Jack Caldwell - The Three Colonels

“Very good, Masters. I shall see you in the morning,” said Colonel Brandon.

To Marianne’s amusement, the sergeant flushed profusely as he turned and left them. Marianne then left instructions with the housekeeper that the master and mistress would take their evening meal upstairs in the mistress’s rooms. The old woman did not blink but simply nodded.

Marianne and Christopher then ascended the stairs, still hand in hand.

*   *   *

A crowd had gathered about the coach that was to take Colonel Brandon to Portsmouth. All the staff from Delaford was there, as well as Mr. and Mrs. Ferrars, Mrs. and Miss Dashwood, and Sir John and Lady Middleton from Barton Park. It was kindly suggested to the baronet that since the colonel wanted no ceremony for his departure, Sir John and Lady Middleton might take their leave of their friend as he passed on the road.

Sir John Middleton responded to the suggestion with an amused snort. “Nonsense, nonsense! Lady Middleton shall be very pleased to see the colonel off properly, as should I. It is no bother. Why, Delaford is no distance at all from Barton Park—no distance at all!”

Colonel Brandon was taken aback by the size of his audience, but he bore it in good humor, taking time personally to take his leave of everyone there. He spent no little time with his extended family.

Edward Ferrars said, “I shall keep an eye on Marianne and Joy for you, never fear.”

“I shall depend upon that,” Christopher answered, before turning to his sister. “And you keep an eye on him, Elinor!”

“Take care, my son,” cried Mrs. Dashwood as she hugged him.

Christopher saluted Margaret. “I take my leave of you, Captain!” Margaret Dashwood, now a lovely young lady nearing eighteen, old enough for a sweetheart in the navy, blushed and hugged him as well.

Christopher took his ward, Eliza, into his arms and kissed her on the forehead. “No tears, my dear, no tears. Marianne is depending on you.” Eliza only cried harder.

Finally, he turned to Marianne, who was holding a squirming Joy in her arms. He simply embraced them; with all that had passed in the night, there were no words left. To Joy he whispered, “Who is my love?” He then looked Marianne in the eye.

“As God is my witness, I shall come back to you, though Hell itself bars the door,” he said in a voice just for her ears.

“Go, my Odysseus,” she said, eyes gleaming, “and like Penelope, I shall faithfully await your return.”

Colonel Brandon turned to Sergeant Masters. “Come, it is time we were off.”

As he climbed into the carriage, he said to Marianne, “My dear, I forgot! Tell McIntosh to switch the ratio between the barley and the wheat.”

Marianne nodded. “Switch the ratio between the barley and the wheat. I shall tell Mr. McIntosh.”

A quick kiss. “Good-bye, my Marianne.” The door shut and the carriage jerked into motion.

“Give Boney what-for, Colonel!” shouted Sir John Middleton.

Christopher leaned out the carriage window, holding up his hat. The crowd waved until the coach was no longer in sight. Princess, restrained by the butler, barked for a very long time.

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—”