by J P Christy
When the coach reached the top of a considerable eminence where the woods ceased, Elizabeth had her first view of the manor house. “Oh goodness!” she gasped, upon seeing the handsome stone building standing well on rising ground. Turning to Darcy and Georgiana, she exclaimed, “I have never seen a place so in harmony with its surroundings, where natural beauty had been so little affected by human interference!”
Heedless of Georgiana’s presence, Darcy kissed his wife’s cheek as she stared out the carriage window. “Welcome home, dearest, loveliest Elizabeth.”
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Initially, the former colonel was often addressed as “Mr. Fitzwilliam,” which annoyed Lady Catherine greatly, for she felt that Rosings merited a lord. Happily, early in September, Fitzwilliam became “Sir Christopher” when he was granted a viscountcy in recognition of his heroic rescue of Sir Oscar Smallwood from a terrible battle in Spain. While Fitzwilliam neither knew nor cared how the honor had been arranged, he was pleased his fiancée would not lose her status on his account.
Lady Penelope and Renata returned to Trelawney House two days after Gwen gave birth to healthy twin girls in the first week of September. Thus, on September 16, when Sir Christopher Fitzwilliam made the journey to Kent to take possession of Rosings, he did not travel alone. He was accompanied by his mother, his fiancée and her daughter, and their attendants (two lady’s maids, a governess, and his valet).
Fitzwilliam wanted his fiancée to have a say in how her new home would be decorated. Lady Penelope wanted to spend time with her husband-to-be, and Lady Fitzwilliam wanted to maintain the appearance of propriety … and to make certain Lady Catherine did not strip the manor house bare when she was furnishing the dower house.
To everyone’s relief, Lady Catherine had moved to the dower house before the Fitzwilliam party arrived. The next day, when Fitzwilliam, his fiancée, and his mother called on her, they found her to be her usual imperious self. However, when Fitzwilliam and Lady Penelope took their leave after a strained half-hour’s visit, Lady Fitzwilliam surprised everyone by saying she wished to stay a bit longer. Lady Catherine was secretly pleased, as her sister-in-law’s presence would give her more opportunity to complain and would provide her with company, for although she would never admit it, Lady Catherine was lonely.
Lady Fitzwilliam studied her surroundings, noting that the large furnishings from the manor house looked out of proportion here. “This drawing room is smaller than the one at Kesteven Place, isn’t it, Catherine?”
Lady Catherine had not noticed this before, and she seized on it as another point of grievance. “Alas, yes. Had I known I would end up in the dower house, I would have enlarged the place. Yet, I always pictured myself living in the manor while Anne and Darcy resided at Pemberley. How cruel fate has been to me!”
“I suppose you have the company of your neighbors.”
“Happily, I do not! There is scarcely a family in Kent worth knowing!”
“But surely you receive letters from your friends in Bath.”
“I have no doubt they would write were they not so busy with the society there.”
“Bath is certainly a livelier place than this corner of Kent.”
“I had not thought I particularly cared for Bath, but I confess, Amanda, when I visited there last June, I enjoyed myself. And my company was much in demand!”
“And why not? You know Bath’s history and the people who made the society special. In truth, I am surprised you choose to rusticate here. Oh, it was one thing when you were overseeing the estate, but as Christopher now has that duty, you are free. In a way, I envy you.” I must not do it too brown, or the old gorgon will demand to take my place in London.
“Alas, I have only my widow’s portion. It would be imprudent to spend the funds required to have a suitable address in Bath. Wherever I reside, my home must reflect well on the Fitzwilliams and the De Bourghs; I keenly feel the weight of my responsibility to family and to history.”
To history? Oh no! Don’t laugh, show no emotion! Lady Fitzwilliam told herself, and she held her teacup to her lips to conceal her expression. After collecting her composure, she said, “Yes, in your own way, you have always been committed to preserving family honor, Catherine.”
“And what has it got me?” she demanded fiercely.
After several minutes during which the only sound was the ticking of the French mantle clock, Lady Fitzwilliam asked, “Other than Rosings, where have you been happiest?”
Lady Catherine considered the five places that had played a significant role in her life: the family estate in Nottinghamshire where she was reared, Kesteven Place in Bath where she had spent the summers of her youth, Fitzwilliam House and De Bourgh House in London where she had spent as little time as possible, and Rosings where she had been queen. “In Bath, I suppose. Yes, as I consider where I might yet be useful, I believe Bath would suit me best. If only I could afford an appropriate residence.”
“Wesley and I are rarely in Bath. We prefer Nottinghamshire.”
Lady Catherine raised her chin. “Wesley should give me Kesteven Place.”
“Alas, with the legal restrictions on the estate, it is not his to give. Still, I am willing to support you in a compromise.”
“What compromise?”
“Wesley could give you exclusive use of Kesteven Place for your lifetime. Thus, although he could not deed you the property out-right, by your having exclusive use, no one could displace you or even visit there without your permission.”
Lady Catherine was intrigued but wary. “Wesley has always said Anne was free to use Kesteven whenever she chooses. Would he rescind that offer?”
“Well, the terms of the compromise could be such that Anne can only use the property whenever you choose to allow her.”
Envisioning Anne in tears as she was denied use of Kesteven Place, Lady Catherine gave her first real smile of the visit. “I will consider what you have suggested.”
Lady Fitzwilliam looked around the room again and frowned. “Do I imagine it, or has the room become warmer? It is the orientation of the house, I suppose. I predict this will not be a comfortable place in summer.” After watching her sister-in-law regard the room with growing distaste, she added, “Ah, I nearly forgot. Christopher—well, all of us, of course—would like for you to dine with us tonight.”
That evening at dinner in the Rosings manor house, between the meat course (lamb) and the dessert course (syllabub and ratafia cakes), Lady Catherine announced her decision to move to Bath. Fitzwilliam did not have to pretend to be surprised, for his mother had not mentioned the possibility. Lady Fitzwilliam smiled to herself. There, that’s one difficulty dealt with; now I merely have to explain the advantages of this to Wesley.
Mr. and Mrs. Collins were also guests at dinner, and when the parson began to expound on what a loss Kent would suffer from Lady Catherine’s absence, his wife nudged him none too gently. Shocked into silence, he listened as Charlotte said, “While Kent’s loss is Bath’s gain, my lady, we feel most fortunate that Rosings will be under the excellent care of its new residents.”
Lady Fitzwilliam, Lady Penelope, Fitzwilliam, and even Renata noted the change on Collins’s face as he realized Lady Catherine was no longer the patron whom he had to please. An uncertain smile gradually overtook his expression, and he gave a respectful nod to each person who had or would soon have an official connection to Fitzwilliam as the new lord of the manor.
≈≈≈
It was past midnight when Lady Fitzwilliam and her son, each dressed in nightclothes and each carrying a candle, found themselves face to face in the corridor.
“You heard it, too?” he asked. “Do think it was Renata?”
Lady Fitzwilliam did not admit that when she first heard the noise of distressed sleep, she had thought her son was the source. “No, look, she is going into her mother’s chambers.” Mother and son hurried to Lady Penelope’s room.
Renata was kneeling by the bed, gently stroking her mo
ther’s arm. When she saw the Fitzwilliams, she whispered, “Mama is dreaming about the war.”
Deep in her nightmare, Lady Penelope moaned and moved restlessly. Fitzwilliam knelt beside Renata. “She has dreamed this before?” he asked quietly.
“Yes, sir. I think she saw terrible things.”
More terrible than I realized, he thought, scarcely noticing when Renata’s governess entered the room. Lady Fitzwilliam, who was standing near the door, caught the governess’s arm and signaled for silence. Fitzwilliam stroked Lady Penelope’s cheek gently and spoke in soothing tones. “Please waken, my dear. You are safe. All is well.” After a moment, Lady Penelope seemed calmer. She opened her eyes briefly and then closed them again; the nightmare had passed.
Lady Fitzwilliam nodded to the governess, who offered Renata her hand. Renata hesitated, looking a question at Fitzwilliam. He reassured her. “Go back to bed, little one. Lady Fitzwilliam and I will see to your mother. You are a very good daughter.” Renata embraced the colonel before leaving with her governess. By the time the door closed behind them, Lady Fitzwilliam was standing beside her son. He said, “The war—I suspect she saw things no one should see.”
She knelt, leaning heavily on his shoulder. “Then you have that in common.” At his look, she said, “Don’t pretend you do not know what I mean. You have found me at your bedside when such dreams deviled you, my boy.”
“I need to be strong for her, Mother.”
“You need to be honest with her. You have both experienced horrors that the rest of us can only imagine. Penelope needs to know she is not alone with her nightmares.”
“She expects me to take care of her.”
“Why do men assume that we women believe them to be fearless, invulnerable, and all-knowing? I assure you, we have no such expectations! By the hand of Providence—or sheer luck—you and this lady have found each other. You both have intimate knowledge of the worst experiences of each other’s lives. Let Penelope know you understand her dreams because you have them, too. Talk to her as you could never talk to your father or me.” Leaning heavily on his shoulder again, Lady Fitzwilliam stood, groaning slightly at the effort. “I am off to bed now. You stay with your fiancée until her bad dreams are done.”
“You are leaving me here with her?”
“You are of more use to her than I in this situation. Are you planning to behave in an ungentlemanly manner?”
“Of course not!”
In the dim candlelight, he saw his mother’s amused smile. “Would you tell me if you were?”
“Mother!” he hissed.
“Good night, Christopher.” Chuckling, she left and closed the door behind her.
Turning back to Lady Penelope, he squeezed her hand. “I am here, dearest.”
Her eyes fluttered open again, and when she recognized her betrothed, she gave a relieved sigh. “Christopher.” Squeezing his hand in return, she felt her sense of dread dissipate. Abruptly, she tensed with embarrassment. “Did I wake you? Did I cry out? Oh, I am sorry!”
Fitzwilliam brushed a finger lightly across her lips. “Shhhh, my love, no apologies.”
“But—”
Clasping her hand securely in both of his, he said, “I know your nightmares; my recollections of the war trouble my sleep, too. Someday soon, whether in the reassuring light of day or in soothing darkness, we will talk about what haunts us. We may need many such conversations, but we will talk until we free ourselves from these terrible memories.”
Lady Penelope kissed the hands that held hers. “I am so grateful I found you.”
“And I you.” Fitzwilliam leaned forward and kissed her brow. “I will stay here until you sleep.” Grinning, he added, “My mother said I could.”
44
“Mr. Collins is being arrested!”
Lady Catherine spent the rest of September preparing for her move to Bath, taking pains to ignore the changes underway at the manor house. At one time, Fitzwilliam had considered tearing down the place, but now he was delighted with the improvements. Once Lady Penelope and Lady Fitzwilliam had arranged to paper and paint over the dark walls, replace the heavy draperies, and dispose of the ostentatious furnishings Lady Catherine had left behind, the place had a welcoming openness. In addition, Lady Fitzwilliam introduced a few favorite items from the family residences in London and Nottinghamshire while Lady Penelope installed small touches from Spain.
Fitzwilliam was aware that Mr. Donald Rufus Collins of Kingston had recently been taken into custody by the king’s soldiers on a matter involving the poisoning of some horses at an army stable. He did not know, however, that when Donald Collins’s business papers were seized, the army decided his older brother, William, was equally culpable—an impression Donald fostered with lies and exaggerations. Thus, Rosings’ parson had become ensnared in the scandal of the toxic tonic.
≈≈≈
September 30, 1811
On the last day of September, Agnes, the maid from Hunsford Parsonage, took the unheard-of action of knocking at the front door of the manor house. When the footman opened it, she burst breathlessly into the entry hall and curtsied unsteadily to the butler, Brendan. “Please tell Sir Christopher that Mr. Collins is being arrested! They are taking him to London, but he doesn’t want to go. He swears he is innocent!” Her words came in a confusing rush, but her panic was unmistakable.
Lady Penelope and Lady Fitzwilliam, who had been discussing changes to the dining room, hurried into the entry hall. Lady Penelope spoke first. “Is Mrs. Collins all right?”
“She’s upset! Her husband is being arrested!” Agnes cried.
“Brendan, where is my son?” Lady Fitzwilliam asked.
“I believe he is with the steward, my lady. We will find him at once.” Brendan nodded to the footman, who quickly left.
Lady Penelope turned to Lady Fitzwilliam. “In my other life, I would go to Mrs. Collins to see if I could be of assistance.” She had grown quite fond of Mrs. Collins and admired her loyalty to her decidedly annoying husband.
“Go, then. I will wait for Christopher and send word to Catherine.”
Ultimately, Fitzwilliam arrived at the parsonage just as Collins was being trundled into an army coach bound for London. However, as he was no longer a colonel, he could not persuade the soldiers to release the parson to him. That evening at dinner with Charlotte and Lady Catherine present, Fitzwilliam and his mother encouraged her ladyship to provide Collins with legal counsel.
Lady Catherine declared, “Your parson, Christopher, is not my concern. My apologies, Mrs. Collins, but if your husband engaged in illegal activities, I cannot be involved.” Looking around the table, she asked, “Is there more ragout of beef? I scarcely had a spoonful. Amanda, did you ask Cook to spice it differently? I approve of the change.”
“The change in spices was Lady Penelope’s innovation.” Lady Fitzwilliam signaled a footman to fetch more ragout.
“Aunt, Mr. Collins made foolish choices, but not illegal ones. I suspect he was duped by his brother,” Fitzwilliam argued.
Charlotte, speaking in a more urgent voice than she had ever used in Lady Catherine’s presence, said, “It is true, my lady. My husband believed he was investing in our future.”
“An unfortunate situation,” Lady Catherine said. Turning to Lady Penelope, she advised, “I caution you, however, about using too much of any strongly flavored spices, madam.” Then she commanded Renata, “Cover your ears, child!”
A startled Renata looked at Lady Penelope, who nodded, trying to suppress a smile. Renata obediently put her hands over her ears. When Lady Catherine deemed the girl sufficiently protected against inappropriate conversation, she said in a low voice, “Strongly flavored spices can inflame dangerous passions, causing restlessness and excitability.”
“I shall make note.” Lady Penelope gestured for Renata to uncover her ears.
“Mr. Collins’s situation is bad for him and for you, Catherine,” Lady Fitzwilliam said. “After all, your much-v
aunted ability as an excellent judge of character is at stake. If, as Mrs. Collins and Christopher say, Mr. Collins is innocent, your reputation is secure. However, we live in a time when the services of skilled men of law are often needed to demonstrate innocence. You have these men in your employ. Were you to arrange for Mr. Collins to receive the services of your solicitors, it would not only be an act of Christian charity for all of society to admire, but you would be assured your reputation would not bear the taint of an unfair conviction. You would be demonstrating both your support of your parson and your confidence in your assessment of his character.”
Lady Catherine glanced around, paying more attention to the room itself than to the others at the table. “For thirty years—yes, even when my husband was alive—I was the galvanic intelligence and the ruling hand of Rosings, dispensing justice and mercy. And as I did engage Mr. Collins, I suppose this last useful act of providing him with legal counsel would befit my legacy here.”
In the outgoing post the next morning there were four letters: one from Charlotte to her parents about her husband’s arrest, one from Fitzwilliam to the officers who had sanctioned his investigation of the poison tonic, and one in which he alerted Anne and Nora of Collins’s arrest. The fourth letter was from Lady Catherine authorizing the most junior—and least costly—solicitor at the London firm representing her interests to counsel Collins.
≈≈≈
October 4, 1811
On Friday, the day she left for Bath, her ladyship received a reply from her attorneys confirming their compliance with her request. She gave their letter to Fitzwilliam just before he handed her into the second-best De Bourgh carriage. (The same vehicle in which she had sent Mrs. Jenkinson away from Bath.) When her nephew closed the door between them, Lady Catherine said, “My work here is done, Christopher. Do not dishonor my efforts.” To his credit, he managed to refrain from rolling his eyes.
