The sun had not yet set but in winter farmers had less work to do. They often spent much of their days gathered with friends and drinking. The emptiness and quiet set Richard on edge.
Across the room, a table of men whispered with their heads close together. Now and then, they looked at Richard. Croppers. Apparently, the public environment had degraded since he had last been in the area. Other patrons nervously glanced between the two tables. So the town had taken sides, had it? No matter. Richard did not expect a brawl. All the same, he chose to leave before anyone got ideas.
Arriving at the home used by Lee, Richard handed over letters from General Vyse and relayed the tavern scene.
“A warm welcome, huh?”
“Indeed,” Richard answered. “Have there been any hostilities between the townspeople and your men?”
“None of consequence. Tension is high, but for the most part, they remain segregated. Of course, that means the men are not experiencing the usual sort of hospitality and the perks that go with it.”
Richard understood Lee. The shopkeepers’ daughters did not “entertain” as often. “Surely the area gentlemen do their part?”
“Yes, but only for the officers. The rest of the men grow weary. It breaks morale. These insurrectionists are plotting.”
Richard held back a frown. He did not doubt their intelligence. He saw enough evidence to know they were not an unruly mob. However, he did not think they had the ingenuity to plan an assault on the minds of soldiers.
“I have asked the General for a… shall we say, scout.”
“You mean a spy,” Richard frowned. Espionage was a necessary means of warfare, but this was not war. Despite some men wishing it was. “I hardly imagine there is a man trained to infiltrate groups of disgruntled croppers. They are bound to be skittish of any newcomer in such a climate.”
“Where is your feeling of duty to the crown? These men are godless and want to overthrow every piece of order in our country — even the monarchy itself!” Lee turned red and pounded his fists on the desk.
Richard chose to remain silent and turned the conversation to mundane topics. Soon, the men separated. They met again at dinner. Along with several other officers, they were the guests of a local squire. Richard glanced around the room and felt the familiar need for air. The trappings of luxury threatened to suffocate him. Around him, militia officers talked of a potential confrontation with the local farmers. They craved violence. Perhaps if they had lived it as Richard had, they might have felt differently.
Richard sliced into his beef. Its tender juices ran out reminding him of battlefield wounds and gore. Losing his appetite, he feigned interest in his host’s meal and conversation.
At first light, he would leave for London. Although the distance pained his leg, breathing in the vast, open spaces on his mount always restored his equanimity. Hopefully, by the time he arrived, his brother would have more information on Crenshaw.
Following the meal, the evening passed like any other in high society. Card tables were brought out, and ladies simpered behind their fans. Young men smirked believing nothing in the world looked more charming than their well-rehearsed smiles. All the while, the men and women mentally calculated one another’s worth. As Richard’s mouth set in a grim line, it occurred to him this must be how his cousin Darcy always felt.
A loud banging at the front door drew the notice of nearly everyone to the drawing room window. Darkness had fallen, but the source of the agitation below stairs soon became apparent with the sounds of rushing feet and shouting voices.
“They have struck! They have struck!” a private appeared in the doorway first.
Ladies in the room gasped, and the young fools broke out in grins. Richard’s hand went to his sword by instinct. After confirming the lieutenant on duty had assembled the troops, Lee turned to Richard.
“Fitzwilliam, take a small contingent and head toward Hull. Gordon will want the area protected.”
Although Richard outranked the Major, he was not assigned to command the men. Lee had been the one training these soldiers and collaborating with the Militia. Richard would follow the Major’s suggestions.
His gut clenching as it always did before battle, Richard left to go about his duty. Pushing his horse the few miles to Huddersfield, he soon saw the flames and smoke rising from one of the dozen or so mills along the River Colne. Gunshots sounded and while the soldiers reloaded, the croppers shouted foul taunts. Weeks ago, they had fled quickly at the sight of soldiers. Now, some felt emboldened enough to move beyond mere attention-getting of burning frames and mills and had lost any hesitance to take human life. Recalling the over-eager grins of the young officers at Sir John’s home, Richard rather believed the positions would be reversed. Instead of taking lives they would only manage to sacrifice their own.
Smoke burning his nostrils and lungs, Richard saw the lieutenant had matters well in hand as croppers scrambled from building to building seeking shelter from gunfire. Their weapons of rocks and farm equipment proving ineffectual in the extreme. Richard knew after the battle ended, when they sat around their small cottages with insufficient food and heat, the drastic differences in their weaponry and force compared with soldiers would only anger them anew.
Calling out to two or three soldiers still on their mounts, Richard ordered them to follow him as he followed the road toward Hull. On the outskirts of the town, Richard sent them in different directions through the forest. Jumping off his horse, he tied its reins on a branch and proceeded to search on foot. He had left the smoky air of Huddersfield long ago, but the scent still clung to him. A familiar, hated stench from too many days on battlefields on foreign soil.
Taking care to walk as quietly as he could, he kept his pistol at the ready. Years of experience taught him to prepare for an ambush. Soon, he heard voices. Richard shook his head at their folly. He knew human nature would fix a burning desire for revenge and justice in their hearts that a thousand soldiers might not quench. However, these men lacked any form of discipline, and he doubted even a company’s worth of drill sergeants would order them into submission.
“The coward got away,” a rough voice said. Malice clung in the air after his statement.
“Next time, we’ll git ‘him,” a younger voice offered.
Another young voice agreed. “I reckon he can’t run foreve’. The way he treatin’ us, he’s askin’ for it.”
The first man spoke again. “These mill owners, think they own us. Think we’re their property with no rights of our own!”
“I wish I could kill the lot of them!” one of the youths said.
Richard inched forward to take better aim, should it be needed, and a twig snapped under his foot.
“You hear that?”
“Just a rabbit,” the gruff, older voice said. “You too skittish.”
Richard stepped from behind a tree. “You’ll find I don’t make good stew.”
“Run, Pa!” one boy said as the other scrambled to get up.
“I wouldn’t,” Richard said while staring down the middle-aged man who did not flinch at the sight of one of His Majesty’s own trampling through the forest. “What do you think? Can I shoot all three of you? Or maybe one of your sons can live with their guilt for life?”
Richard’s words brought the boys to a halt, and he moved his arm from aiming at the older man to each of his sons.
“Nay, won’t be necessary,” the man said. “We ain’t doin’ nothin’ wrong. Just sitting here. Come on back, boys.”
“If you are smart enough to know not to run, then you are smart enough to know I don’t believe you. Do you know the penalty for arson?” The boys, now returned next to their father, gulped. “What about attempted murder? Or insurrection?”
“We ain’t done nuthin!” the younger of the two boys hollered. He looked younger than Georgiana, and his hollow cheeks proved he had known a mean existence.
“Then come with me to the magistrate, and we’ll get this all settled,
” Richard said, making a come-hither motion with his pistol. The boys looked at their father who nodded.
“Good,” Richard said. “Now, we’re going to return to town.”
His prisoners walked without further conversation or any trouble as Richard followed on his horse. The magistrate would interrogate them. However, Richard had no doubt they had been in Huddersfield. He had overheard them wishing violence on a mill owner but nothing about a real plot to overcome a man. His sense of justice wondered about something one of them had said. The owner treated them poorly. Why would they be so willing to harm their source of income?
In town, a crowd had gathered around as a few other participants had been apprehended. Not having enough space to keep them in the building that served as a goal. Sir John Lundell spoke with the innkeeper. They would need a few days to interview the men and determine charges before sending some or all of them onto Leeds or Manchester. Richard remained uncertain which city served as the higher court for Huddersfield.
“My boys!” a thin woman in threadbare clothes ran forward from the crowd. “What have you done? You said you’d keep them safe!” She tried to reach the man’s side. “What have you done to my boys?”
A militiaman came forward to escort the woman aside. “Don’t lay your hands on me!” She said and spat at him. When she turned her head, Richard saw a large bruise on one cheek and eye.
“It’s far kinder than what your husband did to you!” the soldier replied as he gripped her firmly by the arm and yanked her back.
“My man ain’t done this to me! It be that vile monster you protectin’! Mr. Marsden!” The soldier’s arms encircled her waist as he tried to carry her back to the crowd but she kicked up her legs and pushed down on his arms. “He’s an abuser of women and children!”
*****
“Lady Belinda, your embroidery is not what I would expect for a lady in your position,” Lady Catherine de Bourgh said one morning as they sat in the drawing room.
“I confess I never cared for it.”
“Just as well you are marrying my nephew then,” Lady Catherine said as she drew her thread through the snow-white linen with decades worth of practised gracefulness. “Dear Lady Arlington,” she nodded at Anne, “has married into the position which most suits her talents and accomplishments, you see.”
“Mama, Belinda is very accomplished at the pianoforte.”
“Is she? You will have to play for us sometime.”
“I am afraid I am unaccustomed to refined music now. For the last several years I have only performed at the Hospital in London for the soldiers.”
“My goodness!” Lady Catherine cried. “What horrors you must have seen.”
Belinda blushed and focused on her embroidery. How strange that she longed to exchange the ornamental fabric for one in Sally’s mending pile. “Of course not, your ladyship. Only the most ambulatory men were brought to the drawing room.”
She did, however, see men in more acute situations. The hospital had not allowed her to really nurse, but she assisted with linens and other things needed. Heat crept up her face as she recalled a passionate encounter with Richard during one visit.
“Mother, we are to visit Mrs. Collins today,” Anne said in a gentle tone. “Do you wish to join us?”
“On a Tuesday? No, certainly not,” Lady Catherine frowned and stabbed her needle through her fabric. “Well, on you go.”
Belinda gave Anne a curious look, but it was not until they were in her phaeton several minutes later that she had an answer.
“The physician comes on Tuesdays,” Anne said with a smile.
“I am so sorry. Is your mother ill?”
“La!” Anne giggled. “No, not ill. She fancies Dr. Andrews. He visits her much more than me.”
“So you are not as weak as James fears?”
“Not hardly. I do not care for Town, and the smoke does bother me, but I am very healthy in the country. Her preoccupation with class merely deflects her feelings for an inappropriate man.”
Anne and Belinda dissolved into laughter. Arriving at the Hunsford Parsonage, they were greeted by Charlotte Collins. After confirming that her husband was away on parish business, they gathered in the kitchen.
Anne and Belinda sat at the table and feasted on the simple but tasty refreshments provided as Charlotte withdrew items for meat pies.
“Thank you so much for agreeing to teach me the housewifely arts,” Belinda said.
“I grew up in a large family,” Charlotte laughed. “It took me months how to learn to manage in a kitchen without the chatter of other women.”
Anne dabbed her mouth with a napkin then smiled. “I come as often as I can, but Mother has firm opinions about me being in the kitchen.”
“Yes, my mother did as well,” Belinda nodded. “However, I believe my future rests elsewhere.”
Charlotte sprinkled flour on the marble slab for baking and showed them how to roll out the dough for the pies. “My maid is busy with the washing today. Anne has explained that you wish to marry Colonel Fitzwilliam. I did not think between his income and your dowry you would need to be in the kitchen. Perhaps I should speak with you about budgeting for a household instead.”
“I do not think I will have a fortune coming to me,” Belinda said, and Anne squeezed her hand.
“I would hate to pry,” Charlotte said as she withdrew a pot with the mince mixture. The scent of brandy flavoured fruit filled the room. “However, would you find comfort in talking about it?”
Belinda looked at Anne who gave an encouraging nod. Taking a deep breath, Belinda explained her parents’ sudden dislike of Richard’s commission.
“They never voiced concern during the courtship?” Charlotte inquired when Belinda finished.
“No, never. The events with the frame-breakers obviously changed matters. Richard could not resign his commission while his father serves as Lord Lieutenant of the Militia in West Riding.”
Belinda glanced away and blushed as she wondered if the others would understand her plan which she had never voiced before. Would Anne support her decision? Silently, she focused on making the pies as Charlotte had taught her, layering the mincemeat with thin strips of orange and lemon peel.
“Do I understand you have chosen to go against your parents and marry the Colonel without their blessing?”
“Yes,” Belinda said and her throat thickened. Anne gave her hand a pat.
“But you are not yet of age,” Charlotte said as she arranged the pies for the oven. When she looked up from her work, her eyes pierced Belinda’s, searching for the truth.
“Correct.”
Belinda held her breath, expecting a harsh rebuke from the minister’s wife. She could see Charlotte took time to weigh her words as she instructed Anne and Belinda to chop more raisins and savoury fruits. A new batch would be made to steep in brandy for several months. Charlotte withdrew a bowl of finely ground gelatine mush, and Belinda’s stomach flipped.
“What is that?” she said while turning her face from the revolting stench.
“Suet,” Charlotte said. “Lady Catherine thinks that I order cuts of meat that are too large, but the truth is, I need suet for my pies. I believe they are why Mr. Collins married me.”
“No, of course not!” Anne cried. “I have heard him say how much he loves you.”
Charlotte let out a rueful laugh. “Words are not the same as action. He might feel attached to me now, and in time even devoted, but we did not begin with love.”
Belinda got up from her chair at the table and peaked at the pies baking in the fire. Their fragrance masked the odour from the bowl of animal fat.
“No matter how a marriage begins, it is like making these pies,” Charlotte said. “Now that you have seen what goes into them, will you be able to enjoy them the same?”
Belinda gave her new friend a feeble smile. “I apologise for my sickly constitution today. I mean no offence. I am sure to enjoy these pies more than any others for I will take pride
in my own work.”
Charlotte nodded. “So it is with my marriage. It may not have begun with the pretty ingredients that others have but I can make something worthy from it and will take pride in my contribution.”
Belinda smiled. “You do not judge me for planning to elope?”
Anne gasped. “Oh, Bel! I had not understood! I am the one in need of lessons on a household budget. I assumed you would economise because Richard’s income is not as large as a gentleman’s not that you were forfeiting your dowry!”
Charlotte tsked. “His pay is three times what Mr. Collins makes, and even if Lady Belinda’s dowry were small by an earl’s standard it must be a thousand times more than my own, and you see how we manage.”
“I do not understand,” Anne asked. “If his pay is so much more than Mr. Collins then why will Belinda not have more servants to help her? Why must she learn about the kitchen?”
Anne crossed to her friend’s side, and Belinda reached for one of her hands. “I do not wish to distress you. It is possible Richard will be forced to resign if we elope. Or he may choose it to please my parents, but they may never see reason. He may choose to resign because he is unhappy with his present orders. Or…” Tears welled in her eyes, and she could not continue.
“He could die,” Anne finished, and Belinda collapsed into Anne’s arms.
Chapter Six
“Colonel Fitzwilliam,” the stable boy said in surprise. “I did not know to ‘spect you, sir.”
“Think nothing of it, lad,” he tossed the boy a coin and sauntered to the house.
Over the years, Richard often appeared unannounced at Pemberley. Of course, he should have considered writing ahead. He would hate to offend Elizabeth, but it slipped his mind until he was too near the estate. If Richard had to guess, between the master and the mistress of the estate, the former would be more likely to frown at Richard’s appearance. Not that Darcy could blame his cousin. Once he finally wed Belinda, he would not want unexpected guests either.
Extraordinary Devotion: A Pride and Prejudice Novella Variation (When Love Blooms Book 3) Page 4
