Mr Darcy's Christmas Carol Read online

  “How could I have known Mr Bingley would be so cruel as to abandon poor Jane? I was certain he felt an affection for her...” Mrs Bennet hesitated, appearing on the brink of tears herself. While Jane’s tears were a jar to Elizabeth’s own heart, her mother’s were not to be borne for entirely different reasons.

  “Mama -”

  “I only wish for my daughters to be happily and successfully married, is that such a bad thing?” Mrs Bennet let out a wail, and Lizzy turned away, hoping to hide the irritation that flickered across her face.

  “Oh, I see you turn away from me, Elizabeth, as if you despair of my feelings, which are so deep, so genuine -”

  Mrs Bennet’s words descended into an indecipherable sniffle, and Elizabeth took a step nearer, laying what she hoped was a conciliatory hand on her mother’s shoulder.

  “You must not cry, Mama,” she said. “Truly, Mr Bingley is the least of our concerns. Jane’s health worries me greatly, though, and I do hope you will consider sending for a doctor.”

  “I will consider it,” Mrs Bennet said, her words muffled by her handkerchief. “But are you sure it is so very bad? It is nought but a cold, surely?”

  It was a cold when she was bound to stay at Netherfield, Lizzy thought. Now it seems far worse. She had been sure her sister had fully recovered from the bought of ill-health that Mrs Bennet had accidentally engineered, which calamity served to secure Mr Bingley’s heart, to begin with. But with the Netherfield party’s departure for the capital, Jane had sunk once more into herself, first despairing at the loss of Mr Bingley who, Lizzy now had reason to believe, she truly cared for in spite of their mother’s interference. She had taken Jane’s silence for low spirits, but that had evolved into a bought of sickness so severe that her happy sister had kept almost entirely to her bed for two days straight complaining of a headache, and with breathing so heavy and ragged that Lizzy grew increasingly concerned.

  “I do hope we shall not all be ill in time for Christmas,” Lydia remarked, with a sniff.

  “How does it start, do you think?” Kitty asked, her eyes wide. “For I have had a stomach ache all day.”

  “You have a stomach ache because you ate too much at breakfast, nothing more,” Lydia said, dismissively. “But my head begins to ache.” She lifted a hand in an affectation of suffering that had clearly been practised before the looking-glass, and it was all Elizabeth could do to refrain from rolling her eyes.

  “I am sure it is nothing too serious,” she said, determined to appear calm. Confessing her true concerns had not had the result she had wished: that her family might take Jane’s condition seriously and seek to help, rather than turn their care upon themselves, as was their habit. “I will go and sit with her awhile, if you do not need me here, Mama,” she said, preparing to mount her escape.

  “Very well,” Mrs Bennet said. “Tell me, where is Mary?”

  “I believe she is in Meryton with Mr Collins,” Elizabeth said, recalling seeing the pair set off at a pace that morning. “The rain will no doubt keep them there a little longer.”

  “Good.” Mrs Bennet’s words were muttered, but Elizabeth could not help but agree with the sentiment. Since Mary had accepted Mr Collins proposal - his third in as many weeks, this time met with rather more pleasure than those he offered Jane and Lizzy - she had become increasingly insufferable. Why they would not marry and depart for Hunsford, Lizzy could not tell, except that Mary was rather enjoying her position as self-appointed saviour of the Bennets. She had taken to remarking, “when I am mistress of Longbourn,” as if it were a position she quite looked forward to - never pausing to realise that in so doing she was hastening the demise of her father. Mr Bennet did not miss the joke, although the more often his middle daughter spoke of life after his passing, the less amusing he found it, and he had taken to excusing himself as soon as she opened her mouth to utter the perpetual refrain.

  “We might have gone with them,” Kitty lamented. “At least then there might be something to do.”

  “Yes,” Lydia exclaimed, irritably. “Visiting the poor and the sick. What need we to be in Meryton for that, when our own sister is kind enough to grace us with it in our own home.” She laughed, evidently finding herself quite the wittiest young woman in a mile radius. “In any case, we would be trapped there now, forced to listen to Mr Collins sermonize all afternoon until a break in the weather might permit us to return.” She shook her head vehemently. “No thank you. I am content to remain at home all day if he is gone and Mary with him.”

  “Then might you remain a little more quietly?” Lizzy asked, reaching the doorway. “I am hopeful Jane has managed to sleep and is thus feeling a little more herself - but if you insist on making noise that won’t happen.”

  Kitty opened her mouth to protest, but one look from Elizabeth silenced her, and instead, she slumped into a chair with a huff, pulling Lydia down with her. They glanced around for some entertainment, at last seizing upon their workbasket, and picking at it lethargically and without enthusiasm. Still, it would suffice in keeping them still and relatively quiet for a quarter hour or more. Elizabeth pulled the door closed quietly behind her and was about to ascend the stairs when her father’s voice reached her.

  “Lizzy?”

  Mr Bennet was closeted away in his study, so his voice was faint, muffled by the oak door that separated them. Tentatively, she pushed the door open.

  “Is anything the matter, Father?” she asked, glancing around the door frame and smiling at Mr Bennet, who sat in his usual seat behind his desk, surrounded by papers.

  “How does Jane fare?”

  “I am about to go and check on her.”

  “Good girl.” He glanced back towards his stack of papers, and Lizzy took a step closer. Her father’s expression was not his usual implacable calm, and his forehead was creased in something that could only be described as anxiety.

  “Is - is that all you wished to speak to me about?”

  “Yes, yes,” Mr Bennet said, with a smile that was not at all convincing. “And to thank you for bringing some peace to the sitting room.” He smiled, then, the merest hint of humour. “The noise, you know.”

  “Indeed.” Elizabeth smiled, darting over and dropping a spontaneous kiss on her father’s weathered cheek. He seemed older to her, then, than he ever had before and she felt a sudden burst of affection for him. It was a trying time, she knew, and for all his apparent disinterest in his daughters’ futures, she knew that even he had been surprised by Mr Bingley’s sudden disappearance, and felt keenly the disappointment that had brought Jane so low.

  It is Mr Darcy’s fault, I do not doubt, Lizzy thought, with a dark frown, as she took the stairs two at a time. He had made his opinion of the Bennets plain the very first time they had met, and at last had had influence enough on his friend that he had separated two people who had been poised, Lizzy knew, to reach an agreement. If Jane does not rally, she thought, ignoring and acknowledging the thought at the same time. I shall place the blame firmly upon his shoulders.

  “I’M REALLY VERY MUCH better,” Jane said, with a wan smile.

  “I might even believe that,” Lizzy said, leaning forward and pressing a damp cloth to Jane’s brow. “If you could utter the whole sentence without coughing.”

  “I did not say I was completely well,” Jane acknowledged. “But compared to how I felt even two hours ago, there is much improvement.” She reached for her sister’s hand. “And all the more, for your company. Tell me, what on earth did you say to get Kitty and Lydia to stop squabbling?”

  “I hardly know.” Lizzy shook her head. “I think they tired themselves out. But as I left them bent over embroidery, I do not doubt another war will break out by the time I return.”

  Returning the cloth to its bowl, she moved back a little, straightening Jane’s bedsheets, moving things so that they were easier to reach.

  “Now, what would you like us to do?” she asked. “I could read a little if you wish, or we could talk -”
/>
  Another fit of coughing interrupted her.

  “Or I could talk and you could listen.”

  Jane nodded, and Elizabeth made herself comfortable leaning on the pillows beside her.

  “Did I tell you that I bumped into Mr Wickham yesterday on my walk to Meryton?”

  Jane’s eyes sparked with interest, which Elizabeth took as a silent encouragement to continue. “You know, he is a very interesting person. We walked part of the way together and had such a lively conversation that I wager him altogether more intelligent than I had been led to believe.”

  “On Lydia’s authority,” Jane put in.

  “On Lydia’s authority, quite right. She is not one for whom intelligence would ever rank as a particularly important trait. So I am pleased to acknowledge he has it and is quite able to converse warmly on any number of subjects.”

  “Such as?”

  There had been a moment of silence before Jane’s prompt, and Lizzy thought the interest in her sister’s eyes not entirely as innocent as she made out.

  “We discussed friends in common. He was pleased to hear of Mary and Mr Collins’ engagement.”

  “Was he?”

  Lizzy reddened. How was it possible that, despite sickness, her sister was still well able to deduce her moods from the very words she uttered or did not utter? An agreement? Well, that is very good news, Miss Elizabeth. I half-feared that you would be the one to accept his suit, however grudgingly...

  “I rather think he mirrored my own feelings back to me, for you know I am relieved that it is Mary he is pledged to marry and not either of us.”

  “They are well suited,” Jan said, struggling to sit upright. Lizzy leaned over and re-arranged her pillows so that she might be more comfortable.

  “Perhaps too well suited,” Lizzy remarked, with a grimace, and re-told Mary’s sermon of the morning, which had been encouraged with unrelenting enthusiasm by Mr Collins. “Economy!” she declared, mimicking his querulous voice. “Must be the watchword of Longbourn now, as it has never been in times past.”

  “Oh dear.” Jane smiled. “And how well did Father take such censure?”

  “He recalled a matter of some importance in his study and excused himself immediately from the table.”

  “Poor Father.”

  “Poor nothing.” Elizabeth frowned. “He might put a stop to it so easily by reminding Mr Collins - and Mary, for she is acting as if they are married already - that he has no plan to surrender his life just at present and so they have no right to discuss his estate before his face. They act as if he already had one foot in his grave.”

  “He is not as young as he was,” Jane mused.

  “Well, that is true of all of us!” Lizzy said, scornfully. “Here we have Christmas almost upon us, and -”

  “And what a quiet Christmas it shall be!” Jane sighed. “Do you recall Mr Bingley’s promise of a Christmas ball? How disappointing for the others that he was called away before he could put his plan in motion.”

  Lizzy held her breath, surprised to hear Mr Bingley’s name on Jane’s lips when her sister had so far been careful to avoid it. She, too, had studiously skirted referring to Netherfield or its occupants for fear of upsetting Jane further.

  “Has there - has there been any word from London?” Jane asked, with an affectation of nonchalance that fooled Lizzy not one whit.

  “Silence on all fronts,” she said, folding her arms across her front. “But you know how Christmas is. Things always slow down in the countryside. The opposite is true in London, I wager, so perhaps Mr Bingley finds himself too busy to write.”

  “Oh, I did not expect him to!” Jane said. “I only thought his sister might send a note or two. We were growing quite close, you know...”

  “Hmmm.” Elizabeth’s response was non-committal. She did not believe Caroline Bingley capable of closeness with another person unless they served some purpose. If she feigned a friendship with Jane, it was surely with the intent of being kept aware of any closeness developing between Jane and her brother, so that she might rout it at the first available opportunity. She had certainly never hidden her true feelings for Elizabeth. In fact, Lizzy was forced to own that she almost missed the verbal sparring matches she and Caroline Bingley had engaged in, both succeeding in sliding such insults under the veil of polite conversation. It had been a challenge and an entertainment to her, particularly when faced with Mr Darcy as an alternative companion. He would sit in silence, most often, scarcely offering a word that might be considered conversation. Yet he was gone to London, too, and Longbourn felt strangely bereft without any of the Netherfield party close by.

  “I am sure you miss Mr Darcy, too,” Jane said, her eyes sparkling with fun.

  “You must be recovering,” Lizzy countered. “For you have rediscovered your sense of humour.” She frowned, affecting concern. “Or are you delirious, Jane dear, that you might make such a suggestion.” She reached a hand out to Jane’s forehead. “Yes, feverish! That will explain your error. If there is one person in all of Hertfordshire who I do not miss in his absence it is Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy. London is welcome to keep him forever, it makes no difference to me!”

  Chapter Three

  At last, there was a break in the weather long enough to permit the consideration of a walk, and Elizabeth seized her opportunity. She did not care that the day’s deluge had left the ground beneath her feet muddy in extreme, nor did she pause in her progress to think of the damage such a surface would do to her petticoats. She recalled, grimly, the last time she had walked with such energy in such conditions: the day of her flight, on foot, to Netherfield to assure herself of Jane’s well-being. It had quite scandalised the Netherfield party, she felt sure of that, having been conscious of Caroline Bingley’s barely whispered “Six inches!” Referring, she did not doubt, to the level of mud she had tracked into the house. She was sorry for any inconvenience such a bedraggled appearance might have caused her friends, but what concern could she have had for mere mud when her sister’s health was in danger? Walking was the only means of transport left open to her, and so she had used it.

  Today’s expedition was for altogether more selfish reasons. Jane’s health was no more assured, but at least she was safely resting in her own home, with her family on hand to offer support and, Lizzy hoped, sensible care. She had impressed upon Mrs Bennet and Lydia the importance of a doctor. When that had not worked, she had taken the matter to Mr Bennet, and when even he had seemed reluctant to order a doctor on account of the cost, she had decided that she, herself, would go. Not right away, and not until she was certain of the need. There was every chance Jane might rally before the day was out. If she is no better in the morning, then I will go, and I shall bear any criticism from my family in incurring such an expense. What price can be put on my own sister’s health?

  Still unbearably restless, and irritated beyond what was normal by her sisters, Lizzy had haunted the window, waiting for the first glimpse of brightness that might release her from the prison Longbourn had become. She cast a wary glance overhead. The clouds still gathered, and she felt certain this was merely a reprieve, not the end of the downpour promised for the day.

  “All the more reason not to let the opportunity pass,” she muttered, walking still faster, and ignoring the wet squelching of her boots in the mud. She breathed deeply, relishing the cold sting of the damp winter air, and soon began to feel better. It was amazing how a modicum of activity could work to restore peace to her tormented spirit. She was alone among her sisters in finding this, and for that, she was almost pleased, for it guaranteed she might walk without company and enjoy the peace and freedom to nurse her own thoughts as she walked.

  Might Mr Bingley be contacted? Told, perhaps, of Jane’s ill-health? Yet what good would such an action serve? Did Lizzy really think he might rush to Jane’s bedside, and throw himself down before her, offering the declaration of love that might restore her to full health? It was a fairy-tale and not a very likely one.
Lizzy frowned. Did she really wish to guilt Mr Bingley into marriage, if it meant both he and Jane would be miserable? Surely he would resent it in time, and grow to resent her sister in turn. Lizzy frowned still more fiercely. No, she would not encourage that. Jane must be loved - Jane would be loved - by whichever gentleman did marry her. If Mr Bingley was too stupid or weak to do so, in spite of the prejudices of his sister and friend, well, then he did not deserve her.

  “Miss Elizabeth!”

  It took a second call before the gentleman’s voice managed to successfully break through Lizzy’s thoughts, and a further moment for the interruption to fully arrest her movements. She stopped, momentarily confused, for she had been so deeply lost in her own tumultuous thoughts that she scarcely noticed where she was.

  “Mr Wickham!” The figure of her friend came into view, and he jogged the few steps towards her, closing the space between them in a moment. “What brings you to this part of the county?”

  “I might declare it is your own fair self. I felt compelled by some sprite to take a walk in this very direction and thus cross your path quite as if providence herself directed it!” He laughed, a bright, jolly sound that lifted Elizabeth’s spirits considerably more than her walk alone had managed. “Alas that would be a falsehood, and I do not doubt you would see right through it, Miss Elizabeth, for you do not strike me as a particularly fanciful lady.”

  “I am not entirely sure that is a compliment!” Elizabeth admitted, with a self-deprecating smile. “Nonetheless, I will agree with your assessment. I am afraid I have a practical streak within me that deters me from too much daydreaming.”

  “Exactly as it should be, for you would be not half such an engaging companion if your mind was always away with the fairies.” Wickham glanced over her shoulder. “And yet I believe I find you out walking alone, and surely that cannot be. Where are your sisters?”