“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?”

“Aye.”

“Fine. One last thing, McIntosh.” Tucker handed the steward a second piece of paper. “This is my written instruction to you, now that spring planting is upon us, to switch the ratio between the barley and the wheat. Is that clear, sir?” Mr. White looked hard at him.

“Aye, Mr. White.” Tucker thought he saw a smile begin to dance about the steward’s mustache, but he could not be sure.

“Very good. I suppose you wish to get back to your work.”

“Aye. Good day to ye, Mr. White, Mr. Tucker.” Thus dismissed, McIntosh quit the library and Delaford Manor in far better spirits than when he entered.

The two gentlemen made their way into the parlor to join the ladies.

“Well,” asked the mistress of Delaford, “did Mr. Tucker’s plan work?”

Mr. White beamed. “Perfectly, Mrs. Brandon. You shall have no further trouble from Mr. McIntosh.”

“And the crops?”

“The change shall be accomplished.”

“Thank you, Mr. White. May I offer you some tea?”

“Thank you, no. I must be off. Ladies, Mr. Tucker.” Mr. White bowed as he was escorted out by the butler.

“Well, that is that,” began Tucker as he picked up his cup of tea. “Mr. White is not a bad chap—for a Whig.”

“It may be over until Mr. McIntosh finds out who hired Mr. White,” grumbled Marianne, who was drinking coffee instead.

Tucker smiled. “Oh, I think he knows, Marianne. He seemed quite relieved, actually.”

Mary sat on the couch with Princess. “Devotion to God is a wonderful thing—as long as it does not go too far.”

“It still sits ill with me—the cheek of the man! And I had to find another man to solve my problem!” cried Marianne. “It is all very vexing!”

“All is well that ends well, Marianne,” said Mary.

*   *   *

Paris


The emperor was back in his palace, but he was not content. Many of his countrymen had flocked to his banner—but not all. Many of the common folk were taking a wait-and-see attitude. As for the military, his success was not universal. Most of his marshals had returned, but he had been abandoned by many in the navy.

The emperor did not have a free hand this time. The deputies actually wanted a voice in policy. He would have to keep his promises of reform, at least for a while.