Chapter 12

Catherine returned to her lodgings on Gay Street, feeling she had perhaps consumed a bit too much marzipan at Molland's with Louisa Elliott, but not entirely regretful that she had done so. She found Andrew was still out, having gone to the baths with several other captains, all of them finding that the damp weather brought out traces of old injuries and rheumatism; Andrew suffered from the former, several ribs that had been broken when he was a midshipman, and had been aching of late.

There was a letter waiting for her, from her father, and Catherine opened it to find herself being addressed by him in a manner she never would have been before her marriage, as a mature young woman able to understand her father's concerns, which were many. Snow, of all things – snow in April! – had all but destroyed the fields that had been ploughed for Longbourn's spring planting, and her father already considered the winter wheat a near loss, to be replaced in that spring planting. His fields remained waterlogged, and through all of this, Mrs. Bennet continued in her plans to refurnish the drawing room.

Catherine read all of this and was not sure whether she should be pleased that Mr. Bennet should consider her a worthy correspondent, to write of these topics to, or angered that it was only through the opportunities given to her by others – namely Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy – that Catherine had become someone who should have something intelligent to say about all that befell Longbourn.

It should have been no concern of hers – she and Andrew had more than a thousand pounds a year, and such a fortune went far in Bath. Their fortune came from his prize money and half pay, and her dowry (a dowry provided largely by her brothers-in-law), and thus required no management beyond ensuring it was invested properly, which Andrew monitored, keeping most of it safely in the five per cents. And yet as Catherine read through the letter again, she could not help but feel that – as she had been when her father's health was at risk – she was the only one of his daughters in a position to go to Longbourn and lend her assistance. Jane and Elizabeth were married to men with their own estates, Mary had married a clergyman tied to his church, and Lydia was in America, now, settled in the city of Philadelphia.

And her father had been very apologetic to her, once he had been well enough to do so. He had indicated his regret in not seeing her merits earlier, as others had. But it was to those others, to Elizabeth and Jane and Charles and Mr. Darcy, and most particularly her husband, that she now held her strongest allegiance, and she refolded the letter in some turmoil over what she should do about it.

"You see, papa, if I was such a silly frivolous girl as you once thought I was, I should not have given your letter a second thought," she murmured, slipping it into the little box where she held her correspondence.

Andrew returned, and they dressed for that evening's assembly, going thither in the great line of sedan chairs as they should, although Catherine could have walked such a distance easily. It was only after they had greeted their acquaintances and were dancing that Andrew spoke of his wife's clearly distracted countenance.

"What's the matter, pretty Cat?" he asked.

"I had a letter from my father today," she said. "Much of the spring planting has been ruined by the snow, and the fields do not drain."

"It sounds as though your father needs a few marines," he said, but before he could elaborate, they were separated by the dance.

"What do you mean by my father's needing a few marines?" she asked, when they had come back together.

"In the few times when I have had need to camp ashore, there have been none so zealous as my marine lieutenants as to how the encampment should be established, and few things they cared more about in their zeal, than proper drainage."

It was only after they had finished their dance and he had gone to get her a very fine glass of punch à la romaine that they returned to the topic, when Catherine asked, "How do you think my father might be able to consult with someone of the marines, on how to bring his tenants' fields to drain again?"

"Are things so bad that your father has need of such assistance?"

"I believe they are."

"Then do you wish to go to Longbourn?"

"No, what I wish to do is to stay here and spend my mornings shopping and having tea at Molland's and going to assemblies and the theatre with our friends," Catherine thought, but what she said was, "I think I shall feel guilty if I do not. At the very least, perhaps I can talk my mother out of refurnishing the drawing room."

"Then let us go down to Portsmouth, first, and see if we might rouse up a marine officer and some number of seamen, for if there is to be drainage, there must be digging."

"Are you quite certain, Andrew? This was meant to be our time, and I feel badly that we should cut it short."

"You should never feel badly about wishing to help your family, Cat, and in truth I find myself a little out of sorts without some manner of occupation. If there is a thing to be done, I'd much rather do it, and so long as I can still share a bed with my pretty Cat at Longbourn, I am quite happy to go there."