Two. The Design of the Ancient Mariner
Two
The Design of the Ancient Mariner
Portsdown Lodge, June 26, 1865
The admiral invited his three visitors into the study, which was full of souvenirs from a life spent traveling the globe: clay vessels by the Lucayans, the first New World inhabitants encountered by Christopher Columbus; a two-handled Etruscan wine jar from Italy full of Frank’s Blush Noisette roses; the carved Egyptian candlesticks gifted for his time on St. Helena. Nicholas examined everything in the study with a keen collector’s eye, Sara-Beth fluttered on like a butterfly with her limited attention, and Haslett was most eager to see the objects that the admiral had promised would be worth the brothers’ while.
Fanny came to the doorway and frowned. “Father, you said four bedrooms to make up.”
Admiral Austen, who had since changed from his dressing gown into his old naval uniform, looked up from the snuffbox of hippopotamus ivory he was showing Miss Gleason. “Yes, four.”
“But George informs me three more guests have arrived. Were you aware? Father?”
Austen became noticeably tight-lipped around his daughter, like a child caught with his finger in the jam jar. Meanwhile, Fanny Austen’s constant fretting over her father struck his visitors as unnecessary—after all, the admiral seemed such a genial, lucid, and harmless old man. But at the sound of excited female voices coming from the hall, all three Americans turned to see what this latest fuss of Fanny’s might actually be about.
“I could swear that sounds…” Nick broke off mid-sentence as the voices grew louder.
“Good God!” exclaimed Haz.
“Charlie—Harry—I do declare!” cried a delighted Sara-Beth.
She ran over to the doorway and into the arms of both Stevenson sisters, who happily hugged her back. Meanwhile the Nelson brothers turned in astonishment to face their host, who was sheepishly hanging back from the surprise reunion.
“Sir Francis…” a shocked Nicholas began.
“Did you plan all this?” Haz burst out as the women broke from their embrace.
“Why, Fly,” Sara-Beth teased him, “ you little scamp .”
Austen looked almost everywhere in the study but at his quintet of guests. Sheepish though he appeared, he was secretly very happy inside, his house full again at last. There were more spoils to divvy up, inevitable explanations to give—and a promise to extract. But it was all going according to plan.
Until it wasn’t.
For one thing, waiting by the carriage at the foot of the drive was an attractive older man who had accompanied the two sisters from Boston. There was also a wedding band on Henrietta’s left hand that had not been placed there by Nicholas Nelson. The admiral’s plan to make a match between them was apparently over before it could start. Perhaps Charlotte… but he had to rearrange his thoughts there, too, as Nicholas appeared to have eyes only for Henrietta ( at least he had been half right there, the admiral consoled himself), while Miss Gleason clearly had her sights set on Haslett. The admiral sat glumly at the head of the dining table as his six guests, embroiled in such unexpected alliances and permutations, caught up with each other.
“But we invited ourselves here in a fit of bravery!” Charlotte happily cried out to the Nelson brothers.
“We first wrote to express our adoration of Austen,” Henrietta explained.
“Nick wrote last month to express the same!” Haz replied in delight.
“And to mention the first American edition of Emma in our possession,” his brother added.
“All that time on ship and it never came up?” marveled Sara-Beth. “Louisa would have a field day with this.”
Each sibling gave the other a furtive glance before turning back to their host. Finally, Charlotte asked what all four of them were wondering. “What could have been your design, Sir Francis, in inviting us all?”
The admiral gave a nervous rattle of a cough. “Perhaps I should explain.”
“Please do,” said the American judge facing him from the foot of the dining table. Justice Thomas Nash had joined the meal on the insistence of the group, who were clearly enamored with each other’s company. Even across the long table, Admiral Austen could sense this older man’s suspicion about what was really going on.
“I trust we can confide in each other.” Frank lowered his voice even though Fanny was in the kitchen below, helping cook with dinner given the increased number at the table. “My sister’s legacy faces an imminent crossroads of sorts. No one in the family can agree. If only there was a society of some kind—or someone I could trust—to whom I could bequeath all in my possession.”
“Why does this suddenly feel like a contest of sorts?” asked Haslett, and Sara-Beth eagerly leaned forward next to him.
“Oh, I do love contests.”
“Because you always win.”
The admiral watched them banter in secret dismay. “I simply want everything in the right hands. You each wrote with such overarching love for Jane and her works. I believe that to be the real criterion for its safeguarding—not mere ties of blood or circumstance.”
There was a surprising resolve to the old man’s words. His guests could suddenly picture the daring Sir Francis must have displayed at sea, fighting off pirates, slave traders, and the increasingly desperate forces of Napoleon. As for the admiral’s urgency of manner, he had confided in his letters the matter of his declining health. A sad thought fell upon both sets of his American correspondents: no sooner were they making Admiral Austen’s acquaintance than it might be lost for good.
Sitting to the right of Sir Francis, Henrietta gently placed her hand next to his on the crisp, white tablecloth. “We are all honored to be welcomed by you on any terms,” she assured him.
Fanny appeared in the doorway to the dining parlor. Throughout the meal, she had found several excuses to come and go, but her concern for her father’s behavior hung over the room like a shroud. From the threshold, her sharp eye immediately went to Henrietta’s hand resting alongside that of the admiral.
“Father, may I have a word?”
After Fanny and Sir Francis left, their voices could be heard from the hallway through the closed dining room door—mostly hers, mostly reprimanding.
“We shouldn’t listen,” whispered Charlotte, but none of them could help themselves.
What has gotten into you, inviting all these people?
Admiral Austen’s thin, reedy voice could barely be heard against his daughter’s.
You try me so.… I have half a mind to call the doctor again.…
Henrietta and Nicholas, the admiral’s chief correspondents, raised their eyebrows at each other across the table. “I worry I’ve contributed to this,” he said in a low voice, “by writing of our appraisal work.” It was the first time he had directly addressed Mrs. Scott, despite days of eavesdropping with his brother on her shipboard meals.
There was the sound of footsteps marching, drawers opening and shutting in a room nearby.
What have you gone and promised them? These are family letters, of no business to anyone.…
Eventually the admiral returned alone to the table and quietly took his seat as if nothing untoward had happened. With a look of meaning at the others, Justice Nash stood up.
“Sir Francis, we’ve surely tired you in the excitement of our arrival. Shall we come back tomorrow, once you’ve had time to rest and recollect yourself?”
Sir Francis’s eyes clouded over with tears. “Fanny is unhappy with me.”
It was the type of childlike lament from an aging relative that they had each heard before, usually of little import. Perhaps Fanny’s hissed accusa tions were right—perhaps they had come this far for no hidden treasure in the end, not that any of them minded. Just visiting with Admiral Francis Austen, in Hampshire, in the county that had raised the world’s greatest writer, was treasure enough.
“We have inconvenienced you both,” Henrietta offered in apology.
The entire party now watched in astonishment as the ancient mariner placed both hands on the table before him as if to steady it in a storm-tossed sea, and whispered with all the warning of a blood-red sky,
“ She wants to burn it all . ”