Christmas at Longbourn

by Karen Aminadra

  Mary shook her head, her face drenched in her tears. “No. Papa refused. Our parents have stated that no daughter of theirs shall be wed to a common and penniless clerk.” Mary covered her face with her hands and wept unashamedly.

  “What?” Kitty was shocked. “Is he penniless?” was all she could think of to ask.

  “I do not know. I admit I have not asked such questions.” Mary wiped her eyes with the back of her glove.

  “He is a clerk. He has an income.” Kitty stated the obvious.

  “Yes, yet I do not know what it is.” Mary shook her head.

  “Does he not live in Meryton?”

  “Yes, he has the apartment above the office.”

  “If that is part of his wage, then all he earns is his own,” Kitty tried to reason.

  “But can you not see? Papa and Mama are right. It is not enough for the daughter of a gentleman to live upon.”

  “Can you not both live at Longbourn? That is not uncommon!” Kitty declared, pleased with herself that she had a happy solution.

  Mary laughed bitterly. “No, Kitty that will not do. Mama and Papa have made their decision and their word is final.”

  She looked so crestfallen that Kitty embraced her.

  “I always knew deep down that I would die an old maid.”

  “Mary, don’t be like that.”

  She pulled out of Kitty’s embrace. “Do you really think that I am likely to ever have another offer of marriage made to me?”

  Kitty frowned. She had to admit that she was surprised to see the attachment between Mary and Walter blossom when they helped at the office. Mary was always so staid and serious. She truly had grown a great deal in a few short weeks.

  “I thought as much.”

  Kitty watched the tears trace their way down Mary’s cheek. “Do you truly love him?”

  “I cannot say. I have never been in love before. But I believe so.” She smiled and gazed off into the distance. “He is amiable, funny, and interesting, and I feel as though the sun is always shining when he is around.”

  “You became friends very quickly, I noticed.” Mary’s smile was catching, and Kitty found herself smiling at the memory of seeing Walter so affectionate with her sister.

  “Yes,” Mary nodded emphatically and looked back at Kitty. “Yes, we are friends.” Tears welled in her eyes.

  “Then there is cause for hope, is there not?”

  “How can you say there is cause for hope, Kitty? How cruel! Papa has refused his consent.” Mary screwed up her face and bawled once again.

  “Yes.” Kitty squared her jaw and took Mary by the shoulders. “You have been a good sister to me, and I will return the favour to you. I say you have cause for hope because you are friends.”

  Mary shook her head from side to side. “Kitty, I do not understand you.”

  “It is simple,” Kitty beamed in triumph. “Walter goes to the majority of the social events that we do. You have to show your preference for him each and every time you are in his company.”

  “You mean the way Lydia does? Kitty!” Mary looked scandalised.

  “No!” she laughed. “I mean by being friends, dancing with him and our brothers-in-law alone, playing cards with him, having him turn the pages when you play at the pianoforte.”

  “Oh,” Mary breathed. Kitty believed she understood. “And by such behaviour, I can show Papa and Mama—”

  “And everyone else too!”

  “—that I prefer Walter and Walter only.” Mary managed a weak smile.

  “And, in time, we can hope that our parents will see that you will be happy with Walter.” Kitty nodded with certainty.

  “Irrespective of his income.” Mary stood up tall.

  “Or his address,” Kitty added.

  “Or his family.” This time Mary managed a giggle. “I must confess, Kitty, that I would be heartbroken if I were to lose Walter as my friend. He has come to mean very much to me.”

  “That much is evident to anyone who has seen you both together.” Kitty rubbed her hands together. “Now, can we walk a little? I cannot feel my toes any longer.”

  Mary did laugh that time. “Perhaps we can walk back towards Meryton. I should very much like to bump into Walter.”

  Kitty linked arms with her. “If you so wish.”

  “I will tell him that despite Papa and Mama refusing their consent to our marrying, my affection for him is as unchanged as ever.”

  “Good.” The pair walked on in silence for a while, helping each other through the slipperiest parts of their path. At length Kitty added, “I believe, Mary, that it would do Walter’s heart a lot of good to hear those words uttered from your lips.”

  “Yes, Kitty. I believe you are right.” The smile that spread across Mary’s face as they walked, in Kitty’s opinion, was brighter than the winter sun that afternoon. She had a wonderfully warm feeling inside. She was certain that both she and Mary had turned a corner in their lives. They were no longer the girls they used to be. They were now both determined to have the happiest futures they could obtain for themselves.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Mary was determined. “He is the most amiable man of my acquaintance, Kitty,” she quipped as she picked up her pace towards Meryton.

  “I know, Mary. I have been with you each and every time we were at the office, remember?” Kitty giggled, and Mary did not mind in the least.

  “How can all of us be expected to catch men of such means as Mr Darcy for husbands?”

  “You have a point there.” Kitty puffed as she slipped a little in the melting snow. “Even Sir Percival, despite being a politician, exceedingly rich, and from a fine family is…well, he’s a cad!”

  Mary turned sharply to look at Kitty as they raced along. “You believe that?”

  “Yes, I do. I see it plainly now—as clear as day even. I have had a lucky escape.”

  Mary could see Kitty’s jaw was set, but the traces of pain were still visible in her eyes. “In time, I believe you will heal, Kitty.”

  “I believe you are right, Mary.” She gave Mary’s arm a squeeze.

  The pair walked on further in silence. Everything that needed to be said had been, and both sisters were feeling buoyed up by their emotions. They had not long passed the turnoff to Lucas Lodge when there in the road up ahead of them was none other than Walter himself. His shoulders were slumped, his hands were in his coat pockets, and he was kicking at piles of snow as he listlessly wandered back towards town.

  “Walter!” Kitty bellowed making Mary jump.

  “Kitty, it is not becoming to shout like that!” The scold was out of Mary’s mouth before she had time to think.

  “Tish, Mary! You want to speak to Walter; now here is your chance.” She pointed to him. “Go! I shall wait here.” She fairly pushed Mary towards the young man.

  Mary, almost losing her footing by Kitty’s shove, slipped and slid her way over to where Walter stood, looking forlorn and dejected. “Walter!” She breathed, unable to catch her breath. “I am so glad that I caught you.”

  “It is no use, Mary.” His nose was red as were his eyes, and Mary wondered if he had been weeping.

  “What is no use, Walter?” She knew what he meant, but she wanted him to explain himself and give herself a chance to catch her breath.

  “I spoke with your father. I explained that my father has promised me enough money to rent a cottage if I so wish to marry.”

  “That is generous of him,” she smiled sweetly. She wanted him to know by her behaviour to him and not merely by her words that she still preferred him and he held her heart.

  “Indeed it is.” He cleared his throat but still looked desperate. “Mary, do you mind if I discuss the matter of income with you? I know it is a subject which is vulgar to ladies, but I feel I must justify myself to somebody.”

  “Of course. Feel free.” Mary wanted him to talk.

  He nodded, pleased with her answer. “Your uncle is generous to me. He pays me a wage which is c
omparable to those found in London. I was born in Hackney, you see. I prefer the countryside to the city, but he doesn’t know that.” He coughed nervously. “And so he pays me a London wage to keep me, see?”

  Mary nodded that she did see.

  “I can afford to move out of the lodgings Mr Phillips grants me and take a small house, actually. My income is nothing compared to Mr Darcy’s—your mother made that perfectly clear—but I have one hundred and fifty pounds per year. I can afford a washer woman and a maid but no other servant. Mrs Bennet was scandalised, Mary.”

  “Really? Indeed!” Mary clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth.

  “What is it?”

  “My sister, Lydia, when her first husband was alive could only afford a maid and she had to do the washing herself. Lydia was always begging for money from Mr Darcy. The nerve of it!” Mary was incensed at her mother’s double standards.

  Walter was encouraged. “I can afford meat and candles and a doctor should we need one.”

  Mary smiled kindly at him. “I would be most contented, Walter, yet my father has refused your proposal.” She reached out and placed her hand upon the sleeve of his coat. “Please know that my father’s refusal has no bearing whatsoever upon my feelings, Walter. They remain unchanged.”

  A smile spread across his features, and his eyes welled with tears. “I dared to hope you would be constant and unwavering, Mary, but to what avail?”

  “Walter, they cannot stop us being friends.” She looked deeply into his eyes. “We must show our partiality to one another and show we are the firmest of friends.”

  He smiled at the thought. “I would like that, Mary.” A shadow flitted across his face as a thought occurred to him. “They could press your uncle to send me away.”

  Mary’s countenance fell and she turned ashen white. “That thought had not occurred to me.” She turned back to see Kitty blowing on her gloved hands and stamping her feet; she was clearly frozen through. “Tomorrow is Christmas Eve. We shall see each other at church, where I shall pray earnestly for the Lord’s assistance.”

  The sight of Walter’s joyful smile warmed her heart as she scurried back to her waiting sister. Together they returned to Longbourn with Mary recounting every word Walter had uttered.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Christmas Eve dawned bright and fair. Mary told Kitty it was an omen that the Lord had heard their cries. As soon as the sisters had arrived back at home the afternoon before, they had gone to their rooms and did something that was fairly uncharacteristic for Kitty—they prayed.

  “Do you really think so? Is it an omen?” Kitty was sceptical.

  “Yes, I do.” Mary nodded as she allowed Kitty to dress her hair.

  “I’ve wanted to do this for such a long time, Mary. You have such pretty eyes, and the way you do your hair does them no justice at all.”

  “Thank you, Kitty,” Mary laughed. “Walter likes my eyes too.”

  “And so he should.” Kitty plaited another strand of hair and screwed up her face as she concentrated.

  Mary watched her through the looking glass. “Are you excited about Christmas?”

  “I am more optimistic than I was before. Netherfield is such a fine place. It is wonderful to spend time there.” She cocked her head and looked mischievously at Mary’s reflection. “And besides, the foul weather means that Caroline Bingley cannot travel down to spend Christmas with her brother. What a shame!”

  Mary had to laugh. Caroline Bingley had wanted Mr Darcy for herself and seemed to loathe all members of the Bennet family. “She certainly will not be missed, that is for certain.”

  “Oh, Kitty!” Mary sighed as Kitty finished arranging her hair. “It’s beautiful. I did not know I could look so well.”

  “Thank you, Mary. You have lovely hair, and with it framing your face in this manner, it really softens your features and accentuates your eyes.”

  “Yes, it does,” Mary breathed, fixated by her own reflection. “I am pretty!”

  “Yes, you are,” Kitty giggled. “Did you ever doubt it?”

  “Often,” Mary owned.

  “Well,” Kitty placed her hands on Mary’s shoulders, “you never shall again.”

  Mary was pleased with her new look, and her face shone with the happiness she felt inside. “Will you show me how to do this so I can repeat it?”

  Kitty nodded. “Of course I shall, and Laura knows how to do it too. She often helps me with my hair when I want a new style.”

  “I suppose with five of us and our mother, she has had plenty of practice over the years.” Mary rose from the stool.

  “Indeed.”

  Together they made their way down the stairs and into the dining room for breakfast, where they knew Hill would put on a repast that outshone all other meals throughout the year. Hill loved Christmastide and it showed. The table was adorned with greenery John had cut from the garden, and the candleholders all had garlands draped over them. The scent of pine in the air was almost as delicious as the chocolate that wafted towards the girls as they made their way to their places at the table.

  “Ah, so you have decided to join us, have you?” Mr Bennet chortled as he helped himself to the butter dish.

  “Good morning,” Lizzy and Jane chorused.

  “Morning,” Mary replied.

  Kitty was already sipping from her cup of hot chocolate, and Mr Bingley laughed at the sight. “I believe Kitty is fond of chocolate. I shall have to remember that when you come to Netherfield tomorrow.”

  Mary noticed that their mother said nothing. “Morning, Mama,” she said pointedly.

  Mrs Bennet ignored Mary and continued to spread jam upon her slice of toast. No one at the table missed this slight. Lizzy caught Mary’s eye and shook her head. Mary took the warning not to press their mother further.

  “So,” Mr Bingley clapped his hands together as Hill and Laura brought in sausages and pork chops, “what are we all planning for today’s amusement?”

  Mrs Bennet kept her eyes downcast.

  “I for one will spend the day in my book room, unless something else more interesting is suggested to tempt me out of it.” Mr Bennet grinned as Hill placed two pork chops and two sausages on his plate. “Thank you, Hill. You always do us proud.”

  “When we were children,” Jane piped up, wiping the corners of her mouth with her napkin, “if there was snow, we would build snowmen and have a snow fight.”

  “Yes!” Lizzy laughed. “But, dearest, I think we are all a little too old for playing in the snow.”

  “Are we?” Mr Darcy stated, making them all laugh.

  “What are you proposing, Mr Darcy?” Kitty snorted. “That we all play in the snow?”

  “At which age are we too old for playing in the snow?” He looked innocently around him.

  “I think we ought to remain indoors, for we are all to sit in a chilly church this evening,”

  “Very true indeed, Jane,” Mr Darcy nodded. “What do you suggest?”

  “Short answers,” Mary pipped up. “Let’s play short answers and other parlour games.”

  “Yes!” Kitty nudged Mr Darcy. “Let’s play. You love to play short answers, do you not?”

  “No,” came the answer, which had everyone laughing as his mouth twitched with mirth. “Oh, forgive me, Kitty. I thought we had begun.”

  “And with Mary’s skill at the pianoforte,” Mr Bingley laughed, “we can play magical music too!”

  “I am glad you suggested I should play, Mr Bingley, for I am frightfully bad at uncovering what task I am to perform in that game.”

  “Then let us play when breakfast is over.” Kitty decided for them all. “We shall be such a merry bunch!”

  The game of short answers pulled Mrs Bennet into the fun when they all returned to the drawing room. She could not resist participating in the amusement. Even Mr Bennet was persuaded to join them in asking questions that were peculiar to the person on the right and answering with the shortest syllables possibl
e. It was Mr Bingley who was declared the winner in the end and Mrs Bennet the loser for her outburst of “What a ridiculous question to ask, Mr Bennet!” which earned her twelve points alone for being so syllable-rich. Her final tally was forty-nine points. She did not seem to mind in the least and laughed so hard that it brought tears to her eyes.

  “Oh! That was fun. Let us play charades next!” she declared so loudly that no one dared refuse her.

  “I’ll ring the bell for tea.” Kitty rose and crossed the room.

  Mary was pleased to see Kitty truly enjoying herself now. “Who shall go first?”

  “I shall,” Mr Bennet declared. “I have always been partial to riddles.” He cleared his throat and tapped his chin as he thought. “Ah, yes, here we are then. Kitty, be seated. I have a riddle.”

  Kitty scurried back to her seat once tea had been called for and the game began.

  “My first is in act but not in a play. My second is in April but it is not in May. My third is in Baron and also in Lord. My fourth is in deck and also in card. My last is in stack but it is not in hay.” He chuckled at his own ingenuity.

  “Oh, Papa!” Mary declared.

  “You look at me each and every day, but what am I?”

  “My first is in… what did you say?” Mrs Bennet squeaked.

  “Act but not in play.” Mr Darcy replied his brow furrowed in thought.

  Mary was perplexed. “T or C?”

  “The second in April not in May…P, R, I, L? Oh, dear!” Mr Bingley threw his hands in the air whilst Mr Bennet chortled away in his chair.

  Mary leant forward in her chair and thought. “We look at it every day?”

  Mr Bennet viewed her over the rim of his glasses. “Come on, Mary. You’re not the cleverest of us all for no reason. You can do it.”

  They continued to guess and fail as the tea things were brought in and the tea was drunk amongst much noise and chatter.

  Placing her cup and saucer back on the table between them, Mary looked up at the mantelpiece to see that it was nearly time for luncheon, and then she had a eureka moment. “It’s clock!”