Last Christmas at Longbourn #2
Darcy turned the brass door latch and entered the lobby, his boots tapping on the polished marble floor while coins clinked and hushed gentleman voices discussed business.
After conducting his transactions, he turned to unexpectedly face Mr. Scroggins, who of late, had been in conference with a banker across the lobby.
“Mr. Darcy, is it? Business well these days?”
“Quite well, sir,” Darcy inclined a stiff gentlemanly nod. “And… yourself?”
“No complaints, though, never enough improvement in the market.”
Darcy politely concurred. “I trust all is well at Rosings Park?”
“Presumably,” Scroggins replied, hedging with an indifferent shrug, “not there much of late. Between the counting house and banking board, I’m kept rather occupied in the city.” His nod toward the vaulted ceiling indicated this very institution.
“I was not aware you sat on the board.” Darcy replied as a matter of casual indifference.
“Yes, rather recently.” Sotto voce, he added. “My son’s assent to titled landowner has its advantages.”
“How is your son, by the way?” Darcy took the opening to perhaps relieve his wife’s mind on the poor motherless lad’s condition.
“Lewis? Quite well. Diligent in his studies, by all accounts.”
“We… that is… my wife… and I would be pleased to welcome you both for Christmas Day. We are planning a small party for family and friends.”
“I do thank you, sir, but alas, I shall be in London, conducting business. Much to do to close out books at the end of the year, as you know. The time when lendees are wont to frivolously squander than pay due diligence to their creditors.
“I do not understand your meaning, sir.” Darcy would ordinarily have stopped there, but Elizabeth’s concern echoed his own and he pressed forward. “Squander?”
“Yes, have you not seen the streets, man?” Scroggins thrust out his chin defiantly.
“Not yet a fortnight before the blasted Yule and yet we are inflicted with all manner of grocer, fruit seller and their ilk who seek to pick the pockets of unsuspecting sentimentalists. I, sir, do not wish to endorse such frivolity.”
Taken aback, Darcy quickly recovered his manners. “The invitation is still extended, should you change your mind. Perhaps Lewis would welcome time away from school and a visit with his cousins at Pemberley. We would be most honored to…”
“Lewis is quite content to remain at his studies.”
“Surely, a few days…”
“As I said, sir,” Scroggins interjected “I do not make myself merry at this time of year nor do I encourage such idleness in my son.”
“I meant no disrespect.”
“None taken. And since we are speaking on the matter of Rosings, I have found quite the negligence in household management. Mrs. Hollis has proved an obstinate force and a lax housekeeper.” A baleful laugh.
“Neither my son nor I am in need of a lady’s maid, so that was the first adjustment to make. ”
“My aunt, as I recall, had allowed for ample provisions to continue the staff’s employment. She wished to not disrupt the order of the household and retain all staff as her behest to them.”
“Might I remind you, Lady Catherine is no longer the mistress of Rosings Park.” A dismissive sneer.
“I must say, she lacked sufficient prudence and economy in governing the estate, even allowing for its substantial income. But, being a dowager for so long without a master at the helm, does account for much. The ladies are prone to addled and soft-hearted thinking when it comes to business.”
“I assure you, sir, there was nothing addled and soft-hearted about my aunt, though she was fair-minded and shrewd in her dealings with all.” Another matter pressed upon Darcy’s mind.
“I suppose then t’would leave sufficient funds for improvements and repairs on Hunsford Cottage?
As I understand, these are greatly in need. ”
“Collins, you mean? That… rector?” A sour grimace before words dripped acid. “No sir, I see no reason to fund such frivolity. The man has the tithes to maintain his lifestyle and household and should well manage his own concerns.”
“As the patron for the rectory and petitioner of the advowson… which my aunt…”
“Who is no longer among the living, I might remind you, which makes her recommendation of a rector null and void as I see it. His ‘living’ then can go along with those who are no longer among the… living. Perhaps a spiritist is of greater assistance in this case.” He chuckled, amused at his own distasteful jest. “Are you not aware of the new law before Parliament, sir?” Scroggins broached his new subject with relish.
“If this law passes, which appears imminent, it will be a boon for landowners to retain full autonomy over their holdings and not be tethered to prior contracts, or the church’s bidding. ”
“As I understand this proposed law, it should not apply here, nor that it has any chance of Parliament passing such conditions to disallow the church’s authority in this matter.”
“We may disagree on our politics, but it is my place as guardian of the manor and its new lord, and that includes all its assets.”
Darcy studied the man in measured frankness. “Are you saying you would remove the rectory? And what of the living, promised for life?”
“He very well could find some other occupation. As I understand, is Mr. Collins not heir to your father-in-law’s estate?”
“Longbourn? Yes… but… not for the foreseeable future, as Mr. Bennet remains in excellent health.”
“Then, he is the bishop’s concern to find a suitable living elsewhere. Clerics are apt to become complacent in such livings. A workman is worthy of his hire, is that not what Scripture says? A man who will not work, neither should he eat. I bid you good day, sir.”
Darcy stepped out into the blustery December afternoon, wondering how he would explain all this to Elizabeth when he returned home.
***
“How long till Father Christmas comes, Mama?” Little Becky, four-years-old, had asked this question every day since the first of December. “Will he bring me another poppet? My Celia needs a playmate.”
Elizabeth studied her daughter quizzically and asked “Are you not her playmate and she yours?”
“Well… yes… but… we would fancy another playmate.” Pushing out her plump lower lip she cuddled her favorite toy from last Christmas.
“It is still three more weeks till Christmas Eve.” William looked up from the drawing room floor where he played with his Noah’s Ark. Nearby, older sister Catherine practiced the pianoforte.
“Kitty, remember to not play so fast. Slow practice maketh perfect and this is not quite so vigorous a piece.”
“But, Mama, the faster I play, the sooner I shall learn it by Christmas. And you promised to sing at our party.”
“Yes, but you still have time to learn it properly, and we shall all sing together.” In Praise of Christmas had become a cherished holiday tradition since the Darcys first married and Elizabeth performed an impromptu rendition on the pianoforte. Now it was Catherine’s turn to delight the family.
“Does Father Christmas truly come down the chimney? What about the fire? Won’t he burn?” Becky’s eyes flew open in a flush of innocent horror, fixating on the crackling blaze in the hearth.
“No, silly!” William shot back over his shoulder, his hand maneuvering a wooden lion up the ramp into the ark. “Father Christmas is an elf who can do anything he likes, just like Judith told us.”
“’Tis quite impossible.” Catherine paused her hands on the keys to turn and add to this philosophical discussion. “There are no such things as elves or magic. Are there, Mother?”
“Father Christmas can do all things.” Becky stomped her foot. “He knows everything, when we are good and bad, and he knew I wanted Celia last year. Didn’t he, Mama?”
Elizabeth pulled her youngest daughter onto her lap and held her close while she prompted her eldest with a decisive nod to resume practicing.
“We shall just have to wait and see what he brings this year. Christmas will be here before long; we can be certain of that. And I would not be concerned about the how or where of Father Christmas’s affairs. Some things are best left to mystery.”
“I don’t want to wait. I want him to come now, like St. Nicholas does to the Dutch children.”
“She means on St. Nicholas Day, which was yesterday,” William offered to his perplexed mother. “Judith told us about it because her father was Dutch. But, we are English and the English do not celebrate St. Nicholas Day.”
“But… I wish we did,” she snuggled into the crook of her mother’s arm and nibbled on her thumb. “Mama, can we be Dutch too?”
“Another of Judith’s tales?” Elizabeth cocked her head in mock concern. “Perhaps I shall speak with her.”
“No, Mama! We love her stories.” Catherine pleaded. “She recites the most beautiful rhymes.”
“Will Father return before Christmas?” William glanced at Darcy’s empty chair.
“Of course. He is only a few days in London.”
Catherine completed one more turn at her song and closed the music. “And will Aunt Jane and Uncle Charles come too? And Grandmama and Grandpapa?”
“Of course,” Elizabeth replied.
“And Aunt Mary and Uncle Jacob?” Catherine added followed in turn by William, “And Lewis too?”
“Oh! So many people for Christmas! Where shall we put them all?” Lizzy reached a hand to her head in mock dismay at the thought.
Becky giggled and hopped off her mother’s lap. “You are silly, Mama. We have a very big house.”
“I suppose we do.” Elizabeth considered the thought. “It would certainly be quite the merry occasion for all.”
“Because it’s Christmas!” Catherine played one last flourish of chords across the keys and the other children clapped and laughed merrily.
Elizabeth held up her hands in defense. “I cannot say whether all of them will come. Regrettably, not Lewis, though whatever made you think about him?”