The Three Colonels (17 page)

“Ah, yes.” The earl got to his feet. “I have been expecting something from my banker in London. Please excuse me.” Lord Matlock followed the butler out of the room.

“Well, I expect we will be hearing next of that damned Corsican's head on a pike. The Frogs cannot be stupid enough to want him back!” Lord Andrew declared.

Darcy turned from the mantle. “I must disagree with you again, Andrew. King Louis's government is very unpopular. There may well be civil war.”

“Here is something new—you disagreeing with me, Darcy! All is right in the world as long as Fitzwilliam Darcy finds fault with Andrew Fitzwilliam! Tell me, is there anyone you totally agree with except that wife of yours?” At Darcy's glare, Lord Andrew continued with a smile, “Oh, come now! Do not take offense, old man! You know we approve of Elizabeth.”

“It took you long enough to come around.”

“Again with that? Very well—yes, we have come to see that she is not the uncultured country girl we feared. She has not hurt our standing in society, and she has done wonders with Georgiana. In short, she is too good for the likes of you. How you managed to win her I will never comprehend.”

Before Richard could express his opinion, all conversation ended with Lord Matlock's reentrance, a grim look on his face. Without a word, he handed a letter to Richard. Richard immediately noted that it was from the War Office addressed to him. With a sinking feeling, he murmured an apology, opened the letter, and read in silence.

Finally, Lord Andrew could bear no more. “What is the news?”

Richard looked up slowly, all his hopes dashed. “I am recalled to London. King Louis has fled the country. Bonaparte has entered Paris and declared himself again Emperor of the French Republic. It is war.”

***

Delaford

Richard Fitzwilliam was not the only one receiving express letters.

“Do not worry, my love,” Christopher Brandon told his wife as his valet packed his trunk. “I shall only be gone for a little while—less than a fortnight, I should not wonder.”

“But, Christopher, you are requested so urgently!” Marianne observed. “Why would they want you? You have been inactive for so very long.”

Because
Wellington
wants
me
, he replied to himself. The country was not ready—it had too many troops on the other side of the Atlantic because of that insane war with the Americans. “Perhaps they need a new staff officer in London during the crisis. If so, I will send for you and Joy to join me at Brandon House in Town.” Brandon turned to his valet. “All done there, my man? Excellent.” He opened his arms. “My love, I must leave.”

Tearfully his wife embraced him. “I am so worried.”

“Never fear, my Marianne. Nothing will keep me from returning to you.”

***

Newcastle

Captain George Wickham entered his commanding general's office along with the other officers.

“Gentlemen,” the general began without any other preamble, “it seems our old enemy is back. Yet another coalition is being formed to contain Bonaparte. All training regimens are hereby doubled. We leave for Belgium in a month.”

Wickham looked about stupidly. “Begging your pardon, sir. Did you say we were leaving?”

“Yes. Any questions, Captain?”

Wickham could not restrain himself. “Why, sir?”

The general gave the assembled a crooked grin. “It seems we are invited to the party this time. The War Office has ordered this regiment to join Wellington on the Continent.”

A stunned murmur arose from the attending officers. Wickham did not join in; he was too shocked. Finally, thoughts began to form in his head. War? He was going to war! He did not join the army to fight a war! He thought he was in a safe regiment!

He suddenly remembered that he did not “join” voluntarily, and he did not choose his regiment—someone else did.

Damn
that
Darcy!

Vienna

On the day before Easter, the ambassadors of Austria-Hungary, Prussia, Russia, and Great Britain gathered around the table, documents scattered before them. The other members of the delegations—diplomats, advisors, secretaries, and others—stood watching against the walls of the room, while staffers moved about the great men, papers and pens in hand. Some representatives of the lesser powers were also in attendance.

The French Delegation was nowhere to be seen. It was understandable; the authority of the ambassador of the Court of Louis XVIII of France was dissolved with the king's flight from Paris.

This was the largest gathering of the Congress, and its task was grim. The treaty before them was based on the declaration of 13 March 1815. It stated that Napoleon Bonaparte, self-appointed Emperor of the French, had placed himself outside civil and social relations and handed himself over to public justice as the enemy and disturber of the peace of the world. The signatories agreed to establish a coalition—the seventh of its kind—to oppose the Tyrant, and they pledged to raise armies of at least 150,000 each to enforce the peace and security of Europe and restore the lawful government of France.

One member of the audience turned to another. “Does the duke realize what he is doing? He is committing the government to war—and at such a scale,” the British diplomat whispered to his companion.

“I believe his lordship knows exactly what he is about,” answered Buford. “He is forcing the government's hand—not that it matters. He has already been named commander-in-chief of all British and Hanoverian forces on the Continent. We simply await the official commission.”

The situation was grave. Marshal Ney had promised King Louis XVIII that he would bring Bonaparte back to Paris in an iron cage. Instead, Ney defected to his old commander along with the six thousand men under his command. Marshal Murat, the Bonaparte-installed king of Naples who had joined with the Coalition the year before when France's defeat seemed certain, now betrayed his new allies and declared for Napoleon and a united Italy. He was already attacking the Austrians.

“Do you join the duke in Brussels?” Buford was asked.

“We leave directly. I am to serve as advance staff until my regiment is shipped from England.”

“And Lady Buford? Does she remain in Vienna?”

“No,” said Buford firmly. “She journeys with us to take a boat for England. I would have her safe with my family.”

A bustle at the table drew the gentlemen's attention. The signing done, the ambassadors shook hands and began leaving the room. Wellington walked over to where the British delegation had gathered.

“Well, that is that. Come, gentlemen—there is work to be done.”

***

After attending Easter morning services, Caroline rushed about the apartments, overseeing the last of the preparations for their departure. Roberts and Abigail saw to the clothes and personal items, while Caroline worked with Frau Lippermann and Helga to arrange for the packing of the few vases and
objets
d'art
that the Bufords had purchased during their stay and the shutting down of the household.

It was a bit of a challenge. Abigail was all atwitter; she feared that the Tyrant's armies might march down the street at any moment. The housekeeper and cook had no English, and Caroline had no German—except for three words, and
they
were not applicable to the situation—but through patience and pantomime, progress had been made.

Finally, all was accomplished: trunks were packed, debts were discharged, and arrangements were made. Sir John and several footmen strode into a forest of packing rather than the chaos that produced it.

Sir John looked about the mass of trunks and boxes with a knowledgeable eye. He had a fair idea of logistics and knew what his wife had accomplished. It was no less than he had expected, yet he was wise enough to praise Caroline.

“My dear, you have done wonders,” Sir John said as he kissed her hand. “Give these men but a moment, and we shall be off.”

A moment turned into the better part of an hour, but it did not signify. It gave Caroline a chance to bid farewell to her remaining staff.

“Frau Lipperman, Helga, I wish to thank you for your services—
Ich
bedanke
mich
,” she read from a card. “You have done good work—
gut
gemacht
. Here is my recommendation—
Dienstzeugnis
—for each of you. I hope you find employment very soon. I wish you Happy Easter—
Frohe
Ostern. Auf Wiedersehen
.”

The two women looked at her for a moment before rushing to hug their former mistress. “
Danke
sehr! Wir werden Sie vermissen! Leben Sie wohl! Gott segne Sie—Frohe Ostern! Auf Wiedersehen! Goot
bye, my lady!” Helga was actually in tears. It took no little time for the departing mistress to extract herself from the tearful farewells.

Soon, two carriages were making their way out of the Austrian capital. Caroline looked back at the city as they left. So much had happened there in just a month, she thought as she grasped her husband's hand.

Shall
I
ever
look
upon
Vienna
again?

***

The trip to Vienna in early February had been a delight. The trip from Vienna in late March was a nightmare. Time was of the essence, and the horses were pushed to their limits. The carriages rocked the occupants cruelly. The spring rains threatened to wash out the roads on more than one occasion, and ever-present was the fear that Napoleon would strike before the Allies were ready.

What was beautiful before was no longer. Mountains that were awe-inspiring became obstacles to overcome. Deep forests now seemed closed-in and menacing. Any castle or town, no matter how stately or charming, could contain an enemy, and the rivers were living things that sought to destroy the little group.

Each day the party rose before sunrise. They would seldom stop before dusk, except for changes in the teams, when they would consume a hurried meal. The travelers could not be particular as to the choice of lodging—any inn with relatively clean beds would do. The food, for the most part, was revolting.

The only pleasure the couple enjoyed was sought at night. No matter how exhausted the lovers were, Sir John and his lady would lose themselves in each other's arms. Their lovemaking was intense and urgent, as if the pair felt they needed to consume a lifetime of love within this single journey. They never spoke of it or of the future; it was understood. The only words that passed between them were those of love and devotion and need. They basked in their newfound understanding of the other's feelings. In the coach during the day, they never left each other's side.

The trip was harder on Caroline than on her husband. More mornings than not, she awoke sick to her stomach, but she would not complain, request a moderation of the pace of the journey, or even speak of her discomfort, for she refused to be a burden to Sir John.

Finally, in early April, they crossed the Rhine into Belgium.

***

Antwerp

“Damnation! There is no passage to be had!” cried Buford as he entered his rooms. He ran a hand through his hair. “I have asked everywhere, but I can get no proper passage for you and our servants back to England, at least anytime soon. In a month,
perhaps
, they say. Damn them!”

Caroline left off writing to her sister and rose to see to her husband. “Sir John, please,” she gently scolded him. “Would it be so bad if we remained? Other officers have brought their wives.”

Sir John looked torn. “My love, the selfish side of me would wish you by my side, but that is impossible! The others are fools! I will not have you here in danger. Perhaps I can arrange for a fishing boat—”

“No, sir! As I said before, I will not go without Abby and Roberts or our belongings!”

For at least the fourth time in as many days, the couple argued the point, and the colonel found that he still could not budge his wife. Assured in her husband's esteem and affections, Caroline's old assertiveness had returned, and her time in Vienna had instilled in her a fierce attachment to their servants.

“Woman, you shall do as I say!”

“Is this how I should expect a king's officer to speak to his wife? I was led to believe that there were gentlemen in the army!”

“Caroline, please—”

“I shall not be moved, no matter how much you beg!” On and on it went, with the same result. “My love, do you not see? I cannot—I will not—abandon our people or our belongings. I do not wish to be a burden upon you, but there it is.”

“But dear, I would have you safe with our family in England.”

She touched his cheek. “I know.”

Buford needed to find another way. Consequently, he did what many people would do who possessed his connections. He wrote to Darcy.

***

London

“Fitzwilliam! What a pleasant surprise!” cried Mr. Gardiner as the tall, finely dressed husband of his niece was announced. “Come in. May we get you something? Allow me to alert Madeline that you are here.”

“No, Edward, please do not,” answered Darcy. “May we retire to your library? There is a matter of business I should like to discuss with you.”

Edward Gardiner knew something was wrong. “Of course, my boy. Right this way.” In the years since Elizabeth's marriage to the Master of Pemberley, the Darcy and Gardiner families had grown so close that Christian names had become
de
rigueur
, and Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner considered Fitzwilliam and Georgiana as a nephew and niece.

After seeing his guest into the library and closing the door, Mr. Gardiner asked, “May I get you something?” To his eyes, something rare happened: Darcy started to fidget. “Fitzwilliam, is something amiss? Out with it, my boy.”

“I am afraid I must ask a favor.”

“Is that all?” the older man exclaimed in relief. “Why, by your countenance, I thought someone died!”

Darcy continued to squirm.

“Come, tell me, man. Whatever it is, you shall have it.”

Darcy gritted his teeth. “It sits ill with me to ask this of you—”

“I know—you would sooner do it yourself. But think nothing of it, my boy,” he said with affection. “We are family.”

Darcy nodded at the truth of this. He reached into his coat pocket, extracted a letter, and handed it to Mr. Gardiner. Falling back into cold politeness, as he always did when he was uncomfortable, he said, “Pray, do me the kindness of reading that letter.”

Mr. Gardiner opened it.

April ——, 1815

Darcy House, London

My dear Darcy,

Lady Buford, our servants, and I arrived safely in Antwerp four days ago. Such a journey from Vienna! One day I shall relate it to you as I consume your best port. Please let Mrs. Darcy and Miss Darcy know that Lady B is in good health and good spirits. She bore the ordeal without a word of complaint. What a woman! Surely, my friend, we have both been more fortunate than we deserve in our marriages.

Darcy, I have a request of you. It is my wish that Lady B and our people be safely transported back to England. However, passage may not be secured until May at the earliest. With events on the Continent as they are, I am certain you will agree that this situation is intolerable. My wife would stay, but I shall not rest easy until she is under my family's protection.

I have no contacts that may be of service; but you, with your wide range of investments and interests, might know of some manner of relief. I would not ask this of you were not the situation dire and the safety of those dearest to me at risk. Please be assured that whatever the result, I shall be eternally in your debt, should you make some small inquiries into this matter.

Your obt. servant,

BUFORD

Antwerp

“I see,” said Mr. Gardiner.

“Poor Buford,” said Darcy. “What it must have cost him to write such a letter!”

Mr. Gardiner thought for a minute. “I can have a ship at Antwerp by week's end—ten days at the most.”

“Edward, I do not know what to say.”

“Fitzwilliam,” said Mr. Gardiner softly, “would you do any less for me, were it in your power? Come, give me your answer to Sir John. I shall dispatch it with the ship. It shall wait at dock until our friends are aboard.”

***

Antwerp

Darcy's note had arrived in mid-afternoon. The sailor who delivered it said the ship would sail upon the morning tide the next day. The shipmates he had brought along were to move the baggage and other possessions aboard that night. Sir John assured the messenger that the passengers would arrive in good time in the morning.

Caroline was distressed, knowing she had but one last night with her husband. She reached deep into herself for her control; it would not do to take leave of Sir John crying like a blubbering idiot. By pure strength of will, she was able to face her husband with at least the appearance of composure after the last of the trunks were on their way to the ship.

Buford was not deceived. He addressed his small household staff: “Tonight is your last in Belgium. We shall not require you this evening. Here is some money. Roberts, take Miss Abigail out to the finest restaurant in town. 'Tis my farewell gift to you both.”

Roberts and Abigail understood. “Good night, sir,” his man said. “We shall see you in the morning.”

After the servants left, Sir John took Caroline by the hand and led her downstairs. To the owner of the inn, he stated, “Your public rooms are closed for the evening. Name your price.”

The innkeeper struggled between his greed and his fear—Sir John was wearing his sword. Finally, he gave an amount. Buford handed him the money but added, “There will be dinner out of that and your best wine.” The innkeeper sighed—his profit not as great as he hoped—and left to fetch the first bottle.