Amanda Grange - A Darcy Christmas

“Touch my gown!”

Darcy did as he was told and held it fast.

The greenery, food, and punch all vanished instantly. So did the room, the fire, the ruddy glow, and the hour of night, and they stood in the city streets on Christmas morning. Darcy and the Spirit began to walk down the road, where the people made a rough but brisk and not unpleasant kind of music, in scraping the snow from the pavement in front of their dwellings.

The people who were shoveling away were jovial and full of glee, calling out to one another from the sidewalk and now and then exchanging a facetious snowball—better-natured missile far than many a wordy jest—laughing heartily if it went right and not less heartily if it went wrong.

Darcy and the Spirit passed a fruit stall. As some girls went by, they glanced at the hung-up mistletoe and giggled. Darcy looked at it also; he had not understood the appeal of the plant.

“Mistletoe was sacred to the Nordic goddess of love. She decreed that whoever should stand under the mistletoe, no harm would befall them, only a kiss, a token of love. Is it any wonder that those young woman wish to indulge in the tradition?”

“I suppose not,” Darcy replied as they walked on. The blended scents of tea and coffee, cinnamon and other spices filled the morning air. Darcy took a deep breath, letting the scents fill his mind. He had not taken the time to indulge in such a small but glorious pleasure in a long time.

Soon the steeples called all good people to come to church and chapel, and away they went, walking through the streets in their best clothes and with their brightest faces.

In time the bells ceased, and there emerged from the scores of bye-streets innumerable people, carrying their dinners to the bakers’ shops. The sight of these poor revelers appeared to interest the Spirit very much, for she stood with Darcy beside him in a baker’s doorway and, taking off the covers as their bearers passed, sprinkled incense on their dinners from her torch. There was a genial foreshadowing of all the dinners and the progress of their cooking in the thawed blotch of wet above each baker’s oven and where the pavement smoked, as if its stones were cooking too.

It was a very uncommon kind of torch, for once or twice when there were angry words between some dinner-carriers who had jostled each other, she shed a few drops of water on them from it and their good humor was restored directly.

“It’s a shame to quarrel upon Christmas Day.”

“So it is! So it is! Have a Merry Christmas!”

Away the former combatants went, feeling that all was right in their world.

“Is there a peculiar flavor in what you sprinkle from your torch?” asked Darcy as they resumed their walk.

“There is. It is my own special spice.”

“Would it apply to any kind of dinner on this day?” asked Darcy.

“To any kindly given. To a poor one most.”

“Why to a poor one most?” asked Darcy.

“Because it needs it most. My spice makes each dish taste its absolute best. It will cause the food to linger on the tongue and in the belly much longer.”

“Spirit,” said Darcy, after a moment’s thought, “I have done what I could to relieve the suffering of those in my sphere who are more unfortunate than I. No one at Pemberley ever goes hungry,” said Darcy.

“Indeed not!” cried the Spirit. “You oversee those on your estate well, and though it is not wrong to concentrate your goodwill in one place, the world is larger than your estate.”

The good Spirit led Darcy straight to the Gardiners; for there she went and took Darcy with her, holding to her gown, and on the threshold of the door the Spirit smiled and stopped to bless Edward Gardiner’s dwelling with the sprinkling of her torch.

Mrs. Gardiner, dressed in a fashionable gown that was festooned in ribbons, laid the tablecloth, assisted by Belinda Crachit, the second housemaid, also dressed in her holiday best. The oldest boy, Master Robert Gardiner, plunged his fingers stealthily into the sugarplums, surreptitiously stuffing the sweets into his mouth whenever his mother’s back was turned.

And now the smallest Gardiner, a girl named Alice, came tearing in, screaming, “I smell the goose, I smell the goose!”

“I can smell it also, my dear, there is no need to shout,” Mrs. Gardiner remonstrated as Alice danced merrily around the table. Taking a deep breath, the luxurious scents of sage and onion filled her senses. “Robert, if you do not stop eating those sugarplums, you will have no room for the goose, which means there will be plenty more for the rest of us. Stoke the fire so a more cheerful blaze greets your father.”

Robert swallowed the last of his treats, “Yes, ma’am.”

“Whatever can be keeping your father?” Mrs. Gardiner wondered aloud as she left the dining room. “And your brother, William? And Kate is also late by half-an-hour!” Kate had gone for a walk in the park with her best friend. It was the best way to show off the pretty red coat and furry white muff she received as gifts.

“Here’s Kate, Mother!” As the door opened to let in the older daughter Alice cried, “There is such a goose, Kate!”

“No doubt your special spice is on that goose,” Darcy remarked.

The Spirit smiled, “The little one is in no need of it. She already has all the season she needs.”

“Why, my dear, how cold you are!” said Mrs. Gardiner, rubbing her daughter’s hands. “I thought you would be warm enough in that new coat.”

“I was more than comfortable. We had a wonderful time at the park,” replied the girl, “and it was such a pleasant walk this morning, Mother! The newly fallen snow twinkled like stars.”

“Yes, that is all very well,” replied Mrs. Gardiner as she led the children into the parlor. “Sit down before the fire, my dear, and warm yourself!”

“No, no! Father is coming,” cried Alice, who was everywhere at once. “Hide, Kate, hide!”

So Kate hid herself and in came Edward, the father, looking quite seasonable in a red silk vest; his youngest son, William, was beside him.

“Why, where is Kate?” cried Edward Gardiner, looking round.

“Still at the park,” said Mrs. Gardiner.

“At the park?” asked Edward. “She will be late for Christmas Dinner!”

Kate came out of hiding prematurely from behind the door and ran into his arms. “I would never miss dinner. I swear I could smell the goose as soon as I turned the corner.”

Alice grabbed her brother and bore William off to the kitchen, “You have to hear the pudding singing in the copper. You have to!”

“And how did William behave?” asked Mrs. Gardiner as the children left the room.

“As good as gold,” said Edward, “and better. Coming home, he gave the guinea he received for Christmas to a crippled boy, much the same age as himself. He told me afterwards that he helped the boy because he was a cripple and on Christmas Day it is good to remember those less fortunate than himself.” His voice was filled with pride when he related this deed.

Before another word was spoken, William came back, escorted by his sister, and seated himself before the fire.

A servant brought in fixings for Mr. Gardiner’s special Christmas punch and he compounded a hot mixture in a jug with gin and lemons, and stirred it round and round. Master Robert, along with Alice, went to check on the goose. Soon they returned with news that dinner was ready to be served.

There was a mad scramble of children to the dining room. The Gardiners quickly sat down for dinner and grace was said. The servants entered with the bird in high procession. It was succeeded by a breathless pause, as Mr. Gardiner, looking slowly all along the carving knife, prepared to plunge it in the breast. When he did, and when the long expected gush of stuffing issued forth, a murmur of delight arose all round the board. William cried, “Hurrah!” and Alice clapped.