A Merry Darcy Christmas, page 2
“I must say, Lizzy,” Mr. Bennet said, spearing a slice of ham with his fork, “that I’m surprised Lady Catherine holds you in such high esteem. It is inconceivable that a person who could countenance Mr. Collins would have the wit to appreciate you.”
“Hush!” Mrs. Bennet said, her mouth full of toast and marmalade. “I will not have you slander Lady Catherine. Of course, she likes our Lizzy—who wouldn’t? Pay him no mind, girls. He would look a gift horse in the mouth and criticize every tooth.”
Mr. Collins had spent the night at the Lucas’s, and so they were breakfasting without him. For once, they would have appreciated his company.
The previous evening, he had regaled them with stories of the preparations for the Christmas season at Rosings. Lady Catherine was sparing no expense. Gilding Rosings’ cupola was her most costly flourish. However, Mr. Collins reported many other extravagances—decorations, delicacies, and planned dinners with guests of distinction—that promised much in the way of delight and diversion.
Mrs. Bennet and her daughters were to depart Longbourn to arrive at Rosings Park December 18th, and were to stay through Twelfth Night so that they would spend the entire Christmas season there. Mr. Bennet remain at Longbourn to perform the various duties required, including a Christmas dinner for his tenant farmers, and the distribution of gift boxes to the needy on Boxing Day when Longbourn would be opened up to them.
“You must remember, girls,” said Mrs. Bennet, waving her butter knife at each daughter in turn, “to be always on your best behavior. I will not have anyone criticizing my daughters for lack of decorum. It is up to you to show that well-bred young ladies can come from the country as well as the town.”
“Will there be a great many rich young gentlemen there?” Kitty asked. She addressed this to Elizabeth. “I should so like to marry a man richer and more handsome than Mr. Wickham.”
“I do not know about more handsome,” Elizabeth replied, “but I think you are safe in assuming that they will be richer. As for their number, I’m sure I do not know, although Mr. Collins seems to be of the view that Rosings will be teeming with eligible young men.”
The young men at Rosings would have to be richer than Wickham. Elizabeth marveled at how he had been able to clear his debts in Meryton—the town had been full of gossip about how much Wickham owed in gambling and other debts—and also purchase a commission in the regulars, for she knew him to be penniless. But somehow he had done it, and he and Lydia had been married in London. They were now in the north, where his new regiment was stationed, and appeared to be surviving, though how she couldn’t imagine.
“Rosings Park will be chock-full of rich men,” Mrs. Bennet said. “Mr. Collins has been most clear on that point. We are fortunate indeed to have him for a relation, even though he is not above stooping to snatch Longbourn from us when it is only entailed to him.”
Elizabeth knew, though her maternal grandfather had been an attorney, her mother’s knowledge of the law did not go so far as to make comprehensible to her how an entail could possibly be legal. Indeed, on the point of entails her mother was beyond the reach of reason.
“Some people will think only of themselves, never mind what’s right,” Mrs. Bennet continued crossly, already forgetting her good fortune in having Mr. Collins for a relation.
“It is not his fault that Longbourn is entailed to him,” said Jane. “And we are fortunate that he remembers us. I’m sure he must have prevailed on Lady Catherine to extend her gracious invitation.”
Elizabeth sighed but said nothing. Jane was, as always, able to see only the best in others, thinking them to be as good, and as well-intentioned, as she was. Elizabeth did not believe that Mr. Collins would hazard having his Bennet relations—having seen their public behavior at the assembly in Meryton, and the ball at Netherfield—make a protracted stay at Rosings Park. The invitation had not come at his prompting. It was Lady Catherine’s idea. But why?
At least Mr. Darcy would not be there. And some good might come of the visit, for one of her sisters, if not for herself. Elizabeth took a sip of hot cocoa—she had no appetite to speak of—and listened while the others discussed preparations for the trip. New dresses must be made; travel arrangements attended to—a hundred details to take care of and less than two weeks to accomplish them.
Mrs. Bennet’s ambitions had to be repeatedly quashed by the constraints of time and circumstance.
“If only we could go to London first, where I know the best warehouses. It’s on the way, and we could stay with my brother for a week or two while the gowns are being made,” Mrs. Bennet said more than once, forgetting that their party would be too large for the Gardiners to accommodate in their Cheapside residence.
“How will you manage without us, Father?” Jane asked. “I don’t mind staying on here to help you.”
“Nonsense!” Mrs. Bennet seemed to levitate from her chair. “If only one of my daughters were to go it would be you. If it is the last thing I do, I will see your beauty turned to good account.”
“I will manage very well,” said Mr. Bennet. “Indeed, I believe I shall enjoy my Christmas here enormously.”
His daughters all turned to look at him as did Mrs. Bennet, the former with looks of dismay, the latter with an expression of reproach.
“Of course, I will miss you all,” Mr. Bennet said hastily. “I shall have to visit the poor myself, without your help, Jane, or yours, Lizzy. Kitty, you are always so clever at packing up their gift boxes, I will have assign that task to lesser hands. Mary, your pronouncements leaven the merriment of the season. I will have only your memory to sober my mood.”
Elizabeth remembered with fondness how she and Jane would go with their father to visit the poor, bringing baskets filled with food—hams, cakes, legs of mutton, preserves, nuts—and other useful or merry items. Mr. Bennet would often make a present of money to the neediest.
Her sisters seemed mollified by Mr. Bennet’s appreciative words and returned to their breakfasts.
“You did not say,” said Mrs. Bennet, “how you will manage without me.”
Mr. Bennet laid his fork down on his plate so forcefully that the china made a ringing sound. “Mrs. Bennet,” he said firmly, “I can honestly say that not a moment will pass in which I do not note your absence.”
Mrs. Bennet seemed satisfied with this response, though Elizabeth had to suppress a smile.
“Pudding’s ready for stirring,” Mrs. Hill said. They all turned to see her standing in the doorway, her face ruddy from the heat of the kitchen and flecked with flour.
“This can be the prize,” said Mr. Bennet, handing a silver shilling to Mrs. Hill to hide in the pudding. “With luck, I shall find it myself.”
“The prizes in Lady Catherine’s puddings won’t be shillings,” said Kitty. “Emeralds or rubies, I shouldn’t wonder. Gold sovereigns at the least.”
“Be on your guard against all kinds of greed,” said Mary. “A man’s life does not consist in the abundance of possessions. A silver thimble for thrift is a more suitable prize.”
“A ring for marriage,” said Mrs. Bennet. “Put in a ring for marriage, Hill!”
“There’s pudding enough for as many prizes as you like,” said Mrs. Hill. She stood before a large cream-colored crockery bowl set on the oak kitchen table, brandishing a formidable wooden spoon. “Though who’s to find them I’m sure I don’t know, what with everyone leaving.”
“Your puddings will be the highlight of the Christmas dinner just the same,” said Jane. “We shan’t have puddings half so good as yours at Rosings Park, Mrs. Hill.”
“That’s true,” said Elizabeth. “I would much rather have yours, Mrs. Hill.”
“They will have splendid pudding at Rosings, and more besides!” Mrs. Bennet said. Then she turned to her oldest daughter.
“Jane, you stir the pudding first. Close your eyes—stir clockwise! —and make a wish. A suitable wish, there’s a good girl. Don’t tell us what you wished for or it won’t come true.”
“I wish to have a glass of brandy with Mrs. Hill,” said Mr. Bennet. “That wish will certainly come true.”
When it was Elizabeth’s turn, it took a moment for her to decide upon a wish. She was not superstitious, but her mother looked so eager and so intent upon the project that she felt she should at least try to humor her, even though the wishes were secret. Then it came to her in a flash; a wish which would please her and would obey her mother’s implicit command as well. Elizabeth closed her eyes, grasped the wooden handle of the spoon, and stirred the sticky dough to the right.
I wish to marry for love, she said silently.
Stir-Up Sunday
Advent is a week away,
Make the pudding this Sunday.
13 ingredients there must be,
The last of which is much brandy!
A silver coin for fortune hide,
A thimble for thrift, a ring for the bride.
But only turn the spoon clockwise;
Turn to the left, and the Devil will rise!
On Stir-Up Sunday make the dish,
That brings to all their special wish!
Traditional
Elizabeth and Jane were in Jane’s room, stretched out on her bed beside one another, the excitement of the day having given way to fatigue.
Mr. Collins had returned from the Lucas’s, but only to inform them that he was returning to Hunsford the next day. He would not be prevailed upon to stay for dinner, although he did speak with Elizabeth once more to impress upon her the advantage she would gain from the visit, and to seek her assurance that not even illness would stop her from attending. So long as Elizabeth was well enough to travel, she should make the trip as Lady Catherine’s personal physician would provide better treatment than she could obtain at Longbourn or even London.
Elizabeth had given him her promise that short of death, Christmas would find her at Rosings Park. She didn’t add that her mother was sure to see to that.
Mr. Collins, far from removing her anxiety with his endless refrain of the fantastic opportunity the invitation presented, instead had increased her suspicions.
Lady Catherine was up to something, but what that something was Elizabeth could not even begin to guess. She expressed as much to Jane.
“Lady Catherine has some purpose inviting us to Christmas with her. But I do not know what it could be.”
“Her purpose is to assist some relations of Mr. Collins,” said Jane, placing her hand gently on Elizabeth’s arm. “And also to see you again. The former is very generous of her, and the latter does not surprise me in the least. When you visited Hunsford, you went to Rosings many times at her invitation. Why are you surprised that she wishes to see you again?”
Elizabeth knew that her sister would never see the world except through eyes that only saw the good in it. But she had to try and make her understand that Lady Catherine was not the sort of woman who did things without a purpose, and what was more a purpose which served her interests, that they should also serve those of another would be merely incidental.
“She criticized me, that much is true,” Elizabeth said. “And she gave me a great deal of advice, as she also did to Maria Lucas, and Charlotte. But I did not apprehend any particular regard for me and certainly no fondness in her manner.
“Jane, you must realize that she is a formidable lady, and one used to having her way. There is more behind her invitation than some supposed desire for my company.” Elizabeth turned her head on the pillow to face her sister.
“And why should she wish us all to visit? I do not believe Mr. Collins has such influence over her that he could persuade her to invite us all to Rosings, nor do I believe that he would on his own motion say a single word to her in our favor.”
“You are too harsh on our cousin,” Jane said. Her voice was gentle, and she smiled. “Surely you remember when he first visited us with the intention of choosing a wife? He did that out of thoughtfulness, knowing that he would then be in a position to help the rest when Longbourn was entailed to him.”
Elizabeth said nothing and Jane continued, “And as for wishing to see your family, you told me yourself that Lady Catherine asked you many questions concerning your sisters, how many you had, their ages and accomplishments. She expressed a sincere interest in your family that seems to have grown in your absence.”
“She expressed interest, it is true,” said Elizabeth, “but interest laced with misgivings. She was shocked to learn that we were raised without a governess, for one thing.”
“Well then, she wishes us to have some of the advantages that she thinks would benefit us and we would otherwise miss. It would not require much urging from Mr. Collins—and sister I do believe that he has taken our part in the matter—for her to take the initiative in securing our fortunes.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “I will never convince you that Mr. Collins concern for us is confined to his entail. But, Jane, please believe me when I tell you that Lady Catherine is not acting out of mere interest or concern. There is some intrigue at the bottom of this.”
“And I will never convince you, Lizzy, that our cousin has our best interest at heart. But I can remind you that Lady Catherine has made it a habit—and you have told me this yourself—of helping Charlotte and others in the community—”
“Meddling in Charlotte’s affairs, and the affairs of others,” Elizabeth corrected.
“Such that it is entirely consistent with her character that she should endeavor to help us,” Jane concluded.
Elizabeth said nothing further. It was hopeless.
Jane patted her arm and leaned closer to her. “Well then, Lizzy, think of this: we will be there for Twelfth Night. That is the time when the world turns upside down, when kings serve and peasants rule, when the weak become powerful, and the powerful do their bidding—when anything can happen however unexpected or improbable.
“And Lizzy, since we shall be at the bottom of the world of Rosings Park can we not expect some advantage to accrue to us when it turns upside down?”
Elizabeth laughed at this in spite of herself, and Jane soon joined her.
Twelfth Night, indeed.
Chapter 3, Darcy House, London
December 16, 1812
They hang the man, and flog the woman,
That steals the goose from off the common;
But let the greater villain loose,
That steals the common from the goose.
Traditional
“The problem is, Darcy, you and I haven’t any business sense—not like Pettigrew here who’s rich as a Nabob.” Lord Northover gestured at his friend who simply nodded, accepting the compliment. “It was never taught to us, or beaten into us, however the thing works. All you and I know is how to spend money, not how to acquire it.”
“Perhaps Mr. Pettigrew has a gift for its acquisition, and needed no instruction,” Georgiana said, and then cast her gaze down. “Of course, I would not know the first thing about that.”
Mr. Pettigrew beamed at her. A broad-shouldered man with a thick shock of red hair, he was the opposite of his friend Lord Northover, who was blond-haired, slender and fine-boned.
“You know more than you realize, Miss Darcy,” Mr. Pettigrew turned to her. He was seated beside her at the table. “For, indeed, money-making is a gift. Your brother—and I base this solely upon his reputation for I only know what Northover and others have told me—has a gift for generosity. For my part, although I come from trade, I was born with the gift of making money multiply. My father certainly did not teach me. He was, according to his means, as generous as your brother.”
Georgiana smiled and looked up at him briefly before looking down again at her plate.
They were seated at the dining table in Darcy’s London house: Lord Northover, Mr. Pettigrew, Darcy, and Georgiana. Lord Northover and Mr. Pettigrew had called upon Darcy as a result of some news they had yet to share. Darcy wondered what it could be, realizing he would likely have to wait until they were on their brandy and cigars.
“Would you care for more roast beef, Miss Darcy?” asked Mr. Pettigrew. At her murmur of assent, he carved the joint with surprising delicacy for such a robust figure, arranging three thin slices on her plate, stopping when she nodded and thanked him.
Darcy looked at his sister with some pride. She was tall and mature for her seventeen years, having already a woman’s figure. But she was naturally reserved, and this quality gave her a graciousness that few young ladies could claim. His own reserve, he knew, came across as aloofness or superiority, but on Georgiana, it sat well.
“I do not think I am over-generous,” Darcy said. “Indeed, I doubt that I deserve credit for generosity at all. I discharge my duties, but to the extent that this involves generosity that was not my doing, but rather attendant to my position. It is not that I have any choice in the matter.”
“Well, you had the choice of neglecting your duties,” Northover said, taking a sip of wine from a crystal goblet. “You might have followed my example.”
Lord Northover was master of Hardwick Park, a large estate in Sussex. It had once been even larger, with holdings in Derbyshire, not far from Pemberley, but it had diminished over time. Not through any fault of Lord Northover, Darcy mused, but rather through unfortunate marriages which had failed to preserve its capital. Pemberley could not be allowed to suffer a similar fate. He would not let it.
“There’s nothing ungenerous about you,” Mr. Pettigrew said. “You may be profligate, and a spendthrift, and careless about the cost of things, but you are known as a soft touch by every peasant within hailing distance of Hardwick.”
