A Darcy Christmas

Chapter 1 Old Mr. Darcy’s Ghost

Old Mr. Darcy was dead to begin with. There is no doubt whatsoever about that. The clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker, and the chief mourner had all signed the register of his burial. His son signed it. And Fitzwilliam Darcy’s name was as good as his father’s before him. Old Mr. Darcy was as dead as a doornail. Darcy was dreadfully cut up by the sad event.

There is no doubt that Old Mr. Darcy was dead. This must be distinctly understood, or nothing wonderful can come of this story.

Darcy was often proud and conceited, arrogant and disdainful to those whom he did not know. Friends, on the other hand, might stop him in the street to say, with gladsome looks, “My dear Darcy, how are you? When will you come to see me?” Children and dogs often seemed able to see beneath his exterior to the real Darcy. Yet many never saw in him that which did not appear on the surface.

Darcy’s soul and heart had sustained an injury in the spring from one who had yet to see beyond his outward façade. Elizabeth Bennet had refused his proposal of marriage—refused it in a manner that seemed as hard and sharp as flint.

“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.”

Darcy could now admit that his offer, sincere as it was, had been given in an abominable manner, and he winced at the still vibrant memory. But her harsh words had not struck out the fire of his love. He had tried to conquer his feelings but he could not. Hope had bloomed anew for a few sunlit days last summer, when he had unexpectedly run into Elizabeth at Pemberley. She had seemed more inclined to think well of him than she ever had before. A few halcyon days had been all that had been allowed before news of Lydia Bennet’s fall from grace had separated them yet again.

Darcy had done what he could to restore respectability to the wayward girl. No, Darcy thought, he had done what he could to restore Elizabeth’s peace of mind. He cared naught of Lydia’s reputation—only that the loss of it caused pain to Elizabeth.

Darcy had seen Elizabeth perhaps a dozen times since taking care of Lydia’s folly. The most awkward was when he had accepted her thanks for his actions but could not bring himself to speak further. The most painful occasion had been when he and Elizabeth met at the altar during the nuptials of Bingley and Jane. He had been best man, while Elizabeth was maid of honor. He wanted to be the one exchanging vows before God. On both occasions, he had almost renewed his addresses to Elizabeth but he had not. The memory of the hurt and anger he experienced at her first rejection had kept him silent. And yes, his damnable pride had also held his tongue. Now, with Christmas fast approaching, his hope for a future with Elizabeth had almost withered away.

Christmas Eve dawned with cold, bleak, biting weather and a fog settled over the city like a gray greatcoat. The fog came pouring in at every chink and keyhole, and was so dense without that the houses opposite were mere phantoms. When the mantel clock had only just gone three, it was already quite dark, for there had barely been light all day and candles were flaring in the windows of the neighboring houses, like shining beacons upon the palpable white mist. Few people ventured into the street outside Darcy’s door, the weather keeping them inside or hurrying from warm houses to carriages where blankets and hot bricks awaited.

Darcy sat busy in his study. The door of the study was open so that he might keep his eye upon his sister, who, in a pretty little room beyond, was playing the piano. Darcy had a very good fire going, and Georgiana’s fire was also blazing merrily away—so much so that Georgiana had to put off her white shawl.

Darcy was going over his Christmas accounts. Most of the household staff would receive their usual gifts before departing to visit family in or around the city. Then he allotted funds to various benevolent organizations. In the past few years, he had continued to support those charities that his father felt were worthy of his largesse and he would continue with those obligations in the foreseeable future. Perhaps the time has come for me to take a more personal interest in such matters, he thought. His thoughts were interrupted when he recognized the tune Georgiana was playing; it was one his father had favored.

He rose from his desk and crossed the room.

“Fitzwilliam? Is my playing bothering you?” Georgiana asked.

“No, my dear, it is as delightful as always. It is just that I remember that piece. Father was quite fond of it.”

“It is this time of year that I miss Papa the most. Do you miss him too?”

“Yes, very much, and our mother too. She enjoyed the Christmas season.”

“I regret that I have few memories of her now. I do remember coming into the parlor on Christmas day and watching her play the piano. She had me sit on the bench beside her and let me play with her. It must have sounded horrible.”

Darcy smiled at the memory, “Never that, just a trifle unharmonious. It is a good remembrance to keep. It is a pity you do not have more.”

“I do have many good memories of my childhood that include you and papa,” Georgiana sought to assure him. “I remember a snowball fight between you and my Fitzwilliam cousins and the vicar was just leaving when a stray snowball hit him squarely on the back. I think father and the vicar would have laughed had it not been for Lady Catherine scolding you and saying you were all too old for such nonsense.”

“And so we were. Father enjoyed hearing you play, as I do. Please continue.”

So Georgiana played and Darcy listened as the fog and darkness thickened. The ancient tower of a church, whose gruff old bell was always peeping down at Darcy’s house out of a gothic window in the wall, became invisible and struck the hours and quarters in the clouds, with tremulous vibrations afterwards as if its teeth were chattering in its frozen head up there. The cold became intense. It became foggier yet, and colder! Piercing, searching, biting cold that chilled one to the bone. Still, there were those who chose to brave the weather.

The owner of a scant young nose, in danger of being frozen, stooped down at Darcy’s keyhole to regale him with a Christmas carol, at the first sound of God bless you, merry gentleman! May nothing you dismay! Georgiana began to accompany the caroler. Darcy gave a footman some coins to toss at the singer.

“Thank ya, guv,” was the cheery reply, as the lad went off to the next house on the square.

At length, the hour of going to church arrived. Darcy rose from behind his desk, and Georgiana instantly fetched her cloak and hat.

They entered the carriage and made their way to the Christmas Eve service. “You are looking forward to tomorrow, I suppose?” asked Darcy.

“Yes, Fitzwilliam.”

“It is not as festive here in town as at Pemberley,” Darcy warned. “You will be expecting something grand for your Christmas present, no doubt.”

Georgiana smiled faintly at this teasing. What she really wanted for Christmas was a new sister. One with laughing eyes who made her brother smile.

“And,” said Darcy, “you do not think me ill-used, that I have searched high and low for your gift.”

Georgiana observed that it was only once a year.

“A poor excuse for picking a man’s pocket every twenty-fifth of December!” teased Darcy lightly, buttoning his greatcoat to the chin. “But I suppose you will find much to celebrate the whole of Christmas day and all the next too, no doubt!”

Georgiana promised that she would, and Darcy smiled at her. The church was reached in a twinkling. Darcy and Georgiana, the long ends of her white scarf dangling in the wind, went into the church. The church bells rang out twenty-four times, in honor of its being Christmas Eve. The telling of the Christmas story never failed to stir Georgiana. During the service she prayed that her Christmas wish for Darcy might be granted in some way. The choir burst into song as her prayer ended. She left the church renewed in spirit, sure that her prayer would be answered.

Darcy and Georgiana feasted on a merry meal with their uncle and aunt, newly arrived in town from Bath. After dinner, Darcy beguiled the rest of the evening with friends at his club (and partook a bit more freely of the good cheer offered by these comrades than he was used to) while his sister remained with her relations. Darcy would join them on the following day for Christmas dinner.

Eventually, Darcy went home. It was an old house, but well lived-in. The yard was so dark that even Darcy, who knew its every stone, was forced to grope about with his hands. The fog and frost hung about the old, black doorway of the house.

There was nothing at all particular about the lion-headed knocker on the door, except that it was very large. It is a fact that Darcy had seen it, night and morning, during his whole residence in that place and that he had as little of what is called fancy about him. But let it also be borne in mind that Darcy had thought much of his father on this day, since the mention of his five-years dead parent that afternoon, and that he still mourned the loss of that revered personage. It should not be so surprising then that Darcy, having his key in the lock of the door, saw in the knocker, without its undergoing any intermediate process of change became not a knocker, but his father’s face.

George Darcy’s face was before him. It was not in impenetrable shadow, as the other objects in the yard were, but had a cheerful light about it. It was not angry or ferocious, but looked at Darcy as his father often used to look: with ghostly spectacles turned up upon its ghostly forehead. The hair was curiously stirred, as if by breath or hot air and, though the eyes were wide open, they were perfectly motionless. That, and its livid color, made it horrible; but its horror seemed to be in spite of the face and beyond its control, rather than a part of its own expression.

As Darcy looked fixedly at this phenomenon, it was a knocker again. He blinked and then traced the lion’s head with fingers, feeling only cold iron beneath them. To say that he was not startled or that his blood was not conscious of a terrible sensation to which it had been a stranger from infancy would be untrue. Shaking his head, he put his hand upon the key he had relinquished, turned it sturdily, walked in, and lighted the candle that was waiting for him.

He did pause, with a moment’s irresolution, before he shut the door. He did look cautiously behind it first, as if he half expected to be terrified with the sight of Old Mr. Darcy’s backside sticking out into the hall. But there was nothing on the back of the door, except the screws and nuts that held the knocker on, so he closed it with a bang.

The sound resounded through the house like thunder. Every room above and every cask in the cellars below appeared to have a separate peal of echoes all its own. Darcy was not a man to be frightened by echoes. He fastened the door and walked across the hall and up the stairs, slowly too, for his candle cast eerie shadows as he went.

There was plenty of width to the old flight of stairs—a coach-and-six could drive up it with room to spare. A hearse also could have done it easily enough, which is perhaps the reason why Darcy thought he saw a locomotive hearse going on before him in the gloom.

Up Darcy went, wondering if he perhaps he was drunk. He had not thought so, for he had never truly overindulged. Yet it could explain the strange tricks his eyes were playing on him. Yet before he shut his heavy door, he walked through his rooms, which had once been occupied by his deceased parent, to see that all was right. He had just enough recollection of the face to desire to do that.

They were a cheerful suite of rooms, consisting of a sitting room and bedroom, and each was as it should be. The logs were at the ready, which Darcy quickly ignited into a large fire in the grate; the pitcher and basin were ready for use; and the decanter of brandy was upon the table, just as his valet left it before he and the rest of the servants quit the house to visit their own families and friends for the evening’s celebrations. Nobody was behind the curtains; nobody was underneath the sofa; nobody was under the bed; nobody was in the closet; nobody was in his dressing gown, which was hanging up in a suspicious attitude against the wall.

Quite satisfied, he closed his door and locked himself in, which was not his custom. Thus secured against surprise, he took off his cravat and jacket, leaving his waistcoat on but unbuttoned, and shrugged into the dressing gown before sitting down in front of the fire to take his glass of brandy.

It was a very good fire indeed, nothing to it on such a bitter night. He sat close to it and brooded; the brandy remained untouched. The fireplace was an old one, built long ago, and carved all round with designs to illustrate the Scriptures. There were hundreds of figures to attract his thoughts; and yet only the face of his father, five years dead, remained in Darcy’s thoughts.

“Nonsense!” said Darcy, and walked across the room. After several turns, he sat down again. As he threw his head back in the chair, his glance happened to rest upon a bell, which hung in the room and communicated to the servants in the highest story of the building. It was with great astonishment, and with a strange, inexplicable dread, that as he looked, he saw this bell begin to swing. It swung so softly in the outset that it scarcely made a sound; but soon it rang out loudly, and so did every bell in the house.

This might have lasted half a minute or a minute, but it seemed an hour. The bells ceased as they had begun: together. They were succeeded by a clanking noise, deep down below, as if some person were dragging a heavy chain over the casks in the cellar. Darcy then remembered having heard that ghosts in haunted houses were described as dragging chains.

The cellar door flew open with a booming sound, and then he heard the noise much louder, on the floors below; then coming up the stairs; then coming straight towards his door.

“It is nonsense still!” said Darcy. “I will not believe it.”

His color changed though, when, without a pause, it came on through the heavy door and passed into the room before his eyes. Upon its coming in, the flames leaped up and just as quickly fell again.

His Father’s ghost! The same face, the very same. George Darcy in his favorite jacket, usual waistcoat, breeches, and boots. The chains he drew were clasped about his middle. One was very long and was made (for Darcy observed it closely) of gold studded with precious gems while the other was shorter, hardly seeming to clasp about his waist and was wrought in thick iron. His body was transparent, so that Darcy, observing him and looking through his waistcoat, could see the two buttons on his coat behind.

No, he did not believe it, even now. Though he looked the phantom through and through, and saw it standing before him; though he felt the chilling influence of its death-cold eyes and marked the very texture of the folded kerchief bound about its head and chin, which wrapper he had not observed before; he was still incredulous and fought against his senses.

“What do you want with me?” inquired Darcy

“Much!” George Darcy’s voice, no doubt about it.

“Who are you?” Darcy demanded, knowing the answer but feeling compelled to ask anyway.

The ghost raised a quizzical eyebrow, “Ask me who I was.”

“Who were you then?” asked Darcy.

“In life I was your father, George Darcy.”

“Can you—can you sit down?” Darcy asked the question because he didn’t know whether a ghost so transparent might find himself in a condition to take a chair and felt that in the event of its being impossible, it might involve the necessity of an embarrassing explanation.

“I can.”

“Please do so then, sir,” said Darcy, looking doubtfully at him.

The ghost sat down on the opposite side of the fireplace, as if he were quite used to it. “You do not believe in me,” observed the Ghost.

“I do not,” said Darcy.

“What evidence would you have of my reality beyond that of your senses?”

“I do not know,” said Darcy.

“Why do you doubt your senses?”

“Because,” said Darcy, “alcohol affects them. I do not usually indulge in the grape as much as I did this evening. I am sure there is more of the cask than of the casket about you, whatever you are!”

Darcy was not much in the habit of cracking jokes, nor did he feel, in his heart, by any means waggish then. The truth is that he tried to be smart, as a means of distracting his own attention and keeping down his terror, for the specter’s voice disturbed the very marrow in his bones.

To sit, staring at those fixed, glazed eyes, in silence for a moment, would play, Darcy felt, the very deuce with him. It was as if he again were but twelve years old and about to be punished for some childish misdeed. There was something very awful too in the specter’s being provided with an infernal atmosphere of its own.

At this, the Spirit raised a frightful cry and shook its chain with such a dismal and appalling noise that Darcy held on tight to his chair, to save himself from falling off of it. But how much greater was his horror, when the phantom took off the bandage round its head, as if it were too warm to wear indoors, and its lower jaw dropped down upon its breast!

Darcy placed his elbows on his knees, and clasped his face in his hands, as if to banish the specter. There was silence in the room, but Darcy could still feel the Spirit.

Glancing up, he looked at the Spirit, whose jaw was again shut. “Father!” he asked. “Why do you trouble me?”

“Fitzwilliam!” replied the Ghost. “Do you believe in me or not?”

“I do,” said Darcy. “I must. Why are you here? Why do you come to me?”

“It is required of every man,” the Ghost returned, “that the Spirit within him should walk abroad among his fellow-men, and travel far and wide; and if that spirit goes not forth in life, it is condemned to do so after death. It is doomed to wander through the world and witness what it cannot share, but might have shared on earth and turned to happiness! And, my son, you are in danger of losing your spirit within.”

Again the specter raised a cry and shook its chain, and wrung its shadowy hands.

“You wear chains,” said Darcy, trembling. “Tell me why?”

“I wear the chains I forged in life,” replied the Ghost. “I made them link by link, and yard by yard; the gold, for all its length, is of no weight, for it is forged from the good I did during my life. However, this bit”—the Spirit touched the metal belt around his waist—“this bit of forged iron weighs heavily. For it is forged from those times when I acted without consideration for others and thought only of myself. Those times when I let pride and conceit bar the way to doing what is proper and just. I girded them on of my own free will, and of my own free will I wore it.”

Darcy nodded slowly, trying to make sense his father’s words.

“Do you wish to know,” pursued the Ghost, “the weight and length of the chains you bear yourself? They are even, Fitzwilliam, even, identical in length to each other. However, I have come to warn you. If you persist along your present course…”

“What course?” interrupted Darcy.

“If you persist along your present course, your chain of iron will grow stronger and heavier, and the gold chain will vanish and your soul will have gone with it,” the ghost continued, “you then will be condemned to wander through the world for eternity. This is not a fate I would wish for you, my son.”

Darcy glanced about him on the floor, in the expectation of finding himself surrounded by fathoms of iron cable, but he could see nothing.

“Father,” he said, imploringly. “Father, tell me more. Speak comfort to me, Father.”

“I wish that I could, my son, but at the moment I have none to give,” the Ghost replied. “It comes from other regions, Fitzwilliam, and is conveyed by other ministers, to other kinds of men. Nor can I tell you what I would. A very little more is all that is permitted to me. I cannot stay; I cannot linger anymore.”

It was a habit with Darcy, whenever he became thoughtful, to fiddle with his signet ring. Pondering on what the Ghost had said, he did so now, but without lifting up his eyes to the specter.

The Ghost set up another cry and clanked its chain so hideously in the dead silence of the night.

“Many are captive, bound, and double-ironed,” cried the phantom, “yet they do not know! They do not know that no space of regret can make amends for one life’s opportunities missed!”

“Life’s opportunities missed,” faltered Darcy, who now began to apply this to himself. Could the Spirit be talking of Elizabeth?

Wringing its hands, the Ghost cried out, “Pemberley. The common welfare of its tenants—charity, mercy, forbearance, and benevolence—are all very easy at Pemberley. But elsewhere, Fitzwilliam? Have you shown these qualities elsewhere?”

“I try, sir,” Darcy replied, shaken.

“Did you try in Hertfordshire? Did you show charity, mercy, forbearance, and benevolence there, Fitzwilliam?” Darcy was forced to shake his head, for he had not.

The spirit held up the iron chain and flung it down heavily.

“Hear me!” cried the Ghost. “My time is nearly gone.”

“I will,” said Darcy. “But do not be too hard upon me, Father!”

“How it is that I appear before you in a shape that you can see, I may not tell. I have sat invisible beside you many and many a day.”

It was an agreeable idea. Darcy had often wished for his father’s advice when making decisions.

“That is no light part of my penance,” pursued the Ghost. “I have been watching you come to this precipice, and I am aware that part of it is my own doing and I must suffer for it. As a child, I taught you what was right, but I did not teach you to correct your temper. I gave you good principles but left you to follow them in pride and conceit. Unfortunately, as my only son—for many years my only child—I spoilt you; allowed, encouraged, almost taught you to be selfish and overbearing; to care for none beyond your own family circle; to think meanly of all the rest of the world; to think meanly of their sense and worth compared with your own. That is why I wear this heavy chain. I am here tonight to warn you that you have yet a chance and hope of escaping your fate. A chance and hope not just of my procuring, Fitzwilliam, but of others’, who also have your welfare at heart.”

“You are too harsh in your own criticism. You were always a good father,” said Darcy. “Thank you, for I do not believe that I said it during your life!”

“You will be haunted,” resumed the Ghost, “by Three Spirits, all of whom will appear familiar to you, for that is their way.”

Darcy’s countenance fell almost as low as the Ghost’s had done.

“Is that the chance and hope you mentioned, Father?” he questioned in a faltering voice.

“It is.”

“I—I think I would rather not,” said Darcy.

“Without their visits,” said the Ghost, “you cannot hope to shun the path you now tread. Expect the first tomorrow, when the bell tolls one.”

“Could I not take them all at once and have it over, Father?” hinted Darcy.

“Expect the second on the next night at the same hour. The third upon the next night when the last stroke of twelve has ceased to vibrate. Look to see me no more; and for your own sake, remember what has passed between us.”

When it had said these words, the specter took its wrapper from the table and bound it round its head, as before. Darcy knew this, by the smart sound its teeth made, when the bandage brought the jaws together. He ventured to raise his eyes again, and found his supernatural visitor confronting him in an erect attitude, with its chain wound over and about its arms.

The apparition walked backward from him; and at every step it took, the window raised itself a little, so that when the specter reached it, it was wide open.

It beckoned Darcy to approach, which he did. When they were within two paces of each other, Old Mr. Darcy’s Ghost held up its hand, warning him to come no nearer. Darcy stopped, not so much in obedience as in surprise and fear, for on the raising of the hand, he became sensible of confused noises in the air: incoherent sounds of lamentation and regret, wailings inexpressibly sorrowful and self-accusatory. The specter, after listening for a moment, joined in the mournful dirge and floated out upon the bleak, dark night. “Hear them, Fitzwilliam! Listen to their cries, for any one of them could be you!” said Old Mr. Darcy. “Look upon them!”

Darcy followed to the window, desperate in his curiosity. He looked out.

The air was filled with phantoms, wandering hither and thither in restless haste and moaning as they went. Every one of them wore chains like Old Mr. Darcy’s Ghost; some few were covered completely in chains. Darcy had personally known many during their lifetime. He had been quite familiar with one old ghost, in a white waistcoat, with a monstrous iron chain attached to its ankle, who cried piteously at being unable to assist a wretched woman with an infant, whom it saw below, upon a doorstep. The misery with them all was, clearly, that they sought to interfere, for good, in human matters, and had forever lost the power to do so.

Whether these creatures faded into mist or mist enshrouded them, he could not tell. But they and their spirit voices faded together; and the night became as it had been when he walked home.

Darcy closed the window and examined the door by which the Ghost had entered. It was locked, as he had locked it with his own hands, and the bolts were undisturbed. He tried to say “Humbug!” but stopped at the first syllable. And being, from the emotion he had undergone, or the fatigues of the day, or his glimpse of the Invisible World, or the conversation of the Ghost, or the lateness of the hour, much in need of repose, he went straight to bed, without undressing, and fell asleep upon the instant.

Chapter 2 Christmas Past

When Darcy awoke, it was so dark, that looking out of the bed, he could scarcely distinguish the transparent window from the opaque walls of his chamber. He was endeavoring to pierce the darkness with his eyes when the chimes of a neighboring church struck the four quarters, so he listened for the hour.

To his great astonishment, the heavy bell went on from six to seven, and from seven to eight, and regularly up to twelve, then stopped. Twelve! It was past two when he went to bed. The clock was wrong. An icicle must have gotten into the works. Twelve!

He glanced at the clock that rested on the mantel. Its rapid little pulse beat twelve and stopped.

“Why, it is not possible,” said Darcy, “that I can have slept through a whole day and far into another night. It is not possible that anything has happened to the sun and this is twelve at noon!”

The idea being such an alarming one, he scrambled out of bed and groped his way to the window. He was obliged to rub the frost off with the sleeve of his dressing gown before he could see anything, and even after that could see very little. All he could make out was that it was still very foggy and extremely cold. It was a great relief that there was no noise of people running to and fro or making a great stir, as there unquestionably would have been if night had beaten off day and taken possession of the world.

Darcy went to bed again, thought about it over and over, and could make nothing of it. The more he thought, the more perplexed he was; and the more he endeavored not to think, the more he thought of his father’s Ghost. It bothered him exceedingly. Every time he resolved within himself, after much mature inquiry, that it had all been a dream, his mind flew back to its first position, and presented the same problem to be worked through: Was it a dream or not?

Ding, dong!

“A quarter past,” said Darcy counting.

Ding, dong!

“Half past!” said Darcy.

Ding, dong!

“A quarter to it.” Darcy suddenly remembered that the Ghost had warned him of a visitation when the bell tolled one. He resolved to lie awake until the hour was past; and, considering that he could no more go to sleep than go to Heaven, this was perhaps the wisest resolution in his power.

The quarter was so long that he was more than once convinced he must have sunk into a doze unconsciously and missed the clock. At length it broke upon his listening ear.

Ding, dong!

“The hour itself,” said Darcy triumphantly, “and nothing else!”

He spoke before the hour bell sounded, which it now did with a deep, dull, hollow, melancholy ONE. Light flashed up in the room upon the instant, and a hand drew the curtains of his bed aside. Not the curtains at his feet nor the curtains at his back, but those to which his face was addressed. Darcy, starting up into a half-recumbent attitude, found himself face to face with the unearthly visitor who drew them.

It was a not a stranger’s figure. Her hair was white, as if with age, swept up with loose tendrils falling, curls framed the face that had not a wrinkle in it, and a tender bloom was on the skin. The arms were very long and feminine, her hands the same. Her feet, most delicately formed, were encased in delicate white slippers. She wore a gown of the purest white and round its high waist was bound a lustrous belt, the sheen of which was beautiful. She held a branch of fresh green holly in her hand; and, in singular contradiction of this wintry emblem, had her dress trimmed with summer flowers. But the strangest thing about her was that from the crown of her head there sprung a bright clear jet of light, by which all this was visible.

Darcy looked at it with increasing steadiness.

“Mama?” Darcy said somewhat indistinctly, for the face resembled that of Lady Anne Darcy. “Are you the Spirit whose coming was foretold to me?” asked Darcy.

“I am!” The voice was soft and gentle. Singularly low, as if instead of being so close beside him, it were at a distance.

“Who are you?” Darcy demanded.

“I am the Ghost of Christmas Past.”

“Long past?” inquired Darcy

“No. Your past,” replied the ghostly Lady Anne, her hand reaching out to brush a curl off Darcy’s forehead.

“Mama,” Darcy repeated softly. “Are you truly here?”

The ghost seemed about to nod, hesitated, then shook her head and repeated, “I am the Ghost of Christmas Past.”

“What brought you here?” Darcy asked, greatly disappointed.

“Your welfare!” said the Ghost.

“I am very much obliged,” Darcy thanked her.

“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.

The door opened. “Come meet your new sister, Fitzwilliam.” Both parents ushered him into the room. He approached the baby cautiously. He looked into the cradle and was not overly impressed.

“She was so small she hardly seemed human to me. At school, I was envied for being an only child, but in turn, I envied those who had brothers and sisters,” Darcy told the Spirit, looking over the shoulder of his younger self.

“And now you finally had one of your own.”

“Yes, but she was not quite ready to play cricket with me, now was she?” he replied in self-deprecation.

“I imagine not.” The spirit smiled.

His father said, “If you are gentle, you may hold her.”

Young Fitzwilliam was not sure if he wanted to touch the baby. “I would rather not. She appears too fragile, and I could break her.”

“Babies are sturdier than you think,” his mother told him, “but you should do what you think is best for your sister.”

“Yes, Fitzwilliam, it is your duty to look out for her and keep her from harm. You are her brother and protector.” His father placed a hand upon his shoulder. “I know I can rely on you to do so.”

The Ghost smiled thoughtfully and waved its hand, saying as it did so, “Let us see another Christmas!”

Darcy’s former self grew larger at the words. How this was brought about, Darcy knew not. He only knew that it was quite correct; that everything had happened so; that there he was, home from school for the holiday.

He watched as Christmas day passed again, his mother, his father, Georgiana, and himself enjoying Christmas dinner, presents, reading poetry, and just being together as a family.

It was in the evening, and Darcy saw his younger self hide a yawn. His sister was already asleep upon a sofa. He watched as Lady Anne sat down beside him on the sofa, saying, “Now, William, I want to read you the verse I gave you. It is my wish for you that you become such a man when you are grown.” And from The Canterbury Tales she began to read of the Knight:

As those words filled the room, Darcy knew this day. Unbeknownst to all, it had been the final Christmas he had shared with both his parents. After his mother death, his recollections of this time had him listening with keen interest to every word his mother spoke. Yet the evidence before him showed he had not attended the reading with anything more than a polite interest as his younger self tried to conceal another yawn. So he took the opportunity the Spirit provided to listen until the final words were spoken.

“Thank you, Mother, it is always a pleasure to listen to you read. I shall endeavor to live up to those expectations,” said his younger self.

“‘Vileness he shunned, rudeness he never said/In all his life, treating all persons right,’” quoted the Spirit. “You have not always lived up to those expectations.”

“No, I have not, I have come to regret it, ma’am.” Darcy frowned. He had not treated Elizabeth right, nor her sister Jane, nor his own friend Bingley. It had led to much misery for all parties.

He was walking up and down despairingly. Darcy looked at the Ghost, and with a mournful shaking of her head, the room changed to the one he had during his last year at Eton. He was pacing up and down the room in anticipation.

The door opened; the master said in a somewhat chilly voice, “Mr. Darcy, you have a caller, a female caller. As you know this is frowned upon, Mr. Darcy. However, in this case, I am prepared to make an exception for an exceptional young lady.”

A little girl, much younger than Darcy, came darting in, and putting her arms about his neck and often kissing him, addressed him as her “Dear, dear brother.”

“I have come to bring you home, dear brother!” said the child, clapping her tiny hands and bending down to laugh. “To bring you home, home, home!”

“Home, little Georgie?” returned the boy.

“Yes!” said the child, brimful of glee. “Father is awaiting you in the coach. I asked him if we might come and fetch you home, for the holiday will be much longer if we do not have to wait days and days for you to arrive. Papa said ‘Yes, we should,’ and sent me in here to bring you. And you’re to go Cambridge,” said the child, opening her eyes. “And are never to come back here; but first, we’re to be together all the Christmas long and have the merriest time in all the world.”

“You are quite a magpie, little Georgie!” exclaimed the boy.

She clapped her hands and laughed, and tried to touch his head, but being too little, laughed again and stood on tiptoe to embrace him. Then she began to drag him, in her childish eagerness, towards the door; and he, nothing loathe to go, accompanied her.

A voice in the hall cried, “Bring down Master Darcy’s box, there!” and in the hall appeared the schoolmaster himself, who smiled on Master Darcy and shook hands with him. He then conveyed Darcy and his sister into his parlor. Here he produced a pot of tea and a block of curiously heavy cake, and administered installments of those dainties to the young people while at the same time sending out a meager servant to offer a glass of something to Mr. Darcy, who answered that he thanked the gentleman, but if it was the same wine as he had tasted before, he had rather not. Master Darcy’s trunk being by this time tied on to the top of the chaise, the children bade the schoolmaster good-bye right willingly and, getting into it, drove gaily down the garden-sweep, the quick wheels dashing the hoarfrost and snow from off the dark leaves of the evergreens like spray.

“Always a beautiful creature,” said the Ghost. “And she has a large heart!”

“So she has,” returned Darcy. “You are right. I will not gainsay it, Spirit. God forbid!”

“She is now a woman,” said the Ghost, “and will have, I think, many suitors.”

“She has had one suitor already,” Darcy returned bitterly, “but he only cared for her money. He never cared for Georgiana.”

“True,” said the Ghost. “Young George Wickham never cared about anyone save himself.”

Darcy seemed uneasy in his mind that the Spirit should know so much about his personal business and answered briefly, “Yes.”

Although Darcy and the Spirit had but that moment left Eton behind them, they now were in the thoroughfares of Cambridge, where shadowy strangers passed; where shadowy carts and coaches tumbled along the way, and all the other tumults of a city. It was made plain enough, by the dressing of the shops, that here too it was Christmas time again; but it was evening and the streets were lighted up.

The Ghost stopped at a certain pub door and asked Darcy if he knew it.

“Know it?” Darcy was incredulous. “Why, I spent many nights here while at Cambridge! It is the Fuzzy Whig!”

They went in. An old gentleman in a Welch wig was standing behind the bar. If he had been two inches shorter, he could not have seen over the top of the bar.

Darcy cried in great excitement. “It is Old Peterson alive again! Many hours we spent in the pub, talking philosophy and literature…”

“And other fancies of young men?” asked the Spirit.

Darcy blushed and nodded, and looked over this memory.

Old Peterson laid down his polishing cloth and looked up at the clock, which pointed to the hour of seven. He rubbed his hands, adjusted his capacious apron, laughed to himself, and called out in a comfortable and jovial voice as the door to the taproom opened:

“Yo ho, there! Mr. Darcy! Lord Wilkins!”

Darcy’s former self, now grown to a young man, came in briskly, accompanied by his fellow classmate.

“Richard Wilkins, to be sure!” said Darcy to the Ghost. “Yes. There he is. He was so lively, it is hard to believe that he is already gone, killed in the Battle of Talavera.”

“Yo ho, boys! No more work for me tonight. Christmas Eve, Lord Wilkins. Christmas, Mr. Darcy!” cried old Peterson with a sharp clap of his hands.

Peterson held a party for all those fine young scholars at Cambridge, who, for whatever reason, could not make it home for Christmas. Darcy had not been particularly eager to join his father and sister in spending the holiday with his aunt, Lady Catherine. So he accepted Lord Wilkins invitation to stay in Cambridge during the holiday.

More students entered behind Darcy and his friend. Peterson skipped around the bar with wonderful agility. “Go on up, my lads, and enjoy the party!”

Up they ventured into the public room where everyone was gathering. The floor was swept, the lamps were trimmed, fuel was heaped upon the fire; and the pub was as snug, warm, dry, and as bright as could be desired from a ballroom on a cold winter’s night.

In came the musicians with their music books and made an orchestra of one corner, tuning their instruments like fifty stomachaches. In came Mrs. Peterson, one vast smile, followed by the three Miss Petersons, beaming and lovable, and the six young followers whose hearts they held. In came the housemaid with her baker, the cook with her milkman, and the boy from over the way, who tried to hide himself from the girl next door who had caught his shy heart. More friends of the Petersons and more students arrived. In they all came, one after another—some shyly, some boldly, some gracefully, some awkwardly, some pushing, some pulling—but they all came to the party.

There were dances, and there were forfeits and still more dances. There were tables laden with cake, negus, a great piece of cold roast, a great piece of cold ham, and mince pies. Plenty of beer flowed throughout the night. But the greatest event of the evening came after the roast, when the fiddler struck up “Sir Roger de Coverley.” Then, old Peterson stood up to dance with Mrs. Peterson. Four and twenty pair of partners joined in—people who were not to be trifled with, people who would dance and had no notion of walking, including Darcy.

But if they had been twice as many, old Peterson would have been a match for them and so would Mrs. Peterson.

The Spirit noticed this and said to Darcy, “She was worthy to be his partner in every sense of the term. If that is not high praise, tell me what is higher and I will use it.”

“Indeed,” Darcy observed from the sidelines, “all of the couples were well matched. Oh, the women laughed and flirted and danced with the students, but it was clear that they were just having an evening’s fun. They were truly happy with their own partners.”

When the clock struck eleven, the domestic ball broke up. Mr. and Mrs. Peterson took their stations, one on either side of the door, and shaking hands with every person individually as he or she went out, wished him or her a Merry Christmas. Everybody had retired but Darcy and his friend, so they did the same to them; and thus the cheerful voices died away, and the lads were left to find their way back to their rooms.

During the whole of this time, Darcy had acted quite unlike himself. His heart and soul were in the scene and with his former self. He corroborated everything, remembered everything, and enjoyed everything. It was not until now, when the bright faces of his former self and Dick were turned from them, that he remembered the Ghost and became conscious that it was looking full upon him.

“Were you not bored?” asked the Ghost, as they followed the young men.

“Bored?” echoed Darcy.

“I should think you would be,” answered the Spirit, “at an assembly such as that, with people of little character and no breeding. Cooks and milkmen, housemaids and bakers?”

“It was not the company,” said Darcy, heated by the remark, and speaking unconsciously like his Cambridge self. “Peterson could not bear to see anyone unhappy. The happiness he gave was to all who needed it, especially to those who were alone during the holidays; it mattered not if you were a Duke or a dust boy. All mingled at the Fuzzy Whig. Pretensions were not allowed.”

He felt the Spirit’s glance and stopped.

“What is the matter?” asked the Ghost.

“Nothing particular,” said Darcy.

“Something, I think,” the Ghost insisted.

“No,” said Darcy. “No. I should like to have behaved better at an assembly I attended in Meryton. That’s all.”

His former self turned down the lane as he gave utterance to the wish; and Darcy and the Ghost again stood side-by-side, alone in the open air.

“My time grows short,” observed the Spirit. “Quick!”

The address was again familiar to Darcy, a small house in an exclusive section of London. Darcy saw himself. He was older now. It was the Christmas dinner of a year ago. He was not alone, but sat across from a red-headed woman in a green dress. He was embarrassed that his mother should see him here.

“It matters little,” she said softly. “Very little. Another has displaced me; and if she can cheer and comfort you in the time to come, as I have tried to do, I have no just cause to grieve.”

“Who has displaced you?” he rejoined.

“I know not, but you have not been the same since you came back from Hertfordshire.”

“You are mistaken,” he said. “There is no-one!”

“Are you trying to convince me or yourself?” she asked gently.

“There is no-one,” he repeated. “I am not changed towards you.”

She shook her head.

“Am I?”

“Our friendship is an old one. It was made when we were both in need of comfort and companionship. You were still grieving for your father and I was not grieving for my husband. Still, I had much to recover from.”

“He was not a gentleman,” he said quietly.

“True,” she returned. “Marriage, that which promised happiness when I was young, was fraught with misery. I learned that a parent does not always know what is best for their child. A fine name, good income, and a grand home will never make up for a lack of character in its owner.” She hesitated a moment before continuing. “I am not the child I was upon my marriage nor am I the pathetic creature that I was after it was over. You helped me more than I can ever acknowledge nor can I sufficiently express my gratitude.”

“Gratitude was never necessary,” replied Darcy.

“I know that it is not, but it is what I feel. It is with much thanks that I release you.”

“Have I sought release?”

“In words? No. Never.”

“In what then?”

“In a changed nature; in an altered spirit; the atmosphere of another who is ever on your mind; another hope as its great end. If the past had never been between us,” said the woman, looking mildly, but with steadiness, upon him, “tell me, would you seek me out now? Ah, no!”

He seemed to yield to the justice of this supposition in spite of himself. But he said with a struggle, “You think not.”

“I can hardly think otherwise,” she answered. “Heaven knows! How can I believe that you would choose me when I can see that there is one who you weigh every female against? Choose her; do not know the repentance and regret I did. Whatever happens, I am hopeful that we will remain friends.”

She lifted her wine glass and toasted, “May you be happy with the one you love!”

Darcy remembered that he felt some inner turmoil, for he had not yet been ready to acknowledge the truth of her statements. But almost as if it acted of its own accord, Darcy’s hand lifted the wine glass in an answering salute.

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.

Chapter 3 Christmas Present

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.”

“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.

Everyone ate until they had enough, and the youngest Gardiners in particular were steeped in goose and sage and onion to their eyebrows!

But now, Belinda was exchanging the dinner plates in anticipation of dessert. She left the room. In half a minute she returned, flushed but smiling proudly, with the pudding, like a speckled cannon ball, so hard and firm, blazing in ignited brandy.

“Oh, what a wonderful pudding!” Edward Gardiner said. Everybody had something to say about it; all praise was sent to Cook.

At last the dinner was all done, the cloth was cleared, and the fire made up in the parlor. The punch being tasted and considered perfect, apples and oranges were put upon the table, and chestnuts were roasting in the open fire. Then, all the Gardiner family drew round the hearth.

Golden goblets held the hot stuff from the jug; Edward served it out with beaming looks, while the chestnuts on the fire sputtered and cracked noisily.

Then Edward proposed: “A Merry Christmas to us all, my dears. God bless us!”

Which all the family echoed.

“God bless us every one!” said William, the last of all.

He sat very close to his father’s side upon his stool. Edward held his hand in his, for he loved his children and was not averse to showing it.

“Spirit,” said Darcy, with an interest he had never felt before, “Why are we here?”

“Quiet,” replied the Ghost, “for you are here to learn.”

“Mr. Darcy!” said Edward Gardiner. “I’ll give you Mr. Darcy!”

Darcy turned speedily on hearing his own name.

“Mr. Darcy?” questioned Mrs. Gardiner. “Why, he is not part of the family nor is he likely to be.”

“My dear,” said Edward, “he has done our family a very good turn this year. Should we not acknowledge it on Christmas Day?”

“It is just that I was hoping that he would be a part of our family by now,” said she, “and you did too. And poor Elizabeth is pining, though she thinks she can hide it.”

Darcy was startled by this information. He glanced at the Spirit who nodded slowly.

“My dear,” was Edward’s mild answer, “we cannot change what has passed. We can only wish him well on this Christmas Day and hope the best for both his and Elizabeth’s futures.”

“You are right, my dear. I will drink his health for Elizabeth’s sake,” said Mrs. Gardiner, “and for his. May there be a long life before him. A Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year! He will be very merry and very happy, I have no doubt, if he would only wed Elizabeth!”

“Emily!” remonstrated Mr. Gardiner, but in a playful manner. He lifted his glass in toast, “To Mr. Darcy and dear Elizabeth, may they realize that they are made for one another in the New Year!”

Edward Gardiner then read them the Christmas story from the family Bible. Other family stories were related and talked of. Kate told them that morning she had seen a lady and a lord, and how the lord “was much about as tall as Robert,” at which Robert pulled himself up as tall as he was able and, walking on his toes, bowed grandly before each member of his family, who laughed in delight. All this time, the chestnuts and the punch went round and round; and by-and-by they had a song or two.

There was nothing of high mark in this. They were a happy family—grateful, pleased with one another, and contented with the time; and when they faded, and looked happier yet in the bright sprinklings of the Spirit’s torch at parting, Darcy had his eye upon them until the last.

By this time it was getting dark and snowing pretty heavily; and as Darcy and the Spirit went along the streets, the brightness of the roaring fires in kitchens, parlors, and all sorts of rooms was wonderful.

The children of the house were running out into the snow to meet their married sisters, brothers, cousins, uncles, aunts, and be the first to greet them. Here, again, were shadows on the window-blind of guests assembling; and there a group of handsome girls tripped lightly off to some near neighbor’s house, where the single men saw them enter in a glow!

And now, they stopped in front of one particularly grand house.

“My uncle’s house?” asked Darcy.

A light shone from the window of the mansion, and swiftly they advanced towards it. Passing through the wall, they found a cheerful company assembled around a glowing fire. An older man and woman, with their children and their grandchildren, were all decked out gaily in their holiday attire. The Earl was singing them a Christmas song; and from time to time, they all joined in the chorus.

Georgiana, who had been playing the piano accompaniment, stilled as the song died. Col. Fitzwilliam came over to the piano and suggested that Georgiana play the new music she had received as a Christmas present. Georgiana began to play.

“I hope you are pleased with your gift?” the Colonel inquired.

“Yes, very much, thank you. And are you pleased with your gift? Fitzwilliam said that you could use it to ward off your many female admirers.”

Fitzwilliam eyed the beautifully carved ebony walking stick. “I would never be so ungentlemanly. Who am I to deny their admiration, especially as it feeds my own vanity?” Colonel Fitzwilliam heaved a great sigh. “Though it is a terrible burden to be the object of so much admiration.”

“Pish-tosh!” cried the Countess.

“Fish toss!” echoed his young niece and nephew. The adults broke into uncontrolled laughter.

Darcy smiled in amusement himself.

“What is the name of this piece?” the Colonel asked.

“Ode to Joy by Herr Beethoven,” Georgiana replied with a sad little sigh.

“You do not appear to be very joyful, my dear,” observed the Colonel softly.

“It is just that I do not believe that I shall get the present that I want the most for Christmas.”

“And what present would that be?” inquired the Colonel.

Georgiana leaned over the piano to whisper into Colonel Fitzwilliam’s ear, “A new sister. A particular new sister.”

The Colonel whispered back, “Now that is peculiar, for I wished for a new cousin for Christmas. A particular new cousin.”

And though they spoke in whisper, Darcy could hear their wishes as if they were whispering into his ears.

The Spirit did not tarry, but bade Darcy hold her robe, and passing on above the city sped on to the sea. To Darcy’s horror, looking back, he saw the last of the land, a frightful range of rocks, behind them; and his ears were deafened by the thundering of water, as it rolled and roared and raged among the dreadful caverns it had worn, and fiercely tried to undermine the earth.

The Ghost sped on, above the black and heaving sea until they lighted on a ship. They stood beside the helmsman at the wheel, the lookout in the bow, the officers who had the watch—dark, ghostly figures in their several stations—but every man among them hummed a Christmas tune, “Three Ships” being the most popular. One spoke below his breath to his companion of some bygone Christmas Day, with homeward hopes belonging to it.

“And it is for certain that the Captain is having a very merry Christmas this year.”

“Aye,” cried the men, “here’s to the Cap’n and his Missus, may many more Christmas days come their way.”

Darcy was then in the Captain’s cabin. A man and a woman occupied the room. Joining their hands over the rough table at which they sat, they wished each other Merry Christmas.

“If I harbor any regrets of the past, it is not being able to see your face on Christmas these last six years. Nor to witness your delight in singing Christmas songs this day, Anne,” said the Captain.

“Frederick, please do not find regret in the past. It cannot be changed. Six years may seem long now, but in the sum of our existence are but a few. I fell in love with your youth in my youth. I fell in love with the man you are now, as the woman I am now.”

“You harbor no regrets then?”

“I shall always have a small scar on my heart for what might have been. But it in no way damages the delight for what I have now.”

While listening to the couple and thinking what a solemn thing it was to live without the woman you love for six years, it was a great surprise to Darcy to hear a hearty laugh. It was a much greater surprise to Darcy to recognize it as Bingley’s and to find himself in a bright, dry, gleaming room, with the Spirit standing smiling by his side, and looking at Bingley with approving affability!

“Ha, ha!” laughed Bingley. “Ha, ha, ha!”

“I know of no man who delights more in a laugh than Bingley,” Darcy told the Spirit.

“There is nothing in the world so irresistibly contagious as laughter and good-humor,” the Spirit replied. Bingley laughed, and then the assembled family and friends joined in; Elizabeth even managed a smile.

“Ha, ha! Ha, ha, ha, ha!”

Elizabeth set down her cup of tea and looked out the window of Netherfield, unconsciously reenacting Darcy’s typical stance. Her face was serious in contrast to those around her.

Jane, Charles, and Mr. Bennet watched her actions with concern. The rest of the party ignored her except for Miss Bingley.

“How interesting,” said Miss Bingley, “that the witty Miss Bennet is not as pleasant as she might be? I should be relieved that she has finally learned to keep her tongue still.”

“Caroline, Miss Bennet might hear you,” cautioned Louisa.

Turning to her sister, Caroline shrugged and said, “He is so very rich, Louisa, and handsome, and he cannot have affections for Miss Bennet or else he would be here. I shall take his absence as a sign that he is over his infatuation.”

Jane approached the window and laid her hand on Elizabeth arm. Shortly before Jane married, Elizabeth had confided a little of her feelings for Darcy to her sister.

“I am well, Jane, perfectly well,” Elizabeth reassured her sister.

“I shall put as much faith in those words as when I voiced the same last summer,” said Jane.

“At least you had some small hope of having your words proven false, while I have none.”

“Oh, but I have hope for you!” said Jane. “And for him. I am sorry for him; I could not be angry with him if I tried. He also suffers, I am sure, Elizabeth.”

“Jane, I wish I could I believe that.”

“It is Christmas, Elizabeth. A time for wishes to come to true.” She hugged her sister.

In the blink of an eye, the room filled with more guests. Everyone was talking about the dinner they had just consumed and praised it for being fine.

“Well! I’m very glad to hear it,” teased Bingley, “because I do not have great faith in these young housekeepers. What do you say, Topper?”

His friend answered, “A bachelor was a wretched outcast, who has no right to express an opinion on the subject. When I find myself in your happy circumstances, I will offer an opinion.” Topper cast his eyes over Elizabeth, clearly taken with this new sister-in-law of his friend. Darcy stepped in front of Elizabeth as if to hide her from the man’s gaze, quite forgetting that the occupants of the room could not see him.

After tea, they had some music. Caroline played on the harp; and Elizabeth played a simple little air, which had been familiar to Darcy from childhood. When this strain of music sounded, his mind drifted to the meeting at Pemberley and memories came upon his mind; he softened with each thought and reflected that he could have listened to her for eternity. His memories were shattered when Mary Bennet took over pianoforte duties.

But the company did not devote the whole evening to music. Games came next, especially their childhood favorites, for it is good to return to childhood sometimes and there never is a better time than Christmas. First they played forfeits, then came the game of blind-man’s bluff that caused Darcy’s jealousy to rise.

The Spirit and Darcy gazed upon the revelers. “The way Topper goes after Elizabeth is an outrage on the credulity of human nature. I no more believe Topper is really blind than I believe he has eyes in his boots,” said Darcy harshly. “Knocking down the fire-irons, tumbling over the chairs, bumping against the piano, smothering himself among the curtains, wherever she goes, there he goes. He always knows where Elizabeth is. He does not try to catch anybody else. My opinion is there is a conspiracy between him and Miss Bingley.” The Ghost of Christmas Present nodded in agreement, only remarking that a pretty young lady of marriageable age often attracted admirers.

Elizabeth laughed, “It is not fair, you never try for anyone else.”

At last, Topper caught her, and under the mistletoe too. Darcy was outraged as Topper stole a kiss that should have gone to him. Elizabeth seemed quite surprised by the kiss, for her mind had not been on this friend of Bingley’s.

Jane had not joined the blind-man’s buff party, but was made comfortable with a large chair and a footstool, in a snug corner, where the Ghost and Darcy stood close behind her. She did join in the game of How, When, and Where, and she was very good and—to the secret joy of Bingley—beat her sisters hollow. There might have been twenty people there, young and old, but they all played, and after awhile so did Darcy; often forgetting, in the interest he had in what was going on, that his voice made no sound in their ears, he sometimes came out with his guess quite loud (especially when it was Topper’s turn to answer), and very often guessed quite right too.

The Ghost was greatly pleased to find him in this mood, and looked upon him with such favor that he begged like a boy to be allowed to stay until the guests departed. “Here is a new game,” said Darcy. “One half hour, Spirit, only one!”

It was a Game called Yes and No, where Bingley had to think of something and the rest must find out what, he only answering yes or no to their questions as the case was. The brisk fire of questioning to which he was exposed elicited from him that he was thinking of an animal, a live animal, rather a disagreeable animal, a savage animal, an animal that growled and grunted sometimes, and talked sometimes, and lived in London, and walked about the streets, and wasn’t made a show of, and wasn’t led by anybody, and didn’t live in a menagerie, and was never killed in a market. At last Mrs. Bennet cried out:

“I have found it out! I know what it is! I know what it is!”

“What is it?” cried Bingley.

“Mr. Darcy!”

“Mama, it certainly is not!” cried Elizabeth. However, there was much admiration for Mrs. Bennet’s answer and only a few objections. Mr. Bingley was one who did object.

“It is not so, my dear Mrs. Bennet. He encouraged me to go after a most precious gift,” said Bingley, looking at Jane, “and it would be ungrateful of me not to drink his health. Here is a glass of mulled wine ready for our hands,” he said as footmen carried trays of wine around the room. “I say Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to you, Darcy, wherever you are!”

“Mr. Darcy!” the guests cried.

“A Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year, Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth softly.

Darcy had imperceptibly become so gay and light of heart that he would have pledged the unconscious Elizabeth in return if the Ghost had given him time. But the whole scene passed off in the breath of the last word spoken by Elizabeth and he and the Spirit were again upon their travels.

The Spirit took Darcy to foreign lands where young soldiers read letters from their faithful ladies back home. They stood beside sick beds, where husbands attended their wives and vice versa; they saw couples in poverty; they saw struggling men and their patient wives who held greater hopes, and couples whose hopes had been fulfilled and now lived in riches.

It was a long night, if it were only one night and Darcy had his doubts of this, because the Christmas holidays appeared to be condensed into the space of time they passed together. It was strange too, that while not seeming to melt, the candles on the Ghost’s head grew shorter and shorter. Darcy had observed this change, but never spoke of it until they left a children’s Twelfth Night party, when, looking at the Spirit as they stood together in an open place, he noticed that the lights were almost out.

“Your candles are almost burnt out; do you not need new ones?”

“These are the only candles that I need. When they are gone, I am gone.”

“Are spirits’ lives so short?” asked Darcy.

“My life upon this globe is very brief,” replied the Ghost. “It ends tonight.”

“Tonight!” cried Darcy.

“Tonight at midnight. Hark! The Time is drawing near.”

The chimes were ringing the three quarters past eleven at that moment.

“Forgive me if I am not justified in what I ask,” said Darcy, looking intently at the Spirit’s robe, “but I see something strange and not belonging to yourself protruding from behind your skirts. Is it a foot or a claw?”

“It might be a claw, for what little flesh there is upon it,” was the Spirit’s sorrowful reply. “Look here.”

From the folds of her dress, she brought forth two children, a boy and girl, wretched, abject, frightful, hideous, and miserable. They knelt down at her feet and clung upon the outside of her garment.

“Darcy, look down here!” instructed the Ghost.

Their appearance was that of horrible and dreadful monsters. Yellow, meager, ragged, scowling, and wolfish devils that glared out of menacing eyes. Their stained and shriveled hands looked ready to pinch and pull, and tear him into shreds.

Darcy started back, appalled. “Spirit, are they yours?” Darcy asked.

“They are yours,” said the Spirit, looking down upon them. “And they cling to me, fleeing from their father. This boy is Fear. This girl is Pride. Beware of both of them and all of their degree, for much good is prevented when they work together. But most of all beware this boy. For he will take over your life, and you will live in his shadow, instead of he in yours,” warned the Spirit, stretching out her hand towards Rosings, as they were among the hedgerows now.

“See what happens when fear and pride take over a life.”

Darcy and the Spirit were now in the dining room of Rosings. Lady Catherine sat at one end of the long table, her daughter about half way down, next to Mrs. Jenkins. Anne sniffed and coughed her way through dinner. Lady Catherine ignored her and kept a running monologue.

“Lady Catherine, the staff was wondering if they could have the rest of the evening off,” the butler interrupted.

“They already have half a day tomorrow. That is sufficient; any more is taking advantage of my generosity and I will not allow that.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the butler bowed out. Lady Catherine continued her monologue, criticizing and advising on everything from Mr. Collins’s sermon, to the lack of cleanliness in both stables and mangers (how on the earth the Savior was allowed to be born there, she had no reason, she only knew that she would have planned the event much better), to the presumptions of servants, through dinner and into the drawing room afterwards.

Darcy felt like covering his ears to end the monotonous sound of Lady Catherine’s voice.

The mantel clock struck twelve.

Darcy looked about him for the Ghost and saw it not. As the last stroke ceased to vibrate, he remembered the prediction of his father and, lifting up his eyes, beheld a solemn site. The drawing room vanished around Lady Catherine, and as she stood, her chair vanished, fog seemed to cover the ground, and in the blink of an eye she changed.

Chapter 4 Christmas Future

Now Lady Catherine was draped in a black gown, with a hooped skirt and bodice cut low, exposing too much bony bosom. Her head was ringed by sausage curls, looking grotesquely girlish against a face that seemed to consist of little more than flesh covering bone. There was no life in her face. There was no life in her eyes. She seemed to glide towards him in a most unnerving manner.

He felt her come beside him, and her mysterious presence filled him with a solemn dread.

“Am I in the presence of the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come?” asked Darcy.

The Spirit answered not but pointed onward with its hand.

“You are about to show me shadows of the things that have not happened, but will happen in the time before us,” Darcy pursued. “Is that so, Spirit?”

The Spirit inclined her head. That was the only answer he received. It was doubly chilling, this lack of voice in the body of one usually so verbal.

Although well used to ghostly company by this time, Darcy feared the silent shape so much that his legs trembled beneath him, and he found that he could hardly stand when he prepared to follow it. The Spirit paused a moment, observing his condition, and gave him time to recover.

But Darcy was all the worse for this. It filled him with a vague uncertain horror to know that there were ghostly eyes intently fixed upon him.

“Ghost of the Future!” he exclaimed. “I fear you more than any specter I have seen. But as I know your purpose is to do me good, and as I hope to live to be another man from what I was, I am prepared to bear your company and do it with a thankful heart. Will you not speak to me?”

She gave him no reply. The hand was pointed straight before them.

“Lead on!” said Darcy. “Lead on! The night is waning fast and time is precious to me, I know. Lead on, Spirit!”

The Phantom moved away as it had come towards him. Darcy followed in the shadow of her dress, which bore him up, he thought, and carried him along.

They scarcely seemed to enter the room, for the room rather seemed to spring up about them and encompass them of its own accord. But there they were, in the heart of Bingley’s London mansion.

The Spirit stopped beside one little chair. Observing that the hand was pointed to the room’s occupants, Darcy advanced to listen to their talk.

“No,” said Mr. Hurst, now a great fat man with a monstrous chin, “I do not know much about it either way. I only know she’s dead.”

“When did she die?” inquired Louisa.

“Last night, I believe.”

“Why, what was the matter with her?” asked Caroline.

“God knows,” said Mr. Hurst, “a fever of some sort.”

“I hope that it is not contagious?” asked Louisa.

“I haven’t heard,” said Mr. Hurst.

“It’s likely to be a very cheap funeral,” said Caroline, “for upon my life I do not know why anyone would want to go to it. I suppose we must make some show of support for her family? I have a black dress I have never worn—the workmanship was too shoddy, but it will do for her.”

“I do not mind going, as long as lunch is provided,” observed Mr. Hurst.

“Well, it is the most uninteresting way for you to pass the day,” said Caroline. “But I will go and comfort the sisters. That way, I can see for myself that she is truly gone!”

Their conversation then turned to another subject altogether. Darcy looked towards the Spirit for an explanation.

The Phantom glided on into a street. Its finger pointed to two persons meeting. Darcy listened again, thinking that the explanation might lie here.

He knew these men, also.

“How are you?” said Sir William.

“How are you?” returned Mr. Phillips.

“Well!” said Sir William. “I am sorry to hear of your loss. Heaven has received another angel?”

“So I believe,” returned Mr. Phillips. Not wishing to speak of it, he changed the subject. “Cold, isn’t it?”

“Seasonable for Christmas time.”

“Something else to think of. Good morning!”

Not another word. That was their meeting, their conversation, and their parting.

Darcy was at first surprised by the conversations; but feeling assured that they must have some hidden purpose, he set himself to consider what it was likely to be.

Darcy tried to think of anyone immediately connected with himself who might also be the subject of both conversations. Caroline and Mrs. Hurst kept much different company than Sir William and Mr. Phillips. The only common connection was Jane, and by extension, the Bennet family. The loss of Jane would devastate Bingley, the loss of a relation would wound Elizabeth grievously, and the loss of Elizabeth was not a thought Darcy was willing to contemplate.

He recoiled in terror, for the scene had changed, and now he almost touched a bed on which, beneath a sheet, there lay someone covered up, which, though it was dumb, announced itself in awful language.

The room was very dark, too dark to be observed with any accuracy, though Darcy glanced round it in obedience to a secret impulse, anxious to know what kind of room it was. A pale light, rising in the outer air, fell straight upon the bed and on it was the body of a woman.

Darcy glanced towards the Phantom. Her steady hand was pointed to the head. The cover was so carelessly adjusted that the slightest raising of it, the mere motion of a finger upon Darcy’s part, would disclose the face. He thought of it, felt how easy it would be to do, and longed to do it, but had no more power to withdraw the veil than to dismiss the specter at his side.

“Spirit!” he said. “This is a fearful place. Let us go!”

Still the Ghost pointed with an unmoved finger to the head.

“I understand you, I know what you wish,” Darcy returned, “and I would do it if I could. But I cannot, Spirit. I have not the power.”

Quiet and dark, beside him stood false Lady Catherine, with her outstretched hand. Her eyes were looking at him keenly. They made him shudder and feel very cold.

The Phantom spread her dark dress before her for a moment, like a wing; and withdrawing it, they were before his house in Mayfair. His carriage pulled up and a somewhat older self exited. Darcy noticed that his face was careworn and depressed, though he was still quite young. How odd it is to see oneself in but a few years time. It is like in a mirror, but a flawed one, he thought as he and Lady Catherine made their way inside. He watched himself vanish upstairs.

The door to a parlor opened, and Caroline Bingley stood there. Not Bingley, Darcy noted, for she fiddled with a wedding ring. Darcy knew with an awful certainty that he was the husband. His stomach roiled in shock. “How can this be?” he demanded of the Spirit.

He turned to view this wife of the future. She walked up and down the room and wondered how everything she had ever coveted had been in her grasp, and somehow she had lost it all or perhaps dreams had never met her preconceived expectations. How Darcy knew all this was unclear, but the knowledge came to him like the vision before him.

Caroline started at every sound; looked out from the window; glanced at the clock; and tried, in vain, to settle. That she was expecting him and was waiting with anxious dread was obvious. At length the long-expected footsteps were heard on the stairs. She faced the door and met her husband.

“Madam,” he ground out, but could say no more. It was clear that he was furious. He began to pace the room in a vain effort to relieve some of the anger. Finally, stopping before Caroline, he began to question her in a harsh voice, “Why, Caroline? Why did you not summon me earlier? Why must I learn from your brother that my son was ill? And what do I find when I arrive at your home? That not only was he very ill, but dying.”

“That is not true.”

“It is true. Our marriage has long been over, but I am still his father. You stole what time I could have spent with Charles by keeping his illness from me. I do not believe I can forgive you for that.”

“Darcy, it was not like that. I did not know the seriousness of his illness at first…”

“But when you did, you still kept quiet. I do not believe you intended to inform me at all. I expect you planned to send a note stating ‘Charles cannot come to Pemberley this spring. He is dead. Madame Bertine’s bill has not yet been paid, could you see to it?’”

“That was vicious,” Caroline felt her own anger rising over the heart-stopping grief. “I will not justify my actions now. I am Charles’s mother; I did what I thought best for him. Now I wish to see my son.”

Darcy block her way, “No, you cannot see him. Not now. I will not have you contaminate the room where he lies.”

Caroline felt shattered. All the dreams and fantasies she had still cherished of what it meant to be Mrs. Darcy broke to pieces like fragile glass. It angered her; in fact, everything angered her: her shattered schemes, the illness that ate away at her son, the man before her. Caroline looked him in the eye and spoke quietly, “You wish to know why? I was jealous. You called for her in your sleep, not once but many times. You should have married her when you had the chance. My disposition does not take well to being second best, so that my regard for you diminished as my jealousy grew. But I triumphed over her, because I had your child. A feat she could not accomplish. I am his mother, Darcy, and I did everything within my power to see that he would be well again. I had no wish to bring you and your ghost back into my life at such a trying time. Now, I am going to attend my son.” With these words she left him alone. The slam of the door echoed in Darcy’s ears.

Darcy seated himself before the fire and lingered there for some time before he went upstairs into his child’s bedchamber above. The Spirit and Darcy followed. The room was lighted cheerfully and hung with the trappings of Christmas. Thankfully, Caroline was no longer there. A chair was set close beside the child. His other self sat down in it and gently reached for the child’s hand while Darcy and the Spirit watched from the opposite side of the bed. When he had composed himself, Darcy looked down on the little face. It was a face that he had never seen before, yet it seemed intimately familiar and dear. He felt a lump rise in his throat and his eyes were suddenly scratchy and wet.

The child looked up at Darcy, “Papa, I wanted to go home for Christmas.”

“Next year, my boy, when you are well again.”

“Can I have a puppy and a pony?” he asked.

“Without a doubt. And what will you call them?”

“Chestnut and Pudding,” came the reply after some thought.

“Very good names, I am sure, but which is for the pony and which is for the puppy?” Darcy asked.

“How will I know until I see them?” young Charles reasoned. The Spirit laid a bony hand on the child’s brow, and he began to cough. Darcy watched as his older self and Caroline took turns looking after the boy. Days seemed to pass before his eyes. Every so often the Spirit touched the child and his conditioned worsened. Finally, Darcy could take no more and cried out, “Cease tormenting the child.”

The Spirit looked at Darcy and grinned. She laid an emaciated hand on the child’s chest and the breathing ceased.

“No!” both Darcys cried in unison.

The future Darcy broke down. He couldn’t help it. Over the last several days he had watched his son die before his very eyes and felt totally helpless.

Darcy turned angrily on the Spirit and spoke through gritted teeth. “How could you? I did not want the child to die. Am I to blame for his passing now?”

The Spirit remained silent, as if his questions were of no account. Instead, she moved them into the study to witness another form of death.

His other self sat behind a desk. A pale Caroline, dressed in severe black, sat across from him and asked him faintly, “What is it that you wish of me?”

“I will make the funeral arrangements,” Darcy answered in a choked voice. “After it is over, I wish you to leave. I do not care where you go. You will be attended to, wherever it is you settle. If I never see you again it will be too soon, Caroline!”

“Then I will leave your life for good. Strange how it is only now that I realize how much time I have wasted on what might been.” And she walked out of the room.

“Spirit, I wish to leave here now.” She nodded in agreement. He was grateful when he and the Spirit left the scene and went into the small kitchen of some unknown house.

Sitting by a fireplace was a grey-haired man, nearly seventy years of age, smoking his pipe.

Darcy and the Phantom came into the presence of this man; a woman came into the room, carrying a bundle, but she had scarcely entered when another woman came in too and a man in black closely followed her.

“What is the world coming to, Joe?” Mrs. Dilber asked the old man. “The missus is dying and her brother won’t come, even though she asks and asks!”

“That’s true, indeed!” said Mrs. Launders. “No man is more stubborn than he. Disowned the missus when she married the master, God keep his soul. He wasn’t good enough for their fine bloodstock.”

“Nor was he rich enough neither,” said the man in black.

“No, indeed, Henry! Not good enough for the likes of him,” said Mrs. Dilber.

“He will be the worse for the loss of a sister,” Henry informed them.

“Indeed!” said Mrs. Dilber in complete agreement.

“He wanted to keep ’em apart, the master and the missus. He is a wicked old screw,” pursued the woman. “Why isn’t he more natural? If he was, he’d be here to look after his sister when she is struck with Death. Instead she is all alone, except for us.”

“It’s the truest word that ever was spoke,” said Mrs. Dilber. “It will be a judgment on him.”

“I hope he does get his just deserts,” said old Joe, stopping in his task and looking up at them.

“Me too,” returned the woman. “I ain’t so fond of his company that I’d loiter about looking for him, but if he does come my way, well then, I shall certainly give him what for.”

Mrs. Launders picked up the bundle and shook it out. “Ah, you may look through this dress till your eyes ache, but you won’t find a hole in it nor a threadbare place. It’s the best she had, and a fine one too.”

“So it is,” said old Joe.

“She is to be buried in it, to be sure,” replied the woman with a sob.

Recovering, Mrs. Launders spoke again. “This is not the end of it, you’ll see! He will frighten everyone away from him and then he will end up all alone. Serves him right, I say. I just wish I knew what is to become of young Freddy.”

“Spirit!” said Darcy, shuddering from head to foot. “Merciful Heaven, what is this about?” For Darcy was again in the drawing room of his London mansion. But now the room was made horrible by obvious neglect. The wallpaper was peeling, the furniture was undusted, the windows grimy, the curtains torn and tattered.

Darcy gasped as he saw the owner of the house sitting by a meager fire. It was himself; he knew it was himself, though he aged at least thirty years!

A young man came into the room. “A Merry Christmas, Uncle! God save you!” cried a cheerful voice. It was the voice of Darcy’s nephew, who came upon him so quickly that this was the first intimation he had of his approach.

“Bah!” said Darcy. “Humbug!”

This nephew-to-be of Darcy had a face that was ruddy and handsome. He had so heated himself with rapid walking in the fog and frost that his eyes sparkled from the exercise. He reminded Darcy of his cousin Fitzwilliam.

“Christmas a humbug, Uncle!” said Darcy’s nephew. “You do not mean that, I am sure.”

“I do mean it,” said Darcy. “Merry Christmas! What right have you to be merry? What reason do you have to be merry? You’re poor enough.”

“Come now, I am not a pauper by any means. My mother saw that I was provided for; if not rich, I am certainly comfortable,” returned the nephew gaily. “I might ask what right have you to be so dismal and morose? You’re rich enough.”

Darcy, having no better answer ready on the spur of the moment, said, “Bah!” again and followed it up with “Humbug.”

“Do not be cross, Uncle,” said the nephew.

“What else can I be,” returned the uncle, “when I live in such a world of fools who believe in a Merry Christmas? And I suppose you believe in Father Christmas too.”

“Oh, without a doubt, Uncle, I believe.”

“I say, out upon Merry Christmas. What is Christmas time to you but a time for frittering away money on needless things; a time for finding yourself a year older, but not an hour wiser? If I could work my will,” said Darcy indignantly, “every idiot who goes about with ‘Merry Christmas’ on his lips should be boiled with his own pudding and buried with a stake of holly through his heart.”

“Uncle!” returned the nephew. “What a singularly unpleasant thought.”

“Nephew!” returned the uncle sternly. “Keep Christmas in your own way, and let me keep it in mine.”

“Keep it!” repeated Darcy’s nephew. “But you do not keep it.”

“Let me leave it alone then,” said Darcy. “Much good may it do you. Much good it has ever done you!”

“There are many things from which I might have derived good, by which I have not profited, I dare say,” returned the nephew, “Christmas among the rest. But I am sure I have always thought that, apart from the veneration due to its sacred name and origin, Christmas Time is a good time: a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time. The only time I know of, in the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely and to think of people below them as if they really were fellow passengers to the grave, and not another race of creatures bound on other journeys. And therefore, Uncle, though it has never put a scrap of gold or silver in my pocket, I believe that it has done me good and will do me good; and I say, God bless it!”

A servant in the hall involuntarily applauded. Becoming immediately sensible of the impropriety, he entered the room with a wine decanter and one glass.

“Let me hear another sound from you,” said Darcy addressing the servant, “and you’ll keep your Christmas by losing your situation.” Turning to his nephew, he said, “You’re quite a powerful speaker, sir. I wonder you do not go into Parliament.”

“Politicians certainly put believing to the test. Please do not be angry, Uncle. Come! Dine with us tomorrow.”

“Why did you get married?” said Darcy.

“Because I fell in love.”

“Because you fell in love!” growled the elder Darcy. “There is only one thing in the world more ridiculous than a Merry Christmas and it is love. And you are fool if you believe otherwise. Why should I subject myself and ruin my digestion to view the mockery that is a love match.”

Darcy was astonished to hear these words come from his mouth. In fact, every word he heard spoken from the time he entered the room with the Spirit shocked him greatly. He could not believe the sentiments he was expressing as they were so far from those he felt now, as to be totally alien.

“But, Uncle, you never came to see me before that happened. Why give it as a reason for not coming now? I can assure the meals are much better than when I was a bachelor, so there really is no need to worry about your tender stomach,” his nephew offered cheekily.

“Good afternoon,” said Darcy, creakily getting up from his chair.

“I want nothing from you; I ask nothing of you; why cannot we be friends?”

“Good afternoon,” repeated Darcy, as he walked over to the door.

“I am sorry, with all my heart, to find you so resolute. We have never had any quarrel to which I have been a party. But I have made the offer in homage to Christmas, and I’ll keep my Christmas humor to the last. So a Merry Christmas, Uncle!”

“Good afternoon!” said Darcy, opening the door.

“And a Happy New Year!”

“Good afternoon, Frederick!” said Darcy as he left the room.

The young man waited behind in the cold room. “I tried, Mother,” he said looking up at the ceiling. “I will try again next year and the next until that foolish old man accepts my invitation, just as I promised so long ago. Why you were so concerned for him, when he showed no care for you, I will never know.” Placing his hat on head, he left so his uncle could leave Christmas alone.

Frederick! Darcy thought. He turned to the Spirit. “This is my future? This is my fate? I turn into a man so heartless that I would leave my sister alone to die?” The Spirit looked at him but gave no answer.

“So far the future you have shown is bleak and awful. Let me see some happiness connected to the future,” demanded Darcy.

The Ghost conducted him through several streets familiar to his feet. They entered the Bingleys’ house and found Jane and her children seated round the fire.

The room was very large and handsome, and full of comfort. Near to the winter fire sat a beautiful young girl, so like Jane that Darcy believed it was the same, until he saw her, now a comely matron, sitting opposite her daughter. The noise in this room was perfectly tumultuous, for there were children all about and they were failing to conduct themselves in a civilized manner. But no one seemed to care; on the contrary, the mother and daughter laughed heartily.

A knocking at the door was heard and a rush towards it immediately ensued. Jane made her way toward the center of the boisterous group just in time to greet Bingley, who came home attended by a footman laden with Christmas toys and presents. The shouts of wonder and delight with which the development of every package was received!

Now Darcy looked on more attentively than ever, when the master of the house, having his daughter leaning fondly on him, sat down with her and Jane at his own fireside.

“Jane,” said Bingley, turning to his wife with a smile, “I thought I saw an old friend this afternoon.”

“Who was it?”

“Guess!”

“How can I? You know I fare poorly at such games. I do not know.” Then she added in the same breath, laughing as he laughed. “Mr. Darcy.”

“Darcy it was. I passed his window; and, as it was not shut up and he had a candle inside, I could scarcely help seeing him. There he sat alone. Quite alone in the world, I do believe. I hesitated to called upon him, as my efforts would have been rebuffed as they have been so many times in the past.”

“Poor Mr. Darcy,” said Jane.

Bingley was pensive for a moment, the loss of friendship still keenly felt even after many years. “He saw me, he looked out the window and saw me, and there was an expression on his face and in his eyes for a few seconds, and I saw the friend that I had lost. I made a step towards the door, but he turned away.”

“The death of their child affected both him and Caroline greatly,” Jane comforted.

“Caroline has found contentment in Bath. She derives much satisfaction from being a big fish in a small pond. Darcy has never been consolable.”

Bingley’s nature was such that soon he was cheerful again and spoke pleasantly to all the family. He looked at the work upon the table and praised the industry and speed of Jane and his daughters.

Bingley told them of the meeting General Fitzwilliam in the street that day.

“‘Merry Christmas, Mr. Bingley,’ he said, ‘and the same for your good wife.’ By-the-by, how he ever knew that, I do not know.”

“Knew what, my dear?”

“Why, that you are a good wife,” replied Bingley.

“Everybody knows that,” said Peter.

“Very well observed, my boy,” cried Bingley. “I hope they do. The General was off to invite Darcy for Christmas, though with little expectation of his invitation being accepted.”

“He is such a good soul!” said Jane.

“You can be sure of that, my dear,” returned Bingley. Changing the subject, Bingley remarked casually that Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner would be joining them for Christmas.

“Only hear that, Peter,” said Jane.

“Peter,” cried one of the girls, “Peter will try to keep Alice’s attention on himself.”

“Get along with you!” retorted Peter, grinning.

“It’s just as likely as not,” said Bingley, “one of these days; though there’s plenty of time for that, my boy. Come, it is time for bed. You would not want to sleep through Christmas tomorrow, would you?”

“Never, Father!” cried they all.

“And I know,” said Bingley, “I know, my dears, that you will be patient and kind and shall not quarrel easily among yourselves tomorrow.”

“Of course, Father!” they all cried again.

“I am very happy,” said Bingley. “I am very happy!”

The children kissed their parents and retired for the evening.

“Specter,” said Darcy, “something informs me that our parting moment is drawing close at hand. I know it, but I know not how. Tell me who was the woman that we saw lying dead?”

The Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come conveyed him out of London and into the countryside.

Darcy wondered where they were going as he accompanied the Spirit until they reached a rusted iron gate. He paused to look round before entering. A churchyard. Here, then, the woman whose name he just had to learn lay underneath the ground.

The ghostly Lady Catherine stood among the graves. She was exactly as she had been all evening, but he feared that he saw new meaning in her solemn shape as she pointed down to one particular grave. He advanced towards it trembling.

“Before I draw nearer to the stone to which you point,” said Darcy, “answer me one question. Are these the shadows of the things that will be, or are they shadows of things that may be only?”

She only pointed downward to the grave by which it stood.

“The paths men take will foreshadow certain ends, and if the path is never deviated from, they must lead to that outcome,” said Darcy. “But if they departed from one path and chose another, then the ends must change. Say it is thus with what you show me!”

The Spirit was immovable as ever.

Darcy crept towards the tombstone, trembling as he went and, following the finger, read what was carved into the gravestone. The inscription read:

Elizabeth Bennet

25th August 1791–22nd December 1815

Beloved daughter

She will make the angels laugh

“She was the woman who lay upon the bed?” he cried, falling upon his knees. It was the vision he dreaded almost from the start of this visitation

The finger pointed from the grave to him and back again, and then laughed. Darcy was shocked by the sound, for it chilled him to his bones.

“’Tis your own fault, Darcy. Your pride would not let you ask Elizabeth again. Fear of rejection would not let you ask her again. She never gave up on you, but then she caught a fever from her younger sister’s sniveling brat and had not the strength to go on. I believe she asked for you a time or two, but you could not be found until it was too late.” Lady Catherine smiled in malicious delight.

“No, Spirit! Oh no, no!”

“But it is the truth, Darcy. You are always so keen on the truth, are you not?” The Spirit continued in what could only be described as a cheerful voice. “What did your pride and fear get you in the end? Loneliness, for you have lost all your friends and turned your back upon your remaining family.”

The finger still pointed accusingly at Darcy. “And the name you were so proud of is the subject of many course and scurrilous jests. You have become a laughingstock.”

“Spirit!” he cried, tightly clutching at her dress. “Hear me! I am not the man I was. I will not become the man I might have been but for this intercourse. Why show me this if I am past all hope?”

For the first time the hand appeared to shake.

“Good Spirit,” he pursued, “your good nature intercedes for me. Assure me that I yet may change these shadows you have shown me by living an altered life!”

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.

Chapter 5 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.”

Darcy wanted to offer her some comfort, but Elizabeth spoke before he could do so. “I was absolutely ashamed of myself. I had been blind, partial, prejudiced, and absurd. It was a hard realization to face, for I had prided myself on my discernment!” Elizabeth shook her head at her folly.

“I knew,” said he, “that what I wrote must give you pain; but it was necessary. I hope you have destroyed the letter. There was one part, especially the opening of it, which I should dread your having the power of reading again. I can remember some expressions which might justly make you hate me.”

“The letter shall certainly be burnt if you believe it essential to the preservation of my regard; however, though we both have proof that my opinions are not entirely unalterable, they also are not, I hope, quite so easily changed as that implies.”

“When I wrote that letter,” replied Darcy, “I believed myself perfectly calm and cool; but I am since convinced that it was written in a dreadful bitterness of spirit.”

“The letter, perhaps, began in bitterness; but it did not end so.” Elizabeth stopped to look at him. “The adieu is charity itself. But think no more of the letter. The feelings of the person who wrote it and the person who received it are now so widely different from what they were then that every unpleasant circumstance attending it ought to be forgotten. You must learn some of my philosophy. Think only of the past as its remembrance gives you pleasure.”

A quick flash of those memories he experienced the night before came to mind. “Many retrospections are so totally void of reproach that only contentment arises from them. The moment you agreed to marry me I will always treasure. However, painful recollections will intrude, which cannot, which ought not, to be repelled. They can teach one a lesson, hard indeed at first to learn, but really most advantageous.”

“You are becoming quite philosophical, Mr. Darcy.”

“So formal, Miss Bennet? I would wish that you would call me by my given name.”

“Fitzwilliam, then,” Elizabeth said before continuing on their walk. “I am almost afraid of asking what you thought of me when we met at Pemberley. You blamed me for coming?”

“No, indeed, I felt nothing but surprise.”

“Your surprise could not be greater than mine in being noticed by you. My conscience told me that I deserved no extraordinary politeness, and I confess that I did not expect to receive more than my due.”

“My object then,” replied Darcy, “was to show you, by every civility in my power, that I was not so mean as to resent the past; and I hoped to obtain your forgiveness, to lessen your ill opinion, by letting you see that your reproofs had been attended to. How soon any other wishes introduced themselves I can hardly tell, but I believe in about half an hour after I had seen you.”

He then told her of Georgiana’s delight in her acquaintance: “I know she will be quite happy to learn that you are to be her new sister. She was quite disappointed not to further the acquaintance last summer.”

“If Lydia had not eloped,” she began, “this happy day may have come about much sooner. I wish to tell you how grateful I am, again, at your intervention in the matter.”

“I thought only of you,” Darcy told her. “Before I quit the inn, I had resolved on quitting Derbyshire in a quest for your sister. Your distress I could not bear, and as I believed it to be within my power to relieve it, I set about doing so.”

This is what love truly is, Elizabeth thought, her heart thumping joyfully. She gave him a wistful smile. “I was sure that I would never see you again. The moment that you walked out the door of that inn, I knew I loved you, and I felt it would all come to naught. Now such a painful subject need not be dwelt upon further.

“So, what persuaded you to renew your addresses now? Was it the vision you spoke of earlier? It must have been a very convincing one. Do tell me about it.”

“Someday perhaps. It is a rather long and somewhat fanciful tale, too much to relate just now. The afternoon sky has darkened and I can see a servant has been sent out to search for us. I will say that the vision served to reinforce the wishes and desires I already possessed and gave me the courage to pursue them.”

They headed back to Bingley’s house. Elizabeth entered before Darcy did. Alone in the garden he spoke aloud, “Thank you, Father and all the Spirits. I appreciate what you did for me and I will remember it always. I will do my best to see that Elizabeth is happy, for in her happiness is mine. I shall be worthy of the gift you have given me.”

As Darcy entered, he saw that Elizabeth was standing under a ball of mistletoe, brightly trimmed with evergreens, ribbons, and ornaments. And his eyes lit up.

“Elizabeth, do you realize where you are standing?”

Elizabeth looked up for a moment. “Certainly, I have very good eyesight.”

So Darcy gathered Elizabeth in his arms and used the kissing bough for it proper purpose. So engrossed were they in the activity, neither heard the approaching footsteps.

“Elizabeth Bennet!” cried her shocked mother.

“Mr. Darcy!” exclaimed the equally shocked Miss Bingley.

“At last,” Bingley said as he winked at his wife, who smiled happily in return.

Epilogue Christmas 1843

“Look at Grandmama and Grandfather under the kissing bough,” cried young Master Timothy Darcy from the top of the stairs.

“It is a long-standing Christmas tradition,” his father, Bennet Darcy, informed him.

“Is everyone here? Will there be dinner soon?” Timothy asked.

Several Bingleys made their way into the hall. “Are we the last to arrive?” asked Jane.

“We are only awaiting the arrival of Uncle Gardiner. Now, Timothy—and is that Belinda and Bettina?—why don’t the three of you run along to the back parlor and visit with your other cousins,” Elizabeth told them.

“Yes, Grandmama, but will he be here soon?” he called out.

“Very soon, my dear, very soon.”

“Do you ever find yourself losing track of who’s who among our minor relations? Lord, there are more of them every year it seems,” declared Charles Bingley.

“Well, you would have a large family,” Darcy reminded him.

“It is not all my fault you know; between our children and grandchildren, the Gardiner progeny and your sister’s offspring, family gatherings can get overpopulated rather quickly.”

They made their way into the parlor where the adult members of the party had gathered. Darcy thought it a good thing that not all the connected relations were able to come. The ballroom would have had to have been opened to accommodate them all for dinner.

Jane and Elizabeth lingered in the hallway, wishing each other a Merry Christmas and exchanging tidbits of family news when the front door opened and Mr. Gardiner entered.

“The most extraordinary thing happened today,” Mr. Gardiner exclaimed as a footman helped him remove his coat. “A most extraordinary thing.”

“And a Merry Christmas to you also, Uncle,” Elizabeth cheerfully greeted them.

“I apologize, my dear,” returned her uncle with a twinkle in his eyes. “The very best of Christmases to you both. You are looking well, very well indeed. And best wishes on your anniversaries. Neither of you look older than when you were brides.”

“You are a flatterer, sir, but my appearance is appropriate for a matron of my years.”

“You cannot be that old, Elizabeth, for that would make me ancient.”

“I regret to inform you that you are indeed ancient”—Elizabeth smiled at him—“and I am glad to have it so. Shall we join the others in the parlor?”

After greetings were exchanged and everyone was made comfortable, Jane asked, “What is the extraordinary thing that happened to you, Uncle?”

“Do you have a story to tell, Uncle?” asked Bingley. “I for one would be delighted to hear it.”

“Part of my tale is already known to Darcy, for he was there at its beginning and can attest, in part, to the truth of my words. Yesterday, our Gentlemen’s Benevolent Society went about asking for donations from various businesses. Darcy and I came upon the most miserly gentleman I have yet to meet. His office was so cold that it was impossible to know inside from out by temperature alone.” The servant offered some wine to Mr. Gardiner. “Thank you. It is just what I needed.”

“Do continue your tale, Uncle, for you have whetted our curiosity,” Jane begged and the others in the room also begged for the tale.

“Well, my dear, Darcy and I went forth to gather funds in the area of town where Mr. Scrooge has his business. ‘Have I the pleasure of addressing Mr. Scrooge or Mr. Marley?’ asked Darcy.

“‘Mr. Marley has been dead these seven years,’ Scrooge replied. ‘He died this very night.’

“Now, a chill went down my spine when I heard this, but whether it was from the lack of warmth in the office or in Scrooge’s tone, I cannot tell, but Darcy carried on, ‘We have no doubt his liberality is well represented by his surviving partner,’ he said.

“Scrooge frowned and shook his head. The cold seemed to freeze his features, nipped his pointed nose, and shriveled his cheek. Frost had settled on his head and on his eyebrows and his wiry chin.”

“Stop teasing, Father,” Alice exclaimed.

“I do not exaggerate,” claimed Uncle Gardiner.

“At least not very much,” Darcy responded dryly. “I explained the purpose of the visit, of gathering funds to provide some slight provisions for the poor and destitute.”

Mr. Gardiner continued, “I swear his eyes turned red, and his lips compressed into a thin blue line. In a grating voice he demanded ‘Are there no prisons? Are the workhouses still in operation? Are the Treadmill and the Poor Law still in full vigor?’

“When we agreed that indeed these institutions were still in operation, he said, ‘I was afraid that something had occurred to stop them in their useful course.’

“I then explained that these places could hardly supply much in the way of a Christmas celebration and asked how much he wished to contribute.

“‘Nothing!’ Scrooge replied.

“‘You wish to be anonymous?’ asked Darcy.

“‘I wish to be left alone,’ said Scrooge. ‘Since you ask me what I wish, gentlemen, that is my answer. I don’t make merry myself at Christmas and I can’t afford to make idle people merry. I help to support the establishments I have mentioned—they cost enough; and those who are badly off must go there.’”

“Oh, he sounds a horrid fellow, Father,” exclaimed Alice.

The door to the parlor opened, and a young girl of perhaps six or so came into the room.

“Grandpapa!” she exclaimed and made her way to Mr. Gardiner for a welcoming hug. “Did you know we are to have turkey and stuffing and Christmas pudding? Very soon, I hope.”

“Rebecca, you should be in the back parlor with the rest of the children; the turkey will be in the dining room when it is ready,” her mother scolded.

“I can remember a time when you liked a roast goose well enough yourself, Alice,” recalled Mr. Gardiner, setting his granddaughter on his knee.

“I did not forever go on about it,” Alice said.

“Oh, did you not? Rebecca, your mother used to—” Robert started.

But Alice quickly interrupted. “Father has not finished his story. What happened then?”

“Where was I? Ah, yes, the poor were to go to the publicly supported institutions. I then replied that many would rather die than go to such places. ‘If they would rather die,’ said Scrooge, ‘they had better do it, and decrease the surplus population.’”

“The man is positively dreadful,” exclaimed Elizabeth.

“Seeing clearly that it would be useless to pursue the point, we withdrew. We agreed that we had never met a more tight-fisted old sinner! Luckily for the Society, most of the businesses we approached were generous enough to give at least a little to our cause.”

“I agree that he was most unpleasant, but as there is nothing extraordinary in that part of the tale, misers are not uncommon,” Darcy remarked.

“I am getting to that part, never fear.” He took another sip of wine and leaned forward to continue his tale when the door to the parlor opened yet again.

“Dinner is served,” announced the butler.

“Can it not wait until the tale is done?” asked Alice.

“No, no, my dear, the turkey is ready and must not be kept waiting; I shall finish the tale after our grand feast. Come along, Rebecca.” Taking his granddaughter’s hand, he led the exodus out of the parlor and into the dining room.

Sometime later, when bellies were full of a bountiful Christmas repast, the family retired to the large drawing room, where a Christmas tree stood tall and proud.

“What think you of this new fashion, Darcy?” Mr. Gardiner asked, surveying the tree.

“I like it very much,” exclaimed Rebecca. “It is very pretty.”

“Yes, indeed, but I did not ask you, my dear.”

“It is an old custom in some parts of the world, I am told. Whether it will remain in fashion here, only time will tell, but I like it well enough.”

“As do I. Now dear Uncle, you have kept us in suspense long enough, do finish your story,” Elizabeth demanded.

“Very well, my dear. Some members of the Benevolent Society gathered this morning, so we could deliver the goods we had purchased.”

“Well, what happened to you?” demanded young Timothy Darcy.

“I had decided to walk to our meeting, it being such a beautiful morning. I had not gone far when I beheld Mr. Scrooge coming toward me. Having no wish to remember the unpleasantness of the day before, I did my best to ignore the old gentleman, only to be waylaid by a hail from Scrooge himself.

“‘My dear sir,’ he exclaimed, taking both my hands. ‘How do you do? I hope you succeeded exceptionally well yesterday. It was very kind of you. A Merry Christmas to you, sir!’

“‘Mr. Scrooge?’ I asked, for I was dumbfounded and wondering if my memory was so faulty that I had attributed Scrooge’s faults onto an innocent look-alike.

“He answered in the affirmative. ‘I fear my presence may not be pleasant to you. Allow me to ask your pardon. And will you have the goodness to accept a substantial donation to your cause, say £5,000?’”

“Lord bless me!” croaked Bingley, his breath being taken away.

“Was he serious, do you think?” commented Robert.

“Very serious, for while I was still doubting what I heard, he continued, ‘Not a farthing less. A great many back-payments are included in it, I assure you. Will you do me that favor?’

“‘My dear sir,’ I began to shake his hand most violently. ‘I don’t know what to say to such munificence—’

“‘Don’t say anything, please,’ retorted Scrooge. ‘Come and see me. Will you come and see me?’

“‘I will!’ I cried.

“‘Thank you,’ said Scrooge. ‘I am much obliged to you. I thank you fifty times. Bless you!’

“Well, I stood in the street for a good five minutes, trying to grasp what had just befallen before hurrying on to our meeting. I entered the room with such a stunned expression on my face that the others could not but wonder what had happened to me. So I told them the same story that I told you. The members rejoiced at what £5,000 could provide to those we serve. I mean to visit Scrooge at the earliest opportunity, for one cannot know how long such a transformation will last.”

“I will believe it when the money is received and not a moment before,” Darcy stated, such was his ill impression of the man.

“What could have occurred to cause such a transformation?” Elizabeth commented.

“I wondered that myself and so I asked him.”

“You spoke with him about it?” asked Jane.

“Scrooge again hailed me as I was on my way here, he looked so pleasant and also younger. Yesterday I would have figured he was as old or older than myself.”

“As ancient as that then?” Bingley asked with a twinkle in his eye.

“Quite ancient, but it was his spirit and demeanor that made him appear so aged—in reality he is only a little older than yourself and Darcy. One of the Society members vaguely remembered that he was a young man when he established his business some thirty years ago. But let us return to the present Mr. Scrooge. ‘Good day, sir! A Merry Christmas to you! It seems to be our day for chance meetings. You are still coming to see me tomorrow?’

“‘I nodded in agreement.’

“‘And where are you off to?’ he asked.

“I explained that I was going to have Christmas dinner with my family and he said he was about to do same. I thought he seemed excited yet anxious about the visit. He was about to turn away when I again thanked him very much for his generosity this morning.

“He commented that he had not known that generosity could make a man feel so happy.

“Emboldened by his response, I asked what had occurred to change him so, that only yesterday a penny was too much to give to the poor and today his liberality is overflowing.

“‘I have been blessed by the Christmas Spirits, Mr. Gardiner, the Christmas Spirits have the way to making a man change his destiny,’ he said, before turning and walking away.”

He did not see Darcy stiffen upon these words, but Elizabeth did and her hand reached out to clasp his.

“At first, I thought he meant some sort of liquor, but I could tell he was not drunk. So, I wondered who are these spirits and how can I get hold of one of them?”

“They only come when one is in need of them,” Darcy answered without thinking. And he was grateful for them every day. He looked around the room, at the faces of his family and friends, and knew he would be thankful until the day he died. Elizabeth reached over to him and clasped his hand.

“What did you say?”

“I say that it is time to light the candles upon the tree,” Elizabeth interrupted. “Now children, you must be very careful. Light only one candle and then back away. All the candles will be lit, never fear.”

When the task was completed and the room aglow, Elizabeth began to play Christmas carols and the family joined in singing until their throats grew dry. Luckily, the servants were just then bringing in a large punch bowl. As soon as everyone had a cup, Bingley exclaimed, “I think we need a toast. Mr. Gardiner, will you do the honors?”

“I propose we drink to Mr. Scrooge, for changing his heart in such a dramatic and generous manner, so God bless Mr. Scrooge.”

Everyone drank to the toast.

“Can I make a toast?” asked Timothy, tugging on Bingley’s coat.

“Certainly. Come with me.” Bingley led the boy over to the piano bench and helped him stand upon it. “Your attention everyone, Master Timothy would like to make a toast.”

“God Bless Grandmama and Grandfather, and Father and Mother and Uncle and Bingley and…” He broke off, looking around at the all faces in the room. “Ah, God bless us, every one!”