Let It Snow

(Image and graphics from Pixabay)

Good morning!

Have you had the first snow of the season? Mr Darcy did 🙂

There is snow at Pemberley in this excerpt from one of the few books where I wrote about the Christmas season.

I hope you’ll enjoy it.

Excerpt from MISS DARCY’S COMPANION

The morning before Christmas dawned bright and jolly over a fresh layer of snow. It must have fallen heavily overnight, clothing the land in pristine white, covering old tracks and smoothing every surface, but now the wintry sun shone from a clear sky, with nothing but a host of fleecy clouds hazily drifting over the expanse of blue.

It was very early still, but as he made his way into the garden Darcy could tell that he was not the only one who had ventured out, drawn by the brightness of the day. Several sets of footprints, some very small, had left a winding trail towards the shrubbery. Yet he could have guessed the small group’s location even without the trail. The sound of chirping voices punctuated by the odd peal of laughter gave it away, and Darcy’s lips curled into a smile as he walked to meet them, his much larger footprints joining the others on the path.

(Pixabay)

He only got as far as rounding the tall yew hedge, now crowned with a mound a good four inches thick, when the sudden collision stopped him in his tracks. His hands instinctively shot up to steady the trim form clad in a long pelisse splattered with white patches – a clear evidence of a snowball fight.

“Miss Bennet! Forgive me, I did not—”

“The fault is mine, sir. I did not look where I was going,” she replied, the merry glow in her countenance not yet dimmed by unease at the unorthodox encounter.

Her eyes sparkled under wispy curls in charming disarray and the cold morning air had put fresh colour in her cheeks. The hue deepened and dark-fringed eyelids came to screen the brightness of the glance, as she regained her balance and backed away from the tight clasp.

“I hope you are not—” Darcy began, letting his hands drop.

He did not get to finish. The last words were a garbled mutter, as a snowball flew right above her shoulder to spatter over his chin and mouth. A small cry of dismay rang from somewhere ahead and a childish voice piped up with a prompt apology:

“Cousin, I did not mean to—”

“Oh, dear,” Miss Bennet exclaimed with a swift glance behind her to ascertain the perpetrator, before reaching up to repair the damage and brush the snow away. Her fingers were ice-cold, colder than the snow, and Darcy started at their fleeting touch. Her hand fell away as swiftly as it had come up, and she bit her lip.

“I beg your pardon, I should not—”

“Your hands are freezing cold,” Darcy spoke up at the same time. She did not continue, so he resumed his thought and removed his gloves. “Here. Pray, take these.”

“But—”

“Fear not, I have no need of them for what I plan to do,” he laughed and rounded past her to grin widely at Hetty. “So, young lady, this is your game now, is it?” he growled playfully as he bent down for a handful of snow in retaliation.

Her earlier mortification quite forgotten in the face of his jocular manner, Hetty gave a little shriek of half panic, half delight, and ran to hide behind Georgiana’s skirts, her little face peeking from under her cousin’s elbow.

“Oh, no, that will not do at all. Come out and face the trouble you have started,” Darcy called, swiftly lunging sideways to shoot his projectile with great accuracy at her back, unwilling to meanly return measure for measure.

With another shriek Hetty ran away, scooping up fresh snow as she went, and casting it haphazardly behind her, while Georgiana stepped away from the line of fire. She smiled widely, delighting in a game she remembered fondly from the time when she was Hetty’s age. It was the greatest joy to see her brother as carefree as he had been then, when it was her he had chased through the gardens, just as he was now rushing after Hetty, not to pelt her with more snowballs, but scoop her up under one arm and twirl her around, little booted feet kicking in the air.

Encouraged by the cheerful madness, Margaret came to her sister’s aid to hang onto his other arm and hop about, vainly seeking to reach up to his face with the remainder of a crushed projectile.

(Pixabay)

Unlike her, Georgiana was not moved to show any such sibling solidarity. Instead, she sided with the children to take his broad back as a target until he willingly collapsed to his knees under the three-pronged attack, his hat forgotten in the snow and in great danger of being flattened under the heap of flailing limbs and wriggling little bodies vanquished by laughter. Georgiana joined them in their merriment, fondly envisaging a time when such cheerful gambols would once more be commonplace at Pemberley and, instead of young cousins, her unborn nieces and nephews would be the ones frolicking around her brother in the snow, everyone’s dignity abandoned.

Miss Bennet did not laugh, but her countenance spoke volumes as she watched them from her spot. A smile of infinite sweetness played at the corners of her lips, and her eyes glowed. She had not stirred in a fair while; merely brought her hands up – now encased in gloves that were too large for her – to fold them together and clasp them to her chest. She did not think of hiding the warm smile, yet no one saw it. Not Georgiana. Not the merry group of three. Not even Colonel Fitzwilliam from his vantage point at his window above-stairs, where he stood catching none of the undercurrents, just the heart-warming picture of carefree joy.

Unknowingly, his thoughts matched Georgiana’s: it would be very good for Darcy to have children of his own.

* * * *

A change of apparel was rigorously necessary after the rambunctious disport and although she shook her head in solemn disapproval of such antics, the strict governess saw fit to honour the day by relaxing her stern rules a little and allowed her charges to rejoin their cousins and Miss Bennet for further Christmas cheer.

When a nursery-maid escorted the girls down, the three could be found in the small parlour. Their own wet apparel replaced and their dignity somewhat restored, they stood around the table covered in fresh mounds of greenery, going about the festive business of the season. Or rather, the young ladies were, while Darcy left them to it, content to watch and only assist if needed.

In the earliest hours of the morning, a large number of Pemberley’s people had walked out to gather ivy, mistletoe, bay, rosemary and red-berried holly. Georgiana and Miss Bennet had joined them for a while, before their amusements in the shrubbery, and were now assisting the maids and footmen in the joyful task of adorning the house. Bright garlands were already festooned around the columns in the ballroom and the entrance hall, as well as the banister of the great staircase. Several maids had been at work for hours to fashion them on the vast table in the servants’ dining hall, and then the footmen had skilfully fixed them into place.

Nothing like their usually quiet and unobtrusive selves – and uncensored for it at this time of year – the maids were now scurrying hither and thither with basketfuls of greenery to decorate the mantelpieces and most of the picture frames, while in the parlour Georgiana and Miss Bennet were putting the finishing touches to the Christmas Bough.

In time-honoured fashion, ivy and holly were entwined around its hoops and, as a result of the young ladies’ efforts, it now stood resplendent, ornamented with red ribbons, gilded nuts, fire-red apples and the customary sprig of mistletoe.

When Peter was summoned to take it to the entrance hall and suspend it in the designated spot from a hook never used for another purpose, Hetty and Margaret skipped after him, clapping and chanting “The Kissing Bough! The Kissing Bough!”, while the other three followed at a more leisurely pace, exchanging warm glances at their childish glee.

Once they gained the hall the girls stood aside to let Peter go about his task, but as soon as it was done and the ladder removed, they rushed to be the first to embrace under the bough and follow a custom they both loved, little as they understood it.

They could not know that for hundreds of years the bough had reigned supreme over Christmas celebrations as a sign of goodwill and new beginnings. With an embrace beneath it, all the ills and wrongs of the previous year were set aside and instantly forgotten, as relations, neighbours, friends or mere acquaintances silently undertook to go forth with gratitude, benevolence and a light heart.

Margaret and Hetty might have lacked this insight, but did not lack lightness of heart as they resumed their chanting and linked arms to dance under the bough. They only stopped when a voice called from the foot of the stairs:

“I have never heard such a racket on this side of the Channel. What strange and fearsome tribe has come to invade?”

Supremely undaunted, the girls ran to their uncle.

“The Kissing Bough is up, Uncle Richard,” Hetty piped up and both girls reached to clasp his hands and tug him forward, until he was standing underneath it.

(Christmas Bough at Osterley Park, Isleworth – Photo J Starnes)

He willingly obliged, yet shaped his lips into a mock grimace:

“Oh, is it now? Well, if needs must,” he said, and bent down to kiss Margaret’s upturned cheek, then Hetty’s. He scooped the youngest up, while she squirmed and declared that his whiskers were awfully ticklish and, with his giggling niece in his arms, he turned to drop a kiss on Georgiana’s cheek – and likewise Miss Bennet’s.

The latter blushed becomingly, but took it in good cheer. It was Darcy who frowned and, as soon as Fitzwilliam had straightened from setting down his wriggling burden, he stepped closer and lowered his voice to sternly deliver:

“Was that truly necessary, Cousin?”

The other grinned in the most provoking manner.

“Oh, quite. ‘Tis a time-honoured tradition. In fact, seeing as you are so mindful of old customs I wonder at your scorning this one,” he added, to Darcy’s growing irritation.

Miss Bennet’s heightened colour showed she overheard the flippant comment, and Darcy silently cursed his cousin for it – only to curse himself a fraction of a second later, when he discovered to his acute mortification that, of their own volition, his eyes were fixed on her full, perfect lips. His neckcloth suddenly too tight, he swiftly glanced away, while she turned to her former charges to ask if they wished to help decorate the music room. They eagerly agreed and the trio hastened on their way, followed by Georgiana, thus leaving Darcy with his cousin – and his roiling vexation. He could not stop himself from scathingly observing:

“Since you are such an authority on ancient customs, are you not forgetting something?”

“What is that?”

“Such licence is permitted only if you can pluck a berry from the mistletoe.”

Fitzwilliam glanced up with a grin.

“Either by accident or by design, you had it hung up too high. Besides, you know as well as I do that pecks on the cheek were not what they had in mind with that particular proviso. But fear not, when the time comes I will find a way to reach those berries,” he laughed, the aggravating show of confidence making Darcy wish he had instructed Peter to hang the troublesome thing a great deal higher. There was still time to do so. And he would, by Jove, if Fitzwilliam persisted in this infuriating manner!

“You will excuse me,” he abruptly took his leave.

(Copyright © 2016 by Joana Starnes)

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Happy Holidays and thanks for reading!