Advent Calendar Day 13: Miss Bingley’s Christmas

PART II of a Three Part Story, to appear on Successive Sundays in Advent. The first episode, “St. Nicholas Day at Pemberley,” was published on December 6, and told of a Rich Jane Austen Christmas, set at Pemberley.  This second treat, “Miss Bingley’s Christmas,” is about a Poor Jane Austen Christmas, spent with the cold-hearted Miss Bingley and her sister Mrs. Hurst. On the final Sunday, December 20th, we will visit Newcastle for a Bohemian Jane Austen Christmas, among the Wickhams and their raffish friends.  Happy Austen Variations Advent Calendar Days to all who love Jane Austen!

A chill mid-December rain poured monotonously down the windows at Netherfield, and Caroline Bingley gazed hopelessly out, though it was too dark and dirty to see much.  Her sister Mrs. Hurst sat half-asleep over her tatting, and Mr. Hurst was fully and deeply asleep on the large Chesterfield sofa before the fire, as was proved by his heavy snores.

“Oh, I hate every body and every thing!” exclaimed Miss Bingley petulantly.

Mrs. Hurst opened her eyes with mild interest. “Do you?” she inquired. “I suppose you are incensed because we are not to go to Pemberley for Christmas.”

“Nonsense! As if I cared about Pemberley. Horrid gaudy house, with more rooms than any one can use.  So vulgar it is not even decent.  I should not like to go there at all.”

Mrs. Hurst laughed. “That’s disappointment talking, sister. You’d go fast enough if we had been invited!”

“Yes, and why were we not? Last year Charles took us to Pemberley at Christmas, and we were feted and treated as most welcome guests. And now that she is in charge, you see how it is.”

“Do we know that Charles and Jane are going?”

“Yes, he said so. But nothing about taking us, and we cannot go without him.”

“No, even if we did have the horses to put to Mr. Hurst’s carriage, it would not be the thing, without an invitation.”

“So we will have to stay here alone with the servants and stare at the rain, or go back to London to have what merriment we can scrape up for ourselves, and at our own expense. But no one ever thinks of us, you see.”

“It would be hard for you to go to Pemberley anyway, and see that woman in the place that ought to be yours,” Mrs. Hurst observed, casting aside her mess of black cotton tatting and giving a great yawn.

Caroline gave a little jump. “Sister, how can you! It is no such thing. Darcy has disgraced himself by marrying Elizabeth Bennet. Ugly, dark little ill bred cat, with her shocking manners and common family. No fortune, and in short no remarkable qualities other than her presumptuousness and forwardness.” She nodded. “And that is what did the business.”

Mrs. Hurst shrugged. “It is an old story,” she said. “The woman had the arts of a seductress, and she drew him in. Even a clever man such as Darcy, whom you might think would be beyond reproach, can be worked upon. Men,” she pronounced, with a disdainful side glance at her snoring husband, his paunch high in the air, “are all the same.”

“I am ten times prettier than that Eliza,” muttered Caroline, “and infinitely more elegant. It is not fair.”

“Well, what is there of fairness? For you and I, with ten thousand pounds apiece, and all the masters and cultivation procurable to ladies of our station, to have drawn – well, a man of no fortune in my case, and no man at all in yours. It is a great shame. And to think, you might have been mistress of Pemberley and ten thousand a year, and wife to such a handsome, clever man!”

“Mr. Darcy isn’t such a much,” said Caroline through gritted teeth. “Conceited and dull, with his books and his pronouncements. The truth is that I never could endure his arrogance and pride.”

“Don’t tell me that. You know you thought the world of him once,” Mrs. Hurst scoffed. “Why, you used to hang onto his every word, and flatter him until he would have been yours, had he cared for flattery. But instead, he preferred dark eyes and low manners. I must confess I was surprised. I thought better of him.”

“Charles was mortified, I know,” added Caroline. “He hoped for me to marry Darcy. He told me so.”

“Well, he did not help the matter much, did he, by marrying that insipid, mealy-mouthed Jane Bennet, and bringing her sister within Darcy’s orbit. Oh, men are such simpletons when it comes to a pretty face.”

“And she is our sister now and we must be polite to her,” lamented Caroline. “It is too much to bear. I can hardly keep up the pretense.”

“Be careful, Caroline. She may be about.”

“Pish! She is always with our poor deluded brother, and I hope we may always say what we think when we are alone together.”

Mr. Hurst opened one eye. “You’re not alone together,” he observed. “I heard every word you said.”

“Well, you wouldn’t be mean enough to repeat it, I hope,” retorted his wife.

“Naturally not. I prefer to maintain my welcome in such a fine house as Netherfield. Good dinners, Bingley always has, though it is to be admitted they’re not a patch on Pemberley.”

“Pemberley!” Caroline burst out. “I am sick of the name of the place!”

Just then the door opened and in came their new sister, Jane, with a sweet smile and warm expression in her beautiful eyes. She was carrying a well-wrapped package.

“Dear sisters!” she exclaimed. “Only see! Something has come to you, from Pemberley! The man just brought it. Do open it and see what it is.”

“For us? From Pemberley? Mr. Darcy has sent us a package?” exclaimed Caroline, jumping up.

“I think it is more likely to be from my sister,” said Jane, “but I don’t know what this box might contain. Do open it and see. There is sure to be a letter.”

Mrs. Hurst and Jane sat on either side of Caroline as she used her scissors to open the wrappings. “There is a letter,” she said.

“My dear Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst,” she began reading.

“My husband and I are waiting to welcome you to Pemberley for our Christmas celebrations, with the greatest of pleasure – “

“So we are to go!” cried Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst together.

Jane looked surprised. “Why, certainly. Did Charles not tell you?”

“No, he did not! He said you and he would soon be off, but he said nothing about us. We thought we should be left here alone, or have to return to London.”

“Oh, dear Charles, he is so eager to be away, he must have been a bit careless in telling you. But of course we could never think of leaving you behind. You had better tell the servants to start preparing your things.”

“But what can be in this package?” asked Mrs. Hurst. Caroline read on.

“We are planning a bal masque for Twelfth Night, for which we are all to be very fine. I know you will bring some of your best gowns, but I thought you might not have time to prepare fancy headdresses, or other appurtenances, so I take the liberty of sending you some material from the Pemberley stores to inspire your costume-making.”

“Better than tatting,” admitted Mrs. Hurst. “Well, let’s see it then.”

Caroline opened the coloured paper that contained the gifts, and all gasped as she drew out a sumptuous length of golden material.

“Why! That is cloth of gold!” gasped Caroline.

Gold gown

“To be sure it is,” said Mrs. Hurst reverently. “I do not believe I have ever seen any so fine as that before, anywhere.”

“Elizabeth did tell me there are store rooms with chests of materials like Ali Baba’s caves, at Pemberley,” said Jane, with a smile.

“The cloth of gold is for Caroline,” Miss Bingley continued reading, “as I believe it will suit her colouring beautifully; there is enough for a bandeau or turban, a shawl or even a gown – just as you may choose. The lace is for Mrs. Hurst, the married lady. It is Valenciennes, and also might make a headdress or shawl, or trim a gown. Darcy and I sincerely hope you like these, and will be pleased to make use of them. We will see you at Pemberley soon.

Mrs. Darcy”

The sisters were almost speechless. Mrs. Hurst found her voice first. “How – how very kind of Mrs. Darcy,” she faltered. “I have never been so surprised in my life. Why, that lace – it is the most exquisite I have ever seen. Can she really mean it for me?”

“Of course, dear Louisa,” laughed Jane. “You may be sure my dear Lizzy wishes my new sisters to have the most delightful Christmas possible at Pemberley, and she thought having these pretty things to work with and wear would give you pleasure.”

Miss Bingley forced herself to speak.

“It is most generous of her,” she said a bit gruffly. “I am sure we are very much obliged. She did not have to send us any thing.”

“No, but you see, she is my sister, and you are my sisters, and we are all sisters together,” said Jane gently, “and Lizzy wants you to feel it, as I do. Now, I know how beautiful you will look at the Pemberley Bal Masque!”

Mrs. Hurst brightened up. “To be sure, Caroline, you will attract every eye in the room, in such a costume,” she said. “And there are bound to be many fine gentlemen there, and who knows what might happen!”

“I am so glad you are pleased,” said Jane, “and now I must get back to Charles, and the preparations for our journey.”

She glided out of the room, leaving the sisters staring at each other, and at the gorgeous fabrics on their laps.

“Gold, hm?”commented Mr. Hurst, half sitting up. “They do things top hole at Pemberley, don’t they.”

“What vulgar slang,” snapped his wife, annoyed.

“True, though. Darcy’s wine cellar can’t be matched anywhere else in the country. His port alone…” and he fell into a happy reverie.

“Well,” said Mrs. Hurst, “there you are. Even if you didn’t get Darcy himself, Caroline, we shall go to Pemberley, and you may catch somebody almost as good, in your golden head-dress.”

“I think I’ll make it into a gown,” said Miss Bingley thoughtfully.