Amanda Grange - Wickham’s Diary

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.

Peter and I laughed about it, but my laughter was tinged with envy, for Fitzwilliam can have his pick of heiresses without making any effort, whilst I have had little luck in securing one for myself. I have made enough friends at Cambridge to be sure of my share of invitations to the best balls, for a single man is always welcome at these things, especially if he dances, but I have not been able to catch an heiress. The girls are willing enough, but as soon as their mamas enquire into my fortune, they keep their daughters well away from me, whereas not one mama in London would keep her daughter away from Fitzwilliam Darcy.

It is a year for deaths. Papa has followed old Mr Darcy to the grave.

And so now I am clearing out all my possessions, for the house is to be the new steward's house and I am to live here no more. I hinted to Darcy that I would like the position of steward, but he told me that the appointment had already been made and I knew better than to press him. His manner has been distant since the incident with the hackney cab and I am afraid that I have lost his good opinion. However, by means of a friendly and respectful demeanour every time I see him. I hope that, gradually. I might be able to wear down his resistance and make him if not my friend, at least useful to me.

Peter's family have finally grown tired of his dissipated way of living and they have sent him out to the Indies, where one of his uncles is trying to make something of him. Not only have I lost his company, but my creditors are becoming a nuisance. Peter's friendship kept them complacent, but now that I do not have his backing they are sending in their accounts. I cannot believe I have spent so much money, for the bills come to almost two thousand pounds. Matthew and I were bemoaning the sad state of affairs, for he has run up debts that are almost as large as mine, when he said, 'I wonder you don't ask Darcy. Weren't the two of you friends?'

'We were but I will not ask him for money again. I did it once before and he gave me such a look that I have not asked again.'

'I don't see why he should refuse you. He has plenty of the stuff. A thousand pounds, to a man like Darcy, is nothing.'

It awakened all my resentful feelings.

'Darcy has always been that way. Even as a boy he treated me like a servant, not like an equal. He thought I would grow up to manage his estate. Can you imagine it? Me, to spend my life worrying about which trees to cut down and which trees to plant and which fields to put out to pasture? To think about incomings and outgoings?'

Matthew roared with laughter.

'If it was anything like the incomings and outgoings of your own pocket, the estate would be ruined in half a year! But won't he give you something? Surely, George, you must have some pressure you can bring to bear?'

'His father did promise me a living,' I said thoughtfully.

Matthew laughed even louder than before.

'What! He wanted you to be a clergyman? A fine job you would make of that!'

'I know,' I said, laughing too. 'It would never do. But it is a pity. The living would have meant a lot to me, or rather to my pockets.'

'Then ask him to give you the money instead.'

I looked at him in surprise.

'I didn't know you had a brain, Matthew.'

'Needs must, old fellow,' he said, taking a drink and savouring it. 'Needs must.'

'He would not give me anything just for the asking, that much I know, but perhaps there is a way.'

I thought about it and then I went over to my desk and. dipping my quill in the ink and pulling a piece of paper towards me. I began to write.

After some preamble, hoping that both he and Georgiana were well and that the estate was prospering, I continued:

I have been giving some thought to my future and I have decided not to go into the church, and so I have decided to relinquish all claims to the living your father so generously promised me. I hope you will now be able to bestow it elsewhere. I hope you will not think it unreasonable of me to ask for some kind of pecuniary advantage, instead of the living. I mean to go into the law, and as you are aware, the interest on one thousand pounds—the sum your father generously left me—does not go very far.

I went on to speak of generalities and then ended the letter, sanding it and folding it and sending it out at once to the mail.

'And now. let us go out and celebrate.' said Matthew. 'I have had some luck on the horses, and I mean to spend the evening in style.'

That is the good thing about Matthew. He might not be in the funds very often, but when he is, he is willing to share what he has.

We went first to an inn and then to a brothel, where we enjoyed ourselves immensely, and did not stumble home again 'til first light.

At last, a letter from Darcy. It was stiff and formal in tone, with no hint of the friendship we once shared. However, he has offered me the sum of three thousand pounds to relinquish all claims to the living, both now and in the future, and I have accepted his terms. With three thousand pounds I can pay all my creditors and have some fun into the bargain.

Matthew called round and I told him it was my turn to treat him. We went to Vauxhall Gardens on the strength of my future riches, where we drank rack punch and followed the garishly dressed women into the dimly lit walks. There was plenty of fun to be had with them and we took full advantage of it.

At last we tired of them and returned to the more brightly lit areas. As we returned to our booth, a woman close by caught my eye. She was evidently a courtesan, well dressed and extremely beautiful, with thick dark hair and almond-shaped eyes. She felt me looking at her and turned towards me. She smiled, and I smiled back. She made some excuse to the man she was with and slipped out of her booth. I turned into one of the secluded corners of the Gardens and she followed me.

'Well?' I said.

'Well?' she said.

And then I kissed her and she kissed me back fervently, and we were soon lost to the world. At last, our hunger satisfied, we began to dress ourselves. She began to talk. She was witty and lively, mimicking her protector and saying she was tired of him. He was old and fat and she had a mind for someone younger. I told her. regretfully, that she was above my touch, even with my newfound funds, and she said that she was rich enough to settle for no more than a set of rooms for a while if I had a mind to take them for her.