Mrs Bennet's Christmas

by Philippa J Rosen

  Chapter 2

  A dinner was held at Longbourn on Christmas Eve. It was an enjoyable and noisy evening made all the better by the palpable feeling that the magic of Christmas was a mere few hours away. One more night of sleep and it would be Christmas Day.

  For, although the five Bennet sisters were married now, they still looked back fondly over their many Christmas Days with their father and mother. They always began the day together with breakfast at the large dining table. After breakfast Mr Bennet would prepare a very weak and mild punch which he would allow his daughters to sample, knowing that the tiny amount of rum would cause them no ill effects. Then the seven of them would wrap themselves in thick, heavy coats and go for a walk across the meadows, the ground hard and the air crisp and clear.

  Then they would gather in the sitting room and would exchange gifts. Mrs Bennet was in charge of the gifts and loved to choose little trifles and trinkets and wrap them in red or green paper, tied with a little bow of string. She took great delight at the little squeals of joy as the girls unwrapped each present while Mr Bennet looked on fondly.

  And then would come Christmas dinner. Mrs Bennet would cook a fine goose purchased from the butcher a few days before and hung in the larder to enhance the flavour. There would be a wide assortment of vegetables, bread stuffing and other delicious morsels. Afterwards they would be quite full and would need to rest for a while until the festivities continued in the afternoon. They would then play a boisterous game of ‘The Minister’s Cat’ or ‘Similes’.

  In the evening Mr Bennet would tell stories by the firelight. Ancient ghost stories perhaps, or stories taken from Shakespeare and English history. By the time the day was finally over they were all exhausted and fell quickly into contented sleep.

  So, at dinner that Christmas Eve, the five girls reminisced about their previous festivities and shared their memories of Christmases past while their husbands looked on. Alexander and Horatio, barely able to see over the table on their little chairs were delighted by the stories.

  “Have you wrapped gifts for us, grandmother?” said Horatio.

  “Horatio,” whispered Jane, “one doesn’t ask that sort of thing at dinner.”

  “Why not, mother?” said Alexander.

  “Because,” said Charles, “it is not considered polite. You understand?”

  “Yes, I understand, father. But have you, grandmother?”

  “You’ll just have to wait until morning to find out, won’t you,” said Mrs Bennet with an air of slight irritation.

  The food was excellent. It was a relatively light meal, in preparation for the abandon of feasting the next day. Everybody seemed to enjoy themselves, especially when Mr Bennet returned from his cellar with a couple of bottles of excellent wine and a bottle of choice brandy.

  There was a joint of roasted beef with potatoes and vegetables and gravy and it was enjoyed by all.

  “I say, pass the potatoes, Mrs B,” said Mr Anderson casually.

  Mrs Bennet eyed the dish. There were three potatoes left and she had earmarked them all for her own plate. However, she handed them to her new son in law and tried to hide her ill grace. One after the other he put his fork in the potatoes and transferred them to his plate. She stood up and retired to the kitchen. As she left, she gave Mr Bennet a look of such significance that he was fain to follow her.

  “Are you all right, my dear?” he said when they reached the haven of the kitchen.

  “He took the last three potatoes, Mr Bennet.”

  “Yes, I saw.”

  “And he keeps calling me Mrs B. It is more than my poor nerves can bear.”

  Mrs Bennet enjoyed a few heavy and dramatic sobs.

  “Would you have a quiet word in his ear, Mr Bennet?”

  “Yes, my dear. I will talk to him after dinner.”

  In truth Mr Bennet had already decided to talk to Mr Anderson. He was concerned for Kitty’s sake.

  After the main course of dinner was finished, the plates were cleared away and a pudding was set down before the guests. It was an enormous pie made from a combination of peaches and blackberries, sweetened with a sauce made from eggs, milk and sugar.

  Horatio and Alexander were served a large portion each, even though they had eaten very few vegetables.

  Mrs Bennet grumbled quietly to herself.

  “When our daughters were young, we always insisted they eat all their vegetables before indulging in sweet pudding. Isn’t that so, Mr Bennet?”

  He gave Jane and Charles an apologetic smile.

  “Not really, Mrs Bennet. All our daughters were much the same as other children in every age and in every place, I suspect. They didn’t really like vegetables and would avoid them if they could. Like most parents, I think, we didn’t enforce it particularly harshly. So they often left their vegetables uneaten and proceeded directly to pudding.”

  The meal was finished at last and the guests left the table to mingle and talk for a while.

  “I think I’ll take some air, Kitty,” said Mr Anderson.

  He sauntered from the house and took a little stroll around the garden. Mr Bennet followed him out. He caught up with him and spoke in a friendly but firm manner.

  “Well, Mr Anderson, how do you find Longbourn?”

  “Oh, please, call me Godfrey.”

  “Thank you. And you may call me Mr Bennet.”

  They strolled across the frozen lawn, their breath visible in the clear, moonlit air.

  “I have five daughters, Godfrey,” said Mr Bennet, looking at the ground in front of him as he walked. “Therefore, I have five sons in law. You understand?”

  “Yes of course,” said Mr Anderson, not really understanding at all.

  “Jane’s husband and Lizzy’s husband are both men of property and each has a healthy income. Mary’s husband is an excellent musician. And then there is Lydia’s husband. Have you met Mr Wickham yet?”

  “Only at our wedding, and that was very briefly. He seemed pleasant enough.”

  “Yes, he does seem pleasant at first meeting. Unfortunately, he is a good for nothing wastrel. He drinks, he gambles, and he seems to wander through life without any clear direction. And since he left the army, with very little steady employment. I am concerned about Lydia’s future.”

  “Yes, I am sure you are, Mr Bennet,” said Mr Anderson, wondering why he was telling him this.

  “And I am also concerned about Kitty, Godfrey.”

  “Concerned about Kitty, Mr Bennet? Why?”

  “Because of my fifth son in law. I must tell you, there is only room for one wastrel in my family.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Godfrey.

  “I think you do. I have observed you and I have heard reports from several sources. You seem, if you will excuse my saying it, to lack purpose. Kitty is rather like Lydia. She has a, shall we say, young and girlish attitude to life. She needs a husband who will take a firm hand with her.”

  Mr Anderson said nothing as they continued to walk around the small garden.

  “If I understand you, Mr Bennet…” he said at last.

  “Oh, don’t get me wrong, Godfrey. I don’t think for a second that you’re a gambler and a wine bibber. I learned very quickly that Mr Wickham is not a man of honour. He doesn’t pay his gambling debts, let alone his bills with traders.”

  In his heart, Godfrey knew that Mr Bennet was right. He heard stories of Mr Wickham and Lydia from Kitty. And just as Kitty had always modelled herself on Lydia and had over time become a thin copy of her sister, so Mr Anderson had, consciously or unconsciously, begun to act more and more like Wickham. His languid manner, his seeming lack of purpose, his careless demeanour.

  Mr Bennet put an arm around his shoulder as they continued to walk.

  “Don’t take things to heart too much, Godfrey. I think deep down you’re a decent fellow. You’re no Wickham, but you do need to find some purpose in life. For your own sake as well as Kitty’s.”

  “Of course, you’re right
, Mr Bennet,” he said quietly.

  “I’m sorry if I sounded harsh.”

  “No, a kick in the breeches was what I needed. In the New Year I will look about me and find gainful employment such that neither Kitty nor myself will be dishonoured.”

  He and Mr Bennet shook hands.

  “And one other thing,” said Mr Bennet.

  “Yes?”

  “My wife has made a little complaint. She says you call her Mrs B. Now, it matters not to me, but she says she doesn’t particularly like it. She suffers from her nerves, you see. Or at least that’s what she has always told me. Told me many, many times over the last twenty odd years.”

  “Of course, Mr Bennet. I will go and beg her pardon and address her as Mrs Bennet from now on.”

  “Thank you. And if you and I talk in private on future occasions, I would be happy for you to address me by my first name…”

  When Mr Bennet and Mr Anderson returned to the house, Horatio and Alexander were fighting. Mrs Bennet tried in vain to act as peace maker. Mr Bennet, with his light and understanding touch, came between the boys and suggested they use their energies in a more amusing way and showed them various diverse little tricks and games.

  Mr Anderson took Mrs Bennet into a little corner and spoke to her frankly.

  “Mrs Bennet, please forgive my rudeness earlier. If you have found me wanting as a son in law, then I am truly sorry. But be assured, I will do everything I can to make your daughter happy and to make you and your husband proud of me.”

  Mrs Bennet made fluttering little motions with her hands and graciously told Mr Anderson that there was nothing to forgive.

  She tapped him playfully on the chest with her closed fan.

  “You were a little naughty though, calling me Mrs B.”

  “It will not happen again, I assure you.”

  The other guests talked together in little groups. Mr Walton played the piano for a while and Horatio and Alexander fell asleep in their parents’ arms. Pretty soon it was time for everybody to retire to bed. The house at Longbourn was not excessively large. But by some miracle, Mr Bennet had planned and arranged everything so that there was room for all of them. A little tight perhaps, but everybody was comfortable.

  “Perhaps it’s a good thing that Wickham and Lydia aren’t coming until the day after tomorrow,” said Mrs Bennet.

  “Yes, I rather think you’re right, my dear,” said her husband. “Another couple, and I think the house would have burst.”

  “Then it’s a good thing I had the idea of inviting Wickham and Lydia separately. For if they had all come at the same time, I simply don’t know how I’d have managed. I don’t know how we’d have found room for them, for every bed chamber is occupied.”

  “Yes, my dear, it’s a good thing you did.”

  “Anyway, it is Christmas Day tomorrow, Mr Bennet, and I will be very busy, so please stop talking so I can sleep.”

  “Of course, my dear. Goodnight.”

  Chapter 3

  Christmas Day began at four o’clock in the morning. Not for the adults, but for Alexander and Horatio Bingley. At exactly that hour they woke and began to jump up and down on their mother and father who were trying to sleep. Alas in vain.

  “Father, Mama,” the children cried in unison, “Wake up, it is Christmas Day.”

  “Go back to sleep, children,” said Jane, “it is too early.”

  “But it’s Christmas,” said the children.

  “What time is it, Charles?” said Jane bleary with sleep, or lack thereof.

  In the dark Charles reached over and found his pocket watch. With difficulty he made out the hands.

  “Four o’clock, my love.”

  “Four o’clock?” groaned Jane.

  “I’m afraid so. And it appears the children are awake.”

  “Come on, Mother,” said Alexander, “let us wake the others.”

  “Yes, Father,” said Horatio, “let’s wake the others. Then we can exchange gifts.”

  “But, children, it is very early. Your mother and I are very tired. You must be tired also, are you not?”

  “We’re not tired at all, Father,” said Alexander, jumping up and down on the bed with a great deal of vigour and a great deal of noise.

  “But you will wake the others,” said Jane.

  “We don’t care, do we Horatio?”

  “No, we want grandmother to make us breakfast and then open our gifts.”

  In fairness to the boys, it was not in their nature to be spoiled, for Charles and Jane had brought them up well. However, the anticipation of Christmas had made them excited to a degree that might have seemed unreasonable to anybody who was not their parent.

  Charles practically begged them.

  “Horatio, Alexander, why don’t you go to sleep for another hour? Then we will all rise and join the others.”

  “No,” said Alexander firmly, “we want to get up now. Don’t we, Horatio?”

  “Yes.”

  The negotiations continued in delicate fashion. At length, Jane persuaded the children that if they returned to their beds and slept for another half an hour, they would all leave the bed chamber and go downstairs to commence Christmas. The children accepted the offer reluctantly but agreed to return to their beds and sleep for a further half an hour. Half an hour and not a moment more. The children went back to bed and fell asleep almost at once, weary from their exertions, as Jane knew they would.

  She and Charles drifted grateful back into blissful sleep.

  By the time the children awoke it was past eight o’clock. The low sun streamed through the window. Charles and Jane were already bathed and dressed and noises could be heard from downstairs as breakfast was prepared.

  “How long were we asleep, Mama?” said Horatio.

  “A little over half an hour, darlings,” said Jane.

  It was a half truth, but a forgivable one given the circumstances.

  “Then we can begin Christmas, Mama?” said Alexander.

  “Of course we can, darlings,” said Jane. “How does my hair look, Charles.”

  Charles was sitting on the bed, tying his boots. He looked up at his wife and smiled.

  “It’s perfect, my love,” he said, “as always.”

  “Thankyou, Charles. Now, get dressed quickly, darlings and we will have breakfast.”

  The children were dressed in a moment in little suits of green velvet. They went downstairs, Charles and Jane holding a little hand each. Darcy and Lizzy and Kitty and Godfrey were already seated at the large dining room table. They sat at the bottom end of the table. They were shortly joined by Mary and Thomas. Mr Bennet sat at the head of the table and Mrs Bennet cooked breakfast, which had become a tradition on Christmas Day.

  It was an excellent breakfast too. When everybody had been served, Mr Bennet made a toast and wished everybody a Merry Christmas. They all ate with relish, especially Mrs Bennet, and afterwards were replete.

  “I thought we might take a brisk walk once we are finished,” said Mr Bennet. “And then church.”

  “Good idea, Mr Bennet,” said Darcy. “I need to walk off some of Mrs Bennet’s marvellous breakfast.”

  Mrs Bennet simpered happily, and the others concurred. A morning walk would be very agreeable.

  There were two people at the table who did not agree. Horatio and Alexander sat with folded arms and cross little faces.

  “I fear your sons think it a less than agreeable idea, Charles,” said Mr Bennet with a fond grin at his grandsons.

  “We wanted to open our gifts, Grandfather,” said Horatio.

  “Yes,” agreed Alexander, “we want presents before we go for a walk.”

  “Hush now, darlings,” said Jane. “It is a family tradition. Your aunts and I always enjoyed a walk on Christmas morning when we were little.”

  Lizzy, Mary and Kitty corroborated this. Mr Bennet remembered however, that his daughters had always been a little reluctant to go for a walk before opening any gifts.

&
nbsp; “I have a compromise,” said Mr Bennet. “Why don’t we let the boys open one gift and then we can go for our walk. Would that be agreeable to everybody.”

  Horatio and Alexander gave a whooping little cheer of delight and the adults were agreeable to the idea. Therefore, Mr Bennet went and fetched two large packages, wrapped in brown paper and tied with a dark green bow.

  “There you are, boys. A gift for each of you from your grandmother and I.”

  “Thank you, grandfather,” they said in unison.

  Without further ado they quickly tore off the paper. Jane smiled indulgently at her sons. Her smile froze when she saw the gifts. Mr and Mrs Bennet had given each of their grandsons a tin drum, together with wooden drumsticks. The boys were delighted. Mr Bennet was amused. Jane and Charles tried to look pleased.

  “A drum, father?” said Jane. “You bought them each a drum?”

  “Yes. Your mother thought it might be a good idea if they began to play an instrument. Perhaps follow in Uncle Thomas’ footsteps.”

  “But Thomas plays the piano,” said Charles.

  “Well, they’ll have to start somewhere,” said Mrs Bennet.

  “So, shall we get ready for our walk,” said Mr Bennet. “if we hurry, we can leave in say twenty minutes.”

  Everybody went to their bed chambers and wrapped themselves up in warm clothes. For although it was not snowing, it was one of those cold, crisp winter mornings where the air is still and the sky a perfect blue. Mr Bennet loved mornings like this, and he pitied the poor people who had to make their way through the fog and soot of London.

  The family set off as one and walked across the green meadows, hard and firm in the cold. Horatio and Alexander took their drums with them, tied around the neck on a piece of string. They walked ahead of the others and played a comical little march, to which the adults kept time as best they could in the spirit of the season.

  They marched all the way into town where a few people walked briskly hither and tither. A small brass band played cheerfully, though a little roughly as all were wearing gloves. Horatio and Alexander stood before them and accompanied them on their drums, before the family moved on. They met people they knew and people they didn’t and wished them all Merry Christmas. Soon the bells in the steeple called them to worship and they made their way to the church. Mr Bennet kindly agreed to look after the boys’ drums before the service began.