Pemberley Ranch (5 page)

“Good afternoon, Darcy,” said Whitehead with seeming affability. “I see you managed to tear yourself away from your ranch and grace us with your presence. We’ve greatly missed you and your sister, who I can say is lovelier than ever. Wonderful day for a wedding, wouldn’t you say?”

Stone-faced, Darcy gestured at his sister, who quickly came to his side. “Mrs. Bingley, I beg your pardon.” He then turned his
attention to the smirking man before him. In a low, calm voice, he said, “Whitehead, I told you to stay away from my family.”

Whitehead indicated the room. “But this is not Pemberley Ranch, this is Rosings. Your power doesn’t extend here. I’m appointed by Governor Davis, and last I heard, you are not he. I have legal authority in this county.”

“As recorder of deeds—a clerk—as long as General Reynolds’s puppet remains in office, which won’t be forever, from what I’ve heard. We’ve been readmitted to the Union, and all of us Texans now have the right to vote, as you’ll find out in a couple of years. Your army won’t be able to steal the election then. I’ll tell you one last time, Whitehead—stay away from my family. This is my final warning.”

“That sounds like a threat, Darcy.”

“A promise, Whitehead. Mrs. Bingley, again forgive me. C’mon, Gaby—we’re leaving.” Darcy took his sister lightly by the arm and turned away.

“I can have you arrested for threatening me,” Whitehead claimed, causing Darcy to look sideways at him.

“You can try. You come on by Pemberley, and you’ll learn my boys will be waiting for you. You and your hired killers.” He gestured at the bar with his head before walking to the door, the crowd parting before him.

It may have been a Baptist wedding, but the bar was still open, and Fitz was enjoying a beer when he noted his boss across the room staring at someone. Instantly coming alert, he saw George Whitehead talking to Gaby Darcy. Fitz turned around, leaning his back against the bar, watching the action as Darcy walked
over to his enemy. He noted a movement by a man down a ways from him.

From the corner of his eye he saw it was Kid Denny, a gunfighter supposedly working at the B&R Ranch, but Fitz knew better. The man was so intently watching the confrontation he didn’t notice at first Fitz moving towards him.

“Afternoon, Denny.” Fitz stopped next to him.

“Whatta ya want, Fitzwilliam?” the gunman demanded.

“Just bein’ neighborly. Nice day for a weddin’, ain’t it?”

“Get lost.” Denny turned back to the quiet confrontation, his hand slipping off the bar towards his gun belt.

In a deceptively friendly tone, Fitz said, “I wouldn’t do that, if’n I was you.”

Denny half turned back, his eyes quickly taking stock of Fitzwilliam. “Yeah? Big talk, mister, seein’ as you ain’t wearin’ your gun.”

Fitz chuckled. “Yeah, well, packin’ a gun seemed a rather unnecessary embellishment for a weddin’, at least for honest folks.”

“You better shut up, Fitzwilliam,” Denny snarled, “or I’ll shut ya up fur good.”

Fitz shook his head. “Tsk, tsk—ain’t no cause for being unsociable, Denny. Is there, José?”

“No,
señor
,” came a voice from Denny’s blind side. “We is all friends here, today.”

Denny whipped his head to see a large man grinning just behind him.

“You know José Estrada, don’t you, Denny?” Fitz smiled as he leaned on the bar. “No? He’s my Number Two at Pemberley. José, this here’s Kid Denny, ranch boss from the B&R. He considers himself to be some kinda gunfighter, which is why
he’s got the lack o’ manners to bring a six-shooter into a weddin’ reception. Now, José here don’t need no gun, as he can pull your arm clear off without tryin’. Can’t you, José?”

José showed his teeth. “
Sí
, I can do that, Fitz,
no problema
. But I can shoot, too, you bet.”

Fitz’s eyes never left Denny’s face. “Peter, you find that shotgun behind the bar?”

“Oh, yeah, boss,” came another voice. Denny didn’t need to turn around to see that another Pemberley rider was behind him.

Denny gritted his teeth. “You think you’re pretty smart, don’t ya?”

“I have my moments.” Fitz waved Sheriff Lucas over. “Sheriff, it seems Denny here’s weighted down by a big, heavy gun. It’s spoilin’ his drinkin’, ain’t it, Denny? Now, that don’t seem right, does it?”

Lucas looked at both men. “That’s enough of that, Fitz.” He held out his hand. “Denny, the sign outside clearly said ‘No Guns.’ Hand it over, an’ you can pick it up at the jail later.”

Denny hesitated before handing over his Colt. Lucas grunted, slipping the pistol into his waistband. “I don’t want any trouble from any of you, got it? Be on your way.”

“Mr. Darcy’s leaving right now, Lucas, an’ we’ll be followin’ him,” Fitz assured the sheriff.

“This ain’t over, Fitzwilliam,” Denny spat.

“See you ’round, Denny,” Fitz said coldly. The three Pemberley riders backed out of the saloon after Darcy and his sister.

Whitehead had noticed the end of the confrontation between Denny and Fitzwilliam as Darcy and his party walked away.

“Well, Mrs. Bingley, I must apologize for Mr. Darcy’s rudeness—”

An angry Bingley held up his hand. “Stop. Don’t—say—a— word, Whitehead. I won’t hear anything against Darcy. I didn’t invite you—you’re only here as a favor to my father-in-law.”

Whitehead tilted his head. “That’s mighty unfriendly, Doctor.”

Bingley knew Jane was upset, and he hated that he was spoiling the reception. “Look, I don’t want any trouble. I stand by what I said when you moved to town. You go your way, an’ I’ll go mine. You get sick, an’ I’ll treat you like anybody else. Other than that, I’ve got nothing to say to you.” He saw that Jane’s sisters were walking their way, and he didn’t want to prolong the conversation, especially in their presence. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I want to dance with my bride.” With that the two took to the floor, Bingley whispering in Jane’s ear he would explain later. Just as they started to dance, an angry Beth with a curious Kathy and Lily joined Whitehead.

“George, I couldn’t help noticing that you and Mr. Darcy had cross words,” Beth observed.

A corner of Whitehead’s lip twitched. “Yes, you could say that.”

Kathy looked towards the door. “Imagine! Causing a scene at Jane’s wedding! What a disagreeable person! I hope Jane wasn’t too upset.”

“I’m sure she’s not, Miss Kathy. Your new brother-in-law has caught her attention.” Sure enough, Jane was beaming at her groom as they moved to the music.

“I thought there was going to be a fight!” cried Lily. “You could take him, couldn’t you, George?”

“Lily!” admonished Beth.

“Far be it from me to start such unpleasantness,” Whitehead
assured them. “I was just congratulating your sister when Mr. Darcy dragged Miss Darcy away.” He shook his head. “Some people won’t let bygones be bygones. It’s a shame. But what can you expect from someone with Darcy’s… erm, background?”

Kathy’s eyes flew open. “Background? Whatever do you mean, George?”

Whitehead leaned close. “Didn’t you know? Darcy’s not… quite…
white
, you see. It seems his grandfather took up with a squaw, so he’s at least one-quarter Indian.”

Shocked, Beth remembered both Darcys: olive complexion, jet hair, and high cheekbones.

“My goodness! Mr. Darcy is a half-breed!” laughed Lily.

Whitehead grinned. “So it would seem. People around here only tolerate the Darcys because of their wealth. Money, you see, does buy respectability. But, enough about that! Would you care to dance, Miss Lily?”

Beth watched as Whitehead escorted Lily to the floor, feeling a confusing mixture of shock, amusement, and a tiny bit of shame.

January, 1871

I
N THE WEEKS THAT
followed, the Bennets saw very little of their neighbors. Winter had come to Rosings, and while it did not have the bitter cold and heavy snows familiar in Ohio, the ever-present wind brought its own miseries. No matter the weather, there were chickens to feed, pigs to slop, and cows to milk, and with Jane’s marriage, one less person to share the chores. Beth’s favorite job, as it always had been, was in the barn, caring for the horses. She would brush the animals and see to their water and feed before helping her father and Hill care for the cattle.

On the coldest days, the family was thankful that the long-departed Mr. Thompson had built his house so that the pump for the well was inside. Nothing could be done about the outhouse, of course, but at least when the infrequent snowstorms came, the snow was never very deep.

Their diet was mostly dried beans, peas, and whatever salted meat was still available. Vegetables were a distant memory, but there was always fresh milk, eggs, cheese, and bread. Hill
shared his meals with his employers before returning to his warm room in the barn. Mr. Bennet had prepared well, and cords of wood were close by to feed the life-sustaining fire in the hearth.

Still, Sunday was Sunday, and only the most extreme of weather could keep the Bennets from church. Of all the daughters, Mary and Beth were most keen on going. Mary, while always a pious child, seemed to have another incentive for attendance: Pastor Tilney was young, handsome, and unmarried. Beth’s interest was of a secular nature as well—the family always stopped by the Bingleys’ for Sunday dinner, and Beth was in the presence of her beloved sister once again. Mrs. Bennet had her own reason to see her eldest—the first grandbaby was on the way, expected in August.

Christmas came and went, as did the New Year. Day piled upon day, with the only variance from the monotony of the chores being the condition of the weather. No one would visit, and Beth was assured of seeing no one outside her family, except on Sundays and the odd shopping trip to Rosings.

The year of Our Lord 1871 was only two weeks old when something unusual happened. Beth returned from the barn after spending time with her horse, Turner, to the surprise of finding house guests. The weather had moderated a bit, but not enough for friends to come calling. This had to be business, and it was. Her father was behind the closed door of his study with George Whitehead and another man. Neither her mother nor her sisters knew what it was about, so Beth had to be content with a cup of tea to warm her chilled body while she waited.

Before long, the door opened, and Mr. Bennet brought his companions to the table. “My dears, let me introduce my banker, Mr. Billy Collins, manager of the Rosings Bank.”

Mr. Collins bowed. “It is indeed a pleasure to meet your fine family, my good sir.” He was a short man with mutton-chop sideburns, balding, though only in his thirties, dressed in a blue suit, a thin bow-tie at his throat. As Bennet introduced his daughters, Collins eyed each one closely, paying them compliments in a rather oily manner. He dismissed Beth almost immediately and set his gaze most markedly upon Kathy. Beth was happy she was still in her dirty work-clothes.

“Mr. Collins, how nice to meet you,” said Mrs. Bennet. “And you too, my dear Mr. Whitehead—it’s always a pleasure to see you. What brings you out here in such frightful weather?”

“Can it not be your lovely family, Mrs. Bennet?” Whitehead smiled.

“A-hem,” Bennet cleared his throat. “Mr. Whitehead and Mr. Collins came to see me on a matter of business, my dear.”

“Oh, how tedious—but I do appreciate your attentions to us, Mr. Whitehead. Is your business completed?”

“Indeed, Mrs. Bennet, to everyone’s satisfaction.”

Beth raised an eyebrow. “May we be apprised of the nature of your business?”

Whitehead and Collins both looked at the girl, Collins fairly gaping, while Bennet choked back a chuckle. The banker recovered his wits to stammer, “It was gentlemen’s business, Miss Bennet—nothing to worry yourself over.”

Beth’s eyes flashed dangerously, and Bennet thought it was a good time to intervene. “Yes, yes, well… enough of that. Can I offer you gentlemen a drink?”

“Oh, and dinner! Please say you’ll stay for dinner,” cried his wife.

Whitehead shook his head. “Alas, we have a prior engagement. Perhaps we can impose upon you at another time?”

Mrs. Bennet was disappointed, and her attempts to disguise her feelings were halfhearted. “Oh, very well, if it can’t be helped. I’ll hold you to your promise, sir. Both you and Mr. Collins. You will have dinner with us.”

“Of course,” Whitehead said as he bowed.

“I shall count the hours,” Collins added, whose comment almost caused more than one Bennet daughter to lose her composure. The men slipped on their long jackets and left soon afterwards. The family then sat for dinner. Beth longed to know what the men had discussed for so long in private, and she had every expectation that her father would tell her. But Mr. Bennet refused to answer any of Beth’s questions until dinner was done, when they retreated to his study.

“As you know, George Whitehead has been a valuable friend since we moved to Rosings. Thanks to him, we were able to secure our mortgage with Rosings Bank at a more favorable rate than Darcy Bank offered. He has now offered even more help. It seems he has contacts with people in Fort Worth who have access to more modern farming implements—new plows and tools, better seeds, a few more bulls. I must say, the improvements could be substantial. Our yields could be significant— perhaps a fivefold increase, according to what George tells me. That should be enough to buy a new store-bought dress or two for you girls without us worrying over the cost,” he added with a smile.

“Father, I certainly don’t need such finery—and the cost! How can we afford the improvements?”

“That’s why Mr. Collins was here. A refinancing of the mortgage will provide the capital.” He reached over and took Beth’s hand in his. “And you certainly will buy a new dress,
Beth—I insist upon it. It is my dream to provide my wife and children a better life. That’s why I moved all of you to Rosings. Now, Jane is settled with a fine husband, and I have the chance of making all our lives better. All will be well—trust me.”

Plans for the spring were made in other places besides the Bennet farm. In the ornate blue and gold sitting room of the B&R ranch house, the owner held court.

A tall, middle-aged woman, Catherine Matlock had once been considered very handsome, if not downright pretty, in her native New York. Her father was rich and her dowry was substantial. But her older sister was prettier than she, and monopolized the available beaus. And Catherine’s decided opinions and her tendency to share them with everyone had severely limited her choices as to a companion of her future life.

So, when her cousin from Texas, Lewis Burroughs, came to visit one summer and expressed a desire to have her as his wife, Catherine had little reason to refuse him. The idea of being a queen in a small pond, rather than a minnow in the ocean that was New York society, was undeniably attractive. Lewis was not repulsive—he was handsome enough, did not smoke, and he was moderate in his other vices. So with little trepidation, Catherine Matlock became Cate Burroughs and relocated herself to Rosings Ranch in Rosings, Texas.

She soon found she had a knack for organization and a keener business mind than her husband. In all but name, she ran the ranch. At her urging, Lewis changed the name of the ranch to B&R, for “Burroughs and Rosings.” As for the other duties of marriage, she engaged in them enough to bear a daughter named
Anne. Her doting father made Anne his and Cate’s heir, and her mother, her obligation done, saw no reason to undergo the process of childbirth again.

How Lewis felt about her decision would never be known, for he was dead before Anne’s fourth birthday. The official inquest said he was set upon by a band of Comanche while riding his land, but few in Rosings gave much credence to the commission. To this day, whispered speculation of what drove Lewis to self-murder would occasionally be overheard in town.

“Then it is settled,” declared Catherine Burroughs, widow of Lewis Burroughs and owner of B&R Ranch and Rosings Bank. “Your men, William, will drive B&R cattle along with your Pemberley herd to Abilene at the same price per head as last year.”

Darcy appraised his elder cousin critically. No sign of the attractive New York debutante remained. Instead, Catherine was a thin, weather-beaten, middle-aged woman, her silver hair swept back and done up on the top of her head. Her dress was a rich silk burgundy, but her face was as hard and lined as a fence post. She sat on the divan like a princess. Anne sat next to her, on the edge, seemingly ready to dash out of the room at a moment’s notice.

“Yes,” Darcy agreed, “as long as your herd’s assembled and ready on the appointed date. Fitzwilliam here leaves no later than the last week in April, right behind the trail breakers.”

The matron turned to Fitzwilliam, standing hat in hand next to Darcy’s chair. “So early… why so early? You never left before the middle of May before.”

“Miz Burroughs, we ain’t the only outfit that’s tryin’ to sell our beef. Will and I figure that the early bird gets the worm,
as they say, and we’ll steal a march on the others by gettin’ to Abilene first. Get a better price, I’m thinkin’.”

“The weather will be wet.” Mrs. Burroughs’s expression showed she didn’t enjoy discussing business with
employees
— they were to be told what to do, not question their betters.

“That’s true, ma’am, but the grass’ll be green, an’ there’ll be plenty o’ water. As long as the herd don’t get spooked by lightnin’, we ought to be fine.”

“Fitz knows what he’s doing, Cate,” Darcy assured her.

“Very well,” Mrs. Burroughs ended the discussion.

Darcy had another subject to bring up, but it involved family. “Fitz, would you excuse us?” The Pemberley foreman picked up his hat and was escorted out of the room by Bartholomew, the Burroughs’ longtime butler.

Once the door closed, Darcy turned to the two ladies seated before him. “Cate, I want to talk to you about George Whitehead.”

“Again? That subject is closed, William.”

“You don’t know what kind of man he is.”

She waved her hand in dismissal. “I know you two had some unpleasantness during the war, but that is all in the past. He has proven to be a worthwhile advisor, and I have the money in the bank to prove it. He has connections with the government in Austin, and that is worth its weight in gold in times like these.”

“He talked you into selling that bottomland to those settlers. You know what’s going to happen to them if we get a flood.”

“It’s been years since we had any problems. Besides, that land was useless—it was doing me no good. Why shouldn’t I make a profit?”

“Money—is that all you care about?”

“What else is there? Where did this foolishness come from?”

Darcy glanced at Anne, who had been sitting quietly throughout the discussions. They both knew his arguments were useless with her mother. Plain, sweet Anne had, unfortunately, inherited most of her looks from her father. Sick for much of her childhood, she still bore the scars from her scare with the measles.

“Cate, I urge you to cut all ties with Whitehead. He can’t be trusted. Look, he brought in that Denny character and his entire gang. They’re running your ranch! I think you’re making a big mistake…” He stopped, surprised at his cousin’s reaction. “What do you find so funny?”

“You,” Mrs. Burroughs chuckled. “You think I don’t know about Denny and his so-called cowboys? My men keep a close eye on them, don’t worry. When I have no more use for them, I’ll run them off.” She then leaned towards Darcy. “As for Whitehead, he’s been far more useful than you can possibly imagine. Take my word for it. When everything is said and done, you’ll see.”

Darcy narrowed his eyes. “What are you up to?”

Mrs. Burroughs wore a very sly expression. “Never you mind.” She looked at her daughter. “You know, I wouldn’t need Whitehead’s help if you would just do your duty and marry Anne.”