Amanda Grange - Wickham’s Diary

Lady Catherine looked at me pointedly.

'Your face is familiar,' she said.

'George Wickham,' I said, bowing. 'I had the pleasure of meeting you at Pemberley.'

'Ah, yes, I remember now,' she said, and I felt myself begin to relax. But then she said dismissively, 'The steward's son.' Then, turning away from me she said, 'Come, Anne, finish your drink; we are due at Lady Eleanor's in half an hour.'

Anne finished the noxious liquid and then, without so much as a glance at me, followed her mother from the room.

I do not intend to be so easily dismissed, however. I am sure that Anne is willing to know me, even if her mother is not. I discovered from other visitors that Miss de Bourgh frequents the library on a Thursday afternoon, and so, on Thursday, to the library I shall go.

I was at the library in good time and. once again, I feigned surprise on seeing Anne. But this time there was no complaisance on the part of her companion.

'Mr Wickham, we will bid you good day.' she said. 'Miss de Bourgh. you know your Mama said we were not to be above ten minutes. We must change your books and then be on our way.'

I tried to start a conversation but it was no good. Anne was anxious, her companion watchful, and I had to withdraw with good grace.

I will bide my time, however. In a few years time Lady Catherine might have passed away, and then I can renew my assault.

Whilst walking through the park today, who should I see but Belle! She was as delighted to see me as I was to see her and we went to an inn together. The day was so hot that we both ordered an ice.

'And have you married your merchant?' I asked her as we began to eat. 'You were going to find some rich husband and settle down the last time we met.'

'No, I changed my mind. I couldn't find anyone to suit me and in the end I decided that, anyway, it would not do. I am not cut out to be a wife. I have taken a salaried position instead.'

'Ah, so you are some man's mistress then. He is very lucky. I only wish I had more money, my dear, and I would snap you up myself.'

She laughed at me.

'Pockets to let as usual, George?'

'You know me too well,' I said, turning them out so that she could see how empty they were.

She raised her eyebrows and went back to her ice, but after a minute or two she said seriously, 'We're both getting older, George, even you are not as young as you were. You ought to be thinking of settling down. Marriage is easier for a man, not as restraining. With your silver tongue you ought to be looking for an heiress to marry.'

'I have been thinking in just the same way.'

She turned and looked at me appraisingly.

'What is it?' I asked.

'Only this. That I am engaged to be a companion—'

'A companion! I had no idea your salaried position would be so respectable,' I said. 'You will never keep it, Belle. You will not be able to hold your tongue when some old harridan starts telling you what to do.'

'I'm not engaged to be a companion to an old harridan, but to a young girl—'

'A young girl!' I exclaimed. 'You, Belle! Why, who would employ a woman like you to be a companion to a young girl—begging your pardon, but you know what I mean.'

'Don't worry, George, I know exactly what you mean. But you see my employer doesn't know about my history, and who is going to tell him? You?'

'No, of course not, but how did you come by such a post in the first place?' I asked curiously, for I could not imagine any way in which it could happen.

She took another spoonful of ice and let it melt slowly on her tongue, then said, 'I met an old school friend by chance in the circulating library. I went to an elegant seminary, you know, one of the best, a very respectable establishment it was, and frequented by some very good families. My family were respectable, God bless them, when they were alive. But when my parents died, shortly after I left the seminary, I had to fend for myself and—well, you know the rest. Well, I met this friend again, Amelia Campbell, and we exclaimed over the chance and then caught up on all the news, only my version of my history was, as you may well guess, a slightly altered one.'

'Did she not suspect anything? Had she not heard anything of you in the meantime?'

'No, not she. She had married a man in the diplomatic corps and so had spent many years abroad, and she and her husband had only just returned to this country.

So she had heard nothing of my years in the demimonde. She saw what she expected to see: an old school friend, somewhat shabbily dressed but as respectable as ever. I quickly saw she could be of use to me. and so I spun her a tale about how I had married a wonderful man, how happy we had been until his tragic death in a carriage accident, my brave struggle to manage since his death, and my poor but respectable life. She. bless her, was full of sympathy and said she knew of an excellent position that might suit me. and before the week was out I was employed. So tomorrow I am to take up my new appointment and in a few weeks we are to go to Ramsgate, where my young lady is to spend the summer; her brother thinks it is too hot for her in London and he wants her to have the benefit of sea air.'

'And you have a plan in mind?' I asked her.

'Yes, I have. George. This young woman is an heiress.'

I saw where her thoughts were tending and I began to take more interest in her story.

'An heiress, under your influence.' I said thoughtfully. 'And she is to spend the summer at a seaside resort, where she will not be watched very closely. She will be away from her family?'

'She will. She will be there alone with me. She is an orphan.' she said by way of explanation.

'Better and better. If she is all alone in the world—'

'No, not that. She has a brother, a careful guardian, but he will not be going with her to the seaside. He will, for the most part, remain in London. He has property in the country as well, and he spends his time between the two places, managing his affairs.'

'Then whilst he is busy we will snatch his gem, if she is worth it. How large is her fortune?' I asked.

Belle gave a wide smile.

'Thirty thousand pounds.'

I sat up at that.

'Thirty thousand pounds?' I asked, my head already whirling.

'Aye, thirty thousand pounds. That's made you sit up straight. She's a prize worth winning, eh?'

'She is indeed.' I said.

Thirty thousand pounds! What could I not do with such a sum! I need never be poor again.

'I would want my share,' said Belle.

'Of course. You can have a thousand pounds—'

'Now, George, don't be mean, I would rather have two.'

'I will be the one running all the risks,' I reminded her.

'What risks?' she said in derision. 'There aren't any risks.'

I pushed the ice away from me and leant forward.

'Yes there are,' I said. 'If her brother finds out what I'm doing and calls me out, then it will be me looking down the wrong end of a pistol, not you, and if he is a good shot then it will be me taking the bullet.'

'He will have to catch you first.' She laughed and finished off her ice with one last lick of the spoon. 'And how will he find out? By the time he learns that anything is amiss you will be halfway to Scotland.'

'Scotland?' The word brought me up short. 'She is under age then?'

'Yes. She is fifteen.'

'That is very young,' I said with a frown.

'In England, yes, though in Scotland it is thought plenty old enough to be married and no parents' or guardian's consent needed, just two people who say they want to be wed. Then it's a quick ceremony over the anvil and you're legally man and wife—or perhaps I should say man and fortune!' she added, laughing.

I joined in her laughter.

'Man and fortune. I like that,' I said. Then I became serious. 'Now, how is the thing to be done?'

She thought.

'You must meet us casually,' she said at last. 'A chance meeting, in the circulating library...'

'No, not the library; there will be too many people there and too many curious glances. We should meet somewhere less crowded, whilst walking by the sea perhaps, somewhere well away from the main promenade, so that there will be very few people there. Then I can scrape an acquaintance—perhaps we have friends in common, or anyway I can at least pretend we have. What is her name?'

'Darcy,' she said.

I stared at her.

'Darcy?' I asked in astonishment.

'Yes. Why, do you know her?' she asked.

'Not Georgiana Darcy?' I said.

'Yes. Why?' she asked curiously. 'Do you know her?'

I began to smile and then I fell back laughing. I could not believe it! It was too good a joke.

'Know her? Yes, I know her! I practically grew up with her! I lived on the same estate and I was an intimate of her family. I was her brother's friend and her father's favourite. But this is capital. Georgiana Darcy! It will be child's play to win her confidence and then elope with her.'

'If you're a friend of her brother, then why...?'

'I was a friend of her brother,' I said. 'But that was a long time ago. I am no longer a friend of Darcy's; he's treated me too badly for us to ever be friends again. But that's what makes it so delicious. I can not only win myself an heiress for a wife when I run away with Georgiana, I can also be revenged on him at the same time.'

'You seem to hate him. Has he injured you so badly?' she asked, looking at me closely.

'Oh. Yes, he has injured me very badly, and in very many ways,' I said, my mood darkening. 'As a boy he treated me as a servant, someone who would spend my life waiting on him, and then when we were grown he was always trying to tell me how to behave, until at the end he destroyed my life entirely by robbing me of my living.'

'Why? How did he do that?' she asked, agog.

'By refusing to honour the express wishes of his father. The old man had liked me very much and he had provided for my by giving me a good education and then leaving me a living in his will...'

'You don't mean a religious living?' she asked in astonishment.

'Yes, I do,' I said. 'It was a very valuable one at that, with a gentleman's residence attached to it, a very fine rectory in large grounds, and a good income. But Darcy refused to honour his father's wishes. Can you believe it, Belle, the self-righteous prig told me I wasn't fit to hold the living and that therefore I must do without it?'

She burst out laughing.

'Oh, George, I'm sorry, but really it is too ridiculous! You! A clergyman! Standing up in church, giving sermons, and telling other people how to live their lives!'

'I would have made a very good clergyman,' I said, annoyed. 'I can give a sermon as well as anyone else, yes, and tell them what to do, too. I can do everything else the clergy do as well. I can eat too much and drink too much and collect my tithes... but the living was denied me,' I ended bitterly.

'Ah yes, I remember now, I seem to think I heard you talking about it. But I thought you said you gave it up in return for some money?'

'I gave it up temporarily,' I said, 'being in low funds and needing something on account with which to pay my bills. But when it became vacant—'

'—And you found you needed some money again—'

'—I said that I was ready to take it. Darcy refused to give it to me, even though

he knew my situation was desperate and even though I asked him for it several times. At last I gave up asking for it and we have not spoken since.'

'And now you are in a position to secure your future by running away with his sister,' she said slowly.

'With your help, yes, I am. I will have a good living, far better than the one he refused me, because I will not have to do anything for it: no reading or writing of sermons, no dressing soberly and pretending to care about everyone in my parish. Well, Belle, are you still going to help me?' I asked her, putting my bad humour aside and turning towards her with a winning smile.

'Of course I am,' she said. 'Never you mind, George, what's done is done, and you're right to look to the future instead of dwelling on the past. I'll help you catch your heiress, and gladly.' I squeezed her hand and she smiled at me. 'She's a lucky girl. I only wish I had a fortune and then I'd marry you myself. You're a handsome man, George, and you know how to make yourself attractive to a woman. It will be easy. I will help you by encouraging her romantic notions—'