Fitz and I were nine at the time, I recall. (Oh, how he loathes that name! That is, of course, the reason I use it so frequently.) Mr. Darcy, then the master of the estate, told the two of us to go and take a swim outside in the pond as the weather was so agreeable. My father, then the steward, gave me permission, so Fitz and I collected our bathing clothes and went out to the grounds.
There was a lovely pond in an elm grove- large and deep, perfect for swimming. Fitz and I donned our bathing clothes and slid into the water.
Now, we were at that tender age on good terms, so we engaged in spray fights and laughter and racing competitions. I was always a better swimmer than he, and won most of the time.
"You lose again, Fitz," I teased, treading water.
He laughed, still breathing hard, and splashed me. "I hate it when you call me that."
I splashed him back. "That is why I do, Fitz. Shall we race again?"
"No, I have had my fill of races. What else shall we do?"
I looked around, then spied our piles of clothes on the bank.
"Why don't we drop something into the pond?" I suggested. "We could wait for it to settle on the bottom, and then one of us would go and retrieve it. It is not too deep for it to be excessively dangerous."
Fitz looked uncertain.
"You're not afraid, are you?" I knew (and still do know) just how to push Fitz's buttons. Sure enough, he set his jaw.
"Very well. What did you have in mind to drop?"
I thought for a moment. "What about my shirt? It is white, so it can be easily seen, and if I place a rock in it, it will be weighty enough to sink, but not heavy enough to be cumbersome."
He appeared hesitant, probably about the idea of me releasing my shirt into the pond with a pebble in it. To relieve him of his mental quandary, I proceeded to scramble up the bank, retrieve my shirt, tie a small rock into one of the sleeves, swim out to the middle of the pond, and let go.
Billowing, the shirt sank. Fitz watched it descend.
The pond was deeper than it seemed. Fitz informed me that he did not think this game safe.
"Oh, you are afraid, Fearless Fitz," I smirked. He scowled.
"But," I added languidly, "If you wish, I will go first."
I took a deep breath, and dived.
The water was colder than I thought, and deeper than it looked. I was not, however, going to face Fitz without the shirt- so, after much kicking and holding of breath and praying not to pass out, I grabbed the shirt and broke the surface, gasping and shaking the wet hair from my eyes.
"I have it," I croaked, brandishing the sodden shirt. "It s your turn."
Fitz didn't look like he wanted to, but I dropped the shirt anyway, back into the depths of the water, and grinned.
"I shall tease you the rest of the day if you do not try," I threatened playfully, and he sighed.
"Fine. Tell me when."
I waited a few seconds, drawing out the moment and watching his expression grow more uncomfortable, then when I judged the shirt to have sunk deeply enough, gestured with as good a bow as I could make while treading water.
"Now."