Chapter 2 - Departures and Devotions
Pemberley was unusually busy that morning, two large trunks were in the hallway outside the nursery. Two maids were sorting through clothing, making final checks against the extensive list of items required by Eton. Fitzwilliam stood at the door to the nursery. He would not be returning to it soon - Father said that when he came home for Christmas, he would have his own room. Not that it made much difference, since he was an only child the nursery had always been quiet. But Father said it was important to respect tradition.
Mrs Reynolds came down the corridor towards him. "Master Fitzwilliam - the tailor is here to for your fitting."
Fitzwilliam jumped at being caught hanging about, "Yes, Mrs Reynolds!"
"Lady Anne will join you presently." Mrs Reynolds called after him as he ran down the hall.
Fitzwilliam slowed down a few steps away from the door. His aunt, Lady Catherine's voice telling him that gentlemen did not run.
Fitzwilliam entered the room, consciously trying to emulate his father's dignified gait. The tailor, a thin man with spectacles perched on his nose, bowed slightly.
"Young Master Darcy," he said, "if you'll step up here, we'll begin the fitting."
As Fitzwilliam stood on the small platform, the tailor began to measure and pin the new school uniform. The dark fabric felt stiff and formal, so unlike the comfortable clothes he was used to wearing around Pemberley.
The door opened, and Lady Anne entered, her face lighting up at the sight of her son.
"Oh, Fitzwilliam," she said, her voice soft with emotion, "you look so grown up."
Fitzwilliam stood a little straighter, pleased by his mother's approval. But before he could respond, another voice cut through the air.
"Nonsense, Anne. The boy looks like a scarecrow in that ill-fitting jacket."
Mrs Darcy swept into the room, her critical gaze fixed on Fitzwilliam. "Stand up straight, boy. And tuck in your chin. A Darcy must always present a dignified appearance."
Fitzwilliam felt his cheeks burn as he tried to follow his grandmother's instructions. He saw his mother's smile fade, replaced by a look of quiet resignation.
"Mrs Darcy," Lady Anne began, her tone respectful but with a hint of tension, "the tailor has only just started—"
"Which is precisely why he needs proper guidance," Mrs Darcy interrupted. She turned to the tailor. "The shoulders need to be broader. We can't have him looking like a weakling at Eton."
As the tailor hurried to make the adjustments, Fitzwilliam caught his mother's eye. She gave him a small, encouraging smile, but he could see the strain in her face. He straightened his back even more, determined to make both his mother and grandmother proud, even as he felt the weight of their expectations settling onto his young shoulders along with the new jacket.
As the tailor continued his work, the door opened once more. Mr Darcy entered, followed by a man Fitzwilliam recognized as his father's steward, Mr Wickham. Behind them came a boy about Fitzwilliam's age, with bright eyes and an easy smile.
"Ah, good, we're not too late," Mr Darcy said. He nodded to his son. "Fitzwilliam, you remember Mr Wickham. And this is his son, George. He'll be joining you at Eton this year."
Fitzwilliam blinked in surprise. He hadn't known another boy would be going to school with him. George Wickham stepped forward, his smile widening.
"Hello," George said, his voice confident and friendly. "It's good to meet you properly. I've seen you around the estate, of course."
Before Fitzwilliam could respond, Mrs Darcy interjected, her tone sharp. "Mr Darcy, surely you don't mean to send the steward's son to Eton alongside Fitzwilliam?"
Mr Darcy's expression remained impassive. "George is a bright lad, Mother. And it will be good for Fitzwilliam to have a familiar face at school."
Lady Anne stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on Fitzwilliam's shoulder. "I think it's a wonderful idea," she said, her voice warm. "Fitzwilliam, why don't you show George your new uniform while the tailor finishes up?"
Grateful for the distraction, Fitzwilliam nodded. As he stepped down from the platform, he noticed George eyeing the fine fabric of the uniform with a mixture of admiration and something else—was it envy?
"Do you have your uniform yet?" Fitzwilliam asked, suddenly aware of the difference in their stations.
George shook his head, his smile faltering slightly. "Not yet. Father says we'll sort it out soon."
Mr Darcy cleared his throat. "Actually, I thought we might have George fitted today as well. If that's agreeable to you, Mr Wickham?"
As the adults discussed the arrangements, Fitzwilliam found himself studying George. There was something about the other boy's easy manner that both intrigued and slightly intimidated him. But the thought of facing Repton together made the prospect seem less daunting.
"I'm glad you're coming too," Fitzwilliam said quietly, surprising himself with his honesty.
George's smile returned, brighter than ever. "Me too. I think we're going to have quite an adventure, you and I."
As the tailor called Fitzwilliam back to finish the fitting, he couldn't help but feel a spark of excitement. Perhaps going away to school wouldn't be so bad after all.
The morning of departure dawned crisp and clear. Pemberley's courtyard bustled with activity as servants loaded trunks onto the waiting carriage. Fitzwilliam stood at the top of the steps, his new uniform stiff and uncomfortable, his stomach a knot of excitement and apprehension.
Lady Anne fussed with his collar, her fingers trembling slightly. "Now, remember to write every week," she said, her voice wavering. "And mind your manners. And don't forget—"
"Anne," Mr Darcy said gently, placing a hand on his wife's shoulder. "The boy will be fine."
Fitzwilliam nodded, trying to appear more confident than he felt. "Yes, Mother. I'll remember everything."
A commotion at the gate drew their attention. The Wickhams had arrived, George practically bouncing with excitement as he leapt from their modest cart.
"Fitzwilliam!" George called, waving enthusiastically. "Can you believe it? We're actually going!"
Mrs Darcy sniffed disapprovingly. "Really, must the boy be so boisterous?"
Mr Darcy ignored his mother's comment, stepping forward to greet the Wickhams. "George, are you ready for your grand adventure?"
"Yes, sir!" George beamed, then remembered himself and attempted a more dignified bow. "Thank you again for this opportunity, Mr Darcy."
As the adults exchanged final words, Fitzwilliam and George found themselves standing side by side, watching the last of their belongings being secured to the carriage.
"Are you nervous?" George whispered, his earlier bravado slipping slightly.
Fitzwilliam hesitated, then nodded. "A little. You?"
"Terrified," George admitted with a small laugh. "But excited too. At least we'll be together, right?"
Fitzwilliam felt a warmth of friendship bloom in his chest. "Right," he agreed, managing a smile.
"It's time, boys," Mr Darcy called.
A flurry of last-minute embraces ensued. Lady Anne held Fitzwilliam tightly, whispering, "Remember, my darling, you make me proud every day." When she pulled back, her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, but she managed a brave smile.
Mr Wickham clasped his son's shoulder. "Mind yourself, George. Do credit to Mr Darcy's generosity." George nodded, his usual easy manner subdued for once.
Mrs Darcy stepped forward to give Fitzwilliam a formal embrace. "Remember you are a Darcy," she said firmly. "Conduct yourself accordingly."
As Fitzwilliam climbed into the carriage, he caught sight of his mother's face. She was smiling, but her hand was clasped tightly in his father's. George scrambled in after him, followed by Lady Anne and Mr Darcy. The older Mrs Darcy had declined to make the journey, declaring two days in a carriage excessive.
With a crack of the whip, the carriage lurched forward. As Pemberley receded into the distance, Fitzwilliam felt a curious mix of sadness and anticipation. Lady Anne's hand found his, offering a gentle squeeze.
"Well," George said, breaking the silence, his voice trying for its usual cheerfulness, "here we go. Into the unknown!"
Fitzwilliam nodded, squaring his shoulders. "Into the unknown," he echoed, as the familiar landscape of home gave way to the promise of new horizons.
The first few hours passed quietly. The rhythmic sway of the carriage and the steady clip of horses' hooves provided a gentle backdrop to Lady Anne's occasional comments about the changing landscape. George, usually so talkative, seemed lost in thought as he watched Derbyshire's familiar hills roll past.
They stopped at an inn for dinner, where Mr Darcy had arranged private rooms. As they ate, he spoke of his own school days, carefully selected stories that made both boys lean forward with interest while avoiding tales that might cause anxiety.
"Your cousins will show you the way of things," he assured Fitzwilliam. "Edward takes his responsibilities as prefect very seriously."
"Perhaps too seriously," Lady Anne added with a small smile. "Though Richard will make sure you don't lose your way."
The second day of travel brought them into unfamiliar territory. The hills of Derbyshire gave way to flatter lands, and the boys pressed their faces to the windows as they passed through towns larger than any they'd seen before.
"My father says London is even bigger," George offered, his natural enthusiasm beginning to return.
"Indeed it is," Mr Darcy replied, a hint of amusement in his voice at the boys' wonder. "Though you won't be seeing much of it. Eton boys are restricted to the college and Windsor."
"I've never been outside Derbyshire before," George admitted quietly, his eyes wide as he took in the changing landscape. "Father's business keeps him close to Pemberley."
Mr Darcy glanced at him with what might have been sympathy. "Then you shall have to write and tell him all about your adventures, Wickham. Though mind you don't neglect your studies in pursuit of them."
As afternoon approached, Lady Anne drew out a small package. "Some provisions for the journey," she said, revealing their favourite treats from Pemberley's kitchens. "Mrs Reynolds insisted you shouldn't arrive at Eton hungry."
The familiar taste of home brought a lump to Fitzwilliam's throat. George, too, seemed touched by the thoughtfulness, his "Thank you, Lady Anne" unusually subdued.
The journey from Pemberley to Eton took two long days. Fitzwilliam sat quietly in the carriage beside his mother, while George sat opposite with Mr Darcy. Lady Anne's hand would occasionally find Fitzwilliam's, offering a gentle squeeze of reassurance.
As they approached Windsor on the second afternoon, the magnificent bulk of the castle came into view, drawing gasps from both boys. Below it, nestled by the Thames, lay Eton College. Fitzwilliam caught his first glimpse of the chapel's spire, rising above ancient brick buildings.
"There it is," George whispered, pressing his face to the window. "It's enormous."
Lady Anne squeezed Fitzwilliam's hand. "Your father and I met at Windsor, did you know? At a ball during the King's birthday celebrations."
"And now our son will be just across the river," Mr Darcy added, his voice carrying a note of pride.
The carriage rattled through Eton town and into the school yard. Other carriages were arriving, disgorging boys and their parents. Fitzwilliam spotted several familiar liveries - other northern families making the same journey.
"Ah, Darcy." A tall, austere man in clerical dress approached as they descended from the carriage. "Welcome to Eton. I am Mr Hetherington." He bowed slightly to Lady Anne before continuing. "Young Master Darcy will be in my house, as discussed in our correspondence. Your nephews speak very highly of him."
His gaze shifted to George, a slight furrow appearing in his brow. "And this must be young Wickham?"
"Yes, sir," George replied, employing his most charming smile.
"Wickham will be in Mr Norbury's house," Mr Hetherington said, addressing Mr Darcy. "I believe you discussed the arrangements?"
Mr Darcy nodded, his hand resting briefly on George's shoulder. "Yes, all is arranged. Perhaps we might see both houses before…"
Lady Anne's grip on Fitzwilliam's hand tightened slightly. This was the moment they had been dreading - when the boys would be separated into different houses.
"Come," Mr Hetherington said, "Norbury's is on the other side of the yard. We'll settle young Wickham first."
Their footsteps echoed on the cobblestones as they crossed the school yard, other boys streaming around them. George walked close to Fitzwilliam, their shoulders nearly touching, both suddenly aware that these might be their last moments together before being swept into their separate new lives.
Before they reached Norbury's, Lady Anne drew them both aside, reaching into her reticule.
"Mrs Reynolds sent these specially," she said softly, pressing a small package into each boy's hands. "Your favourites - seed-cake for you, Fitzwilliam, and those honey biscuits you like, George. Something from home."
George's usual easy manner faltered for a moment. "Thank you, Lady Anne," he whispered, clutching the package tightly. Despite his best efforts to maintain his cheerful demeanour, Fitzwilliam saw his friend's fingers trembling slightly as they gripped the carefully wrapped honey biscuits - the same ones Mrs Reynolds had always given him when he visited the Pemberley kitchens.
Fitzwilliam's own package of seed-cake felt warm in his hands, a final piece of home to carry with him into this strange new world. He remembered countless afternoons taking tea with his mother, the same seed-cake served on delicate plates, her gentle voice asking about his day. Now those moments seemed precious beyond measure.
Lady Anne touched each boy's cheek in turn, a gesture so maternal that George's careful composure slipped further. "You'll both do wonderfully well," she said softly, though Fitzwilliam noticed her voice wasn't quite steady.
Mr Norbury stood at the entrance to his house, checking names off a list as new boys arrived. George squared his shoulders, attempting his characteristic grin.
"Well, Darcy," he said, his voice trying for lightness but not quite succeeding, "try not to become too proper and boring without me there to liven things up."
Fitzwilliam managed a small smile in return. "Try not to talk your way into too much trouble without me there to stop you."
Mr Darcy stepped forward to speak with Mr Norbury, while Lady Anne drew both boys close for a moment. "You'll both do wonderfully well," she whispered, though Fitzwilliam noticed her voice wasn't quite steady.
For a moment, they stood awkwardly, neither quite knowing how to say goodbye. Then George squared his shoulders, nodded once.
Mr Darcy stepped forward, his expression carefully composed. "Come, Wickham. Let's get you settled." His tone was kind but firm, reminding both boys that this moment of parting must come to an end. As he guided George toward Mr Norbury, Fitzwilliam noticed how his father's hand remained steadily on George's shoulder, offering quiet support even as he maintained the proper distance that their different stations required.
"Now then," Mr Hetherington said, "shall we see your quarters, Master Darcy?"
Fitzwilliam followed Mr Hetherington toward his house, Lady Anne's hand finding his again. Through the crowd of boys, he caught a last glimpse of his father helping George navigate the introductions to his new house master, his tall figure protective yet properly reserved.
Hetherington's was an imposing building of red brick, its windows gleaming in the afternoon sun. Inside, the oak-panelled entrance hall smelled of beeswax and leather. Other new boys were being directed up the stairs by older students, their parents following with varying degrees of anxiety and pride.
"Your trunk has already been taken up," Mr Hetherington informed them. "You'll be in the junior dormitory on the second floor. Lady Anne, Mr Darcy can rejoin you here when he's finished at Norbury's."
Fitzwilliam climbed the stairs, his mother beside him, the package of seed-cake still clutched in his hand. He thought of George, going through the same process in a different house, and wondered if his father was managing to smooth over any awkward moments with the same quiet authority he showed at home.
The junior dormitory was a long room lined with beds on either side. Most were already occupied by chattering boys, who fell silent as Fitzwilliam and Lady Anne entered. Several pairs of curious eyes followed them as Mr Hetherington led them to a bed near the window.
"This will be yours," he said. "Your trunk has been placed at the foot. Lady Anne, perhaps you'd like to help your son arrange his things while I attend to some other matters?"
Left alone, Lady Anne began helping Fitzwilliam unpack his trunk, her hands lingering on each carefully folded item. She arranged his books on the small desk beside his bed, placing his Bible prominently at the corner as she had always done at home.
"The light is good here for reading," she said softly, smoothing his bedding for the third time. "And you can see the chapel spire from your window."
Fitzwilliam nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He busied himself with arranging his writing materials, just as she had taught him. The familiar routine helped steady his hands, which had begun to tremble slightly.
"Mother," he started, then stopped, unsure what he wanted to say.
Lady Anne paused in her methodical unpacking. "Yes, my darling?"
"I…" he swallowed hard. "I'll make you proud."
She drew him close, not caring about the other boys watching. "You already do, Fitzwilliam. Every day." Her voice was steady now, though her embrace was perhaps a little tighter than usual. "And remember, you're not alone here. Your cousins are just down the hall, and George…" she hesitated. "George will be in all your classes."
As Lady Anne arranged the last of his belongings, a familiar face appeared at the next bed. Thomas Fairfax, whom Fitzwilliam knew from county gatherings, was attempting to strike a balance between their previous acquaintance and the formality of their new setting.
"Darcy! I didn't know you'd be in Hetherington's too," Thomas said, his relief at seeing a familiar face evident. "Father said you were coming to Eton, of course, but…"
Before Fitzwilliam could respond, another boy joined them. "Leave off, Fairfax," drawled Philip Markham, a small, dark-haired boy with sharp features. "Not all of us are obsessed with family connections." Despite his words, Fitzwilliam noticed Markham watching them with keen interest.
"Some of us don't need to be," came another voice. Robert Wentley, a plump, good-natured boy, had been struggling with his own unpacking nearby. "I say, is it true your cousin is Lord Stanhope? The prefect?"
Fitzwilliam was saved from having to answer by his father's return. Mr Darcy's tall figure appeared in the doorway, and the other boys quickly made themselves scarce, melting back to their own beds.
"All settled then?" Mr Darcy asked, his voice carrying its usual quiet authority. But Fitzwilliam, watching closely, thought he detected a slight strain around his father's eyes. He wondered how George's settling in had gone.
"Yes, Father," Fitzwilliam replied, standing a little straighter. "Mother helped me arrange everything."
Mr Darcy nodded, his gaze taking in the neat arrangement of books and writing materials. "Very good. The carriage is waiting, and we should let you begin settling in properly." He placed a hand on Fitzwilliam's shoulder, squeezing gently. "Remember who you are, son. A Darcy of Pemberley."
Lady Anne stepped forward, drawing Fitzwilliam into one last embrace. "Write to us as soon as you're settled," she whispered. "And remember, my darling, you make me proud every day."
Fitzwilliam hugged her tightly, breathing in the familiar scent of her perfume. "I love you, Mother," he managed to say, his voice barely steady.
"We'll see you at half-term," Mr Darcy said, his tone matter-of-fact though his hand remained gentle on Fitzwilliam's shoulder. "Your cousins will look after you until then."
"Yes. Sir." Fitzwilliam managed, as his parents turned to leave, Fitzwilliam stood very straight, determined not to disgrace himself by crying. The last thing he saw was his mother's brave smile as she glanced back one final time before the dormitory door closed behind them.
Notes - You will note that this chapter has been edited and the school has changed. I was doing some more research and there wasn't enough documentation about Repton school in the 1780s, but what I did find suggested that Darcy wouldn't have attended it and rather gone to Eton, hence having to add the houses in, rather than the boys sleeping by age group. they sleep by house and then split into 3 age groups, but each house would have had different arrangements. since there were more boys in some houses than others. I hope that makes sense.