“Perhaps you should ponder theeaseof living penniless and alone in Lisbon. You can’t imagine I’ll support you if you fail.”
“I don’t imagine that, never fear.”
Lady Marston rose. “Then rest, if you can.”
18
Anne didn’t share everything that Sophia had told her with Caroline. The poor girl had been overwrought and probably regretted confessing so much to a relative stranger.
It was a shocking story—the sort of thing that was told to girls to frighten them into right behavior. To run off to London, to fall in among thieves or criminals of some kind, to live with a man who was not her husband—it would ruin a young woman completely.
According to societal logic, she was indeed lucky that the man had married her. That was the only acceptable social solution to her fall, but what a tragic solution! And although Sophia had glossed over those years of her marriage, it couldn’t have been safe or comfortable. No wonder she had hoped to reinvent herself upon his death. A widow was more acceptable to society since death threw a shroud of respectability over even the worst situations.
And Lady Marston—although Anne could not like her—had done well to receive her again. Lady Marston could well have cut the connection entirely. Once Sophia had run away from school,many of thetonwould say that all Lady Marston’s responsibility was at an end. She had done more than some in providing a home and education for her illegitimate daughter. If the girl was so foolish as to throw it away, the critics would say, be it on her own head. Anne could not imagine thinking in that way about a child of her own, but she had very high principles and strict morals. Thehaute tonhad very different standards. Clearly! If the Marston household was any indication, the moral rot was far worse than even Anne’s vicar at Kellynch had indicated.
That Sophia had grown up feeling unwanted and disliked, Anne could well imagine. Anne’s own family was not perfect, but at least she had treasured memories of her dear mother. She also had the love and affection of Lady Russell, the tenants of Kellynch, even her sisters, Mary and Elizabeth. Lacking all of that, Anne wasn’t shocked that Mr. Belvedere’s attention turned Sophia’s head. He had been witty, friendly, good-humored, and he obviously admired Sophia.
In fact, and this was the worst part, Mr. Belvedere and Sophia had reminded Anne greatly of herself and Captain Wentworth! Anne had sensed an immediate, lively affinity in her two fellow passengers and had smiled inwardly, remembering how instantly she and her dear Frederick had fallen in love. She’d wondered if Mr. Belvedere might seek Sophia out again when they were returned to England in a year’s time or so…
Ugh, she was disgusted with him. Sophia had been fooled as well, and Mr. Belvedere deserved to be flayed. If he caused the Marstons to throw off Sophia because of this indiscretion, he could well have ruined her life.
Only a small, deeply expurgated portion of this did she share with the others when they were on deck the following day. They all now expertly balanced despite the light swoop and sway of the deck under their feet. It was a cloudy day, rather still andairless, and the ship only made slow progress. Captain Smythe described it as “a long swelling sea, as high as a flour barrel.”
Anne was glad of the doldrums, for she hoped that Sir and Lady Marston would have time to grow calm before they reached Lisbon and did anything rash about Sophia.
Caroline wrinkled her nose at Anne’s explanation. “I don’t have quite as much compassion for her as you seem to, but I agree that she doesn’t deserve to be ruined for this. Perhaps I could speak to Lady Marston?”
“If you think it would help, but I’m dubious of the outcome. If Lady Marston does show signs of throwing her off, I thought you and I might at least write her recommendations for a future employer.”
“Oh, certainly,” Caroline said. “But hopefully it won’t come to that.”
“I hope not.”
Captain Wentworth twisted his mouth. “I haven’t many acquaintances in Lisbon, or I could put in a word for her. In Cadiz, yes, but in Lisbon…”
“I may be concerned for nothing,” Anne said. “It was only that Lady Marston was so implacable, but—never mind. I may be making a mountain out of a molehill.”
“Hardly a molehill,” Richard said, “catching a counterfeiter for the East India Company is at least a dunghill.”
“True,” said Wentworth. “He is confined to quarters, and his food will be delivered to him. And Anne, I know you will say it is inhumane to keep someone from sunlight and fresh air for so long, but?—”
“On the contrary, I have no protest to make.”
Her husband raised his brows. “That might be the least forgiving thing you’ve ever said.”
“Well, he is quite in my black books.”
Since the ship went sluggishly with such little wind, some of the sailors began to toss out fishing lines. They had seen some waterspouts in the distance that morning, and a school of fish now made the water choppy and broken in a large, amorphous oval around them.
It was good fishing. The first large silver fish hit the deck with a strangeflop-splat. “Good Atlantic cod,” cried the sailor who’d pulled it in. “That’s a ten pounder, I’d say, maybe twelve.”
They continued to catch, and the fish pile grew to five, then ten.
“We have more poles and lines,” the first mate offered. “Would any of you care to join in?”
Soon there were four poles between them, and even Anne and Caroline took a turn holding one, feeling the slight drag of the water, the tug of the line, and the eventual jerk of a fish. Caroline gave it over to Richard then. “You bring it in, if you please. I’ve no desire to feel it wriggling.”
Sir Mark came up on the deck also, and Lady Marston joined him. He wanted a turn, and Anne easily relinquished her pole.
