Last Christmas at Longbourn #4
When Darcy and Elizabeth and the children arrived at Longbourn that Christmas Eve, Mr. Bennet sat in his chair in the formal parlor, too weak to even hold a book, yet looking content and serene as Kitty, who read to him from St. Luke’s account of the Nativity.
Mary and her husband had arrived the day before.
“My dear Lizzy!” He reached out a skeletal hand to his favorite daughter. “You have come at last.”
“Of course, Papa. Merry Christmas!”
“Does he not look all the better, dear, than last you saw him?” Mrs. Bennet said, as if to convince herself; no one dared dispute her.
“Indeed, Mama.” Lizzy managed, with a gentle embrace.
“And… I know we will hear from Lydia soon. Very soon.”
“We certainly hope so, Mama,” Lizzy exchanged a furtive glance with Darcy, who had exhausted all possibilities, yet hoped his last letter had reached them in time.
There was no more discussion on missing daughters, as they attended church in Meryton that evening, then returned home to a light meal and tales of yore by the fireside.
There was laughing, toasting and merry making.
At bedtime, the children hung their stockings by the fireside under Mr. Bennet’s watchful eye, kissed their Grandpapa good-night and were whisked off to await Father Christmas’s arrival in peaceful slumber.
It was all as Lizzy had hoped and a Yuletide she wished would never end.
Christmas morning commenced bright and early with the Bingley and Darcy children bounding down the stairs, as their mothers and aunts once had decades before.
And oh! What a merry Christmas Day it was as Longbourn had never-before-seen!
Catherine delighted in finding an illuminated book of fairytales.
Becky received a new poppet and a storybook about St. Nicholas.
“’Tis the one Judith recited to us!” She proclaimed excitedly. “T’was the night before Christmas…”
“On Dasher, on Dancer, on Prancer…” William recited between toots on his new whistle with each reindeer name.
The Bingley children, too, rejoiced in their treasures all mysteriously left by Father Christmas while their mothers exchanged furtive looks and unspoken childhood memories.
There was only one thing to improve the day and no one wished to tempt fate by daring such a wish, although Mr. Bennet, having little left to lose, raised one last best hope that ‘all my daughters were here.’
It was later that evening, in the afterglow of a merry holiday, as a riotous game of Blind Man’s Bluff ensued, that a servant announced another visitor -Mr. Scroggins with his son.
“I do hope you will forgive my intrusion.” The man stood veritably shaken, disheveled and haggard.
“I… have not slept a wink all night, or… has it been two? Three? I have lost all manner of time and reason. Plagued by fits and visions I dare not disclose. Suffice it to say… well. May I introduce my son… Sir Lewis de Bourgh.” A small wide-eyed boy peeked out from behind his father’s coattails.
“Father drove all the way to fetch me from school this morning. He said I shall never return there again. I am to live at Rosings Park -for good and all!”
Oh! The gasps, the embracing, the ‘welcome to our home’ and ‘do sit and have a bite of plum cake, sweetmeats and sherry,’ for no one was a stranger upon Christmas Day at Longbourn.
Scroggins refused all refreshment until he had said his piece.
“I cannot be merry, nor welcomed, until I have paid restitution. I am a much-reformed man, you see, having said some dreadful things about the Church, and holiday celebrations of late and...” He gazed at Lewis.
“As you all know, I lost my dear wife, seven Christmas Eves ago, and…” He beheld his son.
“I have not… been the father I should have. I do hereby promise to do right by all those on my son’s estate and see to it he does his part to carry on his grandmother’s legacy.
Mr. Collins is thus guaranteed his living, no matter what Parliament may approve or not.
This new law be hanged. Merry Christmas, everyone! ”
Replies rebounded of “Merry Christmas!” and toasts to his honor and to the day’s, over a bowl of punch and servings of cake. Scroggins turned to Mr. Bennet with cup in hand. “And… to you, sir, a long life and good health be yours.”
Lizzy, overcome by events of the day, quietly removed herself to a secluded alcove to ponder in her heart all that had taken place. Darcy found her silently weeping and held her close. “My dearest, all is well. No tears upon Christmas Day.”
“Perhaps. But…what do you make of this?” She buried her face deep into his silk waistcoat.
“Hard to imagine my aunt is somehow responsible,” said Darcy.
“Scroggins has lost all reason. He will not stop asking what day this is, and was it possible, upon Christmastide, for the dead to wander the night? He seems to think he was visited by… my aunt… and Anne, amongst other assorted spirits of the season. I assured him it is Christmas Day. And yet… how on earth has he possibly covered the distance between Rosings, Plimpton Academy and Longbourn all in less than a day? He claims to have had a fitful dream last night and arose only this morning to make the trip from Rosings! Impossible!”
“It is Christmastide, my darling. What better day of all the year to defy all manner of time and reason, when all things are possible. They say the spirits stir as the old year fades, thus we fling wide the doors for their departure.”
Another uproar from the drawing room beckoned Darcy and Lizzy to see what was the matter.
“Lizzy! Fitzwilliam,” Bingley called. “Come quickly!”
A grip of fear clutched at her heart. No! Not Father! Not upon Christmas Day. He could not leave them like this, not when all was so merry and joyful.
She dashed across the hall toward the parlor, Darcy trailing behind. Her heart skipped a beat staring at her father’s chair, tears flowing freely down her face in wracking sobs.
“Merry Christmas, dear sister.” Lydia stood from her place where she lately knelt beside their father. “Wickham and I are home at last. We decided not to go to America after all. Did you think I would dare miss Christmas all together at Longbourn?”
“Mama? Is it now time for us to sing?” Catherine Darcy tugged at her mother’s sleeve. “I have not yet played our Christmas song for Grandpapa.”
“Yes, my dear,” Elizabeth murmured under her breath, “To drive the cold winter away..., this would be an excellent time for us to sing all together, now that we are indeed all together at Longbourn for Christmas.”