Lovers’ Vows: Uppercross Edition

This story is a Mansfield Park and Persuasion crossover, however, if you have not read Mansfield Park, do not fear! All you need to know is that John Yates, a silly younger son of a nobleman, convinced a group of young people to do a home performance of Lovers’ Vows. Unfortunately, their strict father arrived home early and spoiled all the fun. Yates was devastated. So devastated in fact, that he went to Lyme for some time to recover…

(if you would like to read the play Lovers’ Vows, it can be found here)

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He advised her against it, thought the jar too great; but no, he reasoned and talked in vain, she smiled and said, “I am determined I will:” he put out his hands; but before she could jump, Charles called out, “Heyday! My friend, Yates!”

Wentworth and Louisa both paused and looked at the stranger coming down the Cobb. He was fashionably dressed and had a melancholy air. While Charles greeted him warmly, Louisa was obliged to take Wentworth’s hand and descend the steps without incident.

“Fancy seeing you here,” said Charles, “we should have left half an hour ago and never would have crossed paths.”

“How unfortunate!” cried Yates. “I have come to Lyme to soothe my disappointed heart and a good friend would have been a ready aid. I was only just in Northamptonshire where myself and a small company of home performers were putting on Lovers’ Vows. But their tyrannical father arrived a few weeks early and spoiled the entire scheme. At least I was to play the Baron, for this is not my first frustration in such a scheme…”

As they walked towards the carriages, Yates described the whole, the first attempt at Ecclesford and the second at Mansfield, and the crushing weight of his sorrow. Louisa, for whom no enjoyment was an evil, was excited by his fervour and cried, “We ought to act! Do you not think, Charles? Captain Wentworth? Why can we not put on a play?”

“It is a very silly play,” said Charles, “but I do not think our parents would be opposed.”

Everyone, except for Anne, who was not consulted, felt that it was the best plan in the world, but they were obliged to depart from Lyme and the carriages were already ordered. It all might have been a passing fancy if Charles had not extended an invitation to Yates to join them at Uppercross. He accepted with great alacrity and promised to follow them as soon as he could settle his bill and order his carriage etc.

However, as they stood waiting for the horses and contemplating the cast of Lovers’ Vows, which was known to all of them, another difficulty arose. “We have not enough men to fill the parts,” Anne said, “There are Frederick, the Baron, the Count, Anhalt, the Butler, and the Cottager, that is six major roles, we have only four men, if Mr. Yates joins us.”

“My friend Tom played the Butler and Cottager together, perhaps another part may be joined,” said Yates, unwilling to let any trifle overthrow his delight at securing a new company.

“I would take the Butler,” said Charles, “it is a comic role and the Cottager is a very small part. But let us not decide presently; we do require another man.”

Captain Benwick, who was still with them, said, “If I may be of service, though I would not wish to impose-” He looked at Anne for a moment as he said it, and she felt that it was for her benefit, or her company, that he offered himself.

Charles quickly assured Captain Benwick that a room would be open to him either at the cottage or the great house, Yates offered a seat in his chariot, and Wentworth, who saw real good in the distraction from Benwick’s present mourning, added his assent with the rest of the party. It was decided, and the Uppercross family departed as they had come, without injury or incident. Yates and Benwick were to arrive as soon as they could.

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As predicted, Mr. Musgrove made no objection to his children putting on a play as a home performance and the young people all sat down together the next day to decide on the parts. Anne, who was expected to join Lady Russell in a few short days, wrote to her friend to defer the visit for a few weeks.

Henrietta began, “I have spoken to our cousin, Charles Hayter, and he is willing to play the Cottager with myself as the Cottager’s wife.”

Yates protested, “It is a trivial part. Why, at Ecclesford the governess was to play it.”

Henrietta was not deterred, “I admire the charity of the Cottagers, who better to play that part then a curate and myself?”

“If you insist,” said Yates, wondering at the strangeness of these Musgroves.

Louisa especially was pleased, for she had a mind to secure herself Wentworth and she began her argument, “Mr. Yates must play the Baron, as he knows the part and may help the rest of us with ours. If I may be so bold, I think Captain Wentworth ought to take Frederick, he is the most suited to the role.” Wentworth made no objection. “Charles wishes to play the Butler, and who will you take, Captain Benwick?”

Captain Benwick made no ready reply, but Wentworth exclaimed, “You must take Anhalt! He is a learned, reading man. He suits you exactly.”

“If I am to undertake Agatha, if no one has an objection,” said Louisa, “who shall play Amelia?”

No one spoke. There were only two ladies left and it would have been untoward to state the company’s preference. Mary said indignantly, “I suppose no one will ask me. If there is a scheme of pleasure, I am sure to be left out of it.”

Louisa cried, “Oh no, Mary, but it is a very long part, with many lines, I was not sure you would want it. Would you not prefer to be our manager and help us make the costumes?”

Mary was not appeased, “I see no reason why I cannot learn so many lines, if everyone else is able to.”

“I will help however I can, I have no need to act,” said Anne. She was thanked by everyone except Mary, who secure in her part had no time to thank Anne for the sacrifice and Captain Benwick, who personally had been wishing for another outcome.

“It is the best female part in the play I think,” said Mary, “Agatha is old and sick for the whole of it, Amelia is the one with spirit! I shall need a new gown for the part. We should order some material at once. Anne can help with all of that, she has no other employment. What is the current style in Germany?”

“We still need a Count!” said Yates, and while the Musgroves debated whom among their acquaintance might be willing to take the role. Anne studied the book (Yates had liberated several from Mansfield’s fireplace) and then said, “The Butler may be joined with Count Cassell. They never appear together.”

Charles was happy to play both parts, as he remembered being amused by the Count, and with all the major parts cast, and a few minor parts distributed among them, they set about finding the best room for the play. It did not need to be a proper stage and no one thought of making a curtain, for it would only be put on for their parents, a few friends, and for their own amusement in the cold months when they would be already be shut up indoors.

Mrs. Musgrove showed them to the room they used for balls. She warned that the use would curtail their ability to dance, but dancing was no longer the object and this concern was dismissed immediately. After all, they could arrange five couples in the smaller room if the desire for a ball proved overwhelming. Indeed, there is never any great obstacle when young people have determined on a plan. Yates was eager to begin at once, but Mary, with great self-importance, said she could not possibly spare the time today, as she had a dreadful headache, and as they could not do without her, they might well defer to tomorrow.

She departed with her husband, but the beginning scene with only Agatha, Frederick, and the Cottagers was easily able to be practised without them and Louisa was as eager as Yates to begin. Anne would rather have been anywhere else while Agatha and Frederick were playing out their joyful reunion, and she was about to follow her sister out when Yates caught her and said, “Why do you not read the part of Amelia with Benwick? Our last clergyman was terribly behind-hand. I would hate to lose a moment of possible rehearsal.”

Benwick assented readily and Anne sat across from him for a first reading, hoping the book would hide her blush. She was nothing like the forward Amelia and recalling what words she would have to say, felt terribly conscious. Benwick, now that he was looking at his lines, seemed likewise struck and for some minutes they simply looked at their scripts and said nothing.

“I suppose,” Anne said at length, “we ought to begin when Anhalt enters.”

“Yes, that is your line.”

“Ah! good morning, my dear Sir—Mr. Anhalt, I meant to say—I beg pardon,” Anne said softly, barely above a whisper. The noise from the others, Yates ranting as the Innkeeper and Louisa’s laughter almost covering what she said completely.

Benwick replied, though in a steadier tone and by the time he made his speech on the benefits and drawbacks of matrimony, both of them were feeling far more comfortable and reading their lines with more confidence.

Anne said, “Oh no! [ashamed] I am in love.”

“Are in love! [starting] And with the Count?

“I wish I was.”

“Why so?”

“Because he would, perhaps, love me again,” Anne said, and with more feeling than she intended. She suddenly realised that except for her, the room was silent. She looked about her; Captain Wentworth was staring right at her, holding his book carelessly and ignoring Louisa, who was holding his other hand.

“Frederick?” she said.

He winced, recollected himself, and turning back to Agatha, began to speak his lines. Anne blushed, and her voice lowered as before, she continued on.

Benwick had not noticed her confusion and they finished the scene without further incident, though Anne never fully recovered herself. She was steady however, until the end when her voice broke as she read the closing lines. Amelia was confident her father would approve a marriage with a man so far beneath her in status and wealth. If only! Amelia would have to wait only a few hours until her father agreed to the connection. How very different they were. How much she longed for Amelia’s lot!

As they finished, Anne rose, said she needed to attend to Mary, and left the room. She had not seen Wentworth embrace Louisa. Though she had heard her speak his name, for what ill-luck that he shared his Christian name with his character, but that she must endure. For now, she had escaped, though she had no hope of avoiding them forever.

“Is my part very long?” Mary said, taking the book which Anne had taken the time to mark. “Oh! Look at all of these lines. I did not remember Amelia saying so much.”

“I can read it with you,” Anne offered.

“Not today, I have a terrible headache. And I did not want to see Henrietta and Charles Hayter playing at being married. Though I suppose they will be just as poor as those unfortunate cottagers.”

“The Cottagers are rewarded in the end for their charity,” Anne reminded her.

“Yes, that is all well and good, but Amelia did not have to endure such low connections.” Anne did not reply. She did not know if Mary remembered whom Amelia was to marry. Mary changed subjects, “Is it not perfect that I should play a baron’s daughter? It is so close to real life. Very apt. I wish I was opposite Charles, but he would not change, he said he greatly preferred the Butler and Anhalt better suits Benwick besides. He never cares what I want.”

Anne made some conciliatory remarks and hoped that Mary would feel more able to act the next day.

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Three days passed and Anne found herself very busy, despite having no role in the play. She was always wanted for something: to prompt, to read, or to arrange the costumes or set. Everyone had complaints and problems: Charles found Count Cassell too amusing and spoiled every scene by laughing; Louisa greatly preferred the first act and disliked the last, but could not get Wentworth to practise it as much as she wished; Henrietta spoke so quickly as to be unintelligible; and Charles Hayter was too serious. Benwick was the best actor among them and seemed completely engrossed in his role, (especially when acting opposite Anne who was often called to read in Mary’s place) while Wentworth was too apt to break character, especially when Louisa called him “Frederick”. No one wanted to rehearse with Mary.

Mary herself was the most afflicted, or at least the most vocal in her complaints. She was still entirely reliant on her book, and required endless prompting from Anne if she was prevailed upon to put it down. She asked if Amelia might be cut from a scene or two, as the entire business was far too taxing, and then when performing a scene with Charles, finally broke out, “I have no time for all this rehearsing. I am completely exhausted. And the children are running wild with Rachel with both of us away.”

“Well then give up the part to Anne, Mary,” said Charles in irritation, “and you can be the manager, or spend time with the children as you like.”

Mary made a good deal of noise and accused him of being very unkind before she acquiesced and surrendered the part entirely to Anne. It was a change only in official possession, for Anne had been needed so often to read Amelia that she almost knew the part by heart herself. Captain Benwick looked entirely pleased, while Wentworth appeared fairly apprehensive. All the others were relieved, as Mary had been spoiling a good portion of their fun with all her complaining.

After this decision, they all parted to dress for dinner, but Yates stood for a moment talking with Wentworth and Benwick, while Anne, looking at the costumes in the next room, could hear them while hidden from view.

“We have had enough problems with Amelia already; will Miss Elliot be able to take such an important part?” Yates cried. He did not like to see any delay or change to their cast.

“She already knows the lines and speaks them with feeling,” said Benwick in admiration.

“There is no one so capable, so proper as Anne,” said Wentworth.

“Well then, we are going so well. I think in a few more days, very few, we might endeavour to rehearse the first three scenes together.”

“Why not the latter two?” said Wentworth, apprehensively.

“If I were you, I would rehearse the first act as much as I could,” said Yates. He laughed and then continued, “I have no objection to acting the last three instead of the first.”

Anne moved away, treasuring in her heart what she had heard.

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Two evenings hence, they were to rehearse Acts III to V. The elder Musgroves and the young Hayters were to be the audience. Anne felt all the trepidation that may be expected in a modest woman who had never acted, but as it was only to be for a small gathering of friends, she felt up to the exertion. The costumes remained half-sewn, as Mary could not be bothered to continue what Anne had begun, and Mrs. Musgrove had been occupied with other concerns, especially helping with Mary’s little boys. Therefore, they were in their regular evening dress, the stage marked out only with candles, no curtain, and a few seats for an audience; but Yates proclaiming over the production as if they were in a grand theatre in London with a crowd of hundreds in rapt attention.

The third act began, with Wentworth, Yates, and Charles all playing their parts admirably with the added gravitas of spectators. Anne and Benwick sat in the front seats, waiting for their intimate scene. They exchanged places with the three men, as Henrietta and Mr. Hayter changed the set, and Anne, blushing, took her position. She felt the eyes of the audience upon her and the full force of what she was going to say. Benwick hung back; it was she who must speak first.

She began.

The words came easily by route as the scene progressed. Anhalt was eloquent and Amelia was earnest. Until that line, the same line as before, when Amelia wished to be loved again, and Anne’s concentration was broken by the sound of a chair being moved back. She looked towards the audience, and saw Wentworth, already risen and going towards the door. He must have muttered some excuse as he escaped the room. Anne looked back at Benwick in surprise; why had he gone? Could he not bear to watch Anne, as Amelia, declaring her love for another man? Anne was all confusion. He was, by any fair reckoning, bound to Louisa. Why should he care what Anne said in a play? It was all acting. Did she dare to hope or suppose?

She looked back at Benwick and then wondered again. She thought he acted well, but he may not be acting. Was it possible? A man so recently bereft to be thinking of her? She doubted her judgement, doubted that it was possible. But there was something unmistakable in his manner that she could not entirely dismiss.

The play went on, and the mystery of Anhalt’s feelings was left to later reflection as Amelia must listen to the Butler (who forgot a good deal of his rhyming verse and had to struggle by with his wife’s ill-made prompts) and listen to the ranting of the Baron (who thought his delivery perfected by now). The third act closed and they all looked towards the door, but no Wentworth appeared to occupy Frederick’s prison cell and accept Amelia’s little basket.

Louisa, who had no part to play until the last act, dashed out to find him. She heard Mrs. Musgrove whisper to her husband, “He left right after I said to you, ‘If I did not know better, I would have thought Captain Benwick and Anne quite in love.’” and Anne’s heart swelled unbidden.

Suddenly, they all heard a scream and a loud thud, as if someone had fallen from some height. Anne was the first out of the room, followed by Captain Benwick, and they came to the grand staircase were Louisa was weeping and clutching her ankle. Wentworth appeared from the other direction, but Anne was the first to kneel and examine the injury.

“I was trying to find him,” Louisa said between sobs, “and I jumped down the last few stairs. My ankle turned dreadfully.”

“What should be done?” Wentworth asked Anne, who continued beside Louisa.

“Have Charles send for the surgeon, I am fairly sure it is broken,” said Anne. As the rest of those in the house entered to see what was the matter, Wentworth went to Charles; who assured his sister kindly that he would not be long and went out on his task. Mrs. Musgrove was in horror to see her daughter injured and Henrietta nearly fainted at the sight of her sister’s pale face.

Anne stood, “I think it would be best to take Louisa to her room, so the surgeon may look in on her there. I may stay with her.”

Mary protested immediately, “What are you to Louisa? I will go with her! You are nothing to Louisa.” Though her own face was pale and she seemed ready to faint herself.

Mrs. Musgrove would not abide Mary’s hysterics now, she ordered her daughter-in-law to remain downstairs, and taking her own daughter’s arm, helped her rise with Anne’s help. They walked with Louisa back up the staircase and into her room.

“Do you think it is really broken?” wondered Yates, in clear alarm, “Or perhaps only a bad sprain, she may be recovered soon? Is there another who might take up her part?”

Wentworth shook his head, “It may be several weeks before we can resume the play.”

“I am sure by then you will be marrying her, another abominable delay,” Yates said under his breath.

“What did you say?” Wentworth demanded.

“Are you not engaged? I knew the older sister was to the curate, or at least they are waiting for a living to make everything official. But you and Miss Louisa, are not you?”

Wentworth blanched. After a few minutes reflection he said calmly, “I need to visit my brother. I have already delayed too long. This is as good a time as any. Miss Louisa will need time to heal, if it is a sprain or a break.”

Yates began to feel a familiar fear and he dreaded the possibility of the party breaking up and depriving him yet again of his glory. “You need not go now, certainly not now, when we are in rehearsals.”

“It was an amusement for the moment,” Wentworth said gravely, “but it will not do. I cannot stay. You may write me if the company is ready to continue and I will try to return.”

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By the next morning, it was all disappointment. The ankle was broken indeed and would need several weeks to heal. Anne wrote to Lady Russell to commence her stay at Kellynch Lodge, promising to return if required. Wentworth departed for Shropshire and the Musgroves returned to their usual employments, save for the invalid upstairs. She was frequently visited by Yates, who very much wished to revive the play when she was recovered and for Louisa’s amusement, ranted out his parts as often as she wished. Captain Benwick remained a supposed inmate of Uppercross, but he rode over to Kellynch Lodge so often that Charles remarked they hardly saw the man above twice a week.

Lady Russell was quite taken with Captain Benwick and enjoyed his company a great deal. They spent many hours talking over various poetry, books, and periodicals with a near-endless interest. Anne liked him, she found his company enjoyable, but she could not help but think of someone else, and the motives that had led him to flee the theatre that night.

After three weeks of frequent visits, Lady Russell was perfectly decided in her opinion of Captain Benwick. She was as much convinced of his meaning to gain Anne in time as his deserving her, and was beginning to calculate the number of weeks which would free him from all the remaining restraints of mourning and leave him at liberty to exert his most open powers of pleasing. She made a hint to Anne one evening.

“I am no match-maker, as you know, being much too well aware of the uncertainty of all human events and calculations. I only mean that if Captain Benwick should some time hence pay his addresses to you, and if you should be disposed to accept him, I think there would be every possibility of your being happy together. Perhaps it is not quite as high a match as I had once hoped for, but he is a very sensible, reading man, and very suited to your taste.”

“Do you not think that he is very suited to your own taste?” Anne said, with a half-smile.

“Are our tastes not often aligned?” said Lady Russell. “Why, we had both admired that section of Cowper that Captain Benwick was rhapsodising upon last evening. I recall it exactly.”

“Captain Benwick is a very agreeable man, but I think we will not suit,” said Anne, with sudden resolution.

“He is a bit younger to be sure,” said Lady Russell, “but that is no great objection. He has money enough to marry on and he is a captain.” When Anne did not reply, she continued, “We shall see what is to come.”

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Amid the dash of carriages, the heavy rumble of carts and drays, the bawling of newspapermen, muffin-men, and milkmen, and the ceaseless clink of pattens, Anne alighted the carriage which had brought her to Camden place and wondered what this evening might bring. Captain Benwick had handed her down and now he followed her inside. What her father would make of the news? Anne could not begin to guess.

“Anne, Lady Russell, and who is this young gentleman?” said Sir Walter, with far more cheerfulness than Anne had been expecting to find. He and Elizabeth were eager to show their house and met the party with the utmost kindness.

“May I introduce my husband, Captain James Benwick.”

“Your husband?” cried Elizabeth.

“You have married?” exclaimed Sir Walter, “without writing? Without a word at all to your oldest friends?”

“It was all done very quickly, we married by licence over Christmas,” said Mrs. Benwick, smiling at her husband, “there is no call for delay when you have only yourselves to please.”

Anne blushed, and added, “We have also heard that Miss Louisa Musgrove has recently become engaged to the Honourable Mr. John Yates. She and Miss Musgrove will be travelling to Bath soon to buy wedding clothes. The elder sister recently accepted her cousin, Charles Hayter.”

“Is there some sort of rage for marrying that has taken hold at Uppercross? My friend, you were only there for a week at Christmas!” Sir Walter cried. Elizabeth looked at them all in abject disgust and was somewhat jealous that her aged friend could have secured such a handsome officer. Not that she would ever stoop so low as to marry into the navy!

It was an inauspicious beginning, but Sir Walter soon accepted that Captain Benwick was a rather handsome man, which all the gifts that youth and vigour provide, and was disposed to think rather well of his friend’s marriage, imprudent or not. Anne, who had not gotten over the surprise of the event herself, tried to be happy for her friend. But the next day, her mind was too full for any other contemplation. Captain Benwick received a letter, Captains Wentworth and Harville were coming to Bath…

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With the company broken up and a new wife, Yates was finally forced to accept that Lovers’ Vows would not be performed at Uppercross. They had lost Anhalt, Amelia, and Frederick and they would not be recovered. He had been right, Wentworth had married and spoiled everything, though to Miss Elliot. What a curious thing! Yates did not contemplate it long; he must try again. He packed up his worn copies of the play and wondered which of his other friends might be persuaded to take up the part!

 

 

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