The Three Colonels (20 page)

Delaford Manor

Several days later, Mr. McIntosh knocked on the door to Delaford Manor. “The missus sent for me,” he announced to the footman in a thick Scottish burr. The footman showed the steward in and left to alert the butler.

Marianne awaited her first interview with the steward. She had intended to receive him in the library but thought better of it. She believed that meeting with the man might be less formal in the bright and sunny parlor. Besides, she found it difficult to enter Christopher's favorite room.

“Mr. McIntosh,” the butler announced. A slight man of about five and forty came into the room nervously, holding his hat in his hands, mustache twitching.

Marianne had to restrain a giggle. “Mr. McIntosh, come in. Please take a seat.”

The steward's expression clearly indicated he doubted the fine thing would hold his weight. It was with reluctance and trepidation he carefully sat down upon it. No disaster occurred, and the man looked expectantly at the mistress of Delaford.

“Thank you very much for coming. As you know, Colonel Brandon has been called away on military business. We do not know when he will be back. I know you will join me in praying for his swift return.”

“God willin',” was all the man said.

Apparently, Mr. McIntosh was a man of few words; Marianne found that infuriating. “Colonel Brandon left this for you.” She handed him his letter. “I know we shall muddle through in his absence, but I shall rely on you to advise me.”

The steward looked at her curiously as he opened the letter. He began to read it.

“As you can see, Colonel Brandon left the management of Delaford to my care. He has full faith in you, as do I. The only instructions he gave me that are not in that letter were to change around the barley and the wheat—”

“No.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Mr. McIntosh put down the letter. “No.”

“No?” Marianne was confused. “I am afraid I do not understand your meaning. No to what, may I ask?”

“No—I
canna
take orders from ye, ma'am.”

“Excuse me?” Marianne cried.

“With all due respect, I
canna
take orders from ye.”

“But… but you have Colonel Brandon's instructions right there in your hand!”

McIntosh nodded. “Aye, ma'am, and I means to follow them as far as the law o' God allows.”

“What are you talking about?” demanded Marianne.

“God made woman to be man's helpmate. 'Tis against holy scripture for a man to take orders from a woman.” He held up Brandon's letter. “I'll follow any instructions written by Colonel Brandon, so long's it
dinna
violate God's Law.”

Marianne was astonished. “Mr. McIntosh, I am the Mistress of Delaford. Colonel Brandon has given me legal power to act on his behalf.” McIntosh shook his head. “I am deadly earnest, sir!”

“Mrs. Brandon, I am terribly sorry, but I
canna
do it. You are a good lady; you have been generous to th' poor, but I
canna
put my soul at risk.”

Marianne stared at the Scot. “We are at an impasse, I see.”

“Aye.”

“I can dismiss you, you know.”

“Aye.”

Marianne was absolutely stymied.

“Maybe it would be best if I give ye my notice now, ma'am,” McIntosh offered.

Marianne paled. She was deeply offended at the man's stubbornness, but she needed a steward to manage the farms. She could not afford to have him resign. “Mr. McIntosh,” Marianne drew breath. “I hope it does not come to that. There must be some way around this.” She thought for a moment. “What are your plans for the next month?”

“'Tis the plantin' season, ma'am.”

It was exactly as she feared. She could not lose the Delaford steward right before planting season! “Yes, that was the last instruction given to me by Colonel Brandon. He wanted to change the ratio of barley and wheat.”

“What's that, missus?”

Marianne thought hard. “His exact words were, ‘Switch the ratio between the barley and the wheat.'”

McIntosh looked down at the letter. “Beggin' your pardon, missus, but that
inna
in here.”

“Yes, yes, I know that. He told me just as he was leaving.” McIntosh shook his head. “Is that not good enough?” Marianne cried.

McIntosh's eyes were filled with worry. “Mrs. Brandon, that
inna
in here.”

“Are you implying that I am lying?” The mistress of Delaford rose in anger.

Mr. McIntosh rose in sorrow. “Mrs. Brandon, I enjoy my position here. The colonel's been as fine a master as any could wish.” His eyes filled with a fanatical light. “But it
inna
worth losin' my eternal reward. Would ye be wantin' my notice?”

Marianne knew there was no moving the man. She needed to think. “No, not at this time. I think there is nothing left to say about this subject at this time. Perhaps we need to postpone this interview until a later date. We will have time to reflect on what we have discussed. Thank you for your time, Mr. McIntosh. You may return to your duties.”

“Thankee, ma'am,” he touched his forelock. “God bless ye an' the colonel.” He turned and made for the door of the parlor. As he opened it he said, “I'll not go against God, missus. I will not.”

Marianne sat back down in complete and utter frustration.

***

“Mr. McIntosh belongs to a rather evangelical church, Marianne,” reported Edward Ferrars that night at dinner. “I have no influence with the man.”

“What about the rector at the Scottish Reformed Church?” asked Elinor.

Edward rose from his chair and began to pace the dining room in the parsonage. “No, my dear, that would not help. The members of McIntosh's church left the Reform congregation because they felt it was not… reformed enough.” He turned to their guest. “They take a rather literal view of scripture.”

“So I gathered,” remarked Marianne with an edge of irony.

“So, what is to be done?” asked Elinor. “The planting season is upon us.”

“Perhaps you could write to the colonel—” Edward began.

“God's blood, I will not!” cried Marianne. “Christopher left me in charge. This is my home—my land. I will not bother my husband with matters such as this while he faces…” She could not finish.

Husband and wife looked at each other. Never had they heard such language from Mrs. Brandon before. “Marianne,” Edward began carefully, “I quite understand your feelings—”

“I will not write Christopher, and I forbid you to do so!”

Edward sighed. “As you wish, but I think I may say without fear of contradiction that you do need help.”

Marianne glared at her brother, mainly because she knew he was right.

“Perhaps your solicitor?” suggested Elinor.

“No,” snapped Marianne. “He would just storm about talking law and contracts and writs, and end up driving Mr. McIntosh away. I need someone who can find a way of managing Mr. McIntosh so that the planting takes place as Christopher wanted—without surrendering my authority. I need someone exceedingly clever.”

“Who? A magistrate, perhaps?” asked Edward.

Marianne looked at them both with determination. “Elizabeth's husband, Mr. Darcy, is the cleverest man I know. I met his solicitor in London. If Darcy trusts
him
, then so will I. I need Mr. Tucker.”

***

“Friends,” called the preacher, “let us refer to the words of our Lord in Matthew, chapter five, beginning with verse seventeen.

“‘Think not that I have come to abolish the law and the prophets; I have come not to abolish them but to fulfill them. For truly, I say to you, till heaven and earth pass away, not an iota, not a dot, will pass from the law until all is accomplished. Whoever then relaxes one of the least of these commandments and teaches men so, shall be called least in the kingdom of heaven; but he who does them and teaches them shall be called great in the kingdom of heaven. For I tell you, unless your righteousness exceeds that of the scribes and Pharisees, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.'

“What could be clearer, friends? Our Lord Jesus Christ calls upon us to follow God's law—the law that is here in this book! The law Moses brought down from Sinai, the law of the prophets…”

Mr. McIntosh sat with his eyes closed, nodding in his usual pew, the third from the front, next to his wife and his remaining son and his growing family. McIntosh had been raised in the Scottish Reformed Church and attended services regularly, but he was always uneasy; he felt there was something missing. The day his eldest son died was one of the worst of his life, and the patronizing platitudes of his minister only made things worse. The tragedy forced McIntosh onto a spiritual journey for fulfillment, one that ended in the very church pew in which he now sat.

For it was only a few months after joining this congregation that his wife fell ill with the same malady that had carried away his beloved son. The doctors shook their learned heads, despairing of his wife's recovery. McIntosh could still see in his mind's eye the long vigil in his small parlor, members of his new church holding hands with his family, led in prayer by the preacher. All night they prayed. McIntosh made a promise to his Creator that if he would spare his wife, he would become his instrument here on earth. With the sunrise came a cry from the bedroom—the fever had broken; his wife would live.

On his knees, McIntosh thanked the preacher, who refused credit, telling him that all glory belonged to God. From that moment on, McIntosh pledged his devotion to his new church. He gave up drink and all manner of vice—oh, how he missed his wee touch of whisky in the evenings! But there was nothing for it; God had answered his prayer, and so he would now follow his new preacher. He had become an elder and one of the most respected members of the church council. He would follow God's teachings, no matter what it cost—even his position at Delaford.

“We all must bear witness to the glory of God!” the preacher said. “For it is written: ‘You are the light of the world. Let your light so shine before men that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father who is in heaven.' This is not an easy path.”

McIntosh nodded again.

“But Our Lord did not have an easy path on the road to Calvary! He warned us: ‘Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness' sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are you when men revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account. Rejoice and be glad, for your reward is great in heaven, for so men persecuted the prophets who were before you.'”

“Amen,” said Mr. McIntosh.

***

“Mr. Tucker, Mary, thank you so much for answering my invitation so quickly,” gushed Marianne after her guests were shown into the parlor. She realized that it was not so much an invitation that she issued but a summons.

“We thank you for the opportunity to visit Dorsetshire, Mrs. Brandon. Delaford is lovely, do you not think so, dear?”

Mary smiled. “It is my happy task to add Delaford to the list of beautiful homes I have had the honor of visiting. You are very kind to ask us here, especially on such slight acquaintance.” At Marianne's look, Mary smiled again. “Forgive me, Marianne, but you know my sisters Jane and Elizabeth much better than you know me.”

“Mary! I have known you for years!”

“Yes, as Elizabeth's sister. And you know my husband hardly at all.” She gave Marianne a knowing look. “Mr. Tucker and I discussed this on the way here. As much as you and I have enjoyed each other's company, I do not think this invitation was issued for
my
company.” She glanced at her husband. “Do not be embarrassed, dear Marianne. I am not offended.”

Mr. Tucker looked seriously at Marianne. “How may I be of service to you, Mrs. Brandon?”

Marianne sighed. “Well, since I did have you come here under a false premise, the least I can do is to request that you call me Marianne as your wife does.” He agreed and asked that she call him by his Christian name, as well.

That settled, she continued. “I have a problem with my steward.”

***

Several days later, Mr. McIntosh knocked on the door to Delaford Manor. “Mrs. Brandon sent for me,” he announced to the footman, who left to alert the butler.

This time, McIntosh was showed into the library. There, waiting for him was not Mrs. Brandon, as he expected, but two gentlemen—one a stranger and one he knew.

“Mr. McIntosh, come in, sir!” cried one of the gentlemen. “It is good to see you. And how is your family?”

“My family is well, Mr. White, thanks be to God,” McIntosh told the MP.

“Wonderful!” said the politician. “Allow me to introduce to you Mr. Tucker, solicitor for Colonel Brandon.” It was not a falsehood—Mrs. Brandon acted as Colonel Brandon's agent in securing Mr. Tucker's services.

“Sir,” said Tucker formally.

“Come, sit down, sit down,” requested Mr. White.

McIntosh carefully took his seat in the same frail chair, clearly expecting the worst.

Mr. White smiled at the Scot. “There have been some changes at Delaford, and Mr. Tucker and I thought to have you in for a chat, to let you know how things are now.” Mr. White leaned over the desk. “I have been retained by the colonel to oversee all operations of Delaford lands.” Tucker handed a document to McIntosh for his perusal. “As you can see, all work on the farms must be approved by me. Do you have any questions, sir?”

McIntosh looked up from the document, a bit of relief coming to his features. “No, sir.”

“Excellent! We thought it best to have our first meeting here, but in the future, we shall meet at my office in the village—every Tuesday morning. Is that agreeable to you, sir?”