Amanda Grange - A Darcy Christmas

He turned upon the Ghost and saw that it looked upon him with a questioning face.

“Interesting, is it not, that some can see so clearly, while others blind themselves to truth?” asked the Spirit. Darcy looked at himself calming sipping wine. A year ago he would have smugly thought that the woman he wanted to marry would return his sentiments. He had been in dire need of the comeuppance Elizabeth had delivered.

As if the Spirit read his thoughts, he was in the drawing room at the Hunsford parsonage.

“Spirit!” said Darcy. “Please, show me no more! Conduct me home. Do you delight in torturing me?”

“Only one shadow more!” exclaimed the Ghost.

“No more!” cried Darcy. “No more. I do not wish to see it. Show me no more!”

But his words were in vain, for he could hear himself exclaim, “In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.”

Darcy listened as he made avowals of all that he still and had long felt for Elizabeth. He could hear how he spoke on the subject of his sense of her inferiority—of its being a degradation—of the family obstacles which judgment had always opposed to inclination—all were dwelt on.

Darcy heard himself conclude by representing to her the strength of his attachment, which, in spite of all his endeavors, he had found impossible to conquer, and expressing his hope that it would now be rewarded by her acceptance of his hand. As he said this, Darcy cringed beside the Spirit, for he could easily see that he had no doubt of a favorable answer. He spoke of apprehension and anxiety, but his countenance expressed security. Such a circumstance could only exasperate Elizabeth, he now knew. Yet it was like being cut by a knife to hear rejection again.

“Spirit,” said Darcy in a broken voice, “remove me from this place. There was no need to bring me here, madam, for not a word, not a syllable have I forgotten. Do you wish to hear for yourself?” Darcy began to recite along with Elizabeth each and every word of her rejection. Not one word was spoken out of place.

“You could not have made me the offer of your hand in any possible way that would have tempted me to accept it. From the very beginning, from the first moment I may almost say, of my acquaintance with you, your manners, impressing me with the fullest belief of your arrogance, your conceit, and your selfish disdain of the feelings of others, were such as to form that ground-work of disapprobation, on which succeeding events have built so immoveable a dislike; and I had not known you a month before I felt that you were the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed on to marry.”

As the last word fell, Darcy turned on the Spirit with such a mixture of anger, bitterness, and despair, that she took a step away from him. “I told you these were shadows of the things that have been,” said the Ghost. “That they are what they are, do not blame me!”

“You have said quite enough, madam.” It was as if Darcy was speaking to both Elizabeth and the Spirit. “I perfectly comprehend your feelings, and have now only to be ashamed of what my own have been. Forgive me for having taken up so much of your time, and accept my best wishes for your health and happiness.”

“Leave me! Take me back. Haunt me no longer!”

The Ghost took a step away from him and then another, her light getting fainter, and repeated, “That the shadows are what they are, do not blame me!” each word further diminishing her light and appearance. Darcy observed a final burst of light that was burning so high and bright that he was forced to close his eyes.

When he opened them again, he was conscious of being alone, exhausted, and overcome by an irresistible drowsiness; and, further, of being in his own bedroom. He gave the pillow a welcoming squeeze as he crawled into bed; and he had barely time to lie full on the bed before he sank into a heavy sleep.

The Ghost appeared beside the bed. Gently, it brushed a lock of Darcy’s hair away from his forehead. He mumbled in his sleep and the Spirit disappeared.

Waking suddenly and sitting up in bed to get his thoughts together, Darcy had no occasion to be told that the bell was again upon the stroke of one. He felt that he was restored to consciousness in the nick of time for the especial purpose of holding a conference with the second messenger dispatched to him. But, finding that he dreaded the thought of not knowing which of his curtains this new specter would draw back, he put every one of them aside with his own hands and, lying down again, established a sharp lookout all round the bed. He did not wish to be taken by surprise and made nervous. Darcy wished to challenge the Spirit on the moment of its appearance.

He was ready for a good, broad field of strange appearances, and nothing between a baby and a rhinoceros would have astonished him very much.

Now, being prepared for almost anything, he was not by any means prepared for nothing; the bell struck one and no shape appeared. Five minutes, ten minutes, a quarter of an hour went by, yet nothing came. All this time, a blaze of light streamed upon the clock as it proclaimed the hour; and which, being the only light, was more alarming than a dozen ghosts, as he was powerless to make out what it meant. At last, however, he began to think that the source and secret of this ghostly light might be in the adjoining room, from whence, on further tracing it, it seemed to shine. This idea taking full possession of his mind, he got up softly and went to the door.

The moment Darcy’s hand touched the lock a familiar voice called him by his name and bade him enter. He obeyed.

It was his sitting room. There was no doubt about that. But it had undergone a surprising transformation. The walls and ceiling were so hung with living green that it looked a perfect grove. The crisp leaves of holly, mistletoe, and ivy reflected back the light. A mighty blaze went roaring up the chimney. Heaped up on the floor, to form a kind of throne, were poultry, great joints of meat, mince pies, plum puddings, red-hot chestnuts, fruits, immense twelfth-cakes, and seething bowls of punch, which perfumed the chamber with their delicious steam.

In easy state upon a couch, there sat Georgiana, glorious to see: bearing a glowing torch, in a shape not unlike a horn of plenty, and holding it up, high up, to shed its light on Darcy as he came round the door.

“Come in!” exclaimed the Ghost. “Come in, and know me better!”

Darcy entered rapidly, “Georgiana, what is the meaning of this? Why are you not at Matlock House?” he demanded.

“I am the Ghost of Christmas Present,” said the Spirit. “Look upon me!”

Darcy did so. She was clothed in one simple green dress, bordered with white fur. Her feet, observable beneath the gown, were bare, and on her head she wore no other covering than a holly wreath, set here and there with burning candles. Her blonde curls were long and free, her face was genial, her eyes were sparkling, her hands were open, her voice was cheery, her demeanor was unconstrained, and her air was joyful. Except for her more outgoing manner, the Spirit looked just like Darcy’s sister.

“You have never seen the like of me before!” exclaimed the Spirit.

“Every day of my life, I have seen your likeness,” Darcy made answer to it.

“You have never seen the like of me before!” repeated the Spirit.

“If you say I have not,” agreed Darcy, “then I have not.”

The Ghost of Christmas Present rose.

“Spirit,” said Darcy, “conduct me where you will. I went forth last night on compulsion, and I learnt a lesson, which is working now. Tonight, if you have aught to teach me, let me learn it.”