“I’ll take care of these, boys,” he said with a smile, “the Reverend is a little frail and does not care for music, no matter how well played.”
It was a relatively short service and the good Reverend gave a sweet natured sermon, emphasising love and compassion and charity, associated with Christmas rather than the wrath of the Lord. The Bennet family made their way out afterwards and talked with others of the congregation, their breath emerging from their mouths in white plumes.
The drums were returned to Horatio and Alexander who marched them all home again.
By the time they got back the fire was roaring, and the rum punch was bubbling on the stove. Each was served a glass as they took off their coats and all their cheeks were soon ruddy and cheerful. There was a cheery hubbub of conversation and all agreed that the walk had been very enjoyable. More punch was served, and the conversation became more cheery still.
“Shall we go into the sitting room?” said Mr Bennet. “I have a feeling that some people are eager to unwrap their gifts.”
He meant Horatio and Alexander of course, but Mrs Bennet clapped her hands with delight.
“At last, Mr Bennet. I can’t wait another moment to unwrap my presents.”
They retired to the sitting room, punch in hand. There was a pleasant fire there too and they sat, warm and comfortable. There was a pile of wrapped gifts on a sturdy oak table. Mr Bennet took it upon himself to be master of ceremonies for the occasion. He took each package in turn, read the label and handed it to the lucky recipient.
Of course, most of the gifts were for the children. Presents from their mother and father, aunts and uncles as well as their fond grandparents. They opened each one enthusiastically and discarded the brown paper carelessly. Mr Anderson discretely picked up the torn paper and made it into a little pile for burning later. As each gift was opened, each boy would look at it with a tilt of the head and put it with the others. At last all the boys’ gifts were opened. There were wooden soldiers in full dress uniform, which made Mrs Bennet a little sad that Mr Wickham was not with them. For, she still could not understand why Mr Darcy did not like him. There were farmyard animals and a small barn made of stiff card. There were spinning tops and kites and wooden cup and ball and a tin kaleidoscope and glass marbles in a variety of colours and jacks and card games and wooden blocks.
Darcy and Lizzy looked on fondly. They looked at each other and smiled. They could not help thinking of their own little boy, the infant Fitzwilliam. But they knew he was much too young to know what was happening, and besides it was a long journey from Derbyshire to Hertfordshire. But that didn’t stop them from missing him.
Mary and Thomas had not yet given them their gift, however. Thomas took two slim packages from behind his back and handed one to each of the boys.
“This is from myself and your Aunt Mary,” he said with a little grin at Jane and Charles.
“Thank you,” they chorused and tore off the paper.
They looked at the box, a little confused. They took out a strange looking object and were still confused.
“Mother, what is an xlof, an xlop…?” said Horatio.
“It’s a xylophone, darling,” said Jane.
“Well, what’s a xylophone?” asked Alexander.
“It’s a musical instrument,” said their father. “Look, you take the little hammers and strike the blocks of wood to play a tune.”
“Thank you, Mary, thank you, Thomas,” said Jane.
“Yes, thank you both,” said Charles. “When you have children, we will ensure that we buy them an appropriate gift each Christmas. Won’t we, Jane?”
“Oh yes. You can depend on it. A trumpet perhaps, or a bugle for each of them.”
Their tone was playful and everybody laughed.
All in all, the boys had received everything they wanted and more.
And that was true of the adults too. The gentlemen received fine leather gloves or a new cravat or pocket book or any number of functional things. The ladies on the whole received gifts that were rather less functional but rather more beautiful and pretty. Elegant shawls and dainty little gloves, items of jewellery and fine soaps.
The opened gifts were put on the tables in individual piles. Horatio and Alexander sat under the table played happily with each new toy and were quite oblivious to what the adults were saying.
“Now that that is done,” said Mr Bennet, “shall we have a game? Perhaps a spirited game of The Minister’s Cat?”
“The Minister’s Cat?” said Mrs Bennet. “Oh, yes, I do enjoy that one, don’t I, Mr Bennet? I find it soothes my nerves somewhat. You see, I suffer from my nerves. I don’t know if anybody realises, because I rarely mention it. Do I, Mr Bennet?”
“Very rarely, my dear, very rarely.”
They formed into a circle and enjoyed a spirited game of The Minister’s Cat. Mr Darcy was eliminated first as he could not think of an adjective to describe the eponymous feline that began with the letter H. Lizzy teased him gently afterwards and said there were any number of such words.
“For example, my love,” she said, “you could have said ‘happy cat’ or ‘hirsute cat’ or ‘handsome cat’…”
“You’re right, Lizzy,” he said good naturedly. “Perhaps I am suffering from a dearth of punch.”
Mr Bennet took the hint and poured more punch for everybody.
After everybody else had been eliminated, only Mr Anderson remained, and he was declared the winner.
“There should be some kind of prize for Godfrey,” said Kitty.
“I already have my prize, Kitty,” he said gallantly. “And I won it the day we were married.”
Kitty blushed charmingly and playfully admonished her husband. There was no doubt that he loved her deeply.
Mrs Bennet informed them that dinner would be ready in a couple of hours. It had all been cooking overnight and she retired to the kitchen to see if she could assist the cook. Her real motive was to catch up on any gossip from Meryton.
“Shall we sing some carols?” ventured Mr Bennet.
“Excellent idea, father,” said Lizzy.
Mr Walton sat at the piano and they sang Christmas carols together. Some were solemn and some cheerful. Mr Walton accompanied them on the piano and, from under the table, Horatio and Alexander added their own accompaniment with their xylophones, striking the blocks with enthusiasm and even a little 9a very little) tunefulness.
After the carols, more punch was drunk.
“Should we have another game?” said Mary.
“I fear we won’t have time Mary,” said Mr Bennet. “For, I think your mother has almost completed dinner.”
He was right, for only a few minutes later Mrs Bennet called out in a sing song voice that dinner was almost ready. Mr Bennet asked them all to withdraw to the dining room and take their seats at the large oak table Then he joined his wife in the kitchen to offer what assistance he could. There was an orderly procession to the dining room as gusts took their seats. The last to arrive were Charles and Jane and the children who were reluctant to give up their places under the sitting room table. They were still more reluctant to give up their new toys, even for the relatively short time that dinner would take. Eventually they agreed to take only their xylophones and they sat on chairs propped up with cushions so they could reach the table.
The servants entered the dining room carrying trays filled with food. It had become a tradition for Mr and Mrs Bennet to offer assistance on Christmas Day as a boon to their cook and servants for their hard work during the year. It was Mr Bennet’s idea and Mrs Bennet had always been a little reluctant to do anything which smacked of housework. Accordingly, she carried in the salt and pepper pots while her husband carried a tray of roasted vegetables.
Once the food had been laid on the table, Mr Bennet said grace. There was a pause as the diners looked at the victuals before them.
Forming the centrepiece of the table was the goose.
And then the feasting began. It was
a fine bird, plump and juicy with more than enough meat to go around. In addition, there were many diverse vegetables prepared in many diverse ways. Carrots glazed in honey and roasted. Potatoes, both mashed and roasted. Cabbage boiled in a delicious mixture of red wine, cinnamon and nutmeg. Parsnips pureed with cream. Chestnuts roasted in the oven and too many others to mention. There was also a selection of wines, both red and white, port, brandy, sherry and strong dark ale. For the children and those who did not care for strong liquor there were two earthenware jugs of sweet tasting cordial.
It wasn’t so much a feast fit for a king as a feast fit for several kings. Once the diners had feasted their eyes, the feasting of their stomachs began.
There was little talk for some time as the diners ate, concentrating on their food with relish. As would be expected, Mrs Bennet ate an enormous meal. When her plate was empty she looked around to see if there were any more potatoes. Mr Anderson noted this and handed her a dish.
“Can I offer you more potatoes, Mrs Bennet?”
“Why thank you. I think I could manage another morsel. And could you please cut me another slice of goose?”
“Of course.”
Once they had all eaten their fill and the plates cleared, it was as though a dam had been breached and everybody began to chatter at once. There was a great hubbub in the dining room as all agreed how marvellous dinner had been. Horatio and Alexander added to the tumult by banging away furiously on their xylophones.
It was dark now and various deserts were carried in. Fruit pies and treacle tarts and a yule log. Finally, a perfectly round Christmas pudding, rich with plums, dates and currents. Mr Bennet solemnly poured brandy over the pudding and fired it with a fiery brand. All cheered and applauded as the blue flame enveloped the pudding. The applause and the flame died down and the pudding was served. Very little desert was eaten, for the guests were too full from the goose and vegetables. Mrs Bennet however ate a sizable portion of Christmas pudding followed by a slice of treacle tart, followed by a piece of fruit pie.
The other waited until she had finished. At last, reluctantly, she admitted she could eat no more.
“Shall we have coffee then?” said Mr Bennet. “In the sitting room?”
Coffee and wafers were duly served in the sitting room.
“And now, another game,” announced Mr Bennet.
“Excellent, Father,” said Lizzy with enthusiasm. “What shall we play?”
Before Mr Bennet could answer, there was a rap on the door.
“Who on earth is that?” said Mrs Bennet.
“Your guess is as good as mine, my dear.”
Mr Bennet went to the door.
“Who is it?”
There was another rap on the door followed by a mournful voice.
“It is my wife and I. And we are cold.”
“Who is ‘my wife and I’?”
Mr Bennet opened the door.
“Mr Collins?” he said in surprise.
“Good day, Mr Bennet,” said the good Reverend. “I have come to dinner…”
Chapter 4
Mr Bennet returned to the sitting room, a bemused look on his face.
“Who is it, Mr Bennet?”
“It’s Mr and Mrs Collins, my dear.”
“Mr Collins? What on earth does he want?”
“He says he is come to dinner.”
“Well tell him there is no more food left.”
“I can’t tell him that. In any case he is with his wife and I have invited them both in. They are waiting in the hall. And both are cold.”
“Tell them to join us by the fire, Father,” said Lizzy kindly.
Mr Bennet went and fetched Mr and Mrs Collins in.
“Merry Christmas, everybody,” said Mr Collins.
“Pray, come and warm yourself beside the fire, Charlotte. You look frozen.”
“Thank you, Lizzy,” said Mrs Collins.
Mrs Bennet frowned. She was hoping to eat more of the food, either later or tomorrow. And it was likely that Mr Collins would eat into a significant proportion. With some dismay she saw Mr Bennet head for the kitchen.
“Are you coming, my dear?” he said.
“Where?”
“To the kitchen of course. We will have two Christmas dinners prepared for Mr and Mrs Collins.”
“Wait here, Mr Collins. Your food will be ready in fifteen minutes or so. Come along, my dear, we will go and speak to cook together.”
With a great deal of hesitation, Mrs Bennet followed her husband.
Collins took off his coat and stood with his back to the fire, easing his wife to one side a little. He faced the other guests almost as if they were an audience, or perhaps a congregation. They were certainly surprised to see him.
“Mother told me that she was inviting her daughters for Christmas, together with their husbands and children.”
“Indeed, Mrs Darcy.”
“Yes,” said Lizzy. “And I am fairly sure I did not see your name on her list of guests.”
“Oh indeed?” said Mr Collins. “Well, I made an assumption based on my place in her affections.”
“Your place in her affections?” said Lizzy, her eyes wide open in surprise.
“You must remember, Lizzy, that Christmas is not merely about bodily nourishment…”
His wife interrupted him.
“What my husband means, Mrs Darcy, is that he forgot to buy the goose as I asked him.”
Mr Collins blushed with embarrassment.
“What I was going to say is that Christmas is also a matter of spiritual nourishment.”
“What do you mean, Mr Collins?” said Darcy.
“I mean I am here to bring spiritual comforts to you all. I will commence by reading out a sermon which I wrote yesterday.”
“But we were going to play some games,” protested Kitty.
“Which is the more important, Miss Bennet…” began Mr Collins.
“It’s Mrs Anderson, Mr Collins, for I am married now.”
“Forgive me. Which is the more important, Mrs Anderson? A few trivial games or a means of saving your soul, to wit, one of my long sermons?”
Everybody had their own opinion and it almost certainly did not involve hearing a tedious sermon. However, nobody spoke.
The only person who expressed an opinion was Horatio. He darted out from under the table and bit Mr Collins on the leg. Collins gave a little yelp of pain as his wife tried not to laugh. Charles acted immediately and made his son apologise to Mr Collins and then sent him to stand in a corner. But he could not help flashing a brief grin at Darcy before resuming his seat.
Fortunately, a servant announced to Mr and Mrs Collins that their dinner was now ready and that they should retire to the dining room immediately. They headed for the dining room, very eagerly in Mr Collins’ case.
Nobody said anything when Mr Collins left the sitting room, but the relief was palpable. Mr and Mrs Bennet returned to their places.
“Shall we have that game now?” said Mr Bennet. “Or should we wait until Mr and Mrs Collins have finished dinner so they can join in?”
“I’m not sure,” said Mrs Bennet. “How long do you think they’ll be?”
“Knowing Mr Collins,” said Lizzy, “not long at all. About half an hour probably.”
“And how long will the game take, do you think?” said Darcy.
“About half an hour. But we can play another one afterwards.”
“Hmm, I think we need to consider this,” continued Darcy. “If the game finishes soon after he returns, then he will take it as an opportunity to deliver his sermon.”
“And then what?” said Mrs Bennet.
“We are doomed, Mrs Bennet,” said Darcy with a comically horrified face.
“Then why not start the game just as they are finishing,” said Lizzy. “Then we can ask them to join in with us.”
Darcy looked proudly at his wife.
“Exactly what I was thinking. And when the game is finished, we need to c
ommence another one at once.”
Mr Bennet asked a servant to inform him the moment Mr and Mrs Collins finished their Christmas dinner. The servant returned to the dining room and ensured that he was busy and present all the time, pouring wine, passing condiments and ladling more gravy on Mr Collins’ plate.
So, Mr Bennet announced that the game would commence in around half an hour. When asked why they had to wait, he replied that Mr and Mrs Collins would undoubtedly wish to join in and it would be a pity for them to miss the game while they were eating. So, they chatted amiably as they waited.
After just over half an hour, the servant returned and whispered something in Mr Bennet’s ear.
“They are just finishing,” Mr Bennet announced. “So let us begin our first game. I think a game of ‘similes’ would be an amusing distraction.”
“How do we play, Father?” said Mary.
“I will explain. I will name a thing to which a simile is usually associated. You have to simply say the simile that’s all. I’ll give you an example. I could say. ‘as quick as a…?’ And you would reply…?”
“A wink,” said Mary. “As quick as a wink.”
“Exactly, Mary. So, shall we commence?”
At that moment Mr Collins came back from the dining room, filled with goose and much else besides. His wife followed a few paces behind.
“Now, that I am fed,” he said coarsely, “I feel able to do my sermon justice. Are you all ready and willing to receive it?”
“I’m very sorry, Mr Collins,” said Lizzy. “We have just begun a game.”
“A game?” said Charlotte, before Mr Collins could protest, “I like games. What game?”
“Similes,” said Mr Bennet.
Mrs Bennet's Christmas Page 3