- 'What on earth do you think you are doing, Johnson?' cried an angry Fitzwilliam Darcy
Daniel Johnson took a step back and rubbed both his hands. He was a short bulky young man, with a broken brow. Taylor and Nelson – the biggest brutes Darcy had ever met (and that was a thing coming from the wilds in Derbyshire) – were forcefully holding a couple of young men against a wall, while Johnson laughed and hit them barehanded.
- 'It is none of your business, Darcy. These stinky shits think themselves well above their station. They daydream about being welcome here…'
He accompanied his words with a blow to one of the blonds and, just a few seconds later, the future master of Pemberley knocked him down. Taylor released a very battered man to defend Johnson and faced Darcy, only to be lying on the floor less than a minute later. Darcy was well trained in boxing and fencing. He couldn't thank his father enough for being so insistent upon it. Nelson being outnumbered tried to escape, but once he stopped holding the third lad, the second unknown man struck him in the face. Not able to stand anymore, the unknown man rested his back against the wall and let out a sigh of relief.
Darcy had a short look at the state of the blonds before he stepped on top of Nelson's throat. He then made clear that such behaviour wasn't to be tolerated and asked him to remember that his grandfather and his uncle were very influential Earls. He then proceeded to release the cad, who put as much distance as possible between them. He took a deep breath, helped both men to stand up and arranged his cravat.
- 'Could we know who we our saviour is?'
- 'Darcy, Fitzwilliam Darcy.'
A look passed between the two youngest.
- 'But, of course… Mr Darcy. I am, a forever indebted, Theodore Bennet.'
- 'My pleasure. Enough is enough: they have been trying to bully everyone since they put their feet on this College. And you are, sir?'
- 'Charles Bingley, to serve, Mr Darcy.'
They shacked hands and walked back to the dormitories. From that day until their graduation in Cambridge, they were inseparable: Fitzwilliam was all poise, Charles all liveliness and Theodore all bantering.