Christmas Celebrations 2024
T’was the Night Before
T’was the Night Before
Maria Grace
What would happen when the Darcy children and dragons listen about Saint Nicolas?
Pemberley, Derbyshire
December 24th, 1824
Darcy led the family downstairs into the cellar where viscountess Pemberley, a young red firedrake, the dominant dragon of the Pemberley territory, waited.
For the first dozen years of her life, Pemberley had enjoyed the family’s company in the manor’s downstairs rooms. In the last year, though, the little firedrake had become too large to fit through the doors in the house, much to everyone’s dismay.
It had been Darcy who discovered that like Longbourn, Pemberley had a dragon tunnel running between the cellars and the dragon’s lair. Old Pemberley had likely his privacy -probably why Father had never mentioned the tunnel to Darcy.
Little Pemberley was, however, overjoyed, promptly moving into the cellar with her now sizable dog, Puppy, and one of his progeny, Little Puppy.
The only regret had been the length of time it had taken to make the discovery in the first place as the cellar was far more comfortable for her than the shed that had been built for her and her pets near the kitchen door behind the house.
Such were the trials of a Dragon Keeper. Raising a young firedrake was definitely not what Darcy expected.
The candles Darcy and Elizabeth carried lit the dark, narrow cellar stairs with a sweet, warm glow as the children’s little shadows danced their way down.
All cobwebs and dust were kept swept away by the young maids, who had also decorated the cellar with sweet smelling evergreens and red bows for the festive season.
The greens had been their idea, but Mrs. Reynolds had been the one to approve it.
The dear old housekeeper had quite the soft spot for young Pemberley.
Fairy dragon April, her blue feather-scales glimmering in the flickering light, zipped back and forth between the children, twittering happily, reminding them all not to step on tatzelwurm May’s tail.
Not that the fairy dragon’s reminder was necessary, now nearly full-grown, May had become quite adept at keeping her long, black serpentine tail away from the footfalls of little feet, while her feline front half remained available for petting.
“When are you going to tell us about the treat?” Anne asked as she held France’s hand, helping her four-year-old sister down the stairs.
“Soon, my dear, soon it will be time.” Darcy smiled. The two girls looked just like their mother, with dark intelligent eyes and ready smiles.
“What do all these pillows have to do with it?” young Bennet struggled to look over the three large pillows he carried.
“They are so big. Why do we need them in the cellar?” At six years old, George insisted he be allowed to help carry pillows, too. So Elizabeth found a small one, just the right size for his pudgy little arms.
“You will see soon, my dear. Just a little more patience.” Elizabeth chuckled softly, as she adjusted the portfolio under her arm. “See how patiently Pemberley is waiting for us?”
The candlelight flowed out to include the young red firedrake waiting at the base of the stairs, her head now as high as Darcy’s.
“You here! You here! Come, I make ready!” She hopped from left feet to right as Puppy and Little Puppy dashed back and forth from stairs to dragon. “Mrs. Reynolds put candles on walls.”
Candle niches, fashioned after the ones in Chudleigh’s London lair, had been added to the cellar after the walls had been whitewashed, eliciting much talk within the household, especially the minor dragons who were excited to have Pemberley living in the house proper once again.
How strange that for all of them, a major dragon living inside the house was a normal and expected thing.
“Your father and I will light the candles. Anne, you and Bennet arrange the pillows and the chairs near Pemberley’s nest.” Elizabeth patted George’s back and sent him off in the right direction.
George was such a funny little fellow, with the studious intensity of his maternal grandfather, Blue Order Historian Bennet, and a streak of mischief reminiscent of Cousin Richard.
He scurried off, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste.
Bennet placed the pillows near the tidy nest of sweet-smelling hay, while Anne fetched the chairs from the far corner of the cellar.
She was every inch her mother’s daughter, with all that that entailed.
“Everything is ready! Come sit!” Bennet clapped as though that would move his siblings to comply with his request. He rather liked believing himself in charge of everything, which someday he might be, but not at the tender age of eight.
Pemberley climbed into her nest, still a little ungainly and waddling just the tiniest bit.
It would not be long before she lost her babyishness and gained true draconic grace.
She turned around twice, compacting the hay just right and settled down, wings tucked over the back, chin resting on the edge of the hay.
Puppy and Little Puppy bounded into the hay beside her, pressing up against her, tails thumping against the hay, while April settled near Pemberley’s head.
The children settled into the pillows. May, cat-like in all her ways, pressed herself into the small space between Anne and Frances. Though a companion to all the children, May’s preference for Anne was clear. They had been Friends since May hatched and Anne was not yet walking.
Darcy settled into one of the plain wooden chairs, facing his family. Bathed in the warm glow of the candles against the pale walls, his heart swelled with feelings that were difficult to name: warmth, gratitude, love, contentment. Whatever it might be called, it was good.
“Your Aunt Jane sent us a package from New York recently,” Elizabeth patted the leather portfolio on her lap. How lovely and at home she looked in this situation that was anything but normal. All these years as Dragon Sage for the Blue Order had done nothing to alter her wit or her wisdom.
“Did she send a present?” George asked.
“She did. She sent a Christmas story for your father to read to you.” Elizabeth drew out a folded page and handed it to Darcy.
“A new story!” Anne clapped. “Does it have dragons? All good stories have dragons!”
Darcy held his breath not to chuckle. If any child in the kingdom would say such a thing, it would be his.
“No, this one does not have dragons,” Elizabeth said with a soft sigh, “but trust me, it is a good story nonetheless.”
“It would be better with dragons,” Anne muttered, looking at May.
“Mrrrow.” The tatzelwurm bumped her head under Anne’s hand, clearly hoping the request for petting would distract Anne’s disappointment.
“I am sure it is a good story, nevertheless.” April twittered and flapped as if to scold the children into happiness.
“I like stories.” Frances drew her knees up and leaned against Anne, squashing a very patient May between them.
“Then I am sure you will like this one.” Darcy unfolded the paper, squinting at it.
“It is from the Sentinel, a newspaper in New York, from 1823-”
“That means it was published last year,” Bennet declared.
“Why did Aunt Jane wait a whole year to send it to us?” George asked.
“I am sure she had other things to do. Aunt Jane is a busy woman with so many children in the house and Uncle Bingley’s business as well.” Of course, Anne would have a ready answer. How diplomatic she was not to mention that none in Aunt Jane’s household heard dragons like the Darcys did.
Darcy cleared his throat. “It reads an Account of a Visit from St. Nicholas.”
“Who St. Nicholas?” Pemberley asked, the tip of her tail twitching in time with Puppy’s.
“St. Nicholas, his day is December 6, you know. He is the saint of children and sailors, though I can hardly understand what one has to do with the other.” Anne glanced at Elizabeth, who just shook her head.
“Grandmama Bennet sent us sweets on St. Nicholas day! And a tin soldier! I like St. Nicholas Day!” George clapped softly, bouncing as he did so. He pulled the beloved tin soldier from his pocket and held it up for general admiration.
“I do too! Barley sweets are my favorite!” Frances nodded vigorously. She had the most pronounced sweet tooth in the family.
Darcy cleared his throat. “If there are no further comments, I shall begin.”
The children sat up a little straighter and nodded.
“T’was the night before Christmas, when all through the house Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse; The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, in hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there.”
“Why would you hang stockings by the chimney, Papa? Were they wet?” Bennet asked.
“Why would St. Nicholas be coming? He is dead, is he not? That is why we celebrate him as a saint. Saints used to be alive, but are not now, otherwise they would not be a saint. You have to be dead to be saintly.” Anne crossed her arms over her chest, a familiar determined look in her eye.
“This is a pretend story, Anne. It does not have to be real, like the other fairy stories we read together.” Elizabeth had that ‘trying to be reasonable’ voice that she often used with children and recalcitrant Dragon Keepers.
“I do not know why the stockings were hung there. I suppose it is an American thing,” Darcy said.
“I think it very strange.” Bennet looked at George as he spoke.
George nodded vigorously. He was at that age when anything his older brother said had to be wise and acknowledged.
“Where was I? Ah, yes… The children were nestled all snug in their beds, while visions of sugarplums danced in their heads; And mamma in her ’kerchief, and I in my cap, had just settled our brains for a long winter’s nap.”
“Mama does not wear a kerchief at night, she wears a cap. I think those Americans are very odd indeed,” Anne muttered just loud enough to be heard and earn a sharp look from Elizabeth.