December 24, 1812 #2
“And, dear one, women have been giving birth since Eve! Bearing your son wearied me; however, I am back to my old self.”
She motioned for her cup. After another sip, her voice dropped to a whisper that matched her concerned look. “But ought we not be on our way? We have imposed on the Tomkinses’ hospitality long enough. They have been the soul of generosity.”
Darcy sat back, his eyes showing his resignation at being unable to give her an affirmative answer. “The snow is not letting up; if anything, it is heavier than when we crashed. Luckily, Circe found Tomkins’ stable, but our sleigh is useless.
“Tomkins knows the weather here on the ridge. He tells me that we could see another foot before it blows itself out. With the wind howling as it is, the drifts could be man-high or more.
“We could be stranded here for several days.”
Elizabeth looked over her husband’s shoulder to see the other couple tête-à-tête. “I see Tomkins is breaking the same news to his wife.
“Although, Will, I think stranded implies distress. On the contrary, we are warm and in happy company.”
∞∞∞
Mrs. Tomkins reached up and gently gripped her husband’s shoulders. “Now, Charlie Tomkins, you have nothing to be ashamed of. No, we did not expect to be entertaining anyone this holiday season, least of all the Darcys.
“But the Lord sent them to our door, and He doesn’t do anything without a good reason. Mayhap, we are to be learning something; mayhap,” she looked at the other couple, “they are, too.”
Resolved, the lady shook herself and patted Tomkins’ broad chest with both hands. “What Tomkins House may lack in consequence, we will make up in welcome.”
Tomkins bent to kiss her bandanaed crown. “Aye, Sally Tomkins, your heart is too big to be trapped in a gamekeeper’s cabin. You should be the lady of a grand manor.
“Our hearth may not have a massive chimneypiece, but neither did we have a great cabin back on Sprite. Somehow, though, the Cap’n found a way to entertain ole Adm’r’l Croft and Mrs. Adm’r’l when we hurried ’em from Kingston down to the Pool.[3]
“Think ’twas the Cap’n’s mama, Madame Rochet, who schooled her son in good hosp’itality.”
Then Tomkins jumped back to the present. “’Tis colder than a witch’s…” he paused, remembering he stood in Derbyshire and not Drake’s Passage, “…Uh, the wind is making it nigh unto impossible to see more’n ten feet. Cold, too.
“Even though the Darcys fell off but a half a cable from our door, if I hadn’t been out harvesting…well,” his voice dropped to a whisper, “the you-know-what for the kids, the Master and his Missus would have been in a bad way.
“But something nudged me toward the track to Thornhill.
“The good news is that we returned to the sleigh and rescued the hamper an’ trunks. At least they will have some dry clothes.”
∞∞∞
Little bellies have a way of pushing aside grown-up concerns.
Hungry fidgeting spurred the adults into action.
After she hopped from the bed, the men made a screen of the fur blanket, and Elizabeth hurriedly stripped off every damp stitch.
Sally Tomkins briskly toweled her until the lady’s skin glowed.
Both men, imbued with healthy imaginations, focused on the fire’s dancing fingers: one mesmerized by what he imagined, the other by what he knew.
Elizabeth bent over the kettle bubbling on the hearth and ladled stew into the children’s bowls handed her by Sally. While the women worked, Darcy peeled off his wet clothes and wrapped the flannel around his limbs to restore circulation. Then, he and Tomkins sat beside their wives.
Tomkins blessed the meal. “We thank’ee, Lord, for this bounty an’ the new friends you have guided to our door to share it on this night before your Son’s birth.”
Then he cocked one eye at the three young heads bowed over the meal. “As you know, Lord, good behavior has always been the Tomkins’ motto. So, you can tell your elf, Father Christmas, that the hearts here deserve his visit. Amen”
The children relaxed, and three small sighs floated above the table.
Attention, though, soon was paid to their food.
Tomkins pulled a breadboard to him upon which a loaf rested.
He tore the brownish lump in half, split one piece five ways for his family, and pushed the trencher to Sally.
She cut the remainder. Wordlessly, she slid the neat slices between Darcy and Elizabeth.
Who is greater in the eyes of the Lord: the master who allows his servants to partake of leftovers from his feast or the poor man who shares his only crust with the exhausted traveler?
Humbled by Sally’s selfless act, Elizabeth found a mother’s compliment.
“Your brood are angels. When my sisters and I were young, time spent at the big table usually led to disputes over the last sweet roll.” Then she caught herself and blushed, realizing that sugary confections were beyond the Tomkinses’ means.
Mrs. Tomkins ignored Elizabeth’s unintentional slight. “Charlie spends the week before you-know-when teasing the children. By the time it rolls around, they are scrambling to be helpful. Even the littlest one, wee Mary, finds corners what need cleaning and sticks that ought to be in the wood box.”
Elizabeth’s heart clenched, reminded of her little man.
Ben was too young to know anything of the Natal season.
Ben had only just begun to roll over in his cot.
Even imbued with new parents’ eyes, neither she nor Will could fool themselves about his awareness of the season’s mystery any more than they could convince themselves that he smiled rather than needed a burp on a soft shoulder.
She could see Darcy stiffen at the injustice of the sacrifice forced upon the Tomkins, choosing between the comfort of their employers and that of their children.
However, Elizabeth’s gimlet eye speared him as she dipped her bread in the stew thickened by turnips and onions, sweetened by carrots, and leavened by some unidentifiable game.
Doing anything else would have acknowledged the difference that defined lesser from better.
Her husband accepted the bread gracefully, and enjoyment played across his face as he dug into the simple fare.
Storm shutters rattled in their frames as the world outside dimmed in winter’s early twilight.
Little heads nodded despite whining objections that nobody was tired.
Grubby cheeks and hands met a soapy dishcloth.
Each child contributed one stocking to hang by the hearth.
A gentle reminder that Father Christmas would delay coming until all were sound asleep finally bundled the youngsters into their bed curtained off with a drape from the Pemberley rag bin.
∞∞∞
Eventide upon them, the adults went about their duties: the men vanished into the adjacent shed while the ladies filled the room with sounds of a cheerful cleanup.
Tiny ears bent toward magical sounds heard none of the clatter.
In short order, Darcy and Tomkins returned with a “tree:” evergreen boughs bound to a staff.
They stood the lash-up in a corner and fluffed the branches, filling the room with spruce’s scent.
The wives looked at boughs adorned with colorful ribbons, twists of bright cloth, and the sparkling glass baubles that Elizabeth knew had been destined for Jane’s pine.
She peered closely and saw Darcy’s Christmas cravat—red silk—in its new role as garland. Eyes widened, she glanced at William. Her husband expressively blinked and tipped his head minutely.
Sally Tomkins was transfixed, a childlike glow illuminating her features. “Oh, Charlie, you did yourself proud. How glorious it is. I doubt Queen Charlotte’s in Buckingham House has anything half as beautiful.”
Then she slyly looked at Darcy. “However, Master Darcy, I can see your hand in this, and if your good lady does not object to my display, I will hug you. The children will think an angel came into our house, and perhaps one did.”
Surprised, Darcy gracefully submitted. He relaxed when Elizabeth bestowed her best smile upon him.
As the evening aged—and in recognition that there would be a point in the early hours when little eyes would not remain closed—the parents began their Natal ritual: digging out the special treats to be left by Father Christmas:
A hand-carved sailor for Timmy
A set of gaily painted wooden blocks for little Mary
And a stuffed cloth doll for Sarah
Mrs. Reynolds’s larder provided an orange to fill out each stocking. Rooting through the basket, Elizabeth uncovered another treasure: a bag of boiled candies, each wrapped in colorful paper. Each of the three fireplace socks received a sprinkling of these.
Charlie had broken out a souvenir from Sprite, a flask of something he called anjeo: a rich, dark rum. He and Darcy stood by the hearth, drinks in hand, admiring their handiwork as men are wont to do. They paid little attention to their wives.
Those worthies sat at the table pondering the three gifts. While confident that the littlest Tomkinses would be over the moon, a cloud floated above the women’s joy.
Elizabeth looked at her tablemate and saw something she had missed. Since Elizabeth had awakened, Sally Tomkins had never removed her headscarf.
Elizabeth Darcy reached over to cover Sally’s hand. “My dear, I have been struck by something. There is a sadness about you as if you are not who you remember yourself to be.”
“Mrs. Darcy…”
“Elizabeth or even Lizzy: I insist. In our short acquaintance, you and I have shared too much, although most of it is from your side: your home, hospitality, and, I think, heart. We are well on our way to becoming friends.
“And, in the world of Elizabeth Darcy, friends do not conceal that which ought to be shared.”
Sally looked wistful and then saddened. Her hand patted her kerchief, but she was not ready to speak of it. “I’d wished it could hae been more.”
“More?”