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and exchanged a few words, but this time we spent all the evening together. He is a man after my own heart, though fortunately not a man after my own pocket. He is very wealthy, has a taste for drink and women, and his money is so easily come by that he can afford to give it away to friends who amuse him. He has recommended me to his tailor and he has given the man instructions that everything is to be put on his bill.
    ‘There isn’t a man in Cambridge can wear a coat like you do, George,’ he said. ‘And if there’s one thing I want from my friends, it’s that they don’t disgrace me. We’re going to a party at old Geffers’s rooms tomorrow. You’ll like old Geffers and you’ll like his company more. He has a way of finding the prettiest and the most willing women in any city he’s staying in, and his cellar’s the best you’ll find anywhere in the county.’

18th February 1791
    We had a riotous night last night and I was just returning to my own room at seven o’clock this morning when I saw Darcy. He was up early and going out for a morning ride.
    ‘Join me,’ he said.
    ‘My dear fellow, I am in no state for a ride.’
    He eyed me distastefully.
    ‘So I see. If you must drink, George, do it in better company. De Quincy has a bad reputation.’
    ‘Are you afraid he’ll lead me astray?’ I asked, laughing.
    ‘Yes, I am,’ he said seriously. ‘It’s easy to get into bad habits somewhere like this, where there is no regular life to drag you out of them.’
    ‘Good God, Darcy, you sound like my father!’ I said.
    ‘Will you come with me, George? The fresh air will do you good.’
    For a moment I wavered. The thought of riding through the early morning countryside had a certain appeal. But my head hurt and in the end I declined. There will be time enough for riding in the holidays when I am back at Pemberley. I mean to enjoy myself whilst I am at Cambridge.

6th March 1791
    Damn! My head hurts. I wish I could remember what I was doing last night, where I went and who I was with. What was it that Mama said: that I should never get drunk, that I should keep a clear head, particularly if I was playing cards? Oh God! Mama! Oh God! I had forgotten. The fever took her so quickly… Where is the bottle?

8th March 1791
    I was roused from my stupor this morning by the sound of my door opening and then footsteps which stopped by my bed, and then the curtains were pulled back and sunlight flooded the room. I groaned and clutched my head and said, ‘Close the damn curtains. What is the matter with you?’
    ‘It is twelve o’clock, time you were up,’ said a voice I recognised.
    ‘Darcy,’ I said with a groan.
    ‘This has gone on long enough. I cannot stand by and watch you sink any further.’
    I put my head under the pillow.
    ‘Just look at yourself,’ he said, ripping the pillow from me and throwing a jug of water over me.
    ‘Well?’ I asked.
    ‘I know we have grown apart, George, but you were never like this. You were always so careful with your appearance.’
    I looked down, bleary eyed, at my clothes and saw that they were dirty and creased, for I had slept in them for God knows how long.
    ‘I told you de Quincy was trouble. Where is your comb?’
    ‘Somewhere,’ I said, waving towards my desk.
    I heard him rummaging through the papers and empty bottles and half-eaten sandwiches.
    ‘You’re worth more than this, George,’ he said. ‘For a few weeks there’s no harm in it, but it can all too easily become a habit. Just look at your desk,’ he said, throwing an empty bottle into the bin. ‘Everything a mess, papers everywhere…’
    He stopped and there was a deathly silence.
    ‘I had no idea,’ he said, and I knew he had found my father’s letter. ‘George, I am so sorry, I had not heard.’
    ‘Nothing to be sorry about,’ I said, with a feeling of hollowness. ‘We live, we die, and there’s an end of it.’
    I pulled a half-empty bottle out from under the bed and put it to my