Indiscretions in the Life of an Heiress

by Alison

Rating: R - Mature audiences only.

Author's Note: This is a telling of the Ramsgate affair, An Indiscretion in the Life of an Heiress. In historical time, it predates P&P and is therefore written in letters. It is strictly canonical and has no Elizabeth Bennet though there is plenty of Darcy, a bit of Bingley and a lot of George Wickham.

I dated it carefully to back up <I>The Forces of Passion</I>, which is based in the calendar of 1812, although I hope it can stand alone or be read simply as a precursor to P&P itself.

It is adult in theme and content, rated R.

Volumes the Second and Third are not yet written, although they could be.

Chapter 1

Letter 1: Fitzwilliam Darcy to George Wickham.
Sir,
Were I convinced that my revered father's intentions for the parish of Kympton would be promoted by your promotion to that place, perhaps I would reconsider. A decision was made by you, voluntarily, three years ago. Need I remind you that you declined all interest in the church, resigned all claims upon any patronage at my disposal and were compensated accordingly? Duty, honour, humanity and affection have no claims upon me in the present instance. I am sorry that you find the law, a profession to which your father always gave honour, an unprofitable study; however, there is nothing more that I can or will do for you. You are your own man.            
Brook Street, 12th December 1810.

Letter 2: Georgiana Darcy to Fitzwilliam Darcy.
Dearest and kindest of brothers, I cannot journalise, I cannot arrange my ideas. (1) Should I not be happy and wish that I merited your goodness? I will, I will endeavour to be a worthy object for your care. God bless you for this. I am too happy to write more than a line.
           Mrs Holland's School, 16th December 1810.

Letter 3: Fitzwilliam Darcy to Richard Fitzwilliam.
My poor little sister is unsettled and miserable. It is perfectly clear to my mind that the school will not do. She had better come home, or rather, I believe we had better make her a home here in town. There must be some sensible, kindly woman of education who can understand her nature and her character and treat her with sympathetic tenderness. I am impressed with the deepest most heart-felt contempt for those entrusted with her care. In this situation, desperate as it is, we must act. What she has suffered is tantamount to torture and her spirits are much depressed. Had you been able to see the look of joy and surprise in her face as I did, you would not have hesitated to pluck her straight out of that confinement.
           Brook Street, 17th December 1810.

Letter 4: Richard Fitzwilliam to Georgiana Darcy.
Poor little puss, poor little creature! I hear you are languishing and your brother set upon making you a revolution and destroying your bastille. Remember there are those whose duty and affection are yours to command in the present state of affairs.
     I will tell you all of Spain in my next, expect to be beguiled by guerillos and green jackets and the outstanding courage of your noble guardian when called upon to guard the safety of a flock of royal goats.(2)
     Eat oranges and walnuts.(3) Spend all your allowance. Gorge yourself on novels, my dear girl have a kindness for yourself.
           Carden House, Nr York, 23rd December 1810.

Letter 5: Mrs Younge to George Wickham.
So here I am my dear one, I have charming news for you, I am turned loose upon the town with not a feather to fly with (4) and there is no defying destiny. Do not ask me of Dublin and Lord R-. His wife suspicioned me and I was off faster than the ink was dry upon her letter of commendation. It was some consolation that she was forced to write only good of me, I was clever enough to let all the foolishness appear on his lordship's side for I did not want my character at the mercy of a violent passion, at least until I was much more than secure. Silly woman though to expect constancy from so charming a man.(5) What could she expect? And she a rich heiress when he had not a shilling. What can one say of such a woman, my dear, such earnestness, such solemnity of air, so very unbecoming at the age of thirty-five.
      The little girls wailed after me. It was very affecting and their mother was properly vexed. I have not a rag to my back bar mourning clothes. I am melancholy enough to pity myself whole-heartedly. I wish I had had time to secure me some diamonds, whether from his lordship or from the nephew the heir. The latter, though an unprepossessing youth without a beard on his chin, fancied himself a lothario and has the means to be indulgent to the fair.
     I yielded to the necessity that parted us, fortune's followers as we be. Be assured, I will come to you as soon as you send me word. Where are you? Are you sulking like the Vicompte de Valmont or in hiding from the duns?(6)
           George Street, Westminster, 23rd December 1810.

Letter 6: George Wickham to Jack Devenish 28th December 1810.
£150 for debts incurred at faro.

Letter 7: George Wickham to Jack Devenish 28th December 1810
£500 for debts incurred at faro.

Letter 8: George Wickham to James Fenton 30th December 1810.
£300 for debts incurred at hazard.(7)

Letter 9: Thorns, Piccadilly, December 1810.
For wines, spirits, tea and coffee supplied, outstanding 14 guineas.

Letter 10: John Shepperd, Tailor of Union Street, London to George Wickham 2nd January 1811.
Sir,
For goods ordered, made and provided I humbly request payment, viz £25 17s 6d.

Letter 11: Henry Watkin bootmaker of Fetter Lane, London, to George Wickham .
For goods supplied on sundry occasions, £12 5s 6d.             7th January 1811.

Letter 12: Joan Carver, milliner of Henrietta Street, to George Wickham
Outstanding from 1809, £30 for Mademoiselle Le Sceaux at the Drury Lane Theatre.
     Mr Wickham, payment is lamentable late. I shall have no other course open to me save to sell on your debt, dear sir, which I would be sad to do to any gentleman. But I am a poor woman, sir, though mortal fond of you and indeed dear sir have held off for more than a year.
            5th January 1811.

Letter 13: John Haverford, bailiff to George Wickham 8th January 1811.
Sir,
For rent, coals and cleaning at 7 The Stairs, for the three last quarters past, owed, with charges, to this office, £120.

Letter 14: Henry Vansitart to George Wickham.
Sir,
As owed two quarters wages and am wearied with the duns, I have accepted Sir Digby M-'s offer of employment though shall indeed miss our larks, dear sir.
            1st January 1811.

Letter 15: Mrs Younge to George Wickham.
My spies tell me that the little Miss Darcy does not suit school. You tell me she was an amiable child, think of her as a nearer connection, my dear-if you do so my point is gained. My most tender interest is entirely yours. Do not deny truths which are so evident as to seem trivial. (9) Think on this.
            George Street, Westminster, 2nd February 1811.

___________

EXPLANATORY NOTES:

1. Phrase pinched from Fanny Burney's Evelina, letter 36.

2. Guerillos were Spanish freedom fighters. The 5th battalion of the 60th Royal American Regiment formed in 1797 wore green jackets. They were crack riflemen serving with Wellesley in the peninsular, brigaded with the 95th Regiment and re-formed as The Light Brigade. Spain was then occupied by the French. 1809 was the year of the Battle of Talavera.

3. It was, of course, impossible to advise a teenage girl to eat chocolate in 1810 because no such confectionary as yet existed. Oranges were an expensive treat, both walnuts and oranges were sold to eat during a theatre performance.

4. A colloquial expression meaning penniless.

5. Adapted from JA's Lady Susan, letter 27.

6. The anti-hero of Laclos's scandalous novel Dangerous Liaisons. The novel's wicked heroine the Marquise de Merteuil accuses Valmont of hiding. Duns were bailiffs employed to collect debts and enforce the legal process against debtors.

7. Faro and hazard were card games. Gentlemen were expected to pay debts of honour incurred at the gaming table before any other debts.

8. There was a thriving trade in the sale of debts.

9. Dangerous Liaisons, letter 81.

 

 

Chapter 2

Letter 16: Fitzwilliam Darcy to Richard Fitzwilliam.
What do you know of Lord and Lady R-? The title and the estates are Irish. My great-uncle says he is a fool although she is the opposite. A certain Mrs Younge comes highly recommended straight from her ladyship. I shall be happy to hear from you.
            Brook Street, 17th February 1811.

Letter 17: George Wickham to Mrs Younge.
My love your brisk lad is holed up in here in Limbo.(1) A paradise of fools indeed. Damp. Dingy. Cramped. Cold as charity.
      Holed up for a mere £40 debt.
      What a different fate did my father and my godfather both wish for me! Rash. Unguarded. Imprudent. What worse could be said of me? Not fit for a parson indeed? What parson is not better equipped to understand his fellow man, his frail fellow man, who does not know a little of the bitterness of frailty? Who has not yawned at the untried innocence of a curate still wet behind the ears or the dreary denunciations of a fat vicar squeezed into his pulpit?
      Would I have been reduced to this disgrace, this poverty, were it not for the pride of the present Mr Darcy? Were it not also for his jealousy? I am the very last person he wishes to see prosperous and happy.
            The Marshallsea, 18th February 1811.

Letter 18: Richard Fitzwilliam to Fitzwilliam Darcy.
The anxiety you must feel on your sister's behalf is only too natural since she is very dear to you and we have but lately seen her as needlessly unhappy as I for one ever wish to see her again. Now, concerning Mrs Younge, Alethea's advice -for you know it no earthly use asking my mother's opinion on anything- is to let her be known to Georgiana. Letters of reference are not worth much if the woman is unkind or stupid.
            Carden House, Nr York, 19th February 1811.

Letter 19: Fitzwilliam Darcy to Richard Fitzwilliam. You are perfectly correct to remind me that our greatest need is to suit my sister. I am still too angry about the school to be properly calm. I cannot say too much to Georgiana herself for fear of disturbing her serenity, although I wish that schoolgirls could be punished as recalcitrant soldiers are and I would happily beat the mistresses who allowed her to be abused. Her nature is exceedingly gentle and I am sure she is incapable of ever acting in a way that remotely resembled that of her tormenters. Such tenderness of heart, such openness, ought to have been cherished. But I ought to have cherished her more. I ought to have encouraged her to have every frank dependence on me. She is the closest living creature to my heart, you understand that yourself.
            Brook Street, 23rd February 1811.

Letter 20: Mrs Younge to George Wickham. Thus I came to Brook Street, my dear. The house is a good one, everything announces plenty and elegance. It was the Lady Anne's house and I never saw it before.
     I was interviewed first by the master. I was summoned into his little book room and examined like an ordinand before the bishop. How proud he is! How cold he appears on first acquaintance! How little does he conciliate! How unsmiling and severe is he for so young and handsome a man!
I appeared every inch the sorrowing widow in my blacks. I was very circumspect, exactly as I was determined to be, being but half a year a widow, respectable, pious, I lowered my eyes and softened his haughtiness.
     “Your husband is very lately dead.”
     “Yes, sir.”
     “And he died suddenly?”
     “No, sir. My husband was long an invalid though he was a young man still when he died.”
     “And you have no child?”
     “No, sir.”
     “And no family?”
     “No, sir.”
     “And you have no other home? You must work?”
     “Yes, sir. I have a little annuity. Not enough to allow me independence or to lodge in a respectable family.”
     He was silent. Grace and ability could not move him, but modesty and sorrow did. He pitied me, and, from that weakness we will certainly triumph. My beauty I employ with subtlety, he is ensnared to our purpose before he knew it. He is gulled.
     I was invited to stay to breakfast and the little miss was fetched. Her brother dispatched himself to his business, having let me understand in the clearest terms that however glowing my recommendations might be, should Miss Darcy not take to me, I could not stay. Of course I immediately determined that I would win her heart by the most sedulous cultivation of friendship.
     It is forbidden to covet thy neighbour's wife but never yet his sister. How many years is it since you saw her? There is a vast difference between the giddiest child and the sober, serious young lady, emerging from the school room. This child devotes much of her time to music and singing, she is to have not only my occasional instructions but also the attentions of the very best masters. She has considerable gentle vivacity of mind. She does not care for the acquisition of only ornamental accomplishments. There is nothing of the hoyden about her and she has not the smallest desire to attract and dazzle the other sex. School terrified and humiliated her. She is painfully and very consciously shy. Shyness in her is not the adorable, blushing kind beloved of poets. It makes her anxious and nervous, wary of strangers and fearful of doing wrong. It casts her in doubt. It makes her think slightingly of herself.
     On the very first morning, we were left by ourselves in the rooms designated for her use. I began with sentiment and remarked upon the resemblance to her mother's portrait on the wall. She has quite her mother's cast of countenance, the oval face and mild dark eyes and there is same look of a great sweetness. She scarcely allows herself to be handsome and when I speak of her beauty, replies only with a blush.
     Habitual associates are known to exercise a great influence over each other. I always imagined an increasingly tender friendship would secure dear Georgiana to me, and so it is proving. She is extremely young but I can pronounce her disposition to be excellent and her natural abilities without compare. I have her with me pretty constantly and we are very good friends. There cannot be a more gentle affectionate heart or more obliging manners. She possesses an uncommon union of brilliancy, modesty and grace. The delicacy of her feelings, the excellence of her mind, make her enchanting. She is quite bewitching, disposed always to think the best of everybody. I was not disposed to like her; I heard she was excessively like her mother and exceedingly handsome. Mind you, who ever heard tell of a plain heiress? The ugliest girl in her set is rendered distinguished and different by the certain possession of twenty let alone thirty thousand pounds.
     The servants tell me, in one of those secret cabals of service to which a governess is sometimes most usefully admitted, that she was the merriest little girl; indeed I think it was one of the housemaids (a great plain lump of a woman who came down with the family from Derbyshire) who said to me that when the Lady Anne died, “she never saw such affliction in a child before, that Miss Darcy would take no comfort and was almost killed with crying.”(2)
     The influence of your heart shall certainly harden mine and make me resentful. She is such a lambkin, such a perfect pet, `tis a pity to fleece her. The brother she undoubtedly loves, nevertheless she is in awe of him and more than a little afraid of not matching his perfection. She sings his praises, as do all who know him. How sickening in truth is this truth. Nothing would persuade her that she suffers under oppressions, no rational mind would consider her situation so. But honour and virtue have their weaknesses. She knows nothing of your history. You must persuade her that her brother has scandalously belied you, misunderstood a more generous and expansive temper than his own, no more.
            Brook Street, 3rd March 1811.

Letter 21: Mrs Younge to G. Wickham.
I have been in the same house as your Mr Darcy for a week now and I can easily understand why you hate him. He is almost too good a man to breathe, let alone to be master of much and many. He steadily professes good principles, habitually speaks only the truth and generally endeavours to make inclination bow to duty. His mind is cultivated, his intellect is deep and he expects his sister to continue in such pursuits. He has very little complaisance, very little desire to please others and there is nothing of sweetness in his address. There is sweetness and generosity in his nature, of that I am perfectly convinced; this soft corner of his heart however, he guards as carefully as a miser guards his gold. He is not indifferent to women, there is power and passion in his eye for all his fastidious air - though I suspect that to be captured, he must never be sought.
     Oh I would humble him. I would teach him to disdain disdain. I have been always taught to consider myself as very distinguished flirt. I congratulate myself on possessing an unexampled degree of captivating deceit. He may fancy himself so high, but while he is mortal man I shall triumph over him. He suspects nothing. I have subdued him entirely by sentiment and serious conversation. There is exquisite pleasure in breaking a spirit such as his, which I could almost call noble were it not so rational. I should like to have him fathoms deep in love with me, I should like to spoil his confidence and lead him not into temptation but loathing. He would thoroughly hate himself for his misjudgement; it would be worth the sacrifice of time and the practice of a little artifice. Rest assured that I shall not, for such revenge could be only be single whereas the other prize will always serve us.
            Brook Street, 12th March 1811.

Letter 22: George Wickham to Mrs Younge.
Darling Kate, divine Kate, I have just this moment received your letter- I am your slave, your subject in all this. I ask a biddable rich wife. After all, since you agree that revenge is sweet, I wonder what the sequel to this story will be?
     Old Mr Darcy truly was an excellent man, benevolent of temper and warm in his affections. This Darcy is a dull dog.
            The Marshallsea, 15th March 1810.

Letter 23: Mrs Younge to G. Wickham.
Time passes with a remarkable pleasantness. We are very quiet here. The old gentleman, Sir Francis Darcy, has been visited, though only by the nephew not by the niece. Her mother's family keep up the appearance of intimacy without its substance.
     Better and better. The child has no confidantes and scarcely any friends. She is not out, of course, and is not seen. A pair of sisters, sisters to one of the brother's friends would befriend her though not in kindness or sympathy. Two sisters both obsessed by the same man -who wants neither of them, it is too too sublime. We watched their departure after dining here and oh my little one was nervous for her beloved brother.
     The elder sister is lately married to a lazy dolt, a fribble who knows how to spend money and who thinks of nothing more than the cut of his coat or the dishes for his next dinner. She is full of ennui, waiting for our lord and master to become her lord and master. He scarcely notices her, whether from politic design or from blind indifference I cannot yet determine. Not the finest confections of the modiste's art nor rouged nipples and dampened petticoats drew his eye when they all went to the opera.
     The Miss is ambitious and angling, I am constantly amused when they call. Indeed they call on the thinnest pretexts of an intimacy that cannot exist between a shy and clever child and a pair of proud, conceited fashion plates. I do not care for her. She is just clever enough to sense in his sister a route to his heart and far too stupid to see that he despises her insinuating ways and her deceitful professions of regard. She praises Miss Darcy, into an excess of excess, without realising that the poor girl is mortified by the attention and critical of herself. She is passionate and not at all vain. She does not long for praise. She has no desire to exhibit. Do not forget that.
     The morning after the opera we were together practising on the harp, when the Miss came in.,
     “My dear Miss Darcy,” cried she. ”How I longed to see you again. I declare I never met with anyone who delighted me so much. How exquisitely you play. Quite exquisitely.”
     “Mrs Younge plays exquisitely,” replied Miss Darcy, “and I do not yet deserve your compliments.”
     She stayed half the morning. She would not go even when we walked out in the Park. She does not like me. I think she suspects me of designs upon Pemberley, which she herself intends to enjoy. She did perceive immediately we were introduced that the master likes and trusts me (as I always intended he should), and, as she is rather handsome and not at all agreeable or amiable, she looks in my face and sees a rival's. He treats me only with the gravest propriety (as I always intended he should). As the case now stands he may marry the sickly cousin you told me of, the heiress who never comes up to town. He pays no attentions whatsoever to Miss Bingley despite a plethora of hints, despite the most nonsensical flatteries and an unceasing flow of compliments. Had she the eyes to see she might have noticed that he does not care to be cajoled, she might have seen that the servants treat him with a respect that is never deferential. He is as used to authority as he is to breathing. He will choose when he chooses only to please himself.
     I had no difficulty in convincing Miss Darcy when we were once more alone that I was perfectly justified in detesting the Miss, we are drawn into confederacy on this. I wanted to be clear of certain suspicions and, in the most innocent fashion, imagined the brother to resemble the sisters,
     “Oh no! Mr Bingley is very agreeable,” said Miss Darcy, quite without changing colour.
     “Young and handsome?” I asked, for you were in my mind.
     “Younger than his sisters, I think,” replied she. She showed no confusion as she spoke, therefore take no alarm, I honestly believe there is nothing to conceal, “I do not know if you would consider him handsome but it is impossible not to like him.”
     “Ah ha!” cried I, smiling. “Are these hopes Georgiana?”
     “What a misapprehension on your part, dear ma'am,” she instantly replied, pausing only to turn her head a little away from me so that I should not see her begin to smile and bite her lip. “Mr Bingley thinks Mozart a fine sounding name for a horse.”
     I began to laugh myself, at which she smiled warmly and settled herself comfortably by the fire. We read Thompson's charming description of nature and the advent of Spring and talked very agreeably of Descartes' writings.(3)
     I tell you of all this éclaircissement so that you make take note and know what not to do. For reasons I cannot yet ascertain she has set herself violently against a great match, I do not know why although the resolution of marrying for affection must stand in your favour. Who could seem so tender and so true a friend as you? Who has more of a share in her memories of the dear departed? Use these advantages my friend. Capture a corner of her heart and build there a fortress against the dear brother. Give her a crumb of kindness and she would make herself a wife according to your desires, free of moods, whims, deceit, to say nothing of the fortune.
            Brook Street, 7th April 1811.

Letter 24: George Wickham to Mrs Younge.
My lucky star must be in the ascendant at last, dearest angel. That admirable worthy Vansitart, my valet, took the arrears I paid him and bet them all on a cockroach race at Offley's and then doubled it on the rattling of a dice-box at Jack Devenish's lodgings.(4) He has made quite £500 and is as pleased as punch. All this good fortune he accounts to my kindness in paying his wages when pressed by other demands, though he is in truth the best of fellows, kept me smart and never whined. He took his winnings and laid them down in payment of my debt to Hoby's boots,(5)
     “For Mr Wickham,” says he when he comes to see me, “they was beautiful boots and the leather so fine and supple they was a pleasure to clean. I would like you to be freed on their account, sir.”
     I clapped this excellent man on the back and shook him by the hand. We drank ourselves senseless on arrack punch and Burgundy and sang all the way past the Watch back to Bond Street, where you will find me secured in my old quarters close by Steven's Hotel. Vansitart intends to set himself up in a shop as a man milliner, making and selling shirts; he has a neat girl in mind to marry who will manage the business for him admirably. I will recommend him to all my friends' custom. I hope he gets as rich as Croesus by the next year's end. Sweet, sweet liberty. Liberty! I await my liberty of you, my sweet, my nymph, my lovely Kate, clever, clever conniving Kate. Lord! I know what pleasures I always find in your beautiful white arms.
            Bond Street,12th April 1811.

__________

EXPLANATORY NOTES:

1. The English ballad entitled “Limbo”, begins “I am a brisk lad and my fortune is bad,/If ever I get rich it's a wonder”. Limbo was the slang word for debtor's prison.
     Milton called limbo “The Paradise of Fools,” in Paradise Lost Book III.
     In Catholic doctrine Limbo is the place for unbaptised souls, a half way house between Heaven and Hell, not Purgatory which is the place where punishment is worked out.

2. Adapted description of Fanny Burney's reaction when her mother died when Fanny was 10, Kate Chisholm, Fanny Burney: Her Life, (Vintage, London 1998), p. 16.

3. James Thompson, popular poem The Seasons. 1730. Descartes 17thC French philosopher and mathematician.

4. Offley's tavern in Henrietta Street, noted for its drink and convivial atmosphere. It was not a dive like the taverns off The Strand or in the alleyways off High Holburn. It was patronised by MPs and the gentry.

5. Very smart and expensive maker of gentlemen's boots, the kind alleged to be polished with champagne.

 

Chapter 3

Letter 25: George Wickham to Mrs Younge.
No. I swear to you that the meeting in the park was the purest chance. There was I thinking only that I was devilish sharp-set when a lady's voice hales me as Mr Wickham and there was Miss Darcy, the dog I recognised of old, and you, of course, my beautiful angel, ravishingly pale and fair.(1) Do you know that it is quite three, nearer four years since last I saw her? I like the look of her. So tall and womanly, with those dark, dark eyes and all that lustrous dark hair,
     “Mr Wickham?” says she, holding out her hand to me, the dog dancing about her heels, ”Do you not know me? Floss knows you, sir. Will you not shake hands?” I sensed you were pleased for me. Who would have thought it? What blessed fate placed her thus exactly at our disposal?
            Bond Street, 5th May 1811.

Letter 26: Mrs Younge to George Wickham.
A blessed fate indeed. And how charming you were, George, how very, very charming. One could almost suppose you sincerely fond of her. She talked of you a little on our return and I can safely say that at present she thinks of you with innocent delight. She is not a fickle creature. Her affections run deep and true. You were exactly right in believing that she would remember all your kindnesses to her when she was a child.
     You must be guided by me, and proceed with just that mixture of circumspection and tenderness as will secure her heart to you. You must possess her thoughts. She must find you entirely captivating.
     “ `Jack shall have Jill', ” say I.(2)
     This cannot be done in town.
     Neither can more be done without the dear girl believes the world well lost for love. Neither her temper nor her heart are inclined towards rebellion. She does not wish to be troublesome. She is perfectly timid, pensive and gentle, although at times her spirits are still very dejected and her eyes take on a sad and distant look, which almost inspires pity. She must be won, enticed, not provoked.
            Brook Street, 5th May 1811.

Letter 27: Fitzwilliam Darcy to Richard Fitzwilliam in Portugal.
Should this prove agreeable to you I have a scheme for my sister. Mrs Younge suggests we hire a house for the summer for her to spend it by the sea. I wondered Ramsgate, for she was very happy there as a little girl when my mother was alive? What say you? It appeared to me she could entertain herself very well there and recover her spirits. She is not delicate in health, thank God.
            Farnworth, Sussex, 14th May 1811.

Letter 28: Georgiana Darcy to Fitzwilliam Darcy at Pemberley.
You cannot think what a solace Mrs Younge is to me. I am better and wiser and happier than ever before, when my companions could only be ignorant, wrong-headed girls and unamiable children. I can open my heart and speak my thoughts freely to her with sure and certain hope of her sympathy and comprehension.
     This scheme of going to the sea is delicious and must be restful, soothing, reviving to my spirits. I am so pleased that Ramsgate is to be all my knowledge of Kent this year. I know I am a very poor honey to mind noise so much, yet mind it I do and I must be grateful that my dear kind brother thinks only of my welfare. I have three luxuries of real bliss to anticipate there, solitude, books and the warm weather. I have no temptation to melancholy. I shall be as gay as the lark. No one could be sad in such a spring.
            Brook Street, 25th May 1811.

Letter 29: Anne de Bourgh to Georgiana Darcy at Ramsgate.
I was disappointed not to see you at Rosings my dear cousin, though I understand how wearying illness can be. I am exceedingly sorry to hear you are delicate and hope that you will very soon have regained all your strength. I hope you do not strain you eyes or tax your constitution by too much reading. My mother always says too much reading unsettles a girl.
     We have the pleasure of your brother's company for a few, brief days. He will not stay the full fortnight; his visit is cut short, for Mr Adams the rector of Hunsford, was seized by an apoplexy and died in his pulpit. The service was not very well attended however, and, therefore, not many people were distressed. I do not know who will be presented to the living. My mother is looking about her and intends to visit the Archdeacon in Canterbury as soon as the weather is less warm. Your brother recommended that she should settle upon a young clergyman, prepared to live in the parish and do some solid good in the neighbourhood. Mr Adams, he said, was inclined to be devoted more to his dinner table and his tithes than to the work of the Gospel. His advice, as you know is always excellent and my mother attends to his superior judgement, for he has many livings to dispose of whereas we have only this one.
     Be sure you wrap up warmly. Do not go out without a shawl or a cap - a cap inside a bonnet can be very becoming and protects the head at all times from dangerous exposure to sea breezes and unsettling variations in temperature.
            Rosings Park, Nr Westerham, Kent, 2nd June 1811.

Letter 30: Fitzwilliam Darcy to Georgiana Darcy.
I had a very tolerable crossing, slept the night, walked the decks during the day and arrived in Ireland no more tired and hungry than if I had travelled from London to Pemberley. Wilmot House is a barracks of a place twelve miles west of Dublin on the banks of the slow, sleepy River Liffey. It is huge, dirty, dusty, draughty, far more inconvenient than I remembered as a boy. It is become ramshackle and shabby. It is even cold in this summer month of June. You would, however, smile to hear way the servants talk, “If your honour will hold your horses and go a little easy”, “Glory be to God, your honour should think the better of that” etc etc.(3)
     Things are in a sad way; I find no one has the least intention of allowing me to see the account books or the rent rolls. It is quite twenty year since Sir Francis was last here. They are used to being left to their own devices, although somewhat reconciled to me when I announced my intention to buy a new horse. A man, even an Englishman, who has a liking for horseflesh cannot be all bad in their eyes. I might choose a new horse for you, if I happen to be shown a graceful, obedient mare to suit you. I thought a grey would be pretty.
     You will no doubt have heard the news from the Peninsula. It will be glorious when this door is knocked open into Spain. I would encourage you not to be unduly nervous concerning your Cousin Richard, his safety is not in our hands, furthermore it is a soldier's duty and honour to serve in war. He has seen battle before and is generally praised by his superiors as an officer of the finest quality, acting with the utmost bravery and coolness under fire. The Light division are the finest in the army. God willing he will be home again, at least we may expect him for Whitehall do.
     If you direct your letter -Post Office Dublin- they have instructions to bring all my letters to me, they know where I will be. The post takes no more than five or six days; I must beg you, therefore, as an especial favour, to write to me very soon and very minutely. I promise always to reply. Let me know all that you think about, a portrait or a diary of your day would be equally delightful. We are not as acquainted as I would like us to be as brother and sister. I would like to know all your ways, to imagine you happily employed, perhaps at your instrument, your mind engaged and your heart contented. Remember your brother in your prayers - God bless you, dearest sister.
            Wilmot House, County Wicklow, Ireland, 7th June 1811.

Letter 31: The Lady Alethea Fitzwilliam to Georgiana Darcy.
The dullest hour of the morning is upon me, so to mitigate this gloom and quiet I thought to take up my pen and scribble nonsense to entertain my cousin on her birthday. Fifteen years old. Quite the young lady I hear, elegant, accomplished, graceful and immensely pretty. My, my. Are you set on breaking hearts yet? Time enough for matters matrimonial in a few years, I daresay. This is the time in a girl's life when she should discover her self and her own particular routes to happiness.
     I am not a preaching cousin yet I will be a little serious too on your birthday. You have no mother to take care of you and no sisters to confide in. Dear girl, you will always find in me a fond friend whenever you have need of one. There are things that cannot be confided into a masculine ear. I am very discreet, and, if you admit to kissing the dancing master I shall not necessarily tell your guardians. Your cousin Ingham sends his regards and I am certain your littlest cousins would send you theirs, could they speak more than the babbling nonsense that charms their mama but is unintelligible to anyone else.
            Scrope Hall, Aldeborough, Suffolk, 12th June 1811.

Letter 32: Georgiana Darcy to Fitzwilliam Darcy in Dublin.
My dearest brother if you could have seen the sea today, sparkling and dancing in the sun, with just that restless energy I remember, I am sure you would have stood as I did and watched the unceasing flow of the waves. I watched the sunrise and then I stayed on the shore almost until the tide was turned, until my mind was perfectly tranquil. This was a real occasion for poetry. The harbour is perfectly beautiful here, a natural harmonious curve. I thought of Mr Turner, the light upon the waters, a myriad of greys reflected from the heavens above, would have brought out his pencils. God is good to make this beautiful a world and to give me such delight in it. Outside my window the elm trees are green and full of vigorous life. I can hear the martins nesting in the eaves. A thousand happy ideas fill my mind. I write in a bewildering mix of delightful sensations. We will be painting all morning.
     My best duty and my fondest love alike travel with this missive -what a delicious word -from miseo, I send, which I send speeding over the sea from your most devoted and grateful sister. Your idea of the grey mare is charming.
            Brick Street, Ramsgate, 16th June 1811.

Letter 33: Mrs Younge to George Wickham .
It would be a great pleasure to see you. I am bored out of my wits both by a superfluity of the virtuous and by the necessity of playing my part to perfection. Hey ho! What it is to spy and be spied upon -the world is justly attentive to the conduct of young women, and too apt to be censorious. Two footmen my dear, packed off by the dreaded aunt from Rosings, to escort the heiress. Two footmen in wigs and uniform! Poor lads how hot and tired they got. Miss Darcy was distressed. She felt an insult implied to the dear guardians, although she was not sad and downcast for long.
     Society here is decidedly confined and unspeakably dull. It is a very good thing that Miss Darcy is naturally shy and prefers her solitude for in this place there is no agreeable company to be had. We are, however, constantly watched: our every step, our clothes, our hair, our bonnets, the butcher's meat we order, the fruit we eat, the places we walk out, the books we read are all, all reported on. The girls wish to emulate Miss Darcy's elegance and the boys to gaze at her. The mamas are busy calculating what family interests may be promoted by cultivating either or both of us. The curate's wife, an insufferable woman and offensively plain, called and took tea with us merely to pry and gawp about.(4) I was perfectly aware that she was disappointed in Miss Darcy and it was almost with regret that she pronounced her a good girl. No silks, you see. No jewels. How ludicrous and laughable would it be to see a child like this decked out in gew-gaws and trussed up in lace? No cards either, for no other reason than Miss Darcy does not care for cards. How virtuous and prim we seemed in simple, very expensive, country frocks.
     Ah! I would gladly give a golden guinea for the opportunity to shock them all, thoroughly shock them all. If they knew my history, I doubt not their professions of friendship would simply cease, if they knew the obscurity of my birth and the variety of adventures I could recount.
            Brick Street, Ramsgate, 18th June 1811.

Letter 34: George Wickham to Mrs Younge.
Kate, divine Kate, I will be with you and sighing for you by Tuesday at the farthest. Wait up for me. Set a candle in your window in the old way. Let us brave the tabbies.(5)
            Bond Street, 19th June 1811.

Letter 35: Mrs Younge to George Wickham.
How extraordinarily bold you are my brave George! How would I light a candle for you here, save to the imperilling of all our hopes. You must have patience, cultivate a saintly air, practice sanctity and repentance. The appearance of virtue is all, it is not enough that she falls in love with you against her brother's disapprobation, she must be also ready to disobey him when she is to marry you, for this she must believe you worthy. Dear me.
     Whenever I hear silly people holding forth equating morality, conduct and religion, I instinctively shrink away from such unthinking platitudes. General axioms are no use since generalities never match all the shades of distinction that vary in human nature as well as in that artificial and highly-wrought thing called civil society. Few who have to labour their way in the world can afford the luxury of good principles, steadfastly adhered to. Even fewer women than men. Very few women can afford the twin luxuries of virtue and understanding. Girls are trained in the appearance of innocence yet in reality this is but a game. The rules are known and the stakes are high. Artlessness will never serve in the world, and those who are too trusting by nature or affectation must come to grief. Really I begin to think you do her a favour to remove her from all other dreams of romance before she learns to think, or to regret. She blushed deeply at the mention of your name. Beguile her with the delicacy of your passion, soothe and caress her and she will fall into your lap.
     Let me advise you that the seeds are already planted. This morning we put on straw bonnets and set off to walk. Picture the scene as I began to botanise and entomologise along the green banks and budding hedges, “The flowers by the sea,” cried Miss, stooping down, “are not like Derbyshire. Do look! Do you like flowers, dear madam?”
     “Yes, very much,” I answered, “especially the wild flowers, for I have never had a home or a garden to grow flowers to become fond of.”
     “Dear madam,” cried she again, her eyes quickly lowered, “How I must pity you. With all my heart. The word Derbyshire is dear to me, it draws to me an hundred happy thoughts. My heart would break were I to lose my dear home.”
     “There are consolations in being a gypsy,” said I, very gravely. “I have seen more of the world and known more of its citizens than most, especially most women of seven and twenty. I flatter myself that my judgement is particularly acute.”
     We walked on a little in silence, for the path we followed was steep. When we were within twenty yards of the town, approaching the street and the cottages, Miss Darcy hesitated in her step,
     “What troubles you my dear girl? Come confess.”
     “What think you of Mr Wickham?” said she, with the faintest trace of rose upon that soft cheek. Thoughtful and pensive in general her countenance always brightens with a smile when you are mentioned.
     “I like him. Who would not? And he is certainly very handsome,” replied I, “And yet more, there is an openness and gentleness in his manners that must be highly prepossessing.”
     “I suppose he is very good looking,” she said, “although I have known him all my life and never thought of him like that.”
     “I shall not scold you, Georgiana,” I answered laughingly, “though I shall not believe any girl would not think Mr Wickham a most interesting and deserving young man.”
     “My brother does not like him.”
     “Then you must be sorry for it.”
     “I am, believe me, sorry, dear ma'am, deeply sorry, that my brother and the companion of his childhood should be estranged. Indeed it afflicts me. My father loved Mr Wickham. There is no one whose judgement I respect more than my brother's. It grieves me to think him hard-hearted.”
     I caught her eye and took her arm, “My dear, this is serious talking, indeed. Let me answer you very seriously. I do not know, -How could I?- what is at issue between your brother and Mr Wickham. Your brother is a noble soul, the very best of men. He is truthful and sincere. He is not despotic. If he judges harshly, perhaps he judges by the highest notions of nature, reason, Christianity itself, those very ideals may soften his resentment.”
     “You are too good, too kind,” she interrupted, pressing my hand in an impulse of affection. I pressed hers in return, “Blink back those tears. Come now. You must not cry in the street, my dear little charge, the gossipers will see you.”
     She readily obeyed, saying only, “I do not mean to be foolish. I dislike unhappiness in anyone and it would do me such good to see them reconciled.”
     “Perhaps they will be,” I said with a smile. “The bonds of childhood are very hard to unfasten. Do not listen to me, however. What do I really understand? I was an orphan from my infancy and have no brothers and sisters. You will know the right of it. I have the greatest faith in your candour, in your sweet good sense.”
     And thus the bird is limed. Your trap is ready laid. I have no more time to write at length, for I must hasten to dress for dinner.
            Brick Street, Ramsgate, 21st June 1811.

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EXPLANATORY NOTES:

A note on families: my version of the Darcy family is as follows. Lord - becomes Lord Carden an autocrat of the first order who has a meek and colourless wife, rather like Lady Bertram without Pug or the embroidery. Viscount Ingham is the eldest son married to the wealthy and independent-minded Lady Alethea, née Scrope, daughter of the Earl of Aldborough and therefore like Lady Anne and Lady Catherine always addressed as Lady Alethea. Lady Anne Darcy was the daughter of the late Earl's first short marriage, Lady Catherine and Lord Carden the children of his second. The dowager Lady Carden is alive and despotic. Sir Francis Darcy is “your great-uncle the judge” mentioned by Miss Bingley, called by Colonel Fitzwilliam (who is rather fond of him) “the old man”. In The Forces of Passion he has been Lord Chief Justice of the Common Pleas, is 80 years old, childless, immensely rich, the owner of properties in London, the North of England, in Oxfordshire and in Ireland. Darcy is his heir.

1. Sharp set was a slang expression for hungry.

2. Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night's Dream, words spoken at the play's resolution when all wishes are about to be fulfilled.

3. Hold your horses means wait a minute. The free-speaking easy ways of Irish servants were proverbial.

4. The only Anglican parish church in Ramsgate in 1811 was St Lawrence's. I do not know if it was a vicarage or a rectory in Regency times so I had to invent the curate's wife. Ramsgate on the coast of Kent has a beautiful natural harbour. By the early 19thC it had a long history of fishing and often served as a disembarkation point for troops. It did so again in 1812 for example. In the late 18thC it became one of those places developed as part of the seaside holiday boom, tending to be rather select, expensive and elegant. By 1811 it was somewhere between Sanditon, a village taking in lodgers with a new goods in the shops and new houses, and Brighton, a village being transformed into a fashionable town devoted to pleasure. Prints of 1834 show tall new modern buildings around the harbour full of fishing boats and the wide stretch of the sea on a flat shore. Brick Street now known as Effingham Street was the most fashionable and elegant part of the resort,
bbc.co.uk/kent/content/articles/2005/06/24/coast05walks_stage6.shtml

5. Tabbies was a slang image for spiteful, gossiping old ladies. The commonest cats in England are Tabby cats, brindled black and grey. Old cat was used to describe a cross old woman, it is not a flattering comparison because cats were commonly depicted (e.g. in children's stories) as spiteful, dishonest and insinuating with sharp, hidden claws. Tabitha an old-fashioned Biblical name shortened to Tabby was thus a common nickname for both a cat and an old maid. These two letters also play around with a couple of proverbial expressions, “the game is not worth the candle” used to describe a hopeless cause and “keeping a candle burning” used to describe a hopeless love. In private papers I have several times come across instructions between lovers to set a candle in a window to signal that the coast is clear.

 

Chapter 4

Letter 36: George Wickham to Mrs Younge.
I arrived with plans to see Miss Darcy. I managed to catch her attention during that ghastly sermon; her eyes widened but I soon saw her smile, astonishment notwithstanding. In the large shady churchyard she was grave and thoughtful, vastly different from any other girl I ever saw, as lovely and expressive as a painting. When she asked me what I did here, I told her the truth - that I was visiting my grandfather at Hulvers.(1) You were very discreet, dear Kate, hanging back, I took the hint and soon began with,
     “Your friends must rejoice to see you blooming, Miss Darcy. The sea air agrees with you. You look serene.”
     Miss Darcy laughed, drawing the attention of those who watched us, “I am really very happy here,” replied she, as I offered her my arm. “And it is a real pleasure to see you again Mr Wickham. I will always be very glad to find a Derbyshire friend.”
     “I flatter myself I may snatch a moment's conversation with you. You are all sweetness and condescension.”
     “Oh!” said she, biting her lip, “You are quoting Lord Orville and you sound uncommonly like Lady Catherine de Bourgh.”(2)
     We strolled over to you.
     I saw her glance at you before she, very diffidently, very shyly invited me in to take a luncheon. I could see she was charmed to find your opinion agreed with her own. The door was opened, and, in a few moments we were all together upstairs in the drawing room. I saw Miss Darcy's servants start at the sight of me. I remember Molly Blanche the little fly away maid, with her curls and graces,
     “Who else is with you here from Pemberley?” I asked, lounging at my ease and keeping my eyes on Molly.
     “Why only John Fenton,” replied Miss Darcy, “and Hester Sargeant. You must remember Hester Sargeant, Mr Wickham? Hester Sargeant was my mother's servant.”
     “Ah, the Methodist in the black bonnet?” I cried. “I remember her very well. She loved and respected your dear mother above every other creature alive.”
     “I am pleased to find your memory so exact.”
     “I always think of Pemberley with a thousand tender recollections. I remember you, Miss Darcy, as a little girl running about in a white frock with a long blue ribbon in your cap.(3) You were the most beguiling child.”
     I do not exaggerate - Miss Darcy is charming where her brother is not. She has a certain air of inexperience and innocency that, to my mind, is extremely interesting. She is unspoiled and very diffident and has nothing in her manner of the practiced certainty of girls confident they deserve to attract all eyes. She is amenable, perhaps because she is particularly young. I bow to your correct judgement once again, darling Kate -the strict rules governing her conduct are laid aside for me. Our previous acquaintance allows me a freedom with her that I could not hope to establish in months in any other case.
     I will ensure today does not come to nothing.
            Hulvers, 23rd June 1811

Letter 37: Mrs Younge to George Wickham.
You have made your mark. Indeed, Miss Darcy's manner to you is almost that of a sister, only softer and more gracious. She has a lively concern for your welfare. She blushes more than ever at the mention of your name. Be warned, however, her sense of honour is as scrupulous as her brother's and she is too young to have any understanding of passion. You must not yet think to compromise her in the eyes of the world, she would shrink from you, thinking all the shame hers alone. You must be perpetually in her thoughts and then her heart, she is pliable enough when she thinks she pursues a duty or a desirable good. You must make her sing to your tune.
     The power of opportunity is at hand; the field is already yours.
     We are a neat little party here, myself and Miss Darcy, two footmen, two maids, two grooms and a coachman. This is the pattern of our days. A little after dawn, Miss Darcy walks or rides, she is always accompanied and generally favours the coastal path. After breakfast she practices, as she does after dinner. We read the poets together, indulge our languages. Any possible surprise or censure from the servants or our disagreeable fellow sojourners is allayed. I let it be known, by intimate confidences to one I knew would tell all, that you were godson to the late Mr Darcy. We do not go out at all. Miss Darcy is too young for public parties, and, as a matter of policy I have hinted away the matchmakers,
     “Miss Darcy is a rare creature, madam, a prize of rank and beauty, and £30,000, fit for a title at the least. With her looks and her sweet nature, her genius, the family is ambitious, they will look high. Scarcely fifteen too, her guardians have not a thought of a match.”
            Brick Street, Ramsgate, 25th June 1811.

Letter 38: Colonel Fitzwilliam to Georgiana Darcy.
How is my dear little puss? You are a clever enough, newspaper reading puss to know what it means when I say to you that we are once more on Spanish soil. The Light Division has distinguished itself by a stern and perfect discipline and a burning desire to thrash the French cavalry. I will say no more on that head - I was shot from my horse and suffered no injury worse than an affront to my dignity.
            25th June 1811.

Letter 39: Georgiana Darcy to Colonel Fitzwilliam in Spain.
How right you were to guess that I was reading the newspapers for news of you, dear guardian cousin! Is it perspicacity or vanity? If I am impertinent, forgive me. I hope your dignity was soon restored to that befitting a noble colonel, although I would be very happy to be assured that your only injuries in the late combats were a fit subject for joking.
     The account of our life here I could give you in a few lines. My days are very simple and extremely pleasant and happy. I am studying and practising as diligently as you and my brother could possibly like. We have a schedule of work laid out for us, all of our devising, painting, music, reading, French and German and Italian, sewing. We walk every day like a religious devotion. It does me so much good you would not recognise me.
     The house is nothing much, but our garden is very fine, grass very green, roses and honeysuckle in abundance, mignonette coming up, seringa all out. It is a very fine afternoon. Here I sit in the shade of the elm trees, my work and my books to hand, Mrs Younge, as beautiful as any of the flowers, shading her eyes from the sun's glare, seated in a deep old wicker chair. Floss, dear sweet Floss, is panting at my feet, having worn herself out chasing in and out of the sea.
     Next week I shall devote myself entirely to painting for I have a scheme in mind, from which I do not want to be distracted, not even by music.
     In case you think me terribly severe, I will tell you that I have had my hair very fashionably dressed, chosen several new gowns, one a very pretty white figured muslin for which I had no need but the greatest desire, quantities of ribbons and gloves, a Norwich shawl and some new half boots, all to please my dear, incomparable guardian. Best of all news, my brother writes of returning to these shores very soon. I understand that I could not go to Spain, yet I wish I could have gone to Ireland.
            Brick Street, Ramsgate, 15th July 1811.

Letter 40: Fitzwilliam Darcy to Georgiana Darcy.
Dearest sis, a brief, flying note, too hasty a scrawl to be a proper letter, which I promise so soon as I am in Waterford. Find herewith enclosed a packet of prints for you. Do you have a fancy for your own print room at Pemberley? I am also sending some blocks for printing flowers on cloth, trifling things to amuse your leisure. Mr Bingley sends his kind regards and I, of course, my fondest love.(4)
            Wilmot House, CountyWicklow, Ireland, 5th July 1811.

Letter 41: Georgiana Darcy to Fitzwilliam Darcy.
Dearest and best of brothers, I am overwhelmed by your unexampled generosity. The prints! The books! The beautiful lace shawl, real guipure! And the lovely, lovely, graceful grey mare. How kind you are, how very, very kind. What did I ever do to deserve such gifts? And you sent music too, dearest brother, exactly as you always do, always perfectly chosen, always what I would most like. I am an enthusiast I know, for all the things I love yet I love nothing so much in the whole world as to hear from you, except the sight of your dear face.
     Are you better? Are you quite recovered? You must be vexed for you are never ill and you hate confinement. What a quantity of trouble you have to endure and you always have the patience of a saint. You will tell me that a summer cold is trifling, whereas I will counter your argument by reminding you that you took to your bed, by your own admission you took to your bed (in a cold and draughty mausoleum) and there remained for a number of days. Poor brother, idleness and illness must have wearied you enough. You may be confident that I shall not send you a lengthy diatribe on the certain evils of too much exercise and exposure to an excess of fresh air. Yeoghal sounds likely to be damp. Yeoghal, the name itself is quizzical - how should it be pronounced? Mrs Younge says yawl to rhyme with shawl. Is that so? Is it fine? Is it sublime?
     You see my obedience to my dear, kind Mrs Younge? Letter writing she says should be a conversation picked up and put down as the occasion requires, between two people who write as if they were talking to each other. Is that not nice? In real morning rooms I am always checked by an invincible shyness, I am always nervous and trembling and stupidly silent, put my pen to paper however, and the words fly away with me as fast as the notes of the pianoforte sonata you sent me. Fiendishly difficult, requiring hours of constant, stumbling practice, but oh, how the music then sings. What an excess, an exultation of joy.
     Well, adieu for now. Excuse my ramblings. I have turned the sheet and crossed my lines; I hope I do not ruin your eyes. God bless and keep you until you are safe home again.
            Brick Street, Ramsgate, 15th July 1811.

Letter 42: Mrs Younge to George Wickham.
Well you have now begun in earnest. There were letters this morning from Ireland that surprised me exceedingly. The brother it seems will be longer absent than we thought. I overlooked both letters to the guardians written this evening, in neither of which was a mention of your name. Ah ha! She is not quite a ninny. She is conscious she does wrong, she is awake to their probable disapproval. All to the good! They stand between you and the prospect of your hopes. Make her distractedly in love with you! Blind her by fascination. Be gallant and tender by turns. It does not matter if she comes to regret in the end so long as you are safe married first. For my part, I never would or could believe that marriage was a matter of the passions.
     I wish to heaven the work was done here. I long to be again myself - gay and triumphant. I little thought that the liberty of widowhood would prove more like the seclusion of the convent, creeping along between prudence and timidity. A cruel and malign fate! I shall continue to practice patience as a sacred duty.
     What have you to say to that?
     Good-night, my dear friend, the moon is bright at my window, it was late when I started writing this letter. I must draw my curtains. I would come to your side, if I could.
Brick Street, Ramsgate, 15th July 1811.

Letter 43: George Wickham to Mrs Younge.
It is no longer a whim to lure her away from her brother. Certainly she attracts me by the powerful allure of interest. What man could desire more than a handsome, rich, young, docile wife who dotes on him? There is a charm in every attachment, however fleeting, nevertheless it is pleasanter than I could have anticipated. It is proving a very easy thing to revive her old fondness for me. How to change that sisterly liking into an altogether sweeter emotion is my challenge for the coming week. She is already half in love with me without being sensible of it, without even the semblance of the most commonplace flirtation. That is already half-way towards revenge on her brother, upon whom I will be delighted to inflict any pain in my power. I will not be slighted and cast aside by the very family who brought me up to expect preferment, and who owed every debt of gratitude to my late father. I will not be despised. I will not swallow my resentment. I do not forget that I am wronged.
            Hulvers, 16th July 1811

Letter 44: Henry Vansitart to George Wickham.
I am to let you know, dear sir, that the duns is round your quarters once more. Goods they have taken to the value of £125 17s 3d 3 farthings plus charges of £12 10s (robbers) viz all that was by way of moveable goods and not the landlord's. They took no books as not of sufficient value, except your law books, value £2 guineas. Sold your bed, your writing desk, your dressing case, your landscape in oils and your ivory backed brushes and your gold nibbed pen. Also your chiny dishes, the full lot. Your decanter they broke, for the which I made them off-set £2 notional.(6) They sold your driving coat with the capes to Mr Wendon who will keep said coat until your safe return. Your horse is stabled right where you left it, no fearing. Miss Hilton, her revered mama, her grandma too inquires after you and hopes you are on the way to thriving. I remain, dear sir, your humble and obedient servant to command in all things.
            Clerkenwell, 18th July 1811.

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EXPLANATORY NOTES:

1. Fictional hamlet outside Ramsgate. Hulvers is an anglicised version of the Latin word for Holly. The place I know called Hulvers is in Suffolk, but I like the name.

2. Lord Orville talks to Evelina thus, Evelina, vol 3 letter 15.

3. Description pinched from Lady Louisa Connolly's imagined image of her unborn niece, quoted in Stella Tillyard, Aristocrats, p. 265.

4. Col F says Darcy and Bingley were together the whole of the summer before P&P so he had to go to Ireland too.

5. Lady Susan describes her normal self in that phrase, Lady Susan. Letter 25.

6. I have tried to reproduce some of the patterns of non-genteel English in this letter, the grammar of which was often arcane.

Chapter 5

Letter 45: Anne de Bourgh to Georgiana Darcy.
I take up my pen to thank you for the flower study you sent me. The primrose you know to be a particular favourite with me, and how perfectly have you captured the pale, tender blossom, how exactly have you rendered the dark green, crinkled leaves. Spring blossoms always gladden this heart.
     I am still exactly as I was when you saw me last, neither fatter nor thinner, a little improved in spirits, though not, alas, in health. I continue to be sickly in this sickly, hot season, troubled by bad headaches and unvarying lassitude. I spent the better part of three days last week with drawn blinds. I am not well enough for any state save solitude and stillness. My mother at least is spared the solicitude she naturally feels at my enervated state for she has gone to Canterbury to consult as widely as she can on the subject of the Hunsford living.
     There is not a great deal to report to you from Rosings. The flower garden is prettier than ever and I have quite a longing for a dovecot there with white doves. I am sure I would find them soothing.
     Dear, sweet, Georgiana, I am sure you are as dear to me as any sister could be, as kind as a sister could be.
            Rosings Park, Kent, 20th July 1811.

Letter 46: Mrs Younge to George Wickham.
A line to warn you against calling here this morning. A letter came from Rosings, which, by its assumptions of a nearer relationship, has distressed Miss Darcy. There have been tears and real anguish. As you know, it is widely supposed that Mr Darcy will, on account of the Rosings inheritance, oblige everyone concerned and marry his cousin. Now it transpires that my little Miss does not in the least desire this, not a jot, not a grice,(1)
      “It would do him no good,” said she, actually in tears. “I pity my cousin Anne very sincerely, with all my heart, but it is impossible she could make him happy for she is never happy herself.”
      “Happiness is not the sole motive for marriage,” I replied, “nor its sole end.”
      “But ma'am,” she countered, and broke off to wipe her eyes “I am afraid, always afraid, that my brother may find himself under obligations, from which there could be no escape except by sacrificing his integrity. The happiness of his life would be ruined by the undue influence of his family and the expectations of the world, he would be entangled and not be able to retract, forced into a miserable and unsuitable marriage.”
     In a gentle tone I assured her she was mistaken, “A woman may face these misrepresentations, a man, however, has infinitely more freedom. No blame will be attached to him by the world. No one could complain of him, so long as he does not make an offer. Public censure would more likely consider your cousin foolish and pitiable. As things stand whatever your cousin believes to be her destiny, no one would consider your brother engaged.”
      “My aunt,” she cut in.
      “Talks a great deal of nonsense,” I said, leaning over to press her hand and kiss her cheek. “Miss de Bourgh stays quietly in retirement in the country. The world in London and the world in Rosings Park are two different worlds. There are far fewer busy eyes and busy tongues in the country compared to the town. Besides, think of your other uncles and aunts, your guardian cousin, who is your brother's intimate friend. Do you think if they wished for this match it would not have been secured long ago? Think of your great-uncle Sir Francis, who would have a great deal to say were your brother to choose so frail a bride? Your brother is the last of his line. He must marry a blooming girl.(2)”
     This reassured her and her distress grew perceptively less,
      “What are your brother's opinions on marriage, my dear?” I asked, bending my head to my needle and glancing at her covertly.
     She sighed a little, “He has hardly said,” she confessed. “My other guardian says we must remember who we are and do our duty by the family.”
      “I married more for duty than affection, it is not always a terrible fate,” I replied.
      “No, indeed” she responded, smiling. “My cousin Ingworth did his duty and look how delightful Lady Alethea is. He knew nothing of her when he offered for her. The grandmothers set it all up.”
      “Perhaps your grandmother will for you.”
      “The dowager Lady Carden is not my grandmother,” she cried, with a shake of her head and a laughing look. “Gracious heaven, how dismayed she would be to own me. My mother was not her child and I assure you she detests me far more than she did my mother.”
     Her words did not deceive me, in the tone of her voice I instantly understood her dismay and her distress, “Detests you?” I repeated, with a grain of real anger in my heart. “What an unnatural old lady! Why would anyone detest such a sweet, good girl?”
      “I speak nothing but the truth. When I was removed from the Wigmore Street school, she told me to my face that I was born to be her torment. It is over money. My grandmother was the sole heiress to the Yaxleys who were Earls of Rivington, all my fortune comes from hers. The dowager Lady Carden would prefer that money went to her children.”
      “If it were not yours,” I said, deliberately amused, “it would undoubtedly be your brother's.”
      “Ah yes, you see he may marry my cousin Anne. There is no one suitable for me. I am a difficulty. I must behave myself and be a very good girl, and then redeem myself by a splendid alliance, a great match. They do all they can to make me know myself to be the most spoiled, selfish, ungrateful, undutiful child ever born, a burden and an encumbrance.”
     You know the nature of this family, stern, cold, haughty, implacable against those who will not yield to their desires.
      “If you do not wish to be a sacrifice, then,” I said, eyeing her with affection, “you must choose to suit yourself.”
      “Certainly I will, as, I hope, will my dear brother,” she said, getting up and walking over to the fireplace. She turned and regarded me with an intense thoughtfulness, “Were I ever to bestow my heart, I think it would have to be upon a man whose integrity I knew intimately, a man whom I was certain would be neither unscrupulous nor unkind. Do you think me very silly, dear ma'am?”
     I put my arms about her and she returned the embrace willingly, “Well, the Prayer Book says marriage is not to be adventured lightly,” I said. “Girls are full of bright hopes and fancies yet it is certainly very dangerous to allow judgment to become the dupe of the affections. Discernment should precede confidence.(3). No woman wants a sad, wild husband-”
      “ `The possession of a fortune offers too much temptation to the worst sort of men,' ” she broke in, in thrilling accents, sounding exactly like a dowager. “ `Too much caution is impossible. Young women far too often find themselves objects of prey to the most undeserving of the other sex.' ”
     I laughed and laughed, “You really are the most ridiculous girl,” I cried as soon as I could speak, “Dear Georgiana you will be the death of me. I had no idea you could be saucy and satirical.”
      “Oh! I sit mim,” she replied and smiled a mocking smile.(4)
     How mutable are human beings! She is devoting the morning to her studies, whilst I am engaged in writing to you, my dear. Misery is succeeded by a most sanguine confidence. I hope all will be well. I meant to write only a few lines. I must lay down my pen soon, my hand is weary. Adieu for now, dear friend.
            Brick Street, Ramsgate, 23rd July 1811.

Letter 47: George Wickham to Mrs Younge.
When I came to your house this morning, I heard you at the pianoforte upstairs. I did not come in. Instead, I opened the side gate and walked up the path, finding Miss Darcy painting the ivy on the garden wall. She looked up with unaffected surprise, there was an honest warmth and sincerity in her manner, a sweet simplicity,
      “Dear Mr Wickham,” said she, smiling and holding out her hand though she was a little embarrassed.
     I could not believe my luck, “All alone Miss Darcy?” I said, taking her hand briefly in mine, “What would your brother say.”
     She blushed in that charming way she has and looked down, “He would frown and stare, I think. I sent Molly inside half an hour ago. She felt the heat. I told her to send John Fenton out, however, as you see, he is not here yet. Will you step in? I am very nearly done.”
     How rejoiced was I! I did not want Molly Blanch, looking at me mockingly and suspiciously from those lovely blue eyes, “Let me take your easel in then,” I answered, “I will be glad to be of use to you.”
      “Oh! It's delicious in here,” she exclaimed as I opened the door to the sitting room for her, “Cool and dark after the bright sun.”
     I sat down.
      “Excuse me! Excuse me!” she exclaimed, rushing across the room to pull the bell, “I am such a sad shatterbrain. I never remember. Tea, Hannah please.”
     We turned over the prints in a portfolio, which lay upon the table,
      “Now that is lovely,” she said seriously, picking up a very fine Italian engraving of the Virgin, beautiful and gentle, august and pure.
      “Indeed,” I said, bending over her shoulder to look. “But painting in general has woeful subjects, `The Martyrdom of Saint Cecilia', `Hecuba about to be Sacrificed', oh dear. Why, what absurd rules govern art, do you not think Miss Darcy? All those huge canvasses of dead heroes, dreary and dull by the square yard. Nothing small or true since the Dutch masters. It is as if no man could be considered a poet who did not write an epic.”
     She looked over at me and laughed delightedly, “My brother calls it sham sublime. Look at that Paris and Helen, Helen looks sheepish and Paris has the most odious ogle.”
      “Show me what else you like!” I exclaimed, feeling quite at home.
      “This,” she responded animatedly, drawing forth a print of a landscape. It looked to me just like any other landscape with little figures to the fore, you know the type, “The Marriage of Isaac and Rebecca” or “Dido Grieving for the Loss of Aeneas”, really an excuse to paint uninteresting fields and charge excessively for it. “This is a Poussin landscape. I like this, it is noble and exquisitely poetical,” she continued, pointing out details with a finger. “See here. What a depth of solemn shadow is in his wood. Here is Diogenes, I think, stopped by dank, black water. It all looks like a dream of another world, strange and hazy. I could look at this, and look and look for an eternity. It makes a world. Can you feel the air, laden with thunder, hear the whisper of the wind in the vast forest gloom?”(5)
     I sent her a look, half respectful, half tender, the meaning of which she could not mistake, although no words were spoken. She blushed scarlet, turned as rapidly pale. Her eye was suddenly bright with tears. I stepped back. She turned and sank down, very quickly on the sofa. Her distress was evident and painful.
     I moved to her side, on the point of straining her to my heart, on the point of declarations. This was the point at which you joined us.
            Hulvers, 24th July 1811.

Letter 48: Mrs Younge to George Wickham.
Now for my sweet companion, for sweet she is, what must she think of you?
     I cannot write the particulars of what passed in her mind during the rest of the evening. Miss Darcy did not choose to take me into her confidence, listless, uneasy and unhappy she spent several very agreeable hours staring into the flames. Last night was very tempestuous, furious gusts of wind and rain shook the house. I am absolutely certain that she had no rest; I heard her walking up and down her room into the early hours and, when she came down to breakfast, she was pale and drooping,
      “Georgiana,” said I, “You must pardon the abruptness of the question though it is prompted only by the sincerest wish for your happiness-”
     I beg of you not ask,” she interjected, instantly rising and turning away to the window. Her face was full of a guilty confusion she did not wish me to witness,
      “Are you unwell, my dear?” I asked, rising too. “Are you nervous? Let me see if you have a fever?”
      “I am perfectly well, I thank you,” she cried, turning again very quickly away, her eyes flashing fire.
     This is the first sign of temper I have ever seen in her. “I beg you pardon,” said I, “I see that my anxiety for you is an impertinent freedom.”
     For some minutes she was totally silent, whilst I pretended to occupy myself with looking for a book. Miss Darcy walked back to the window, fiddled with the blind and began to play with a tame goldfinch in its cage there.
     I folded out my work, speaking as I unpacked my work basket, without looking at her,
      “I did not think you would be reserved with me, Georgiana. I thought we were better friends than that. Do not keep any vexations to yourself, my dear. Come, will you not unburden your heart to me?”
     She came over and laid her head in my lap, saying in a softened accent on a sighing breath, “I am truly sorry to occasion trouble. Sometimes I feel such sinking and wretched feelings, horrible feelings that deprive me of every power but of feeling wretched. You accuse me of misery and charge me with reserve: I cannot doubt but I have merited the accusation. I do not wish to resist your kind entreaties. Your friendship and affection mean a very great deal to me.(6) I cannot speak to you, although I am in such a state of painful confusion, I can hardly tell what I feel.”
     There is much for you to ponder tonight. Think of the wise words of Rousseau, love is created by a long chain of effects, productive of the liveliest and strongest impressions, particularly in a first attachment. We must be philosophers together.
     Reflect on Helvetius: a strong passion is a solitary passion.
     Secrecy will encourage sensibility. The more she feels, the less she will use her reason.(7). She has sense, she must not use it, yet.
            Brick Street, Ramsgate, 25th July 1811.

Letter 49: Fitzwilliam Darcy to Georgiana Darcy.
My dearest Georgiana, I woke with the birds, it is pouring with rain, two hours until breakfast and therefore an opportunity to write to you at length and at leisure. You may be perfectly assured that I am restored to the full enjoyment of my customary good health. Whatever distemper seized me at Wilmot its tyranny was brief. At present I am better and thank heaven for it. Your last was a delight, a pleasure, a treasure to be savoured.
     Hopes of getting away promptly were dashed, we were detained by some petty carriage repairs, but I was glad of a few days at leisure to ride out, discuss and admire. The stranger in Ireland sees with a different eye. Ireland would do your soul good; the coast is more beautiful, wilder in magnificence, than any I ever saw. I should like to come back. Should you like to come here next year? There are strange mixtures here of savagery and grandeur, which would intrigue you and engage your heart and your imagination.
     Our party reached Moran Castle at sunset yesterday, the fading light displayed its glories and hid its decrepitude. Lord Kilvarary is confined to a bath chair and subject to a very bad temper. Lady Kilvarary, who is much more than eighty years old, talks to him with the greatest patience and perseverance (for he is rather deaf) although she repeats such a mixture of old and new news, the eighteenth and the nineteenth centuries, where the living and the dead co-mingle in her mind. There was dancing all night, which she enjoyed with undiluted pleasure and gave the musicians quantities of drink.
     I have not hitherto asked directly after you, not from indifference rather to enjoy the pleasure of believing you as happy as in your last, pursuing the even tenor of your ways.(8) I continue very glad Mrs Younge has the sympathy to be your friend as well as your guide. Think always for your reading. I am very pleased you look to the poets, Crabbe and Cowper are very fine. I hope you love Marmion as much as I did on a first reading - the first poetry I ever read that quite distracted me.(9) I read it through the night and forgot to go to bed until the dawn. The morality is not to be commended, yet there is something very extraordinary in the musicality of the language, the power in the poetry.
     I looked over your translations, some points are very well and some need a little refining though German verse in general marches well into English. I should like you to be able to translate at sight as you can read your music. Such a facility once acquired expands and extends the mind; ignorance and silliness are not states to be revered in women, but rather deplored. To admire an ignorant and uneducated woman, who thinks of nothing very much, is to believe the poor are happier than the rich merely because they cannot perceive their wretchedness. My opinion is not the general one yet to apologise to you for it would be absurd.
     By the time this reaches you, I may be at P. again. I will pause there only a day or so. Mr Bingley heads north and I south. Let me hear from you. Send a line to find me in Derbyshire. I have written all morning and will miss the post if I do not end soon. The sketches of Yeoghal bay are for you.
     Ever and truly your affectionate brother.
            Moran Castle, 21st July 1811.

Letter 50: George Wickham to Mrs Younge.
Dearest Kate, days are passing. The stage of calculations and intrigue is over. The time has come, to chance my luck and come up to the scratch.(10) Thank God for novels, I knew exactly how to go on, the exact degree of illusion and enthusiasm,
      “You do love me.” I said, “I understand the candour and generosity of your disposition. I am sensible of your affection. I aspire to no higher title than the most faithful of your friends. I scarcely dare ask, were we equals in the eyes of the world, could you love me as a husband, if I were worthy of your respect and esteem, of your confidence in entrusting your life to my care? Yet without doing a painful violence to my heart, I do not know how to relinquish your society. I am past praying for. Sweet angel, I adore you madly.”
     She did not speak though she was visibly affected.
      “You are silent. The delicacy, the humanity, of your feelings prevents you from crushing my pretensions. No, you could not take a step so wild, so romantic,” I declared, moving closer to her. “I am selfish even in regret. I am in terror that in attempting to awaken your tenderness, I have forfeited your respect. I must renounce you.”
     I turned towards the door; my hand was on the very handle, when, by the rustling of her skirts, I knew Miss Darcy started towards me,
      “Mr Wickham,” she said, in a low and tremulous voice, “I am astonished, bewildered. I find myself in such a shock of perplexity, that I do not know how to answer you. You avow so tender, so sincere and so devoted an attachment that I cannot be unaffected by it. Anguish and sympathy overpower me. My feelings are not enviable.”
     I kissed her hand.
      “Mr Wickham,” she repeated, snatching it away, “I must ask you to go - for my sake as well as yours. God forbid that I should ever condemn anyone though I have never encouraged you to think of me. I do not dismiss you. I ask you only for time that I might recover myself.”
     Endeavouring to look humble and earnest, I bowed and took myself off. Molly Blanch was in the passage, her arms full of folded laundry.
      “Miss Darcy is a little unwell,” I said. “Be so kind as to fetch Mrs Younge will you?”
     I looked back at the window and saw her behind the muslin, hiding her head in her hands and weeping as if her heart was broken.
            Hulvers, 2nd August 1811.

Letter 51: Mrs Younge to George Wickham.
The instant I saw your departure I flew downstairs and took her into the garden. We both walked to the shelter and privacy of the arbour. Hers is the simplicity of unquestioning obedience to the correct forms of society, she has never transgressed nor seen herself as in danger of transgressing what ought to be. She was overcome by shame and grief out of all rational proportion. A flood of tears choked her utterance. A train of confused recollection tortured her mind. Calmer reflection followed these passions, the occasion of which I had a very imperfect understanding, until your letter was brought to me. This reverse means very little. The very young cry very easily; she will not die of grief; eau-de-Cologne quite restored her composure.
            Brick Street, Ramsgate, 2nd August 1811.

Letter 52: George Wickham to Georgiana Darcy.
Sweetest creature, the sight of your tears haunts my peace. You might very well accuse me of having sacrificed your peace through the faults of my candid and reckless temper. If I have sought too earnestly to learn the state of your heart, it has been with fervour and, (dare I say it?) purity of affection on my side. Believe then, that my motives and feelings are simply as I state them -I would fasten our lives together if I could. I will see you with joy and part from you with regret. Dearest Georgiana, I write that name to claim your friendship, your tenderness, from the conviction that I could contribute to your happiness. Without you, my misery is otherwise assured.
            Hulvers, 2nd August 1811.

Letter 53: Georgiana Darcy to George Wickham.
You must never, never, never write such wild words to me again. This is my most ardent wish. I beg you not to reply, a correspondence is out of the question.
            Brick Street, Ramsgate, 3rd August 1811

Letter 54: George Wickham to Mrs Younge.
Dearest Kate, darling Kate, I do not lose sight of our plans. I absented myself from Miss Darcy for several days. Dared I hope she has repented? Of course I dared. Her heart is not resentful. If she thinks me devilish in my audacity, it is only because she is herself so much the angel and would like to see an angel in me. Very early this morning when I called upon her, she was reading. She looked very lovely, wearing simple white with flowers, I congratulate you upon your excellent taste, very elegant and becoming. She laid the little book down at once and smiled at me. I picked it up and saw it to be Law's Serious Call.
      “I am afraid I would be a better man, if I went more to church,” declared I, making my eyes mournful and sounding ridiculous to my own ears.
      “My brother always goes,” said she, “and no one is better than he.”
     She was prettily penitent while I humbled myself very charmingly.
      “I am not worthy of your youth, your innocence,” I continued, biting my lips and hardly able to look at her for fear of laughing out loud, “I have doted on you since you were a child, but let me entreat you to think nothing of that. You are unsurpassed in loveliness and in loveliness of character, which any man must value more. No man, however unsteady his own character, wishes his wife to be other than gentle and mild.”
     She was moved much by the desire to rescue me, to make of me a true Christian man.
      “I would idolise you and you must only pour scorn upon my pretensions. Do you think me destitute of every honest and natural feeling?” said I, “That it is my first object to make you miserable? You must not love me, my dear. I am not worth the trouble.”
     I left her dazed and dazzled. It was the greatest forbearance I could practice, I kissed her finger tips and looked soulfully at her. I did not want any more from her, yet she thought me restrained by delicacy not indifference,
      “It is not for me to suffer such a sacrifice. My heart has overcome my reason and I must leave you.”
     Oh how delightful it was to watch the variations in her countenance, to see the struggle between tenderness and displeasure. I drew a flower from her collar and felt her shiver,
      “I shall be the most miserable of men, if you deny me such a favour, so easily granted and so deeply prized.” I pressed my lips to the tender petals.
      “It would be a proper punishment for your presumption,” said she but gave me the flower any way.
     I send it herewith enclosed.
            Hulvers, 7th August 1811.

___________

EXPLANATORY NOTES:

1. In Shakespeare's Twelfth Night, Olivia asks “Is not pity a degree akin to love?” to which Viola replies “Not a jot, not a grice.”

2. Much of this discussion is heavily influenced by Maria Edgeworth's novel Belinda.

3. Idea pinched from Mary Hays, Memoirs of Emma Courtney p. 27.

4. Mim, a slang expression meaning affectedly prim and demure. Still used in the north of England.

5. Comments based on the chapter on French painting in W M Thackerey's The Paris Sketch Book (1840, reprinted edition 1886), pp. 50-73.

6. Adapted from bits and pieces in Burney, Evelina Vol 2 Letter 27.

7. Adapted from Memoirs of Emma Courtney.

8. Paraphrase of a line in Thomas Grey's “An Elegy in a a Country Churchyard” (1751) used by Anne Bronte in The Tenant of Wildfell Hall.

9. Walter Scott's poem published in 1808 set in the sixteenth century.

10. Races were started from a line scratched in the dust, hence come up to scratch meant start the contest. It was used of men making proposals of marriage.

 

Chapter 6

Letter 55: Mrs Younge to George Wickham.
You may be right to think me negligent in not writing to you sooner, I have an hundred things to tell you and yet nothing at all. How delicate a path I tread, to be sure. You have talked, flattered and finessed your way into her affection. Her feelings are no less lasting than lively.(1) At present, nevertheless, she is rather miserable than happy. Those who make the greatest display of feeling, whether they see the world as a vale of tears or a palace of pleasures, rarely feel the most acutely.
      This afternoon she came in to me as pale as ashes, cast down her eyes and sat in silent dejection. She is shaken and depressed. What have you been saying to her? A frank confession only will suffice, for deception to be successful must be well grounded in some sort of truth. Have you frightened her? She is undoubtedly at war between will and will not. I do not, however, forget to promote your interests.
      We were drinking tea later when I observed her keenly; she had an air about her of suspense and expectancy, I really think she expected to be questioned concerning her absence. Instead she got up hastily, seated herself at the instrument and began to improvise on the aria I had just been playing. Being opera the subject is nearly always foolishness in love, and it was no difficult matter to turn our previously desultory conversation onto this subject. She is of an age to think of these matters, in the abstract at least,
      “A woman should never pursue an affection,” I declared. “Feminine modesty is a protection for our sex. The most honourable and best of men would always assure the woman he adores that he is a willing slave at her feet, he protests his submission and her liberty. A man may choose and speak, a woman may only choose when asked, this is the way of the world, my dear.”
      “Do you really think it ought to be so?” she asked, leaning her chin on her folded fingers as she often does when her mind is happily engaged.
      “I do,” replied I, smiling reassuringly at her. “A girl ought to be sure of a man before she commits her life into his keeping. Then he may be certain that the affection he commands is his own and she may avoid all the evils of an unrequited passion. Oh! My dear girl,” I went on, barely stifling my amusement, “who could really wish to be a hoyden, an Emma Courtney?(2) How unbecoming and unnatural is it when a young lady is the pursuer and not the pursued!” Miss Darcy too laughed at this point, “Men are fickle creatures and we must preserve the dignity of womankind if we can.”
      “I understand that,” she said, suddenly grave, her thoughts seeming to stifle any other words.
      I very soon after made my excuses, then left the room and have been writing to you ever since. Flatter her, persuade her by all means, win her reluctant love. Her fancy must wander and she must brood only on your happiness - the more she thinks about you, the less she will see the contradictions in her situation.
            Brick Street, Ramsgate, 9th August 1811.

Letter 56: George Wickham to Mrs Younge.
Early this morning I set off to meet Miss Darcy and found her down by the sea shore. She was singing to herself as she walked with her dog. She bade me good morning and gave me a searching glance before she took the arm I offered to her,
      “The fishing boats are just out,” she said, looking at the sea.
      The gawky lanky lad John Fenton ambled ahead of us kicking up the sands and skimming stones over the waves. I was as prim and reverent as any priggish young parson even though she looked deliciously pretty, her eyes soft and warm in expression.
      Let me advise you our conversation has only one subject and one aim. I attempt to persuade her that I cannot live without her, that I will be properly miserable, that I have no wish to be loved by anyone else. I hint at ardent love and pertinacious hopes, I assume a very becoming gravity and appear hesitant to cast aside what I would have her think false delicacy and stupid pride.
      I flatter her, with much gratitude and humility,
      “You are a young, pure flower,” said I, kissing her hand. “Your perfections render my faults all too glaring.”
      She does not deny me her hand now, or scruple to sneak off to talk and walk with me alone save for the servant in the distance. She is accustomed now to considering me as her lover and my company is daily more agreeable to her taste. I am very restrained - not once have I embraced her with any passion, I have not clasped her close nor have I so much as touched her lips. Oh! she is undoubtedly charming, yet she lacks allure, she does not charm and I am altogether a little surprised at my lack of heart. It is generally thought impossible to make love in cold blood, yet, to own the truth, without the thirty thousand pounds, without the pleasures of revenge, she means very little to me. I suppose, were she a nice, yielding armful things would go easier - I could wish her a little whimsical and unsteady; still she was brought up to be serious and good and serious and good she has turned out and I must make the best of it.
      I promise you that I shall tell her nothing voluntarily of what has passed between her brother and myself. I have not indulged in confession. I have not canted. I have only hinted at past aberrations, the faults and errors of my youth.
      She is fully aware also that I am not the suitor who would be welcomed in her aunts' drawing rooms,
      “You will always have my friendship and esteem,” said she, all consciousness. “You must not press me unfairly.”
      I assured her I intended no such thing,
      “I will not persecute you,” I added. “I think you the loveliest of your sex, the one above all I would fix on for my wife.(3) You hold sway over my heart.”
      We shook hands and parted at the turning towards your house,
      “Dearest angel,” said I sotto voce though intending she should hear.
      She turned back, paused, smiled and curtsied to me, “Mr Wickham, sir,” she said.
      You know all. Do what you can on my behalf in the meantime. I will call later this morning.
            Hulvers, 12th August 1811.

Letter 57: Mrs Younge to George Wickham 12th August 1811.
You go on charmingly now. I can assure you that you are perfectly secure. What a child she is. What an unformed child. She looked so shy, so confused when you entered the room, that I felt for her exceedingly. I saw her lower her eyes. Did you notice that her hands trembled? How pretty are the symptoms of love about her! What it is to be in the innocence of a first attachment. As it is, she is young enough and heiress enough to neglect all interest in her own future and abandon all the dictates of prudence.
      She has told me nothing and deceit is quite foreign to her nature. She is remiss too in writing letters. Our intentions, the successful prosecution of our intentions already drive a wedge between this brother and sister. The sympathy they shared is now quite undermined though Mr Darcy does not realise and cannot yet suffer from his loss. Unselfish, devoted attachment is felt by each. Mark my words, once she is your wife, he will try to avoid her as the devil avoids holy water, he will try to nurture his grievances and he will fail. He will be chastened and humbled, humiliated. Believe me on this. I understand his disposition. He will try to think of her as the world will think of her, a spoiled and selfish beauty making a scandal over a penniless young man. His pain will crush her - that or his hard, cold, haughty pride. Then you may gloat. Then will your revenge be complete indeed.
      The truth is when anyone braves the opinion of the world, sooner or later the consequences are felt. She will be ruined at the tender age of fifteen by a mixture of girlish perverseness and romance mixed with a little folly. She will be ridiculed and despised. Her very youth will condemn her in terms almost the exact reversal of her real character. In the mouths of the scandal makers, she will become flighty, bold, reckless and heartless, unthinking and uncaring towards her nearest relations. Gretna Green will tarnish her in the eyes of her dear guardian cousin, he will revise the esteem in which he holds her, coldness will creep into his manner, he will not be able to write any more frank and charming letters. She will become no more than a poor Georgiana, not quite disregarded until her brother fills his nursery and other young hopes stand between his sister and his inheritance.
      I nearly lost my composure when you inquired after her brother. I am amazed that you could introduce his name and his presence thus easily. As far as danger is concerned you must be the judge and I must be undismayed. You have gambled boldly however. I applaud particularly the ways in which you have captured her heart and seduced her understanding. She does not know what she might do to resist you and indeed I firmly believe she does not suspect you. It is as if we swung her around and around in the air, as little children are swung, until she was too giddy and too unsteadied to know what was the real truth and what was feigning. Exceedingly well done, George, exceedingly well done. She has no time for reflection. But you must be more than secure of her and with speed. You ought next to make downright love to her, by force majeur if necessary; the prize must be secured by unbreakable bonds. Play the Lovelace indeed my very dearest dear and none can ever say you nay.(4).
            Brick Street, Ramsgate, 12th August 1811.

Letter 58: Richard Fitzwilliam to Georgiana Darcy.
Well, dearest puss, here I am safe once more on English soil, having been dispatched from Portugal with dispatches, I am wasting my hours hanging about the war office. I have the greatest longing to get away, London is hot, dirty and thin of agreeable company. I am confoundedly bored. Will not that make you laugh at me as a pitiful object? I deserve your compassion I believe.
      I am expected next week at my father's and will write to you at length from there.
            10th August 1811.

Letter 59: The Dowager Lady Carden at to Georgiana Darcy.
Lady Carden reminds Miss Darcy of her obligation towards her family and believing herself justified in expressing her surprise, expects a dutiful and pleasing answer by return of post.
            Windsor, 10th August 1811

Letter 60: Fitzwilliam Darcy to Georgiana Darcy.
I was surprised not to find a letter from you, dearest of sisters, and hope that you continue thriving and happy. Mr Bingley is joined by his sisters and his brother-law their intention being to travel into Yorkshire tomorrow. I will be at P. for two days - therefore a letter to Brook Street will undoubtedly find me.
            Pemberley House, Derbyshire, 13th August 1811

Letter 61: George Wickham to Mrs Younge.
Dearest Kate, since I must wait for the happiness of seeing you, I shall allow myself the indulgence of writing to you to wile away my idling hours. I lay awake in my bed last night, meditating on the change in my circumstances; I considered the benefits I would share from the enjoyment of wealth and riches, position and fortune and connections to influence and power.
      You will say `to what end tends this?' and I will reply that in all my conversations with Miss Darcy I continue to persuade her that we cannot resist the step to be taken. I know you observed us from your window, walking for an hour together in the shrubbery. She shrinks from the very word elopement and attempts at every turn to find some way of reconciling her conscience. What with the damned dunning letters continually being sent after me, my respected grandsire's belief that I am a good for nought hanging about the town, and Miss Darcy, dear little innocent babe, I am hard pressed to be patient. I would not mind it if she wept so long as she made up her mind to come to Scotland. As my grandfather is fond of saying, you can't have your cake and eat it.
      We halted in the shade of the trees; I turned to address her,
      “As heaven is my witness, I know I am presumptuous to dream of possessing such a treasure. Do not be angry with me. Be indulgent, be kind, my own Georgiana, I have it in me to live like a Christian.”
      I looked at Miss Darcy and checked for signs of weakness, I had indeed heard her half-suppress a sob and saw that she was quite distracted by tumultuous excitement, not anger or displeasure. I stopped short, for one of the maids came looking for her mistress. Pemberley servants are not my friends. Molly Blanch it was then, who looks suspiciously on me. She gave me a little nod, so cool and killing that I could hardly restrain a smile,
“      I have brought Miss Darcy an umbrella,” cried she, shaking it out, ”and a warm pelisse. It rains. Mr Wickham look sharp, my young lady is shivering and not an atom of colour about her.”
      I can guess her thoughts; if she could she would tell Miss Darcy I was a sharp one, a dangerous one, a desperate designer, a sly schemer. Well I may be in this instance. Little care I for the opinions of such a pert piece unless I can make her an ally to my cause. Adieu for now, Kate, sweetest Kate, until the morrow.
            Hulvers, 14th August 1811.

Letter 62: Venetia Hardingham to Georgiana Darcy 13th August 1811.
You must be very surprised when you receive this letter, dear sweet girl. I am a gadabout giddy thing and ought to have written a reply to your last several weeks ago. What a great deal I have done since leaving that dreary school. I have been in Bath, at my grandfather Anscombe's in Wiltshire, and am now travelling north, north, north first to Harrogate and from thence to Edinburgh. I have seen, actually stepped upon, your divine Derbyshire. No one may be considered to understand the picturesque unless they have first read Gilpin's accounts and then stood at Monsal Head, looking out at hills and vistas.(5) The whole prospect has a savage wildness akin to real beauty, an access of sensibility on my part, which I must attribute to your warm commendations of the place upon many occasions. Your brother's estate was not far out of our way, and we took in the usual tour. Your housekeeper and your gardener were very civil to us. They were very pleased that I laid claim to your acquaintance, very sorry you were not a home for the summer and pleased to anticipate your brother's arrival. What a paragon he must be if his sister and his servants all esteem him, the very people who have known him since he was in short-coats or seen him bothered by a toothache.
      Scotland too is immeasurably amusing and the Scots gentlemen on the whole are intelligent and charming. A pleasing contrast, if I might judge by my own experience, to English men who pretend only to be connoisseurs of cooking and horseflesh. Whilst at all manner of amusements, full of company and noise, I am pursued by the most fascinating flirt, a situation I am enjoying prodigiously for I do not intend to have my head turned, nor will I be taken advantage of. He thinks to persuade me that he loves me for my beaux yeux alone yet I think it is more for the promise of my grandfather's broad acres. I won't be deceived, however.(6) My dear belle-maman always says that any man who seeks to impress a girl and tempt her to impropriety is imposing on her and will never make a good husband.(7) Still, it is vastly amusing to be the subject of conversation for the world and a joy to the newspapers. Very diverting to be the envy of all my female acquaintance. Were you here I am sure you would look at me with your gentle, dark gaze and I should instantly know myself to be a heartless creature but it drives ennui away. I will confess to you, dear Georgiana, that, delightful as the thought is of wedding clothes, diamonds and lace, I don't wish to be a young bride, not even for the paraphernalia of a countess. Marriage is a terribly serious business.
      I must close for I am being called away, I write in such haste only remember I am always your fond friend.

Letter 63: George Wickham to Mrs Younge.
That was a very convenient headache, dear Kate - you even contrived to appear pale and languid. After tea when you were so obliging as to leave us alone, I set about my endeavour to persuade Miss Darcy to go to Scotland. The greatest stumbling block is still her fear of her brother. I encouraged her to think for herself with freedom. Her wishes are all in favour of casting our two selves upon his mercy, she imagines his horror, his agony of mind at her sudden ruin. Her brother is proud, true he is liberal-minded, rational, generous and sincere, nevertheless he is proud in ways his sister is not. I perceived how I could turn Mr Darcy's detestation of my character to advantage. I confessed to her that it was not in my power to provide for her, to maintain her in her own rank and style of life, I know that this suggestion fires her up and makes her scornful of her natural timidity,
      “I do not care about money,” she replied. “I care very deeply about my brother's sympathy. Surely you see that? I cannot wish to mar his peace of mind even for a moment.”
      I pressed her hand. I urged her to consider the following. Put case, said I like the lawyer I never was, was not her brother's greatest desire for her happiness? Indeed it was, answered she. Then, would her brother never forgive her if she followed her heart and thereby proved her happiness? Would she entrust her life into my keeping? Would she prove that trust by giving me an unqualified proof of that trust? I dared not push her a little further in case I lost all that I have laboriously gained.
      “I do assure you,” I countered with great earnestness, “I would as soon put my hand in that fire, this moment, as ask you to do anything your conscience forbad you.(8)”
      “I cannot truly doubt my brother,” said she, with much sweetness in her countenance and an air of perfect simplicity, “although the impropriety of my conduct would grieve and shock, nay bitterly offend him, if he were to see me happy, I am convinced his coldness towards you would melt.”
      “My generous, charming, adorable Georgiana, the only way we may be happy is if we are married -” said I with a languishing glance.
      “But I cannot be married without my guardians' consent,“ said the dear creature.(9)
      “You can in Scotland,” said I, taking her hand tenderly again. “Would you dare so much, brave shame and obloquy for my sake?”
      “Dear George,” quoth she (at which I nearly sang for joy), “would you take me in only the shift I stand up in?”
      “I do not want your fortune, my dear, but it is yours.”
      “Oh! No, no, is not so,” cried she. “My cousin explained this to me last year. My fortune goes by settlement. Dear friend, would you really throw it all away?”
      There were tears in her eyes as she spoke. I assured her in the most violent language of the purity of my motives. I am sure she is mine. What innocence and ignorance is here -I did not care to explain to her that she misunderstood the nature of the law, if she marry without a settlement everything she has is mine and not a penny can revert to Fitzwilliam vaults.(10)
      As it happened we were interrupted while the servant woman came in to make the fire up and banged and clattered about the room like the fiercest straight-laced old aunt in a vicarage.
            Hulvers, 15th August 1811.

Letter 64: Hester Sargeant to Mr Darcy in London.
Sir, I hope you will excuse this liberty, I am forced upon it by the greatest distress or I should be ashamed to trouble you. I am very miserable about Miss Darcy and have no other way in the world of helping her, save by writing to you.(11) I shall be very obliged to you, dear sir, were you to come hither, even if in speaking so I should run the risk of your anger should my fears prove to be an injustice to her.
      But my dear lady is entrusted to a mistress of deceit. For the sake of the love I ever had for you and your dear, much-lamented mother, dear master believe me, the snares of the wicked are here and encompass us about. I remain your humble servant in affection always to command.
            Brick Street, Ramsgate, 16th August 1811

Enclosed:

Fragments in the handwriting of Georgiana Darcy ripped up and taped together.
Am I being deceived? Am I being practiced upon? Where do I place my trust?

Is right to break…………. to betray……. Conundrums

Fragments ripped up and taped together:Georgiana Darcy to the Lady Alethea Fitzwilliam.
My dear cousin, I hardly know how to frame these words

I have need I think of your kindness

___________

EXPLANATORY NOTES:

1. J A, Lady Susan, Conclusion.

2. Heroine of Mary Hays' novel who pursues her Augustus in person and by post without knowing that he is secretly married to another.

3. Adapted from Burney's Evelina, vol III, letter xiv.

4. The seductive, fascinating and amoral hero-villain of Samuel Richardson's Clarissa, who rapes the heroine.

5. Gilpin's volumes on the picturesque extolled the beauties of Derbyshire, one of which is Monsal Head. Some critics think JA may have originally intended “First Impressions” as a skit on the passion for the picturesque, just as S&S sends up the cult of feeling and NA the gothic horror craze.

6. Beaux yeux, fine eyes.

7. Belle-maman, meaning step-mother.

8. Adapted from Maria Edgeworth's Belinda p. 459.

9. According to the Hardwick Marriage Act of 1753, persons under the age of 21 could not be married in England without the consent if their parents or guardians. The Act did not apply to Scotland where marriage was established by a statement before witnesses.

10. All a woman's property, moneys, inheritances and earnings belonged to her husband in English law, unless determined otherwise by marriage settlements. Georgiana is particularly vulnerable because she has already inherited her fortune: were her parents alive they could cut her off without a shilling, after their deaths her brother cannot.

11. Beginning of this letter adapted from Frederica's letter to Reginald in Lady Susan.

 

Chapter 7

Letter 65: Fitzwilliam Darcy to Georgiana Darcy.
I was hoping for a great sheet of your news, dearest sis, not a prim little note. I am in some anxiety over you. Are you well? Above all, are you happy? I would give a great deal for the sight of a page full of your rushing thoughts.(1)
           Pemberley House, Derbyshire, 16th August 1811.

Letter 66: George Wickham to Georgiana Darcy.
My sweetest girl, less than three miles across the fields separates our hearts tonight, I think of you as my bright angel. The consciousness that I may call you mine makes it almost impossible for me to eat, or think or sleep, though I would be too happy to dream of you. I have been occupied with nothing but you. I am bitterly sorry that I have made you unhappy, my excuse is that if I have been cruel and unjust it was because I was unsure of you and the obligation of leaving you was too painful to be endured. All that is past now.
     I long for the dawn. I will walk out to see you at first light. Happen what may I shall ever be, my dearest one, your most devoted slave.
            Hulvers, 18th August 1811.

Letter 67: George Wickham to Mrs Younge.
Miss Darcy refused me for the second time this afternoon while we sat in the little white summerhouse offering a glimpse of the sea. I was doing my best to be very fond and insistent and inseparable, though to little avail. Enough thought I to myself, enough of cheerfulness and affability -I decided to exert my authority over her feelings. She would not hear a word spoken against her beloved brother, “You cannot, you dare not, say that my brother's claims are founded in selfishness,” she exclaimed with a kindling eye and a cheek pallid with rage. “He is the nearest relation I have on earth. I owe everything to him. He stands in place of a father to me- You would compel me to be estranged from the best of brothers. You would rather be unjust and unfair to him than show me a little kindness and wait.”
     I seized hold of her impetuously, “For how long must I wait, dear girl?” I cried. “Do you forget that it is six years until you come of age! Do you think your family will hold off hopes of your marriage while you delay and refuse every offer? Do you think you will not be sacrificed to policy and ambition? Do you believe that I could sit back and tamely bear it while other men laid siege to you? Or you were sold off to the highest bidder?” I was more angry than I can tell you; this rage, however, she quite mistook for passion, and she sank gently into my embrace. I lifted her chin and looked into those melting dark eyes, full of tears. I did not kiss her, though I am almost sure she was waiting for me to,
     “I ought not to suffer such a sacrifice in you, to leave behind everything to which you are attached yet a heart can bear only so much. Does it not strike you that for a mere penniless adventurer to aspire to a rich woman's hand, is contemptible?”
     A momentary blush suffused her face; I held my breath for I felt that she was inches away from surrender, “You do not love me after all,” I said sadly. She immediately looked down, “I do not wish to be cruel. If you will be miserable without me,” added she in a trembling voice, “I will agree to Gretna Green.”
     “Why else would I ask it of you, dearest Georgiana?” I replied, lowering my voice and affecting a humbler tone. “Perhaps it would have more discreet to be guarded and reserved. My conduct is not such as I would recommend to general imitation. Pardon me. I so adore you that I would not offend you willingly.”
     I know, I know that I have sailed foolishly close to the wind. Did you not warn me against traducing the brother? Well, the die is cast at last and the game is close to won, darling Kate. I am heartily sick of sobriety; I long to get roaring drunk and chance hazard with my noble Vansitart.
           Hulvers, 18th August 1811.

Letter 68: Mrs Younge to George Wickham.
Did I not indeed warn you against traducing the brother? Foolish, foolish George. She loves him as dearly as you do not. You were not sensible either, especially when you may need his sister to plead prettily to him on your behalf. Really, my dear, do try for a little common prudence. Do not waste the advantages to be gained from marrying so well on every count.
     Yesterday it is true, much was achieved. She is often quiet, but she forgets sometimes to be guarded, especially when she thinks no one is watching her.
     I saw her buoyant step, her flushed cheek, and her radiant look of secret happiness. She came in with a calm face and a ready smile as if all was right and she had just returned from an ordinary, pleasant walk. She took up the cambric handkerchief, which she has been beautifying with a deep lace border, and began to be very busy. I stirred the fire,
     “The tea is cold and over-drawn. Shall I ring for some more?”
     “No, no. Can you not hear the dressing bell is already ringing. I will talk to you later,” and she rushed out of the room.
     Today was a calm, clear afternoon. We went out to draw, finding a fine view of the sea along the hard, white sunny road, shaded her and there by green trees until we gained the summit of a steep acclivity and looking downwards the sea, bright blue and glinting with breakers. A cool, reviving breeze blew. A little active clambering and we were sitting, secluded away, on a narrow verge of rock, sheltered from the hot sun by overhanging trees.(2) The prospect was exceedingly pretty, Miss Darcy quite as pretty, wind-blown and laughing, catching at her skirts and losing her sun bonnet as we ascended upwards to seclusion and confidences. Our conversations are all cryptic deliberations on you, my love, although our dear little pet has no inkling (oh dear me, no) of the extent of my knowledge.
     Tonight was more of the same. She cannot doubt the precepts of her upbringing, which are of course excellent for her station and position in life; nevertheless towards you, I think, her inclinations are made all the stronger by the fancies and fallacies cherished by very young girls fresh from the school room. She sang while I sewed for the poor. Would you credit this of me? Nevertheless it is true. Picture me felling and hemming a nice little poplin pinafore.(3) Did you know she sings quite as beautifully as any trained singer? With originality and force and real expression, unlike a school-girl. I should imagine the other girls hated her for it, to the immature and the ignorant what is strange is wrong and what is unusual is improper,
     “You will delight every drawing room,” I exclaimed, clapping my approval.
     The smile of real delight faded from her countenance, “I do not want that mode of life,” said she, her rapid utterance and heightened colour too plainly evincing her disquietude, “feathers and flowers and furbelows. Oh no! Not for me! I want an active, useful, purposeful life. I want there to be a reason why I am put on this earth.”
     It was unlike her to talk so much and so earnestly and passionately of herself and I was a little startled, “You are not some trifling, self-conceited girl like many another I could name, fluttering and dimpling in the company of men,” I answered, sewing away and appearing not to notice her startled blushes.(4) “I mean what I say, dearest child. You have strong sense, firm faith and ardent piety, you are thoughtful and your treatment of others is marked by gentle, considerate kindness. To know you is to delight in you.”
     “You flatter me, dear ma'am,” cried she, clasping and unclasping her hands and quite unable to sit still. “I hope I never prove unworthy of your regard.” There is an adage expressed by Rousseau that love is an illusion created by imagination, which applies very well in this case. Illusions are, by their nature, sweet.(5) I hope you made enough love to her this morning to thoroughly distract her. It is only fitting that she is perplexed and dismayed when you are out of her sight and not there to coax and charm her. For this reason I have urged her to trust her heart,
     “Your character is such that you must love and admire with warmth or sink into sadness,” I continued.(6) “Some people think rank and wealth the first of earthly blessings; and, if they can secure that in a marriage, they think they have done their duty.”
     “True,” answered she, pausing in her walk, “but is it not strange that persons of experience, should take no account of circumstances or character and think that there is only one route to happiness in life?” “Your brother would never stand by and see you unhappy,” said I. “Whatever toil and trouble and vexation might surround him, he loves you deeply and faithfully.”
     I wanted to awe her into silence. I could see she was on the verge of frankness, which I did not at all wish to invite. One word of encouragement would have given her the courage she needed to speak in the particular and not the general.
     “The best of happiness,” I observed after a short pause, “is mine already - the power and will to be useful. I speak from experience, partly my own, I have lived nearly eight and twenty years on this earth and I have suffered much and tasted little pleasure in the world. Only last year I lost the last and dearest of my friends, and yet I still live, I am not destitute of hope and comfort. I trust in God to hear my prayers.”
     “My dear ma'am,” she said, choking with tears, “you are too good, too angelic. I will trust and hope.”
     What a scene! Worthy of the theatre. When you are married, do try to cure her of the habit of weeping at every turn. I am by no means convinced of her brother's ready forgiveness but I think I have done the trick for the time being. She will make no more efforts to shake off her fetters. Old Lady Carden's haughty, sour letter has roused only resentment where a more penetrating and sympathetic understanding might have made her pause and think of what she is contemplating. On her side the elopement is egregious folly. Act.
           Brick Street, Ramsgate, 19th August 1811.

Letter 69: George Wickham to Mrs Younge. You should not concern yourself unduly, dearest Kate. Now that I am assured of her consent to the elopement, I proceed with every speed and resolution. I have funds, a post chaise booked from Margate (certainly not Ramsgate) in the names of Mr and Mrs Wickham, It is in truth a long journey from Kent to Scotland, long enough for Miss Darcy to yearn to change her name. I shall ensure that there will be no turning back. Two days more will achieve everything.
            Hulvers, 19th August 1811.

Letter 70: Mrs Younge to George Wickham.
Everything here was going on calmly and quietly, my mind was entirely satisfied. Guess the chagrin I must feel at the sudden disturbance of all our schemes. I write in the greatest distress; the most unfortunate event has just taken place. That tormenting creature, Mr Darcy is upon us, having heard by some means or other what we have in hand, he has come to parade his righteousness.
     He arrived at the crack of dawn, unexpectedly, though I understand from John Fenton that his master always comes and goes as he pleases and no one pays it any particular notice. Then a little after seven o'clock I was sent for, peremptorily sent for, without a please or a by your leave. I had just finished dressing. The servant woman stared very narrowly and very insolently at me as I rose to my feet and I looked at her in astonishment. I swear she smiled, a grim, satisfied, tight, little smile, “You are to come down to the master,” said she. “He will brook no delay.”
     I went down the stairs to discover Mr Darcy, wearied to the point of exhaustion, walking slowly and deliberately about the room. He was attempting for the appearance of calm yet that he was furiously angry was evident to any cursory examination. My heart almost misgave me. Believe it that at that moment, I wished him to perdition. But I have always had the talent of affecting sentiments foreign to my heart, I smiled, looked modest, spoke of our delight,
     “Then I must undeceive you, madam. I take no delight in coming to this place,” said he, fixing a cold and penetrating eye on me. “You are deficient in your duty and I am called upon to remedy it.”
     “You are grossly deceived,” said I, with tears in my eyes, a trick I have ever been able to practice at will. “What can you think I have done? I have been, I am, as true and as tender a friend to Miss Darcy as she will ever have. I have taken every care of her.”
     “You have indeed taken a great deal of care over Miss Darcy. Your friendship has indeed been most powerfully exerted by throwing her into the arms of the most unprincipled fortune-hunter.”
     This sudden disclosure almost took from me the power of speaking. I understood instantly how he knew, the servants, the eyes and ears of every family, whose allegiance is invaluable and whose enmity is to be feared. This was a blow, undoubtedly a blow; however, I was determined not to appear a jot dismayed.
     “What fortune-hunter?” cried I, “In this nest of gossip?” I was on fire with indignation but striving to appear as calm, as cool and as collected as would be provocative. I wanted to deflect him, “Admit you are mistaken and in the wrong here. Your anxiety has made you illiberal. Do you suppose your sister has such a rebellious heart and such indelicate feelings as might lead her to throw herself at a man?(7) This is insufferably insulting to us both.”
     There was a dreadful pause, “Mr Wickham,” said he, as if the very name were a punishment for him to pronounce.
     I was all astonishment, “Come now, sir, is it very likely that he would conceive any design against her? Your father's god son, brought up with the family, whose acquaintance Miss Darcy acknowledges with pleasure to all in this place. A gentleman we met in church on a duty visit to his grandfather? I think not.”
     “Madam,” replied he, coldly, “I will have the truth of this matter out in the open. If you have been remiss in your care of Miss Darcy, by heaven I will give you cause to repent it.”
     “What reason have you to slander me?” I declared. “I will not be threatened with violence. I will not be bullied. I will not stay here to listen to this nonsense. If you believe you cannot trust me, sir, if my assertions are valueless, you must enquire of your sister. See what she has to say.”
     He then left me and ran upstairs. I took myself out of the room, retired to my own and immediately penned a letter of resignation. Diversionary tactics, my dear, diversionary tactics. I ground my hope on a strong streak of fidelity in the sister's nature. She firmly believes the strongest ties of mutual affection fasten your two hearts. I know, of course that you have sworn her to the strictest secrecy, therefore she will not speak. Just as well. Nothing will soften him. She would pour forth her tender tale of love in vain. Since he will be stubborn, he must be tricked. Nothing will be lost.
           Brick Street, Ramsgate, 20th August 1811.

___________

EXPLANATORY NOTES:

1. It was thought lady-like to write pretty little notes on dainty bits of paper and never bore the recipient with too much news.

2. Description of the sea based on Ann Bronte's in The Tenant of Wildfell Hall.

3. Hemming and felling are types of hand-sewn seams used in the making of clothing. Felling seams was considered particularly boring, whereas a girl's aptitude for needlework was often gauged from her hemming stitch. Poplin is a type of cheap light-weight cotton cloth excellent for children's clothes because it washed well and was hard-wearing.

4. Description of Sophia Streatfield 18thC scholar and beauty, quoted in Chisholm, Fanny Burney, p. 113.

5. Adapted from Mary Wollstonecraft's description of “the extreme affection” of her nature, Letters Written During a Short Residence in Sweden, edited by Richard Holmes (Penguin Books, 1987), p. 111. Mary Wollstonecraft deplored the boredom imposed by endless needlework.

6. Rousseau in the preface to Julia, declared love to be no more than an illusion creating a false perfection in its object. The sweetness of illusions is roughly adapted from similar sentiments in Laclos's Dangerous Liaisons.

7. JA, Lady Susan, letter 22. There are more echoes of this part of Lady Susan below.

 

Chapter 8

Letter 71: Mrs Younge to George Wickham.
I take up my pen again to warn you that the enemy at our gates is likely to be triumphant. I have done my best. When Mr Darcy went up to see his sister, she was still asleep. This ought by itself to have alerted me- she never, never sleeps late. Once she was roused, she could not credit the evidence of her senses, she could barely talk, she could only weep and cling to him. Her tears indeed distressed him and make me again believe he has some sort of heart.
     “Georgiana,” said he, tenderly stroking her hair, “my dear little sister, what in the world has happened? I beg you, I implore you, will you not tell me?” The heartache in his tone was her undoing; she faltered and professed a desire for confession; I would have got her off on her own but the wretched man would not be parted from her,
     “I want to acknowledge it all,” said she. “I want you to know-”
     “Mrs Younge,” interjected her brother, without looking at me, “you are not required.”
     He is now shut up with Miss Darcy in her apartments, the wall dividing her rooms and mine is a partition, paper-thin. He has locked the doors but I can hear almost every word.
     “Do you have reason to believe that there is a contrivance?” said he.
     “I do have reason to think, yes, it is so,” answered she, greatly to my astonishment. “I suspected him, a little; now, however, I am certain of it.”
     “Both, Georgiana?”
     “Both.”
     Tell me, is this your doing? Have you been indiscreet? Have you been talking? She was adamant. You had attempted to cozen her. She had indeed consented to an elopement. She had reason to believe your professed affection was disinterested. She had more recent proof that you were not worthy of her trust.
     He was very gentle with her, talking in a low tone full of concern. He assured her that her fortune would have been yours, down to the last farthing. He was confident that no honourable man would seek to persuade a very young girl into a clandestine marriage,
     “I knew I was deceived,” cried she, wildly, wildly. “I knew it and I did not want to own it. I was wicked to deceive you.”
     Whatever followed this outburst was lost in a storm of weeping. A little after that I heard Hester Sargeant's voice, (I am sure she fully understands the situation though who knows what she is seeking and hoping?).
     “She has cried herself to sleep,” said he.
     “Mr Darcy, sir,“ came the reply, I could picture her hand on his arm, her solicitous look, the servants, as you know, love and revere him, and “she's that young, she'll sleep herself right Have a bite to eat, sir, and leave Miss to Molly and me. Do what it is your duty tells you.”

11 at night.
I sat there all day, with nothing to occupy my time except cutting the pages of a new novel. Not a creature has come near me. At dusk the door clicked. I looked up, saw Mr Darcy and got up from my chair. We stood in silent confrontation, he stiff and too proud to show his wounds, I detached and observant.
     “Have you nothing to say to me, madam?”
     I lit the tall candles on the mantelpiece. The fine weather has broken and it is raining and oppressively dark still.
     “Why would I?” was my answer. “I would think your first concern now is to avoid a scandal.”
     There was a long silence, which he eventually broke by saying,
     “You are, of course, dismissed from your charge.”
     I bowed my assent.
     “I would like to know, how could you do this? How could you plan this, perpetrate this and yet delude my sister into the belief that your every care was for her welfare?”
     “I am sincerely fond of Miss Darcy,” I replied, walking over to the fire. “She is a remarkable girl.”
“I detest hypocrisy,” said he, with a look that warded me off.
     “So I should imagine, sir.”
     He sat down, dropping his head into his hands, there was a look of real anguish in his face as if, (I am not fanciful) all of a sudden, all the sweetness had gone from the world, all kindness was tainted by treachery, all trust betrayed. Here is our triumph, for what it is worth,
     “Why the deceptions? Why did you do it?”
     I shrugged my shoulders, “ `A cat may look at the king'.”
     He gave me one of his quick, penetrating looks,
     “I see,” he took it in, “I see. A prior acquaintance? It was all planned? Every detail? Even to Ramsgate?”
     “Oh! Yes.”
     I cannot tell you why I answered him. I was determined I should not.
     “I cannot pretend to understand you,” he said, coldly.
     I could see he was white and sickened, his eyes blinked as if in the discovery of pain, felt in the limbs as well as in the mind and heart, “Why were we practiced upon?” said he in his haughty way, “I make no enquiry, you will note, of Mr Wickham. But you, Mrs Younge, are a very superior woman. I would have thought, for Miss Darcy's sake-”
     His voice was bitter and cold. I looked at him boldly, with my own eyes not the assumed character, which had duped him,
     “You saw what you wanted to see, sir,” said I. “You heard what you wanted to hear. I told you no lies. You deceived yourself every bit.”
     He flinched.
     Was it not weakness? I do not suppose he understood anything of what was passing in my mind. I meant to tell him all. I could not bring myself to account for myself. I could not tarnish his father's image in his eyes. I could not punish him, however long I have cherished the design. I wanted, oh how I wanted, that he should treasure no more illusions.
     “This speculation hardly signifies,” I said. “Everything will return as it was before.”
     He smiled, “Nothing can be as it was.”
     All is lost for you and I, I fear. I do not know by what means we were discovered - it scarcely matters now. Lay no blame on me. Your letters to me were not the means; I destroyed every one as it was received. I will bid you adieu for the time being. I wish we had got her clean away. I will wait for your reply. I will have to get back to town and for that I must depend on you. I cannot, in these circumstances, expect to receive my outstanding salary. Send me a cheerful line. It is weakness, I know, yet Miss Darcy's pale and altered face haunts my thoughts.
           Brick Street, Ramsgate, 20th August 1811.

Letter 72: Fitzwilliam Darcy to Richard Fitzwilliam, sent by rider to Lord Ellingham's house at Farnworth in Sussex, 20th August 1811.
     Richard, you are required immediately at Ramsgate. Do not stall. Say nothing but come back with the messenger. I will expect you.

Letter 73: Mrs Younge to George Wickham.
I did not expect you to decamp, my dear coward. How vile of you, yet how perfectly consistent with your character and principles.
            Brick Street, Ramsgate, 21st August 1811.

Letter 74: Molly Blanch to Lucy Blanch at Pemberley.
Dear sister, I begin my letter after I have come up to bed. Me and my young lady are quite well, God be thanked. Hester wrote to the master and down he came faster than the post. That wicked young man is gone off. Such wickedness as never was. Very attentive to my young lady, filling her head with nonsense till she couldn't think straight. Making up to me like I was some giddy I don't know what. Shameful and shameful with that piece of harlotry, that jezebel. I saw all. So did Miss. She didn't see me but I saw her, I saw her in the crook of the stairs. White as a sheet she was. White as a ghost. She cried almost the whole night. The poor lamb, the poor dear, the poor deceived dear. Master is here with her, though he looks mortal grim. They have sent for a doctor from London. The Colonel is also come, which tells you,
     “Shoot the damned dog down,” says he, and so say I.
     When I think of Miss, I am speechless. He should be hanged. Rip this letter to shreds, dear Lucy.
           Brick Street, Ramsgate, 21st August 1811.

Letter 75: Fitzwilliam Darcy to George Wickham.
Sir, the base, heartless, calculated cruelty of your conduct towards my sister cannot be understated. You have proven yourself unworthy of the name of man, to strive thus hard to take advantage of, delude and deceive a young girl to whom you owed nothing but affection and respect, whose youth and innocence of heart ought to have been protection enough against the schemes you practiced. For my father's sake alone you ought to have made it the study of your life to avoid giving her pain. Excuses can be made for sincerity of feeling, none at all for deception. You have proved yourself beneath all contempt. There is no disgrace severe enough for you. I trust we will never meet again, in this world or the next.
            Brick Street, Ramsgate, 22nd August 1811.

Letter 76: Sir Benjamin Reed Hartley to Fitzwilliam Darcy.
The patient is a fine, healthy young woman, who has lost flesh and spirits, she has a tumultuous pulse and a shortness of breath, her eye is soft and gentle and her temperature is low and cool, rather than heated. She has steadfastly refused both opiates and wine. When I weighed and examined the evidence before me, I was convinced that the tone of her mind is languid and depressed. She confesses her brain is dulled; she has no sense however that her mind wanders or that her senses are disordered. Although she feels unaccountably weary, she sleeps and eats to please others. She has expressed no desire to take up those pleasures and occupations that were wont to occupy her time. She finds it hard to read and cannot bring herself to engage herself in music, which was used to be her most particular delight.
     Her general demeanour and her general level of distress are consistent with the effects of sudden shock upon a highly sensitive system. On enquiry, she disclosed to me “that everything appeared vile and hateful” to her; she felt distrust even at the appearance of sense and goodness. However distressing this appears to those now concerned for her well being, it is far preferable for her future health and recovery that this shock is apparent. It makes for a tedious rather than an interesting illness. Her nervous strength is severely over-taxed and it should be noted that the very origins of failing health lie in the various interlacing and harmonies between each part of the body from the reciprocal influence of the Sympathetic nerves. The body is not so easily restored to health when the mind is disturbed.
     My recommendation is that, having severely overtaxed her constitution, Miss Darcy should follow a regimen of rest, sleep, tempting and strengthening foods and a general lack of nervous stimulation. There is no need, at least no need yet, of leaches or bleeding. On the contrary, on no account should she be permitted to sit in a darkened room with her face turned towards the wall. I would urge you to send her away in the care of a kindly woman who is used to nursing, to stay with relations who are familiar but not too familiar with her. She should be kept away from those places and those persons intimately connected to the occasion of her late unhappiness. She should not be put in a position where the authors of her misery could approach anywhere near her or where unpleasant or troubled memories may be awoken. A time of separation is necessary.
            3 South Street, 27th August 1811.

Letter 77: Lady Catherine de Bourgh to Georgiana Darcy.
My dear niece, I am told you feel a little frail for company. I do not press you to come to Rosings and send you herewith some new books and poems for your convalescence. Young ladies are delicate plants and must be cosseted and nurtured. But do not let yourself be quacked my dear, not on any account. Nor be sent to Bath. Taking the waters never did a girl any good. Your brother shall not send you there if I have anything to say to it. Be sure that you eat a hearty diet and walk out every day, though you must take care to avoid strong sunshine, which is injurious to the health and an enemy to a delicate complexion. Be sure also that you do not practice excessively. Too much music makes for melancholy.
     I am very sorry to hear you are made unhappy by the loss of your companion. You have an affectionate disposition and must become fond of those whose duty it is to have a care for you. That disposition will lead you to have the same affection for many. I am sending to you Mrs Annesley, who is a distant cousin of the late Sir Lewis. Her situation is now unhappy, she is the widow of the most excellent man who for many, many years had the living at Carton St John's - she has no wish to be an object of charity and is now without a settled home. Your brother wished me to particularly assure you that in goodness of heart and piety of principles she is unequalled. You will find in Mrs Annesley an admirable woman, who knows a mother's love and who has been intimately known her entire life to both myself and to your dear late mother. I am pleased you should trust in my judgement for I have been instrumental in recommending many useful persons to families of my acquaintance. Your brother assures me you will feel the compliment to you in my care just as you ought.
            Rosings Park, Kent, 30th August 1811.

Letter 78: The Lady Alethea Fitzwilliam to Richard Fitzwilliam.
My dear brother, I can think of nothing else since you told me this sad, sad tale. I imagine either of my poppets in this case in a dozen or so years time and my heart becomes filled with unforgiving rage. I have said nothing to Ingworth; he would not know what to do or say to the poor child and would reveal all his foreknowledge to her in a moment. You know his blunt kindness. That would never do. You may rest assured that we will take every care of Georgiana while she is with us. You are of course perfectly correct to believe that time amongst those who truly care for her will ease her grief, her shock and her shame. The calculation and dissimulation on the part of her companion must wound her almost as much as that reprobate's falsity and insinuation. Oh! I felt for poor Darcy, poor, poor Darcy. This sad affair cannot yet be dismissed hopefully. I am ashamed of being a woman when I hear of the unprincipled deceit she practiced.(1)
            Scrope Hall. Aldeborough, Suffolk, 2nd September 1811.

Letter 79: Fitzwilliam Darcy to Georgiana Darcy.
I have here to send you, my dearest sister, everything that may be of delight to you, some new music, a new tale and Mrs Annesley. She is to stay if she pleases you. She will please me if she can make you smile as readily as you were wont to. Rest secure of her kindness, her good nature and her true and Christian disposition. Your Cousin Richard is acquainted with her children (one of whom it is true he calls a dreary bore) and knows her to have a tender and sensible, as well as a motherly heart.
     Your aunt no longer expects your visit here and I myself anticipate being in town on the 12th inst and from thence to Pemberley, with my dearest sister. I hold you safe in my thought and my prayers, your affectionate brother as always.
            Rosings Park, Kent, 3rd September 1811.

Letter 80: Anne de Bourgh to Georgiana Darcy.
My dear cousin, I promised your brother that I would write to you, and at length, of all our news. I am quite well, as well as someone with my indifferent health may be in this sad, cold weather. It is not much. But it is something. I send hopes and prayers for your swift recovery.
     We have a new incumbent to the Hunsford living at last. It is a reverend Mr Collins, who is very lately ordained, only at Easter. He is young, humble and strangely solemn, a great, tall, perplexing creature as Mrs Jenkins says, save that all men are a little perplexing and not always very nice.
     He is not the man recommended by your dear brother - that gentleman was too eloquent and evangelical for my mother's preferences. She declared he was no better than a Moravian Methodist and was perfectly certain your brother must be ignorant of his theology. Indeed, she believed Mr Lathom was a little audacious for he spoke freely to her of a Sunday school and education in the parish. My mother was very offended. She will not have a day school in the village. Talk of poor people learning always reminds her of Rousseau and his writings, stirring up the French people to their Reign of Terror. When my mother returned from Canterbury she was disgusted with him,
     “I am afraid that Rousseau and Mr Lathom are birds of a feather,” said she. “Education does not improve the lot of men. Every child has the Catechism, the Ten Commandments. With these by heart, who will be discontented?”
     Your brother (who was here) protested. My mother however, would not countenance a man who set up his judgement in opposition to hers.
     So Mr Collins it is. He and my mother are most deedily engaged in improving and beautifying Mr Adams' parsonage house. All their talk is of closets and shelves and double-dug beds. Mr Collins speaks of his father too a good deal although he sounds a most disagreeable tyrant to me, illiterate and miserly. Well, what do I know, being only a young lady. Dear me! I am growing satirical I fancy. That young ladies ought to know nothing of the world is one of Mr Collins' favourite precepts. What a resemblance is here to Sturm's Reflections.(2) These we are reading aloud. The Queen liked the book very much and so must we. It is a very improving volume.
     Your old favourite Ellen Southern is in disgrace for spoiling the lavender water in the still room. She left it uncapped all night.
     Now, as to births, marriages and deaths. There are twin girls born at Empson the Smith's. They are very pretty, fat, little things and so alike that only their mother can tell them apart. We have had no marriages since Miller Watkin's son married Rose Tyler and broke the hearts of half the girls in Kent. Mr Collins has no wife for the present. How could he when he was at the university and as poor as any church mouse? On my mother's strongest recommendation, I believe he intends to take one of his five cousins. He says they are all reputed amiable beauties. Still, his endeavour is vastly romantic, for he has never even seen any of the young ladies. They might all be very noisy and extravagant and perfumed with attar of roses, a scent my mother thinks very vulgar. They might have expensive tastes in dress, be too fond of dancing and dislike hens. They might not be genteel girls.
     The parish bull has died, which makes driving across the Common much pleasanter, though I believe they intend to get a new one.
     Farmer Ruddle is dead, poor old man. His wife is best pleased, for he beat her every day he was drunk and he never was sober so far as I could discover, in spite of all that our rector would say. She will have a more comfortable time now, since her son Robert has been brought up just as he ought and is married to a very quiet, civil girl.
     I do hope that good, kind Mrs Annesley is happily settled with you. I wonder how could she not be content with you, such a good, dutiful, kind creature as you always are? Everyone here sends their respects and affection and I long so much to see you. Remember there are a good many to whom your welfare is a real concern. I remain always your fond cousin.
            Rosings Park, Kent, 20th September 1811.

Letter 81: Fitzwilliam Darcy to Richard Fitzwilliam in Spain.
This is the most tedious place, Fitzwilliam. Even you would despair, hardly any pretty women and hardly any decent conversation, a total lack of sense and education. There is plenty of company and none of it is agreeable.
     I am troubled about my sister. Gravity has taken too strong a grip upon her -there is melancholy in every attempt she makes to convince me of her cheerfulness.
            Netherfield Park, Hertfordshire, 27th October 1811.

Letter 82: Margaret Annesley to Fitzwilliam Darcy.
Sir, I write to assure you that your dear sister is well and continues to mend. She no longer cries herself to sleep and when she does sleep I am sure she enjoys a beneficial rest. She no longer has to be coaxed to eat and has put on a little flesh. I would not be truthful, however, if I were to say her spirits were rising. She is still uncommonly quiet, does not read to any purpose, wants much employment and will scarcely touch her music. I will do all that is possible to promote her contentment although I do believe she should be a little more, and steadily a little more, in good society.
      I have spoken to the reverend Mr Farrington a clergyman of my acquaintance and the most kindly soul. Be assured I mentioned no names. He is of the opinion that distressing deceptions such as the one comprehensively practiced upon the poor child, make trust in the world very hard. Will you not think of coming to see her? Your letters are very eagerly anticipated and very, very closely read. I understand the physician's advice, nevertheless you are the person closest to the poor child's heart, the brother she looks to for guidance and sympathy. You have only to write to her “Georgiana you should” and she will. How much more benefit she would gain from your constant presence, I leave to your consideration.
     I urged her to write of everything with the utmost candour, not to spare herself or anyone. She then sealed the unhappy account and we burned it in the fire. We watched the flames eat up all those pages and pages of words, the labour of many days.
     “I wanted to do someone some good,” she said, laying her head against her knee. “I look a fool, a fool.”
     I write of this, sir, so that you will understand what weighs on her mind. Her gentle manner covers such a depth and strength of mind and thought.
            Brook Street, 30th October 1811.

Letter 83: Georgiana Darcy to Fitzwilliam Darcy.
Dearest brother, how kind you are to miss me. I am sorry that I continue to be such a trial of your patience. I am so sorry to be so long and so relentlessly in unhappy spirits. I do not mean to make you unhappy about me. I promise you I truly am much less of the creep mouse than I was. I have not startled at shadows or jumped at noises this age. Nor have I passed nights awake unable to sleep. I promise you, most solemnly promise you, that I will wear away your ears and your patience with relentless practicing. You will rush out of your book room, like a new Orlando brandishing your pen and crying out, `Forbear and play no more.'(2) You will be sick of Clementi and Haydn, wearied by scales and sonatas, tortured by Herr Beethoven and maddened by the ghost of Mozart.
     What can I write now to convince you that I will be perfectly well and happy? I intend to be. God willing! Oh! How I intend to be!
           Brook Street, 3rd November 1811.

___________

EXPLANATORY NOTES:

1. Laclos, Dangerous Liaisons, letter 171.

2. Page: 50 Christoph Christian Sturm, Reflections on the works of God and his Providence throughout Nature and for every day of the year, translated by a Lady (1788) and admired by George III's pious German wife Charlotte of Mecklenburg-Strelitz.
     This reading, like much else in this letter is adapted from Elizabeth Gaskell's 1859 novella My Lady Ludlow. set in the Georgian period. I have a Victorian copy but there is a modern edition published by Oxford University Press.

3. Parody of Shakespeare's As You Like It, the hero Orlando draws his sword in the forest in order to secure food for his aged servant from men who are gorging themselves.

END OF VOLUME THE FIRST

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