A Merry Darcy Christmas

“Nonsense!” Mrs. Bennet seemed to levitate from her chair. “If only one of my daughters were to go it would be you. If it is the last thing I do, I will see your beauty turned to good account.”

“I will manage very well,” said Mr. Bennet. “Indeed, I believe I shall enjoy my Christmas here enormously.”

His daughters all turned to look at him as did Mrs. Bennet, the former with looks of dismay, the latter with an expression of reproach.

“Of course, I will miss you all,” Mr. Bennet said hastily. “I shall have to visit the poor myself, without your help, Jane, or yours, Lizzy. Kitty, you are always so clever at packing up their gift boxes, I will have assign that task to lesser hands. Mary, your pronouncements leaven the merriment of the season. I will have only your memory to sober my mood.”

Elizabeth remembered with fondness how she and Jane would go with their father to visit the poor, bringing baskets filled with food—hams, cakes, legs of mutton, preserves, nuts—and other useful or merry items. Mr. Bennet would often make a present of money to the neediest.

Her sisters seemed mollified by Mr. Bennet’s appreciative words and returned to their breakfasts.

“You did not say,” said Mrs. Bennet, “how you will manage without me.”

Mr. Bennet laid his fork down on his plate so forcefully that the china made a ringing sound. “Mrs. Bennet,” he said firmly, “I can honestly say that not a moment will pass in which I do not note your absence.”

Mrs. Bennet seemed satisfied with this response, though Elizabeth had to suppress a smile.

“Pudding’s ready for stirring,” Mrs. Hill said. They all turned to see her standing in the doorway, her face ruddy from the heat of the kitchen and flecked with flour.

“This can be the prize,” said Mr. Bennet, handing a silver shilling to Mrs. Hill to hide in the pudding. “With luck, I shall find it myself.”

“The prizes in Lady Catherine’s puddings won’t be shillings,” said Kitty. “Emeralds or rubies, I shouldn’t wonder. Gold sovereigns at the least.”

“Be on your guard against all kinds of greed,” said Mary. “A man’s life does not consist in the abundance of possessions. A silver thimble for thrift is a more suitable prize.”

“A ring for marriage,” said Mrs. Bennet. “Put in a ring for marriage, Hill!”

“There’s pudding enough for as many prizes as you like,” said Mrs. Hill. She stood before a large cream-colored crockery bowl set on the oak kitchen table, brandishing a formidable wooden spoon. “Though who’s to find them I’m sure I don’t know, what with everyone leaving.”

“Your puddings will be the highlight of the Christmas dinner just the same,” said Jane. “We shan’t have puddings half so good as yours at Rosings Park, Mrs. Hill.”

“That’s true,” said Elizabeth. “I would much rather have yours, Mrs. Hill.”

“They will have splendid pudding at Rosings, and more besides!” Mrs. Bennet said. Then she turned to her oldest daughter.

“Jane, you stir the pudding first. Close your eyes—stir clockwise! —and make a wish. A suitable wish, there’s a good girl. Don’t tell us what you wished for or it won’t

come true.”

“I wish to have a glass of brandy with Mrs. Hill,” said Mr. Bennet. “That wish will certainly come true.”

When it was Elizabeth’s turn, it took a moment for her to decide upon a wish. She was not superstitious, but her mother looked so eager and so intent upon the project that she felt she should at least try to humor her, even though the wishes were secret. Then it came to her in a flash; a wish which would please her and would obey her mother’s implicit command as well. Elizabeth closed her eyes, grasped the wooden handle of the spoon, and stirred the sticky dough to the right.

I wish to marry for love, she said silently.

Stir-Up Sunday

Advent is a week away,

Make the pudding this Sunday.

13 ingredients there must be,

The last of which is much brandy!

A silver coin for fortune hide,

A thimble for thrift, a ring for the bride.