A Darcy Christmas

by Amanda Grange

“There isn’t much here, William.” She nodded toward a cluster of faintly lit buildings off to the east a good quarter-mile. “Is that a village?”

  “Of a sort,” he answered. “This is Haversmith’s land and that is Hogslow.”

  “Hog’s Low? You’re joking? That hardly sounds reassuring.”

  Alexander laughed. “It isn’t as it sounds, Mother. Mr. Spane works this parcel, does he not, Father?” Darcy nodded, the prideful expression at his fifteen-year-old heir knowing the residents this far south of their lands evident even in the gloom. “That is his cottage there. The village isn’t much and there isn’t a pub, but it is clean and I am sure we can find warmth and shelter.”

  “That building is well lit. See, Papa?” Audrey pointed to a large barn-shaped building set apart.

  “Indeed. Perhaps they are having a Christmas celebration. Good eye, princess.” He bent to pick her up, holding securely to his chest. “I have Audrey. Nathaniel, Alexander can carry you.”

  “No, Papa! I can walk!”

  Lizzy chuckled. “Of course you can. But mama insists you hold Noella’s hand. No letting go. Boys, grab those baskets. If we are going to barge in on a party the least we can do is bring a gift.”

  And thus the small company of marooned travelers walked into the shadowy farmland, thankful for the moonlight when it appeared in the cloudless sky. It was difficult to discern in the growing twilight, but as they neared the structure indicated by Audrey, it was obviously not a barn but a large assembly hall. It was also obviously the site of a gathering of merrymakers! The festive scene unfolded before their dazzled eyes, far removed from the more sedate and spiritual celebrations offered to the Pemberley tenants on a yearly basis.

  Enormous three-foot logs split down the middle and crisscrossed in a stack burned within a stone ringed pit, the bonfire blazing in a clearing before the wide-open doors. The snap of fiery pitch, reek of rising smoke, and heat of hungry flames was evident from yards away, yet did not deter the bustling bodies moving in a flood of enthusiasm between the dirt expanse and inviting building. The flickering illumination of candles and fireplaces glowing from within promised additional warmth from the steadily chilling air.

  Children dashed amongst the adults, laughing and chasing one another while blowing whistles, ringing bells, and banging drums. Folks of all ages circled the flames, dancing and singing in time with the rollicking music filling the air. The sound of lutes, guitars, fiddles, and assorted pipes brought an instant grin to Michael’s face, but they all unconsciously responded to the lively rhythm as they drew closer.

  The scene of merrymaking outside the assembly hall was a preview to the play visible inside. From holly-draped wall to mistletoe-adorned corner, the Darcys absorbed wonders.

  Six musicians were upon a wooden dais, some sitting and some standing, feet stomping and heads bobbing to the beat they created. The line of dancing couples only vaguely remained straight as frequent errors in the steps or exaggerated twirls led to unrestrained laughter. Other couples did not even bother with the line, dancing together in whatever free space was available. One old gentleman in well-worn breeches and shirtsleeves danced a jig all by himself, the circle of cheering observers clapping out the tempo.

  Clusters gathered along the walls playing an assortment of games. A group of eight played blind-man’s bluff to the right with an animated charades tournament a few feet away. At a line of tables and chairs to the left sat people playing loo, whist, and gleek. Other coveys segregated into ages were talking, laughing, and flirting, especially those near the mistletoe.

  It was a sea of humanity joyously commemorating the season.

  One body separated from the overwhelming whole, noticing the new arrivals just as Michael spied an entertainment more intriguing than anything he had ever seen.

  “Mr. Darcy! What a surprise! What brings you to my lands?”

  “Mr. Haversmith,” Darcy greeted the rotund, flushed, and sweating man before him with a slight incline of his head. “I apologize for barging in uninvited. Our carriage broke an axle and we sought shelter until a replacement vehicle can arrive from Pemberley.”

  Haversmith was already waving away Darcy’s explanation with a hearty welcome and shouted orders to bring mugs of ale and spiced cider to their honored guests. Elizabeth was greeted with profuse flattery and hand kissing—Darcy and Alexander hiding identical frowns of irritation—as they were herded toward a raised platform with a trio of white-linen covered tables. The Haversmith family, mostly male and liberally partaking of the wassail, tipsily received the newcomers, shuffling chairs and place settings amid raucous laughter and Christmas best wishes.

  The baskets containing pies and Rivallain feast remains were taken amid generous thanks, but it was instantly apparent that food was not lacking. Long tables groaned under the weight of roasted turkey and pheasant, haunches of beef and mutton, mince pies, plum-puddings, wooden bowls of wassail, casks of malt-brewed ale, loaves of grain breads, rounds of cheeses, freshly roasted chestnuts and apples, cakes decorated with fruits and berries, and dozens of platters heaped with steaming vegetables.

  Space for seven Darcys was readily made and platters of steaming food plopped down by smiling servants before the introductions were complete. The merriment continued unabated and such was the tumult that no one noticed the missing Michael.

  Michael Darcy, thirteen, mischievous, and curious, had slipped away to investigate the activity taking place on the far side of the room in a darkened corner.

  Resting on a crude wooden table was a shallow, wide-mouthed bowl filled to the brim with brandy, almonds, and large raisins. The brandy was ignited, the eerie blue flames flickering and dancing over the surface of the amber liquid as the raisins glistened and swelled and the almonds sizzled. Brave lads approached the fiery bowl while the girls observed with tense excitement. Their faces illuminated dramatically as they rapidly reached into the bowl and snatched a burning raisin. Quickness was the key. One must grab the fruit and pop it into the mouth to instantly extinguish the flame. Fingers had to be licked clean as well or the brandy would continue to burn. But for a split second the strange blue fire engulfed the fingertips, highlighting eyes that were wide and sparkling devilishly, the boys’ faces demonic in the play of shadow and flame.

  The awed onlookers cheered and clapped. After the first daring trio snatched their plump, hot raisins without major mishap, several others stepped forward. Their eyes glittered and waves of bluish light swept over their cheekbones as they searched for a gap in the flames. Someone in the growing crowd of spectators began a song that was rapidly taken up by all:

  Here he comes with flaming bowl,

  Don’t he mean to take his toll,

  Snip! Snap! Dragon!

  Take care you don’t take too much,

  Be not greedy in your clutch,

  Snip! Snap! Dragon! With his blue and lapping tongue

  Many of you will be stung,

  Snip! Snap! Dragon!

  For he snaps at all that comes

  Snatching at his feast of plums,

  Snip! Snap! Dragon!

  Michael did not hesitate for a second, stepping boldly up to the fiery bowl and unerringly plucking an almond from the middle. He watched the capering flames lick over his fingers for a span of heartbeats before extinguishing behind his lips, chewing the crispy nut with delight. Two girls inched toward the bowl and Michael wasn’t the least bit surprised to note that one was Noella. She glanced to her brother, her grin and dark eyes fey in the lambent light, and proceeded to shoot both hands into the flames, grabbing not one but two raisins from the bowl! She made sure he saw her catch, only then popping them into her mouth. The barest tightening at the corners of her eyes was the only indication that the hot fruit scorched her palate.

  Michael threw back his head and laughed. Contending with his sister was second nature, and he would gladly suffer stinging burns to prove he was braver and tougher than she, but secretly he knew that the main reason he
so enjoyed taunting Noella was because of her fearlessness.

  The game was on! Snapdragon competition raged for a good while. Fresh batches of fruit and nuts were added as more people, young and old, entered into the contest. Alexander was content to retrieve an almond once, just enough to prevent ceaseless jibs of “coward” from his younger siblings, before moving on to more sedate entertainments. Lizzy flatly refused to allow Nathaniel to play, earning his deep displeasure for the remainder of the evening.

  At an appointed hour, all activity and music stopped and everyone in the hall was called to order by Mr. Haversmith. His deep bass reached each ear, his speech of welcome and praise to God for Christ’s birth delivered in practiced oratorical tones until the end, whereupon he turned to Darcy with a devilish twinkle in his eye. “And now if those Cambridge alumni among us will pardon the boasting, we here on Haversmith lands yearly uphold a tradition this Oxford man holds dear to his heart.”

  He paused, inclining his head humbly in Darcy’s direction. Darcy laughed out loud and lifted his tankard of ale as a salute. “Carry on, Mr. Haversmith. We Cambridge men can appreciate traditions, even those with dubious origins.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Darcy. However, all who walk the hallowed halls of Queen’s College in Oxford know the legend to be true.” And abruptly his voice dipped into a dramatic timbre with a perfected storyteller fluency that would rival Dr. George Darcy at his best. “It is a well-known fact that in 1341, an Oxford student walked through the forest of Shotover on his way to Christmas mass, innocently reading Aristotle as he strolled, until”—his voice rose on the last word, a smattering of gasps heard in the spellbound crowd—“suddenly he was viciously attacked by a wild boar! The slathering beast bore down upon the hapless youth, all snarling maw and sharp tusks designed to maim and kill. The unarmed man was doomed. Then, inspiration struck! With outstanding presence of mind he slammed the huge, metal bound tome shut and rammed philosophy into the open mouth of the advancing animal. He held on tight, pushing with all his might, bravely ignoring the wrenching strain to his arms, until the book was securely lodged. Then he leapt away as the raving monster thrashed about, tearing apart bushes, gouging the turf, and knocking over trees as he choked to his death. It was a fair kill. The courageous cadet shared his bounty in a Yuletide feast with the boar’s head dressed and displayed in honor. It is this event commemorated yearly to this day at my alma mater.”

  And he bowed, hand lying against his heart. Applause burst forth, Darcy shouting “Bravo!” as loudly as the rest.

  “In honor of that resourceful Oxford student and the subsequent tradition, or, if you wish, in remembrance of our Anglo-Saxon ancestry with their Norse rituals in sacrificing a boar to Freyr for blessings in the coming year, or perhaps Saint Stephen whose feast day centers on the mightiest of men slaying the savage boar, this year I give you”—he swept his hand toward the front entrance and lifted his voice to a booming roar—“the head of the boar felled by my son!”

  A blast of trumpets heralded the procession of four servants carrying an enormous, ornately designed silver platter upon which rested a massive rosemary and bay garnished boar’s head with a gleaming red apple stuck in its mouth. Mr. Haversmith’s eldest son stood, his expression proud as he gazed upon the soused head, initiating the boar’s head carol in a clearly heard chant:

  The boar’s head in hand bear I

  Bedecked with bay and rosemary

  I pray you, my masters, be merry

  Quot estis in convivio.

  I bring the boar’s head,

  giving praises to the Lord

  The boar’s head, as I understand,

  Is the rarest dish in all this land,

  Which thus bedecked with a gay garland

  Let us servire cantico

  Our steward hath provided this

  In honor of the King of bliss

  Which, on this day to be served is

  In Reginensi atrio

  On the heels of the boar-toting servants came a roisterous troupe of mummers costumed elaborately, as everything from animals to medieval characters and from royalty to peasants. They pranced about, banging hand-held drums and clashing cymbals, and pantomiming comically until the platters were safely placed and the food served. Then, once silence reigned, they acted their allegorical play for the enraptured audience. Always in rhyming verse, sometimes serious and ofttimes humorous, they spun a unique offering of the standard theme of triumph over death and the battle between good and evil.

  The Darcys spent about two-and-a-half hours celebrating with Mr. Haversmith’s tenant farmers and staff before Watson arrived to inform his master that Mr. Anders had returned with the other carriage, after thoroughly inspecting all undergear for potential problems. Lizzy continued to fret over Thomas being asleep before they arrived home, and Darcy fretted over her unhappiness, but they both pushed the worst of their emotions aside. The entertainments were too varied and delightful not to enjoy and the food too delicious not to partake of.

  They arrived home to discover Thomas happily playing with Alexander’s castle in the playroom. The collection of soldiers now numbered in the hundreds and included Prussian troops, Napoleon’s Armée du Nord, a handful of Spartan warriors, Royal Scots infantryman, medieval armored knights complete with lance and horse, the odd Celt and Viking and Mongol, and a partial regiment of Crusaders to augment the dozen different English regimentals. Alexander had no problem sharing the castle with his siblings and even managed to bite his tongue when the pretend wars did not follow the truth of history! Grandfather Bennet and George sat in the midst of fallen soldiers as Thomas proceeded to kill every last one of them with his lone Spartan.

  In fact, King Leonidas had to complete the job ere Thomas would allow his parents to carry him into their bedchamber and lavish him with kisses and hugs, whereupon he promptly fell asleep in his mother’s arms. Whatever entertainments Darcy may have planned for that particular Christmas Eve were left undone. Even the obligatory reading of the Biblical first Christmas was rendered hastily before they collapsed in exhaustion, after rehashing the day’s events.

  Christmas Grief

  “You are beautiful, dearest,” Darcy spoke from the doorway, gazing at his wife where she stood before her mirror.

  “I should wear black, but I just cannot bring myself to do so on Christmas day.” Lizzy’s voice trembled, her hands unsteady as they clasped the ebony earrings in place.

  Darcy entered her dressing room, pausing beside her. “Your father would understand. He would not wish his daughters to be grief-stricken to the point that Christmas was not celebrated properly.”

  “I know.” She sighed, smoothing the fabric of her dark blue gown over her slim waist. “But it feels wrong nevertheless. Black is appropriate for my current mood, but I rather hoped the blue would cheer me slightly.” She smiled weakly at his reflection. “It is not working thus far.”

  Darcy said nothing, choosing instead to gently caress her back and bestow a tender kiss to her brow. He watched her closely, waiting for the flood of tears and heavy sobs he had been expecting for weeks now.

  Lizzy’s eyes moistened but her whisper was restrained, “Two weeks, Fitzwilliam. If only he had lived another two weeks, he would be here now as we planned.”

  “I know, love. I know.”

  “But, as you have rightly said, we were all here before the end. That meant so much to him. He was happy, was he not?”

  “Very happy. He knew his girls were here, and all his grandchildren. He even bested Uncle at chess just days before.”

  Lizzy chuckled lightly. “I believe George forfeited.”

  “Perhaps. But they argued and taunted as ever. Mr. Bennet gave it his all, called Uncle a cheat, and gloated the requisite number of hours.” He paused, both of their thoughts affectionately resting upon the departed Mr. Bennet. When he again spoke, it was softly but with a hint of reproach. “He spent several wonderful years with us, Elizabeth, and was pleased to do so. Pemberley was h
ome. His grandchildren from you and Jane were a daily part of his life, and Kitty and Mary visited frequently. The previous two Christmases were here with the bulk of his family. He was content and, I believe, ready to go, waiting only until all of his daughters were with him to say his good-byes. We must grieve, naturally, but life does move on.”

  “He told us to lift our wassail to the heavens and sing a special carol just for his ears.” She smiled, brushing the escaped tear from her cheek. “Ridiculous, really, since he was not particularly religious.”

  He withdrew his handkerchief, daubing at her face. “Whether he hears or not is irrelevant. He was telling you to celebrate. Celebrate this day and celebrate his life. I sometimes think the Irish have the wiser attitude in holding a raucous wake to remember the departed loved one.”

  “My father would love that idea!” She took a deep breath, shook her head, swiped irritably at her watery eyes, and straightened her spine.

  Darcy continued to observe her face, wishing she would finally succumb to her sorrow and have a long cry, but also recognizing that this moment was probably not the best time for her composure to be lost. They had a house full of family, Christmas and Noella’s birthday to celebrate, and church to attend.

  As he expected, Lizzy regained control and gave her appearance a last brief inspection in the mirror before turning fully toward her husband. “Very well. I cannot promise to laugh in utter joy, but my sisters and I will take advantage of our time together and toast the memory of our father. Shall we, Mr. Darcy?”

  He offered his arm, Lizzy linking through the bend of his elbow, and leaned down for a thorough kiss. “Merry Christmas, Mrs. Darcy. Did I yet tell you that you are beautiful?”

  Lizzy smiled, steering him toward the door.

  The manor had been decorated with a lesser degree of glittering opulence than in year’s past due to the shadow of mourning, but it was far from somber. Darcy and Lizzy had agreed to restrain the quantity of greenery, festive candles, and multi-hued ribbons, but not erase all indications of the holiday. The heirloom pieces were in place and of course the presents that had grown in number over the years were colorfully wrapped and glittering.