Amanda Grange - Wickham’s Diary

I was practising my dancing steps with Mama this afternoon when Papa came in and said that Mr Darcy wanted to see me. Mama said that I must put on my best coat and change my cravat, and once that was done I set out for the great house.

I was shown in at once and Mr Darcy smiled at me and said that I should sit down. Then he said, 'I understand that you have some thought of going into the church when you are a man.'

'Yes, sir,' I said.

'Do you believe you could deliver good sermons?' he said.

'Yes, sir, I do.'

He nodded and said, 'So do I. You have always had a clear speaking voice, George. It is pleasant to listen to and it carries well. Your masters tell me you have some oratory skills and that you have the ability to sway your listeners. You know, of course, that there is more to being a clergyman than giving sermons?'

'Yes, sir. A clergyman is responsible for his parish and his parishioners. He must set them a good example and help them with their daily life as well as officiating at the usual ceremonies. I think I could do that, sir.'

He looked at me intently and then he said, 'I believe you could. I have watched you a great deal lately, George, and what I have seen has pleased me, for I have seen

that you care about people. I noticed you trying to please Anne when she was here, and that was good of you. because, as you know, she has been in low spirits since she lost her father. Then, too, you have always been kind to Georgiana. It is not every boy who would take the trouble to speak to a little girl and show an interest in her early attempts at needlework and other accomplishments, as I have seen you do. And I noticed you on the lawn a few weeks ago, helping her to learn to dance.

'It is early days yet, you are still very young, but if you are of the same mind in a few years time, I will give you the means to train for the church. Once ordained, I will make one of the family livings available to you. The one at Church Cross will probably suit you, and if you do well there, I have other livings in my gift which will be yours in due course.'

I expressed myself surprised and grateful at his interest in my future. He smiled and said that he had always been pleased with my father's stewardship and that he liked to reward those who served him well.

And there it was again, that word serve.

I hid my feelings, thanked him again for his words, and left his study. I went straight home, where I told my parents what had happened.

Papa was very pleased and so was Mama. In truth, I might do a great deal worse, but then again I might do a great deal better.

Both Anne and Georgiana like and trust me.

Who knows what the future might bring?

Papa lectured me this morning on the many pitfalls awaiting a young man on his going to university, the bad crowds he might fall in with, and the perils of gambling, drunkenness, and licentiousness. I listened with an interested air, but underneath I could not wait to be gone. Only think, two more weeks and I will be in Cambridge, with all the bustle, noise, and buildings; the air of wealth and importance; the fashionable vehicles and the finely dressed people!

'This is your chance,' said Mama to me this afternoon. 'Make good friends, George, friends who can help you. You will need to drink with them and gamble with them but keep your wits about you. Never play cards when you are drunk and never compromise a young lady who has relatives to support her. Stick to women of the lower orders, pay them for their services, make yourself agreeable to anyone with wealthy sisters, and you should do well.'

'I mean to, Mama. And when I have caught an heiress I will take you to London and you can shop to your heart's content.'

'I am too old to think of shopping now,' she said with a sigh.

'Nonsense, you are the prettiest woman in the neighbourhood even now, and I'll warrant the prettiest in the country as well.'

She laughed, and I bowed and she curtseyed, and then she went to her escritoire and took out a purse. She opened it and I saw that it was full of money.

'How did you come by such a large amount?' I asked her in amazement.

'I have been saving it for you,' she said.

'Saving?' I asked incredulously.

'My dear boy, see how I love you. I would even save for you! I knew your papa would not give you enough money to go away with and so here is some more. Spend it wisely. Throw some away to begin with—you are young and you need your fun like everyone else—but then think how best to spend it because it will not last forever. Clothes are important; they will mark you out as a gentleman, and, moreover, a gentleman of the right sort. See what the other well-bred young men are wearing and do likewise. Go to their tailors. Show them that you are one of them, and everything else will follow: invitations to country estates, dinner parties, balls, and all with the best families. Be friendly and open, but not too open: there is no need to mention what your father does for a living. If you are asked, it is enough to say that he is a gentleman.'

I took the money and put it in my portmanteau, ready for the day when I will go to Cambridge. Then I went out to the stables because the weather was fine and I was in need of some exercise, and I found Fitzwilliam there.

He has grown lately and he is now several inches taller than I am. It makes him look even more proud, for he holds himself well, and there is an air of being someone about him that I cannot match, no matter how hard I try.

Whenever we go to private balls he is always the centre of attention, even though he is only eighteen. I wish I could think that it is just because of Pemberley, but there is something else that attracts people to him. It is not charm. I have charm, which means that people are always pleased to talk to me and to dance with me whenever I ask them. But they would rather dance with Darcy. Their eyes follow him, even though he makes no effort to please them, for he is often bored and he does not trouble to disguise it. He walks about the room as though he wants to be somewhere else—anywhere else—and he will only dance if he is introduced to his partner in such a way that he cannot avoid it. He never puts himself out to please, as I do.

As I must.

'Where shall we go?' he asked, as he mounted his animal and waited for me to saddle my horse.

I was pleased that he wanted my company, for I do not spend as much time with him as I used to.

'Down to the river,' I said.

He turned his horse's head and then he set off, leaving me to catch him.

'Are you looking forward to going to Cambridge?' I asked him as I drew level with him at the ford.

'Looking forward to it?' he asked. 'What has that to do with anything? I am of an age to go to Cambridge, and so to Cambridge I must go.'

'Do you not want to go?' I asked in surprise.

He looked into the distance, at a spot on the horizon, but when I followed his gaze, nothing was there, and I had a feeling that he was looking inwards and not outwards.

'Sometimes I do not know what I want,' he said.

There was an air of restlessness and dissatisfaction about him and I looked at him curiously.

'I thought you were happy to be a Darcy of Pemberley.'

He brought his eyes away from the distance and fixed them on me.

'And so I am. But there is something missing, George. Do you not feel it?' he asked, searching my gaze.

Yes, I thought, there is something missing. A large estate and larger fortune. But I did not say it.

And besides, those things were not missing for him.

'No,' I lied.

He looked away, over the estate.

'There are no surprises in my life. It is all mapped out for me. Eton, Cambridge, marriage to some suitable heiress, an heir...'

'If all you want is surprise...' I said, and throwing myself off my horse and into the river, I caught hold of him and pulled him in, too.

He emerged, splashing and choking, a minute later, and for a moment I did not know if he would shout at me or laugh with me. I saw the boy inside him warring with the man he was becoming and for a moment I was not sure what the outcome would be, but then he laughed and ducked me and we emerged, dripping wet, and lay on the bank in the sun for our clothes to dry.

It is a relief to be in Cambridge and away from the watchful eyes at home. There were one or two incidents with milkmaids and tavern wenches over the Christmas holiday, enjoyable in themselves, which nevertheless started rumours about me. Once or twice I thought I caught old Mr Darcy looking at me speculatively, as though he might have heard them. He is such a paragon of virtue himself that he disapproves of such behaviour in others, and Fitzwilliam is almost as bad. He thinks the master of the manor should be careful not to take advantage of his situation —although I suspect that he has a little opera dancer tucked away somewhere, for he visits a certain area of London more often than is necessary for a man in his position.

And that is the thing about Fitzwilliam: he now seems like a man, whilst I still feel like a boy. I still see him, though, and we still get on well enough when we are together, which is fortunate, because it allows me to find out what is happening to Anne de Bourgh. Fitzwilliam talks about her with little interest, and I believe that Mama was right, he will not marry her. And if he does not, someone else will, and why should that someone not be me?