Dear Mr. Darcy: A Retelling of Pride and Prejudice

by Amanda Grange

  Yours,

  PD

  Mr Wickham to Mr Darcy

  London, January 20

  My dear Darcy,

  I cannot let the New Year go by without writing to wish you well for the future and without thanking you for everything you have done for me in the past. But above all, I want to thank you for the letter you sent me last summer. I was very angry with you when I received it, for I thought it the most unjust thing I had ever read. But I could not forget it and your words gradually pierced my haze of resentment until at last I was forced to acknowledge the truth of them. I had squandered my chances as well as my resources and I was unfit for the church, as I was unfit for everything else. Your letter made me look at myself and I did not like what I saw. I began to mend my ways and I mean to continue in the same way. I want to make you glad to call me your friend, as you were once before.

  Do you remember the January when the lake froze at Pemberley and your father bought us both new skates so that we might take advantage of it? And do you remember how Georgiana followed us onto the lake and how I took off my skates and gave them to her so that she might take her first few tottering steps across the ice? And how we were certain she would fall, but how she surprised us both by skating unaided before half an hour was out? If this cold weather goes on much longer, the lake will freeze again. We should go skating there! It would be good for me to forget my present worries for a few days, for God knows I am sorely pressed. I have done everything I can to mend my fortunes, but it is very hard to be alone in the world, with no one to help me to some kind of preferment. I did think of going into the army, but I do not think it would suit my temperament. The church, now…When I rejected the idea before, I was a fool who did not understand the value of such an institution, but now my ideas have undergone a radical change. I have experienced sin and I know its temptations. I have seen, too, its darker side, and witnessed the effects on those who drink too deeply of forbidden fruits. I have drawn back from the edge, to find myself once more on solid ground and I hope to use my experiences to help my fellow man. Who better to understand the temptations of the sinner than a man who has himself been a sinner?

  I know there was a time when you thought me unfit for the church, and you were right. I knew nothing then of the degradations awaiting me, but I know them now, as I know the healing power of redemption. I have seen the error of my ways, thanks to you, and I hope to use my life to help others see the error of such ways as well.

  My godfather, and dear friend—your father—was always pleased to say that I had a good speaking voice and a good address, and that I could charm the birds from the trees if I so wished. He believed in me, and I know you believe in me, too. It was that thought which brought me back from the dark paths I walked in my folly and ignorance.

  I know you will have given the living of Kympton elsewhere by now, but you still have other livings in your gift and I feel sure you would like to see me established in one of them. It will enable you to carry out your father’s wish, and it will give you the satisfaction of seeing me, as I was meant to be, a good man guiding the souls of my parishioners as they walk the difficult path of righteousness through this world of sin.

  Your friend, much humbled and chastened,

  George Wickham

  Mr Darcy to Mr Wickham

  Cumbria, January 25

  Wickham,

  It will do you no good to importune me further—the living of Kympton is no longer vacant as you surmise and I have no other vacant livings in my gift. I am glad you have seen the error of your ways but you must help yourself now; I cannot help you any further. This letter ends the matter.

  Darcy

  Mr Wickham to Mr Darcy

  London, January 27

  By God, Darcy, how dare you write me such a letter? Do you think I am some beggar trying to scrape an acquaintance with you? Are you so puffed up in your own conceit that you forget we rode the same horses when we were children, swam in the same lake, climbed the same trees, worked together and played together as equals—nay, as brothers?

  I thank God your father is not alive to see it. He would have been ashamed of you. He would have been disgusted and appalled that he had raised such a son, devoid of any kind of honour or loyalty or compassion. What gives you the right to say I cannot have the living, when your father expressly promised it to me? It is nothing to you, and nothing to the people of Kympton, either, who holds the living.

  But think again. You surely do not mean to rob me of a livelihood. I have always known you to be proud and supercilious, but I never thought you would stoop to being a thief as well; in fact I am sure you will not sink so low. If I had half your riches, you know, and you were poor like me, I would not begrudge you a pittance of a living; quite the reverse, I would give you an allowance, and a handsome one at that, so that you could live as a gentleman. I cannot believe you mean to rob me of a livelihood without a second thought. How do you suggest I live? I must have something, and you have many livings in your gift.

  In memory of all the times we played together as children and the love and affection your father showed me…but that is at the root of it, is it not? You are jealous because he loved me like a second son—in fact I believe he preferred me, and who can blame him? I, at least, took pains to entertain him, whereas you would never give yourself the trouble. By God, that is it. I have always suspected it and now I know, and this is how you mean to pay me out: by reducing me to nothing.

  How could I help it if he preferred me? An old man will always like a handsome face and charming manners. Your face is handsome enough, I’ll grant you, but your address is as stiff as a board. You have all the charm of a poker—is it any wonder that your father preferred me? He cannot be blamed for liking my cheerful manners or for being repulsed by your pride and your d——d self-righteous arrogance.

  But you do blame him and now you are taking your revenge. What do you want? Do you want me to crawl? Then be d——d to you. I will not crawl to you or any man. If you do not mean to help me, then you can go hang.

  I wish you every ill that you have inflicted on me.

  Wickham

  Mr Wickham to Mr Parker

  London, January 30

  Well, Matthew, you will be surprised to get this letter after so long a silence, but I had no wish to write to bore you with my troubles, and debtors’ prison is the most boring of all ills. But now I am out and living with a wealthy widow, though not for long: I would sooner be the master than the lapdog.

  I have a mind to look about me for an heiress. Now that there is no chance of my getting the living of Kympton—I tried Darcy again, d——n him, but to no avail—I must look to some other way of supporting myself. Do you know any heiresses? Are there any in York? I am not known in that area, and I may pass there for a respectable man.

  Let me know if you can help me. If I catch someone by your introduction, you may be sure you will always be welcome in my home.

  Wickham

  FEBRUARY

  Mr Parker to Mr Wickham

  York, February 5

  Good God, George, I could not believe it when I received your letter. I thought you were dead! Well, well, well, so that is where you have been: debtors’ prison. I should have guessed. It is very good to know you are still alive and well, however, and looking for the love of your life. George Wickham married! What a sight that will be. I wish I knew any heiresses, but if I did, I would be making a play for them myself. My pockets are empty, as always.

  Let me know the name of your widow. If you are leaving, then there will be a warm berth there for me, and it will suit me to leave York just at this moment. You might be able to pass for a respectable man here, but alas! I cannot. I must leave the city, at least for a while, and London would be as good a place as any for me to pass the time.

  Have you seen anything of Belle lately?

  Parker

  Mr Wickham to Mr Parker

  London, February 13

  The widow is Mrs
Dawson. Meet me at The Black Bull and I will take you home and introduce you, and then I will be off in pursuit of a wife. A pity there are none in York, but never mind, I will try my luck with Anne de Bourgh. If I can catch her away from her dragon of a mother, then something might be done.

  You ask about Belle but sadly I have not seen her for years. We had some times together, Belle and I! But neither of us had any money and although we managed to scrape along together for a while, in the end the creditors were pressing and so we had to part. The last I heard of her, she was thinking of turning respectable.

  Wickham

  Mr Parker to Mr Wickham

  Leeds, February 16

  Belle! Respectable? Good Lord! That is the best joke I have heard in a long time.

  The de Bourgh girl sounds promising. Does she have any money? If so, you’ll have to fight the mother for her. Not the first time a George has fought a dragon!

  Parker

  George Wickham to Matthew Parker

  London, February 18

  Of course she has money; why else would I want to marry her? Miss Anne de Bourgh is the heiress of Rosings. She not only has a fortune, but the property will pass to her on her marriage as well. I have only to marry her and I will be George Wickham of Rosings Park. It has a fine sound, do you not think?

  Wickham

  Mr Parker to Mr Wickham

  Leeds, February 22

  Better than George Wickham of Debtors’ Prison at any rate. Hurry up and marry the girl. I am in low funds and need somewhere to stay. Let me know when you have tied the knot and I will join you at Rosings as soon as the deed is done. Summer in Kent would suit me well.

  Parker

  Mr Wickham to Mr Parker

  Kent, February 27

  It is going to be easier than I thought. I travelled down to Kent, where I took a room at the local inn and made discreet enquiries as to Anne’s movements, hoping that once I knew them I could arrange to bump into her ‘accidentally’ whilst she was out taking the air. But the de Bourghs are no longer in Kent; they are in Bath as Anne is sickly and she has gone there to take the waters. It will be far easier for me to renew our acquaintance there, where there are a thousand and one ways of meeting her. I am on my way to Bath now and I will write to you when I get there.

  Wish me luck!

  Wickham

  MARCH

  Mr Parker to Mr Wickham

  London, March 1

  Bath, eh? You’re in luck. You can bump into her easily in the Pump Rooms and it won’t look suspicious. Tell her you’ve got a touch of gout!

  It should be easier for you to get her alone there, too. Her mother will have a lot of acquaintances and be gossiping half the time, I don’t doubt; either that or playing the grand lady and entertaining herself by patronising everyone else.

  Parker

  Mr Wickham to Mr Parker

  Bath, March 2

  Well, I have made a start. I found Anne at the Pump Room this morning and she was alone, apart from her companion. I took a glass of the waters and then sidled over to her, bumping into her and apologising, and then being concerned in case I had spilt the water on her dress. I affected surprise on recognising her and she blushed very prettily. She was flattered by my attentions, because of course I told her how well she looked—I am sure everyone else must tell her how sickly she looks—whilst the companion glowered at me and tried to hurry Anne away. So then I started talking about old Mr Darcy and mentioned that I was his godson and reminded Anne of all the happy times we had spent together at Pemberley. The companion was mollified and she was soon all smiles, for I bowed and kissed her hand, of course, and looked at her as though she were a beauty when in fact I am sure she must turn milk sour.

  All was going well, very well, until Lady Catherine arrived. Anne shrank at once, and the companion looked nervous. I greeted Lady Catherine respectfully and told her that I had seen Darcy lately and that he was well. She raised her eyebrows but I saw that she remembered me and I thought everything was going to be all right, until she looked down her nose and said, ‘Ah, yes, the steward’s son,’ and with that she turned her back on me.

  I hid my disappointment, bowed and smirked, and accepted my dismissal gracefully. But I have not given up. If I can only find Anne alone, I am certain I can win her. Let me have but half an hour with her and I will persuade her to leave her drab and dreary life behind and elope with me.

  Wickham

  Mr Parker to Mr Wickham

  London, March 4

  Use all your charm. I am sick of the Widow. I want my freedom, and the freedom of Rosings Park.

  Parker

  Mr Wickham to Mr Parker

  Bath, March 5

  I renewed my assault this morning, meeting Anne in the library. Her eyes lit up when she saw me and I bowed and kissed her hand. We were soon talking about her favourite books and all was going well until the companion hurried over from the other side of the room, saying that Lady Catherine had instructed them not to be more than ten minutes. I tried to talk to Anne again but it was no good. At the mention of her mother, Anne became anxious, and as the companion was evidently not going to leave her side, I had to withdraw with a good grace.

  There is no use in my remaining: Anne and her mother are due to return to Rosings in a few days. But I have not given up. In a few years’ time, Lady Catherine might have passed away and then I can try again.

  In the meantime, I am returning to London. Meet me in The Black Bull on Saturday at midday and we will drown our sorrows together.

  Wickham

  Lady Catherine de Bourgh to Mr Darcy

  Rosings Park, Kent, March 17

  Dear nephew,

  I called in at Darcy House on my way back from Bath and I spent the day with Georgiana. Her school has done well with her but it can do nothing more for her. She is old enough now to have an establishment of her own and you should form one for her in London. It is what your mother would have wished.

  You will be pleased to hear that Anne’s health is much improved by drinking the waters. I knew it must be so. Mr Feather was quite wrong when he said that Anne’s condition was not the kind to benefit from a visit to Bath, and he has of course been forced to admit that I was right. I have been responsible for many cures by giving out good advice.

  Your father’s steward’s son was in Bath. He did not seem to have any employment and I told him that he must apply himself if he wanted to get on in the world. It is amazing to me how many young men these days seem to squander their time and their energies. I told him that the Lymingtons were looking for a steward and I promised to mention his name. He told me he was very grateful for the attention.

  Your friend Bingley was at Darcy House with his sisters when I arrived. They were visiting Georgiana and they had taken her riding in the park prior to my arrival. They were all impressed with Georgiana’s equestrienne skills.

  Mr Bingley’s eldest sister is newly married to a Mr Hurst. He is a man who evidently suffers from fatigue and I told him that he would find the waters beneficial. Miss Bingley was much struck by the idea and assured me they would go to Bath forthwith.

  ‘Let it be soon,’ I said, ‘for he will never recover without drinking the waters,’ and she was forced to agree.

  Mr Bingley is looking for an estate of his own. I advised him that he should look no further than Surrey. He said that he did not know if he would like the place but I told him he would like it very well: people in trade are always fond of Surrey.

  Lady Catherine

  Mr Darcy to Lady Adelaide Fitzwilliam

  Pemberley, Derbyshire, March 20

  I have had a letter from Lady Catherine and she raises a subject close to my thoughts at the moment, saying that she thinks I should set up a separate establishment for Georgiana in London. I have thought of it often recently but I have done nothing about it as I like to have my sister here at Pemberley when she is not at school. It is her home and she is very fond of it. I must also confess that I
do not like to think of the place without her. But she is old enough now to leave school, and although it is one thing for her to spend the holidays at Pemberley, it is quite another for her to live here alone, for I cannot always be in Derbyshire.

  If she had an establishment in London, she would have plenty of company all year round. There are always aunts, uncles and cousins in town on business or pleasure, and she would also have the parks, the picture galleries and the museums of London to educate and entertain her. I am more often in town than in Derbyshire and she would have my company then, as she would have it every summer when she would join me at Pemberley.

  Let me have your thoughts on the matter; you know how much I value your opinion. I do my best for her, but it is at times like these that I realise how little I know about raising a child—or a young lady, I should say, for Georgiana is a child no longer—and I need advice.

  Your affectionate nephew,

  Fitzwilliam

  Miss Anne de Bourgh to Miss Georgiana Darcy

  Rosings Park, Kent, March 23

  Dearest Georgiana,

  How good it was to see you last week. How Ullswater made me laugh! And you are grown so talented. Your watercolour of the Thames was the prettiest thing you have done, and I am not surprised your brother wants to hang it in the drawing room. I wish I could learn to paint but Mama says that I am not well enough and that the lessons would fatigue me. I am sure they would not. However, I take my sketchbook out of doors whenever I can and I think the fresh air does me good, though Mama says it is injurious to my health.

  We were sorry to miss your brother but your friends the Bingleys seem pleasant people. Mr Bingley is very handsome, is he not? And so good-humoured. What a change it was to hear someone who was pleased with everyone and everything, saying that London was the finest place in creation, full of the most interesting gentlemen and the prettiest ladies. I liked his sisters less, but you know them better than I do and I must confess they were very elegant—even Mama said they were well dressed for people whose family are in trade.