Mr. Darcy's Christmas Carol (8 page)

The hand trembled.

“I will honor my love in my heart and keep it in all the years yet to come. I will remember the Past, live in the Present, and look to the Future. The Spirits of all Three shall strive within me. I will not shut out the lessons that they teach. Oh, tell me I may remove away the writing on this stone!”

In his agony, he caught the spectral hand. She sought to free herself, but he was strong in his entreaty and detained it. The Spirit, stronger yet, repulsed him and laughed.

“Bravo,” the Spirit called out, while clapping with the polite and insincere applause usually bestowed upon amateurs. “Such melodramatic drivel,” she sneered. “Such maudlin sentimentality. I find it highly entertaining.”

In defeat, Darcy leaned back against the gravestone, his arms resting upon his bended knees. He did not feel that he was defiling the grave; in fact, he felt comforted sitting there. He looked up at that grinning face. “Just go,” he said wearily, “and leave me in peace. The future you showed is not worth living. I will just sit here until winter overtakes me.”

“Are you giving up so easily? No more dramatic entreaties? No sobs, no weeping? Is your love so ready to accept failure? Not thirty seconds ago you were crying out how much you had changed. You have learned
nothing,
” came the Spirit's unkind reply.

Darcy looked at her with open dislike. “I asked but a simple question and received nothing but mockery in return.”

“Your question is a mockery,” the Spirit answered scornfully, “of all that was shown you this night.” And she began to cackle. “A life you richly deserve.”

Anger coursed through Darcy. He gazed hotly at the figure before, now seated on an opposing headstone. He lunged at her, crying out, “I will not live such a life, do you hear me!” as her laughing grew louder. He reached to grab her shoulders, but she was no longer before him and he was falling into blackness.

The End of It

Darcy awoke in the bed that was his own in the room that was his own. The morning light was just beginning to filter into the room. Three spirits had come and gone, and his travels and travails with them were over. Past, Present, and Future had all shown him the course he should and must take.

“The Spirits of all three have striven to show me what I already knew within me. The past cannot be changed and while some memories cause pain, others provide comfort; the present requires action, and the future is the best and happiest time of all because the time before me is my own, to make the most of and it will be different—quite different than the one played out before me,” Darcy promised himself. “Father, Heaven, and the Christmas Time Spirits, thank you for being around me last night!

“I know just what to do!” cried Darcy, laughing. He felt lighter than he had in months; happiness that had been so elusive in his life lately had returned, making him feel as merry as a schoolboy, as giddy as a drunken man.

Running to the window, he opened it and gazed at the wonder before him. A layer of pristine snow covered the ground and sparkled in the golden sunlight. The heavenly blue sky made a stunning backdrop to icicles that shone like diamonds. The air was cold but invigorating. It had been a long time since he had taken the time to notice the beauty of a winter morning.

But Darcy did not linger, for there was too much to be done and he was eager to get started. He strode into the sitting room and was now standing there replaying the memories of the evening. “Here is the decanter of brandy and still full!” cried Darcy, starting off again and going round to the fireplace. “There is the door by which the ghost of my father entered! There is the window where I saw the wandering Spirits! There is the corner where the Ghost of Christmas Present sat!” He bent down and retrieved a lone holly leaf. “It is all true; it all happened.”

He was checked in his transports by the sound of church bells ringing out the lustiest peals he had ever heard—
clash, clang, hammer, ding, dong, bell
. Oh, what a glorious noise!

The door opened and in walked his valet. “Good morning, sir, and a Merry Christmas to you.”

It is Christmas Day!
thought Darcy to himself.
I have not missed it. The Spirits have done it all in one night. They can do anything they like; they are Spirits after all
.

“Thank you, Marks, and also to you.”

“Shall I tell Cook to prepare breakfast?”

“No. There is a change of plans. I require my riding gear. Send a message to the stables to ready my horse. I wish to leave within the hour.”

“You wish to go for a morning's ride?” asked Marks.

“No, I will be traveling to Hertfordshire. Going by horseback will be quicker. You will follow in the carriage on the morrow. Just pack a satchel for overnight.”

Darcy delivered his orders and set about making himself presentable. Shaving was not an easy task, for his hand continued to shake very much and shaving required attention. He dressed himself all in his best.

A boy came in with his cleaned boots.

“Hallo there!”

“Hallo, sir!” returned the boy.

“Do you know Matlock House, in the next street but one, at the corner?” Darcy inquired.

“I should hope I do,” replied the lad.

“I will give you a shilling to deliver a letter there. No, I will give you half-a-crown!”

“A half-a-crown, sir, it is far too much!” protested his valet.

“Nonsense, it is Christmas after all.”

The hand in which he wrote the letter was not a steady one, but write it he did. After giving the lad his letter and coin, he went downstairs to open the street door and watched the lad run down the street. As he stood there, the door knocker caught his attention.

“I shall love it as long as I live!” cried Darcy, patting it with his hand. “I scarcely ever looked at it before. What expression it has in its face! It is a wonderful knocker!”

A groom arrived with his horse from the stable. Straddling his horse, he started the journey into Hertfordshire.

***

Meanwhile, Georgiana had made her way down into the breakfast parlor. She was alone when the butler handed her a note on a silver platter. The Earl entered the breakfast as Georgiana finished her letter, “Good morning, sir! A Merry Christmas to you!”

“And to you, my dear!” replied the Earl. “Who sends you greetings on Christmas morning if I may ask?”

“It is a letter from Fitzwilliam, sir. He says that he will be unable to join us for Christmas dinner.”

“I am sorry to hear that. Are you greatly disappointed?”

“Oh no, sir. For he says he is going to fulfill my greatest wish for Christmas.”

“And that wish is?” enquired the Earl.

“A new sister, sir. A new sister,” Georgiana returned happily, before taking a sip of hot chocolate, leaving the Earl quite speechless.

***

Darcy was by this time on the outskirts of London, heading for Netherfield. If the visions of Christmas Present were true, he would find Elizabeth there.

He did not mind the cold; in truth he barely felt it. His mind was so busy with the images of the previous night that he barely noticed the world around him. The sound of the horse's hooves hitting the cold ground penetrated his thoughts occasionally. He would smile, for each step brought him closer to Elizabeth.

Finally, in the afternoon, he arrived at Netherfield. A groom rushed out to take the horse. Darcy patted the horse on the neck, thanking him for making the journey as quickly as he had. “Give him a good rub down, some extra oats, and an apple if you can find one.”

“Yes, sir,” replied the groom. Darcy tossed him a coin.

“And a Merry Christmas.”

“Thank you, sir.”

He looked up to the window and spied Elizabeth gazing out the window. He had never dreamed that any ride could give him so much happiness. He turned to go up the steps of Bingley's house but stopped. Instead, he turned to the window and, realizing that Elizabeth had spotted him, he pointed to her, then to himself, and out to the winter-cloaked garden, silently asking her to meet him there.

He saw Elizabeth nod from the window. Eagerly, he strode into the garden.

Elizabeth was filled with gladness when she saw Darcy arrive. When he silently asked to be met in the garden, she could only nod, for the rest of her seemed frozen in place. Only when she saw him stride away did she regain movement. She began to move to the door.

“Where do you think you are going?” Mrs. Bennet asked.

“I am going for a walk in the gardens. The room is overheated and a walk would do me some good.”

“It would do you some good to stay and talk with Mr. Topper. He has almost three thousand a year! And he has shown an interest in you!” cried Mrs. Bennet.

Curious, Bingley looked out the window, and recognizing the horse his groom was leading away, said, “I do believe some fresh air would do you a world of good, Elizabeth.” He quickly made his way to the door and opened it for her.

“I hope so, Charles, I hope so,” replied Elizabeth, as she left the room. Outside the room she raced down the stairs and ran down the hall to the doorway, only skidding to a halt when she saw a footman with her cloak, gloves, and bonnet. Hastily putting on these outer garments, she hurried into the garden where Darcy was waiting and pacing.

“Miss Bennet.” They were the only words he could get out of his mouth. Elizabeth was also stricken with silence. Darcy offered his arm, Elizabeth took it, and they began to walk in silence.

When they came upon a sheltered bench, they stopped and sat down. Elizabeth looked down at her clasped hands, until Darcy covered her hands with his. Then she looked up into his eyes, his bright, shining eyes that held a touch of shyness, determination, and another emotion that she was afraid to name.

“Miss Bennet, last April you said that I could not have made you the offer of my hand in any possible way that would have tempted you to accept it. Even if your answer remains the same as it was then, please allow me to speak a second time upon this subject.”

“As you wish.”

“Miss Bennet, few people get to see into the future and what joys or calamities may be waiting there. Last night I was fortunate to get a glimpse of my future. I do not know if it was a dream or a vision, I only know that the future that lay before me was bleak and stark and lonely because you were not in it.”

Elizabeth knew from the look in his eyes that he was telling the truth.

“So I am asking you to share the future with me, to change that wretched existence I saw into a one of great joy and happiness. I love you. I shall always love you. I am willing to wait with a hope that someday you will return my regard. Please say that I may have some hope.”

“You may, for it would not be a very long wait,” said Elizabeth. “Not long at all.”

“Dearest, loveliest Elizabeth, would you do me the very great honor of accepting my offer of marriage?”

Elizabeth, feeling all the common awkwardness and anxiety of the situation, now forced herself to speak. “I wish you to understand that my sentiments have undergone so material a change since that time, that your present assurances fill me with gratitude and pleasure and the only answer I can give is… yes.”

The happiness that this reply produced was such as he had never felt before, and he expressed himself on the occasion as sensibly and as warmly as a man violently in love can be supposed to do. “Thank you,” he raised her gloved hands to lips and kissed each one. “Thank you, I will endeavor to make sure you never have cause to regret your decision.”

Had Elizabeth been able to encounter his eyes, she might have seen how well the expression of heartfelt delight diffused over his face became him; but, though she could not look, she could listen, and he told her of feelings which, in proving of what importance she was to him, made his affection every moment more valuable.

“You are cold,” he noticed and was immediately concerned. “Let us return to the house so that you can be warmed.”

Elizabeth shook her head. “No, it is too soon to return to others, to be amongst them. Let us walk for a bit; that will take off any chill.”

So they walked, without knowing in what direction. There was too much to be thought and felt and said for attention to any other objects.

“I should not have waited so long to come to you. Last fall, I had a visit from my aunt, who called upon me in London, and related her journey to Longbourn, its motive, and the substance of her conversation with you, peculiarly denoting your perverseness—her words—as she sought to obtain that promise from me, which you had refused to give. But, unluckily for her ladyship, its effect had been exactly contrariwise. It taught me to hope,” said he, “as I had scarcely ever allowed myself to hope before. I should have come then.”

“Why did you not come? Surely you knew enough of my disposition to be certain, that had I been absolutely, irrevocably decided against you, I would have acknowledged it to Lady Catherine, frankly and openly.” Elizabeth colored and laughed as she continued, “After abusing you so abominably to your face, I could have no scruple in abusing you to all your relations.”

“Fear, doubt, pride. My aunt can be quite overbearing, and I feared you simply would not provide her the satisfaction of giving her the assurance she demanded. Your previous refusal has weighed heavily on my mind. I was doubtful that even if your feelings for me had changed for the better, they may not have been strong enough to accept a proposal, and I felt my pride could not withstand another rejection, no matter how gently or kindly given.”

“And I had not treated your feelings so kindly in the past.”

“My behavior to you at the time merited the severest reproof. It was unpardonable. I cannot think of it without abhorrence and was doubtful that you could ever forgive me.”

“We will not quarrel for the greater share of blame annexed to that evening,” said Elizabeth. “The conduct of neither, if strictly examined, will be irreproachable. But since then we have both, I hope, improved in civility.”

“I cannot be so easily reconciled to myself. The recollection of what I then said—of my conduct, my manners, and my expressions during the whole of it—is now, and has been for many months, inexpressibly painful to me. Your reproof, so well applied, I shall never forget: ‘Had you behaved in a more gentlemanlike manner.' Those were your words. You know not, you can scarcely conceive, how they have tortured me, though it was some time, I confess, before I was reasonable enough to allow their justice.”

“I was certainly very far from expecting them to make so strong an impression. I had not the smallest idea of their ever being felt in such a way.”

“I can easily believe it. You thought me then devoid of every proper feeling; I am sure you did. The turn of your countenance I shall never forget, as you said that I could not have addressed you in any possible way that would induce you to accept me.”

“Oh! Do not repeat what I then said. These recollections will not do at all. I assure you that I have long been most heartily ashamed of it.”

“My letter, did it,” asked Darcy, “did it soon make you think better of me? Did you, on reading it, give any credit to its contents?”

She explained what its effect on her had been: “My feelings as I read your letter can scarcely be defined. With amazement did I understand that you believed any apology to be in your power; and I was steadfastly persuaded that you could have no explanation to give that would be acceptable. It was with a strong prejudice against everything you might say that I first read your letter,” Elizabeth was embarrassed to confess.

“Your belief of Jane's insensibility I knew to be false. Your account of the real and the worst objections to the match made me too angry to perceive any justice in your words.” Elizabeth gave Darcy a wry little smile. “And it was some time, I confess, before I was reasonable enough to allow their justice. As to Mr. Wickham, every line proved more clearly that in matters between you and him, you were entirely blameless throughout the whole, which I would have believed to be impossible before reading your letter.”