The Three Colonels

by Jack Caldwell

  Richard watched the exchange in quiet approval. Anne was growing in his estimation with every passing day.

  “I must thank you for your kind visits, Miss de Bourgh,” Mrs. Clarke said. “How is your good mother? It has been so long since we have had the pleasure of seeing her Ladyship in Hunsford, save on Sundays.”

  This caught Richard’s attention. So Lady Catherine had been neglecting her duty to Hunsford?

  Anne hesitated, and Mrs. Collins began to reply, “Lady Catherine is in good health—”

  “Ah-choo!”

  All turned to the source of the sneeze. “God bless you, Miss de Bourgh. Are you well?” asked the hostess.

  “I… I am—ah-choo!” Anne sneezed again, her eyes watering. “Just a passing fit.”

  Richard watched his cousin with concern. It had been some time since he had seen Anne ill. Then he saw a gray streak dart past them out of the corner of his eye. Pausing by the doorway to the kitchen was a large gray cat, its golden eyes staring back at the colonel. The animal then fled into the other room.

  Mrs. Clarke saw what caught the gentleman’s attention. “Oh, do not mind the cat, sir. It is no bother; the children love her and she keeps the vermin down.”

  Richard’s reply was cut short by Anne rising to her feet. “Forgive me, Mrs. Clarke. I feel I must be going now,” she said between sniffles. Everyone arose, and politely assuring Mrs. Clarke of Miss de Bourgh’s health, the visitors made their good-byes and left the cottage.

  “Goodness, Anne,” Mrs. Collins cried after the carriage got back under way. “You are quite ill! We must return to Rosings immediately.”

  “No, Charlotte, I am well—’tis just a passing fit, as I said. I am feeling better already, I assure you. But I do wish to return home.”

  Richard, riding alongside on his horse as the snow began to fall, heard nothing of this conversation. He finally realized what was missing at Rosings.

  * * *

  The family, along with the Collinses, gathered for dinner. By then Anne was recovered from her sneezing attack, although her eyes were slightly red. Mrs. Jenkinson was quietly concerned. Lady Catherine, commanding the conversation from the head of the table as usual, took no notice.

  “The spring planting season will be upon us very soon, Mr. Collins,” she said. “It is very important to prepare the beds thoroughly for vegetables to ensure a bountiful crop. One cannot begin too soon.”

  “Indeed, Lady Catherine,” responded her favorite, ignoring the fact that his patroness had made this speech annually at this time. “Your kind consideration to my wife and me with your excellent advice has improved my humble yet comfortable situation and has given my family far more in food and flowers than anyone could expect.”

  His mistress acknowledged the praise with the barest of nods. “I am glad you think so; however, I recall that your potato larder was somewhat lacking this winter. Obviously, your man did not carry out your instructions to the letter. This will not do, sir! This year you must see to the work yourself.”

  Mr. Collins paled at the thought, while Mrs. Collins cringed—it was evident that she knew her husband would follow Lady Catherine’s advice to the letter, no matter how inconvenient or outlandish.

  It was at this time Colonel Fitzwilliam decided to change the subject. “Aunt Catherine, I have been here several days and not once have you regaled us with tales of your delightful Cleopatra.” Cleopatra was the latest in the line of a series of long-haired cats Lady Catherine kept as a personal pet in her private rooms. “Come, I am sure we would all like to hear about the latest mischief of that rascal.”

  The silence that greeted this request was deafening. The Collinses turned red, Mrs. Jenkinson kept her eyes firmly on her plate, and Anne nearly gasped. Lady Catherine, who was eating at the time, sat shock still, her fork poised in midair. Slowly the old woman lowered her fork onto her plate; only after that was accomplished did she slowly turn her eyes to her questioner. A chill went down Richard’s back as he beheld the raw pain in his aunt’s face.

  “Cleopatra is dead,” she said, her words falling heavily on the table.

  “My dear aunt! I am so sorry—I had no idea! Please accept my condolences. It is an awful thing, to be sure, to lose one’s pet. I take it the tragedy was a recent event?”

  Anne reached over to touch Richard’s hand as a warning. “No, Richard, it happened over two years ago. It is still very painful—”

  “Murdered!” cried Lady Catherine. “She was murdered!”

  “Mother—” began Anne.

  “What did you say, Aunt?” asked Richard. “Did you say murdered?”

  “Murder most foul it was, Richard.” Lady Catherine became more agitated. “I went to my rooms one evening and my dear, sweet Cleopatra was missing. She never left the room! I knew something was amiss. I roused the house, looked everywhere, including outside, and then—”

  Richard, ignoring Anne’s tightening grip on his hand, asked, “And?”

  Lady Catherine lowered her head and spoke in a dreadful voice. “She was found by a stable hand near the barn, limp and lifeless.”

  Now Richard was thoroughly confused. “Were there any marks on the carcass… er… body?”

  Dramatically his aunt answered, “No—none.”

  “Then how is it you say that someone killed your cat?” Richard cried.

  “Someone deliberately removed Cleopatra from my rooms and set her outside where some beast could attack her.” Lady Catherine ranted. “Such a sweet and defenseless creature! She was frightened to death, I am sure!”

  Richard was not so sure; animals had been known to seek solitude when they felt their time was near. “A tragedy, aye, there is no doubt. I am so very sorry for your loss, my dear aunt.” He reached over with his free hand—Anne still held the other—and patted the old woman’s hand. “Have you given any thought to getting another?”

  There was a crash. “Oh, clumsy me,” cried Mrs. Jenkinson. “I dropped my glass. Here,” she said to the maid, “help me clean this up.”

  “It was water, was it not, Mrs. Jenkinson? Pray say you did not spill wine!”

  “Never fear, Lady Catherine, it was only my water goblet,” said Mrs. Jenkinson. “I am so sorry, madam.”

  “Get up all of the water, girl,” Lady Catherine ordered the maid, “or the table will mark. Ah, Richard, where were we? Another cat—no, I am afraid nothing can replace my dear Cleopatra.”

  Richard looked upon his aunt kindly. “She was sweet and affectionate, I dare say.”

  “Cleo?” snorted Lady Catherine. “I should say not! She was stately and regal—”

  Standoffish and cold, thought Anne.

  “—very particular of whom she would tolerate—”

  A hateful little beast.

  “—an excellent judge of character—”

  Only her mistress could approach her.

  “—and the owner of the loveliest long white coat.”

  Cat hair all over creation.

  “No, Richard, there will never be another such as my Cleopatra,” the mistress of Rosings finished with a sigh.

  “I quite agree,” Mr. Collins injected. “Losing a pet can be the most trying of events. Why, we have sometimes thought of acquiring a small dog for the parsonage to entertain the children. But when we recall the pain our most esteemed patroness weathered with such courage when tragedy struck, I am afraid that our humble hearts are not up to the challenge.”

  The grand dame turned on the hapless clergyman. “Are you comparing my Cleopatra to a mere dog? Of what can you be thinking?” Before Mr. Collins could apologize, Aunt Catherine turned to her nephew and asked, “What is the reason for your inquiry, Richard? I did not know you were so fond of my cat.”

  “To own the truth, Aunt, I had never laid eyes on her. A small animal, I take it.”

  “Cleopatra was neither large nor small,” Lady Catherine replied.

  “Medium-sized, then—a perfect dimension for a cat.”

 
Lady Catherine looked slightly affronted. “I should not describe Cleopatra as anything as ordinary as ‘medium.’ She was the proper size of a truly superior creature.”

  At Richard’s puzzled expression, Mrs. Collins held up her hands indicating the size of the beast.

  An officer in his majesty’s army should be quick of mind, and generally, it could be said that virtue was owned by Colonel Fitzwilliam, but that day his wits failed him. “Why, that looks to be about the size of the cat we saw today in Hunsford—would not you say so, Anne?”

  In that lady’s panicked expression, Richard saw his error. His only hope was that Aunt Catherine did not closely follow his meaning.

  A false hope.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Yes, Aunt Catherine?” returned Richard, hoping to minimize the damage.

  “Am I to understand that you saw a cat in Hunsford today?” she inquired.

  “Yes, Aunt Catherine.”

  “Anne saw the same cat?”

  “Yes, Aunt.”

  “In Hunsford?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where, may I ask, did you both see a cat in Hunsford?”

  Before Richard could say anything else, Anne told her mother, “At the home of Mr. and Mrs. Clarke, one of Rosings’ tenants.”

  “You saw it from your carriage.”

  “No, Mother—in Mrs. Clarke’s sitting room. We delivered a basket.”

  Lady Catherine drew in her breath. “Anne, do you mean to say you, a de Bourgh, entered a farmer’s house? One of those dirty hovels?”

  Richard cut in. “Aunt Catherine, please—”

  “Silence!” the woman roared. “Well, miss, what do you have to say for yourself?”

  Anne leapt to her feet. “I have nothing to say, Mother, except I was doing God’s work. And I would do it again!”

  “God’s work?” Lady Catherine sneered as she rose from her chair. “Charity promotes idleness! My daughter, risking her health, paying visits to such that should be on their knees in thanksgiving that they are allowed to reside here—it is beyond everything!” She then turned on Mrs. Jenkinson. “How could you allow this? Is this how you protect your charge?”

  “Mrs. Jenkinson was not there, Mother!” cried Anne. “If there must be blame, then direct it to none but me!”

  “Do not speak to me in such a manner! It is not to be borne!” At that, Anne turned and fled the room. “Anne! Come back here this instant! Ungrateful child, I am not finished with you—” She began to follow Anne when her nephew stood to bar her way.

  “You are finished with her, Aunt,” Richard said sternly but quietly.

  “How dare you! Get out of my way—”

  “No. Sit down, Aunt Catherine.” At her glare, he leaned down close to her eyes. “Please—sit—down.”

  After a moment, Lady Catherine returned to her seat.

  “I think quite enough has been said for one day,” Richard continued. “I will attend to Anne. Do I bring with me your apologies?”

  “Apologies?” she sputtered. “It is she who owes me her apologies for forgetting the honor due her mother! You will tell her that for me, sir!”

  “She does indeed owe you deference, madam, as you are her mother, but I shall not berate her or carry any demand from you for repentance on her part. Indeed, you should be proud of her. Yes, proud!” Richard said, his voice rising as Lady Catherine made to interrupt. “She was only doing right by your tenants. She was doing your duty.”

  “Duty?” Lady Catherine cried. “What do you know of duty?”

  “You forget yourself, madam!” the colonel of cavalry roared. “Remember to whom you are speaking! Do not dare speak to me of duty!” Richard allowed his glare to fall upon his wide-eyed aunt for a few moments more before leaving the room in pursuit of Anne.

  Mr. Collins was shocked at the exchange he had just witnessed. “Oh, my dear Lady Catherine! What is wrong with the young people these days, to speak in such a manner—?”

  “Oh, be silent,” said Lady Catherine.

  * * *

  Richard ran out of the house pulling on his coat, having been told by a servant that Miss de Bourgh had gone into the garden. Through the lightly falling snow, he saw a figure in a hooded cloak walking slowly towards the woods. Without wasting a moment, Richard set off at a run in pursuit of the walker.

  “Anne!” he called out. “Anne!”

  The figure halted but did not turn. Richard caught up and turned the person around. It was indeed Anne de Bourgh, the hood pulled down over her weeping face. Richard’s heart wrenched at the site of her tears running down her lovely cheeks.

  “Anne… Anne, please do not cry—I cannot bear it! This is no place for you. Come, I insist that you come inside where you may warm yourself. You will not have to face your mother; you will be left in peace. I swear it.”

  Anne looked up at her cousin. Richard was mesmerized by the lady’s lips, so soft and inviting. He could think of nothing else but to kiss those lips, that nose, those tears. The realization then hit him like a thunderbolt.

  He was in love with Anne de Bourgh.

  For a full minute the two stood in the lightly blowing afternoon snow, the gentleman holding the lady by the shoulders, each looking the other full in the face, not knowing how the other felt, neither saying what was in their heart.

  A sudden gust of wind hit the pair, bringing them to their senses and breaking the tableaux.

  “I believe you are right—we should go indoors,” said the lady.

  The gentleman nodded and held out his arm. Silently the pair returned to the house.

  Chapter 11

  Richard sat in his room that night, nursing a brandy and cursing himself. After he saw Anne into the house, Mrs. Jenkinson spirited his cousin to her rooms to get warm before Richard could say anything. But what could he say? How could he declare himself after insulting the lady’s mother?

  Instead, he retired to his room and immediately penned an offer to quit Rosings immediately and give up his office as advisor on estate matters. There was no hint of any remorse in his note for his words to his aunt; Richard felt none, and he would stand by those words for the rest of his life. He now sat and morosely waited for his aunt’s response; he did not doubt that the grand lady would accept his resignation.

  Richard was a competitive man. All his life, he strove to win, and it pained him to his bones to lose. His drive had kept him alive on the battlefield, but now he knew he had failed. His ungovernable temper had let down his family and cost him the woman he had unwittingly wanted all his life.

  He could see that now. All the years he had been coming to Rosings, it was always to see Anne—to show her some kindness and attention, to ease her life. When had affection grown into something more? Richard could not name the date or time; it had grown slowly. He knew his feelings had blossomed in concert with Anne’s own blossoming in recent years. And now, when Richard finally knew what he desired, he had thrown it all away.

  Richard chuckled to himself. He could envision the scene: him standing, hat in hand, before his imperious aunt. “Lady Catherine, I formally request your permission to court your daughter, Miss de Bourgh, for the purpose of matrimony.” He wondered if she would laugh before she had him thrown out the door.

  Richard knew Anne’s mind; she would never go against her mother’s wishes. Of course, he was assuming the lady felt the same about him. She did not want Darcy. Why would she want poor Richard Fitzwilliam, a second son with little income aside from his pay from the crown? Perhaps it was not so much the idea of a union with Darcy that displeased Anne as it was the whole concept of marriage to a cousin. Richard’s thoughts grew ever bleaker as he sipped his drink before the fire.

  Finally, the expected knock came. Slowly, Richard rose, crossed to the door, and opened it to behold the butler with a note on a silver tray. Richard took the note, thanked the butler, and closed the door. He walked over to the back of his chair, looking at the name on the cover: Colonel Richard
Fitzwilliam. As there was no profit in postponing the inevitable, he broke the seal and began to read.

  Colonel Fitzwilliam,

  I have received your note offering to resign your office here at Rosings. While your apology was not clearly laid out, I must assume that you meant to do so by your offer of resignation. I am pleased that you admit your fault, though it was done in such an obscure manner.

  Your offer of resignation is not accepted. I expect, as a member of the Fitzwilliam family, you shall see to your duties as usual in the morning.

  Yours, etc…

  Richard stared at the note for some time, not quite believing the words therein. Had it not been for the haughty manner of the writing, he certainly would have suspected a forgery. Finally, he fell into the chair he had vacated, the note hanging from his fingertips.

  For some reason Richard could not fathom, Aunt Catherine had chosen to view his letter as an apology so that Richard could remain to complete his task as Rosings. The colonel did not hold the belief that affection for his person had stayed the lady’s hand.

  No, he knew that something else was at work here. It would be a while before he could find sleep.

  * * *

  Anne came downstairs the next morning, not knowing whom she dreaded seeing more, her mother or her cousin. Seeing neither in the breakfast room, Anne sought out the housekeeper.

  “Mrs. Parks, has either my mother or Colonel Fitzwilliam been down to breakfast?”

  “No, miss,” replied Mrs. Parks. “Colonel Fitzwilliam has had nothing but a cup of tea; he has been in the library with the steward this last hour. Your mother is having her breakfast upstairs. Shall I fix a plate for you, miss?”

  “Just a little something—perhaps toast with jam,” said a surprised yet relieved Anne. “I am to meet Mrs. Collins for a stroll very soon.” As Anne ate her light breakfast, she could not prevent her eyes from straying to the door of the library down the hall. Knowing Richard was there unsettled her. She left her breakfast half eaten and prepared to go on her walk.

  Anne was soon among the trees in the grove. The air, while still chilly, had moderated from yesterday’s cold, and the snow was already half melted. Spring is in the air, Anne thought when she heard Charlotte calling her name. The two friends soon met and continued to walk amongst the trees.