Symphony No.5 in B-Flat Major, D. 485 II. Andante con moto

May 4th 1816 – Aldiana-upon-Tyne

Jack had all but left the bright illumination of the mansion behind. Engulfed in his panic, he scarcely noticed the sound of soft footsteps gaining on him. It was not until a gentle yet resolute voice called out his name that he paused and turned around.

Anastasia came to an abrupt halt and gazed up at him, the cool night air caressing her as the delicate lace on her bodice fluttered with each laboured breath. Words, those faithful companions that usually danced effortlessly from her lips, had deserted her.

They found their voices in unison and blurted out a greeting. They paused, sharing a moment of warm surprise.

“Are you quite well, Captain?”

The murmur of the distant river permeated the tranquil evening as the panic that had stirred within Jack abated, the threads of his composure becoming easier to grasp.

“Indeed, Miss Hartford,” said he, his tormented gaze drifting to the mansion shining in the distance behind her. “Subjecting oneself to… scrutiny is… delightful.”

“I disagree,” said she. Unable to fathom any other reason for her bold declaration, Anastasia clung to her belief in the significance of their bond. “It is not delightful at all. However, what happened ought not to lessen the magnitude of our connection.” After years of maintaining a careful distance from others, it was astonishing how just a few fleeting moments of true harmony could alter so much within her.

Connection? A flicker of suspicion crossed his countenance, yet he felt the same bond begin to take him in hand. “Sentiments of… that nature are not… meant for display in the presence of others.”

“Captain, to suppress one’s feelings is to diminish the richness of human interaction!”

Astounded by the kind intelligence she displayed with such casual ease, which conveyed to him the depth of understanding she seemed to possess regarding their connection, Jack found himself rendered speechless. Superficiality had always served as his shield; no one need behold the confusion and pain that resided within his heart.

Softly, she interrupted his musings, desperate to ascertain the truth of what she had observed before. “I see something within you. A depth that perhaps eludes shallow perception.” He cast his gaze upon the dimly lit cobblestones beside his boots, feeling a sharp lump rise in his throat as she continued speaking. “The other day, when you read my writing, you understood it. You grasped what I was trying to convey in a way I know others cannot. I discerned it in your expression.”

He swallowed the despised physical embodiment of his weakness before it could reach his eyes. “It was as though you had… wandered through my past, Miss Hartford.”

“One should never have to endure a past as harrowing as the one I portrayed in that excerpt, Captain.”

“Miss Hartford, ‘should haves’ take… no account of whether one must… endure such trials.”

Overcome by a gasping sob, she moved forward instinctively, then stopped as Jack stepped back, intending to retreat further, but something held him in place. “I—I… I apologise, Miss Hartford,” stammered he, a flush creeping up his neck. “I should not have… been so forward. It was… never my intention to… cause you grief.”

“You need not worry.” She attempted to reassure him with a gentle smile. “You have caused me no distress.”

“I do not… understand. You appeared so… the other day.” He grimaced, recognising the inadequacy of his explanation. “You seemed… distressed.”

“Oh,” exclaimed Anastasia, finally understanding, “I was indeed mortified upon catching sight of you perusing my writing—”

“I apologise, Miss Hartford. It was… presumptuous of me to… act without seeking your permission to—”

“Perhaps it was,” conceded she, raising a hand to soothe his regret into silence. “Yet my initial outrage was—” She inhaled deeply before continuing. “Upon observing the understanding in your eyes… I recognised that my reaction had been misplaced. My response ought to have been different.”

Confusion swept over him as he endeavoured to decipher her sincerity. The honesty in her words was unnerving, and the frankness with which she explained herself overwhelmed him. He searched desperately for something polite to say or do. “Should it… please you, Miss Hartford,” offered Jack with a courteous nod, “I am… entirely at your service to… escort you to… your home.”

Her heart began to slowly lower itself down into her stomach. “Is that truly your desire?”

“It is not… my preference, Miss Hartford,” said he, scratching his wrist uncertainly as he gazed at her. “You stir deep feelings within me, which I am unable to express with words; and I do not wish for these emotions to remain dormant and—” The heat that rushed into his neck set his ears ablaze. He cast about, once again, in desperate search of something proper to say, unable to fathom why he had even admitted such a thing.

The world had come to a halt as he spoke the truth from his heart, as if to grant Anastasia the time she required to comprehend his unintentional authenticity. She observed him realise what he had done, and she reached out to reassure him. To her surprise, he flinched backwards, prompting her to drop her hand a little despondently.

Uncertain of what he should do, Jack simply longed to remain in her presence, irresistibly drawn to the perceptive charm she offered. Yet, societal expectations and rules of decorum weighed heavily upon him, shaping his decisions with the forceful precision of a sculptor’s hands. He was aware of the brittle equilibrium that a woman’s honour represented. They were expected to comport themselves as though they were akin to a fragile, priceless vase that, once tarnished, could never be restored to its original lustre.

Resolved to prevent such a fate from befalling the remarkable woman who granted him her presence, he tried to do all of it at once.

“Miss Hartford,” said Jack, his voice a low rumble reflecting his inner conflict, “whilst every moment spent by your side is indeed… cherished, the hour grows late. I must consider your… safety and reputation. Given the… circumstances, it might be prudent for us to… return.”

Then, he went still, permitting her to observe his gaze linger upon her face. To see that she was being cherished, not merely as a beautiful woman, but as a marvel that needed to be glimpsed for as long as possible before it vanished forever.

After a blissful vision where she took his hand and ran with him for the hills, leaving everything behind, Anastasia nodded with reluctance. “Very well, Captain. I shall accept your offer,” said she, in a resigned tone, acknowledging the necessary propriety despite her own desires. Then, in sudden dismay, she continued, “Oh, but I have left my shoes at the ball.”

“You ran out here… without shoes?”

“Indeed, I—”

“That was most… imprudent of you!”

“What ought I to have done?”

“No…” Hastily, he amended himself. “It was not my place to… question your decision.” After a brief pause to collect his thoughts, he continued, “I could escort you… back to retrieve your shoes. However, at present, I find myself… in need of privacy and would rather not… return to the gathering itself.”

“I accept your kind offer, Captain. I understand the importance of solitude. There are moments when one must retreat into one’s own thoughts to find clarity.”

Once more, she had tenderly touched at the very core of his needs with astute precision. How on earth was he to match the extraordinary gifts she offered without any thought of recompense?

“Allow me, Miss Hartford, to… offer you my boots for the walk back.” His sentences tightened as his focus sharpened, and he began to remove his tasselled wellingtons. “It is the very least I can do.”

Her protest formed on the tip of her tongue, ready to spill forth, but before she could articulate it, he was already tugging at his boots.

“Captain Clifton,” said she, the sight of him instinctively tending to her needs—her feet were indeed getting cold—putting her at a loss for any other words.

“They may not fit perfectly—” He managed to remove one, the second proved more challenging. “—but they will provide better protection than walking barefoot on the cold ground.”

Seating himself, he tugged with all his might. The boot came free, slipped from his grasp, and bounced a short distance away.

A smile gracing her lips, Anastasia retrieved it whilst he began to scramble to his feet. Realising that she required stable support, he shifted to one knee instead to offer his shoulder. Thunderstruck, she accepted it, pondering whether she would find, or even want to find, the strength to release her hold.

The warmth emanating from her hand flooded through him, soothing the warring tangle in his mind. If he remained here, kneeling, would it be too much to ask for them to remain this way eternally?

She slipped her feet into the boots, and found them to be indeed more comfortable than walking on the cobblestones, despite their length reaching nearly to her knees. “Thank you, Captain,” said she with heartfelt appreciation.

For a moment, they maintained their positions, neither daring to glance at the other, yet passionately conscious of each movement made.

With clear reluctance, Jack stood; with clear reluctance, she withdrew her hand. Without thinking, he proffered his arm; without thinking, she accepted it.

Their steps fell into rhythm, and the sound of her footfalls in his boots tapped against the cobblestones, marking their progress as they walked in comfortable silence.

All too soon, they found themselves standing before the golden lights emanating from the manor. The festive music and laughter from within filtered through to their comfortable silence.

During the journey, Jack had gathered his thoughts into a jumbled collection. Now, he carefully selected one to present. “Miss Hartford,” he began, his voice low and imbued with gratitude. “I must express my deepest appreciation for your company this evening and… for lending me your ear, and for… showing such genuine concern.”

She inclined her head, a smile of gentle fervour meeting his gaze. “I would willingly undertake such an endeavour again, Captain Clifton. And pray, address me as Anastasia.”

She slipped from his boots, lightly grasping his arm for balance. Before he could muster a response, she rose upon the balls of her feet and bestowed upon him a swift kiss on the cheek. “Thank you… Jack,” whispered she, with her own cheeks alight with timid joy.

Turning to the servant who awaited her at the door, still holding her shoes, Anastasia slipped them on over her tattered stockings. She furnished Jack with one final smile of understanding before she crossed the threshold into the brightly illuminated manor.

In the glow from the windows, Jack stood motionless; his hand hovering where her lips had fleetingly caressed his cheek. The sensation lingered like an eternal refrain long after the music had faded. He observed her until she disappeared before he turned to leave, every moment of that evening intricately embroidering itself upon the tapestry in his mind, each thread fortified by the mere recollection of Miss Hartford.

“My dear Anastasia, that was most unexpected,” remarked Lady Fitzroy, attempting to preserve her composure.

Mrs Hargreaves began to echo the sentiments, but a sudden giggle burst forth from Charlotte, drawing the attention of those around them. The mirth caught in her throat as she encountered Anastasia’s livid gaze.

“I—It was merely that… I mean, he appeared so… And then he…” She dwindled into an awkward silence as she endeavoured to stifle another bout of giggles.

“Captain Clifton was visibly distressed,” snapped Anastasia, “I hardly believe that such a state warrants amusement.”

“I did not mean… I am sorry,” stammered Charlotte, her eyes crinkling with tears. Anastasia was about to continue when Reverend Karey’s gentle voice broke into the mounting tension.

“Charlotte, your laughter often serves as a beacon of light during many a sombre occasion; however, this may not have been the most fitting moment to indulge in such merriment.”

He then turned to Anastasia. “Your concern for the Captain is commendable, but I implore you to afford Charlotte a moment of understanding as well. The scene might have struck her as amusing without her realising the extent of his discomfort.”

Anastasia cast her gaze downward to her hands, and Charlotte’s countenance reflected contrition; the mildly teasing merriment that had animated her features gave way to a dawning understanding.

“And I believe that if Captain Clifton had realised, even if you had not done anything, Charlotte, that he was the centre of such attention, he might have reacted similarly. After all, no one relishes being the object of scrutiny, particularly a man with his experiences.”

“Yes, Justin,” replied Charlotte in a subdued tone. “I did not intend to cause any upset.”

Reverend Karey offered her a kind smile, his gentle brown eyes brimming with forgiveness. “I know, Charlotte,” said he. “We all learn in God’s good time. Perhaps this has been one of those instructive moments for us all.”

The trio of ladies shared a series of silent exchanges, each glance conveying an understanding that Anastasia’s distress was born not of malice but of concern.

“Did you see him, Anastasia?” inquired Charlotte tentatively.

Anastasia nodded pensively. “However, the reasons for his abrupt departure still elude me. It appears that some profound burden makes these lavish social gatherings a struggle for him.”

Mrs Hargreaves furrowed her brow in puzzlement. “That is indeed most peculiar. How does a man come to earn such distinction if he finds the company of others so taxing?”

Lady Fitzroy, ever astute in her observations, glanced at Mrs Hargreaves. “The battlefield is a distinct type of assembly, my dear. War alters individuals in ways we may never fully comprehend.”

“That may well be a part of it, but I suspect there is more to his story,” mused Anastasia, her gaze seeming to penetrate the veils of a distant past.

The trio fell into a moment of silent contemplation, their thoughts adrift in the sea of bygone days. One could not help but remark upon the profound transformation that had befallen Anastasia since those tumultuous years.

Once, she had been as effervescent as Charlotte, always eagerly anticipating the grand society balls, dinners, and the unending stream of suitors. Yet when influenza swept through their town, it snatched away that former Anastasia – the one who danced with abandon, laughed heartily, and charmed all whom she encountered.

During that dark period, something elusive and intangible had shifted within her. Despite their persistent efforts to understand and assist, she withdrew into herself, becoming aloof. Nevertheless, they remained steadfastly by her side. Now, as they observed her immersed in contemplation, a faint hope flickered between them. Perhaps the old Anastasia was not entirely lost after all.

“May I extend my gratitude to each of you for your genuine concern.” She addressed her friends with unwavering composure. “Please accept my sincerest apologies for any unintended disruption this unforeseen spectacle may have caused. I trust that you will all continue to enjoy a pleasant evening.” With that, she gathered her things and left for home.

The three ladies exchanged glances that conveyed concern, bewilderment, and determination. Whatever had transpired that evening, one thing was certain: they would stand by their friend steadfastly, regardless of the circumstances.