The Three Colonels

“No, no—Colonel, I insist that you pay attention to me. Please!”

“I am afraid I do not understand. Are you afraid of cats?”

“Good God!” the woman exclaimed to the heavens. “Is this my reward? I risk losing my position—even eternal damnation—to save my girl, only to be thwarted by this fool? Lord help me!”

Colonel Fitzwilliam was too astonished to be affronted.

With supreme effort, Mrs. Jenkinson gained control over her emotions. “Colonel Fitzwilliam, please. I know I have insulted you—it is insupportable—but I know I am right in this matter. You must know 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 calm herself. “Sir, you are a wise man. You have a gentleman’s education, and you 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 stunned 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 and to see Anne as mistress of Rosings with you at her side.”

Richard stuttered his denials, but Mrs. Jenkinson only smiled. “Forgive me, but I saw you both in the snow yesterday. No one could mistake the regard you hold for each other.”

Richard’s mind raced, and he tried to take in what he had just been told. Each other? 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… are not good for our Anne.”

Richard was still mystified. “But… but why? How can a cat hurt Anne?”

“I cannot say. But just observe! Since Lady Catherine’s cat… went away, Anne’s health has so improved that she believes she is strong enough to marry one day! That is proof enough for me.”

In a flash of insight, Colonel Fitzwilliam realized there was much the lady knew about Cleopatra’s demise that she was not disclosing.

“Mrs. Jenkinson, I must admit that I find your story… well, 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… umm… the incident you describe. I will be guided by the evidence of my eyes. You have convinced me. I will bring no cat into Rosings.”

Mrs. Jenkinson was clearly relieved. “Thank you, Colonel.”

“Shall we join the others? It is nearly time to dine. We must not upset Lady Catherine by being tardy.” Richard helped the lady to her feet but hesitated before going to the door.

“Let me make myself rightly understood, madam,” he said in a stern voice. “I know of the affection in which you hold your charge. ’Tis a wonderful thing. However, the next time you consider taking matters into your own hands, no matter what the cause,” he looked coldly into her eyes as only a Fitzwilliam could, “do not.”

*   *   *

Anne was already sitting at the table, nervously waiting for Richard’s entrance. Charlotte’s assurances of Colonel Fitzwilliam’s affection had only changed the nature of her uncertainty. Before, Anne had been unsure of Richard’s wishes. Now she was concerned over how to let him know of her feelings without acting in an improper manner.

Then, he was at the doorway, searching for her. The pair locked eyes for only a moment, but for her it was enough. Her entire world ceased to exist except to study Richard’s face—his ruddy complexion, broken nose, funny ears, unruly sandy hair, and overly large mouth. That beautiful, ugly, darling face was graced by a small, all-knowing smile underneath his kind and lively blue eyes, twinkling with love for her.

Anne felt an overwhelming sense of clarity. She knew now that what Mrs. Jenkinson had told her was true: Her beloved loved her. She felt herself light up with joy as the nervousness fled from her body, only to be replaced by another unsettling feeling—one that could only be satisfied by Richard making his intentions known.

Lady Catherine coughed. “I am pleased you have chosen to grace us with your presence, Richard. Stop standing about in that stupid manner and take your seat or the soup will get cold.”

Anne’s happiness in the confirmation of her dreams was tempered; she wanted nothing more than for Richard to throw himself at her feet, in front of her mother, and beg her to make him the happiest man in the world. Of course, that could not happen. She would have to wait for a private moment soon. She hoped it would be in the same garden where they stood together in the snow.

However, her beloved could not resist giving some signal of his affection. Richard lightly brushed Anne’s leg with his as he sat down beside her. His body prevented Lady Catherine from seeing the look of delighted surprise on the face of her daughter.

Conversation ended as the soup was served. Lady Catherine maintained a stream of meaningless small talk while they ate, but Anne was not deceived. Earlier in the sitting room, her mother informed her that she had magnanimously decided to forgive her daughter and nephew for their indiscretions of the day before. Anne knew that Lady Catherine’s “forgiving” meant not bringing the incident up again immediately. Forgetting was not in her character, ever celebrated for its sincerity and frankness. Anne feared her mother’s malice was a weapon sheathed only for the present.

As the soup was removed, Lady Catherine inquired, “I pray you have found your labors profitable today, Richard. A Fitzwilliam must always live up to his 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—tomorrow afternoon, perhaps?”

Anne’s mother was nothing if not predictable, so the heiress was astounded when Lady Catherine cried, “There is no need to stand on ceremony, sir. Speak up! We are all family here.”

Richard looked up at his aunt’s expectant face, shrugged his shoulders, and marched off to disaster.

“As you are aware, I have been reviewing the condition of the lands that make up the estate. It will come as no surprise to you 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?”

“Yes, Aunt, and I will tell you his name: Tradition.”

Lady Catherine frowned. “Tradition? What do you mean by this? Come, come. Tell me the names of the indolent creatures. I will see that the constable runs them off.”

Richard ignored her demand. “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!”

“’Tis a proven idea. My father uses it at Matlock—”

Lady Catherine was unimpressed. “It is a license to idleness! My income cut by a quarter so that men may sit whistling in the wind! How will my rents be paid?”

“Aunt, you must understand that yields on the remaining property will 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!”

“That is not what I meant.” Richard took a breath. “The fields are in a critical condition. 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, for example, 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 will not—not for the first year,” Richard admitted.