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CHAPTER 4
Rosings Park,
Hunsford, Kent - February 1815
"Ow!"
cried Colonel Fitzwilliam as he rubbed his head.
"Does your
head hurt, cousin?" asked Anne de Bourgh disapprovingly,
sitting across the carriage from him with her companion, Mrs.
Jenkinson.
"Just a slight
headache, Anne. A trifle - it will pass soon enough." A
lie - Richard's head was splitting, but he wasn't about to admit
it to her. Darcy may think nothing of fifty miles of good
road in a well-sprung carriage, he thought irritably,
but I will wager he has never been on the road to Hunsford with
a hangover!
Yesterday was the
wedding of Kitty Bennet to Mr. Southerland, an excellent reason
to make merry. But, to be honest, that was not the sole reason
for Richard's current distress. His overindulgence in Mr. Bennet's
excellent cellar (excellent due to the connections owned by his
brother-in-law) was in anticipation to his duty today - journey
to Rosings to set right whatever Lady Catherine had damaged.
And he was to do it himself - no Father or Darcy to help him.
For a week the three
had been closed up in Netherfield's study (Darcy and the old
goat had let the house for the duration of the Darcy, Bingley
and Fitzwilliam families' stay in Meryton), reviewing all contracts
and other estate matters regarding Rosings. Too much wine was
not the only reason Richard's head was bursting. Never again
would the colonel mock his father, his brother or his cousin.
And you thought running a regiment was tough! he berated
himself. Why it is nothing to the proper management of an
estate!
Richard eyed his
cousin, who in her turn was looking out the window with a sour
look on her face. Why is she so angry with me? She knows nothing
of my mission; she only thinks I am taking this opportunity of
returning her and Mrs. Jenkinson to Rosings to visit Aunt Catherine
early. This disturbed Richard greatly - he had always gone
out of his way to pay attention to Anne. He felt he had to make
up for Darcy's distance in his dealings with her - not
that he had any choice, with the plans my aunt had for the heir
to Pemberley. Colonel Fitzwilliam did not like Anne being
displeased with him.
Another bump in
the road caused another shot of pain to race through the gentleman's
head. Lord! Four more hours to go!
Lady Catherine was
in fine form: "Richard! Come closer boy - let me get a good
look at you!" She was holding court in her palatial sitting
room. Seated on the divan next to her was Mr. Collins and Mrs.
Collins. Richard acknowledged the pair before addressing his
aunt.
"Aunt Catherine,"
he greeted her as he bent to kiss her cheek. Oh, my head!
"I trust I find you well." She looked the same,
but was there something different?
The old woman eyed
him with a mixture of amusement and disparagement. "Better
than you, I see." Returning to form, she continued: "I
was always celebrated for my strong constitution and robust health.
Indeed illness is a weakness, brought on by lack of occupation
and libertine behavior. I am sure that ill breeding is a cause
of many of the world's maladies; one must always watch the bloodlines,
be it dogs, horses, or…other things."
Will you never
stop disparaging the Bennets, Aunt? Richard thought. I was wrong - nothing has
changed.
It was now time
for Mr. Collins to second his illustrious patron's position:
"Oh, yes, Lady Catherine; why just the other day I was speaking
to Mrs. Collins, while preparing next week's sermon, pointing
out a certain passage in Scripture that exactly reaffirms your
excellent observation of…"
"Yes, yes,
Mr. Collins," Lady Catherine cut him off. The vicar deflated
like a bullfrog that had ceased to croak. The Mistress of Rosings
noticed her mistake and hastened to correct it: "Anne is
doing better now; her delicate constitution is not rare among
those of the highest station and must not be confused with those
of low class. Well nephew, I am glad to see you. You are early
this year - I am sure your affections for Rosings increase daily."
"How could
they not?" cried her jester. "Such refinement, such…"
"Richard! I
am sure Anne is fatigued from the journey - coming from such
a primitive part of the world." The good patroness took
no notice of the flash of pain that flew over Mrs. Collins' face.
"Gone to her room, has she? Rest is always good for the
complexion."
As poorly as Richard
was feeling, he could not resist responding. "Oh, Aunt;
Hertfordshire is a lovely place - why there was no snow or ice
to speak of and the roads were of good condition. Anne and Mrs.
Jenkinson bore the journey very well."
Lady Catherine's
face darkened. "I thought more of my brother the Earl than
he deserves. I permitted Anne to stay with him and Lady Matlock
for Christmas; depending on his judgment and sense of decorum.
And then he drags her to this… circus in Hertfordshire in
the most inclement weather! What could he be thinking of?"
That wife of his was behind it, I have no doubt! she added
silently. It was common knowledge that the sister and wife of
Lord Matlock held little love for each other, but Lady Catherine
held her tongue. There was only one thing Catherine Fitzwilliam
de Bourgh feared - her brother's anger. "I suppose you saw
your cousins there?"
"Of course,
Aunt. Darcy is…well…Darcy; Mrs. Darcy is as lovely
as ever and Georgiana was never in better spirits. She and the
new Mrs. Southerland are particular friends. The twins remained
in Town, but I can assure you they are in excellent health."
"I understand
Mr. Southerland has the living at Kypton?" Lady Catherine
inquired. "It is a particularly good living - 1,500 pounds
per year, very likely more." Mr. Collins could not help
but blanch at the amount - over twice his income. Lady Catherine
went on, "Very generous of Darcy. But I suppose he had…inducements
for benevolence."
Richard ignored
the crude allegation. "Mr. Southerland is an excellent fellow
and very attached to Catherine Bennet. One cannot but rejoice
that four sisters shall reside within such an easy distance of
each other, and that the husbands involved are so amenable."
Richard was referring to the Bingley's recent removal to Derbyshire.
Lady Catherine was
displeased to have Georgiana described as Mrs. Southerland's
sister, no matter how accurate it was. But there was no profit
in the continuation of this line of conversation. Lord Matlock
had made it very clear that he supported Darcy in his choice
of wife, and all his family was expected to do likewise or suffer
his displeasure. It galled Lady Catherine to acquiesce to her
brother's will - oh how she railed against it - but he
was the head of the family; she needed his "advice."
Therefore the woman celebrated for her candor was reduced to
making snide, somewhat obscure observations. She prided herself
in being as impertinent as possible without going over the line
of impropriety - that is, Lady Catherine definition of "impropriety."
"Well,"
said Lady Catherine, "the hour is late; I am sure the Collins
are soon to depart." At the hint, the good reverend leapt
to his feet. "You have missed supper, but I shall have Mrs.
Parks-" the housekeeper "-arrange a cold repast. Do
you wish it to be sent to your room?"
Richard agreed to
have his meal in his bedroom and took his leave of his aunt and
her guests.
"Anne, I will
go down to the kitchen and have something sent up," said
Mrs. Jenkinson, "You must be very peaked, my dear."
Anne de Bourgh sat
on the edge of her bed and nodded. She was hungry. "Thank
you Mrs. Jenkinson, but please do not bother yourself. You are
more exhausted than I; I will see to it myself."
The older woman
crossed to Anne, taking the young lady's hands in hers. "My
dear Anne, it is no trouble; and I promise that after I eat I
will go straight to my room." She looked at her charge with
affection. "Anne, I am so happy with your improvements over
the last two years. It is truly a miracle. You are becoming quite
the young lady. I think the time is quickly coming that you won't
need old Mrs. Jenkinson to fuss over you. You'll have some strapping
young man for that, God willing."
Anne de Bourgh looked
her old governess in the face with a steady composure but with
glistening eyes. "Mrs. Jenkinson, no matter what my fate
is, you shall always have a home in my house." The two women
shared a quick embrace and Mrs. Jenkinson left the room.
Mrs. Jenkinson pondered
over the change in Anne later as she prepared for bed, the remains
of her own late supper placed on a side table. For twenty years,
after 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 was ill - her constant
cough and runny nose preventing her from developing her talents
and keeping her shut up in her nursery and rooms for most of
her life. Imagine the daughter of a baronet not learning to sing,
or play, or dance, or draw. At least she could improve her mind
- reading was her only joy. That is, reading what Lady Catherine
would allow.
Mrs. Jenkinson was
an obedient sort; she was taught never to question authority.
But her heart went out to Anne; she grew to love her like a daughter;
the daughter Mrs. Jenkinson would never have. Therefore she would
do whatever she need to do to help Anne survive. For twenty years
she followed Lady Catherine's commands to the letter, no matter
how foolish or cruel. She would keep her girl alive, no matter
how much deep inside her heart would rebel at her instructions.
Three years ago,
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 elderly 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 thought over the 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 she committed murder.
Richard lay on his
bed, jacket off, hand behind his head when there was a knock
at the door. "Enter," he called out. Mrs. Parks came
in the room with a tray of chicken with cheeses and bread. A
bottle of Madeira was brought as well. "Thank you, Mrs.
Parks. 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 the room. She stood
in the middle of it, looking expectantly at him. Fine - we'll
begin. "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."
Richard was uncomfortable.
Mrs. Parks was giving him nothing. I remember Darcy's words:
"Trust Mrs. Parks; she can be of invaluable aid to you."
This stone wall? If I were back in my regiment I would know how
to deal with this. But I am not - this is a household, and not
my household. What is my path? Clearing his throat, Richard
asked, "Mrs. Parks is there anything you wish to tell me?"
In an emotionless
voice the housekeeper answered with, "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. Drawing himself up
to his full height he fixed his most severe glare at the woman
- a glare that had caused not a few lieutenants concern over
soiling their trousers. With the voice of a King's Officer who
had seen war and worse he said, "I am glad to know of it,
Mrs. Parks; I will surely keep those sentiments in my mind."
He allowed the pause to hang in the air before finishing with,
"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 threw himself into the
chair. Well, that went well, didn't it? he reflected morosely.
He was afraid of failure. I cannot let down Father - or Darcy
- or Anne…
Where did that come from?
Dismissing the thought
as soon as it came, Richard returned to his late 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 had despaired
since Darcy's banishment, for who would set things right? She
had no faith in the happy-go-lucky solider son of Lord Matlock.
But perhaps she was wrong. She could not stop herself from thinking:
Is there hope after all?
Anne de Bourgh snuggled
deep 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 and shy and excited; all at the
same tine. Mr. Southerland walked around the entire day - before,
during and after the wedding - with a rather silly half grin
on his face, as if he could not believe his own good fortune.
Anne wished the couple well; she and Georgiana had become very
attached to the girl.
Georgiana will
be next, she thought.
How lovely a wedding at Pemberley would be! Perhaps Mr. Southerland
would do the honors - oh, how that would put a bee in Mr. Collins'
bonnet! He still frets over Elizabeth and Darcy choosing 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 her time free from her gilded prison was limited,
and her company too; only to Matlock, and finally Pemberley,
was Anne permitted to go. She was realistic, as well. She was
not too old - yet - but she had no talents, no accomplishments,
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.
"You are
becoming quite the young lady. I think the time is quickly coming
that you won't need old Mrs. Jenkinson to fuss over you. You'll
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 didn't, thank God, 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.
Fitzwilliam arose
early, as was his routine enforced by his years in camp. After
breakfast he joined Rosings' steward in the library to go over
the condition of the estate.
Two and a half 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
make heads or tails of. Richard had been prepared for work, but
this was so far out of his experience that at first he had a
sense of drowning. Finally, after giving over his pride, he began
to ask what appeared to be 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 Richard the next day.
As for Colonel 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, even his brother the Viscount was
there to help him. But no; "this is your task, Richard,"
Darcy had told him.
Richard got a hold
of himself. For heaven's sake, man, what are you about? You
are an officer in the King's army. 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's the very thing. Richard drew a blank sheet
of paper from the desk drawer and began writing.
"Richard?"
He looked up and
saw Anne peeking around the library's door. She was still dressed
in a heavy winter cloak. Was she just outside? he thought.
"Anne. Come in, my dear." He rose and crossed to her.
Without thinking he took her hands. They were like ice. "Anne!
Have you just come in from outside? You are freezing! Come, sit
by the fire." He escorted his cousin to a chair by the fireplace,
despite her protests.
"Richard, please
do not concern yourself. I am not chilled at all - I enjoy my
winter walks. The air is so invigorating!"
"Really Anne,
what could you be thinking of? Think of your mother; how she
would be distressed at this behavior."
Anne's eyes went
wide and her good cheer fled. "Oh, Richard! Please do not
tell mother! There is no telling what she would do…"
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."
"Thank you,
Richard. 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. She was afraid she had revealed too much.
Changing the subject, she asked, "What are you doing? Why
are all those papers spread out over the desk?"
Richard turned to
look. "Those? Estate matters - I was quite a while with
the steward."
So, he has taken
Darcy's place, Anne
realized. "Such a collection! You were shut up with the
gentleman for no little time, but with the 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.
"No, Richard
- it is a chart of some sort." She peered closely at the
document.
"Nothing to
worry your pretty head over…"
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!" Anne did not know what affected
her more - Richard's dismissal of her intelligence or that he
thought her head was pretty.
Richard was taken
aback. All his life he had known Anne as quiet and sickly. He
had forgotten she was Aunt Catherine's daughter. She had just
reminded him. "Forgive me, Anne; 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 as his opinion of her
mother fell. She looked about the table. "You have quite
a task before you, Richard. Dinner 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…"
He was still worried about distressing Anne.
"I beg your
pardon…" Anne's head came up slowly.
Oh, no…
I've done it again…
"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 an 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 know of you 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 return 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. You will
have to know the truth sometime, my dear.
Four hours after
leaving the dinner table, Richard was sitting 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. We make a good team,
he thought. I 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 detail 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 glasses as they hung near the end of her
cute little nose.
The chart was a
good start - already Richard could see patterns, tendencies;
various solutions were already germinating in his head. The
ride in the morning will settle many things in my mind, he
thought.
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 how bad they truly were. She
hoped that Richard saw a way of setting things right; for her
part she was worried.
But it was hard
to think of land and grains and contracts when before her was
such a sight of masculine beauty. Richard's ruddy complexion,
grown tan by his years out of doors, well-suited 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 - and began to make herself useful.
After a couple of
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. Stop doing that!
Unaware of the effect
she had on him, Anne replied, "I am preparing the papers
to be put away."
"But Anne,
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. If only she were
Mistress of Rosings…
"Oh!"
cried Anne. "It is almost time for tea. 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 'round Rosings' holdings
to be enlightening, but he was left with as many questions as
answers. One parcel of land was especially vexing - the current
tenant seemed 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.
Imagine his surprise to see Anne and Mrs. Collins in the carriage.
"Good day ladies!" he cried. "Where are you off
to? Shopping, I dare say."
"You may well
say so, sir, but you would be mistaken," replied his cousin.
"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 one of the younger farmers, a man of
some ability but little land. The group was greeted at the door
by the mistress of the house, a Mrs. Clarke. Slightly flustered,
the lady escorted her visitors into a small but neat sitting
room. "Miss de Bourgh, Mrs. Collins, thank you for your
attentions. How kind of you to visit. Colonel Fitzwilliam, Mr.
Clarke will be so disappointed that he missed you - he is attending
to business in the village. May I offer you some tea? It would
only take a moment."
Anne smiled. "Mrs.
Clarke, thank you so much, but do not trouble yourself."
She held out the basket she had brought in. "This is from
Mrs. Collins and I. 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 are too kind…I can not accept…"
"Please, Mrs.
Clarke," said Mrs. Collins, "'tis not charity, but
a gift." The parson's wife glanced at the children looking
from around the corner. "It's strawberry preserves,"
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. The
larder was getting bare…
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 Bourg," Mrs. Clarke was
saying. "How is your 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. Lady Catherine has 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
fine - Ah-choo!" Anne sneezed again, her eyes watering.
"Just a passing fit…"
Richard watched
his cousin with concern - it been some time since he had seen
Anne ill - when he saw a grey streak out of the corner of his
eye. Pausing by the doorway to the kitchen was a large grey 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 then got to his or her feet. 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 underway.
"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, did not
take notice. "The spring planting season will be upon us
very soon, Mr. Collins," she was saying. "It is very
important to prepare the beds for vegetables thoroughly to insure
a bountiful crop. One can not 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 myself with your so 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 that you
think so, Mr. Collins. 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 of digging up a half-frozen garden in February,
while Mrs. Collins cringed. She knew her husband's mind; he would
follow Lady Catherine's "advice" to the letter, no
matter how inconvenient or outlandish it was.
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 a 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 of the latest mischief that
rascal has been up to."
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 stock
still, her fork poised in mid-air. Slowly the old woman lowered
her fork onto her plate, and only after that was accomplished
did she slowly turn hers 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.
Richard, completely
at sea, could only respond with, "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." Richard
was reminded of losing a favorite hunting dog as a boy. "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!
She was murdered!" cried Lady Catherine.
"Mother…"
began Anne.
"What did you
say, Aunt?" asked Richard. "Did you say murdered?"
"Murder most
foul, it was, Richard." Lady Catherine was becoming more
agitated. "I went to my rooms one evening and my dear sweet
Cleopatra was missing. She never leaves the room! I knew something
was amiss. I roused the house, looked everywhere, including outside,
and then…" she broke off.
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 stablehand near the barn, limp and lifeless."
Now Richard was
really 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 wasn't 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 just my water goblet," said Mrs.
Jenkinson. "I am so sorry madam."
"Get all of
the water up, 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. "Loosing 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 "Mr. Collins! Are you comparing
my Cleopatra to a mere dog? What can you be thinking of?"
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 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, Aunt."
"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. & Mrs. Clarke, one of Rosings tenants."
"You saw it
from your carriage."
"No, Mother
- in Mrs. Clarke's sitting room."
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. "What
you call charity subsidizes 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 none but at me!"
"Do not speak
to me in such a manner, miss! 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 she realized her nephew stood in
her way.
"You are finished
with her, Aunt." Richard said.
"How dare you!
Get out of my way…"
"No. Sit down
Aunt Catherine." At her glare, he leaned down into her eyes.
"Please - Sit - Down!" After a moment, Lady Catherine
returned to her seat. "I think quite enough has been said
for one day, Aunt," Richard continued. "I will attend
to her; do I bring with me your apologies?"
"Apologies?
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 of repentance on
her part, Aunt - indeed you should be proud of her. Yes, proud!"
Richard said, his voice rising. "She was only doing right
by your tenants; she was doing your duty."
"Duty?"
Lady Catherine screamed. "What do you know of duty?"
"You forget
yourself, madam!" the colonel of cavalry roared. "Remember
to whom you are speaking! Do not 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, but not shocked
enough not to try to console his patroness. "Oh, my dear
Lady Catherine! What are the younger folk coming to these days,
to speak in such a manner…"
"Oh shut up,"
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 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 and adorable nose. "Anne…Anne,
please do not cry - I can not bear it! Please, this is no place
for you. Come, let me bring you inside where you may warm yourself.
You will not have to face your mother, you shall be left in peace;
I swear it."
Anne looked up at
her cousin. He can not bear it? Oh, Richard, what are you
saying?
For his part 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. Finally a sudden gust of wind hit the pair;
it brought them to their senses, breaking the tableaux. "Yes,
Richard, I believe you are right - we should head indoors…"
said the lady.
The gentleman nodded
and held out his arm. Silently the pair returned to the house.
Colonel Fitzwilliam
sat in his room that night, nursing a brandy and cursing himself.
After seeing Anne back into the house, Mrs. Jenkinson spirited
his cousin to her rooms to warm up before Richard could say anything.
But what could he say? How could he declare himself after insulting
the lady's mother? He sat and waited for his aunt's response
to his written offer to immediately quit Rosings and to give
up his office as advisor on estate matters. (There was no hint
of any remorse for his words to his aunt - Richard felt none
at the time and he would stand by those words for the rest of
his life.) He did not doubt the lady's answer to the letter.
Richard was a competitive
man; all his life he strove to win. He hated 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 always wanted.
He could see that
now. All the years he had been coming to Rosings - it was 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
over the last two years. And now, when Richard finally knew what
he wanted, he had thrown it all away.
He chuckled to himself.
Oh yes, I can see it now: "Lady Catherine, I formality
request your permission to court your daughter, Miss de Bourgh,
for the purpose of matrimony." I wonder: would she laugh
before she had me thrown out the door? Richard knew Anne's
mind - she would never go against her mother's wishes. Of
course, are not you assuming the lady feels the same way about
you? She did not want Darcy - why would she want poor Richard
Fitzwilliam? Perhaps it was not so much of the idea of a union
with Darcy that displeased her as the whole concept of marriage
with a cousin. He thoughts grew ever bleaker as he sipped
his drink before the fire.
Finally, the expected
knock came. Slowly, Richard rose and crossed to the door. Opening
it he saw 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. Finally, he broke the seal and began
to read:
3rd Bedroom,
Second Floor,
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, even though it was done in such an obscure
manner.
Your offer of
resignation is not accepted. I expect, as an officer in the King's
army, you shall see to your duties as usual in the morning.
Yours, etc…
LADY CATHERINE
DE BOURGH
Richard stared at
the note for some time, not quite believing the words therein.
Had it not been for the haughty manner in the writing, he would
have certainly 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 at Rosings. The colonel did not humor himself in 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 get to sleep.
Anne came downstairs
the next morning, not knowing who she dreaded seeing more - her
mother or her cousin. Seeing neither in the breakfast parlor,
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 locked up in the library with
the steward this last hour. Your mother is having her breakfast
upstairs."
"Oh,"
said a surprised yet relieved Anne.
"Shall I fix
up a plate for you, Miss?"
"Just a little
something - perhaps toast with jam. 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 he 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, yesterday's snow already half melted.
The air, while still chilly, had moderated from yesterday's cold.
It will soon be spring, Anne was thinking when she heard
Charlotte calling her name. The two friends soon met and continued
to walk amongst the trees.
"How fare you
today, Anne?" began Charlotte.
"Much better,
I thank you. I have not sneezed once."
Charlotte eyed her
companion. "Anne, as happy as I am to hear you in good health,
I believe you know I was not inquiring about your nose."
At Anne's continued hesitation, Charlotte declared, "Forgive
me, Anne. It was not my intention to pry."
Anne stopped and
turned to the other woman. "Oh, I do not believe you were
doing that - you are concerned about me, I know. It…it is
just that…oh, you will think me foolish…"
"Anne, my dear,
you are no fool. Come, share your burden with me."
"Mother upset
me greatly yesterday…"
"Yes, we were
all witness to her abominable behavior towards you. May I tell
you a secret? Even Mr. Collins was upset with Lady Catherine."
"You are joking,"
Anne gasped. "Mr. Collins?"
"Yes,"
Charlotte said with a smile, "though he admitted it to me
only after we were safely in our bedroom where no one could overhear."
Both women giggled. "But Anne," Charlotte continued
after the laugher died down, "there is more to this melancholy
than your mother. Might it have something to do with a certain…officer?"
Anne whirred to
her friend. "How…? How did you know?"
"Oh, Anne,
I have known it for some time."
"Why have you
not spoken of it before?" Anne then paled. "Do you
think anyone else knows?"
"Mrs. Jenkinson
might suspect…" Charlotte considered. "Elizabeth
as well…"
"Elizabeth!"
"Georgiana…Mr.
Darcy, too - they can keep nothing from him…"
Anne put both hands
to her face. "Oh, no…"
Charlotte took her
friends hands into her own. "Fear not, Anne. It is certain
that your mother suspects nothing. No one who would inform Lady
Catherine of your feelings toward Colonel Fitzwilliam has the
slightest idea as to your inclinations. Your secret is safe…"
Anne's face could not hide her relief. "Safe even from your
intended."
Anne turned away.
"Then everything is well…" she began to say when
she heard a snort of frustration from her companion.
"Not again!"
Charlotte cried to the heavens. "Three years ago only I
saw what was happening between Darcy and Elizabeth. I said nothing
and look at the pain it caused!"
Anne was amazed
at Charlotte's outburst. "What pain? Did something happen
while they were here that spring?"
"Never mind
- it is not my tale to tell. In any case all ended well. But
I shall not stand idly by again." Charlotte took Anne by
the shoulders. "Anne, my dear friend, believe me when I
say that Colonel Fitzwilliam is in love with you!"
"No, it cannot
be…" said Anne, "You are wrong…"
"Anne, I have
watched the both of you. To my eyes it is as obvious as the sun!"
Charlotte tried another approach. "Anne, you will admit
to feelings for the colonel?" Anne blushed, her eyes firmly
planted on the ground. "Anne…"
"Yes…"
said Anne in a small voice.
"You love him?"
"Yes…"
"Do you not
want him to love you back, or do you believe that you are not
worthy of him?" Charlotte frowned. "For it is my opinion
that he is not worthy of you!"
"How can you
say that?" cried Anne. "Richard is the best of men!"
"Bah! A few
medals, surviving Bonaparte…what is that compared to what
you have endured your entire life? If he is such a great man,
why has it taken him so long to know his own mind?"
"I…I do
not understand…"
"Richard has
been in love with you for about as long as you have been in love
with him. It is true! Only, you have admitted to yourself the
truth of your heart's desire, and for a very long time, have
you not? If Darcy would have followed his aunt's demands and
asked for your hand, you would have refused him, would you not?"
Anne nodded. "But Richard has only this week realized his
true feelings for you. I watched him at the Clarke's, and as
he defended you against Lady Catherine. Believe me; he is violently
in love with you."
Anne's mind rebelled
at the words of her friend. For so long, when she was ill, she
felt unable to love, unworthy of being loved. Now that she was
improved, why did she continue to feel that way?
Charlotte's eyes
bore into hers. "Do not let your mother poison you against
happiness."
Anne's head snapped
up. How dare she attack Mother!…Oh…Oh, Lord God,
she is right. I do not feel unworthy of love - I feel unworthy
of Mother's love…I have not lived up to her expectations…but
what were her expectations? Did she want me to marry Darcy for
my happiness or for her own? Whom did she love - Father? I do
not remember…She only seems to love her cats… Tears
began to run down Anne's face.
Charlotte, distressed,
embraced the young woman. "Oh, Anne, forgive me…"
As Charlotte hugged
Anne, a thought cut through the jumbled mind of the heiress:
Richard - yesterday - that look in his eyes…I thought
he was going to kiss me… Anne broke the embrace and
looked at Charlotte with a dawning smile on her face. "He
wanted to kiss me."
"What…?"
"He wanted
to kiss me."
"Who wanted
to kiss you?"
"Richard, silly!
It was in his eyes - he wanted to kiss me!"
Charlotte's eyes
grew wide. "He did? When?"
"In the snow!"
Anne was downright giddy now.
"In the snow?
When were you in the snow?"
"Yesterday!
After we fought with Mother. He came after me and wanted to kiss
me in the snow! Whee!" Anne broke free and did a perfect
pirouette, laughing the whole time.
Charlotte watched
in open-mouth shock at her friend's exhibition. Anne then grasped
Charlotte, giggling. "Oh, Charlotte, you are right! He DOES
love me!" Unable to resist, Charlotte began to giggle too.
"He…he wanted to kiss me! He must want to marry me!
Marry ME! Ha, ha! Oh, Charlotte, I have never been so happy!"
The women hugged again, in laughter and tears.
Suddenly, Anne pulled
away and looked Charlotte in the face. "What do I do now?"
Anne's confused
expression quickly sobered Charlotte. With a slight smile, she
looked at her companion and said, "Anne, you must let Richard
know that his attentions are welcomed."
"But…how
do I do that?"
Charlotte sighed.
"You will find a way, my dear."
Upon the steward
leaving the library, instructions in hand, Richard stood and
stretched to relive the stiffness in his back. As his back was
to the door, he was surprised to hear: "May I come in?"
Richard assumed a more proper pose and turned towards his visitor.
"Yes, Mrs.
Parks, do come in. Please, have a seat." Richard waited
until the housekeeper has comfortable. "Now, madam, how
may I be of service to you?"
"I understand
you wish to speak to me," she replied.
So we are finally
getting around to this,
he thought. "Er, yes, I do. I would like to speak with you
about the household. As you may know, I am empowered to look
into all aspects of the management of Rosings Park. Your cooperation
in this endeavor is vital…"
She handed him a
packet of papers. "I have here the current household budget,
as well as the current accounts with the shopkeepers in Hunsford."
"Umm…thank
you, Mrs. Parks." Richard set the packet aside. "I
shall review them in a moment. Now as for the staff here…"
"You will find
a roster of all employees of the house in that packet, along
with their background and date of hire."
"Ah, thank
you for bringing that up, madam," Richard said as he walked
behind the desk to take his seat. "I have already seen the
reports of the tenants and of the groundskeepers here at Rosings,
but I cannot find your employment agreement, or that of the steward."
He gestured at the stacks of papers.
Mrs. Parks unsuccessfully
hid her slight smirk. "You'll not find them in there,
sir. The Mistress had them burned, you see; but it don't signify.
The solicitor has got the originals."
Richard took a moment
to digest this information. Why would Aunt Catherine do that?
Did she mean to sack the both of them? Then why are they still
here? "Ahem… it must be a trial, I suppose, to
work here…my aunt can be rather capricious, I must admit…your
loyalty does you good…"
Mrs. Parks looked
at him strangely. "As I said before - I very much enjoy
my position here, sir. Do you have any question about that?"
Richard became flustered.
Dratted woman! I cannot make heads or tails of her! "Well…I….umm…the
uncertainty! I mean, there has been quite the turnover among
the household staff here. I must admit I am surprised that you
are still…well, to put it plainly, I am shocked that my
aunt has not yet run you off!"
Mrs. Parks' expression
became one of surprise. "Forgive me, sir…I had assumed
you were better informed. I see now that you are operating under
a mistaken understanding. Though how you could have been sent
here without being fully prepared…what a muddle…"
"Mrs. Parks,"
Richard cut in. "I must insist you make plain your meaning."
"Colonel Fitzwilliam,
neither my situation nor that of the steward is dependant upon
the good will of Lady Catherine de Bourgh. We are both employed
by your father, the Earl of Matlock, and have been so for over
fifteen years."
A half hour later,
Richard escorted Mrs. Parks out to door of the library, thanking
her for her help. The housekeeper was everything Darcy claimed:
intelligent, loyal, observant and helpful. The time the two spent
together was very profitable, and many questions were answered.
Richard learned that Mrs. Parks was in a constant battle with
Lady Catherine over the management of Rosings Park. Mrs. Parks
controlled the food budget; all else was subject to the whims
of the Mistress, including the hiring and firing of staff, with
the exception of the butler (he answered to Mrs. Parks). The
financial state was not what it should be, but it was not dire.
Money had been put aside - this coincided well with Richard's
plans. He saw many places for economy, especially in his aunt's
personal spending habits. He had no idea she spent as much as
she did on clothes. Seeing the rather shocking figure did bring
to the colonel's recollection that he had very rarely seen Aunt
Catherine in the same dress twice.
As the lady took
her leave to see to the dinner, Richard was still wrestling with
the key mystery. Mrs. Parks could not say why she and the steward
were retained by his father, or why Aunt Catherine had agreed
to such an arrangement. He made a mental note to ask the Earl
about this; he doubted his aunt would be as forthcoming.
Richard's generous
heart felt a pang of concern for Lady Catherine's current state
of mind. The lady had never been a very pleasant person, but
since Darcy's marriage his aunt seemed to grow more bitter each
year. Now, Richard thought he had the key to improving Lady Catherine's
demeanor, as well as ease his way to acquiring his aunt's permission,
if not approval, for Anne's hand. To his chagrin, he forgot to
raise the matter with Mrs. Parks. He started to go after her
when he espied someone else who would do as well.
"Mrs. Jenkinson!
Just the person I've been looking for!"
"Colonel Fitzwilliam;
I am at your service, sir."
"Thank you.
I have a proposition I would like your opinion on."
"Very well,
I am all attention."
"My Aunt Catherine
has been out of sorts for some time. I trust we both know the
reason for this." Richard did not note the alarm in the
lady's eyes. "Therefore, I believe something should be done
to remedy the sad circumstance that has caused so much pain to
Lady Catherine. I have in my mind an idea to acquire a cat -
a lovely new pet for my aunt. What color would you suggest?"
The electrifying
result to this declaration was not at all what Colonel Fitzwilliam
was expecting. Mrs. Jenkinson eyes grew so wide Richard thought
they were in danger of poping out of her head. She began shaking,
a low moan rising from her throat. Like a wild woman, Mrs. Jenkinson
grasped Richard's lapel in one hand, opened the library door
with the other, and dragged the stunned gentleman within. The
lady locked the door and turned on the colonel. "Colonel
Fitzwilliam, by all that is holy you must not bring a cat into
this house! A person's life may well depend on it!"
"Mrs. Jenkinson
- control yourself, madam!" Richard was at a complete loss
as to Mrs. Jenkinson's behavior. "You are very ill - I must
insist that you take this seat. A glass of wine, may I get you
one?"
"No, no - Colonel,
I insist that you pay attention to me. Please!"
"Mrs. Jenkinson,
I am afraid I do not follow you…are you afraid of cats?"
"Good God!"
the woman exclaimed. "Is this my reward? I risk termination
- even eternal damnation - to save my girl; only to be counteracted
by this fool? Lord help me!" Colonel Fitzwilliam was too
astonished to be affronted. With a supreme effort, Mrs. Jenkinson
gained control over her emotions. "Colonel Fitzwilliam,
please…I know I have insulted you; it is unsupportable…but
I know I am right in this matter. Know you that I would do anything
for Anne…"
"Anne? What
does Anne have to do with this?"
"She has EVERYTHING
to do with it!" Once again, the lady paused to gather her
feelings. "Sir, you are a wise man; you have a gentleman's
education…have been to university. I deeply respect you.
I believe you would make my girl - I mean Miss de Bourgh - very
happy." She saw Richard's expression. "Oh, yes, I am
aware of your attachment to Anne. Nothing would give me greater
joy than to see you both secured in your affections - to see
Anne as Mistress of Rosings with you at her side."
"H-how did
you know?"
Mrs. Jenkinson finally
calmed down enough to smile. "Forgive me; I saw you both
in the snow yesterday. No one could mistake the regard you hold
each other with."
Each other…? Richard's abused mind tried to take
it in. Does she think Anne feels the same way?
Mrs. Jenkinson returned
to the subject at hand. "You must believe, sir, that science
cannot explain everything. It is like faith - it cannot be proved
in this world. Do not ask me how I know - I just do. I
know that cats are…not good for our Anne."
Coming back down
to earth, Richard found he was still puzzled. "But…why?
How can a cat hurt Anne?"
"I cannot say.
But just observe! Since Lady Catherine's cat…went away,
Anne's heath has so improved that she believes she may marry!
That is proof enough for me."
And there is
much about Cleopatra's demise you are leaving unsaid, Mrs. Jenkinson, considered Colonel Fitzwilliam. "Mrs.
Jenkinson, I must admit that I find your story fantastic. It
goes against everything I have been taught. But," he added
as the woman attempted to interject, "I cannot deny that
Anne has improved remarkably since…the incident you describe.
I will be guided by the evidence of my eyes. I will bring no
cat into Rosings." And to be safe, any house Anne and
I chose to reside in.
Mrs. Jenkinson was
relieved. "Thank you, Colonel."
"Shall we join
the others? It is nearly time for dinner. We must not upset Lady
Catherine by being tardy." Richard helped the lady to her
feet but hesitated before going to the door. "And Mrs. Jenkinson?
Let me make myself rightly understood. I know of the affection
for which you hold your charge; 'tis a wonderful thing. However,
the next time you consider taking matters into you own hands,
no matter what the cause…" he looked coldly into her
eyes as only a Fitzwilliam could, "…don't."
Anne was already
sitting at the table, nervously waiting for Richard's entrance.
Charlotte's assurances of Colonel Fitzwilliam's affections only
changed the nature of her uncertainty. Before, Anne was unsure
of Richard's wishes; now she was concerned over how to let him
know of her feelings, without seeming improper. Then,
he was at the doorway, searching for her eyes. The pair locked
eyes for only a moment, but it was enough. The nervousness fled
from Anne's body, only to be replaced by another unsettling feeling;
one, she knew, that could only be satisfied by four little words.
For his part, Colonel
Fitzwilliam had only a sense of clarity. He knew now that his
beloved loved him. His happiness only awaited the inevitable
declaration of his desires and her acquiescence. He had to fight
the urge to throw himself at Anne's feet and beg her to make
him the happiest man in the world. No, he had his mission to
accomplish - the beginning of the salvaging of Rosings Park.
Work first, pleasure later. However, he could not resist lightly
squeezing Anne's leg as he sat down beside her. His body prevented
Lady Catherine from seeing the look of delighted surprise on
the face of her daughter.
Magnanimously, Lady
Catherine had decided to forgive her daughter and nephew for
their indiscretions of the day before. What she meant by "forgiving"
was not bringing it up again at this time. Forgetting was not
in her character, ever celebrated for its sincerity and frankness.
Her malice was a weapon sheathed for the time being.
As the soup was
being served, Lady Catherine inquired, "I hope you have
found your labors profitable today, Richard. A Fitzwilliam must
always live up to their responsibilities."
"I quite agree
with you, Aunt. And I have been most agreeably occupied this
morning. I would like to make an appointment to speak to you
about the particulars of my business - this afternoon, perhaps?"
It is a commonly
held belief that people act rationally and predictably. It is
also a truism that the exception proves the rule. For a reason
that later no one, including the participants, would ever be
able to articulate, Lady Catherine cried, "There is no need
to stand on ceremony, sir. Speak up! We are all family here."
Richard looked up
in surprise at his aunt's expectant face. Very well, he
thought and marched off to disaster. "As you know, I have
been reviewing the condition of the lands that make up the estate.
It will come as no surprise to you, Aunt, that things are not
what they ought to be. Yields and income have dropped over the
last few years."
"Here, here!
Have you discovered the malefactors, nephew?"
"Yes, Aunt,
and I will tell you his name: tradition."
"Tradition?
By what do you mean by this? Come, come, do not sport with me.
Tell me the names of the indolent creatures. I will see that
the sheriff runs them off."
"Aunt, there
are a few older tenants who cannot properly work their lands.
Their sons have fled to the cities for employment. There are
also younger men who do not farm enough land to support their
families. I will tell you of my plans for readjustment presently.
But the real reason that yields are down is that the vast number
of the tenants follow the traditional way of farming and do not
embrace the new scientific methods."
"What methods?
"Well, for
one, crop rotation - allowing fields to lay fallow, to rest…"
"What! Surely
you do not mean that wicked practice of neglecting one field
in four!"
"Aunt, 'tis
a proven idea…we use it at Matlock…"
"It is a license
to idleness, it is! My income cut by a quarter so that men may
sit whistling at the wind! How will my rents be paid?"
"Aunt, you
must understand that yields on the remaining property increase
to such an extent that you will see no drop in income - eventually."
"Eventually?"
cried Lady Catherine. "You see - you know that this 'method'
is false!"
"No, Aunt -
that is not what I meant." Richard took a breath. "The
fields are in a critical shape. It will take a season or two
to set things right - for new farmers to work their new fields…"
"New fields?"
"Yes, Aunt.
Mr. Smith will be pensioned off. The land he worked shall be
transferred to Mr. Clarke, a man small in holdings but large
in abilities."
"Mr. Clarke!
That babe? How will he pay the rent?"
"He won't -
not for the first year."
"WHAT?"
"The harvest
last season was too small to pay the rent and fill the farmers'
larders. They chose to be honest men and paid their due. They
have put their families at risk. It is time we returned the favor."
Aunt Catherine, shocked, could not speak. "I have instructed
the steward to put in place my reforms and readjustments. For
those who comply, there will be a rent holiday of one year, subject
to review upon this fall's harvest."
"Are you saying
there will be no rents this year?" Lady Catherine was able
to squeak.
"Aunt, I have
reviewed your financial position. You have been frugal; you have
put money aside. With economy in the household and personal accounts,
you will hardly notice the inconvenience while strengthening
the farming abilities of your lands. All Hunsford will know of
your generosity. By sharing their pain you will win their hearts.
Your name will be celebrated in the village square…"
"THIEF!"
Lady Catherine screamed. "THEIF! You steal my money to give
to that…rabble! How could you do this to your family? Are
you lost to all duty and honor? There is a viper in my house!"
"Madam, people
will starve if we do not act."
"What do I
care for that scum? They live in squalor, breeding their beggars,
thieves and whores! If they starve, it is God's judgment on them!
And you wish to accommodate their sin! You are a traitor to your
class!"
Richard was too
shocked to be angry. He looked around at the others - Mrs. Jenkinson
was as pale as a ghost and Anne was almost too frightened to
cry.
"You will rescind
your instructions at once. Do you here me? At once!"
Richard rose from
the table. "No Aunt, I will not."
"Do you defy
me? It is not to be borne! You will not gainsay me; I shall stop
your evil!"
"You may try,
madam, but the steward only will accept instructions from me."
"NOOO! I see
it now - you are trying to steal Rosings from me!"
"Madam…!"
"SILENCE! I
know your twisted mind! You are in league with my brother - he
is behind this! But I will stand for it no more! Out! Get out
of my house this instant!"
Richard knew there
was nothing for it; Lady Catherine refused to see the justice
in his solutions to the crisis at Rosings, and he could stand
her insults and wild accusations no more. Without a word, he
gave his aunt a cold, polite bow and left for his rooms. Anne
got up to follow.
"Where are
you going, miss?" demanded her mother.
Through her tears,
Anne replied, "I care not, so long as it is away from this
table. I am ashamed of you." With that Anne fled the room,
unheeding of Lady Catherine's demands for her return.
Ten minutes later,
having tossed all his belongings into his trunk, Richard opened
his bedroom door to find Anne waiting without. Silently, the
two unacknowledged lovers briefly embraced in the hall before
heading downstairs, hand in hand, the valet carrying the trunk
behind. Richard signaled that the valet continue to the coach,
while he left Anne to go into the library. Minutes later he emerged,
a large packet of papers in his hand. Richard took Anne's hand
with his free hand, bowed farewell to Mrs. Parks, and exited
the house with his beloved.
Before the coach
Richard halted. He handed the packet to the valet and turned
to Anne.
"Richard!"
she cried. "Take me with you!"
Slowly the colonel
shook his head. Taking both of Anne's hands in his, he looked
intently at her. "Anne, I wish many things right now. I
wish I could speak…but now is not the time. I cannot take
you with me; you must remain. But do not despair! As God is my
witness, I - shall - return - for - you." He stared at Anne
until she nodded in acknowledgement. "I do not believe you
have anything to fear from your mother - her malice is reserved
for me. However, should you be in need of assistance, write to
the Earl and I or another will come at once." His eyes softened.
"Until we meet again, Anne…" With that he kissed
each of her hands, and, with one last look into her shattered
face, he leapt into the carriage and was off.
Anne stood at the
foot of the steps, as still as death, watching the coach until
it was out of sight.
Observing the whole
scene from the parlor window behind was Lady Catherine de Bourgh.
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