Read Pemberley to Waterloo: Georgiana Darcy's Diary, Volume 2 for Free Online Page A

remembered it all too well. She closed her eyes a moment, leaning against the back of the chair. And then she said, a small, fractured twist of a smile touching the corners of her mouth, "You're probably wondering who wrote this to me. Or do you already know?"
    I'd been wondering, of course, all along the walk to Ruth's cottage, who G. T. could have been. The 'young charge' the letter spoke of must have been me. But the letter wasn't dated; it could have been sent to her at any time while she was with us at Pemberley. And childhood memory is so strange. I can remember certain things so clearly: the pictures in my nursery story books. The day my favourite doll was broken, and Fitzwilliam mended her for me. Feeding lumps of sugar or carrots I'd begged from our cook to the horses in the stables. Trips to London, or to visit my aunt. And of course my father's death when I was ten.
    But so much of the rest is all blurred at the edges. And besides that, I suppose like most children, I wasn't terribly interested in 'grown-up' things. I don't think it ever occurred to me to wonder what Miss Granger did with herself after I'd gone to bed, or when I had a lesson with the dancing master in the afternoon.
    I shook my head. "No, I haven't the least idea, I promise." A little of the colour had come back into Ruth's face, but she still looked terribly pale. "And you needn't tell me. Truly, I only came because once I'd seen the letter, it seemed only right that it should be returned to you. But perhaps I shouldn't have after all. I didn't mean to upset you."
    Ruth was staring into the small fire burning in the grate, one hand still moving mechanically back and forth over Pilot's head. She shook her head slightly, though it didn't seem a gesture of denial--more as though she were trying to shake off a memory before it could take hold. And then she looked up at me, her grey eyes bright and very clear, and said, "It was Giles Tomalin. He visited Pemberley when you were eleven. Do you remember?"
    Giles Tomalin. Slowly, I shook my head again. "No. I'm sorry," I added.
    It seemed as though I ought to remember anyone who'd been so important to her.
    Ruth smiled slightly. "It's all right. There's no reason that you should. He was part of a shooting party your father invited for the autumn sport. I think you only spoke to him once or maybe twice the whole time he was at Pemberley. He came ... he accompanied us on a walk through the Pemberley woods, once. You hardly ever talked to strangers, you were so shy--grown-up men, especially. But you liked him, because he told you that if you caught a falling leaf before it touched the ground, you could make a wish."
    "Oh!" I did remember, then, just a little. Not the man's face, not exactly. The best I could conjure up was a vague memory of someone tall, with broad shoulders and--I thought--very dark hair. But I could recall the day she spoke of, a little--because she and I were usually all alone on our daily walks, and it was an occasion to have someone else along. "I walked between you, holding your hands, and the two of you made a game of lifting me up on the count of three. Is that the time you mean?"
    Ruth smiled just a little again, and nodded. "Yes, that's right. That was him. He was--" She stopped, her eyes fixing unblinkingly on the fire as though she were staring back across the years. She was silent so long I wasn't sure whether she meant to continue or not. But then at last she said, "I met him the day he arrived at Pemberley--before he'd arrived. It was on the road to Lambton. I'd had to do an errand in town, and I was walking back to the house. And then I heard something--a dog barking, yelping, obviously frightened and in pain. And a man shouting. Cursing, rather. And when I rounded the curve, I saw him--it was Rakes, the farm manager the Herrons used to have on their estate back then. He had a dog--some poor, starved-looking stray--down on the ground, and he was beating it, savagely, with some