by Kara Louise
Mr. Hannington, his teacher, was very formal in his manners and was of the firm conviction that the only truly significant achievement in life was the pursuit of knowledge. He willingly and gladly imparted his knowledge to my master.
It was fortunate for Mr. Hannington, as well as his lone student, that my master had an insatiable desire to learn; applying himself to his studies and going well beyond what was required of him. He and Mr. Hannington engaged in frequent discussions that ranged from history, current politics, economics, literature, and a myriad of other subjects.
My master was very grateful that he was allowed to be educated at home. For over ten years he was an only child, and his parents did not seem inclined to send him away to school. However, he acknowledged if they had not found Mr. Hannington, who had excellent credentials and in whom his parents had complete trust, there was always the prospect that he would be sent away.
Looking back, he confided in me, he believed it was a most providential decision to be allowed to be educated at home, as he would have most likely been away when his sister was born and would not have the opportunity to cultivate the close relationship with her as he had now. There was also the matter of his mother's recent death. My master reflected that had he been away when she had taken ill, he may not have been able to return home to Pemberley in time to see her before she departed for her eternal home and be there for his father and sister in their grief.
*~*~*
There was another struggle with which my master appeared to do battle. I recall evenings at Pemberley after he had retired for the night that he would be most grievously angry and resentful. He would toss and turn and betray a great sense of unrest, feelings erupting that he apparently strove to suppress throughout the day.
One evening, after he had spent the greater part of the day out with his father, he and I retired to his chambers. As he and I climbed the stairway, his posture and manner were stiff and the features of his face were firmly set in a mask-like countenance, much like that day he fought back his tears as he talked to me about his mother. I watched in fascination and fear as, with each step up the stairs we took, his true feelings became exceedingly exposed to me. I saw that he was especially provoked and I thought it prudent to keep a guarded distance from him until he had either calmed himself or invited me into the sphere of his confidence and presence, which I hoped he ultimately would do.
After incessantly pacing the room in agonizing silence, he suddenly blurted out, "I cannot believe Father is taken in by his falsehoods. He is nothing but a liar and a manipulative deceit and a..." Suddenly he appeared at a loss for words and he stopped, wiping his brow with the sleeve of his shirt.
His young face seemed to take on the features of an adult as he gazed off with a look of disgust. I took my place upon his bed and watched and listened, wishing there was something I could do to soothe my master.
He finally came and sat at the edge of the bed next to me. His hand absently came over and I looked forward with anticipation a soothing combing of my fur with his fingers. But as he began speaking, the intensity of his anger was conveyed through his hands and I received quite a vigorous kneading, instead.
"He has the impudence to tell Father how disciplined he is in his studies and how well he applies himself. My father has exceeded his duty towards him to secure him the finest schooling, yet I have seen how he neglects his studies in favour of carousing and unrestrained behaviour. His conduct and words exhibit that he is nothing but a scoundrel!"
I sat as motionless and wary as a trapped rabbit, as his hand grasped a handful of fur around my neck at this outburst. He turned, and looking at me, quickly let go. "I am sorry, Reggie. Did I hurt you?" His voice was filled with remorse and his chest heaved in and out as he attempted to calm himself. "He is no longer the friend I once had. I comprehend a darker side of him that Father does not see because he is blinded by his charms. I think perhaps Father does not want to see it because of his love for him."
I knew precisely of whom he was talking.
George Wickham. He was the son of the elder Mr. Darcy's steward and but a year my master's junior. The elder Mr. Darcy loved him almost as deeply as a second son. However, I was witness to this young man's duplicitous personality. He treated my master with contempt and scorn, all the while flattering and being most convincingly amiable to his father, from whom he hoped to receive condescension, education, and the promise of a patronage.
Not only did I determine that this rake had no redeeming qualities, but his dog lacked them as well. Storm was a black and brown dog of various and questionable breeding. He was much larger and stronger than I. The dog had a definite mean streak to him and I would not be surprised if Wickham ruthlessly encouraged and purposely trained him to be the vicious creature that he is.
It was apparent that most of the staff at Pemberley were fearful of this dog and Wickham had been told repeatedly to keep him either locked up or kept to the leash. But those admonitions to Wickham did not prevent him from taking Storm out on the grounds of Pemberley and, whilst off away from the house and the eyes of the elder Mr. Darcy, letting him off the leash. It was one of those occasions that I encountered them for the first time.
My master and I had been having a very pleasant stroll through the grounds at Pemberley. He had released me from the leash and I ran up ahead of him, stopped, and waited for him to draw near. At a small incline, I scampered up and suddenly found myself face to face with a large dog that was boldly baring his fangs and growling quite viciously.
I admit that I am not so exceedingly brave in the company of a dog almost twice my size, but I do have the very preferable trait of admiral loyalty towards my master, so I did what any loyal dog would do. I planted my paws firmly on the ground, gave a few convincing growls, bared my teeth back at this menacing creature, and kept at the ready for any indication on his part that he would attack. I bravely took a step forward, the fur on my back standing up on end, and turned my keenest attentions toward him lest he make any threatening movement.
Storm was not fooled by my feigned fearlessness. He took a step toward me and we were suddenly locked in a stare.
"Reggie," my master called out. "Come."
I was torn between obeying my master and continuing my protective stance. "Reggie," he repeated, this time more firmly.
We were both startled when suddenly, from out of the bushes off the road, a figure emerged. He looked to be about the same age and height as my master, but there was something definitely less refined about him and the iniquitous look upon his face did not settle well with me.
"Storm!" the young man called and the dog reluctantly turned and brought himself to the young man's side.
"Well, Darcy, it appears your little dog is either terribly foolish or has delusions of grandeur, attempting to engage Storm in a contest. I do not think your little dog would have fared well." I was quite convinced that the smirk on his face was at my expense.
"Wickham, you know your dog is not allowed to run free."
"Oh, come, Darcy. The dog cannot always be penned up. Your hound is allowed to run free. I don't see why Storm cannot."
"You know why not, Wickham. Even you can comprehend they are completely different dogs. Yours is wild and uncontrolled. Good Lord, he frightened Georgiana as well as her nanny when she had been playing on her swing. The dog is a menace and must be kept locked up!"
"You are making far too great a fuss about this incident with Georgiana. If you ask me, she is far too coddled and protected. If you continue to treat her in this manner, she will never know the real dangers in the world. You and your father will not always be with her."
Shivers coursed through my body at his ill-mannered comments about Georgiana. I could only be thankful that she was as young as she was and would have only limited society with the likes of Wickham.
I turned and looked upward at my master. Reigning in his anger, he spoke very commandingly, "How we choose to raise Georgiana is none of your concern, Wi
ckham."
"And what I do with Storm is none of yours!"
"I would argue that point, Wickham. You have been told on several occasions to keep the dog locked up."
"By everyone but your father and I do not think he would insist on it. I believe that walking Storm out on the grounds unleashed would be perfectly acceptable to him as long as I am with him."
"I doubt that, Wickham. You may have charmed your way into Father's acceptance, but you do not fool me. I will not have you endangering others with that dog of yours!"
The two young men stared intently at each other.
Finally breaking the stare, Wickham gave a disdainful sneer at Darcy and then turned to me, letting out a scornful laugh. "That thing you call a hunting dog is rather pathetic," he decried. "Only good for chasing out pheasant from behind a bush, whereas mine," he angrily attached the leash to Storm and gave it a decidedly strong yank, inciting a yelp, "will take on anything. Strong as a bull and has not an ounce of fear in him. I only need say the word and he will attack at my command. If anyone crosses me, they will live to regret it."
The look on Wickham's face seemed almost a threat, but my master held his ground. "I give you warning, Wickham! Leave him on the leash, or you may one day come home to discover this menace gone."
Wickham narrowed his eyes at Darcy. "Come near this dog, Darcy, and you'll be sorry."
Wickham turned to walk away, giving Storm a severe yank with the leash. Storm followed him, but not before baring his teeth again. My master and I watched them until they were out of sight and then we turned to one another. I believe the same thought crossed our mind. Storm was mean-spirited because of the way Wickham mistreated and abused him, no doubt the same way he treats people.
That night my master was still uncollected from his encounter with Wickham. It appeared to me that my master wished to mollify me and needed to explain his relationship with this Wickham. His words seemed to indicate a wish to apologize for the ordeal we went through that afternoon.
"That was a rough encounter this afternoon, boy. Storm can be quite intimidating and Wickham can be quite threatening, but I will never let either of them harm you."
My master let out a deep, long sigh. "I just do not understand it, Reggie. From the time we were both walking, George and I were good friends. We would spend hours exploring the grounds of Pemberley and he treated me as well as any good friend would. But he has grown appallingly undisciplined and more deceitful." He spoke softly and with much deliberation. "I cannot trust him anymore. Whatever good opinion I once held of him has been lost forever."
From that day on, whenever my master exhibited traces of anger, I could usually attribute it to something that Wickham had said or done.
I came to learn that the only other person in my young master's life who gave him great cause for agitation was his aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh.
It was spring, and his cousin, Richard Fitzwilliam, who was a few years older, was making what had become a yearly journey to see her at Easter. Lady Catherine’s husband had passed several years before, and her nephew had taken it upon himself to pay his respects each year. This year he invited my master to come along, as the two had become not only close cousins, but good friends.
I became aware of some ongoing discussion on whether or not I should accompany them. The argument in my favour was that my master and I were quite inseparable and I was, as my master proudly pointed out, exceedingly well behaved. We walked into the library one evening where his father was seated at his desk engaged in reading a book.
This was my first time to enter that sacred room where the elder Mr. Darcy spent a great deal of his time whilst at Pemberley. As we entered, I could certainly understand why. It had a very woodsy smell, (I quite had to keep reminding myself we were indoors and these large wooden bookcases were not trees!) The whole room had a strong, dark feel and scent to it and I believed I would have been quite content to spend much of my time idling here as I presume Mr. Darcy does.
My musings were interrupted by my master's voice.
"Father, I should like to talk with you about taking Reggie with me when Cousin Richard and I travel to Rosings."
"There is no need for Reggie to join you. He will fare adequately here without you. Besides, this is your first visit alone with your cousin. I do not feel it would be wise."
"But Father," my master pleaded, "At least if Reggie accompanies me, Cousin and I shall have some other pleasant company among us."
His father shut the book that he held within his lap and sharply looked up. "Fitzwilliam! You do not speak about your mother's only sister in that manner!"
My master steeled himself and took in a deep breath. "Father, if I may speak openly."
"Son?"
"Lady Catherine… she overwhelms me with her smothering attention, angers me with her critical assessment of everyone else, and completely frustrates me with her insistence that I am to marry her daughter!" I watched as my young master's voice gradually raised and he began to exhibit signs of desperation. He concluded with, "You know how she is."
I looked over to his father, wondering exactly how she was.
By the manner in which his father's jaw tightened, I was convinced that he inwardly agreed with my master. I could not help but notice that he did not address his son's comments about his aunt. "Compose yourself, Son. Personally, I have no quarrel with you taking Reggie. But I cannot guarantee that she will tolerate an animal roaming about her house. If he accompanies you, your aunt may insist that Reggie be kept penned up outdoors."
With that bit of news, my ears slumped and I dropped my head to the floor, resting it upon my front paws. From what I heard my master say about her, I was not quite sure I was going to feel any affection for Lady Catherine de Bourgh. Lifting only my eyes, I peered up at my master.
"I am aware of that, Father. I should like to take him all the same. I believe that once she sees how well behaved he is, she will make allowances."
Glancing over to his father, I watched him nod his head. "Yes, I believe you may be correct, but not because of Reggie's impeccable behaviour." I narrowed my eyebrows at this. "On the contrary, knowing her astute fondness for you, Son, I believe she may accommodate your wish for Reggie to at least remain in your chambers." He picked up his book and looked down at the page. "If I were you, I would not hope for any more than that."
"Then… you will allow me to have him accompany us?"
"I will allow it if your cousin agrees to it. He is the one who will have to suffer a full day's ride in the carriage with the animal."
"Thank you, Father. Thank you!"
He turned to me and ruffled the fur on my head. "I am sure he should have no objection! Reggie, you will be joining me on my first visit to Rosings with Cousin Richard!"
"There is no need for such an uncontrolled display, Son." His father said impassively. "Calm yourself."
My master took in a deep breath and straightened his stance. "Yes, Father."
We both walked out calmly and I took one last glance at the room and inhaled deeply, hoping to preserve that very appealing scent in my memory. As soon as he closed the door to the library behind us, my master dropped all formalities, leaned over and patted his upper legs, signifying it was permissible for me to jump up with my front paws. When I did, he vigorously rubbed both sides of my head with his hands and told me, "You do not know what your presence there will mean to me, Reggie! You have no idea how relieved I am!"
He turned to walk toward his chambers and I followed. "Come, we must prepare ourselves for the great Lady Cat!"
As he walked ahead, I was planted in my position, unable to move. I was not quite sure I liked that fact that she was referred to as a cat. After a brief moment, I felt myself a trifle more composed and followed my master, anxious to hear what more he had to say about her.
Chapter 3
After it was settled that I would be accompanying my master to Rosings, he told me more than I wished to know about his aunt.
I must admit that when the time drew close for our departure, I believed her to be a most daunting, yet interesting woman. I looked forward to making her acquaintance with a hearty curiosity tempered with a healthy dose of fear.
A few nights before we were to leave, I was situated comfortably in my favourite place upon my master’s bed, eager for whatever bit of conversation he was willing to furnish.
“Reggie,” he looked at me intently, as he closed the book he had been reading and set it upon the table. “I must warn you that upon our initial arrival, my aunt will talk wildly about how pleased she is that we have arrived, quickly inquire after us but not wait for our responses, and then proceed to bring us into her drawing room where her daughter Anne will be waiting to acknowledge us. Anne will only be allowed to visit a short while, due to her frail health, and will be required to return to her chambers. My aunt will then begin a long tirade about her own ailments, bemoan profusely on how little she is appreciated, and enlighten us as to the tremendous amount of effort she puts forth to bring about resolutions to the disharmony among the cottagers.” He let out a deep breath as he sarcastically unleashed this portrayal of his aunt.
He extinguished the last candle and fell upon the bed next to me. Bringing his hand over and gently stroking my fur, he continued, “As a young boy, I was unquestionably frightened by her. She is an imposing woman, tall with a very commanding voice. She does not tolerate her opinions and judgments contradicted or challenged.”
I rolled over onto my back and he obligingly began scratching my belly. “And I find her completely unreasonable in her assertions, more often than not.” He shifted onto his side and I could see in the dimness of the room that he was looking towards me. “Father says I must never disagree with her; that I must show her the deepest respect.” He sighed deeply. “Sometimes I am so wearied by her words and complaints that I can barely wait to excuse myself from her presence.”