He turned upon the Ghost and saw that it looked upon him with a questioning face.
“Interesting, is it not, that some can see so clearly, while others blind themselves to truth?” asked the Spirit. Darcy looked at himself calming sipping wine. A year ago he would have smugly thought that the woman he wanted to marry would return his sentiments. He had been in dire need of the comeuppance Elizabeth had delivered.
As if the Spirit read his thoughts, he was in the drawing room at the Hunsford parsonage.
“Spirit!” said Darcy. “Please, show me no more! Conduct me home. Do you delight in torturing me?”
“Only one shadow more!” exclaimed the Ghost.
“No more!” cried Darcy. “No more. I do not wish to see it. Show me no more!”
But his words were in vain, for he could hear himself exclaim, “In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.”
Darcy listened as he made avowals of all that he still and had long felt for Elizabeth. He could hear how he spoke on the subject of his sense of her inferiority—of its being a degradation—of the family obstacles which judgment had always opposed to inclination—all were dwelt on.
Darcy heard himself conclude by representing to her the strength of his attachment, which, in spite of all his endeavors, he had found impossible to conquer, and expressing his hope that it would now be rewarded by her acceptance of his hand. As he said this, Darcy cringed beside the Spirit, for he could easily see that he had no doubt of a favorable answer. He spoke of apprehension and anxiety, but his countenance expressed security. Such a circumstance could only exasperate Elizabeth, he now knew. Yet it was like being cut by a knife to hear rejection again.
“Spirit,” said Darcy in a broken voice, “remove me from this place. There was no need to bring me here, madam, for not a word, not a syllable have I forgotten. Do you wish to hear for yourself?” Darcy began to recite along with Elizabeth each and every word of her rejection. Not one word was spoken out of place.
“You could not have made me the offer of your hand in any possible way that would have tempted me to accept it. From the very beginning, from the first moment I may almost say, of my acquaintance with you, your manners, impressing me with the fullest belief of your arrogance, your conceit, and your selfish disdain of the feelings of others, were such as to form that ground-work of disapprobation, on which succeeding events have built so immoveable a dislike; and I had not known you a month before I felt that you were the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed on to marry.”
As the last word fell, Darcy turned on the Spirit with such a mixture of anger, bitterness, and despair, that she took a step away from him. “I told you these were shadows of the things that have been,” said the Ghost. “That they are what they are, do not blame me!”
“You have said quite enough, madam.” It was as if Darcy was speaking to both Elizabeth and the Spirit. “I perfectly comprehend your feelings, and have now only to be ashamed of what my own have been. Forgive me for having taken up so much of your time, and accept my best wishes for your health and happiness.”
“Leave me! Take me back. Haunt me no longer!”
The Ghost took a step away from him and then another, her light getting fainter, and repeated, “That the shadows are what they are, do not blame me!” each word further diminishing her light and appearance. Darcy observed a final burst of light that was burning so high and bright that he was forced to close his eyes.
When he opened them again, he was conscious of being alone, exhausted, and overcome by an irresistible drowsiness; and, further, of being in his own bedroom. He gave the pillow a welcoming squeeze as he crawled into bed; and he had barely time to lie full on the bed before he sank into a heavy sleep.
The Ghost appeared beside the bed. Gently, it brushed a lock of Darcy’s hair away from his forehead. He mumbled in his sleep and the Spirit disappeared.
Chapter 3
Christmas Present
Waking suddenly and sitting up in bed to get his thoughts together, Darcy had no occasion to be told that the bell was again upon the stroke of one. He felt that he was restored to consciousness in the nick of time for the especial purpose of holding a conference with the second messenger dispatched to him. But, finding that he dreaded the thought of not knowing which of his curtains this new specter would draw back, he put every one of them aside with his own hands and, lying down again, established a sharp lookout all round the bed. He did not wish to be taken by surprise and made nervous. Darcy wished to challenge the Spirit on the moment of its appearance.
He was ready for a good, broad field of strange appearances, and nothing between a baby and a rhinoceros would have astonished him very much.
Now, being prepared for almost anything, he was not by any means prepared for nothing; the bell struck one and no shape appeared. Five minutes, ten minutes, a quarter of an hour went by, yet nothing came. All this time, a blaze of light streamed upon the clock as it proclaimed the hour; and which, being the only light, was more alarming than a dozen ghosts, as he was powerless to make out what it meant. At last, however, he began to think that the source and secret of this ghostly light might be in the adjoining room, from whence, on further tracing it, it seemed to shine. This idea taking full possession of his mind, he got up softly and went to the door.
The moment Darcy’s hand touched the lock a familiar voice called him by his name and bade him enter. He obeyed.
It was his sitting room. There was no doubt about that. But it had undergone a surprising transformation. The walls and ceiling were so hung with living green that it looked a perfect grove. The crisp leaves of holly, mistletoe, and ivy reflected back the light. A mighty blaze went roaring up the chimney. Heaped up on the floor, to form a kind of throne, were poultry, great joints of meat, mince pies, plum puddings, red-hot chestnuts, fruits, immense twelfth-cakes, and seething bowls of punch, which perfumed the chamber with their delicious steam.
In easy state upon a couch, there sat Georgiana, glorious to see: bearing a glowing torch, in a shape not unlike a horn of plenty, and holding it up, high up, to shed its light on Darcy as he came round the door.
“Come in!” exclaimed the Ghost. “Come in, and know me better!”
Darcy entered rapidly, “Georgiana, what is the meaning of this? Why are you not at Matlock House?” he demanded.
“I am the Ghost of Christmas Present,” said the Spirit. “Look upon me!”
Darcy did so. She was clothed in one simple green dress, bordered with white fur. Her feet, observable beneath the gown, were bare, and on her head she wore no other covering than a holly wreath, set here and there with burning candles. Her blonde curls were long and free, her face was genial, her eyes were sparkling, her hands were open, her voice was cheery, her demeanor was unconstrained, and her air was joyful. Except for her more outgoing manner, the Spirit looked just like Darcy’s sister.
“You have never seen the like of me before!” exclaimed the Spirit.
“Every day of my life, I have seen your likeness,” Darcy made answer to it.
“You have never seen the like of me before!” repeated the Spirit.
“If you say I have not,” agreed Darcy, “then I have not.”
The Ghost of Christmas Present rose.
“Spirit,” said Darcy, “conduct me where you will. I went forth last night on compulsion, and I learnt a lesson, which is working now. Tonight, if you have aught to teach me, let me learn it.”
“Touch my gown!”
Darcy did as he was told and held it fast.
The greenery, food, and punch all vanished instantly. So did the room, the fire, the ruddy glow, and the hour of night, and they stood in the city streets on Christmas morning. Darcy and the Spirit began to walk down the road, where the people made a rough but brisk and not unpleasant kind of music, in scraping the snow from the pavement in front of their dwellings.
/> The people who were shoveling away were jovial and full of glee, calling out to one another from the sidewalk and now and then exchanging a facetious snowball—better-natured missile far than many a wordy jest—laughing heartily if it went right and not less heartily if it went wrong.
Darcy and the Spirit passed a fruit stall. As some girls went by, they glanced at the hung-up mistletoe and giggled. Darcy looked at it also; he had not understood the appeal of the plant.
“Mistletoe was sacred to the Nordic goddess of love. She decreed that whoever should stand under the mistletoe, no harm would befall them, only a kiss, a token of love. Is it any wonder that those young woman wish to indulge in the tradition?”
“I suppose not,” Darcy replied as they walked on. The blended scents of tea and coffee, cinnamon and other spices filled the morning air. Darcy took a deep breath, letting the scents fill his mind. He had not taken the time to indulge in such a small but glorious pleasure in a long time.
Soon the steeples called all good people to come to church and chapel, and away they went, walking through the streets in their best clothes and with their brightest faces.
In time the bells ceased, and there emerged from the scores of bye-streets innumerable people, carrying their dinners to the bakers’ shops. The sight of these poor revelers appeared to interest the Spirit very much, for she stood with Darcy beside him in a baker’s doorway and, taking off the covers as their bearers passed, sprinkled incense on their dinners from her torch. There was a genial foreshadowing of all the dinners and the progress of their cooking in the thawed blotch of wet above each baker’s oven and where the pavement smoked, as if its stones were cooking too.
It was a very uncommon kind of torch, for once or twice when there were angry words between some dinner-carriers who had jostled each other, she shed a few drops of water on them from it and their good humor was restored directly.
“It’s a shame to quarrel upon Christmas Day.”
“So it is! So it is! Have a Merry Christmas!”
Away the former combatants went, feeling that all was right in their world.
“Is there a peculiar flavor in what you sprinkle from your torch?” asked Darcy as they resumed their walk.
“There is. It is my own special spice.”
“Would it apply to any kind of dinner on this day?” asked Darcy.
“To any kindly given. To a poor one most.”
“Why to a poor one most?” asked Darcy.
“Because it needs it most. My spice makes each dish taste its absolute best. It will cause the food to linger on the tongue and in the belly much longer.”
“Spirit,” said Darcy, after a moment’s thought, “I have done what I could to relieve the suffering of those in my sphere who are more unfortunate than I. No one at Pemberley ever goes hungry,” said Darcy.
“Indeed not!” cried the Spirit. “You oversee those on your estate well, and though it is not wrong to concentrate your goodwill in one place, the world is larger than your estate.”
The good Spirit led Darcy straight to the Gardiners; for there she went and took Darcy with her, holding to her gown, and on the threshold of the door the Spirit smiled and stopped to bless Edward Gardiner’s dwelling with the sprinkling of her torch.
Mrs. Gardiner, dressed in a fashionable gown that was festooned in ribbons, laid the tablecloth, assisted by Belinda Crachit, the second housemaid, also dressed in her holiday best. The oldest boy, Master Robert Gardiner, plunged his fingers stealthily into the sugarplums, surreptitiously stuffing the sweets into his mouth whenever his mother’s back was turned.
And now the smallest Gardiner, a girl named Alice, came tearing in, screaming, “I smell the goose, I smell the goose!”
“I can smell it also, my dear, there is no need to shout,” Mrs. Gardiner remonstrated as Alice danced merrily around the table. Taking a deep breath, the luxurious scents of sage and onion filled her senses. “Robert, if you do not stop eating those sugarplums, you will have no room for the goose, which means there will be plenty more for the rest of us. Stoke the fire so a more cheerful blaze greets your father.”
Robert swallowed the last of his treats, “Yes, ma’am.”
“Whatever can be keeping your father?” Mrs. Gardiner wondered aloud as she left the dining room. “And your brother, William? And Kate is also late by half-an-hour!” Kate had gone for a walk in the park with her best friend. It was the best way to show off the pretty red coat and furry white muff she received as gifts.
“Here’s Kate, Mother!” As the door opened to let in the older daughter Alice cried, “There is such a goose, Kate!”
“No doubt your special spice is on that goose,” Darcy remarked.
The Spirit smiled, “The little one is in no need of it. She already has all the season she needs.”
“Why, my dear, how cold you are!” said Mrs. Gardiner, rubbing her daughter’s hands. “I thought you would be warm enough in that new coat.”
“I was more than comfortable. We had a wonderful time at the park,” replied the girl, “and it was such a pleasant walk this morning, Mother! The newly fallen snow twinkled like stars.”
“Yes, that is all very well,” replied Mrs. Gardiner as she led the children into the parlor. “Sit down before the fire, my dear, and warm yourself!”
“No, no! Father is coming,” cried Alice, who was everywhere at once. “Hide, Kate, hide!”
So Kate hid herself and in came Edward, the father, looking quite seasonable in a red silk vest; his youngest son, William, was beside him.
“Why, where is Kate?” cried Edward Gardiner, looking round.
“Still at the park,” said Mrs. Gardiner.
“At the park?” asked Edward. “She will be late for Christmas Dinner!”
Kate came out of hiding prematurely from behind the door and ran into his arms. “I would never miss dinner. I swear I could smell the goose as soon as I turned the corner.”
Alice grabbed her brother and bore William off to the kitchen, “You have to hear the pudding singing in the copper. You have to!”
“And how did William behave?” asked Mrs. Gardiner as the children left the room.
“As good as gold,” said Edward, “and better. Coming home, he gave the guinea he received for Christmas to a crippled boy, much the same age as himself. He told me afterwards that he helped the boy because he was a cripple and on Christmas Day it is good to remember those less fortunate than himself.” His voice was filled with pride when he related this deed.
Before another word was spoken, William came back, escorted by his sister, and seated himself before the fire.
A servant brought in fixings for Mr. Gardiner’s special Christmas punch and he compounded a hot mixture in a jug with gin and lemons, and stirred it round and round. Master Robert, along with Alice, went to check on the goose. Soon they returned with news that dinner was ready to be served.
There was a mad scramble of children to the dining room. The Gardiners quickly sat down for dinner and grace was said. The servants entered with the bird in high procession. It was succeeded by a breathless pause, as Mr. Gardiner, looking slowly all along the carving knife, prepared to plunge it in the breast. When he did, and when the long expected gush of stuffing issued forth, a murmur of delight arose all round the board. William cried, “Hurrah!” and Alice clapped.
Everyone ate until they had enough, and the youngest Gardiners in particular were steeped in goose and sage and onion to their eyebrows!
But now, Belinda was exchanging the dinner plates in anticipation of dessert. She left the room. In half a minute she returned, flushed but smiling proudly, with the pudding, like a speckled cannon ball, so hard and firm, blazing in ignited brandy.
“Oh, what a wonderful pudding!” Edward Gardiner said. Everybody had something to say about it; all praise was sent to Cook.
At last the dinner was all done, the cloth was cleared, and the fire made up in the parlor. The punch being tasted and considered perfe
ct, apples and oranges were put upon the table, and chestnuts were roasting in the open fire. Then, all the Gardiner family drew round the hearth.
Golden goblets held the hot stuff from the jug; Edward served it out with beaming looks, while the chestnuts on the fire sputtered and cracked noisily.
Then Edward proposed: “A Merry Christmas to us all, my dears. God bless us!”
Which all the family echoed.
“God bless us every one!” said William, the last of all.
He sat very close to his father’s side upon his stool. Edward held his hand in his, for he loved his children and was not averse to showing it.
“Spirit,” said Darcy, with an interest he had never felt before, “Why are we here?”
“Quiet,” replied the Ghost, “for you are here to learn.”
“Mr. Darcy!” said Edward Gardiner. “I’ll give you Mr. Darcy!”
Darcy turned speedily on hearing his own name.
“Mr. Darcy?” questioned Mrs. Gardiner. “Why, he is not part of the family nor is he likely to be.”
“My dear,” said Edward, “he has done our family a very good turn this year. Should we not acknowledge it on Christmas Day?”
“It is just that I was hoping that he would be a part of our family by now,” said she, “and you did too. And poor Elizabeth is pining, though she thinks she can hide it.”
Darcy was startled by this information. He glanced at the Spirit who nodded slowly.
“My dear,” was Edward’s mild answer, “we cannot change what has passed. We can only wish him well on this Christmas Day and hope the best for both his and Elizabeth’s futures.”
“You are right, my dear. I will drink his health for Elizabeth’s sake,” said Mrs. Gardiner, “and for his. May there be a long life before him. A Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year! He will be very merry and very happy, I have no doubt, if he would only wed Elizabeth!”
A Darcy Christmas Page 4
