Mr. Darcy's Diary by Amanda Grange (books for students to read .txt) 📕

I reflected, and it was to tell her of this that I had

begun the letter.

I could pretend it was to answer the charge of being

the cause of her sister’s unhappiness, but I knew in my

heart it was because I wanted to exonerate myself of all

blame in my conduct towards George Wickham.

I could not bear the thought of him being her

favourite, or the thought of my being valued at nothing

by his side.

I resumed my letter.

With respect to that other, more weighty accu-

sation, of having injured Mr Wickham, I can

only refute it by laying before you the whole of

his connection with my family. Of what he has

particularly accused me I am ignorant; but of

the truth of what I shall relate, I can summon

more than one witness of undoubted veracity.

‘Colonel Fitzwilliam will vouch for me,’ I said under

my breath.

But how to tell the tale? How to arrange the incidents

of Wickham’s life into some coherent whole? And how

to write it in such a way that my animosity did not

colour every word? For I meant to be fair, even to him.

I thought. At last I continued to write.

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Mr Wickham is the son of a very respectable

man, who had for many years the management

of all the Pemberley estates, and whose good con-

duct in the discharge of his trust naturally

inclined my father to be of service to him, and on

George Wickham, who was his godson, his kind-

ness was therefore liberally bestowed. My father

supported him at school, and afterwards at Cam-

bridge. Hoping the church would be his profes-

sion, he intended to provide for him in it.As for

myself it is many, many years since I first began

to think of him in a very different manner.The

vicious propensities, the want of principle, which

he was careful to guard from the knowledge of his

best friend, could not escape the observation of a

young man of nearly the same age with himself.

Here again I shall give you pain…

How deep do her feelings go? I wondered. I stabbed

the paper with my quill and blotted the page. It was so

scored through with crossings out and additions, however, that I knew I would have to rewrite it before presenting it to Elizabeth, and I paid the blot no heed.

…to what degree you only can tell. But what-

ever may be the sentiments which Mr Wickham

has created, a suspicion of their nature shall not

prevent me from unfolding his real character. It

adds even another motive.

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A motive of keeping you safe, dear Elizabeth.

I found myself thinking of what could have been. If

she had accepted me, I could be sleeping soundly, with

the expectation of rising to a happy morning spent in her

company. As it was, I was unable to sleep, writing by the

light of a candle and the glow of the moonlight that

came in at the window.

I took up my quill, telling her how my father, in his

will, had desired me to give Wickham a valuable living,

that Wickham had decided he did not want to enter the

church and that he had asked for money instead.

He had some intention, he added, of studying

the law, and I must be aware that the interest

of one thousand pounds would be a very insuf-

ficient support therein. I rather wished, than

believed him to be sincere; but, at any rate, was

perfectly ready to accede to his proposal. I knew

that Mr Wickham ought not to be a clergyman;

the business was therefore soon settled, he

resigned all claim to assistance in the church,

were it possible that he could ever be in a situ-

ation to receive it, and accepted in return three

thousand pounds. All connection between us

seemed now dissolved. I thought too ill of him

to invite him to Pemberley, or admit his society

in town.

Rationally put. She could not take exception to such

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moderation, though I had had to write it five times to

achieve such a result.

For about three years I heard little of him; but

on the decease of the incumbent of the living

which had been designed for him, he applied to

me again by letter for the presentation. His cir-

cumstances, he assured me, and I had no diffi-

culty in believing it, were exceedingly bad.You

will hardly blame me for refusing to comply with

this entreaty, or for resisting every repetition of

it. His resentment was in proportion to the dis-

tress of his circumstances, and he was doubtless

as violent in his abuse of me to others as in his

reproaches to myself. After this period every

appearance of acquaintance was dropped. How

he lived I know not. But last summer he was

again most painfully obtruded on my notice.

Yes. Last summer. I went over to the side of the room.

I had brought a decanter with me, and a glass. I poured

myself a whisky and drank it off. The fire had been lit

against the Easter chill, but it had long since gone out,

and I needed the whisky to warm me.

I did not want to write the next part of the letter but

it had to be done. I tried to put it off, but the clock on

the mantelpiece was ticking and I knew I must finish

what I had begun. I must, however, ask her for secrecy.

That she would grant it I had no doubt. She had a sister

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whom she loved dearly. She would understand the love

and affection I had for mine.

I told her of Georgiana’s meeting with Wickham in

Ramsgate, and of the way he had played upon her affections, persuading her to agree to an elopement.

Mr Wickham’s chief object was unquestionably

my sister’s fortune, which is thirty thousand

pounds; but I cannot help supposing that the

hope of revenging himself on me, was a strong

inducement. His revenge would have been com-

plete indeed.

I sat back, tired.