Carolyn Eberhart - A Darcy Christmas

The baby, just four months of age, was probably their most “normal” child. The personality of Nathaniel Marcus Charles Darcy was still emerging, but he did not seem to live on one or the other edge of the spectrum as his siblings always had.

Darcy managed to read through all four of Irving’s Christmas related essays, but with several interruptions for questions, two more arguments between Michael and Noella, and a half dozen bursts of laughter.

“I want to learn to play the guitar,” Michael declared when the instrument was mentioned, jumping up to prance about the bed while pretending to strum. He sang the stanza of Herrick’s “Night Piece to Julia” as just read by his father, dramatically and comically serenading Noella and Audrey as if a lover. Audrey gave her brother a soft kiss of thanks but Noella punched him in the knee, stating firmly that she would sooner die a spinster than allow anyone like him to woo her. Laughter rang out, minor wrestling ensued, and order was difficult to restore.

Audrey interrupted only once, her euphonious voice commenting that having peacocks running free as they were in the story would be nice. “Pemberley is stately and magnificent. Peacocks are pretty, don’t you think, Papa?”

“I think that is a marvelous idea!” Lizzy agreed. “How does one obtain peacocks, William?”

“I know several gentlemen who have them on their estates. Purchasing a few would be an easy task. I am sure Mr. Holmes or Mr. Burr would know how to care for them. If it is peafowl you wish for, princess, we can find them.”

Irving’s mention of minstrels playing during the Christmas dinner was appealing to Alexander. “A harper or violinist playing softly in the background is a nice touch. How about hiring one for next year, Father? He could play hymns and carols.”

Darcy and Lizzy nodded, sharing an approving glance, but Michael enthusiastically burst in. “Oh! I can play my guitar! I will have all year to learn, yes, Papa? Or, better yet, we can hire the fiddler who plays at the Village pub! He plays a hardingfele and is amazing…”

“When have you had occasion to hear the fiddler at the pub? And know what type of viol he plays?”

Michael paled, eyes wide as he stared into his father’s stern face.

“This will be good,” Noella murmured, her eyes glittering.

“Be silent, miss. Michael?”

“Only once, Papa, I swear it. Mr. Drake is Howard and Milton’s cousin and they kept on about him, dared me, they did, to come listen! I only peeked through the window, I promise! Then Mr. Drake came out and talked about his instrument. It was carved and decorated with roses, and it was rounder than your violin, and—”

“While I am impressed by your sudden wealth of knowledge regarding stringed instruments, I believe you have failed to mention that you would have needed to leave the house after dark to hear Mr. Drake. Since this is incredibly difficult to accomplish given how well we secure the Manor and the abundance of servants guarding, I can only surmise you have a clever way to sneak out? Care to illuminate us, Michael Darcy?”

“William,” Lizzy lightly laid her hand on his arm, “perhaps we should discuss this on the morrow?”

Darcy frowned but nodded. He fixed his delinquent son with a harsh glare. “We will be discussing this, young man, and do not forget it.”

“Yes, sir,” Michael mumbled, knowing very well that the “discussion” would undoubtedly involve a lashing. Darcy administered corporal punishment rarely, but when he did it was memorable!

The reading resumed with Michael quite downcast. His self-pity increased under Noella’s snickers that he could not retaliate against without incurring fresh displeasure from his father. Of course Noella knew this, the subtle taunting continuing until Darcy reached the paragraph where the Christmas delicacy of peacock pie was detailed. This information made the tenderhearted Audrey—who was still dreaming of colorfully plumed peacocks strutting across Pemberley’s vast lawns—burst into tears. Everything stopped at this point with everyone offering comfort to the stricken girl. Only Darcy’s sworn oath never to harm one of their peacocks or ever serve a peafowl pie, along with dozens of kisses, finally calmed her and the reading recommenced. The mood-vacillating, Michael forgot his impending punishment in the midst of assuaging his beloved baby sister and gaiety ruled for the remainder of the story.

An interlude of play and treats broke up the Christmas storytelling. Warm spiced cider and gingerbread cookies were served. Nathaniel woke at the sound of rambunctious laughter and Lizzy permitted him to suck on each sibling’s finger dipped in cider. Michael and Noella jumped and tumbled on the firmly stuffed mattress. Nathaniel and Audrey were passed about for hugs and cuddles. Alexander retrieved his flute and entertained, even loosening up enough to pipe a couple of rollicking, non-Christmas tunes.

Eventually Darcy called them to order, reaching for the dog-eared Bible to read the original Christmas story. He opened to Matthew, removing the worn bookmark and handing it to Audrey for safekeeping.

“Mama’s bookmark has frayed on this edge, Papa.” Audrey lifted it for his inspection, her eyes sad and his disturbed.

“I suppose I need to store it in one of my memento boxes for safekeeping, but I hate to part with it.” He looked at his wife with a soft smile. “It is precious to me. The first gift I ever received from your mother, after her heart and love, that is.”

“Oh! Tell us the story again, Papa! Tell us about your birthday surprise with Uncle Charles and Aunt Jane and how Mama made you a cake with a candle! And how mama embroidered your names in the hearts! And how…”

“You’ve already told the entire story, Noella!” Lizzy said with a laugh. “We have told it and others dozens of times. Now it is time to read about Christ’s birth.”

Darcy agreed, turning his gaze from the loose stitches on his bookmark to the page of Scripture. However, before finding the beginning verses he was stayed by Alexander.

“Mother, Father, this year the Darcy children wish to bring you the Christmas story. We have prepared a theatrical entertainment for your enjoyment.”

“And we want you to see it first before we perform for Uncle George, Grandmama and Grandpapa, and the family tomorrow,” Noella threw out, already dashing toward the sitting room where they had secreted their props and costumes unbeknownst to their parents.

It was a surprisingly bravura enactment with dramatically delivered lines, rehearsed acting, authentically designed costumes, and cleverly used props. Alexander narrated and acted as Joseph. Audrey was the perfectly cast virginal Mary, a tiny pillow at her abdomen the unborn baby Jesus, and she sat astride the rocking horse that served as a donkey. The “donkey” was pulled about the room, arriving at the inn where Noella informed them there was no room except for in the barn. The birth went amazingly easily, glossed over considerably with the Christ child played by a large Nathaniel who was not particularly thrilled to lie on his back in the doll cradle. Stuffed animals—many of the jungle rather than barn variety—functioned as witnesses. Noella and Michael stole the concluding act as the exalting angel and worshipping shepherd, high drama an inherited forte.

Applause was loud and enthusiastic. Parental kisses and hugs were lavish. And the longcase clock in the corner struck the twelve o’clock hour before the final skirmish over Michael and Noella sharing covers—sleeping side-by-side of course—was quelled by a stern rebuke from Darcy with peace and slumber finally reigning.

Lizzy stared out at the spitting of snow falling from a sky dotted with pale-gray clouds. She frowned and bit her lip while absently fastening the lacings of her thick wool coat. Years living in Derbyshire had given her a sense of typical weather conditions so she was fairly certain the weak clouds would disperse once they squeezed the last drops of moisture into the frigid air, leaving behind a cold but clear day. Traveling to Matlock over the frozen roads should be easy and the sturdy coach packed with seven bodies would remain warm. Yet they had decided it best to leave their youngest child, Thomas, not quite two and recuperating from a minor respiratory affliction, in the care of Mrs. Hanford for the day rather than expose him to the winter chill. It was a wise decision, Lizzy knew, but it was always difficult to leave her children behind.

“We will only be gone for the day,” a deep voice interrupted, the speaker divining her thoughts. She nodded, turning toward her husband where he sat on the nearby bench assisting Audrey with her gloves and fur-lined bonnet. He wasn’t even looking at her or the weather outside, focusing instead on his youngest daughter’s accessories for proper placement to protect against the bitter cold, continuing without a pause, “And I assure you the storm, if it can be called that, will pass within an hour. We will be home before dark and Thomas will not even miss us.”

“Are you sure the snow will not worsen?” Darcy glanced up then, lifting one brow and delivering a you-must-be-joking look. “Well, someday you may be wrong in predicting the weather, Mr. Darcy! What if today is that day and we are stranded at Rivallain?”

“I am not wrong. We will not be stranded at Rivallain. We will be home to celebrate our family Christmas Eve with all the children. And Thomas will remain largely oblivious to the fact that we were away.”