Carolyn Eberhart - A Darcy Christmas

“Very well observed, my boy,” cried Bingley. “I hope they do. The General was off to invite Darcy for Christmas, though with little expectation of his invitation being accepted.”

“He is such a good soul!” said Jane.

“You can be sure of that, my dear,” returned Bingley. Changing the subject, Bingley remarked casually that Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner would be joining them for Christmas.

“Only hear that, Peter,” said Jane.

“Peter,” cried one of the girls, “Peter will try to keep Alice’s attention on himself.”

“Get along with you!” retorted Peter, grinning.

“It’s just as likely as not,” said Bingley, “one of these days; though there’s plenty of time for that, my boy. Come, it is time for bed. You would not want to sleep through Christmas tomorrow, would you?”

“Never, Father!” cried they all.

“And I know,” said Bingley, “I know, my dears, that you will be patient and kind and shall not quarrel easily among yourselves tomorrow.”

“Of course, Father!” they all cried again.

“I am very happy,” said Bingley. “I am very happy!”

The children kissed their parents and retired for the evening.

“Specter,” said Darcy, “something informs me that our parting moment is drawing close at hand. I know it, but I know not how. Tell me who was the woman that we saw lying dead?”

The Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come conveyed him out of London and into the countryside.

Darcy wondered where they were going as he accompanied the Spirit until they reached a rusted iron gate. He paused to look round before entering. A churchyard. Here, then, the woman whose name he just had to learn lay underneath the ground.

The ghostly Lady Catherine stood among the graves. She was exactly as she had been all evening, but he feared that he saw new meaning in her solemn shape as she pointed down to one particular grave. He advanced towards it trembling.

“Before I draw nearer to the stone to which you point,” said Darcy, “answer me one question. Are these the shadows of the things that will be, or are they shadows of things that may be only?”

She only pointed downward to the grave by which it stood.

“The paths men take will foreshadow certain ends, and if the path is never deviated from, they must lead to that outcome,” said Darcy. “But if they departed from one path and chose another, then the ends must change. Say it is thus with what you show me!”

The Spirit was immovable as ever.

Darcy crept towards the tombstone, trembling as he went and, following the finger, read what was carved into the gravestone. The inscription read:

Elizabeth Bennet

25th August 1791–22nd December 1815

Beloved daughter

She will make the angels laugh

“She was the woman who lay upon the bed?” he cried, falling upon his knees. It was the vision he dreaded almost from the start of this visitation

The finger pointed from the grave to him and back again, and then laughed. Darcy was shocked by the sound, for it chilled him to his bones.

“’Tis your own fault, Darcy. Your pride would not let you ask Elizabeth again. Fear of rejection would not let you ask her again. She never gave up on you, but then she caught a fever from her younger sister’s sniveling brat and had not the strength to go on. I believe she asked for you a time or two, but you could not be found until it was too late.” Lady Catherine smiled in malicious delight.

“No, Spirit! Oh no, no!”

“But it is the truth, Darcy. You are always so keen on the truth, are you not?” The Spirit continued in what could only be described as a cheerful voice. “What did your pride and fear get you in the end? Loneliness, for you have lost all your friends and turned your back upon your remaining family.”

The finger still pointed accusingly at Darcy. “And the name you were so proud of is the subject of many course and scurrilous jests. You have become a laughingstock.”

“Spirit!” he cried, tightly clutching at her dress. “Hear me! I am not the man I was. I will not become the man I might have been but for this intercourse. Why show me this if I am past all hope?”

For the first time the hand appeared to shake.

“Good Spirit,” he pursued, “your good nature intercedes for me. Assure me that I yet may change these shadows you have shown me by living an altered life!”

The hand trembled.

“I will honor my love in my heart and keep it in all the years yet to come. I will remember the Past, live in the Present, and look to the Future. The Spirits of all Three shall strive within me. I will not shut out the lessons that they teach. Oh, tell me I may remove away the writing on this stone!”

In his agony, he caught the spectral hand. She sought to free herself, but he was strong in his entreaty and detained it. The Spirit, stronger yet, repulsed him and laughed.

“Bravo,” the Spirit called out, while clapping with the polite and insincere applause usually bestowed upon amateurs. “Such melodramatic drivel,” she sneered. “Such maudlin sentimentality. I find it highly entertaining.”

In defeat, Darcy leaned back against the gravestone, his arms resting upon his bended knees. He did not feel that he was defiling the grave; in fact, he felt comforted sitting there. He looked up at that grinning face. “Just go,” he said wearily, “and leave me in peace. The future you showed is not worth living. I will just sit here until winter overtakes me.”

“Are you giving up so easily? No more dramatic entreaties? No sobs, no weeping? Is your love so ready to accept failure? Not thirty seconds ago you were crying out how much you had changed. You have learned nothing,” came the Spirit’s unkind reply.

Darcy looked at her with open dislike. “I asked but a simple question and received nothing but mockery in return.”

“Your question is a mockery,” the Spirit answered scornfully, “of all that was shown you this night.” And she began to cackle. “A life you richly deserve.”

Anger coursed through Darcy. He gazed hotly at the figure before, now seated on an opposing headstone. He lunged at her, crying out, “I will not live such a life, do you hear me!” as her laughing grew louder. He reached to grab her shoulders, but she was no longer before him and he was falling into blackness.

Darcy awoke in the bed that was his own in the room that was his own. The morning light was just beginning to filter into the room. Three spirits had come and gone, and his travels and travails with them were over. Past, Present, and Future had all shown him the course he should and must take.

“The Spirits of all three have striven to show me what I already knew within me. The past cannot be changed and while some memories cause pain, others provide comfort; the present requires action, and the future is the best and happiest time of all because the time before me is my own, to make the most of and it will be different—quite different than the one played out before me,” Darcy promised himself. “Father, Heaven, and the Christmas Time Spirits, thank you for being around me last night!

“I know just what to do!” cried Darcy, laughing. He felt lighter than he had in months; happiness that had been so elusive in his life lately had returned, making him feel as merry as a schoolboy, as giddy as a drunken man.

Running to the window, he opened it and gazed at the wonder before him. A layer of pristine snow covered the ground and sparkled in the golden sunlight. The heavenly blue sky made a stunning backdrop to icicles that shone like diamonds. The air was cold but invigorating. It had been a long time since he had taken the time to notice the beauty of a winter morning.

But Darcy did not linger, for there was too much to be done and he was eager to get started. He strode into the sitting room and was now standing there replaying the memories of the evening. “Here is the decanter of brandy and still full!” cried Darcy, starting off again and going round to the fireplace. “There is the door by which the ghost of my father entered! There is the window where I saw the wandering Spirits! There is the corner where the Ghost of Christmas Present sat!” He bent down and retrieved a lone holly leaf. “It is all true; it all happened.”

He was checked in his transports by the sound of church bells ringing out the lustiest peals he had ever heard—clash, clang, hammer, ding, dong, bell. Oh, what a glorious noise!

The door opened and in walked his valet. “Good morning, sir, and a Merry Christmas to you.”

It is Christmas Day! thought Darcy to himself. I have not missed it. The Spirits have done it all in one night. They can do anything they like; they are Spirits after all.

“Thank you, Marks, and also to you.”

“Shall I tell Cook to prepare breakfast?”

“No. There is a change of plans. I require my riding gear. Send a message to the stables to ready my horse. I wish to leave within the hour.”

“You wish to go for a morning’s ride?” asked Marks.

“No, I will be traveling to Hertfordshire. Going by horseback will be quicker. You will follow in the carriage on the morrow. Just pack a satchel for overnight.”

Darcy delivered his orders and set about making himself presentable. Shaving was not an easy task, for his hand continued to shake very much and shaving required attention. He dressed himself all in his best.

A boy came in with his cleaned boots.

“Hallo there!”

“Hallo, sir!” returned the boy.

“Do you know Matlock House, in the next street but one, at the corner?” Darcy inquired.

“I should hope I do,” replied the lad.

“I will give you a shilling to deliver a letter there. No, I will give you half-a-crown!”

“A half-a-crown, sir, it is far too much!” protested his valet.

“Nonsense, it is Christmas after all.”

The hand in which he wrote the letter was not a steady one, but write it he did. After giving the lad his letter and coin, he went downstairs to open the street door and watched the lad run down the street. As he stood there, the door knocker caught his attention.

“I shall love it as long as I live!” cried Darcy, patting it with his hand. “I scarcely ever looked at it before. What expression it has in its face! It is a wonderful knocker!”

A groom arrived with his horse from the stable. Straddling his horse, he started the journey into Hertfordshire.

*   *   *

Meanwhile, Georgiana had made her way down into the breakfast parlor. She was alone when the butler handed her a note on a silver platter. The Earl entered the breakfast as Georgiana finished her letter, “Good morning, sir! A Merry Christmas to you!”

“And to you, my dear!” replied the Earl. “Who sends you greetings on Christmas morning if I may ask?”

“It is a letter from Fitzwilliam, sir. He says that he will be unable to join us for Christmas dinner.”

“I am sorry to hear that. Are you greatly disappointed?”

“Oh no, sir. For he says he is going to fulfill my greatest wish for Christmas.”

“And that wish is?” enquired the Earl.

“A new sister, sir. A new sister,” Georgiana returned happily, before taking a sip of hot chocolate, leaving the Earl quite speechless.

*   *   *

Darcy was by this time on the outskirts of London, heading for Netherfield. If the visions of Christmas Present were true, he would find Elizabeth there.

He did not mind the cold; in truth he barely felt it. His mind was so busy with the images of the previous night that he barely noticed the world around him. The sound of the horse’s hooves hitting the cold ground penetrated his thoughts occasionally. He would smile, for each step brought him closer to Elizabeth.

Finally, in the afternoon, he arrived at Netherfield. A groom rushed out to take the horse. Darcy patted the horse on the neck, thanking him for making the journey as quickly as he had. “Give him a good rub down, some extra oats, and an apple if you can find one.”

“Yes, sir,” replied the groom. Darcy tossed him a coin.

“And a Merry Christmas.”

“Thank you, sir.”

He looked up to the window and spied Elizabeth gazing out the window. He had never dreamed that any ride could give him so much happiness. He turned to go up the steps of Bingley’s house but stopped. Instead, he turned to the window and, realizing that Elizabeth had spotted him, he pointed to her, then to himself, and out to the winter-cloaked garden, silently asking her to meet him there.