Pemberley Ranch

by Jack Caldwell

  “Well, Miss Beth, Miss Lily,” smiled George Whitehead as he took the reins and affixed them to the hitching post while Billy Collins stood nearby, “I suppose you’re excited about the new musical society I hear is being formed.”

  “Lord, yes—anything to get out of chores!” Lily laughed.

  Collins smiled. “And you, Miss Beth, is your interest in the group as practical as your sister’s?”

  Beth smiled. “Not so very practical, Mr. Collins. I do love music, and the chores will be awaiting us when we return.”

  Lily stuck out her tongue. “Oh, pooh, you’re such a spoilsport, Beth! George, are you staying to listen? Say you will. We need an audience. You, too, Mr. Collins! Beth, help me convince them.”

  Whitehead laughed. “I wish I could, Miss Lily, but we do have work to do.”

  Lily stamped her foot in a halfhearted pout, but her attention was caught by a wagon moving slowly down the street, a woman driving the team of oxen, while a man walked beside it. “Oh, look at that! Is that the new homesteaders moving in?”

  Collins colored and started to cough. Whitehead turned back to the two girls. “No, moving out, I’m afraid.” He lowered his voice. “Those farmers lost their place.”

  Lily put a hand over her mouth. Beth asked, “What happened?”

  Collins waited until the wagon was past. “The usual thing, miss. People move in, borrow more than they can afford, get overextended, can’t meet the payments.” He shrugged.

  “Foreclosure,” Lily whispered. “Oh, how dreadful!”

  Beth realized Collins wouldn’t meet her eye. “Was it Rosings Bank that foreclosed on them?”

  Whitehead jumped in. “Rosings did hold the paper—Collins and I were just discussing it. He told me that he and Mrs. Burroughs did everything they could to extend more credit, but,” he smiled, “it wasn’t enough.”

  “Enough? But it’s the bank! You’ve got all the money in town!” Lily claimed.

  “Not all the money—there’s Darcy Bank,” Collins pointed out.

  “Yes,” Whitehead agreed, “and if Darcy Bank had helped those poor people out, Rosings may not have been forced to call in the loan.”

  “How greedy can they be? Mr. Darcy is a mean man!” Lily cried.

  Collins simpered. “Not everyone is as concerned about the community as Mrs. Burroughs and Rosings Bank. But there’s only so much we can do. A shame, really.”

  Whitehead glanced down the street and then turned back quickly. “We’d best be going. We’ve got a meeting in a few minutes.”

  Collins looked at his pocket watch and blanched. “Goodness! We’re late. Mrs. Burroughs will be displeased. Good day, ladies.”

  The man began to scamper down the sidewalk, leaving Whitehead to make their proper farewells to the Bennets. Lily laughed about Collins’s antics as the two ladies joined the others inside, Beth happy to see that Charlotte was already there. It was only a moment later that the front door opened and three other people walked in.

  “Mr. and Miss Darcy, Miss Burroughs, welcome!” Tilney strode up the aisle to take Darcy’s hand. Beth schooled her face to hide her surprise. She knew they were invited, but she never expected that they would actually attend. By their sudden arrival, she wondered if George had seen them approach and had gone to avoid the unpleasant rancher.

  Darcy greeted only Jane with more than the barest civility. Beth had the strangest feeling he was avoiding looking her in the face, but was staring at her back as she talked to Miss Darcy and Miss Burroughs. She did her best to ignore the man and focus her attention on the two girls.

  Both were quiet, polite, and reserved, but that was almost the only similarity between the two. Anne Burroughs was a short, pale, plain girl in her mid-twenties. Her brown hair was pulled up in a tight bun on her head, making her appear even more severe than Mary. Gaby Darcy was a sweet girl, just seventeen, tall and well developed. Her black hair, worn down, set off her dusky complexion. Her dark eyes shone with a restrained exuberance.

  The only other similarity was that both girls had an intense desire to become acquainted with Beth. Their object could only wonder at it.

  “I’m very glad to meet you, Miss Beth,” Anne was able to manage.

  “Oh, yes! We’ve heard so much about you! Haven’t we, Anne?” Gaby cried.

  Beth was confused. “I can’t imagine where—”

  The rest of her comment was interrupted as Mary and Jane called the group to order. The two had decided between themselves to organize the society, Mary realizing that Jane was far better suited to the task than she. The ladies all took their seats and began discussing the purpose of the society and how often they should all meet. It was quickly decided that it should be a monthly gathering, weather permitting, and that in future they would have themes to the meetings, such as the works of a certain composer or a type of music.

  For this first meeting, Jane suggested everyone play or perform their favorite piece, either alone or with others. Henry Tilney, standing to the side of the group, showed the ladies over to the piano and pump organ and then, with a bow, walked to the back of the church. Beth was surprised that he wasn’t alone—Will Darcy was also seated in a back pew, his arms crossed over his chest. Beth assumed the man had left after greeting everyone with so little enthusiasm. To her discomfort, he seemed to be staring at her again.

  Of course, she realized, glancing at Miss Darcy sitting next to her. He can’t trust his sister out of his sight for a moment! Poor girl, to have such an unpleasant brother!

  Mary opened the performance with a hymn. Beth hid a wince. Once again, Mary was trying too hard to achieve a stateliness to her performance, while damaging the musicality of the piece.

  “She’s very… solemn,” whispered Gaby in her ear.

  Beth giggled. “Oh, yes—very solemn, indeed.”

  Gaby blushed. “Forgive me, Miss Bennet, I meant no harm.”

  Beth reached over and took Gaby’s hand. “No offense taken. And you must call me Beth if we’re to be friends.”

  Gaby’s relieved smile almost broke Beth’s heart. “Call me Gaby, please, Beth. And Anne—you’ll call her Anne, won’t you? We’re so glad to make new friends.”

  It had been a long time since Darcy had as much enjoyment as he did sitting on a hard church pew in the back of a Baptist church. Each of the ladies who could play an instrument took a turn, first performing by themselves then accompanying those who only sang. Mary Bennet was adequate, although Tilney seemed to enjoy her singing well enough. Darcy hid an amused grin. Jane Bingley was no surprise—he had heard her often at dinners he had attended to know of her talent. He had a bit of concern as Gaby took to the instrument to play “Joyful, Joyful We Adore Thee,” but after an early falter, she rallied and played flawlessly, gaining confidence as she went on. Darcy restrained himself from joining the others jumping to their feet in delight after she finished.

  He was spellbound as Beth Bennet sang “Amazing Grace” as Jane played. Hers was not a classically trained voice, but the feelings she produced were authentic and moving. His admiration of her talents and thankfulness for the kindness she showed to Gaby and Anne only fueled his desire for her. The sound of her voice seemed to dance across his skin. Oh, to have those full lips sing his name as she took her pleasure! Darcy shifted in his seat.

  “Will, are you all right?” Tilney asked him. Mortified, Darcy assured him he was well.

  They were startled as the doors crashed open. “Jane! Jane!” Doc Bingley cried as he ran up the aisle, waving a slip of paper in his hand. Alarmed, the two men ran after him, the concert coming to an abrupt halt.

  “What is it, Charles?” Jane instinctively covered her pregnant midsection.

  “She’s coming today! I just got this from the telegraph office.” Charles shoved the paper into his wife’s hands. It only took her a moment to read the message. She paled.

  “But… but she wasn’t coming until June! You read her letter.” The two talked as if all the others had
disappeared. They had not—they all stood around in various stages of alarm. They knew something was amiss, but it was a mystery as to what it was exactly.

  “I know, but she’s on today’s stage. She’ll be here at any time!”

  “But I’m not ready!” Jane cried in a panic. “Her room’s not ready. How can she do this to me?”

  “I’m sorry, but what can I do?”

  Darcy stepped in. “Forgive me, but what the devil are you two talking about?”

  “Caroline! Caroline’s coming! Today!” Charles said.

  Darcy’s eyebrows rose. “Caroline? Who’s Caroline?”

  “My sister, Caroline, from New Orleans. I’m sure I mentioned her.”

  Beth gasped. “But you said she wasn’t coming until June. That’s at least two weeks away.”

  Tilney broke in. “Uhh, folks, if Doc Bingley’s sister is on today’s stage, I suggest we get to the hotel. It’s due any time now.”

  Charles was wide-eyed. “I know! That’s why I’m here. Jane, can you come?”

  “My house!” Jane cried.

  “It’s all right,” Beth assured her. “We’ll see to everything, won’t we?” She turned to her sisters, who quickly agreed. Charlotte, Gaby, and Anne excused themselves, but Jane would not hear of it, insisting that they remain to enjoy themselves.

  “Jane,” Darcy said in a firm yet gentle voice, “why don’t we adjourn to the hotel and take our leisure? My cousin, sister, and I would be glad to keep you and Charles company.”

  “Oh, thank you, Will! Beth! Beth, you come, too. Please!”

  The group broke up into two parties. Mary, Kathy, and Lily went to the Bingley house to prepare it for the guest, while the others walked over to the hotel. Charlotte joined them, but Tilney excused himself. An hour later, a now-composed Jane and Charles Bingley, with their friends and relations, met the stagecoach as it pulled up. A gloved hand waved from the window.

  “Charles! Oh, Charles! How wonderful to see you!” called a high female voice from within.

  Charles stepped up and helped a blonde woman descend from the coach. Her traveling dress was dusty, and the feathers on her hat drooped into her face.

  “Oh, you must be Jane!” Without ceremony, the woman drew Jane into her arms. She gave her a quick kiss and released her, turning to Charles.

  “My God, Charles, what god-forsaken place have you dragged me to?”

  Caroline Bingley had arrived.

  Chapter 6

  June

  It didn’t take long for Beth to come to the decided opinion that Caroline Bingley was the most unpleasant woman in the world.

  With Caroline’s early arrival in Rosings, Beth naturally wondered if the plan for her to move in with the Bingleys in June to help out until after the baby was born was still necessary. Jane assured her that it was, so Beth moved into the lone guest room in the Bingley house as scheduled, sharing it with Charles’s sister. Beth truly intended to get along with Caroline, and she tried mightily—for a week.

  It wasn’t because Caroline was outright mean, Beth would later admit to herself. She would have to be noticed first by the blasted woman to be directly insulted. Caroline typically ignored her existence and refused to talk to her unless absolutely necessary. She was treated more like a servant than a relative.

  Beth’s job was to do everything that Jane normally would, so her sister could take her rest in preparation for the baby. The work of washing, cleaning, and cooking wasn’t difficult—Beth had done it her entire life. But instead of doing it for three people, she was doing it for four. Caroline, by hook or crook, refused to lift a finger to help. Bingley’s sister either didn’t know how to cook, had to keep Jane company instead, or developed a headache when chores had to be done.

  Caroline had plenty of opinions, though, and spent most of her time expressing them. It was terrible that Bingley couldn’t afford a servant, she had said. It wasn’t like the old days back at Netherfield. The town was so small, and she wondered how Charles and Jane could tolerate it. No theater, no music. It was simply barbaric! She couldn’t abide the simple farmers and dirty ranch hands. There were too many “others” in town—by that, she meant Mexican people. But she reserved her greatest ire for the “carpetbaggers” and “scallywags,” like George Whitehead and Billy Collins.

  “Imagine a son of Georgia working with that slimy Yankee!” she declared one day when she and Beth had met the two on the street after a shopping trip to Zimmerman’s. “But, I suppose he was the son of a shopkeeper or something. Class always tells, Miss Beth.”

  Beth gritted her teeth but kept an indifferent expression. “Mr. Whitehead is a very respectable man. He was appointed by the governor himself.”

  Caroline dismissed Elizabeth’s comment with, “Another scallywag in the pocket of those vile carpetbaggers.”

  Beth tried to be polite. “Perhaps, but Governor Davis was elected by the people of Texas.”

  Caroline smiled patronizingly. “After the Yankee soldiers purged the voting rolls! Charles told me all about it. Oh, Miss Beth, you have no idea what we’ve had to put up with down here.” She paused. “Y’all are from Ohio, I understand?”

  “Yes, we are.”

  Caroline’s nose seemed to rise. “That explains things. You have a lot to learn, Miss Beth, bless your heart.”

  It didn’t take long for Beth to realize that Caroline used “bless your heart” as a means of taking the sting out of her most pointed insults.

  Passing a ranch hand on the street: “He probably hasn’t had a bath this year, bless his heart.”

  After meeting Charlotte: “Not every girl can be born pretty, bless her heart.”

  Beth’s clothing: “I suppose livin’ on a farm you have to make your own dresses, bless your heart.”

  When Caroline wasn’t holding court over the shortcomings in Rosings, she reflected on life at Netherfield, where the Bingleys grew up, or waxed elegant over New Orleans, where she was currently living with her sister and brother-in-law, the Hursts. The music, the food, the society—everything was superior in the Queen City of the South. She talked endlessly of the fine parties and balls she had attended, particularly about an event called “Mardi Gras.”

  “A bal masque,” she explained, “only attended by the cream of society. Oh, Charles, if only you lived in New Orleans! With Mr. Hurst’s connections, I’m sure that you and dear Jane would soon be in the highest circles.” She then turned to Beth. “And I’m sure we could do something for you, too, dear.”

  The only resident of Rosings who seemed worthy of Caroline’s notice was Will Darcy. He brought his sister to dinner one night, and Beth was amused at how Caroline practically threw herself at the man. It was obvious that the woman’s interest was purely monetary, for she spent the entirety of the dinner asking Darcy about Pemberley Ranch, ignoring Gaby altogether. Beth swore she could see dollar signs in Caroline’s eyes.

  For his part, Darcy treated the woman with the same disdain he held for everyone. Beth almost laughed when the rancher grew so desperate for other conversation that he actually tried to talk to her. Beth’s eyes danced in mischief each time she spoke with Darcy, knowing that her actions would infuriate Caroline. Beth knew that if looks could kill, she would be dead. It never occurred to her to pay attention to Darcy’s expression.

  At least the two women could share a room without incident. There were two beds—fortunately—and as Beth tended to retire and rise early and Caroline was of the opposite inclination, one was always asleep when the other was not.

  Beth could not talk of Caroline’s behavior to either Charles or Jane. Beth did not want to trouble her tenderhearted sister in her delicate condition. And Charles was oblivious. “Oh, that’s just Caroline,” he would say. “It’s just her way. She’s had a hard time. You shouldn’t take it to heart.” The man was useless.

  Charlotte was her only confidante, and Beth told her the story of her strained relationship with Caroline on the way home from church that Sunday.
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  “Beth, I’m so sorry. I had no idea that a sister of Doc Bingley could be so unpleasant.”

  “It is a surprise. I keep waiting for Charles to say something to her, but he never does. He keeps saying she’s had a hard life and I have to forgive her. I don’t know how much more I can take.”

  “How does she treat Jane?”

  Beth thought. “Well, she’s never really mean to her. Caroline’s got plenty to say against everybody else in town, including my family, but it’s like she exempts Jane from criticism because she’s Charles’s wife. But she’s lazy and demanding and no help at all!”

  Charlotte grinned and slipped into a Southern drawl. “‘We Southern belles are so delicate, we get the vapors if we do anything more than breathe, I declare.’”

  Beth laughed. “She has her nose so high in the air she needs a guide to help her walk down the street, bless her heart!”

  The girls laughed all the way home.

  George Whitehead followed Pyke down the upstairs hall of Younge’s Saloon, towards room number five. He had received a letter earlier in the day from a Mr. Carson requesting a private business meeting. The pair paused before the door.

  “You searched this fellow?” Whitehead asked Pyke. His henchman assured him that Carson’s person and luggage had been inspected and no weapons had been found. Whitehead touched his own gun belt and indicated that Pyke should knock on the door.

  “Come in,” called a male voice.

  “Stay close by,” Whitehead told Pyke as he turned the knob. Pyke nodded and stepped away to the head of the stairs.

  Whitehead slowly walked into the bedroom. The room was bare—only a bed and dresser joined a small table with a couple of chairs. Whitehead’s quick glance took in a battered suitcase at the foot of the bed and a hat on one of the series of hooks on the wall opposite—but no inhabitant.

  As alarm bells went off in Whitehead’s head, a voice softly said, “Close the door quiet like, or I’ll plug you right now.”