Amanda Grange - Wickham’s Diary

I went round to Darcy's rooms early this morning, and after a little coldness I confessed that he had been right and I had been wrong and that I had fallen into bad company. He looked relieved and offered me a horse to ride and we went out together, talking of Pemberley and our experiences at Cambridge and our futures.

'My father intends to give you the living at Pemberley,' he said, as we returned to our rooms, 'but I am not sure that you are suited to the church. Are you comfortable with the idea of preaching sermons, George? Because the church is not a profession to enter lightly. A clergyman has the good of his parishioners in his care and if he cannot set them an example...'

'My dear Darcy, I have learned my lesson,' I said, and I used all my charm to help me. 'It went to my head, the new place, the new people, the easy friendship, the parties, the... yes, why not say it?... the wine and the women. And then Mama... But such a life palls before long, and I do not think a man is any less fitted for the church because he has found this out through experience, rather than finding it out through the experience of others.'

'There is something in what you say.'

'To understand sinners, I have to understand their sins. I have to understand their temptations, too, for how else could I treat them with understanding and grant them forgiveness?'

He was satisfied. Indeed, as I spoke, I more than half believed it myself. But I must be careful if I am not to lose his family's patronage. Mama was right: there is something implacable in Darcy, some strength of character that will not allow him to be bullied or persuaded out of doing what he thinks is right. Moreover, his good opinion, once lost, is never regained, a fact James learned to his cost, for when he approached Fitzwilliam to help him with some trifling debts, Fitzwilliam refused him; he has never forgiven him for tormenting Georgiana by taking her doll, all those years ago.

I am lucky I did not lose his good opinion entirely this year and that he remained my friend. But I must be careful if I am to keep it, for until I marry an heiress, I need influential friends on my side.

I have taken to carousing in London rather than Cambridge, where I comport myself with more or less dignity. Peter's family have a house there and we often escape and go to town, where we have several sweet little dancers and opera singers who keep us amused, as well as several taverns where the serving wenches are willing, when we are in a mood for lower company.

We were escorting two dancers back to our rooms tonight and were just having fun in the carriage when it stopped outside Peter's house at an inopportune moment.

'Oo, don't stop,' begged my partner, and like a gentleman I obliged, only to hear the door open.

I looked up, annoyed, only to see Darcy standing on the pavement!

By some ghastly chance he had been to the theatre and had decided to take a hackney cab home instead of walking. Thinking the stationary cab was empty, he had opened the door, meaning to climb inside. He had then been confronted by more than he had seen since we were boys swimming naked together in the river at Pemberley, and more of Molly than anyone has ever seen without paying her.

To his credit, he simply raised his eyebrows, said, 'I beg your pardon, I did not know the cab was taken,' and closed the door again.

I burst out laughing, Molly did the same, and I hastily fastened my breeches and tumbled out of the cab.

'Darcy!' I called. 'Darcy! Wait.'

But he did not stop.

My little dancer followed me, for she had not been paid. I handed her what I owed her as I watched Darcy's retreating back and I thought, It is all up with me now.

I felt a sense of relief, for going into the church is not something I have any desire to do, no, not even for a large rectory and an easy living for the rest of my life. But I felt a sense of disappointment, too, that he should have found me like that.

Damn! Why is it that he makes me feel like that? Without ever saying a word he makes me feel inadequate.

But as he dwindled into the distance I felt a sense of sympathy too, for as I watched his retreating back it came over me that he was a lonely man, for all his money, his family, and his friends.

I remembered him telling me that he was looking for something.

Whatever it is, he has not found it.

I wonder if he ever will?

There are great changes at Pemberley. Old Mr Darcy has died. My father wrote to me and gave me the news.

I am sure you will be as sad as I am, George, for he was always a good friend to you, sending you first to Eton and then to Cambridge. And he has helped you even after his death, for he has left you a legacy of one thousand pounds and given instructions for Fitzwilliamto help you in your chosen profession. Are you still of a mind to go into the church? If so, you are to be given a valuable living.

I put the letter down.

'Bad news?' asked Peter.

'Old Mr Darcy has died,' I said.

'What, Darcy of Pemberley?' asked Matthew, a new member of our set.

Matthew is a very good fellow, but alas! he is as poor as I am.

'Yes.'

'Then Fitzwilliam is now the master.'

'Yes,' I said.

'You are very thoughtful. Why?'

'Because it changes things.'

'How?'

'I am not sure. And that is why I am thoughtful. I think I must go home. Peter. Yes. in fact, I know I must. My future is changing.'

'Do you want it to? You have a sweet life here, George. Friends to amuse you, a good set of rooms, and a willing widow, with plenty of money to spend on you.'

'That is all very well,' I said thinking, 'but it will not do forever.'

'You surely do not mean to get rid of her? She has been very useful to you.'

'She has. but I have no mind to marry a widow, no matter how wealthy she is, especially one whose money came from a husband in such a low line of work. The widow of a gentleman, now, that might tempt me, if her position were high enough and she were rich enough. But no, not even then. I am too young to settle for a widow.'

'You are too young to settle at all,' he said.

'Yes, very true,' I said, pursing my lips. 'I have no desire to hurry into matrimony. But I must not neglect my future interests.'

He gave a shrug.

'Well, go if you must, but hurry back. You amuse me, George. Things won't be the same without you.'

I found my father stricken with grief over the death of old Mr Darcy, for he was devoted to the old man.

'He gave me my chance in life. George. I had nothing before I came here; I was a simple country accountant. But by his good offices I had this house and a good income, and I know that both of them pleased your mother. And now he is gone.'

He sat silently for some minutes but then he roused himself and said, 'So, Fitzwilliam is the new master of Pemberley. He comes back here often, to spend time at home, but I seldom see you. Why is that, George?'

I felt uncomfortable, for the truth of the matter is that, without Mama, I have no desire to be at home; quite the reverse, I would rather be away. I could not tell him that, however, so I said, 'I have to study, Father, you know that. Fitzwilliam does not need to work hard, but I do. He does not need to get his qualifications, he has no need of a career, but I must have a means of earning my own living. His time is his own, mine is not.'

He gave a sigh.

'True, true. I am glad to know that you are taking your future seriously. Your mother would have been proud of you. Have you had any more thoughts about your career? Do you still mean to go into the church?'

'I have not decided yet. Perhaps, or perhaps I might go into the law.'

'Well, they are both honourable professions. Fitzwilliam will help you whatever you decide to do, I am sure, for his father expressly asked him to do so in his will. They are all very affected at the big house. This death has come as a sad blow.'

I put on a grave face and said it was a sad blow to all of us.

My father then attending to his duties, I went out of the house and walked round the park, coming at last to the stables. I found Georgiana there and I remembered my mother saying that she would not be a little girl forever.

All the opportunities of home, which had been obscured by the pleasures of London, arose before me anew. I preferred Anne de Bourgh as a wife, for she was the richer of the two girls. However, I knew it would be sensible of me not to neglect Georgiana. And so I spoke to her kindly and invited her to ride with me and she did so, with a groom behind her. We spoke of her father and I said that he was a great man, and we spoke of Fitzwilliam and I said how proud I was to call him my friend, and I was pleased to discover that she did not know about the falling out between us.

We returned to the stables at last and I thought, as I had not thought for a long time: George Wickham of Rosings. Or George Wickham, husband to Georgiana Darcy.

Old Mr Darcy is buried, and I am back in London, and now Fitzwilliam is the catch of the Season. Not that he will be going into society so soon after his father's death, but the drawing-rooms are already ringing with the sound of his name and of his income.