The Three Colonels

choice; any attention he showed Anne would have been taken by Lady Catherine as submission to her desire for a union between the two.

Simply put, Colonel Fitzwilliam did not like Anne being displeased with him.

A jarring bump in the road caused another shot of pain to race through the gentleman’s head.

Lord! Four more hours of this.

*   *   *

“Richard! Come closer, boy. Let me have a good look at you!”

Lady Catherine was in fine form upon the travelers’ arrival. She held court in her palatial sitting room, Mr. and Mrs. Collins seated on the divan next to her. Richard acknowledged the pair before addressing his aunt.

“Aunt Catherine.” He bent to kiss her cheek, a jolt of pain behind his eyes. “I trust I find you well.”

The old woman eyed him with a mixture of amusement and disparagement. “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.

Mr. Collins seconded 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,” Lady Catherine silenced him. The vicar deflated like a bullfrog that had ceased to croak. The mistress of Rosings must have noticed Richard’s reaction to her words and hastened to correct them. “Anne is doing better now as you undoubtedly noticed during her visit in the north. 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 happy to see you. I am sure your affection for Rosings increases daily and that is what brought you to us early this year.”

“How could it not?” cried her jester. “Such refinement, such—”

“Anne has gone to her room, has she? I am certain she 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’s face. “Rest is always good for the complexion.”

As poorly as Richard was feeling, he could not resist responding. “Hertfordshire is a lovely place! Why, there was no snow or ice to speak of, and the roads were in good condition. Anne and Mrs. Jenkinson bore the journey very well.”

Lady Catherine’s face darkened. “I held the earl in higher regard than he deserves. I permitted Anne to stay with him and the countess for Christmas and depended on his judgment and sense of decorum, but he chose to involve her in this… this circus in Hertfordshire in the most inclement weather! Of what could he be thinking? The countess was behind it, I have no doubt! She and I have never agreed on anything. I suppose you saw your cousins while you were 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. Master Bennet remained in Town, but I can assure you he is in excellent health.”

“I understand Mr. Southerland has the living at Kympton,” Lady Catherine stated. “It is a particularly good living—fifteen hundred per year, very likely more.” Mr. Collins could not help but blanch at the considerable amount. 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 the four sisters shall reside within such an easy distance of each other and that their husbands are so amenable.”

The scowl on Lady Catherine’s face revealed that she was displeased to have Georgiana described as Mrs. Southerland’s sister, no matter how accurate it was, and Richard knew there could be no profit in the continuation of that line of conversation.

Lord Matlock had made it clear that he supported Darcy in his choice of wife, and all his family was expected to do likewise or suffer his displeasure. It clearly galled Lady Catherine to acquiesce to her brother’s will—oh, how she railed against it—but he was the head of the family, and she depended on his “advice.” There was only one thing Catherine Fitzwilliam de Bourgh feared, Richard knew, and that was her brother’s anger. Therefore, the woman celebrated for her candor was reduced to making snide, somewhat obscure observations. She prided herself on being as impertinent as possible without crossing the line of impropriety—by Lady Catherine’s definition of the word.

“Well,” said Lady Catherine, “the hour is late. I am sure the Collinses are soon to depart.” At the hint, the good reverend leapt to his feet. “You have missed dinner, Richard, but I shall have 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 leave of his aunt and her guests.

*   *   *

“I will go down to the kitchen and have something sent up,” said Mrs. Jenkinson. “You must be famished, my dear.”

Anne de Bourgh sat on the edge of her bed and nodded. “Thank you, but please do not bother. You must be exhausted. 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. “I am so happy with your improved health 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 will not need old Mrs. Jenkinson to fuss over you. You will have some strapping young man for that, God willing.”

Anne de Bourgh looked her old governess in the eyes with a steady composure but with glistening eyes. “No matter my fate, you shall always have a home in my house.” The two women shared a quick embrace, and Mrs. Jenkinson left the room.

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

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

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

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

That night, two years ago, she committed murder.

*   *   *

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

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

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