4
Dawn came not with the sun’s rising but with the pitter-patter of tiny bare feet, made immune to cold by St. Nicholas’s power. The fire—someone had added wood overnight—crackled orange in the hearth. Elizabeth listened as the two eldest whispered.
“Sarah, di’ ’e come?”
“Ohhh…look at the’ stockin’s! See ’ow big the toe be, Timmy!”
“Can ye get mine?”
“Here, take it. I’ll get Mary’s. Careful how ye wake her. Don’ wan’ to ’sturb Mama and Papa nor Master and Missus.”
Darcy stirred. Elizabeth turned to his ear. “Shhh. The children are up. They are the dearest little things. Just listen.”
The chatter entertained her for another minute. A shadow ghosted to the hearth—Sally—and opened the cast-iron door to remove two loaves. Spice bread’s aroma filled the chamber. The mother knelt beside her children to hear enthusiastic first reports of the elf’s appearance.
Little visits to the chair of ease quickly followed. Elizabeth dressed in a dark corner, modesty’s conventions loosened. Hair brushed, hands washed, the adults sat over their Christmas tea, freshly made from leaves found in Mrs. Reynolds’s capacious larder.
Then Darcy did something unexpected—he dropped to the floor between Mary and Timmy.
The little girl had a beautiful smile as she built block towers, then knocked them over.
Timmy earnestly explained the intricacies of a bosun’s duties onboard a sloop of war.
Elizabeth left the table to return with two bundles.
Children occupied, the Tomkinses exchanged gifts: Charlie received a knit woolen waistcoat, and Sally a scrimshaw brooch.
Then Sally pushed a serviette-wrapped block toward Elizabeth. As Mrs. Darcy cocked her head in question, the cabin’s mistress said, “T’aint much, Lizzy, but ’tis the best we could do.”
The package was warm, and cinnamon flooded Elizabeth’s nose. “Sally! This was meant to bless your Christmas feast!”
“Our Christmas feast, Mistress. I thought you’d share one with the Bingleys, or mayhap you and the master might enjoy a late-night snack in your chambers if you do that sort of thing,” she bashfully replied.
Emotions betraying her, Elizabeth cleared her throat. “Sally, Mr. Tomkins: you are examples of what we learned in the Bible.”
Darcy interrupted. “Not that we expect our people to be Good Samaritans, but you have shown that you understand Pemberley hospitality.”
“And, for that, we thank you,” Elizabeth added, glaring at her husband for his impertinent outburst. “More importantly, thank you for opening your home and arms to us.
“That you did so without protest, or even a sideways glance, shows you daily live what most of us celebrate but once a year.”
Tomkins did object then. “Sal an’ me would’a done th’ same fur anyone.”
Darcy replied. “Of that, we are sure. We could expect no less from one of Rochet’s men.”
Elizabeth took charge. “Before we combine our resources, my husband and I have a gift for each of you, our new friends.”
Darcy took up the cause. “What you told me, Charlie, and what Sally told Elizabeth before we went to bed yesterday struck us.
“I asked Elizabeth what was left for you if you gave everything to your children. While watching one’s own grow to an age is the greatest gift for a parent, there must be something that recognizes your contribution to their well-being.”
“That was when I knew,” Elizabeth said, “that every step they take is because you set them on the right path.
“And, for that, you deserve notice.”
She pushed the bulkier of the two packages toward Charlie.
Darcy rumbled, “You are an essential part of Pemberley’s community. Our gamekeeper must be ready to defend the estate in wind and rain against those who would poach against man’s law. Your reading of God’s law reminds you to allow the poor their share.
“Your wife’s beautiful handiwork,” he pointed at the multicolored waistcoat, “cannot long survive brambles and burs.” Charlie stood stunned as the magnificence of Darcy’s caped greatcoat draped across his hands to sweep the floor.
Darcy’s raised hand stilled any objection. “No, Tomkins: you rescued my most cherished possession from frostbite or worse. The very least I can do is protect you from the same so you can continue providing for your family.”
Elizabeth filled the silence. “And you, Sally Tomkins: you may have given over your crowning glory for your little ones, but that does not mean that you are not worthy of adornment.”
She smiled knowingly at the two men. “While talking of whatever men speak over a glass, someone let slip that a particular lady would receive something suitable for Sunday services: a piece of handmade jewelry.
“Please, Sally, open your gift! Please do not make me wait any longer. I am bouncing in my seat!”
With a chuckle, Sally slid a silk shawl—Christmas crimson—from its wrappings. Charlie reverently draped it over his lady’s shoulders, and she anchored it with the scrimshaw brooch he had carved for her.
An impulse took them, and the Tomkinses stood together. Years of care fell away, and they twirled their joy and became again the broadly built sailor and the petite maid of all work.
The simplest of gifts were accepted and treasured as if from Epiphany’s caskets.
Sated by a Pemberley picnic and a gamekeeper’s harvest, the two couples sat in companionable silence as the day aged and the snow waned.
Soon, men from Thornhill and Pemberley would break a trail and pierce the bubble of serenity.
Until then, they would warmly wrap themselves in the glory of the day.