The Three Colonels

by Jack Caldwell

  Later, as she prepared for bed, Mrs. Jenkinson thought over the last two years. For the twenty years since her husband’s untimely death, she had been Anne’s governess and companion and had despaired of ever seeing her young charge take her rightful place in the world. Anne had been a sickly child; her constant cough and runny nose prevented her from developing her talents and kept her shut up in her nursery and rooms for most of her life. It was hard to imagine the daughter of a baronet not learning to sing, or play, or dance, or draw, but at least Anne could improve her mind. Reading was her only joy—that was, reading what Lady Catherine would allow.

  Mrs. Jenkinson was an obedient sort, taught never to question her betters, but her heart went out to Anne. She grew to love her like a daughter—the daughter she would never have. Therefore, she would do whatever she needed to do to help Anne survive. For twenty years, Mrs. Jenkinson followed Lady Catherine’s commands to the letter, no matter how foolish or cruel. She would keep her girl alive, no matter how much her heart would rebel at her instructions.

  Three years earlier, Fitzwilliam Darcy upset all of Lady Catherine’s plans and dreams by marrying Miss Bennet. Mrs. Jenkinson by then knew her girl’s mind—knew she did not love Darcy in that way—and that Anne was relieved of her fear of a forced, arranged marriage.

  Then, two years ago, Mrs. Jenkinson’s old aunt gave her some advice. Her aunt was wise in the old ways. She knew things—things that doctors and other men of science could not explain. Mrs. Jenkinson had thought over her advice for a long time. Then, one night, as she watched Anne’s cough develop into yet another fever, she made up her mind.

  That night, two years ago, she committed murder.

  * * *

  Richard lay on his bed, jacket off, hands behind his head, when there was a knock at the door. “Enter,” he called out.

  The housekeeper, Mrs. Parks, came in the room with a tray of chicken, cheeses, and bread. A bottle of Madeira was brought as well.

  “Thank you. Please set it down on the table there.” He rose and crossed over to the table. Popping a bit of cheese into his mouth, Richard noted that Mrs. Parks had not left. She stood in the middle of the room, looking expectantly at him.

  “Mrs. Parks, I trust I find you in good health?”

  The housekeeper’s unreadable countenance did not change. “Well enough, I thank you.”

  “The… eh… staff—everyone getting along?”

  “Perfectly, sir.”

  Richard was uncomfortable. He remembered Darcy’s words: “Trust Mrs. Parks. She can be of invaluable aid to you.” Could Darcy have meant this stone wall? If Richard were back in his regiment, he would know how to deal with this. But he was not; this was a household and not his household.

  Clearing his throat, Richard asked, “Mrs. Parks, is there anything you wish to tell me?”

  In an emotionless voice, the housekeeper answered. “Everything in this household is as you see. I have no complaints to report. I very much enjoy my position here. Is that all?”

  The slight air of insubordination was too much for Richard. Civilian or not, he knew of only one way to deal with this. Drawing himself up to his full height, he fixed his most severe glare on the woman—a glare that had caused not a few lieutenants concern over soiling their breeches. With the voice of a king’s officer who had seen war and worse, he said, “I am glad to know of it. I will surely keep those sentiments in my mind.” He allowed the pause to hang in the air before finishing. “That is all. You are dismissed.”

  Richard’s quiet yet forceful tone lashed across the woman. It was a moment before Mrs. Parks could manage her curtsy and exit the room. No sooner had the housekeeper left, than Richard unhappily threw himself into the chair.

  The interview had not gone well. Richard had learned nothing about the problems within the manor house, and that left him frustrated. He felt that he could not let down his father—or Darcy—or Anne.

  Anne? He frowned. Where did that come from?

  Dismissing the thought as quickly as it came, Richard returned to his meal with little appetite.

  * * *

  Mrs. Parks walked down the hallway towards her own quarters, fighting the small smile that threatened to come to her lips. She knew it would take a gentleman with extraordinary strength of character to stand up to the Mistress and set things right. She had quite despaired since Mr. Darcy’s banishment from Rosings and had no faith in the happy-go-lucky soldier son of Lord Matlock.

  But perhaps she was wrong. The young man had shown some steel beneath his genial exterior.

  She could not stop herself from thinking that there might be hope for them, after all.

  * * *

  Anne de Bourgh snuggled deeply into her bedcovers. It was one of her favorite things to do on a cold winter’s night. It was a pleasurable end to an eventful day.

  Anne recalled how pretty Kitty looked—so happy, shy, and excited, all at the same time. Mr. Southerland walked around the entire time with a rather silly half-grin on his face, as if he could not believe his own good fortune. Anne wished the couple well, for she and Georgiana had become much attached to the girl.

  Georgiana would be next, she imagined. How lovely a wedding at Pemberley would be! Perhaps Mr. Southerland would do the honors. Oh, how that would upset Mr. Collins! He still fretted over Elizabeth and Darcy’s choice of a bishop. On and on her thoughts flew, ignoring the fact that Georgiana had no beau.

  Anne loved to think of other people’s weddings, for she expected none for herself. It was only in the last two years that she was healthy enough to overcome her mother’s reluctance and spend time away from Rosings, but liberation from her gilded prison was limited, as was her company. Only to Matlock and finally Pemberley was Anne permitted to go.

  Anne was realistic about marriage. She was not too old—yet—but she had no talents, no accomplishments, and no beauty. How was she to compete against the ever-replenishing pool of eligible young misses in society?

  No, she was resigned to being the beloved, unmarried aunt to the Darcy and Fitzwilliam children. Anne’s thoughts became melancholy as she began to drift off to sleep.

  “I think the time is quickly coming that you will not need old Mrs. Jenkinson to fuss over you. You will have some strapping young man for that, God willing,” Mrs. Jenkinson had told her.

  No, dear Mrs. Jenkinson, there will be no young man for me, Anne thought to herself. The only marriage that could have happened did not, thank heaven, because Darcy was wise enough to marry for love. And I am the same. I will only marry for love, and therefore, I will never marry, for I love in vain.

  All of her life, Anne’s mother wanted her to marry Fitzwilliam Darcy. How would Lady Catherine react if she knew her daughter did love Fitzwilliam—just the wrong one?

  Chapter 10

  Fitzwilliam arose early, as was his routine enforced by years in camp. After breakfast, he joined Rosings’ steward in the library to review the condition of the estate.

  Hours later, the steward left a very bewildered colonel in that room. Richard sat before a desk strewn with maps, contracts, agreements, surveys, estimates, and at least a dozen documents he could not understand. He had been prepared for work, but this was so far out of his experience that at first he felt a sense of drowning. Half of what the steward said sounded like gibberish. Finally, after giving over his pride, he began to ask what he thought were very simple questions, but the steward answered them fully, never showing in his countenance that he thought the colonel was a simpleton. No, in fact, he treated Richard with the greatest patience and respect and readily agreed to ride the property with him the next day.

  As for Fitzwilliam, the lessons in estate management his father insisted he take had finally come back to him about an hour into the interview. Richard was still confused over many points, but the conclusion was clear: Rosings was failing. The realization of the true condition of the place weighed heavily on him. Richard wished that his father, his cousin, or even his brother,
the viscount, were there to help him. But no, it was not to be.

  For heaven’s sake, man, what are you about? You have led a thousand men into the blazing guns of the French. You can do this. Richard looked at the piles. It is simply a matter of organization. A table—that is the very thing I need. Richard drew a blank sheet of paper from the desk drawer and began writing.

  “Richard?”

  Richard looked up and saw Anne peeking around the library’s door, dressed in a heavy winter cloak.

  “Come in, my dear.” He rose, crossed to her, and took her hands. “Anne, have you just come in from outside? Your hands are like ice! Come, sit by the fire.” He escorted his cousin to a chair by the fireplace, despite her protests.

  “I am not chilled at all. I rather enjoy my winter walks. The air is so invigorating!”

  “Really, Anne! Think of your mother. She would be distressed at this behavior.”

  Anne’s eyes went wide, and her good cheer fled. “Oh, please do not tell Mother! She would certainly forbid me my walks!”

  Richard’s self-righteous concern faded at the sight of his cousin’s distress. “Never fear, my girl. I will not reveal your secret. Mum’s the word.” He absently patted her hands.

  “Thank you. Please believe me, I am not in any danger; I am so much better now. You will see.” She gripped his hands firmly and then released them. Changing the subject, she asked, “What are you doing? Why are all those papers spread out over the desk?”

  Richard turned to look. “Estate matters—I was quite a while with the steward.”

  “So, you have taken Darcy’s place? Such a collection! You were shut up with the gentleman for no little time, but with this evidence of your labors, one can scarcely wonder why.” Anne rose and crossed to the desk. She picked up the paper Richard had been working on. “What is this?”

  “’Tis nothing.” Richard was sure that Anne knew nothing of the condition of Rosings and did not want to alarm her.

  “It is a chart of some sort.” She peered closely at the document.

  “Nothing to worry your pretty head—”

  Anne’s head jerked up, fire in her eyes. “Colonel Fitzwilliam, I would ask you not to patronize me in such a manner! I know I am but a poor woman, but Rosings is my home, and I deserve to be acquainted with all its concerns!”

  Richard was taken aback. All his life he had known Anne as quiet and sickly. She had just reminded him that she was also the daughter of Lady Catherine de Bourgh.

  “Forgive me. I had no intention of patronizing you.” He drew closer to her. “This is a table I am drawing up. As I am new to the particulars of Rosings, and owning a preference for organization, I was compiling—”

  “A chart of accounts, a listing of income and expenses. I see,” she finished for him, surprising the colonel yet again. She looked up with a small smile. “’Tis not so different from running a household.”

  Richard had to own that it was so. His opinion of Anne rose.

  She looked about at the papers. “You have quite a task before you. Tea will be served soon; that is why I came looking for you. Perhaps after we eat, I may assist you.”

  Startled, Richard blurted out, “You? Oh, no, I will see to it—”

  “I beg your pardon?” Anne’s head came up slowly and her eyes narrowed. “Do I understand you to say that I am incapable of helping with such a chore?” Anne demanded, her voice growing louder. “I know I am only a poor woman, but—”

  “Peace, Cousin!” Richard cried, cutting off the lady’s protests. “Forgive me; I misspoke again. I only wished not to inconvenience you.” Seeing that she still was not mollified, he added, “Think of what my aunt would say should she learn of your being involved in such a task.”

  Anne frowned for a moment and then brightened. “But nothing is easier! All Mother needs to know is that you returned to the library to finish your task while I choose to read this afternoon. We shall be safe. Mother never enters the library.”

  Unable to overcome Anne’s reasonable solution, the colonel surrendered. “I would be very happy to have your assistance this afternoon, Anne.” He grinned ruefully at her bright smile of thanks. She would have to learn the truth about Rosings sometime.

  * * *

  Four hours later, Richard sat in a wingback chair, reviewing their labors with satisfaction. The chart was not perfect; already he could see areas where it could be improved. Richard was pleased to see that Anne had anticipated some of those improvements in the notes she made in the margins.

  He glanced at his cousin, still sitting at the desk. They made a good team, he thought. He could not have accomplished so much without her assistance. Anne decided that it would be best that Richard review the documents while she entered the information into the chart. Her steady penmanship and probing questions served very well, and Richard became familiar with far more details than if he had tried to do the task himself.

  Of course, he was almost undone by Anne reaching into her reticule and pulling out a pair of spectacles. At his questioning look, she admitted that she needed them for close work such as reading, sewing, or writing. Anne was clearly embarrassed as she put on the spectacles, obviously under the impression that they ill suited her. Nothing could be further from the truth as far as Richard was concerned. To his eyes, she looked rather adorable, especially when she looked at him from over the rim as they hung near the end of her pert little nose.

  The chart was a good beginning; already Richard could see patterns and tendencies. Various solutions already germinated in his head. The ride he planned to take in the morning would settle many things in his mind.

  * * *

  Anne’s thoughts were different as she now gazed at her cousin, his long, fit body stretched out, feet on the ottoman. She was startled to learn how things were at Rosings. She had felt that there was something amiss, especially during her visits to the village of Hunsford, but she had not known before how badly conditions had deteriorated. She hoped that Richard could find a way of setting things right, but for her part, she was worried.

  It was hard, however, to think of land and harvests and contracts when before her was such a sight of masculine beauty. Richard’s ruddy complexion, grown tan by his years out-of-doors, complemented his sandy red hair and light blue eyes. He sat in the chair in complete relaxation, as only a man who had known hardship could relax. His body was lean and well formed; his years in the saddle had suited him very well. He gave every impression of a man of action, ready to defend all that he loved, yet still in possession of a kind heart. Anne sighed. There was no use in losing herself to such thoughts, so she resumed her work.

  * * *

  After a few minutes, Richard looked up to see Anne rearranging the many stacks of paper the two of them had spent hours on.

  “Anne,” he asked, “what are you doing?” His breath almost caught in his throat as she looked up at him from above those spectacles again.

  Unaware of the effect she had on him, Anne replied, “I am preparing the papers to be put away.”

  “They are already arranged. Why change them now?”

  She looked at him as though the answer was obvious. “They were arranged by type—bill, contact, letter, map. Would it not be more convenient in the future if they were filed away by name?”

  All afternoon Anne had surprised Richard by her forethought, and not for the first time, he wished she were mistress of Rosings!

  “Oh!” cried Anne. “It is almost time to dress for dinner. Mother will be expecting me. Richard, I will finish this task later. I expect we will see you in a few minutes in the sitting room.” With that, Anne swept out of the room.

  * * *

  The weather the next morning had moderated, though the clouds threatened snow. Richard found the ride with the steward around Rosings holdings to be enlightening, but he was left with as many questions as answers. One parcel of land was particularly vexing: The current tenant, aged in both body and custom, was unable to grasp modern methods
of farming. Richard decided to ride into Hunsford, so he bid the steward good day and rode towards the village.

  On the road, Richard espied the de Bourgh carriage apparently proceeding to the same destination, so he spurred on his horse to join the vehicle. His surprise was complete to see Anne and Mrs. Collins in the carriage, and that Anne’s hands held the reins.

  “Good day, ladies!” he cried. “Where are you going? Shopping, I dare say.”

  “You may well say so, sir, but you would be mistaken,” replied his well-bundled cousin with a cheeky smile. “We are to visit some of the tenant families in the neighborhood. Would you care to join us?”

  “I should like it of all things. Lead on!”

  The first stop was at the humble cottage of Mr. Clarke, one of the younger farmers, a man described to Richard by the steward as having ability but little land. The group was greeted at the door by Mrs. Clarke. Slightly flustered, the lady escorted her visitors into a small but neat sitting room.

  “Ladies, how kind of you to visit! Colonel Fitzwilliam, Mr. Clarke will be so disappointed that he missed you, but he is attending to business in the village. May I offer you some tea? It would only take a moment.”

  Anne smiled. “Thank you, but do not trouble yourself.” She held out the basket she had brought in. “This is from Mrs. Collins and me. It is not much—some sugar, preserves, a bit of spice.” She did not mention the bread and chicken. “The children will like the cookies, I dare say.”

  “Oh, Miss de Bourgh, you’re too kind. I cannot accept—”

  “Please, Mrs. Clarke,” said Mrs. Collins, “’tis but a gift.” The parson’s wife glanced at the children looking from around the corner. “There are strawberry preserves, too,” she added.

  The requisite protest expressed and the expected rejoinder made, Mrs. Clarke accepted the basket with good grace and not a little bit of relief. Their larder had been getting bare.