He lay for a moment, blinking and trying to clear his head, then he rang for Lawson who brought coffee and shaving water.
By the time he went down and knocked on Dicky's door he felt half-way human. "I don't know how you can read these things," he said as he took up his seat near the bed.
"How else am I going to know all the gory details of Sawney Bean, the Scottish Cannibal and Hatfield, the Keswick imposter?" said Meopham reasonably. "You look better, how did you sleep?"
"Apart from the sensation that my teeth had their own little waistcoats, excellently. What did you give me?"
"A few drops of my laudanum - and don't look like that. I know you, you can be trusted not to make a habit of it." He started to cough, his whole body shaking and Bridger hurried in and administered various liquids until the spasms died down and he was sent off for more coffee.
"Is there truly nothing I can do for you, Dicky?"
"Actually, there is. I've made you executor of my will. This place belongs to me, it's not part of the entail, and I've left it to you."
"What about your family?"
"Father's still drinking himself to death and my revolting brother is just hanging round waiting for one or both of us to die, so he can get his hands on whatever's left."
"And your sister?"
Meopham sighed, which started the cough again. "Once they realised I wasn't poxed, that Friday-faced, canting Methody she married allowed her to visit me - once. She only married him because Father said she must and because she knew he wasn't a drunkard or a gamester. Turns out he's nothing but a cheese-paring, pinchpenny. Anything I left her would go in his pockets and never come out. He's one of those fat, gasping, purple-faced men and she should outlast him - I know I can trust you to see she gets it. If she doesn't - her daughter can have it. Pretty little thing, looks like our mother. There's enough income from it to keep them in comfort."
Darcy took Meopham's hand in his. "I'll see to it. I promise."
"And promise you won't go adding to it, because you feel sorry for them. That's not why I asked you."
"Very well, I promise that too."
"Can you keep an eye on Bridger for me too? I can't bear this much longer. It won't be long before I take too much of that stuff and just slip away. I hope it gets taken for an accident, but if it doesn't - make sure he doesn't get blamed, will you? I've left him a little money and you know what kind of mind my brother has."
"Anything, Dicky, you know that."
"Oh ho, there's a dangerous promise. Very well, I want you to find a pretty girl and dance with her. I want you to do three things you enjoy every day and I want you let yourself enjoy them. I want you to tell your relations to mind their own businesses and I want you to find someone to talk to. Your trouble is, there's no one in your life to tell you when you're behaving like a gudgeon."
"I'm beginning to regret making those prom..." began Darcy in mock-offence but Meopham interrupted.
"No you're not. You're a good man, Fitz. You'll do your best for me, I know that. You always have, ever since I tore the seat out of my breeches climbing over the college walls after lock-up, and you saved me from the proctor."
"I had to, I'd bet Walsingham twenty guineas you wouldn't get send down before Christmas."
Meopham struggled into a more upright position, his eyes sparking. "I thought it was pure altruism."
"Well, perhaps not pure."
"Says the man who ran the Dean's drawers up the flagpole. That was you, wasn't it? I've always wondered - how on earth did you get hold of them."
Darcy lent back in his chair. "Well, there was a housemaid...."
"You didn't!"
"Certainly not! She had three teeth and hadn't bathed since the Gordon Riots. Ten bob and half a pound of marchpane and up the flagpole they went. The best of it was, they suspected Wickham!"
They both roared with laughter and passed the day in reminiscence, interspersed with an excellent steak, cherry tarts and the last of Meopham's good brandy. When he took his leave the next day, Darcy knew he'd never see his friend again.
He knew he ought to go to Alfreston Hall, it was only two weeks to Christmas and he was expected, but he knew he had insufficient control of his temper to listen to his Uncle Matlock complaining that he would not join in the enclosure of Lambton Common, so he went back to Pemberley.
As usual, Mrs Reynolds was touchingly glad to see him, his apartments were warm and quiet and all the little news of the estate was good. Mrs Wallace of Glebe Farm had given birth to a healthy little girl, despite her age, and he called round with the customary gifts and found the whole family, including her older brothers who were nearly men, besotted with the infant. He had always assumed he would have children one day, but the sight of the little crumpled face in the lace bonnet touched something inside him and he was, perhaps, more effusive in his congratulations than was his custom. He left, pleasantly warmed by sloe gin and christening cake, and determined to go and collect his sister a few days early so that they could do the Christmas rounds together.