Chapter Text
Never had Anne been more grateful for Mary’s anxieties about her health. The inhabitants of Uppercross Cottage had been invited to spend Saturday evening at Kellynch Hall, as had all the Musgroves of the Great House. Of course, Mary and Charles had been very keen to accept this kind invitation, but on the morning of the eve in question, Louisa and Henrietta Musgrove called to pass on the news that everyone at the Great House had come down with a cold of prodigious strength. To Mary’s evident horror, the Miss Musgroves proceeded to cough and sneeze their way through their visit. Anne, herself, thought it was ill-advised that Louisa and Henrietta had come into the Cottage, not least because of the risk to the children if they caught such a cold. Surely, the wiser and kinder thing would have been to stay at home until all danger of contagion had past, or, at least, to remain outside while they imparted their news. However, in they came, sitting in the little drawing room for almost half an hour, bemoaning their misfortune.
The sisters had apparently argued with their parents that they were well enough to go out this evening on their own, but the fact that they had come to the cottage in the carriage rather than walking as they usually might and still their breathing was laboured and punctuated by fits of coughing, spoke volumes. Mary absented herself claiming she could hear one of the children crying, so it fell upon Anne to offer sympathy but to advise them of the necessity of rest and quiet withdrawal until they were well again.
“Surely it will be better to wait until you are recovered?” she counselled. “You would not wish to pass on your cold to the Crofts, I am sure.”
Both Miss Musgroves shook their head, but Louisa complained, “But I did so wish to see Captain Wentworth! I am sure he is of robust enough health to rebuff a mere cold!”
“Still,” said Anne, as calmly as she could, “it would not be a kindness to bring your sickness to Kellynch. And there will be other invitations soon, I am sure.”
Louisa sighed. “I suppose you are right. And thinking on it, I do so want to appear at my best.”
Within half an hour of their departure, Mary began to complain of chills and a general fatigue. She lay on the sofa, concerned that any exertion might accelerate the onset of a more serious illness.
“I am afraid we will not be able to attend this evening,” she sighed, “not with my health deteriorating. It is such bad luck for I know the Crofts and Captain Wentworth will be especially disappointed at my absence.”
Charles looked up from his newspaper and said to her, “If you cannot go, that is a shame, Mary, but there is no need for Anne and I to cancel. The Crofts have been generous enough to invite us and have already lost all their guests from the Great House. No, we should go and leave you in peace to rest.”
“Oh, no, indeed Charles!” exclaimed Mary. “How can you think of going when I am very likely to be quite ill by this evening?”
He reached over and patted her hand. “Mary, you know I am no nurse! You’ve said it many times that I am a poor, inattentive companion to you when you are unwell. No, I am quite sure I should attend, at least for dinner—and Anne, too. You can always send word to call us back if need be.”
Anne saw an opportunity to absent herself from the evening at Kellynch Hall, which she had begun to dread despite her fondness for the Crofts. If only Captain Wentworth would go up into Shropshire to see his brother and new sister-in-law, as had been mentioned when he first arrived in the country. However, such a reprieve now seemed to Anne to be unlikely. He had only been at Kellynch for a few weeks and already she could see signs of an attraction between him and Louisa Musgrove. Charles and Mary had only yesterday debated whether Captain Wentworth would choose Henrietta or Louisa for his wife, so it was not merely a figment of Anne’s imagination that he showed especial attention to the Miss Musgroves. Indeed, they were both pretty, amiable young women and Anne could understand why an unattached man desirous of a wife might find much in them to appreciate. Louisa, however, had the stronger, more determined personality, and just a few days ago Anne had seen Captain Wentworth watching Louisa with an expression of admiration as she stood her ground in some debate or other. No, she could not face him tonight, even with Louisa’s absence.
“Charles,’ she said, “you should go—you are right that attending to the sick is not a man’s work. I am quite content to stay and keep Mary company, but you should go and send our apologies.”
At this, Mary seemed to revive, somewhat. “Oh, yes, Anne. I should have you nearby in case my health worsens, which I fear it will. You can read to me and bring me whatever I need. And Charles is a very poor nurse, it is true!”
Charles gave Anne a look of gratitude. “Well, if you are sure, Anne, that would be exceedingly kind. I will express sincere regrets from both of you and will only stay a little while after dinner. And you can send for me if you need to, though I doubt that will be the case.”
And thus, to Anne’s great relief, the matter was settled.