Wickham's Diary (4 page)

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?

Mama wanted to know all about my friends at Cambridge when I went home for a few days. I was surprised to find her unwell, but as she lay on the sofa, I told her about the men of all types, the hard-riding countrymen with their well-worn boots and ill-fitting coats; the studious men with their abstracted air and their boots on the wrong feet; the wild men with their whoops and their drunkenness; and the dandies in their breeches that never wrinkle and their diamond tiepins.

She asked me about Fitzwilliam, and if I was still friends with him, and what he did at Cambridge. I told her that he was aloof, that he did not mix freely with the other men, that he had no taste for the drunks or the countrymen, and that he was unimpressed with the dandies’ wealth. Mama said that she was not surprised, for he has seen far more ostentation at Leighford Castle, where he goes to stay with his Fitzwilliam cousins, than even Cambridge can muster.

I have never been invited there, despite my best efforts, but I live in hope that I may one day cross the threshold. There are two daughters, both unmarried, and although their parents would not approve of me as a son-in-law, the daughters are, by all accounts, headstrong. And when has a parents’ disapproval ever stopped a headstrong girl from doing anything?

Fitzwilliam came to my lodgings this evening. He was bored, and he strode around the room like a tiger in a cage. I said as much and he turned to me and said, ‘Do you ever feel you are looking for something, George?’

A rich wife, I thought, but I did not say it. It would not do to let Fitzwilliam know that I am hoping for an heiress, or he might think to keep Anne and Georgiana away from me. And he would definitely not persuade his cousins invite me to Leighford Castle.

‘No,’ I said. ‘Do you?’

He drummed his fingers on the mantelpiece. ‘Yes.’

‘What?’ I asked.

‘I do not know,’ he said with a frown. ‘But I will know when I find it.’ He was thoughtful for a while and then he said, ‘Let us go out.’

‘Where?’

‘To my club.’

‘I am not a member.’

‘That can easily be remedied,’ he said. ‘My name will be enough to have you elected.’

We went out together and I soon found myself in a respectable establishment, too respectable for my tastes, though not for my purposes. I looked around me, making a note of names and faces, for who knows when the men at the club might prove useful in some way?

Fitzwilliam was still restless. He talked of his mother’s devotion, his father’s belief in him, his hopes for Cambridge, and his plans for the London house, but his mind was on none of it.

He knew everyone at the club and he introduced me. Before long we were talking to half a dozen fellows of our own age and we were soon on our way to a party organised by one of them.

When we arrived, I saw the way the women looked at Fitzwilliam and I thought, my mother was right, there is something about him that women find a challenge.

But then I thought no more of Fitzwilliam, for we soon became separated and not all of the women wanted a challenge. Some of them wanted a man to tease them and flirt with them and I was happy to oblige them.

I found myself drinking with Peter de Quincy tonight. I have seen him often before and exchanged a few words, but this time we spent all the evening together. He is a man after my own heart, though fortunately not a man after my own pocket. He is very wealthy, has a taste for drink and women, and his money is so easily come by that he can afford to give it away to friends who amuse him. He has recommended me to his tailor and he has given the man instructions that everything is to be put on his bill.

‘There isn’t a man in Cambridge can wear a coat like you do, George,’ he said. ‘And if there’s one thing I want from my friends, it’s that they don’t disgrace me. We’re going to a party at old Geffers’s rooms tomorrow. You’ll like old Geffers and you’ll like his company more. He has a way of finding the prettiest and the most willing women in any city he’s staying in, and his cellar’s the best you’ll find anywhere in the county.’

We had a riotous night last night and I was just returning to my own room at seven o’clock this morning when I saw Darcy. He was up early and going out for a morning ride.

‘Join me,’ he said.

‘My dear fellow, I am in no state for a ride.’

He eyed me distastefully.

‘So I see. If you must drink, George, do it in better company. De Quincy has a bad reputation.’

‘Are you afraid he’ll lead me astray?’ I asked, laughing.

‘Yes, I am,’ he said seriously. ‘It’s easy to get into bad habits somewhere like this, where there is no regular life to drag you out of them.’

‘Good God, Darcy, you sound like my father!’ I said.

‘Will you come with me, George? The fresh air will do you good.’

For a moment I wavered. The thought of riding through the early morning countryside had a certain appeal. But my head hurt and in the end I declined. There will be time enough for riding in the holidays when I am back at Pemberley. I mean to enjoy myself whilst I am at Cambridge.

Damn! My head hurts. I wish I could remember what I was doing last night, where I went and who I was with. What was it that Mama said: that I should never get drunk, that I should keep a clear head, particularly if I was playing cards? Oh God! Mama! Oh God! I had forgotten. The fever took her so quickly… Where is the bottle?

I was roused from my stupor this morning by the sound of my door opening and then footsteps which stopped by my bed, and then the curtains were pulled back and sunlight flooded the room. I groaned and clutched my head and said, ‘Close the damn curtains. What is the matter with you?’

‘It is twelve o’clock, time you were up,’ said a voice I recognised.

‘Darcy,’ I said with a groan.

‘This has gone on long enough. I cannot stand by and watch you sink any further.’

I put my head under the pillow.

‘Just look at yourself,’ he said, ripping the pillow from me and throwing a jug of water over me.

‘Well?’ I asked.

‘I know we have grown apart, George, but you were never like this. You were always so careful with your appearance.’

I looked down, bleary eyed, at my clothes and saw that they were dirty and creased, for I had slept in them for God knows how long.

‘I told you de Quincy was trouble. Where is your comb?’

‘Somewhere,’ I said, waving towards my desk.

I heard him rummaging through the papers and empty bottles and half-eaten sandwiches.

‘You’re worth more than this, George,’ he said. ‘For a few weeks there’s no harm in it, but it can all too easily become a habit. Just look at your desk,’ he said, throwing an empty bottle into the bin. ‘Everything a mess, papers everywhere…’

He stopped and there was a deathly silence.

‘I had no idea,’ he said, and I knew he had found my father’s letter. ‘George, I am so sorry, I had not heard.’

‘Nothing to be sorry about,’ I said, with a feeling of hollowness. ‘We live, we die, and there’s an end of it.’

I pulled a half-empty bottle out from under the bed and put it to my lips, but he took it from me and sent for his valet.

‘Get him up,’ he said to the man when he arrived. ‘I want him ready in half an hour. I am taking him to Pemberley.’

I wish I was back at Cambridge. I am glad I am at home. Lord, I do not know what I think or what I feel; I do not know where I am or what I am doing. Nothing is the same. The house without Mama is not a home. Papa is broken. Mr Darcy is thoughtful. Fitzwilliam is kind. God damn him! Why could he not have left me alone?

I avoided Peter de Quincy when I first returned to Cambridge, but he keeps seeking me out and it is easier to go along with him than resist him. Besides, he knows all the best people and, when he is not frequenting low taverns, he is introducing me to useful friends. I see less of Darcy than I used. Something about him makes me uncomfortable. He wants to save me, to put my feet on the right path, but his idea of the right path for me does not involve heiresses. On the few occasions I have seen him, I have rebuffed him.

I went to a party, a respectable one, tonight and saw Darcy for the first time in weeks. He was looking very handsome. For a moment I was jealous, for I knew that my own body had started to show the signs of too much drinking and wenching and not enough signs of riding and fencing. I shrugged it off, but when I saw the women hanging on his every word and ignoring me, I knew I must do something about it. To be sure, a lot of it is to do with the fact that he is Darcy of Pemberley, but not all. And I must not forget that I intend to be Wickham of Rosings. It would not do to go to seed before I have my future secure.

I went to bed sober last night and got up early this morning. I had forgotten how much I enjoy being out of doors when the sun is rising. I felt invigorated and full of new energies. It is time to put the past behind me and look to the future.

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?