The Three Colonels

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

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

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

“Ah-choo!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*   *   *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mother—” began Anne.

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

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

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

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

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

Dramatically his aunt answered, “No—none.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Standoffish and cold, thought Anne.

“—very particular of whom she would tolerate—”

A hateful little beast.

“—an excellent judge of character—”

Only her mistress could approach her.

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

Cat hair all over creation.

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

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

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

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

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

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