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
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
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.
