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CHAPTER 11
Brussels, Belgium
- May 1815
Colonel Christopher
Brandon looked about the staff room. He could not say he was
overly impressed. True there were some veterans of the Peninsula:
the popular Lord Hill and the foul-mouthed Sir Thomas Picton,
both extremely talented. But Christopher did not know most of
the others. Young Prince Willem of Orange was certainly brave
enough - he had proven that in Spain. But was that enough for
a corps command? At least his chief of staff, Rebecque, seemed
to know his business. Brandon was shocked at the choice of cavalry
commander - Uxbridge, of all people!
The meeting, a report
of Wellington's conference in Tirlemont on May 3 with Prussian
Field Marshal Prince Gebhard von Blücher, started to break
up. "Gentlemen," the Duke was saying, "that is
the current situation. Bonaparte will not try anything until
July, at the earliest. By then we will have linked up with Blücher
and his 80,000 Prussians. Keep your eye on the west; undoubtedly
Bonaparte will try to cut us off from the coast and our line
of supply. Hal is the key - Prince Fredrick and General Colville
will be responsible. Any questions?"
"Fear not,
my lord!" cried the Prince of Orange. "Let Napoleon
try to invade! We shall crush him!" Brandon rolled his eyes.
"Thank you,
your highness," responded Wellington, as if the young man
had just given a report of the weather. "That is all, gentlemen."
Brandon saw Major
Denny leave with Canning, Gordon, Stanhope and the other ADCs
(aides de camp). He however dawdled until the room was nearly
empty and was able to catch Wellington's eye. "Yes, Brandon
- something on your mind?"
"Yes sir,"
replied the colonel. "Sir, it has been years since I have
last served, and…uh…"
Wellington gave
him a hard stare. "And you're wondering why I chose a broken-down
old man like you?"
Brandon kept his
face impassive, though his insides roiled with the insult. "Yes
sir."
"I'm starting
to wonder myself."
What? "I beg your pardon, sir?"
"Have you no
eyes, Brandon?"
Christopher's lips
tightened. "There is nothing wrong with my eyesight, sir."
"Then, Colonel
Brandon, tell me what you saw today!" Wellington demanded.
Brandon hesitated
before he spoke, trusting the Duke's penchant for frankness.
"I saw a room full of officers I know nothing of. I have
no idea how they will act under fire."
Wellington sighed.
"Yes, that is correct - neither do I." At Brandon's
intake of breath, the Duke continued. "Most of the fellows
that were with us in Spain are now in Canada; that is, the ones
that aren't dead in Louisiana."
Brandon blinked.
"I'm sorry about Pakenham, sir." General Sir Edward
Pakenham, who had lost his life trying unsuccessfully to take
New Orleans, was Wellington's brother-in-law.
"I am too -
I could use him. Green troops, green cavalry, green officers
- that's what we've got, Colonel! An infamous army, wouldn't
you say?"
Diplomatically,
Brandon replied, "If you say so, sir."
Wellington laughed.
"Ha! There's my Brandon - always wary, always careful. I
need you, Brandon - I need men I both know and trust."
"Is that why…"
Brandon blurted before he could catch himself.
Wellington nodded.
"Yes, that is why I asked for Paget - the man who cuckolded
my brother." Henry Paget, the Earl of Uxbridge, friend and
comrade-in-arms to Sir Arthur, had run off with the wife of Henry
Wellesley, British ambassador to Spain, while both were still
married. Both had been granted divorces and Charlotte Wellesley
and Uxbridge married, but for five years bad blood was between
the Wellesley and Paget families. "I can't speak to Paget's
private affairs, but I need a man who'll keep those hot-headed
cavalry lads in line. Uxbridge can do the job." His voice
dropped. "As for his highness, he's second-in-command in
name only; I retain control of all British troops. He shouldn't
do too much harm."
If you say so,
sir, thought Brandon.
Wellington put his
arm around Brandon. "Once Blücher gets here, we'll
have over 150,000 in the field, so I expect we should give a
good account even of Bonaparte. He may not want to attack such
strength, you know, and that will give the Austrians and the
Russians time to get into their positions." The Duke paused.
"Before I left Vienna Tsar Alexander came to me and placed
his hand upon my shoulder. Do you know what he said to me, Brandon?
'C'est pour vous encore de sauver le monde' - 'It's again
up to you to save the world.' That is our task, Colonel."
"All right,
you men," called out Captain George Wickham to his company.
"Two salvos, then five rounds of volley platoon fire. Sergeants,
take over."
Wickham walked over
to the shade of a nearby tree and discreetly retrieved a flask
of brandy from his pocket. Taking a small sip of the fiery liquid
he surveyed his company. The sergeants were making sure that
the company took up the proper four-row line - one low, three
standing - that made up the heart of the British method of infantry
fighting - the square. The months of training were showing; only
a few men were out of place. "All ready sir!" called
out a lieutenant.
Wickham strode to
the line and took his proper place. Drawing his sabre - Might
as well do this right - he pointed at the target thirty paces
downfield. "COMPANY - MAKE READY!" A hundred muskets
were cocked. Normally, the fourth line would not shoot - they
served as reserves. But this was an exercise.
"TAKE AIM -
STEADY!" The muskets came up pointing at the dozen hay bales
that served as targets.
"FIRE!"
The line disappeared in a cloud of smoke as the muskets went
off as one. Hurriedly, the men reloaded. Wickham waited until
most of the muskets had come back up, his watch in one hand.
"FIRE!" A hundred muskets crashed again. In the smoke,
Wickham cried, "VOLLEY FIRE! VOLLEY FIRE!"
Beginning with kneeling
line, each line fired a volley in turn. The effect was a wall
of constant fire, as the other lines reloaded as their comrades
shot.
Finally the fourth
line fired its fifth shot and the smoke dissipated. The haystacks
were the worse for wear, an effect the army knew would boost
the soldiers' morale. Wickham looked at his watch and shook his
head. "Well shot, my lads, but too slow! Barely two volleys
in a minute - should be closer to three! Sergeants, take your
men for some extra drill," he said as he dismissed the company.
He was then approached by a Dutch officer who had observed the
exercise.
"Your men did
well, Captain," he said.
"Thank you,
Captain, they did," Wickham replied. It was all well and
good to say so to some Dutchman, but Wickham would not compliment
the men to their faces - he needed to maintain disciple.
"But the waste
in powder and balls!" The Dutch officer shook his head.
"How can you English afford it?" Wickham said nothing.
While he had no personal experience, those who did claimed the
live fire exercises improved the infantrymen's marksmanship,
which had proved invaluable in the Peninsular War. "Are
you attending tomorrow night's ball, Captain?" Many of London
society had followed the army to Brussels, and entertainments
were necessary to break the monotony.
"No, I shan't
be able to make it, old boy." In reality, Wickham's commanding
colonel, put on his guard over Wickham by a well-timed letter
received before embarking to the Continent, had made Captain
Wickham Officer of the Day on the day of the ball - in fact,
Captain Wickham was to have the honor of being Officer of the
Day any day there was a ball.
Damn that Darcy!
Colonel Sir John
Buford sat moodily in the public rooms of his lodgings, nursing
a before-supper glass of wine. He was feeling very sorry for
himself. A month, he railed to himself, a month with
no letter from Caroline! You would think, with all we said, all
we shared…damn! Sir John took another drink. Careful,
man; don't get drunk…there might be a good reason…damn…
The front door opened
to reveal Colonel Fitzwilliam walking in, obviously after a tiresome
day. "Buford, my good man - pour me a glass quick!"
Buford did so and Richard took a sip. "Ah…at least
there's something to be said for this misbegotten place!"
"Rough time
of it, Fitz?"
"Arggh…ever
seen to the unloading of a bloody horse regiment?" He paused
for a moment as Sir John gave him a knowing look. "Oh, yes…of
course you have…well, then, how can you ask how my day went?"
he cried.
Sir John smiled
- Richard's antics took his mind off his troubles. "Thank
you for seeing that my equipment made it over."
"No trouble,
old man - glad to have been of service. Your wife was very keen
that I should give the matter my utmost consideration."
So she did receive
my letter, Sir John
thought. Why no answer? "Brandon should be here any
moment."
"Good - what's
for supper?"
"Boeuf saute
a la limbourgeoise - Beef stew in red wine with onions and
mushrooms - pommes frites and peas."
"Any beer to
go with that?" asked Colonel Brandon as he strode into the
room. "I'm famished!"
"Sit down,
Brandon, and welcome!" cried Fitzwilliam. "I am glad
you could accept our invitation. Haven't seen you since I got
here. Staff work keeping you busy?"
"Yes."
Brandon lifted his newly arrived beer. "Here's to us, gentlemen
- three colonels of His Majesty's cavalry - to hell with glory,
let's go home!"
"To home!"
the other replied.
"Colonel Brandon?"
asked a voice from behind.
Brandon turned to
see who had addressed him. "Ah, Denny! Won't you have a
seat?"
"Oh no, sir…I'm
just delivering a packet from headquarters…" The major
handed him the papers.
"Have a seat,
Major," said Sir John; he had gotten to know Denny during
his short time on the staff. Denny eyed Fitzwilliam, who had
turned his face away from him. Finally, after another entreaty
from Sir John, Denny sat across from Fitzwilliam.
Brandon poured him
a glass. "To your health, sir."
"Thank you,
Colonel," Denny said as he sipped his wine.
"Beau's been
keeping you busy, Denny?" Sir John used another nickname
for their commander-in-chief; Wellington was well known for his
sartorial splendor.
"Yes, sir -
the __th Regiment just came in - must see that…"
"The __th Regiment
- from Newcastle?" Richard cut the major off.
"Yes, Colonel."
Major Denny looked warily at Fitzwilliam. "Assigned to the
Reserve Corps…"
"I see."
Brandon began again.
"I hope you like boeuf saute a la…"
"Seen Wickham
lately, Denny?" demanded Richard.
"Not really,
sir; I haven't seen Captain Wickham since he disembarked at Antwerp."
"I am surprised,
Major; you being such good friends…" Richard said savagely.
The other two officers looked on in bewilderment.
Denny set down his
glass. "Excuse me, gentlemen, uhh…I just recalled a
previous engagement…perhaps another time…" He
rose to leave.
"Denny, I…"
cried Sir John, but he was interrupted by Brandon.
"Of course,
Major. Do not let us detain you. I will see you tomorrow."
Brandon rose and pointedly shook Denny's hand. Sir John rose
and did likewise. Fitzwilliam simply sat and glared at the major.
Finally Denny left the boarding house.
"What the devil
was that about, Fitz?" demanded Sir John. "I've gotten
to know Denny - he's a very good fellow. There's no need to treat
him like that."
"If you really
knew him you would treat him no other way, Buford," he said
as he sipped his wine. Richard Fitzwilliam was not a vindictive
man - it was not his usual nature to hold grudges. But the happy-go-lucky
visage he presented to the world hid the deep feelings of devotion
he held to those few he loved. He would allow no one to harm
his family or his closest friends. Chief among those he would
protect with his life were Anne de Bourgh and Georgiana Darcy.
George Wickham's failed seduction of Georgiana, and her subsequent
depression, had affected him more than anyone knew, including
himself. He would never forgive Wickham or anyone he suspected
of helping him.
Sir John was preparing
to respond when Brandon restrained him with a touch of his arm.
"It is something personal, I take it, Fitz. We would not
dream of inquiring. Let us just drop the matter, and enjoy our
fellowship and our meal."
Fitzwilliam nodded
but did not closely attend. He was too busy thinking over the
information he had just received. Wickham is here. How interesting…I
half expected him to run. Should I do something? No…but
I should keep an eye out for that bastard…
Rosings Park
Anne de Bourgh sat
at her writing table in her suite of rooms, penning her latest
secret dispatch to Richard via their co-conspirator, Georgiana
Darcy. She was humming happily as she wrote - thoughts of Richard
were a welcome distraction from the situation at Rosings.
For the last month,
since Anne received her life-altering letter from Colonel Fitzwilliam,
the household was in a state of undeclared war. Anne had categorically
refused to travel with her mother to Bath, or to leave her suite
of rooms to greet any visitor to Rosings, other than family or
the Collinses. Lady Catherine, on her part, refused to talk to
or even acknowledge Anne's existence when they were in company
together. Messages were sent in writing through Mrs. Parks, the
housekeeper, who had continued to take possession and responsibility
of the post, much to Lady Catherine's displeasure. Lady Catherine
also refused to allow Anne use of any of Rosings' carriages,
under threat of dismissal for any groom that might come to the
aid of Miss de Bourgh. Anne was reduced to walking the gardens
or woods with Charlotte Collins.
Anne was just finishing
her letter - only happy subjects were mentioned; Mrs. Jenkinson
had been quite insistent upon that. "A solider only wants
good news from home," she had said. "It keeps
his spirits up. Bad news…well, it does him no good, my dear,
with him being so far away…"
"Come in,"
Anne called to the knock upon her door. Mrs. Parks entered with
a grave expression on her face. "Good heavens, what is the
matter?" Anne cried.
Mrs. Parks gave
her young mistress a significant look. "It's Mrs. Jenkinson,
Miss…" She motioned towards Anne's companion's room
with her head.
Anne thanked the
housekeeper and walked quickly to her friend's door. "Mrs.
Jenkinson, it's Anne…" she said as she knocked on the
door.
"Come in, my
dear," said a voice that unsuccessfully hid sobs.
Anne opened the
door to behold her long-time companion sitting at her desk holding
a piece of paper in one hand and wiping tears from her face with
the other. Anne rushed to her side. Taking the older woman's
hand in hers she asked, "What pains you? Can I be of any
service, any comfort?"
Mrs. Jenkinson only
shook her head and handed to letter to her former charge. A glance
was enough; it was a signed notice from her mother discharging
Mrs. Jenkinson from her employ at Rosings. Anne flushed with
anger but not surprise - she had expected this move by Lady Catherine.
She took the older woman's face in her hands and said, "I
have told you before, Mrs. Jenkinson - you shall always have
a home with me."
"But not at
Rosings, not now," she said softly. "Where am I to
go? I have no children - my family is all gone…"
Anne face had gone
stony. "Do not despair, my dear. Leave this to me."
She rose and turned towards the door.
Mrs. Jenkinson rose
in alarm. "Oh, Anne…what are you going to do? Please…do
nothing rash…I shall manage…"
Anne de Bourgh turned
back to her former governess, fire in her eyes. "This has
gone on for far too long. It ends today." She then left
the room.
Mrs. Jenkinson gasped
- She sounds just like her mother!
Anne swept down
the hallway towards the staircase. At the head of it she intercepted
Mrs. Parks. "Where is my mother?" she barked.
"In the parlor,
Miss," Mrs. Parks answered with only the merest smile on
her otherwise expressionless face. Acknowledging the reply with
the smallest of nods, Anne marched down the stairs and to the
doors of the parlor. Without preamble, Anne opened the doors
and moved resolutely towards Lady Catherine. Her mother was at
her writing table reviewing her correspondence.
"Mother,"
Anne greeted Lady Catherine with an icy voice, "it has come
to my attention that you have dismissed Mrs. Jenkinson. Is this
indeed your intention?"
"Well, miss!
You now presume to speak to me! I should thank you, I am sure.
Yes, I have let your governess go - it was my impression you
had no need of one," Lady Catherine sneered. "Besides,
we need to economize now that we should expect no rents this
year."
Anne ignored the
jab. "Do not play games with me, Mother. You do nothing
without cause. What do you want?"
"Watch your
tone, miss."
"What do you
want?"
Lady Catherine glared
at her. "Your obedience and your deference, Anne."
"Bath, is it?"
Anne saw her mother's
eyes gleam. "Yes, Bath. I know what is best for you…society
that is worthy of you…I have been in correspondence with
a General Tilney…"
Anne watched in
silence as her mother ranted on. Why is she doing this? It
is worse than when she was planning my marriage to Darcy. What
is the reason for her determination? She is almost desperate.
Is it just her feelings of betrayal at the hands of my uncle?
"…and
a house of your own…a great estate, that is what you are
destined for, Anne! Just follow my lead…"
"Mother,"
Anne interrupted, "are you saying that if I do this - go
with you to Bath - you will reinstate Mrs. Jenkinson?"
"Of course,
Anne…" Anne started to laugh. "What is so amusing,
Anne?" Lady Catherine asked in a dangerous voice.
"You are, Mother!
Do you believe this is the Dark Ages? You would blackmail me,
your only daughter, into marriage to some rich landed fool? You
think the only price you will pay is the wages for my companion?
How did you grow so corrupted?"
"How dare you…"
"SILENCE MOTHER!
Your schemes are not to be borne! Let us have a right understanding
between us, madam. I will never go to Bath with you. The day
Mrs. Jenkinson leaves this house is the day I do. You have a
choice before you - suffer my companion or lose both of us."
"Where would
you go, child?" shouted Lady Catherine. "To the streets,
I suppose?"
"No - to my
uncle's." Anne said, as if explaining to a child.
The result was unexpected
- Lady Catherine went pale. "N…no, that will not be
necessary…" She halted and worked to get control of
her emotions. "Anne, I had not realized how…attached
you have become to your companion. Far be it from me to cause
you any pain…Please let Mrs. Jenkinson know that her services
shall be welcomed here for as long as you wish." She paused
and then, incredibly, began to beg. "Do not turn your back
upon me, dear Anne. I could not bear it. I do know what is proper
for you - but we shall not speak of it now. Let us…consider
each other's view and talk again another day. Come, give your
mother a kiss."
Anne looked wide-eyed
at her mother. As she bent to kiss Lady Catherine's cheek, she
could only think: Has Mother gone mad?
"Thank you,
my dear. Shall I see you for dinner, then?" Lady Catherine
turned back to her letters.
Anne only wanted
to leave the room at that instant to sort her own raging thoughts.
"Yes, Mother - until then…" Anne left the room
with as much composure as she could.
Within a few minutes
she was sitting in Mrs. Jenkinson's room again.
"Oh, thank
you my dear…that was such a lovely thing for you to do.
But I do not wish to be a source of disagreement between you
and your mother," the older lady was saying.
"Think nothing
of it," answered Anne, thinking furiously.
"But it is
so strange! That her ladyship would give in so quickly! I do
not see the cause of it."
"Nether do
I," said Anne, "But I think I may know someone who
does…"
London
Lady Caroline was
finishing her weekly letter to her husband. She wrote of family
doings, news from society, and the latest events caused by her
changing physique. Three months along now, her morning sickness
had finally stopped - that was the good news. The strange cravings
for odd foods puzzled Caroline intensely. She was assured by
all her female relations that it was perfectly normal, but it
still made no sense to her. She wrote of it, anyway, thinking
Sir John would find her predicament amusing.
Caroline had received
no other letters from her husband after the one in late April.
She told herself not to worry - he was undoubtedly busy with
all the things that soldiers do (whatever that was). He had warned
her, after all. Besides, it was her duty to write - to lighten
his cares. Caroline was surprised at the contentment she felt
at giving rather than taking. I have missed much being bad,
she reflected.
It had been decided
that Caroline would remain in London for the duration of her
confinement. Caroline had no wish to go to a Welsh physician
she did not know for this first child of hers. Also, London was
closer to Belgium - surely her letters would get there faster.
Godspeed you to Antwerp, she thought as she kissed the
letter.
Brussels
"Good ride,
gentlemen!" cried Colonel Fitzwilliam to his regiment as
he dismounted. "Enjoy your evening - we shall ride tomorrow
at nine." Richard gave the reigns to a private, patted his
horse, and began walking into his guesthouse. He had not gone
but a few yards before he beheld on horseback Major General Sir
John Vandeleur and the Earl of Uxbridge, his commanding officers.
Coming to attention, Richard fired off a smart salute.
"Your regiment
looks very good, Fitzwilliam," Uxbridge congratulated him
as he lazily returned the salute.
"They'll do,
sir." Fitzwilliam knew it had been some time since they
last saw action in Spain.
"Veterans -
wish we had more, eh, your lordship?" said Vandeleur.
"The heavies
will do their job, never fear," replided Uxbridge. "Carry
on, Fitzwilliam."
"Good work,
Colonel. I will inspect your regiment the day after tomorrow,"
said Vandeleur as he and Uxbridge rode away. Richard continued
his walk towards the guesthouse. There he found Sir John waiting
in the dining room.
"How goes it
today, Buford?" Richard asked as he took his seat.
"No problems
- the regiment is a bit rusty, but they're coming along. You?"
"The same…oh,
thank you," Richard told the innkeeper, who had just handed
him a letter.
"Go ahead,
open your letter - don't mind me," said Sir John as casually
as he could.
Richard slipped
Georgiana's letter into his coat pocket. "No - I'll just
read this later," he said with a cat-got-the-cream grin.
Sir John sipped
his wine to hide his agitation. Why does Caroline not write?
Rosings Park
Lady Catherine came
down the stairs in mid-morning feeling very sure of herself.
Since her confrontation with Anne a fortnight ago, she had been
busy with correspondence to General Tilney in Bath and to Lady
Metcalfe and Mrs. Ferrars in Town. She had also been careful
not to upset Anne. The plan was to take Anne to London, ostensibly
to support Georgiana during the Season - Society would have its
way, war or no war. In secret, Lady Catherine was trying to arrange
that General Tilney and his son "accidentally" meet
with her and Anne during a ball. Surely Tilney's son could take
matters from there. If not, Mrs. Ferrars and Lady Metcalf knew
of other good, titled families. It was all a matter of opportunity
- Anne was here and Richard was across the sea. Lady Catherine
would have her way - and Rosings - in the end.
As she reached the
bottom of the stairs she noticed that the footmen were acting
strangely - they were talking behind their hands to one another.
"Here, what is this?" she cried. "Do you have
nothing to do but stand in idleness? Be off with you! See to
your duties or you shall be looking for a new situation!"
As the men scampered away, Lady Catherine allowed herself a slight
smile - it always felt good to put the help in its place. It
never occurred to her to inquire about the subject of the conversation
- surely a servant could say nothing worth hearing.
She moved towards
the parlor when she noted Mrs. Parks and the butler standing
next to the library. They were also having a whispered conversation.
Was there something in the water today? thought Lady Catherine.
The pair noticed Lady Catherine's presence and ended their tête-à-tête,
yet made no effort to leave. It grated Lady Catherine' soul to
put up with those two, but there was nothing for it - they were
employed by her traitorous brother the Earl. She still considered
giving them a piece of her mind, but the grand lady then thought
better of it and entered the parlor.
As she walked to
her writing table - there was another letter for General Tilney
to write - she noticed some movement outside the window. Lady
Catherine was a curious as the next person - in fact more so;
she could be considered downright nosey. True to her character
she looked out the window and beheld her destruction - the carriage
of the Earl of Matlock. For a moment she stared dumbfounded at
the evil vehicle, as if the harder she looked the more likely
the image before her would evaporate. Stubbornly, the carriage
refused to disintegrate, and Lady Catherine was forced to come
to the awful realization that her brother Hugh was here - at
Rosings - with Anne.
Fear gripped her
heart, but not strongly enough to choke the cry that escaped
from her lips. Blindly, Lady Catherine dashed from the room into
the main hall - right into Mrs. Parks. Gasping like a fish, she
was able to manage, "Where are they?"
Mrs. Parks did not
have to ask whom Lady Catherine was referring to. She had been
waiting 15 years to say: "They're in the library."
Lady Catherine turned
to the door, already opened by the butler and dashed inside.
There she found the Earl sitting at Sir Lewis' old desk with
Anne, wearing her glasses, sitting beside him and an unknown
young man standing next to the both of them, reviewing a stack
of papers. Lady Catherine gasped, which caught the attention
of those assembled, as well as one other she failed to notice.
"Your ladyship!"
cried her old toady Mr. Collins. "Are you quite well? Please,
you must take care of yourself. Come I will help you to a chair…"
"Do not touch
me, worm!" she cried. "What are YOU doing here?"
she pointed at her brother.
"Setting right
what I have allowed to fester for too many years, sister,"
the Earl of Matlock replied. "May I introduce to my new
solicitor, Mr. Thomas Tucker?"
"Very glad
to make your acquaint -" began Tucker.
"Silence!"
Lady Catherine shouted. "Anne, I do not know what lies they
have told you…do not believe them…I beg you…"
Anne turned her head. "Anne, I am your mother! You will
obey me!"
Anne took off her
glasses and faced her mother with a look of steel. "No."
"I am mistress
of this house!"
"No you are
not, Mother. I am."
"That is not
so! Brother, tell her!"
The Earl turned
to Anne. "As we have been explaining to you, Anne, your
father left Rosings to you, with your uncle Darcy and me as trustees…"
"No!"
Lady Catherine interrupted. "Rosings is mine, until she
marries or I die!"
The Earl turned
to Mr. Tucker. "If you would explain again, Mr. Tucker…"
"Of course,
my lord. Lady Catherine, you are correct in stating the intent
of Sir Lewis's will. He did leave Rosings to your daughter, with
you holding a usufruct on her inheritance, until either Lady
Anne marries or inherits from you, whichever occurs first…"
"Yes, yes,
that is correct…what did you say - Lady Anne?"
"Yes, that
is her title."
"What nonsense
is this? I am certainly not dead, and Anne is not married…"
Horror came over Lady Catherine's face. "…Are you?"
"Sister, please
be so kind as to allow Mr. Tucker to finish." The Earl almost
felt guilty over the pleasure he was getting from this experience
- almost.
"Thank you
my lord," said Tucker. "Lady Catherine, as your daughter
is of legal age and of sound mind and good character, I do not
think it would be particularly difficult for a court to overturn
this will, especially as the management of the estate has been
in the hands of others for years…"
"You can try,
sir!" Lady Catherine cried. "I have my own resources!"
"Yes, I'm sure
you do. However, that matter is moot, as Lady Anne has fulfilled
the requirements of the will."
"But she is
not married!"
"No, but she
is engaged."
"WHAT? TO RICHARD?
When? She cannot be! I have not given my consent!"
Mr. Tucker looked
hard at Lady Catherine. "Lady Anne is of the age of consent…"
"STOP CALLING
HER THAT!"
"…And
she is engaged." He turned to Anne. "Lady Anne, have
you been writing letters to Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam?"
"WHAT?"
Lady Anne looked
Mr. Tucker full in the face. "Yes, I have."
Gravely he continued,
"And has Colonel Fitzwilliam written you back?"
"Yes, he has."
"NOOOO!"
"Sounds like
an engagement to me!" piped in Matlock. "Wouldn't you
say so, Mr. Collins?"
The vicar rose and
in a very solemn voice intoned, "It is a great indiscretion
for unengaged persons to correspond with each other. I fear that
Colonel Fitzwilliam has compromised Lady Anne's reputation. If
they are not engaged, steps must be taken to preserve the good
name of de Bourgh…"
"SIT DOWN,
YOU DIRTY TRAITOR!" screamed Lady Catherine. "I'LL
HAVE YOU OUT OF HUNSFORD BEFORE NIGHTFALL - YOU AND THAT HORRID
WIFE AND THOSE NASTY CHILDREN OF YOURS!"
"SIT DOWN YOURSELF,
MOTHER!" cried Lady Anne as she leapt to her feet. "You
will NOT threaten MY parson!" The Mistress of Rosings drew
a breath while staring into the eyes of her predecessor. "Mr.
Collins is correct - Richard and I have been indiscrete. Since
we have acted as an engaged couple, I will accept the fact that
I have indeed entered into such an arrangement. I consider myself
engaged to Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam."
"I speak for
my family," intoned the Earl. "I pledge that Richard
is indeed engaged to Lady Anne."
Lady Catherine looked
down then tried one last tack. "I am still Mistress of Rosings
- Anne is not yet married…"
"Ah…true,
but…" began Tucker. "The couple is engaged and
Colonel Fitzwilliam is away at war. The law is very clear on
this - if anything should happen to Colonel Fitzwilliam, the
law would look at Lady Anne as if she were already Mrs. Fitzwilliam.
They are betrothed - the law treats this very seriously. As this
is the case, it could be argued that the law would recognize
that Lady Anne is now owner of Rosings Park, as it recognizes
her as married over other matters." He paused then continued.
"You could, of course, contest this - that is certainly
your right. But I must warn you that if you do bring this to
court all will become public: Sir Lewis's will; the trusteeship;
Lady Anne's actions…"
Lady Catherine blanched
at the thought of all being in the London papers. She
turned to her daughter. "Anne, no…You do not have to…this
can be repaired…" begged her mother.
"Mother,"
said Lady Anne, "I want to marry Richard."
"But he has
nothing!"
"He has my
heart - that is enough."
"Love - you
love him? Oh, Anne, love is not enough to live on!" said
her mother.
"Isn't it?"
Lady Catherine had
no answer.
"Gentlemen,"
said Lady Anne to the others. "Thank you for council. However,
I ask for a few moments alone with my mother." The gentlemen
rose and left the room. "Now Mother, we have a few decisions
to make - first, where you are going to live." Lady Catherine
gasped, but was allowed no chance to respond. "The dowager
house is not ready, so my uncle has kindly offered his house
in London for the duration. However," she overrode an angry
retort, "I have no objection to you remaining here at Rosings
until Richard and I marry. Then you may decide whether to move
into the dowager house or into your own residence in Town, which
I would be happy to provide. Let me make myself perfectly clear,
Mother - should you choose to remain at Rosings you must accept
my supremacy. The choice is yours - live in my house or
your brother's."
Lady Catherine gave
a slight grimace. "Would I be allowed my own servants?"
"Of course."
She knelt beside the older woman. "Mother," she said
as she took Lady Catherine's hands, "Surely you understand
why this is necessary - it was Father's wish. And Richard and
I need to start together by ourselves. Do not be concerned; you
shall want for nothing." She kissed her mother's cheek.
"I love you, Mama."
Tears sprung to
Lady Catherine's face. "Y…you haven't called me that
since…"
Anne had a wry smile.
"Since you told me it was unladylike for a young woman to
refer to her mother as 'Mama'."
"Did I? That
was foolish…I have been foolish, haven't I? I just love
this house so!"
"It is just
a house. Richard and I shall make it a home." She thought
to ask Lady Catherine whether she loved Sir Lewis, but decided
not to approach that subject today - they both had been through
enough for one day. "You like Richard - admit it, Mama.
He was always your favorite nephew."
"Yours too,
I warrant. How long have you felt this way, Anne?"
"I do not know
- it seems forever. Years at least."
Lady Catherine sighed.
"It seems I have been trying to foist the wrong Fitzwilliam
on you. What else did you wish to 'discuss' with me?"
"I shall be
leaving for London to attend a ball in honor of the 21st anniversary
of the Glorious First of June. I go to support Georgiana. Are
you to accompany me?"
Brussels
"Come on, Buford,"
urged Richard, "Come to the party!" The party he was
referring to was a ball being held June 1st at a château
in Brussels by the British expatriates who had come over to the
Continent for the fun of war. "It will perk your spirits
up!" Richard was worried about his friend. He knew that
Sir John had not received any letters from home.
"No, Fitz -
you go without me."
"Buford - I
know she has written - something happened to the post
- you know how the army is…" Richard hoped rather than
believed that Lady Caroline had written her husband. He recalled
his last interview with the lady - surely there was some feeling
there. I cannot believe Caroline could be so cruel…No,
it is impossible! She is not that good an actress!
Sir John looked
up, trying to hide the hurt he felt in his heart. "Yes…you
are right." Maybe.
"Of course
I am! So, you will come on Thursday?"
Sir John sighed.
"Very well…"
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