Amanda Grange: A Darcy Christmas

“And your reclamation. Take heed of what you shall see!” She put out her hand as she spoke and clasped him gently by the arm. “Rise and walk with me!”

It would have been in vain for Darcy to plead that the weather and the hour were not adapted to pedestrian purposes; that bed was warm, and the thermometer a long way below freezing; that he was clad, but lightly in his shirtsleeves. The grasp, though gentle, was not to be resisted. He rose, but finding that Lady Anne made towards the window, clasped his waistcoat in supplication.

“I will fall,” Darcy remonstrated.

“I would not let such a fate come to pass. Bear but a touch of my hand there,” said the Spirit, laying it upon his heart, “and you shall be upheld in more than this!”

As the words were spoken, they passed through the wall and stood upon an open country road, with fields on either side. The city had entirely vanished. Not a vestige of it was to be seen. The darkness and the mist had vanished with it, for it was a clear, cold, winter day, with snow upon the ground. “Good Heavens,” Darcy exclaimed. “It is Pemberley.”

Lady Anne gazed upon him mildly. Her gentle touch, though it had been light and instantaneous, appeared still present to Darcy’s sense of feeling. He was conscious of a thousand odors floating in the air, each one connected with a thousand thoughts and hopes and joys and cares long, long forgotten.

They walked along the drive, Darcy recognizing every gate and post and tree. Some shaggy ponies now were seen trotting towards them with a young Fitzwilliam (perhaps five or six years old) and his cousins, Edward and Frederick upon their backs, who called to their parents, riding in country gigs. Both parties were in great spirits, and shouted and laughed to each other, until the broad fields were so full of merry music that the crisp air laughed to hear it.

“These are but shadows of the things that have been,” said the Ghost. “They have no consciousness of us.”

The travelers passed on. Darcy and the Ghost followed them. The cart and ponies came to a stop on a large, snow-covered hill. A sled or two was removed from the back of the cart. Darcy watched as his younger self went sliding down the hill with a laugh. Darcy and his cousins continued in this amusement for some time.

“Look there,” said the Spirit, as she pointed to Darcy’s parents and his aunt and uncle.

“I do not see why children should be the only ones to have fun, my dear,” the Countess remarked to her Earl. “And I do recall a time or two when you boasted of your prowess at building a snowman.”

“I see that I shall live to regret those confessions, my love. I have not built a snowman in years,” the Earl responded to his wife’s teasing, but happily complied with her request.

The adults of the party began building a snowman and time slipped by quickly, for almost before the snowman was begun, he was finished.

“He looks lonely,” said Lady Anne. “He needs a mate.”

“And what is a more proper mate for a snowman, than a snowwoman?” asked the Countess, ready to start again.

“I fear he will have to wait for another day before he gets a partner. I fear my toes have frozen completely. I have been longing for a nice hot toddy for the past half hour,” stated the Earl.

“But will we have time on another day? Catherine will be here soon, and other Christmas activities will take up a great deal time,” Mr. Darcy questioned. “Perhaps we’d best do it now if it is going to be done. Who knows when we will have another opportunity?”

The matter was debated, with Mr. Darcy, Lady Anne, and the Countess arguing good-naturedly against the Earl and his cold feet. The argument was abandoned when a groom brought word that Lady Catherine had arrived at Pemberley and was awaiting their presence. The outing was over.

“They never did get the opportunity to make a mate for the snowman. He melted away come spring, all alone during that long winter,” commented the Ghost, as she and Darcy stepped into the entry hall of the little Church at Lambton. Darcy had no notion how they got there.

Parishioners dressed in their best were leaving the building after the Christmas sermon. In the general melee of greetings, wishes of Merry Christmas, laughing children, and departing carriages, few noticed a tall man dressed in a gray cloak heading toward a young woman seated on a stone bench before an ancient yew tree that grew beside the church. Young Darcy was one of the few, and decided to follow.

“It is Mr. Annesley, my tutor,” Darcy informed the Spirit, “and that is Miss Gordon, the vicar’s daughter.”

Mr. Annesley sat beside the young woman. He was smiling broadly and his eyes were shining. The only barrier between his present and future happiness lay in the ensuing answer to the most important of questions, although he felt reasonably secure of a favorable outcome.

“Miss Gordon,” Mr. Annesley began as his face took on a serious demeanor, “if you could but spare me a few minutes of your time, there is a matter of great import that I wish to discuss with you.”

“Of course, Mr. Annesley,” Miss Gordon replied with a slight smile and happy light in her eyes.

“Miss Gordon, on this most joyous of days, will you do me the very great honor of consenting to become my wife?”

Her eyes filled with tears and her lips trembled, “I would be most happy to accept your proposal, Mr. Annesley.”

A snowball hit the church wall just above young Darcy’s head. Startled he looked around to see George Wickham running away with a smile on his face. No longer interested in his tutor’s doings, he ran after the boy.

The older Darcy watched as the young couple approached his parents.

“Congratulations, Mr. Annesley, Miss Gordon. We were hoping that the two of you would find happiness together, and lately we have only been wondering when the announcement would be made.” His father shook the tutor’s hands.

“To chose this time to do so will only add to pleasures of the day,” proclaimed his mother.

The Spirit touched Darcy on the arm, and he found they were now in his old schoolroom. He watching from the window as servants below loaded up a carriage.

“Why does Mr. Annesley have to go just because he is getting married?” the younger Darcy asked his father.

“It is not only his marriage, my boy, but soon you will also be going away to school.”

“Cannot I go to his school?”

“No, indeed, for it would not do. He will be teaching at a school for the sons of the local tradesmen and shopkeepers. It is not the company you should be keeping. At school you will be among your peers, those whose situation in life is the same as yours.”

“Is George Wickham to come to school with me or attend Mr. Annesley’s school?”

“Neither, I will see that he is educated in a manner that is complementary to his position in life. Every man has his own station in life, from king to lowest beggar, and knowing where your place is amongst others is most important. You are descended from some of the oldest, most prominent families in England; be proud of that, of who you are: a Darcy of Pemberley.”

Darcy looked out the window as the last of his tutor’s belongings were loaded in the coach. In a few short weeks, he would also leave Pemberley. He was not looking forward to it and mentioned this to his father.

“Pemberley will always be here for you. You will be happy at your school, Fitzwilliam, just as Mr. Annesley will be happy in his new position. The school is pleased to have him and I have no doubt that he will be headmaster there before long.”

The room vanished to be replaced by the nursery. Darcy and the Spirit were looking down at a peacefully sleeping baby. The Spirit tried to gently rock the cradle and was disappointed that her powers were not enough to make the shadows tangible.