Anne was in her bedroom, sitting at her small writing desk by the window, finishing her weekly letter to Mary.

On Saturday evening, we attended a card party at the home of Sir Clifton Farley, where we were introduced to his wife and daughter. Father was very pleased with the invitation, as Sir Clifton is quite an influential leader in Bath society. Elizabeth was at last able to wear her new sapphire gown. She was much admired.

Anne paused, wondering how to continue. Vividly she remembered the stunning good looks of her sister as she wore the lovely gown with the Elliot sapphire and diamond jewelry. Yes, Elizabeth had been very much admired, most pointedly by Sir Clifton. His effusive compliments had scandalized Anne, for not only was he married, but he was probably old enough to be Elizabeth's father! Sir Walter had seen nothing wrong, nor had Elizabeth, who received his attentions with pleasure. This had shocked Anne even more. She chose to leave these reflections out of her letter.

Father and Elizabeth assure me that during the winter season there is almost no society here, but I do not see that this is the case at all. They are very much occupied throughout the week. The spring season should prove to be most eventful.

She paused, remembering that Mary was sensitive and prone to melancholy. News of others' pleasure only made her life at Uppercross seem more confining. Anne decided to add:

Perhaps spring would be a good time for you to come for a visit. Elizabeth has been having the front bedroom redecorated and she will be pleased to have guests.

Anne sighed, remembering the days of debate and discussion between her father and sister on the subject of paint colour and fabric. How she had struggled to keep her composure! Not once was the subject of expense ever brought up. Elizabeth and Sir Walter had been in high spirits, pleased with this and every other aspect of their new life in Bath.

Anne laid down her pen and covered her face with her hands. Elizabeth and Father!, she thought. To listen to them, one would think we have changed our residence by choice, not by need. If we outspend our income this time, what will we do? We have no money in reserve. What will Elizabeth and I do if . . . A lump came to Anne's throat, a sure sign that panic and anxiety would begin to overwhelm her again. She must not give in! She took a deep breath, pushed the thought of the Debt aside, and picked up her pen to finish the letter.

We are in good health and I trust that you are well also. I am pleased to hear about Louisa's steady recovery and journey home.

Anne signed the letter and sealed it. The journey home, she thought. Louisa has finally made the journey home. She sighed, got up, and stood gazing out the window, thinking. I have made my journey home. I am home. Bath is now my home.

Her bedroom window looked down into a courtyard; a light rain blew against the glass panes. The leaden skies and dreariness outside mirrored the heaviness in Anne's heart. This feeling had been building for days and she could not escape it. How I dislike Bath! she groaned.

The prospect from her window did nothing to lighten her mood. Row after row of rooftops, in differing shades of grey and black. Smoking chimneys. Barren trees. Everything wet. Anne shut her eyes. I have tried. I must try harder. I must learn to accept this.

She opened her eyes and traced along the glass with her finger. A slight movement caught her attention down in the courtyard. She leaned against the casement to see what it was: a cat. It jumped up onto the wall and then down, making its way stealthily across the paving stones as it searched for shelter. Then it was gone. Anne's thoughts wandered with the cat.

I wonder what sort of life that cat has, with no place to call its own. She wandered over to the fireplace and stood looking into the flames. In my own way, I feel very much like that, she mused. A stray cat.

I have found places to stay for a while, but not a home. I visit Mary's home, and Lady Russell's home, and ... Whose home is this? Anne smiled wryly. Of course, this is Elizabeth's home. I am a guest in Elizabeth's home. A guest by need, not by choice. A guest who is welcomed tolerantly, not sincerely . . .

I think I would rather be that cat outside! He can jump over the wall, whereas I . . . Oh!

To continue in this way would never do. She had been spending far too much time fretting about the rather bleak prospects for her future. She began to pace the floor. The thing is, I need to find something to occupy myself . . . and I can think of absolutely nothing!

Now if she were in Kellynch, today she would be visiting the poor widows of the parish, a task which had once been her mother's, and a pleasant one; she had known these women for years. She would be taking with her the basket of food parcels Cook would have already prepared. Well, she could not do that here. However, there were probably plenty of poor widows here who needed visiting; perhaps she should 'tramp 'round' and find some! Her mouth twisted into a little smile. Wouldn't Elizabeth be pleased! she thought.

But the idea of 'tramping 'round' sounded encouraging. But where to go? Then she recalled that her supply of writing paper was almost gone. All right, a stroll to the stationer's would answer nicely.

As she hunted for her reticule and gloves, the irony of her decision dawned upon her. Here I am, becoming agitated about expenses . . . and now I decide to go shopping! She rolled her eyes at the thought. Is this not The Elliot Way?

Anne opened the doors of her wardrobe vigorously. Well, I will buy cheap stationery, she decided. She selected the hat she thought might hold up best in rainy weather and pulled on her heaviest coat.

Anne found herself to be smiling as she opened the bedroom door. Out I go, to wander, like the cat!

Anne descended the stairs, pulling on her gloves, humming a little as she thought about the freeing prospect of a brisk walk on her own. From out of the dining room came a small rather sharp-faced woman, stylishly dressed in black. She crossed the hall and quickly went out the main door. Anne could hear Elizabeth and Mrs. Clay talking and laughing within. She opened the dining room door and stepped inside.

"Excuse me, Elizabeth, but I am going out. Are there any errands . . . " Anne began. "Oh!" She broke off in surprise. The dining table was littered with fabric samples of every colour, and piles of drawings depicting different dress patterns were scattered everywhere. Anne groaned inwardly. More new clothes! More expense!!

Elizabeth glanced up. "No, thank you, Anne. We are rather occupied this morning with Madame Beauvalet. "Oh, Penelope dear, would you run up and fetch those amber beads we spoke of?" Elizabeth was in a cheerful frame of mind, as she always was when making purchases.

As Mrs. Clay left the room, Anne bent to pick up a sample which had fallen to the floor. It was a pale periwinkle blue silk, labeled Pervenche, one of her favourite spring colours. It would make up into a lovely gown. She quickly put it on the table. "These are beautiful." She hesitated. "But Elizabeth, didn't you just buy several new things several months ago?"

"Oh yes, but these are for the spring season." Elizabeth continued making selections. "Those other gowns and things were for autumn, dear." She spoke to Anne as one would to a dull-witted child. "You see, we must keep up with Fashion now that we live in town. We must not be behind the times."

Anne began again. "But, didn't we . . . I mean, aren't we here in order to live more simply and economize?"

"We are economizing, Anne. Just think! Father has all the income from letting Kellynch Hall, plus what we had before. We can afford a few extras. You worry too much." Elizabeth bent to examine the pattern for a ladies coat.

Anne drew up a chair near her sister and sat down. "But, Elizabeth, have you consid . . . "

Elizabeth straightened up. "Anne, I have had enough of your lectures and strictures about money. Enough, do you hear? We want to move in the first circles here and that means dressing accordingly. You may wear your dowdy old gowns if you must economize, although let me tell you that sometimes I want to sink in embarrassment at your appearance. You may be a pinch penny if you wish. I mean to enjoy myself." She took a deep breath in order to compose her countenance, smiled politely at Anne, and turned back to her fabric samples.

"Elizabeth, I'm sorry, but I've been thinking and . . . "

"Well? Is there more?"

Anne fingered the buttons on her coat sleeve. There was never a good time to speak to Elizabeth about money, but this was one of the few occasions when no one else was present in the room. Anne decided to continue. She took a deep breath and fixed her eyes on Elizabeth's face.

"Well . . . I have been doing some thinking lately. And yes, I am worried. Elizabeth, have you considered what would happen to us if we were no longer to have the income from the Kellynch estate? If Father . . . "

"If Father what?"

"If Father were to . . . die . . . unexpected . . . "

"Anne Elliot! The idea!"

"But have you considered?"

"I have no need to consider anything of the kind! Father is in perfect health. To listen to you one would think he had one foot in the grave!" Elizabeth lifted her head. "Besides, it doesn't matter. Now that we are in a larger society, I don't mean to waste my time. We have already met a number of charming, eligible gentlemen. When I am married . . . " she smiled at the thought, "When I am married, my husband will provide for me. I do mean to marry well."

Anne was silent. Her mouth suddenly felt dry. She must say something, this awful thing which she had begun to suspect, pieced together from stray comments made by Mr. Shepherd last year. Her irritation at her sister melted into pity. Oh Elizabeth, she thought sadly, you don't know the worst . . . She spoke quickly.

"I, too, would wish to marry someday . . . but the lack of dowry . . . "

"What lack of dowry? We have no lack of dowry. We have a settlement from Mother which should make us very acceptable to any gentleman."

"Bethie, are you sure?"

Elizabeth frowned at Anne's use of her childhood name. "Of course, I'm sure. I'm not a simpleton, Anne. Mary was given her equal share when she married, which I happen to know was three thousand pounds. We each will have the same."

"Yes, we will divide what is left, but . . . " Anne looked searchingly into Elizabeth's face. How can I make her understand? she wondered.

Elizabeth looked annoyed. "Exactly what are you saying?"

"Elizabeth, retrenching here to Bath was our last resort. Our very last! Everything else, every other avenue open to Father was exhausted. Even 'borrowing' from the settlement money." Anne swallowed hard and continued. "Mary did have her share of the settlement. But that was some time ago. I have come to suspect that between us we will not have even half as much, maybe much . . . less."

Elizabeth's face paled, then reddened in anger. "Anne Elliot, that is a falsehood! You 'have come to suspect,' indeed! And how dare you accuse me of being . . . "

Footsteps sounded in the entry hall. Elizabeth pursed her lips.

Mrs. Clay entered the room, smilingly holding out the beads. "I'm sorry, but these were difficult to locate. Here you are."

"Thank you." Elizabeth stood up. She picked up a dress card with a grey silk sample attached and tossed it to another section of the table. "There," she looked significantly at Anne. "Since you insist, and in order to show you that I, too, know how to economize, I will not purchase this one."

"Elizabeth, I did not mean . . . "

"You should know that this will present an embarrassing difficulty to me, Anne, since I will need to remove it from the order Madame Beauvalet has already begun writing." She waved her hand at a handwritten list at the other end of the table. "Imagine, an Elliot canceling an order! I hope you are satisfied."

Anne reddened in embarrassment. "But she has just taken that order this morning. Surely . . . "

"Yes, and it will be all over town by this evening, I imagine. Madame Beauvalet has one of the busiest tongues in town."

"I wonder that you would patronize such a woman if that is the case," Anne said quietly.

"Because," Elizabeth countered, "she is the most talented dressmaker in Bath. Everyone who is anyone goes to her. Except you."

Yes, indeed, thought Anne, except me.

Elizabeth tossed her head and resumed her seat. "Don't mind Anne, Penelope. She has been in a vile mood these past few days and is intent on spoiling my morning. Well, it won't work."

"Oh, Miss Anne," soothed Mrs Clay. "Madame Beauvalet's creations are absolutely delightful. They are finer than anything I will ever own."

Elizabeth's face brightened. She thought for a moment, and then she spoke. "Do you know, I have just had an idea. Yes, how perfect! An inspiration! According to Anne, she gave a meaningful look, "I am not to overspend on clothes for myself. However, I think, Penelope, that I will have that grey silk made up for you, instead. Then it will be a gift, and not for me at all! There!" Elizabeth smiled triumphantly.

"Oh, Miss Elliot!" Breathed Mrs. Clay.

Anne regarded her sister in shocked silence. A gift!? she thought. But we will have to pay . . . She gave up. How could she make her sister see the truth when she deliberately chose to ignore it? She stood, managing to murmur, "If you have no errands for me, I will wish you a good morning, then."

"Yes, Penelope, it will be just perfect! I absolutely insist." Elizabeth watched Anne out of the corner of her eyes. Seeing that she was preparing to leave, Elizabeth fired her parting shot.

"Do you know, Anne, I believe that Mama was right." She smiled awfully. "It is more blessed to give than receive."

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