Chapter Nine
After the incredible conversation on the balcony the day before, Anne could only hasten to Poseidon directly after breakfast. She had not agreed on a meeting with the captain, but hopefully he had more to share and he would stick to the same place and time they had used the previous time. It took half an hour during which she went over everything he had told her again numerous times, but then he casually strolled by.
"Madam," he said, bowing most politely, and he made as if to walk on.
"Wait!" Anne said desperately. "I thought you had come to talk to me."
He looked reluctant to admit it. "It must not appear that way. Let me walk another round to see if the coast is clear."
And how would that look? She clutched her book and looked at the pages unseeingly, impatient for the captain to check the surroundings. But then he squeezed himself through the hedge behind her, frightening her out of her wits.
She turned. "You need to tell me more about Mr Ingleby."
"Or about Mr Shepherd?" he asked with a significant grin. "Because I went to see him yesterday and he too had some interesting information."
Anne was intrigued. "What could he know? And why did you not tell me? Is it more important than Mr Ingleby's information?" Mr Shepherd had made it his business to know all about Sir Walter. Perhaps he knew more of this supposed marriage too.
"One thing at a time. I had to tell you about Mr Ingleby and you were not taking it as well as I had hoped, so I left the rest for later. First the simple things. Mr Shepherd pointed something out that we had overlooked. Her coat. Where was her coat? Would you really go out in only a nightgown?"
She considered that point. He was right. Anyone would wear a coat. It was rather cold in the morning and a nightgown was far too thin to be walking around in comfortably. Yesterday morning she had worn a coat and in spite of that it had been chilly.
"She might have left her coat in the house, but that points to a hurried exit, very hurried, but there was no fire and surely if someone had been chasing her she would have screamed for help. It is more likely that someone outside took her coat and hid it."
"The maid said she often left the house in the morning, because her shoes were often wet. Of course her coat would have been in the cloakroom and the maid would not know if she took that."
"Her effects were taken back to Mr Shepherd's house and the coat was not among them. Neither is it in our cloakroom," said Captain Wentworth. "It was not on the body and there were no stains on the nightgown. I asked." He paused. "It may sound callous and unfeeling of me to have asked all these questions, but while Mr Shepherd is grieving, he is also convinced that something is not quite in order. He is not a stupid man. He also said his daughter was not stupid; she would not have gone out unthinkingly without a coat."
"Did he accept the possibility that she went out at all?" It was of course possible for a loving parent to deny that his child would ever do such a thing. Anne would not think it odd.
"Er, yes. He did not quite approve, but he knew. He knew -- he did not know she went out, but he knew it was the sort of thing she was up to lately. She was carrying someone's child, he said, and he had urged her to get the responsible party to marry her before it was too late. But he did not know who it was, because she had not wanted to say."
Anne did not know what to think, much less what to reply. Carrying someone's child. Such things happened, she knew, but she was always a little shocked when she heard of them.
Whether Captain Wentworth had been shocked when he heard the news was impossible to tell now. He seemed unaffected. "But it is also possible that she had got with child by accident and she was trying to get someone else to marry her."
"By accident," she repeated. "I did not know it could happen by accident."
"Not usually, no, as far as I know," Wentworth agreed. He crossed his arms. "So, we have two new little mysteries here. First, who had got Mrs Clay with child and when? Second, is there any truth in Mr Ingleby's supposition that Sir Walter got married on the sly? It is easy to suggest the two are related."
"No!" Anne exclaimed. Mrs Clay had not been carrying her father's child. Not. Never. And neither had he married her.
"You think he would not."
"I know he would not. And where is the woman? She cannot be Mrs Clay."
"Mr Ingleby said she was not, but I do not think it either, because she would not keep it a secret and this other woman does."
"Marrying a baronet?" Anne felt strong enough to be sarcastic again. "But it is every girl's dream!" Baronets, at least, seemed to think so.
"What will you do if Sir William turns out to be a dangerous man?"
"It is not and has never been my dream to marry a baronet. But I do not see how anyone could want to keep it a secret! The woman has debts to pay!" If only for that reason she ought to make herself known if she had any decency at all.
"Yes, there is that. I can imagine the creditors have been giving Mr Shepherd some rest because he has just lost a daughter. I have not seen as many strange men at the Hall as a few days ago."
"Have they not been to the Hall any more?" Anne did not think that creditors who had mouths to feed at home would give the debtor any rest. They could not. It was more likely that someone paid them than that they had suddenly become considerate. She had understood that some had been waiting for a long time already.
"Not in the last few days."
"Perhaps your sister scared them away. She frightened me too."
"Sophia?" Captain Wentworth was genuinely amazed.
"She wanted to know what I was up to and she seemed to be rather angry when I said she might have hired you to get rid of Mrs Clay because she had appeared before the admiral in her shift."
"Really? And you thought I would comply? I would laugh! In her shift! Pull yourself together! Seriously! We see a lot worse in ports than women in shifts!" He appeared to find that rather funny.
Anne wondered if she could ask what those worse things were, but it was probably not something a woman should ask. Perhaps he would tell her if she waited long enough. Then she was not to blame.
Suddenly a small child came into view and Captain Wentworth ducked behind the statue, although that was not very effective in Anne's opinion. The child was followed by Mrs Croft holding an even smaller child by the hand. "Good morning, Anne," she said. "Meet Isabella and Christopher. They will be staying with me for a fortnight."
The captain emerged from behind the statue. "Where did you get them from, Sophia?"
She raised her eyebrows at him. "May I know why you were behind that thing?"
"It is Poseidon."
His sister did not seem to care. "It is a thing."
"Children like hiding games, do they not?"
"Do not be silly with me." Mrs Croft seemed perfectly pleased with her new little friends as she wiped a little nose.
"Where did you get them from?" her brother inquired. "Even I know these things do not happen overnight."
"They were brought here after breakfast. Can you not guess who they are?"
Anne could. "It is very good of you," she said quietly.
"But what are you two doing here?" asked Mrs Croft, looking from one to the other.
"I was reading," said Anne, as if she had no idea what Captain Wentworth had been doing. She patted her book.
"I was just passing by," said he. "I am on my way to Mr Ingleby."
"You, to a rector?" Mrs Croft nearly laughed. "Bettering your life, are you?"
He chose not to answer, but bowed and departed. Anne hoped he was really gone and not hiding behind the hedge again.
Mrs Croft sat down beside Anne, the youngest child in her lap. Anne thought it was the boy, but it was difficult to tell. She could only guess it was about two years old from the way it had walked.
"Mrs Shepherd had been struggling for a few days. I offered to take the children for a while. The admiral agreed."
"They like you already," Anne observed.
"They only want somebody to play with them," Mrs Croft said modestly. "It is the very least I could do. I feel so sorry for the little ones. They are orphans now."
She was glad Mrs Croft did not ask her anything about the investigation. She was not yet ready to call it a real one, nor to speak about her cooperation with Frederick -- Captain Wentworth, she corrected herself. While currently distracted by the children and inquiries about suitable nursery maids, Mrs Croft was sharp.
The children soon started to fuss because they wanted to walk and Anne was alone again.
It did not last long. Sir William came to disturb her just when she was about to walk off herself. "I often find you here," he said as if he was happy to see her. "Is this a favourite place of yours?"
"I often come here because there is a bench, but I also like the other benches. It depends on the time of the day and where the sun is and that sort of thing," she said vaguely. She needed to walk to think about everything -- Mrs Clay, the mysterious woman, the little Clay children. It was difficult to keep her mind on the conversation and on giving sensible answers.
He did not seem to think he was interrupting her reading, because he installed himself rather comfortably beside her. "I shall go away pretty soon," he announced, pausing to give her the chance to voice a reaction.
Anne thought she was very likely not responding as he desired, but she could really not come up with anything better. "Has everything been sorted out?"
"Nearly everything," said he, looking quite expressively into her eyes. "There is more I would like to sort, but alas, that is not up to me."
Anne felt funny. She had the distinct impression that he was trying to say something to her. She could not reply anything.
"Do you not know of what I speak, Cousin?"
"No." Her voice trembled a little.
"It cannot have escaped your notice that I value and enjoy your company and I shall miss our conversations tremendously."
What was one to say to that? Anne could not bring herself to agree. Perhaps when she remained uncomprehending and not encouraging, he would give up. She had not conversed with him very much recently. Not since Mrs Clay's murder. "Well, those things happen," she said soothingly. "But being family I am sure we shall meet regularly."
He looked a little disappointed.
Anne wondered what Captain Wentworth was doing. He had said he was going to see Mr Ingleby. She was interested in the outcome of that conversation. Given that he had said any marriage would have taken place elsewhere, looking at the parish register would be useless, or she would have advised that. Or were those marriages also registered? She could not think of anyone ever looking at the records, so it might well remain a secret.
If no one wanted to reveal it, it must be purely a business contract. Money would have to be involved. Sir Walter had needed -- or felt he had needed -- a titled wife or one with money, if he married at all. Preferably a wife had both a title and a fortune, but Anne knew that beauties with a title and money had never yet been interested in marrying an older baronet. She did not imagine that had suddenly changed when her father was even worse off.
Which wealthy woman would sacrifice herself for Sir Walter's sake, however? No stranger would do it. It would have to be someone who knew Sir Walter and who was desirous of helping him in secret. Anne could think of only person and that was one who had always had the opportunity and never taken it: Lady Russell.
She stopped walking.
Anne could not imagine Lady Russell not telling her about something as important as this. It could not be. Lady Russell had been anxious about her father's debts and particularly anxious about the effects on his daughters, but she had never to Anne's knowledge even considered helping out financially, let alone marrying him.
Mr Ingleby had probably thought that Lady Russell ought and then assumed that she had, without being certain. Half the village had at some point in time thought that she would, after all. The rector would be no exception. There, it was nothing but supposition. She was relieved to have found the answer so soon.
And none of this could have anything to do with the death of Mrs Clay.
What would she do with a coat if she was the killer, she asked herself. It was an old coat of Elizabeth's and thus not easily given away to a local woman. People would ask questions if they saw someone with such a expensive thing. Elizabeth was not known to be generous with her discarded clothing, even if she had plenty. She would certainly not have given it to a farmer's wife. Mary took a lot of it.
If she had been in this position herself, she would likely burn or bury the coat. Anne roamed through the park for a while, as if she would suddenly come upon the hidden coat. There were plenty of places to hide a coat for a few days, although the gardeners would eventually find it.
And there were plenty of places where people could meet unobserved. In Poseidon's corner, naturally, but also in Athena's. Both had stone benches. She went to Athena for a change and sat down. Captain Wentworth's finding a footprint by the pond had made her attentive to the soil and she looked down. There were footprints here too. Not from running or walking people, for the ground to Athena's left did not lead anywhere except into the hedge.
Anne took care not to disturb the prints and peered around Athena's statue to see if by any chance the coat was hidden behind it. But then she realised what she was standing on -- a row of rocks the size of a fist that lined the empty flowerbed.
She stared at them for a few minutes.
Rocks. They had been looking for rocks by the pond, but here were some. Perhaps the episode with the rock -- Anne could not bring herself to describe it more clearly than that -- had not taken place by the pond at all. Was it necessary? Or could it have been here?
She sat back down on the bench and imagined Mrs Clay here with someone, who had then picked up a rock out of anger. Then he would have had the choice between leaving her there and having it clearly be a murder, or taking her to the pond and making it look like an accident. Evidently he had chosen the latter.
The rock might still be there, but she had little desire to look for it herself. She would leave that to Captain Wentworth. She was sure she would draw too much attention to herself if she found a rock with blood on it. It was best to tell him about it and let him check discreetly. She had no idea what the perpetrator might do if he feared that someone was on his trail.
After the incredible conversation on the balcony the day before, Anne could only hasten to Poseidon directly after breakfast. She had not agreed on a meeting with the captain, but hopefully he had more to share and he would stick to the same place and time they had used the previous time. It took half an hour during which she went over everything he had told her again numerous times, but then he casually strolled by.
"Madam," he said, bowing most politely, and he made as if to walk on.
"Wait!" Anne said desperately. "I thought you had come to talk to me."
He looked reluctant to admit it. "It must not appear that way. Let me walk another round to see if the coast is clear."
And how would that look? She clutched her book and looked at the pages unseeingly, impatient for the captain to check the surroundings. But then he squeezed himself through the hedge behind her, frightening her out of her wits.
She turned. "You need to tell me more about Mr Ingleby."
"Or about Mr Shepherd?" he asked with a significant grin. "Because I went to see him yesterday and he too had some interesting information."
Anne was intrigued. "What could he know? And why did you not tell me? Is it more important than Mr Ingleby's information?" Mr Shepherd had made it his business to know all about Sir Walter. Perhaps he knew more of this supposed marriage too.
"One thing at a time. I had to tell you about Mr Ingleby and you were not taking it as well as I had hoped, so I left the rest for later. First the simple things. Mr Shepherd pointed something out that we had overlooked. Her coat. Where was her coat? Would you really go out in only a nightgown?"
She considered that point. He was right. Anyone would wear a coat. It was rather cold in the morning and a nightgown was far too thin to be walking around in comfortably. Yesterday morning she had worn a coat and in spite of that it had been chilly.
"She might have left her coat in the house, but that points to a hurried exit, very hurried, but there was no fire and surely if someone had been chasing her she would have screamed for help. It is more likely that someone outside took her coat and hid it."
"The maid said she often left the house in the morning, because her shoes were often wet. Of course her coat would have been in the cloakroom and the maid would not know if she took that."
"Her effects were taken back to Mr Shepherd's house and the coat was not among them. Neither is it in our cloakroom," said Captain Wentworth. "It was not on the body and there were no stains on the nightgown. I asked." He paused. "It may sound callous and unfeeling of me to have asked all these questions, but while Mr Shepherd is grieving, he is also convinced that something is not quite in order. He is not a stupid man. He also said his daughter was not stupid; she would not have gone out unthinkingly without a coat."
"Did he accept the possibility that she went out at all?" It was of course possible for a loving parent to deny that his child would ever do such a thing. Anne would not think it odd.
"Er, yes. He did not quite approve, but he knew. He knew -- he did not know she went out, but he knew it was the sort of thing she was up to lately. She was carrying someone's child, he said, and he had urged her to get the responsible party to marry her before it was too late. But he did not know who it was, because she had not wanted to say."
Anne did not know what to think, much less what to reply. Carrying someone's child. Such things happened, she knew, but she was always a little shocked when she heard of them.
Whether Captain Wentworth had been shocked when he heard the news was impossible to tell now. He seemed unaffected. "But it is also possible that she had got with child by accident and she was trying to get someone else to marry her."
"By accident," she repeated. "I did not know it could happen by accident."
"Not usually, no, as far as I know," Wentworth agreed. He crossed his arms. "So, we have two new little mysteries here. First, who had got Mrs Clay with child and when? Second, is there any truth in Mr Ingleby's supposition that Sir Walter got married on the sly? It is easy to suggest the two are related."
"No!" Anne exclaimed. Mrs Clay had not been carrying her father's child. Not. Never. And neither had he married her.
"You think he would not."
"I know he would not. And where is the woman? She cannot be Mrs Clay."
"Mr Ingleby said she was not, but I do not think it either, because she would not keep it a secret and this other woman does."
"Marrying a baronet?" Anne felt strong enough to be sarcastic again. "But it is every girl's dream!" Baronets, at least, seemed to think so.
"What will you do if Sir William turns out to be a dangerous man?"
"It is not and has never been my dream to marry a baronet. But I do not see how anyone could want to keep it a secret! The woman has debts to pay!" If only for that reason she ought to make herself known if she had any decency at all.
"Yes, there is that. I can imagine the creditors have been giving Mr Shepherd some rest because he has just lost a daughter. I have not seen as many strange men at the Hall as a few days ago."
"Have they not been to the Hall any more?" Anne did not think that creditors who had mouths to feed at home would give the debtor any rest. They could not. It was more likely that someone paid them than that they had suddenly become considerate. She had understood that some had been waiting for a long time already.
"Not in the last few days."
"Perhaps your sister scared them away. She frightened me too."
"Sophia?" Captain Wentworth was genuinely amazed.
"She wanted to know what I was up to and she seemed to be rather angry when I said she might have hired you to get rid of Mrs Clay because she had appeared before the admiral in her shift."
"Really? And you thought I would comply? I would laugh! In her shift! Pull yourself together! Seriously! We see a lot worse in ports than women in shifts!" He appeared to find that rather funny.
Anne wondered if she could ask what those worse things were, but it was probably not something a woman should ask. Perhaps he would tell her if she waited long enough. Then she was not to blame.
Suddenly a small child came into view and Captain Wentworth ducked behind the statue, although that was not very effective in Anne's opinion. The child was followed by Mrs Croft holding an even smaller child by the hand. "Good morning, Anne," she said. "Meet Isabella and Christopher. They will be staying with me for a fortnight."
The captain emerged from behind the statue. "Where did you get them from, Sophia?"
She raised her eyebrows at him. "May I know why you were behind that thing?"
"It is Poseidon."
His sister did not seem to care. "It is a thing."
"Children like hiding games, do they not?"
"Do not be silly with me." Mrs Croft seemed perfectly pleased with her new little friends as she wiped a little nose.
"Where did you get them from?" her brother inquired. "Even I know these things do not happen overnight."
"They were brought here after breakfast. Can you not guess who they are?"
Anne could. "It is very good of you," she said quietly.
"But what are you two doing here?" asked Mrs Croft, looking from one to the other.
"I was reading," said Anne, as if she had no idea what Captain Wentworth had been doing. She patted her book.
"I was just passing by," said he. "I am on my way to Mr Ingleby."
"You, to a rector?" Mrs Croft nearly laughed. "Bettering your life, are you?"
He chose not to answer, but bowed and departed. Anne hoped he was really gone and not hiding behind the hedge again.
Mrs Croft sat down beside Anne, the youngest child in her lap. Anne thought it was the boy, but it was difficult to tell. She could only guess it was about two years old from the way it had walked.
"Mrs Shepherd had been struggling for a few days. I offered to take the children for a while. The admiral agreed."
"They like you already," Anne observed.
"They only want somebody to play with them," Mrs Croft said modestly. "It is the very least I could do. I feel so sorry for the little ones. They are orphans now."
She was glad Mrs Croft did not ask her anything about the investigation. She was not yet ready to call it a real one, nor to speak about her cooperation with Frederick -- Captain Wentworth, she corrected herself. While currently distracted by the children and inquiries about suitable nursery maids, Mrs Croft was sharp.
The children soon started to fuss because they wanted to walk and Anne was alone again.
It did not last long. Sir William came to disturb her just when she was about to walk off herself. "I often find you here," he said as if he was happy to see her. "Is this a favourite place of yours?"
"I often come here because there is a bench, but I also like the other benches. It depends on the time of the day and where the sun is and that sort of thing," she said vaguely. She needed to walk to think about everything -- Mrs Clay, the mysterious woman, the little Clay children. It was difficult to keep her mind on the conversation and on giving sensible answers.
He did not seem to think he was interrupting her reading, because he installed himself rather comfortably beside her. "I shall go away pretty soon," he announced, pausing to give her the chance to voice a reaction.
Anne thought she was very likely not responding as he desired, but she could really not come up with anything better. "Has everything been sorted out?"
"Nearly everything," said he, looking quite expressively into her eyes. "There is more I would like to sort, but alas, that is not up to me."
Anne felt funny. She had the distinct impression that he was trying to say something to her. She could not reply anything.
"Do you not know of what I speak, Cousin?"
"No." Her voice trembled a little.
"It cannot have escaped your notice that I value and enjoy your company and I shall miss our conversations tremendously."
What was one to say to that? Anne could not bring herself to agree. Perhaps when she remained uncomprehending and not encouraging, he would give up. She had not conversed with him very much recently. Not since Mrs Clay's murder. "Well, those things happen," she said soothingly. "But being family I am sure we shall meet regularly."
He looked a little disappointed.
Anne wondered what Captain Wentworth was doing. He had said he was going to see Mr Ingleby. She was interested in the outcome of that conversation. Given that he had said any marriage would have taken place elsewhere, looking at the parish register would be useless, or she would have advised that. Or were those marriages also registered? She could not think of anyone ever looking at the records, so it might well remain a secret.
If no one wanted to reveal it, it must be purely a business contract. Money would have to be involved. Sir Walter had needed -- or felt he had needed -- a titled wife or one with money, if he married at all. Preferably a wife had both a title and a fortune, but Anne knew that beauties with a title and money had never yet been interested in marrying an older baronet. She did not imagine that had suddenly changed when her father was even worse off.
Which wealthy woman would sacrifice herself for Sir Walter's sake, however? No stranger would do it. It would have to be someone who knew Sir Walter and who was desirous of helping him in secret. Anne could think of only person and that was one who had always had the opportunity and never taken it: Lady Russell.
She stopped walking.
Anne could not imagine Lady Russell not telling her about something as important as this. It could not be. Lady Russell had been anxious about her father's debts and particularly anxious about the effects on his daughters, but she had never to Anne's knowledge even considered helping out financially, let alone marrying him.
Mr Ingleby had probably thought that Lady Russell ought and then assumed that she had, without being certain. Half the village had at some point in time thought that she would, after all. The rector would be no exception. There, it was nothing but supposition. She was relieved to have found the answer so soon.
And none of this could have anything to do with the death of Mrs Clay.
What would she do with a coat if she was the killer, she asked herself. It was an old coat of Elizabeth's and thus not easily given away to a local woman. People would ask questions if they saw someone with such a expensive thing. Elizabeth was not known to be generous with her discarded clothing, even if she had plenty. She would certainly not have given it to a farmer's wife. Mary took a lot of it.
If she had been in this position herself, she would likely burn or bury the coat. Anne roamed through the park for a while, as if she would suddenly come upon the hidden coat. There were plenty of places to hide a coat for a few days, although the gardeners would eventually find it.
And there were plenty of places where people could meet unobserved. In Poseidon's corner, naturally, but also in Athena's. Both had stone benches. She went to Athena for a change and sat down. Captain Wentworth's finding a footprint by the pond had made her attentive to the soil and she looked down. There were footprints here too. Not from running or walking people, for the ground to Athena's left did not lead anywhere except into the hedge.
Anne took care not to disturb the prints and peered around Athena's statue to see if by any chance the coat was hidden behind it. But then she realised what she was standing on -- a row of rocks the size of a fist that lined the empty flowerbed.
She stared at them for a few minutes.
Rocks. They had been looking for rocks by the pond, but here were some. Perhaps the episode with the rock -- Anne could not bring herself to describe it more clearly than that -- had not taken place by the pond at all. Was it necessary? Or could it have been here?
She sat back down on the bench and imagined Mrs Clay here with someone, who had then picked up a rock out of anger. Then he would have had the choice between leaving her there and having it clearly be a murder, or taking her to the pond and making it look like an accident. Evidently he had chosen the latter.
The rock might still be there, but she had little desire to look for it herself. She would leave that to Captain Wentworth. She was sure she would draw too much attention to herself if she found a rock with blood on it. It was best to tell him about it and let him check discreetly. She had no idea what the perpetrator might do if he feared that someone was on his trail.