Page 28 of A Quiet Affection

His upright behavior had built for himself a fine mansion in heaven, and he would go to finally see it.

Fitzwilliam was a worthy heir. A great successor. A man who might be superior to his father. Tall, clever, dutiful, and determined. Kind as shown by his consistent support for the blind girl, though Mr. Darcy did not see that as having so much importance. Fitzwilliam read too much, and thought too much, but Mr. Darcy had already seen that his son knew to put aside such things when there was an important responsibility.

From London he wrote a letter to Fitzwilliam. He had in fact thought about not doing so, but a stray thought recalled how the boy had been after Lady Anne died. It would not be kind to him for this to come as a complete surprise.

Mr. Darcy did not wish for his son to lose the benefit of his travels on the continent, a journey on which Mr. Darcy had laid out more than a thousand pounds to ensure that all aspects of it would be properly grand. A voyage that was the more interesting, though less polishing, for being in Russia and Sweden rather than France and the German princedoms—he insisted to Fitzwilliam that there was no need for him to worry at present, and that he likely would live for many months more, and that there would be ample time for Fitzwilliam to finish his travels before returning.

Even if heshoulddie before Fitzwilliam returned, all important matters could be postponed or managed tolerably by Mr. Wickham. This Mr. Darcy mentioned in his letter, to make certain that Fitzwilliam would not have any anxiety on account of his duties to the estate that would cause him to return early.

Mr. Darcy could see no other consideration that would do so.

Despite what he wrote to his son, Mr. Darcy had concerns about Mr. Wickham. Since the death of his wife, his old friendhad begun to drink heavily, eat less, and neglect his own care. He had abandoned all business except that which connected to the Darcy estate, which allowed the other chief lawyer in the neighborhood, Mr. Clarke, to expand his practice. While he still fulfilled his duties with the same precision, cleverness, and attention to detail that had always marked his old friend’s work, Mr. Darcy saw that much had died in him with Mrs. Wickham.

Upon returning to Pemberley, Mr. Darcy immediately spoke with Mr. Wickham about his predicted doom. His old friend had been the only man, besides his doctors, who had been informed about his condition, and the gentleman had expected the news which his friend gave him.

“Soon, soon there will only be the new generation.” That was what Mr. Wickham said, and he poured Mr. Darcy a glass of brandy so that they could toast the new generation. “I’ll not be long for this world after you are gone.”

“Do not say that,” Mr. Darcy replied with some concern.

“No, no, I feel it in my bones. These bones are old. I am five years your senior, and I have lived too long. I’ll have no reason to live when my dearest friend is gone, and my wife gone as well.”

“What about George?”

“George. Lord, he is such a difficult son. Too much like my wife. Too much like her. But he neither listens to me, nor depends upon me. I’ll not drag out my life forhim.”

“You surely do not mean to kill yourself!” Mr. Darcy replied with great concern.

“No, no. Nothing to peril my immortal soul. But I barely remember to eat at present, and I drink too much. I’ll not force myself to give what care I still do to my body when you are gone.”

“You ought to.” Mr. Darcy replied, “I have always loved you. It makes me sadder to hear you say this than it does to know that I shall die. You know that.”

“And I have loved you, sincerely. But our times come. It is the Almighty who chooses.”

“At least you have George. And at least he is a man.”

“He gives me debts to deal with. Just like his mother.” Mr. Wickham replied, “I’d hoped to set a little aside for him now that she is gone. But it shall not be possible.”

“But not so much?” Mr. Darcy asked. “I mean to do a great deal for him. You need not worry.”

“I do not, and I shall not. No, my worries for my son are of a different nature. But I am old, old. I cannot choose but be old. Like old Falstaff said, we have heard the chimes at midnight.”

Mr. Wickham drank back the rest of his tumbler and poured himself another.

“That we have, that we have, that we have in faith.” Mr. Darcy echoed what he thought was the line replying to Falstaff.

He sipped at the brandy. The nature of his illness made it such that he found the consumption of alcohol extremely unpleasant. But there was nowhere he would prefer to be, and there was no one who he would rather be with, than his dearest living friend.

His life had been good. He had lived as he ought to, and there was nothing to regret. Not in any way.

“I mean to,” Mr. Darcy said, “give George the ability to marry Jane immediately. I do not wish to make them wait. I wish to see them happily married, settled near and enjoying the joy of married life while I am still alive and able to find delight in the sight of their happiness. I think there is nothing else that I can wish now.”

Mr. Wickham was quiet. He drank the rest of his liquor.

That man was wondering if he should speak ill of the character of his son. He liked Jane Bennet and suspected that it would not be a good thing for her to be married to his son. Yet, except for the debts that George had begged for him to pay, Mr. Wickham knew no positive evil of him. What worried his father was only the way that he spoke of women in general and his determination to never let a woman treat him the way that Mr. Wickham had permitted his wife to treat him.

They had not been good examples for the boy.

Another glass of the liquor was poured. He saw Mr. Darcy’s concern, but so long as he lived long enough to be a comfort for his old friend until he was buried, and perhaps also long enough to see Master Fitzwilliam well settled as the Mr. Darcy of Pemberley, he would be happier dead.