Posted on Monday, 10 July 2000, at 12 : 33 a.m.

It was nearing midnight as the express rider, neared Pemberley. The man, threw himself off the horse and within minutes of letting out a rousing yell and a bang on the door, the door was swung open. Two youths stared at the rider, the elder a tall man of eighteen, inquired what the rider was after.

"An Express, for the Master and Mistress of Pemberley."

The younger boy, about 15 ran up the stairs shouting "PAPA, FATHER."

The elder, paid the man off, but he said he was to wait for an answer.

Charles, waited uncomfortably for the appearance of his father, he desperately wanted to know what was in the express. After an eternity, Darcy hastily dressed clattered down the stairs followed by Ashley.

Darcy tore at the express. It read;

Wickham is dying, we need money.....for the doctor, Amabel hasn't had a new dress in months. I beseech you to send us money quickly.

Lydia.

Darcy suddenly felt curiously numb. Charles tried to look over his shoulder but Darcy crumpled up the express.

"Ashley, go get Master's to pack me a valise."

Ashley disappeared up the stairs.

"What is it father?" asked Charles.

"Oh nothing, it's just a matter of some loose ends with business. It is necessary for me to take a short journey. "

"Do you wish me to come with you?" asked Charles.

"Oh no that won't be necessary." Replied Darcy rather absently. Now would a horse or carriage be better? A horse would be faster, a carriage more comfortable.

Darcy felt suddenly very strange. "Charles, would go see to my horse being saddled."

"You are going on Horseback?" Exclaimed Charles. "Impossible! I shan't let you go Father."

Darcy gave his son a look. "I shall do as I wish, Charles. Tell Masters to follow in the carriage."

Within seconds of his mount being made ready, Darcy was off. Charles looked after him in surprise. He hadn't even said where he was going.

The journey did not take that long, as the Wickhams had relocated a little time back to an area not too distant, yet not distant enough from Pemberley and the Bingley estate.

It was very early morning when Darcy arrived at the shabby lodgings that the Wickham's resided in. The whole place was still lit up and upon entering Darcy noted the entire brood of Wickhams. Lydia was fussing about in a corner, entirely unchanged from when Darcy first knew her, over 20 years ago.

Although Darcy did not stop to talk to her, yet felt his way upstairs to the sickroom. George Wickham lay a much different man. His face was creased with age and infirmity. His once strong body was now in the process of decay. Occupying a large bed, he looked so frail that one could imagine losing him amongst the bedclothes. He had his eyes closed but his ragged breathing proved that he was still clinging to life.

Darcy nodded at the Doctor who silently left the room. Darcy took possession of one of the available chairs, the closest to the bed, and sat contemplating the face of the man lying before him, the face of one's childhood.

Wickham's eyelids flicked open and searched the room for something before alighting on Darcy.

"Darcy." said a voice, a dull, raspy voice a voice Darcy had trouble recognising as Wickhams. His voice cracked and was disinterred.

Darcy poured a cup of water and held it to Wickham's lips.

"Darcy," came the voice again.

Darcy sat down in the chair and replied, "You did me great wrong."

"Great wrong?" came the voice, trying to hold a faintly mocking tone, but just sounding tired and weary.

"Yes, great wrong and you know it."

"Look what my great wrongs did for you Darcy." replied Wickham with a hacking cough.

Darcy sighed, it was true nothing that George Wickham had ever done to Darcy had the desired effect. He had Elizabeth, two sons and a daughter...he had respect, what did Wickham have? Nothing. Wickham had been the overall loser. Darcy did not reply. Wickham achingly shifted his head. "Too much like my mother wasn't I?"

"Yes you were." Replied Darcy.

"If I had been like my father."

"One of the best men that ever breathed."

"Yes we both had fathers who would be esteemed and respected."

Darcy opened his mouth to reply but Wickham limply waved his hand to make him stop. Wickham continued. "the difference between us Darcy is that you managed to live up to your father, I never came close."

There was a pause. " And I dare say your son's respect you more then you will ever know............." There was a longer pause before Wickham spoke again.

"The joys of patronship - your father probably did me a great disservice, you do realised that?"

Darcy was thoughtful for a moment. "Yes he probably did - encouraged you to live beyond your means and station."

Wickham's head lolled alarmingly to one side as he gave a hacking little laugh.

"Do you remember Darce............"

Darcy leaned forwards in his chair. "Do I remember what?"

"That fish..........that summer." Replied Wickham with a thin smile on his face.

"Yes I do, I almost drowned trying to reel him in and - you saved me. "
Darcy paused thinking back.

"Then I got into trouble and you had to pull me out. "

Darcy nodded, remembering.

"What was that story we concocted??" asked Wickham

"Something about the fish getting away and saving a damsel in distress.......if I remember rightly." Replied Darcy with a crease in his brow.

Wickham gave a hollow laugh which convulsed his entire wracked body.

"Yes I don't think anyone believed us."
"It was a rather far-fetched story" replied Darcy, "you always did have an incredible imagination."

"Yes like that excuse for why we absconded down in ...where ever it was....to go thrash wheat all day............your mother was worried sick..........."

Darcy paused thinking of that time with a smile. "I don't think anyone every believed any of our stories."

Wickham smiled then frowned. "I............" he stopped and feebly tried to adjust his bedclothes . Darcy stood and assisted him, their eyes met.

"Jealousy...........It's not good to be jealous."

Darcy returned to his seat maintaining silence. Wickham continued.

"I was never a good person but the world is filled of people who aren't good, but do not act on their feelings, I should have joined their lot.........not done rash stupid things. "

"What like speak your mind to my face?" replied Darcy with a query in his tone.

Wickham smiled. "No that I shall never regret, I doubt that made you think any less of me, rather the opposite I suspect."

"You would be right."

There was a lapse into silence.

The two men regarded each other. It is completely true that they were entirely different types of gentleman, but until the age of 18 they had been bosom companions and had an unshakeable form of attachment. But where one grew old, wise and mature the other stayed young, rash and volatile. From there the paths diverged, one grew proud the other jealous, one grew thoughtful the other selfish.........one turned white the other red.

But a childhood connection is strong and inevitably remains strong, there were common goals and ideals shared, while the happy time of boyhood reigned, neither had accounted for or realised the difference in their lot in life, or the similarity of their treatment. But one aged, the damage had been done.

Both lost parents young, this served for alienation. Darcy had responsibilities, Wickham took none. Where the two could have rubbed off one another creating a mutual harmony, they rubbed up against one another creating mutual discord.

There was silence In the sickroom, each occupant thinking of many occurrences in their varied lives, some were common, others were existent to only one or the other.

Wickham swallowed, rolling his eyes towards the man who had crushed all his hopes.......

"I did you great wrong."

Darcy remained silent

Wickham raised his hand towards Darcy, looking directly into his eyes.

"When I am gone, what shall you remember.... This " he gestured around as if to mean the occurrences of over the last 20 years, " ....or the fish?"

Wickham tried unsteadily to hold his hand still as it was held out in a gesture towards Darcy. It seemed like an eternity that the hand was stretched out, across space and time, towards Darcy with no hint on reciprocation. Then as Wickham's hand began to waver, Darcy clasped it in his.

"The fish - only the fish."

So it was a man famed for his resentful temper, 'My good opinion once lost is lost forever' forgave. Perhaps Wickham had never really had or needed Darcy's good opinion to begin with, but whatever it was Darcy learned to forgive, or in the words of his wife. "This only of the past as its remembrance gives you pleasure."

As the life force of one George Wickham Esquire began to Ebb away, both he and his childhood companion dreamt of fishes.

Two little boys, playing as brothers by the shores of a lake, nothing elese should matter - Only the Fish.