Yuletide

by Joana Starnes

  The butler, perhaps having heard voices from outside, opened the door. She quickly directed the man to show Mr. Darcy’s servants where the stables and kitchen were and was relieved when Mr. Darcy went with them to see about his horses.

  Most of the family were gathered in the parlour and, once she had changed out of her boots, she joined them and was given a prized seat by the fire. When she told them of the invitation she had been forced to extend and to whom it had been extended, Kitty and Lydia both groaned while Mary congratulated on her Christian charity. Her father’s and Mrs. Gardiner’s eyebrows rose in interest, and her mother began a long speech detailing her dislike of the man.

  Even through her thick boots, Elizabeth’s stockings had gotten damp on her walk and her toes were cold. Comfortable in the familiarity of her family, she slipped off her shoes and rested her feet on the edge of the hearth.

  Mr. Darcy took a long while to join them and walked in warily. However, he extended all the proper thanks and apologies, and he was polite when introduced to those he did not already know. Elizabeth watched him carefully as he greeted her uncle and aunt. To her surprise, he did not recoil in disgust and instead shook hands courteously with Mr. Gardiner, even going so far as to ask after his line of business.

  When he took a chair, though, he retreated to a corner of the room and seemed content to be overlooked as the conversation began again and went on around him.

  “Lizzy,” Jane whispered into her ear, making her start. When Elizabeth looked at her sister, Jane nodded at her feet. Realising her stockings were on show and that her skirts had ridden up to almost her calves, she straightened in her chair and slipped her shoes back on. Mr. Darcy, when she glanced over at him, was looking at the hearth at the exact spot where she had been warming her toes. He seemed to be deep in thought before his head rose to meet her gaze, and colour flooded his cheeks. Elizabeth moved to find a seat a little further away from the fire. A half hour before, she had been chilled down to the bone; now she felt very hot indeed.

  He was to stay for dinner, of course, for the storm showed no signs of abating. His promised presence at the table caused a great deal of furious whispering amongst the Bennet girls as they descended the stairs after dressing. It was eventually decided by Lydia that it was Elizabeth’s duty to take the seat next to him. It was somehow her fault that the “dreadful bore that no one cared a fig for” was stranded amongst them.

  “What would you have her do, Lydia?” Jane whispered softly. “She could hardly leave him struggling to free his carriage until the cold had turned him to stone.”

  “No, I could not,” Elizabeth sighed. “Though I wonder if anyone would notice any difference.”

  It made all of them laugh but Jane, who tried, yet failed to bring them to order. They burst upon the drawing room, colourful and loud. Mr. Darcy flinched. They were, Elizabeth suspected, too much of an assault upon his senses.

  He was an almost silent dinner partner, though he ate heartily and, before the ladies rose to leave the men to their port, he thanked Mrs. Bennet most sincerely for the meal and complimented her on it most elegantly.

  Their mother, who was always as eager for praise as she was for news of single young gentlemen in the neighbourhood, softened with alarming fickleness under his words. Once the ladies were alone with their sewing, she began expounding on his qualities and manners with as much energy as she had decried them earlier. Elizabeth was left musing upon the beneficial effect a few kind words could have. It was a shame that some people did not exert themselves to be so generous more often.

  Sleep did not come easily. How could it when her tormenter lay in a bed just down the corridor? The thought caused her to toss and turn until the early hours of the morning. When her fretful mind did finally allow her some rest, she had the oddest, most disturbing of dreams.

  Thankfully, he was absent at breakfast, having gone out early and taken his own men and every able-bodied man at Longbourn to recover his carriage except for her papa, who had claimed himself busy and retreated to his library. Elizabeth expected her father would remain there for the best part of the day and felt like following him. They would likely be confined to the house for the foreseeable future, and spending the day engrossed within the pages of a good book seemed a capital plan.

  She lingered over her toast and pushed her eggs around her plate listlessly. When she saw Mr. Darcy trudging back up the front path, a furious expression on his face and his hat in his hand, she swallowed the last of her tea quickly and decided to make good her escape. She was choosing a book when she heard some colourful language being used beyond the library window. Both she and Mr. Bennet looked out to see Mr. Darcy throw his hat upon the snow and then kick it across the park in frustration.

  Mr. Bennet chuckled. “It was cold enough to give the devil a chill last night. Even if he extracts his carriage, the roads will be frozen solid. The ice will prove too treacherous for his horses, as he knows only too well. Mr. Darcy, I suspect, will be our guest this Christmas, Lizzy. How ever shall we amuse him?”

  Elizabeth had once heard Mr. Bingley remark that he did not know of a “more awful object than Darcy, on particular occasions, in particular places; at his own house especially, and of a Sunday evening when he has nothing to do.”

  Not that she had any respect for Mr. Bingley’s judgement of late, but in this he was proved correct. Mr. Darcy, constrained and imprisoned by the snow, had become a brooding, restless creature who frightened small children. Upon seeing him enter the drawing room, her cousins would hide under tables or scamper from the room.

  Though she could not very well take refuge beneath the furniture, Elizabeth tended to follow their example. She ran from Mr. Darcy whenever the opportunity of escape presented itself.

  The man had trouble sitting still. He roamed Longbourn’s corridors while scowling at his watch. He would examine the skies through every window he passed, perhaps hoping the next might offer a view that showed particular signs of a thaw that the window three feet away which he had looked out moments before did not.

  Clearly, he liked occupation, to be always doing something, and presently he had nothing to expend his energy on. It was as if he were a spring, being wound tighter and tighter by his imprisonment. Jane, with her soft smiles and calm manner, managed to soothe him somewhat, and he amazed Elizabeth by seeking her sister out when even he seemed to be irritated by his own pacing. He would sit beside her while she sewed, offering the occasional comment, asking the odd question, but generally, he was silent.

  Her father tried to ply him with port in an effort to put at him ease, only to discover he was not much of a drinker.

  Her mother tried to ply him with food, but there were only so many puddings and pies a man could eat in one day without feeling ill.

  It was Mrs. Gardiner who eventually managed to draw him out, to exchange with him just enough words as might legally constitute a conversation.

  They were sat in the drawing room in the late afternoon while most of the family were engaged in a game of cards with the exception of Elizabeth, her aunt, and Mr. Darcy. He was supposedly reading, but his book did not seem to hold his attention, for he shifted in his seat and frequently gave a heavy sigh.

  “It is a shame you will not have Christmas at Pemberley, Mr. Darcy. Such a beautiful house, and how pretty the grounds would be, all covered in snow,” Mrs. Gardiner said.

  “You have seen Pemberley, Mrs. Gardiner?” he asked, immediately shutting his book without bothering to mark his place.

  “Oh yes, Mr. Darcy. I grew up in Lambton, not five miles from Pemberley.” She smiled at him before modestly informing him that he would not remember her family, for they would have moved in very different circles.

  Elizabeth half expected him to sniff and open his book again, but he grew animated and there followed a long exchange with her aunt. Elizabeth had never seen him so lively as he spoke of horse chestnut trees, smithies, tors, rivers, and beauty spots they both knew.

&nbs
p; “I dearly love the countryside around Pemberley, Mrs. Gardiner, but I was not headed there. We have not had Christmas at Pemberley since my mother died. She had methods of making it special. She would hide presents around the house for me to find. Ridiculous gifts, silly things such as a pine cone, a bag of dried fruit, or a handkerchief. I gained far more enjoyment from searching out those small presents than I did any expensive item from my father. Since her passing, my sister and I have joined our family at Matlock almost every year. While we have a pleasant time, it has never been quite the same. Another family’s customs and traditions can never mean as much as your own.”

  This speech made Elizabeth oddly emotional—she had no idea of when Mr. Darcy’s mother had died or what the family at Matlock were like—but her imagination conjured up an image of a happy young boy running around a grandiose house looking for trinkets one year, then walking mournfully around, his hat draped in black crepe the next. She saw him being driven from his home to spend Christmas with austere relatives, his baby sister opposite him in the carriage on a nurse’s knee; the baby blissfully unaware but the boy desperately missing his mother.

  She had a sudden urge to go and kiss her own mother, a feeling which, she shamefully acknowledged, rarely overcame her, and she managed to easily resist it.

  Instead she got to her feet. “One of our customs, Mr. Darcy,” she said, clapping her hands to gain everyone’s attention, “when Christmas draws so near, is the singing of carols. We have been neglecting our traditions, and that must be remedied.”

  Mary, as eager as she always was to display her questionable skills, made a dash towards the pianoforte. Elizabeth was lighter on her feet, however, and beat her to the stool, where she sat down triumphantly. Mary sulked while everyone else seemed relieved. When Elizabeth began to play, the mood of the room lifted. They laughed at each other when they went wrong, applauded Mr. Gardiner’s perfect baritone on the lower notes, and managed some true harmony, not always in their song, but in their sentiments and feelings.

  Mr. Darcy was urged forward to join them several times but declined. He moved to the card table, where her nephews, who did not enjoy the singing, were busy trying to make a pyramid out of cards. Taking a seat between them, he began to assist.

  By the time the carols had made the singers all thirsty and they stopped to refresh themselves, the tower was several stories high, and Mr. Darcy did not look quite so foreboding as he had previously. His shoulders had been almost as high as his ears, but now his posture was loose. He smiled when she came near him, stopped her to tell her how much he had enjoyed the music. His unspent energy, the frustration which had looked fit to consume him, appeared to have dissipated.

  What had caused the change, she could not say—Mrs. Gardiner’s speaking of Pemberley, his time with the children, the carols perhaps? Whatever it was that was making him more amiable by the minute, she could only be glad of it, and she was pleased his congenial mood carried over into the morning.

  When Elizabeth nonchalantly mentioned during breakfast that she had liked his mother’s idea of a Christmas treasure hunt and how the Gardiner children might enjoy such an activity—confined to the house as they were—he immediately jumped up, found paper and pen and started planning one for them.

  Caught up in the excitement, Elizabeth worked alongside him at every turn. They hid treasures and made maps together at a table; their elbows bumping as frequently as their intellects while they turned phrases over and thought up clues. They sat next to each other at the top of the stairs when the hunt commenced, enjoying the excitement they had created and smiling at each other as George held the chubby hand of his smallest sister, helping her along rather than selfishly dashing off to seek his own prizes.

  “I am willing to forgive the snowball incident,” Mr. Darcy said. “He is an excellent boy.”

  Elizabeth could only smile; she was unusually lost for words. He was as much of a puzzle to her as the game they had created for the children—who were now more inclined to run after him rather than away from him. They would tug at his coattails and call his name, beg him to swing them around—and he would put aside his dignity and do so, no matter how many times they asked.

  Was this really Mr. Darcy? The same despicable Mr. Darcy whose officious interference had ruined Jane’s chances of happiness with Mr. Bingley? The same Mr. Darcy who had acted so dishonourably towards Mr. Wickham? She realised with a jolt that she had rarely thought of Wickham in the last few days.

  Then he was there! Mr. Wickham himself, along with two or three other officers, at the front door of Longbourn. As there had been no callers for three days, their arrival was greeted with astonishment. Shrieks of laughter and delight were heard from Kitty and Lydia, who ran out into the cold to greet them. When Elizabeth went to the door, she saw they had acquired a sledge from somewhere and had attached to it two great shire horses.

  They looked delighted by their own ingenuity and were showing off, standing atop the sleigh while declaring that nothing could keep them from calling upon their favourite ladies. Wickham, Elizabeth was glad to note, was more circumspect, not so loud or bragging, and came towards her with a sheepish smile. He bowed gallantly and apologised for his companions’ boisterousness.

  “Though I own I was equally eager to call, as I ….” He stopped mid-sentence as something over her shoulder caused a look of fear to cross his countenance. “Darcy. You are the last person I expected to see.”

  “And the last one you wanted to, I imagine,” Mr. Darcy replied from behind her. “Might we speak in private, Wickham?”

  Though she remained with Kitty and Lydia—determined to ensure they did not lose all sense of propriety—Elizabeth managed to observe Mr. Darcy and Mr. Wickham talking in a far corner of the hall. She could not hear what was said, for it was all carried on in hushed tones, but it looked very much like Wickham was receiving a lecture.

  When he came into the room to join the rest of the party, Mr. Wickham took a seat next to her. He rolled his eyes and leaned towards her, whispering, making her his conspirator.

  “Not content with having stolen everything from me, he sees fit to play the role of my lord and master. How I abhor the rich and the power they wield over us! I confess I would be happy with fifty pounds a year, a small piece of land I might call my own, and a few chickens and geese to roam upon it. Yes, how content I would be then, as long as God granted me a beautiful partner in it all. Someone with whom I could share my interests and passions, someone who understood me.”

  He smiled at her softly. “Do you deplore me for not telling Darcy off, for not standing up to him as I ought? You see, I still cling to the hope he might gain a conscience and reward me with something, as his father would have wished him to.”

  She made no reply but found herself wanting to move away. Previously, she had enjoyed their talks, the easy intimacy that existed between them. His flirting, his manners, everything had pleased her immensely. Yet now, for a reason she could not quite determine, she was uncertain of him.

  “Do you know he had the temerity to warn me off you? I am apparently banned from going within ten feet of a Bennet girl! Shall we pretend to be madly in love to spite him, Miss Elizabeth?”

  “I am afraid I am not adept at acting, Mr. Wickham,” she replied. “Is it something at which you excel?”

  He blinked and appeared alarmed, could not look at her for a few moments. “Please tell me he has not turned you against me as he has the rest of the world? I could not bear that. You must know I have hopes, hopes I cannot yet voice.”

  He was so handsome, his voice so lyrical, and his manners so good that it was difficult not to feel flattered by his addresses. “I am not against you,” she replied quickly. “Yet I must tell you that on becoming further acquainted with Mr. Darcy, I feel I may have been unfair. Not that I forgive his trespasses against you, but I do believe I begin to understand his disposition better. I cannot quite hate him as I once did. There is a certain kindness about him which is
incongruous with some of his past behaviour.”

  “As I have said before, he can be liberal and generous when he chooses to be,” Wickham said blithely. His attention was then caught by the general conversation that was occurring on the other side of the room, and he turned away from her to better hear it.

  Elizabeth only half listened, as she was busy watching Mr. Darcy enter the room. The frown that had been missing all day had returned to his countenance. Why did he have to be so dour?

  “She has ten thousand pounds left to her by an uncle. I wish someone would die and leave me ten thousand pounds,” Lydia cried, leaving Elizabeth thoroughly ashamed of her. She thought to quiet her, but Lydia went on before she could intervene. “All the men will want to dance with her and will want to kiss and romance her, but they will not mean it, for she is such a nasty little freckled thing. No one could truly admire her.”

  Wickham laughed at Lydia’s speech. “Who do you speak of?”

  “Mary King, of course,” Lydia announced. “Wait till you see her, Wickham. She is not very pretty. Oh, what a shame Colonel Forster’s party on Christmas Eve will not be possible.”

  “The party is to go ahead,” one of the officers said. “Have you not heard? The house he has taken is so conveniently situated in the centre of Meryton that a great number of the guests can walk to it.”

  Kitty pouted. “We cannot walk.”

  “Then we shall send the sleigh for you, and you will be conveyed home on it afterwards,” Wickham declared, to the delight of almost the entire room. Mr. Darcy’s frown grew deeper.

  Elizabeth interjected that her parents might object to the plan, but no sooner had she given voice to the caution than Mrs. Bennet entered. Upon being told of the scheme, she squealed as loudly as Lydia had. Mr. Bennet would agree to almost anything if it meant his wife would leave him in peace, and so it seemed they were to go.

  “You will not join us I suppose, Darcy?” Wickham asked. “Music, dancing, levity, and conversation. Not your favourite pastimes, are they?”