The Twelve Children of Christmas

Posted on Sunday, 23 December 2007

It was a truth universally accepted, at least in the Darcy household these last ten years, that Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy, having produced an heir to Pemberley exactly nine months after their wedding, had fully satisfied Mr. Darcy’s aspirations concerning the subject of children.

So it was with only a slight pause that one of the upstairs maids, Jenny, answered Mr. Darcy’s query about the mysterious young boy wandering the east wing. “Why, Mr. Darcy, that was merely your son, Bennet, of course. Why, I believe he looks especially young and dashing these days; much as you did at that age, Mrs. Reynolds tells me.”

Mr. Darcy accepted the compliment gracefully and went about his business, slightly confused but far less uneasy about the intruder. It did not, however, lessen the worry that had been plaguing his mind for the better part of two months now, a monumental worry he kept deep inside, but which had not escaped the notice of his wife or the staff.

A few minutes later, after receiving the news of the encounter in the west wing of Pemberley, Lizzy called for her fourth-born son, and waited impatiently. The boy entered his mother’s drawing room, face downturned in shame, and looked up to find her with her arms folded and foot tapping.

“Charles Darcy! What did I tell you about going into the east wing where your father might see you?”

“But, mama! Why should he only see Bennet and not me? It’s not fair!”

“You’re right,” Lizzy said soothingly, and hugged her son tightly. “But it’s what your father wants, so we must oblige. And he’s so troubled these days; we wouldn’t want to add to that, would we? Now run along and play.” She kissed him on the top of his head and released him. “In the west wing, if you please, Charles,” she called after him.

Lizzy sat down on the couch by the fireplace, easing her nine-months-pregnant belly down gingerly, and absentmindedly picked up her knitting. Glancing down at her project, she wondered aloud what to do with her creation, a strange amalgamation of colors with three sleeves and two necks. “Perhaps I’ll add a sleeve here, and make a nice eating smock for the twins.” This was not what occupied her mind, though; it was the unease her husband had been feeling lately, and his unwillingness to discuss the matter, which she broached occasionally, but regularly.

“It’s nothing, my darling,” he replied each time, and tried to evade the subject. “Christmas is nearly upon us,” he had said brightly the last time, his first mention of the upcoming holiday. “Has Bennet told you of his wishes this year?”

Lizzy had replied that she had, that their son had fancied a silver bridle latch with the family crest for his favorite mount, a trinket she had expected the silversmith to deliver any day now. What she hadn’t added, of course, was that the silversmith was expected to deliver not one latch, but also another for each of the other children she’d carefully hidden from her husband. “But what of you, dear? What would you like for Christmas?” Darcy’s face had shown a tortured countenance briefly, but he’d blinked, and the expression had gone just as quickly. Smiling warmly, he had said, “Only your company, darling,” and had vanished out the door.

Lizzy reflected upon this latest exchange, her fingers automatically undoing stitches around one of the sleeves. Was Fitzwilliam’s unrest related to Christmas? Was he suffering from the holiday doldrums? She would have to ask Mrs. Reynolds to make inquiries of the staff for any hint of the relation.

“Mama?” Stephen announced as he entered his mother’s drawing room. She looked up from her knitting, which Stephen imagined was a rainbow-colored settee cozy. Why his mother would make such a monstrosity was unclear to the eight-year-old, but he was willing to accept that she had her reasons, and dutifully avoided discussing the subject.

“What is it, dear? You haven’t been in the east wing, too?”

“Heavens no, mama! I would never! Papa might see me there!”

“Good. What is it then?”

Stephen clasped his hands behind him, shuffled his feet and looked down. “I was wondering if David and I could take the twins in the pram for a walk in the west garden? It’s so sunny, and we want to go outside.”

Lizzy smiled. “I believe your father will be going into town soon to meet with Mr. Bingley. Can you wait until he leaves, just in case?”

“Yes, mum. Thank you.” Stephen turned and fairly skipped out of the room happily.

Lizzy watched him leave, and a warm glow filled her heart. Next to her husband, her precious children provided her with more joy than she felt she was entitled to receive. What a blessing that they were so eager to spend time with each other!

An hour later, Maggie, one of downstairs maids, came to inform Lizzy that Mr. Darcy had left. Lizzy struggled to her feet and called from the stairs, excited. “Children! Your father has left; you can come out now!”

A door at the end of the hallway swung open with a bang, and four boys burst forth, giggling. Several other doors opened, from which emerged an assortment of boys of various ages. A door near the stairs creaked slowly, and a six-year-old girl emerged sulkily. Eleven children gathered at the top of the stairway, one after the other according to their ages, Bennet on the right, to the seven-month-old twins cradled in a nursemaid’s arms on the left.

“Stephen, you and David may take the twins to the garden now. Make sure they’re bundled up; it’s still quite chilly, despite the sun. The rest of you might want to do something outside as well, while you can. Jane, you may paint in the sun room if you’d like.”

This last erased the sulky expression from the girl, who pranced away giddily while the boys descended the stairs noisily.

Late that afternoon, Fitzwilliam Darcy returned to Pemberley and called for Mrs. Reynolds. He was agitated, and distinctly displeased. “This morning, after I left, my horse threw a shoe, and I was obliged to return for another mount. I passed the west garden on the way and there were two children and a pram there. Can you explain this?”

“Two children, Mr. Darcy?” Mrs. Reynolds asked, surprised at her master’s accusing tone. “Why, you must have been mistaken, I’m sure. I can’t imagine.”

“No, I’m quite sure. Two children and a pram. I saw them quite clearly.”

“Perhaps it was just Mrs. Darcy and Bennet?”

“Don’t be silly, Mrs. Reynolds! Bennet is far too old for a pram now, and Elizabeth is … afflicted right now. You know how her weight fluctuates so wildly; she’s in one of her heavier times right now, and the child was quite thin. Not to mention that there were two children, not just one.”

“Why, I believe I know who it was! There was a young woman and a baby came to the house earlier, a friend of Mrs. Darcy and her sister, Jane. I showed them to Mrs. Darcy in the west wing. Perhaps the mistress had a couple of the maids take the babe out for some fresh air. Suzy, upstairs, is quite small, I’m afraid, and you might have mistaken her for a child. I’m sure that was all it was.”

“Yes, yes, you’re quite right. I must have mistaken her and her companion for children. My apologies for being so abrupt, Mrs. Reynolds. I should not have jumped to conclusions. In the future, please let me know when guests arrive.”

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Darcy. I thought that since you had already gone … again, I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” Mrs. Reynolds darted out the door as quickly as she could.

Darcy’s countenance lightened considerably, but he still felt the weight of his other trouble, the one that had been bothering him for many weeks. It was a subject he wished desperately to discuss with his beloved wife, Lizzy, but he was afraid of its effect on her. Over their ten years together, he had seen her girth grow and ebb so often that he was convinced it was due to some seasonal depression. Oh, how she suffered! He did not wish to add to her worries right now, with her weight at a high point. Why, the last time he remembered her being this large was when she was pregnant with dear Bennet. They were so happy then, married less than a year and already produced an heir. Such a handsome one, too, and smart as a whip, Darcy knew, yet this knowledge did nothing to remove the weight from his mind; rather, it only darkened his mood.

Darcy’s mood failed to improve over the next few weeks, until finally Christmas Day arrived. Lizzy, dressed in a billowy gown designed to hide her pregnancy as best she could, woke Bennet from his slumber, made sure he washed and dressed for the ritual opening of his present, and took to the stairs with her eldest son, arm in arm, partly for support, lest she fell in her delicate state.

Bennet was delighted with the silver bridle latch, of course, the size of his palm, with the Darcy arms jutting out in relief. Darcy showed great enthusiasm for the craftwork tokens she’d presented to him, especially the painting of the west garden, despite his unspoken opinion that his wife was not particularly gifted in any of the many handiwork diversions in which she indulged herself, except for her exquisite needlework.

After Bennet scampered off to attach his new bridle, and Lizzy was left alone with her husband, whose face began to show signs of his depression again. “What’s wrong, dearest?”

“It’s nothing, darling,” he said automatically.

Lizzy sighed. “I have had enough of this, Fitzwilliam! You have darkened Pemberley long enough with your sulking. What can I do to make you happy again?”

Darcy looked away from his wife’s sharp gaze, embarrassed. He made up his mind right then to broach the subject that had troubled him for so long. “I’m sorry, darling, for inflicting my displeasure upon you. I had hoped to spare you from my troubles, but I see now that I failed. It’s just that….” He glanced at his wife, then looked away again.

“What? Can you not elaborate your deepest desires after ten years?”

Darcy swallowed and forced himself to look at his wife. “It’s just that … I’m not unhappy, mind you … I love Bennet, really … but….”

Lizzy felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickle. This line of reasoning was certainly disturbing. But she was unwilling to abandon the pursuit, now that her husband was finally inclined to discussion.

“I didn’t wish to burden you in your current … if you’re depressed, I mean—”

“My current … what? I’m not depressed.”

“Oh? But I thought…” Darcy knew he’d strayed into a subject he surely didn’t wish to discuss right now. “Never mind, it’s not important. To the subject at hand, it’s just that I’d always hoped to … to have … to have another … child.”

Lizzy stared, shocked. “Another child? But you were so happy when Bennet was born. And Lady Catherine assured me that you were satisfied.”

“My aunt?” Darcy asked, puzzled. “What can my aunt have to do with this?”

It was Lizzy’s turn to look away, embarrassed. “Lady Catherine told me after Bennet was born that now that I’d fulfilled my duty, as she called it, of producing an heir for you, that you’d have no more interest in children! Even my mother admitted you’d never shown any interest in children before!”

Enraged, Darcy stumbled to his feet and paced in front of the fire. “My aunt! My meddling aunt! Depriving me of the houseful of children I so desired! Oh, I must confront her immediately!”

“Then you’d really like another child? Really?”

Darcy stopped pacing and rushed to Lizzy’s side, kneeling next to her chair and cradling her hand. “Of course, dearest. More than anything.”

Lizzy could see by her husband’s excitement that he was sincere. “Did you say houseful of children?”

“Yes, of course. The more, the merrier. Do you think we still have time? You haven’t had … the change yet, have you?”

Lizzy laughed. “No, no, I haven’t. In fact…” She paused a moment to send for Mrs. Reynolds. “In fact, I’m expecting any day now.”

“Expecting?” Darcy scratched his head, and stared at Lizzy’s belly. “Do you mean? It’s not just a seasonal depression causing you to gain weight periodically?”

Lizzy laughed and placed his hand on her belly, pushing slightly. The child within kicked obligingly.

“Dear me! Another child! Oh, Elizabeth, you’ve made me a very happy man indeed!”

Mrs. Reynolds arrived just then.

Lizzy squeezed her husband’s hand. “You did say a houseful?”

“Yes. Yes!”

“Gather the children, please, Mrs. Reynolds. Their father would like to meet them at last.”

Mrs. Reynolds beamed and scurried from the room.

“C-C-Children?” Darcy stammered. “Whatever can you mean?”

“Obviously, you noticed my weight fluctuations, despite my best attempts at hiding them.”

“Yes, of course. I thought you merely overate when you were depressed. I didn’t want to worsen your condition by mentioning it.”

Lizzy giggled. “I was overeating; or rather, I was eating for two. Three, in the case of the twins.”

Darcy stared at her, open-mouthed. “Twins?” he asked at last.

Stephen arrived then, glanced at his father suspiciously, and said, meekly, “Mama?”

“It’s alright now, Stephen, come in. And have the others come, too, all of them.”

One by one, eleven children shuffled, tottered or were carried in, ten of them unknown to their father, who nearly wept with joy at their sight. Lizzy introduced them one by one, and each came forward in turn to bow in front of Darcy, except Jane, who, at a sharp look from her mother, curtsied unsteadily and blurted out, “I made the painting for you, papa!”

“Did you now?” Darcy said, and smiled broadly. “It’s a very good painting. Thank you.”

When the twins were presented, Darcy gathered the first in his arms and hugged him close. “So many boys,” he whispered, and handed him to Lizzy, so that could hug the second.

“Yes, ten boys and one girl,” Lizzy whispered back, while accepting the second twin.

Darcy staggered to the couch and dropped heavily onto the cushion. “I am … overwhelmed.” Lizzy came to sit by his side and hold his hand. “Why, to have so many children, and all hidden from me over a silly misunderstanding. Well, it shall not happen again, shall it? So all is forgiven. It is Christmas, after all, and I have ten lovely presents this year that I could hardly have expected.”

“Eleven, dearest; there’s also Bennet,” Lizzy reminded him.

Darcy squeezed her hand, glanced at her belly and beamed. “Twelve, then, with the new arrival – one for each day of Christmas! Oh, what a merry day it is indeed!” And with that, he kissed his beloved wife.