The Three Colonels (31 page)

“Think nothing of it,” said Darcy. “We shall leave tomorrow after breakfast to collect Mrs. Tucker, and thence to Hertfordshire.”

Georgiana stuttered, “Were you there, Colonel… when…” She could not finish.

Denny struggled over what to say. “Yes, I was there, but I did not see Major Wickham fall.” He in good conscience could not tell the girl the whole truth. Wickham had awaited Napoleon's approaching Imperial Guard like a man in anticipation of his execution. When Denny found Wickham's body after the battle, he saw that a cannonball had practically cut his old friend in half. No, Denny would never share those visions. They were forever entombed along with Wickham in a grave at Waterloo. “He fought well, but so did many others we left behind us in Belgium.”

“I understand that Richard was made a knight,” Georgiana continued. “Do you receive any award?”

“No, Miss Darcy, save that my brevet promotion to colonel was made permanent. That is award enough for me.”

“Why is that?”

Denny smiled. “I will now have money enough to marry, Miss Darcy.”

Georgiana blushed.

Darcy asked, “So you plan to remain in the army, Denny?”

“Yes, sir. I find the military life suits me.”

“What is your next post?” asked Christopher.

“For now, I am to return to Horse Guards. But I think I will put in for a transfer to India next year.”

“Why India?” asked Georgiana.

“A colonel's pay goes further there, and I hope to work towards promotion, Miss Darcy.”

Elizabeth smiled. She could read between the lines better than most, and Colonel Denny's attentions to the Widow Wickham had been very marked. She wondered whether Lydia would like living in India.

Sir Richard and Anne finally entered the sitting room, walking in hand in hand. Elizabeth, Marianne, and Georgiana embraced the couple with cries of delight. It was some time before the pair could sit down upon a sofa.

“If you do not mind, Darcy,” Sir Richard said, “I think there will be a change of plans.”

“I thought there might. Kent or Derbyshire?”

“Rosings first—Lady Catherine deserves at least that.” Sir Richard then grinned. “Besides, I need to survey my new properties now that harvest time grows near.”

“Do you think you will enjoy farming, sir?” asked Denny.

He gave the younger man a stern look. “Denny, we are comrades now. You may call me…” he hesitated, and then with dramatic importance, “
Sir
Richard
.”

A pause—then Fitzwilliam dissolved into laughter.

“Denny, if you call that fool anything but Fitz, I will personally cuff you,” demanded an amused Christopher.

After a poke from Anne, Sir Richard stopped laughing. “I think I will like it well enough, Denny. I know I will fancy the accommodations.” He started chuckling again when he noted that Anne was not amused. “What is it, my dear?” She simply gave him an arch look. “What?”

“Oh, do not be cross, Cousin,” cried Georgiana. “Tell us of Richard's proposal!”

“You have hit upon the heart of the matter, Georgiana,” Anne responded. “There has been no proposal!”

“What? Then how are you engaged?”

“You had a hand in that,” Anne said with a look.

“Oh, the letters!” Georgiana blushed while Denny simply looked confused.

Anne nodded in confirmation. “Yes, we have compromised ourselves! We
wrote
to each other, Colonel Denny, and there is nothing for it but to marry! Which is all fine and good, but it would be nice actually to receive a
proposal
,” she turned to her intended, “especially as Colonel Sir Richard Fitzwilliam acts as if Rosings Park is his already!” She gave Richard a
de
Bourgh
glare.

Sir Richard looked thoughtfully at Anne for a moment and then away. “Hmm, we cannot have that.” He began to stand.

“Richard?” Anne was afraid her teasing had gone too far and she had offended her beloved.

But abruptly, Sir Richard threw himself at her feet. On one knee, with one hand on his breast and the other raised to the heavens, he declared, “Sweetest, loveliest Anne! You are the light of my life, the song in my soul, the starch in my stockings—”

“The starch in your stockings?”

“Quiet, woman, you are ruining the moment. Where was I? Ah yes, I cannot live without you! Would you—could you—might you—consider taking pity on this poor fool? I offer all that I have—an old warhorse and a slightly used sabre. What treasure! All I own and my heart. Say yes and make me the happiest man in the world! Reject me, and call for the undertaker the next instant, for I shall surely die of a broken heart. My fate is in your hands, my lady.”

He lowered his face into his hands for a moment before peeking up at her. He beheld a smirking Anne, trying not to giggle. He could not see the various looks of his audience, ranging from delight to amusement to astonishment. “Marry me, Annie?”

She smiled sweetly. “Of course! Before you inflict yourself on some other unfortunate lady.”

Sir Richard sweetly kissed each of Anne's hands before retaking his seat next to her. “How was that, Georgiana?”

His cousin just shook her head as the others exploded into laughter.

***

The three colonels took their leave of each other before the Fitzwilliam family's London townhouse. Darcy had arranged for the house to be opened, for Sir Richard and Colonel Denny could not remain at Darcy House while Anne was in residence. Denny would be retrieved in the morning by the Darcy party when Anne and Mrs. Jenkinson were delivered for their journey to Kent with Richard.

“Good-bye, Denny. Mind the army for me,” said Christopher. “I expect you will be a general 'ere long.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Denny, I am Brandon to you.”

“Brigadier,” cried Denny, using Brandon's brevet title, “you will
always
be sir to me.” He snapped off a salute, which Christopher returned.

Marianne embraced the younger man. “May you obtain your heart's desire, Colonel.”

“All things in God's time,” he replied with a grin. Denny estimated that Lydia would require only six months of mourning before she would allow him to make his intentions known.

Christopher and Sir Richard shook each other's hands. “Congrat-ulations, Fitz. I know you will be happy.”

“Thank you, Brandon. Give my love to that daughter of yours. Marianne, farewell.”

She kissed his cheek. “Until the wedding, I suppose. I am so happy for you and Anne! Safe journey.” She turned, and Brandon helped her back into the carriage.

Christopher turned back to the others, one foot in the carriage. “Good-bye, friends! Drive on, driver!”

As the carriage moved away, Marianne moved into her husband's arms, a place she planned to spend much time in the future—perhaps the rest of her life.

“I cannot help thinking of poor Sir John. Had it been you—oh, I cannot bear it! I shall speak of it no more!”

“Hush, m'love. Do not worry. I have put in my papers. I will fight no more forever.”

“I was so proud of you yet frightened for you at the same time. I might be a coward, but I want you home in our bed, never to leave again.”

He kissed her tenderly. “I wish to be nowhere else, my Marianne,”—he started to smile—“although it will be a crowded place soon, I trust. When is the baby due?”

“Around New Years. Maybe it will be a Christmas baby.”

Christopher counted backwards. “After, I should think.”

“Perhaps. Do you think Joy will like a baby brother?”

“You do not know it will be a boy.”

“I was right about the other thing. You must trust me on this.”

Christopher gave up with an amused shake of his head. After all, she might be right. “I have but one request. If the babe is a boy, his name must be John Richard.”

She looked at his face with tears in her eyes. “Perfect—and Sir John and Caroline shall be his godparents.”

As Christopher bent to kiss her again, he murmured, “Perfect.”

There were no more sounds from the Brandon carriage as it rolled through the London night towards home and Joy.

The emperor stood on the deck of the
Northumberland
, a seventy-four-gun, third-rate ship-of-the-line, one hand holding a stay, fighting off seasickness while surveying the horizon for his new realm. He was as rigid as stone; the only movement of his body was his eyes. Three months to the day had passed since he stepped upon the deck of the HMS
Bellerophon
off Rochefort and into the hands of his enemies.

The officer of the deck, the ship's second lieutenant, was at his station upon the quarterdeck, trying to keep his mind on his business. Yet, the young Englishman could not prevent his eyes from returning to the living statue. He knew all aboard had been ordered to refer to the ship's honored guest as “
Monsieur
” or “General,” rather than some of the less-flattering names British tars had devised for the Destroyer of Mankind. However, the lieutenant could not think of the man as anything but the emperor.

The lieutenant wondered what the emperor was thinking. Once, this man was Emperor of the French, near-conqueror of Europe, the most dangerous and feared man in the world. Now, he was a powerless prisoner on his way to exile.

There would be no escape for him from this prison, the lieutenant reflected. Saint Helena was in the middle of the bloody South Atlantic Ocean.

To make sure that the emperor would spend his last days there, the lords of the Admiralty had decreed that a squadron of warships should keep station off the god-forsaken piece of rock until
Monsieur
Bonaparte was no more.

“LAND HO!” cried the lookout.

“WHERE AWAY?” returned the lieutenant.

“TWO POINTS OFF THE STARBOARD BOW!”

A half-dozen telescopes were clapped to a half-dozen eyes, but it was useless. From the deck, the island was still below the horizon. As he lowered his instrument, the lieutenant noticed that the statue had come to life. The emperor strained to see the isle, standing on tiptoe. The officer almost handed him the telescope but thought the better of it.

Turning to a midshipman, the lieutenant said, “Give the captain my compliments and report land two points off the starboard bow.”

The youngster repeated the order and scurried below decks. Within minutes, the captain was on deck, placing his hat on his head and ignoring the salute, all the off-duty officers following in his wake.

By now, the emperor was completely still again.

“Where away?” the captain demanded.

The lieutenant pointed out the reported direction as others, mainly the emperor's entourage, emerged from below and began to fill the decks. Patiently, the captain peered through his telescope until the island was revealed. By now, those on deck could make out the dark spot on the horizon.

Turning to the midshipman, the captain said, “My compliments to the admiral and report that we have raised Saint Helena.” The lad saluted and left.

In the minutes that followed, as the
Northumberland
sailed on, Saint Helena was shown to be the ugliest and most dismal rock conceivable, rising like an enormous black wart from the bowels of the deep. The emperor and all aboard watched in silence as the ship grew ever closer to the ends of the earth.

The End

Austen, Jane,
Pride
and
Prejudice

———,
Sense
and
Sensibility

Coote, Stephen,
Napoleon
and
the
Hundred
Days
, 2005

Cornwell, Bernard,
Waterloo
, 1990

Heyer, Georgette,
An
Infamous
Army: A Novel of Wellington, Waterloo, Love and War
, 1937

Moore, Richard,
The
Napoleonic
Guide
, 1999–2009
www.napoleonguide.com

O'Brian, Patrick,
The
Hundred
Days
, 1998

Roberts, Andrew,
Napoleon
& Wellington
, 2001

———,
Waterloo
, 2005

Schneider, John,
Napoleonic
Literature, The Anglo-Allied Army Order of Battle
, 1996–2010
www.napoleonic-literature.com/Waterloo_OB/Allied.htm

———,
Napoleonic
Literature, L'Armée du Nord Order of Battle
, 1996–2010
www.napoleonic-literature.com/Waterloo_OB/French.htm

Oh, I wish I was in the land of cotton

Old times there are not forgotten

Look away! Look away! Look away! Dixie Land.

In Dixie Land where I was born in

Early on one frosty mornin'

Look away! Look away! Look away! Dixie Land.

Oh, I wish I was in Dixie!

Hooray! Hooray!

In Dixie Land I'll take my stand

To live and die in Dixie

Away, away, away down south in Dixie!

“Dixie” by Daniel Decatur Emmett, 1859

Vicksburg, Mississippi—May 22, 1863

The day was several hot, stifling hours old when the young, gray-clad captain of infantry once again peeked carefully over the ramparts of his position into the morning sun, telescope in hand. He saw nothing, but he was not deceived. Since the initial assault upon their location three days ago, the enemy had tirelessly moved men and materiel into position for another attack. The sounds of horses and cannon wheels had been constant since before daybreak. The heavily wooded hilly terrain was not only perfect for defense but also for hiding the maneuvers of their attacker.

“Them Yankee boys are gettin' ready to come a'visitin' again, Cap'n?” a voice whispered into his ear.

William Darcy, captain in the Texas Legion, Confederate States Army, turned his bright blue eyes to his sergeant beside him and wiped a dirty hand across his beard-covered chin before answering. “My compliments to the colonel, and report that the enemy is moving forward.”

No sooner had the man offered the barest of salutes and moved away from the front lines than the woods opposite exploded with noise. Darcy's screams of warning were unnecessary as men ducked from the incoming cannon fire. Darcy lay at the bottom of the trench like the others, keeping his head as low as possible. On an impulse, the twenty-year-old officer pulled out the pocket watch his father had given him for his birthday two years before.

Ten o'clock exactly.

The cannonballs began to fall behind the lines towards Vicksburg itself. Darcy knew what that was about even before the cries of the enemy reached his ears. He pulled out his sword and stood in a low crouch.

“To the line, boys, to the line! The enemy is upon us! Give 'em hell!”

The bedraggled Texans, in various uniforms of Confederate gray, rushed to the ramparts, muskets in hand, screaming the Rebel Yell that had terrified more than one Union solider since Bull Run. Just in time, too, as the first of the men in blue were mere yards away. Darcy's view of the attackers disappeared behind a cloud of smoke as the muskets fired in a volley. The smoke cleared to show a score of figures in dirty blue scattered on the bare ground before the earthworks, but there were a hundred more advancing. The first line of defenders fell back to reload as the second line took their places.

“Fire at will!” Darcy yelled as he drew his Colt revolver. “Fire at will!”

Time lost all meaning as Darcy fired into the advancing horde again and again. The Texans knew that their position, straddling a rail line, was a key point in the defense of Vicksburg, and they fought desperately against the Union soldiers, who were just as desperate to take it. The din was deafening as gunfire, explosions, and screams blended into an unearthly sound.

Darcy had ducked down to reload his pistol for the third time when he noted that the noise had abated a bit. Creeping up, he saw through the smoke and haze that the Yankees were pulling back in good order. He ordered his men to cease firing and conserve their precious ammunition as he glanced at his watch again.

Ten fifteen.

***

Darcy and his company had been relieved about midday as fresh troops took up their position in the lunette
1
. They were resting as well as they could, with the occasional cannonball falling throughout the afternoon, when they were approached by a group of officers on horseback. The commander of the legion, Colonel Waul, spoke to them.

“Men, we've got some Yankees that have broken through at the redoubt. They're a stubborn bunch, an' I need some volunteers to help clear the vermin out. Are you with me?”

Darcy looked at his men. “Sir, how many do you need?”

“A score will do, Captain. We muster down the lane here.” With that, the party rode off. Darcy rose to his feet and looked around. A good two dozen men volunteered, and soon the detail moved off to the rendezvous point. They joined up with others and the plan was formed. By late afternoon, the force moved into position near the railroad redoubt.

Darcy could see men in blue hiding in the trenches or behind shelter. He knew this assault would be costly.

A shout went up, and the Texans charged. Darcy ran before his men, the Colt in his right hand and a sword in his left. The men to either side fired their muskets on the run and continued the charge, bayonets gleaming in the afternoon light. The enemy returned fire from their positions, but even as men fell around him, Darcy knew it was too little, too late. They were almost upon them. The Union soldiers began to fall back in some disorder. Darcy bared his teeth as he smelled the impending victory…

There was a mighty explosion, and Darcy experienced a feeling of flying before the world crashed into his face.

***

Will Darcy knew nothing, except that he hurt. Hurt all over. Hurt
bad
.

After a while, he was able to discern something besides the ever-present pain: a low murmuring in the background of his darkness. It took a moment before he realized that it was the sound of men groaning and crying. Darcy opened his eyes to behold a dark, uneven ceiling, lit by the light of lanterns.

He suddenly realized that he could only see out of one eye. In a panic, he raised a hand to his face and tried to sit up. A wave of agony crashed into him, and he could not prevent crying out as he fell back.

Darcy heard voices close by. “Doc—Doc—this one's wakin' up.” A moment later a face came into his limited field of vision.

“Captain, how are you feeling?”

Like I'm about to die!
his mind screamed. He peered closely at the man. About Darcy's own age, the young man had a broad, flushed face and light-colored hair. It was a face that usually would be happy, he considered. That it wasn't was a cause for concern.

“H… hurt,” was all Darcy could manage.

“I should think you do,” the unknown man said in a soft Georgia accent with a hint of a smile. The break in the man's serious mien was comforting.

Darcy waved a hand before his face. “E… eye?”

“Rest easy,” the man said. “Your eyes are undamaged. You have a serious injury to your forehead, and the bandage must cover one eye. You're in a hospital, Captain, in a cave to protect y'all from the incoming artillery… Don't sit up!” he cried as Darcy moved. “Do you want to lose that leg?”

His patient lay still in fear.

The man grew grim. “Good thing you were insensible when your men brought you in. I had to do a bit of digging to get all the shrapnel out. You've lost quite a bit of blood, Captain. We must keep your leg still and clean, or the gangrene may set in. Do you understand?”

Darcy managed a nod, which only hurt like blazes. He determined he was speaking to a surgeon, as he could now make out the dried blood all over the man's apron.

“Good,” the doctor grinned in return. “I must see to my other patients, but I shall stop by later. Rest, sir, and you'll be up and walking again.”

As the doctor began to turn, Darcy fought to speak. “Th… thanks. D… Darcy.”

The doctor turned in surprise. “I beg your pardon?”

Darcy gestured again. “D… Darcy.”

“Ah,” the man breathed in realization. “Captain Darcy, is it?”

Darcy nodded.

He smiled. “Charles Bingley, at your service.”

***

Meryton, Ohio—June 20

“Beth! Beth, come back!”

The thirteen-year-old girl disregarded her mother's voice as she ran out the back door. Almost blinded by her tears, she managed to reach the large chestnut tree next to the barn without running into anything. The girl threw herself against the trunk, her body shuddering in sobs.

It was there her older sister found her, kneeling by the tree. Wordlessly, the blond girl gathered her sister into her arms, their hair blowing in the breeze.

“Beth—oh, Beth!” she tried to console the child.

“H… he can't be dead!” Beth Bennet sobbed. “Samuel can't be dead! He can't be, Jane!”

“Beth…” Jane began.

“He promised to come back. You… you heard him. He promised!”

Jane bit her lip as she continued to stroke Beth's curly brown hair, her own tears quietly streaming down her face. She could hear her mother and other sisters wailing in the house, an uproar that began a half-hour before as her father read the words of that hated telegram:

“We regret to inform you that…”

“Beth—oh, Beth!” was all Jane could manage. Her own distress was great. Samuel Bennet, the eldest of the Bennet children and the only son, proud corporal in the Ohio infantry, gone to save the Union as part of the mighty Army of the Potomac, had died of influenza in Maryland. Samuel was beloved by all of his family, but Beth was particularly fond of him. Jane might be Beth's confidante, but Samuel was her hero and could do no wrong. Jane could only hold her sister, allowing her to cry herself out.

Finally, as Beth's sobs subsided, Jane said, “Beth, we must return to the house and see to our parents and sisters. We cannot add to their distress. We must be strong, Beth.”

“S… Samuel was always strong, Jane.”

“Yes, he was. Now, it is our turn. Our family needs us.” She took the girl's face in her hands. “It is what
he
would want.”

Beth nodded. Their mother loved her only son almost as fiercely as Beth, and their father doted on him.
They
would be shattered, leaving the three younger sisters little comfort.

Jane got to her feet and helped Beth up. Hand in hand, they turned to return to the house. As they walked, Jane heard Beth mumble something and asked her about it.

“I said it is
their
fault, Jane,” she spat.

“Whose fault?”

“Those damned Rebels!”

“Beth, please!” Jane cried. “Please don't talk like that in front of Mother or Mary! You know how they feel about coarse language.”

“Very well, but I'll never forgive those evil slave-owning Rebels—never! It's their fault Samuel went away. Those evil, evil people! I hope God smites them. I hate them! I will hate them for the rest of my life!”