Miss Entwhistle perked up. “Pray tell us.”
“Oh my, yes.” Mrs. Duntze led them across the small garden toward the church, her voice dropping to the confidential register of a born gossip. “Lady Amelia arrived in a carriage with the Darcy crest—borrowed, I later learned, though at the time we all assumed… well. She wore emerald silk, quite inappropriate for a christening, and she held that baby as though he were a prop in a dramatic production. ‘Behold,’ she announced, mind you, to the assembled congregation—‘the next great adventure of my life.’ Can you imagine?”
Elizabeth required no effort of imagination. She had met the authoress herself, a woman who lived as though life were inexhaustible: all grand gesture, theatricality, and a fierce resolve to direct her own story.
“And Mr. Darcy?” Georgiana asked quietly.
“Standing at the font like a man condemned.” Mrs. Duntze shook her head. “I have never seen him so grave. Each time Lady Amelia spoke, he flinched. And Little Tom, naturally, screamed through the entire ceremony. I do believe Mr. Darcy suffered more than any godfather in living memory. I cannot fathom the pains he took to arrange every detail.”
“My brother troubles himself with everything,” Georgiana said fondly. “He is the most conscientious person I know.”
“A man after my own heart,” Miss Entwhistle declared. “Although I suspect his eardrums took quite a punishment.”
“And the father? Mr. Wickham?” Elizabeth asked. “How was he?”
Mrs. Duntze’s expression curdled. “Arrived twenty minutes late, if you please. Strolled in as though time itself waited onhim, smiled at my husband as if they were boon companions, and signed the registry with a flourish worthy of a playbill. He was all smiles and irreverence. Can you imagine? He did not so much as bow his head for the prayers.”
“Why, Lady Renwick wrote about a rogue, quite a character, who had to be paid to attend his son’s christening,” Miss Entwhistle spoke with rapt devotion. “Such realism.”
“It seems the gentleman was most reluctant to sign at all,” Elizabeth observed.
“Indeed, Mr. Darcy arranged everything. He was most attentive to the details.”
“I, too, am interested in details,” Elizabeth said. “Might we see the actual entries? I should love to see a flourishing signature.”
Mrs. Duntze eagerly led the way into the vestry. It was small and dim, smelling of old paper, dust, and tallow wax. Mrs. Duntze produced a leather-bound volume from the heavy oak cabinet and set it on the narrow table.
“Everything from 1780 to the present day is contained here. Let’s see, Thomas Wickham’s christening would be in 1810.” She turned the pages until she reached April 1810. Elizabeth leaned forward and examined it.
Thomas William Wickham, son of George Wickham, Gentleman, and Lady Amelia Catherine Apethorpe, Spinster. Born the fifth day of April, in the year of our Lord 1810. Christened the third day of June, 1810. Godfather: Fitzwilliam Darcy, Esq., of Pemberley.
“Might I also see the entry for George Wickham himself?” Elizabeth asked. “He was christened here as well, I believe, possibly in 1784.”
Mrs. Duntze’s eyebrows rose, but she turned back through the pages without comment. “October 1784, George Thomas Wickham,” she read, “son of Thomas Wickham, Steward, andMartha Wickham, née Collins, wife. Born the twentieth of September, 1784, and his godfather was George Darcy, Esq., of Pemberley.”
Elizabeth studied the entry. George Thomas Wickham—Thomas for his father, George for his godfather.
“And Mr. Darcy?” she heard herself ask. “Fitzwilliam Darcy? I should like to see his entry as well. I confess I am curious about the signatures.”
“Whatever for?” Miss Entwhistle asked. “Are you suggesting Darcy’s father did not sign Wickham’s entry?”
“I suggest no such thing,” Elizabeth warned. “And pray do not mention another Lady Renwick plot complication.”
Mrs. Duntze turned the pages once more. “January 1783. Fitzwilliam Edmund Darcy.”
Fitzwilliam Edmund Darcy
Born: 10 November 1782
Father: George Darcy, Esq., of Pemberley
Mother: Lady Anne Darcy, née Fitzwilliam
Godfather: Edmund Fitzwilliam, Viscount Matlock
So, Darcy was the older brother. She confirmed that the signatures for George Darcy were identical. He had claimed Fitzwilliam as his son but had made himself godfather for George Wickham, yet naming him after himself. Shouldn’t he have named his own son George? Instead, the pattern held. The child carried the godfather’s name, either as the first or middle name, yet it does not signify that the godfather was…
No, she was constructing theories with no basis in fact, much like Miss Entwhistle seeing Lady Renwick’s characters everywhere. Lady Amelia had chosen the name William because she wished to honor her dear friend, the man who had stood as godfather when her own family had disowned her. It was a tribute. A gesture of gratitude.
