would be far too arduous a task for you to support me all the way to Kellynch. Instead, I would be grateful if you would go to my sister and Admiral Croft and inform them of my predicament so they can organise a party to find me and bring me back.”
Anne was as horrified by his suggestion as he had been by hers. “I must object! The storm is almost here—I can feel the first drops of rain already, and indeed, a party from Kellynch would not find you without my help, and by the time I have got there and then we have returned for you, you will be soaked to the skin and frozen, with great risk to your health.” As if to support her statement, cold pebbles of rain began to fall through the bare branches overhead.
He rubbed his hands over his face, clearly in a great deal of pain and already exhausted from his struggle to free the stag. He made no reply. She crouched down beside him and placed her gloved hand gently on his arm, taking care to avoid where he had been scraped by the vicious blackthorns. She was acutely aware of the intimacy of her action, but it was vital that she impressed upon him the urgency of the situation, as she saw it. He looked at her, startled by the physical contact, and she did her best to return his gaze with a calm, purposeful air. “I do fear you must try to stand and then allow me to support you back to Kellynch,” she said. This close to him, she could see that the pain he was suffering was causing sweat to bead upon his forehead despite the cold temperature of the air, and her concern increased.
He sighed. “Miss Elliot, even if I can get myself upright, it is nigh on two miles back to Kellynch, over fields for the most part. You cannot bear my weight for so long.”
She met his gaze with a look of fierce determination. “Sir, you do not know what I can or cannot bear!”
He stared at her, unable to find suitable words to reply, and so she continued, “I will not be persuaded to leave you. The longer we debate, the worse the weather will become. Can we not at least try?”
And so with an air of reluctance he took the hands she held out to him, but the fabric of her gloves was slippery and they failed immediately in their undertaking. She thus realised she must remove the gloves before they made a second attempt. The intimacy of him taking her bare hands in his took her breath away, but in their present circumstances she could not allow herself to be distracted. She dug her boots into the earth and pulled with all her strength, attempting to haul him to his feet. However, his weight being that much the greater, it was impossible. Indeed, for a moment her own balance became uncertain, and it seemed he might pull her onto him. He hastily released her hands and she staggered back but kept to her feet.
They thus determined that the only way to proceed was for him to crawl on his hands and knees to the stout oak she had hidden behind and then attempt to pull himself up by holding onto it, with Anne doing what she could to take some of his weight. To her relief, he succeeded at this difficult and undignified procedure, but it necessitated him placing the injured foot down upon the ground as he levered himself up. As the foot took some of his weight he let out an agonised cry, but he did not halt in his efforts and a moment later it was done and he was standing. He leant back against the oak, his breath ragged, his eyes closed. When he opened them again, he would not look at her directly. She thought perhaps she could imagine the terrible tumult of feelings he must be experiencing. Pain, of course, and perhaps fear, but also shame at being seen in such a weakened state. And perhaps this was all the more humiliating because it was she who was his witness? Still, there was nothing to be done about any of it except to appear as calm and practical as she could, despite her own wild emotions. “The first trial is done, sir,” she said to him. “Once you have caught your breath, I think it would be wise for you to put your coat back on as the temperature is dropping steadily and the rain is extremely cold. Then you must lean on me, and I will guide us out of the woods.”
And so they began to make their way through the copse, heading for Kellynch, the house that had been Anne’s own home for so long. Their progress was made one slow step at a time, with him hissing each time he put the injured foot down. In one hand he held a stout stick they had found which he used as a support. His other arm was draped around Anne’s shoulder, though it was clear to her that he was attempting to not lean heavily upon her. She admonished him by saying, “I can take more of your weight. You must lean on me if we are to make sufficient headway.” He hesitated, but then without replying, he leaned on her more heavily and she was glad for it, despite what hard work it now was to support him.
Their journey was long and brutal. The rain became a deluge when they were barely clear of the trees and as they hobbled along the edge of the first field, the wind picked up and threatened to push them over. They staggered, time and again, he groaning with pain, and she, exhausted from the effort of taking his weight, silently struggling to keep going.
As neither had the energy to talk, they proceeded in silence, except that occasionally she rallied herself enough to say a simple, “we are making progress,” and then, much later, “we are more than halfway, now, I am sure of it.” He said nothing in reply, too focussed was he on putting one foot down and then the next, yet she felt the need to encourage and reassure him, all the same.
The further on they went, the more muddy the fields became as the storm clouds poured torrents of icy rain onto the land. By the time they reach the gate to the lane, they were soaked through and shivering and both fatigued beyond imagination. He leant against the hedge, panting hard, while she tried to prise the gate latch open with her frozen fingers. She assumed he had climbed easily over the gate on his journey into the woods, but that was clearly now impossible—he could barely stand. The rusty latch would not move, and her hands shook and hurt and she could barely see because of the rain being swept into her face. Tears began to fall from her eyes but she would not yield, she would not give in to the despair she felt. Instead, she repeatedly hit the heel of her hand against the latch. With each blow she gasped with pain and her hand began to bleed, but still she did not cease, and finally the latch shot back, and the gate swung open.