Last Christmas at Longbourn
Louisa Devonshire
Lady Catherine was dead to begin with; no doubt whatsoever.
The servant, upon finding her that last morning of the old year, knew in an instant the mistress of Rosings Park was no more.
And so began the new year whilst the end of another Yuletide season held a funeral instead of Twelfth Night revelry.
Quiet reflection replaced toasts and stolen kisses beneath mistletoe.
Black wreaths replaced holly and ivy amid a bleak midwinter while Elizabeth and Darcy kept vigil beside a coffin draped in black and gold pall while receiving a stream of mourners.
“Yes, her ladyship indeed looked peaceful and at last, united with husband and child.” Dear sweet Anne had preceded her mother in death by seven Christmas Eves.
“It was good of you to come. She would be pleased to know your sentiments.” These and other platitudes were politely offered in low whispers, “And what of Rosings Park under the management of such a young heir?” That too was whispered among the guests, but Darcy, as executor, had no qualms in handing over the keys to his young cousin, the sole direct descendant to his aunt’s fortune and estate.
Lewis de Bourgh Scroggins, the son of his late cousin, Anne, who had married Mr. Edgar Scroggins of Lancashire nine years earlier, briefly wed, bore a child, then succumbed to an unforeseen illness her delicate constitution did not withstand.
By Michaelmas, Darcy had fulfilled his duty as executor, dispersing each behest accordingly, and in the fulfillment of time, relinquished the property and all its holdings to the new occupants -Mr. Scroggins, guardian to his son, the not yet nine-year-old heir, now one of England’s wealthiest landowners.
That should have settled matters to all satisfaction, leaving Darcy free to the governing of Pemberley, or so he hoped.
Elizabeth knew, as she always did, but was reluctant to mention, having learned in the past not to pre-judge too severely without full knowledge, and admittedly, that she had only a vague acquaintanceship with Mr. Scroggins. What did any of them really know of him?
“He is an exact manager of his money and business,” Darcy reasoned one blustery autumn day where a light hoarfrost covered the land and nipped at the trees.
He and Elizabeth strolled the grounds of Pemberley while their three children trailed ahead, skipping and dancing among the fluttering leaves.
“I have no reason to suspect his worth in managing an estate,” he stated.
“I am not saying otherwise, dearest,” she said, measuring her words carefully.
“He has indeed done well with his banking interests. An exact man of business as you often say, but…” She drew in a deep breath of cleansing crisp air.
“Is there not more to running an estate? And what of Anne’s little boy?
Can we truly sit idly by and not speak on his behalf? ”
“As I said before, madam,” Darcy pressed a gloved hand to his wife’s, nestled in the crook of his arm. “Tis not our place. We have no say in how another man raises his child.”
“Not even Anne’s? I made her a promise. How can any parent send his child away, especially after losing his mother?
” Her eyes settled upon their own son, William, nearly the same age as Lewis.
He was such a good brother to his sisters, but to have another little boy as playmate would benefit them both.
“I remind you again, madam. He is not ours. I made our request known after Anne’s death and again several times thereafter.
He is a widower and a father with a business to manage in London, and this is his decision to make.
” Darcy paused a moment to call the children before addressing his wife again.
“Let us speak no more on it today. The weather is turning; we should all be inside nestled by a warm fire with a cup of tea.”
Elizabeth Darcy took it all in stride, as she had most everything in her decade of marriage and tenure as mistress of Pemberley.
She had done her duty, borne three heirs for Fitzwilliam -including one son- and thus had redeemed herself in the eyes of Lady Catherine.
No more was she the ‘obstinate, headstrong girl’.
No longer was she the upstart who stole a prized nephew away from her beloved daughter.
In the days since their marriage, Aunt Catherine had become an integral, if still somewhat overbearing, presence in their lives.
Yet now, in the year since her untimely demise, she was indeed sorely missed and mourned by all who knew her beneficence.
Their period of mourning was long past, as the year waned.
A dowager aunt required only a matter of a month or two of bombazine, jet and sequestered somber reflection.
Only Mr. Collins insisted on a longer mourning period well into the second quarter of the year.
He, alone, felt her absence the greatest at the loss of his esteemed patroness and now suffered most cruelly under Rosings’ new occupants.
***
One wintery day, Elizabeth paid a call to Hunsford Cottage where Charlotte met her at the door holding her latest infant, fifth child in an ever-growing brood of Collins progeny.
Hunsford was bursting at the seams from what had been a cozy cottage for the newlyweds eventually turned into a well-worn overcrowded dwelling in much need of repair.
“Surely Mr. Scroggins knows and can offer aid.” Elizabeth soothed the second youngest with a coral stick, while sitting on her lap.
“Mr. Scroggins is not inclined to be the patron Lady Catherine was, I fear.” Charlotte adjusted her hold on the infant.
“We were privileged to have her ladyship’s patronage for so long, perhaps too comfortably long.
I did try to persuade Mr. Collins that it would not last. But…
” She looked away, withdrawn. “He has counted a bit too heavily on her resources and… he counts on a future… that is… not for quite some time, of course…” Charlotte’s thoughts drifted off as she cuddled her suckling infant closer.
“Longbourn? The… entailment?” Elizabeth had not given it much thought in recent years.
The inevitable was always there, yet far, far in the future.
Had she not spurned Mr. Collins and driven him into Charlotte’s arms, there would be no need for discussion.
But then she would not be mistress of Pemberley.
And poor Charlotte? What of her? Would she have been better off a spinster daughter, dependent upon her family?
Charlotte held a steady gaze. “Neither of us wishes to see your dear mother displaced, nor your father’s demise. We pray it will be many years as we had hoped for Lady Catherine.”
“None of us knows the day or the hour,” Elizabeth opined softly.
“Mr. Collins and I are quite content. I have my parlor, he, his garden and of course… the children. A quiver of blessings.”
“Longbourn will be yours someday,” Lizzy reassured, though it pained her to consider the ramifications to her own family. “But until then, your living conditions must improve. Are the tithes not provision enough?”
Charlotte beheld the sleepy child at her breast. “Mr. Collins is not the sort to press upon tenants who also have suffered with poor harvests and hardships of late. It was easily overcome before but now…”
Lizzy understood clearly, without Lady Catherine’s benevolence, supplying the difference, there was left a meager living for this large and growing family.
In time, the income from Longbourn meant a larger home, an opportunity to hire a curate and live the life of a country squire.
But the cost to Lizzy meant the loss of a loving father, a displaced mother and sister, as Kitty was yet to wed and remained a dependent upon her parents’ care.
“But, Lady Catherine’s behest to you, was it not…”
“Sufficient? For a family of seven?” Charlotte’s eyes dulled, though her voice crackled with bitterness. “It would be, if it were bestowed in one sum, but… it remains with Mr. Scroggins now to govern its distribution. Our debts are great, our income… insufficient.”
“Perhaps Mr. Darcy could speak on your behalf.”
“Now the will is settled, Mr. Darcy is no longer executor. It falls to Mr. Scroggins to oversee his son’s fortune.”
“Then let us help at the very least. We could…”
“Do not pity me, Lizzy.” Charlotte leveled her gaze, eyes fiery with determination.
“Whatever you do, do not pity me, nor offer me your charity. I will not have it. We were grateful to have her ladyship’s patronage for so long.
” The babe now asleep, Charlotte refastened her bodice and stood, her voice drained.
“I am a minister’s wife and will trust in God’s providence. ”
***
Darcy held his cloak against the bitter wind whipping around the corner toward Hanbury & Co.
of London. His business interests had proved rather successful of late, in a year that had otherwise been bleak as a midwinter’s night.
The inheritance from Aunt Catherine had been quite generous, including a monetary behest along with a few personal heirlooms to cherish.
It was far more than he would have imagined, still leaving a sizable fortune held in trust for his young cousin until the boy’s majority.
The staggering wealth his aunt had amassed in her sixty-one years between her marriage and a titled estate would leave the young heir in good stead and, perhaps, an enticing prospect one day for some ambitious bride.
Darcy imagined the mothers who would be streaming their prospective daughters into Lewis’s path at future balls and society events.
Such eager ambitious women much like his own dubious mother-in-law had once been.