Any suggestions for what Darcy should call his cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam? I know the canon tradition is to call him Richard though I believe Austen never provides his first name.
For as long as I can remember, I have always been facinated by string, rope, thread or anything that I can unwind. Perhaps Nanny Stewart first noticed? I remember that in the nursery there was one cupboard entirely filled with every variety of things that could be unwound. Nothing delighted me more than unwinding. Sometimes it was the mere action of making a pile and watching what had been a compact and organised substance become a hill of twists and turns. Sometimes it was seeing how long it could reach, with me laying out long lines of the stuff. Sometimes it was me winding it aound Nanny Stewart's outstretched hands. Sometimes it was throwing a bundle and seeing what it could catch on.
My mother used to save me embroidery thread and long ribbons, but I was especially excited when she brought me a long piece of rope.
When I was young I had no hesitation in playing with my snakes and worms as I called them. I had not a care as to who saw me with them, but now I know this is yet another example of my oddity. Certainly twine and such are useful, but no other person would ever consider playing with the stuff.
Nanny Hayes screeched when she first entered the nursery and found yarn all over the floor. The sound was deafening and hurt my ears which are unusually sensitive. One of her first decisions was to throw almost all of my worms away. She did keep the biggest snake, but it was used on me, instead of by me.
My mother took to smuggling small bits of the stuff to me. A kind nursery maid that cared for me when Nanny Hayes was abed, kept my favorites in one sleeve of her uniform. She would give me a new one each night and I would furtively play with it by the light of the moon. Sometimes I would store a fragment in my sock.
I don't know if my father knew of my predilection when I was first sent to the stable to receive instruction in riding. I was left alone for a few minutes and liberated a long coil of rope from the wall. I was seeing how long it would reach when my father arrived for his morning ride or perhaps to observe my lesson. I did not hear him enter, so absorbed was I in finally being able to again engage in an activity that I craved. "Fitzwilliam" he said and I looked up from where I was crouching on the floor. His voice was calm and measured. "Do you know how to tie ropes?"
I shook my head no.
"A boy cannot play in the way you are. Only idiots do such. But if you want to learn to tie the knots that sailors do, that would be acceptable." He did not wait for me to respond as he took the rope from my hands and began rolling it up. "If you do well at your riding lessons, I will find someone to teach you, but I must never again catch you as I have done today."
I nodded.
I must have done well enough with my riding. It helped that my instructor expected actions rather than words from me. I liked learning to command the horse, the smell of the stable, the horse's warm hide and my shiny boots. I liked being away from Nanny Hayes more.
A house servant whose uncle was a ship hand began teaching me to tie knots on Nanny Hayes's half day. My hands were awkward, but he was patient. It must have been easier for him to spend time instructing Master Darcy, rather than doing his other duties. And best of all after a lesson he would let me play with the ropes in whichever manner I chose while he lounged on my nursery floor and ate my biscuits. But he must have had firm instructions never to leave the ropes behind.
My father accompanied him one day and seemed pleased when I showed him the knots I could make. "Well done," he told me. "We'll make a gentleman of you yet." The rope tying lessons ended shortly thereafter, when Mr. Stowbaugh began. My father never caught me using rope improperly again.
I still like string, rope, ribbons and such, but you won't catch me playing with them. I do keep a bit of twine in my pocket, nestled under my pocket handkerchief, but only deign to pull it out when I am alone. The piece is only a few inches long and not really good for anything. I can still tie expert knots, but I usually do not practice those. Whether I simply run it between my fingers or loop it around my bedpost, I imagine it endless, filling my whole room.
I see snakes and worms all around me. After all, what are roads if not giant serpents undulating into the distance? What are candles but worms imprisoned in wax? Even a woman's shining tresses are the finest of worms and become snakes when braided. Miss Elizabeth's hair is always properly arranged in my presence, but I understand that husbands see their wives with their hair down. I would like to run my fingers through her dark locks and coil a curl around my fingers.
