Panic At Pemberley - Christmas Fan Fiction

It is Christmas Eve, but something is missing, much to the distress of Mrs Bennet. Not so her husband, who has left to go fishing...or so she thinks.

Relax and put your feet up during the Holiday Season ...

Produced by Stephanie Poppins for Neworld Books.

Transcript

Welcome to my Christmas romantic short story A satirical take on a much-loved classic The East Wing Apartments,

Christmas Eve If Mrs Bennet told her daughters once,

She had told them a thousand times,

It would be so much easier if cotton muslin was agreeable for Christmas Day,

As it would save her the trouble of having to dislike it.

But as it was,

Christmas with the Darcys meant silk brocade,

And silk brocade meant waiting for the London carriage.

I feel one of my headaches coming on.

Mrs Bennet had neither the nerves nor the patience for such a busy season.

How she must suffer for her girls!

But wasn't it every mother's duty to insist their unmarried daughters look their best?

Would that the Lord had blessed her with a boy!

But there,

She spent enough time mourning that,

So there really was no sense in it.

Mary,

Mary,

Stop that now and ring the bell,

Will you?

And be quick about it,

Child.

Where is that Mrs Hill?

That woman has no compassion for my poor nerves.

But mother,

She's only just left,

And I have this recital to perfect.

And I have your reputation to consider.

Can anything be more important than a brocade gown?

Christmas is tomorrow,

Tomorrow I say.

Never let it be said I would hinder the success of one who stood to gain the most by a beautiful gown.

Mrs Bennet snatched a side-long glance at the plainest of her children.

But Mary was consumed with one of her many go-to didactic texts.

I just heard the door.

Mary,

Mary,

I'm certain I heard the door.

Can you see the carriage?

Perhaps it's Jane,

Or even Lady Catherine.

Mary,

Can you see her carriage?

No,

Mama.

Mrs Bennet sighed.

The dresses were one thing,

But Lady Catherine de Beurre was entirely another.

She could scarcely bear it.

Yet blood was so much stickier than water,

And like a stubborn stain,

Lady Catherine de Beurre was not easily forgot.

Perhaps it's father.

Oh,

If it wasn't for Mr Bennet,

We wouldn't be in this mess.

Who goes fishing at a time like this?

And where is Kitty?

I sent her down five minutes since,

And still no sign of a remedy.

My poor nerves.

She probably got lost,

Mama.

Pemberley is a big house.

And anyway,

Isn't the North Lake frozen over?

Meanwhile,

Down in the Grand Hall,

Preparations for the big event had been underway since dawn.

Elizabeth Darcy stood at one end of the vast space,

Gazing up at the huge Scottish fir that stood 15 feet high,

Its evergreen branches spread far and wide.

At the tip of each,

Strung with sturdy wire,

Were small tin holders containing wax candles for that all-important seasonal glow.

And the body of the tree had been threaded with paper chains,

Garlands and crimson velvet looped in graceful swags,

Their magnificence illuminated by the stream of wintry sun beaming in through the tall Georgian windows.

I have scarcely any hesitation in stating,

Said Mr.

Collins to his wife as they approached,

That gentleman's words would need to be washed down with a good deal of Latin,

Just to make them palatable.

Charlotte chuckled,

Alive with the vivacity their frosty morning's excursion afforded.

The library's open now,

Dear.

She returned.

I'm certain Elizabeth wouldn't mind if you were to retire to your essential work,

Would you Elizabeth?

Elizabeth Darcy assented,

Quietly pleased at the prospect.

And my dear,

Mr.

Wynmore's ignorance must be forgiven,

Charlotte continued,

For without books there's no hope of a cure,

And that man,

By his own admission,

Detests books.

Mr.

Collins chuckled again,

And off he sailed with a wave of his hand,

And we are of one mind,

My dear Charlotte,

There can be no two opinions on that point.

Elizabeth waited until he was safely out of earshot.

Of whom does Mr.

Collins speak,

She asked.

The visiting curate at Lambton,

Said Charlotte,

He's concerned about the Christmas Day sermon,

And quite rightly so,

Lady Catherine's particular at best.

I see,

Said Elizabeth,

He sounds rather nonconformist.

He says he speaks to the Lord directly,

And these are the only words he needs.

Suddenly,

Elizabeth began to wane,

And a chair was immediately brought.

My dear Elizabeth,

Are you quite well?

I'm afraid I've eaten too much,

And the happiness that succeeded my overindulgence was short-lived.

Charlotte smiled.

You have Mr.

Darcy to thank for that,

Dear man.

If it was at all possible to be more attentive than usual,

He is certainly that,

Since your happy announcement.

Elizabeth's hand sat comfortably on her fore waist,

As Mrs.

Reynolds arrived with hot tea.

Thank you,

Mrs.

Reynolds,

She said warmly.

Your seasonal arrangements are quite perfect,

Madam,

The housekeeper replied.

The hall is transformed,

One would scarcely recognise it.

It was Georgiana's scheme entirely,

Insisted Elizabeth.

She really has a flair for such things.

Bless her,

Mrs.

Reynolds replied.

I confess,

I've taken a particular fancy to.

.

.

But she was interrupted by the entrance of Kitty,

Whose face bore the expression of one considerably agitated.

Elizabeth,

She exclaimed,

Her voice shrill with distress,

I must speak with you at once regarding a matter of the greatest importance.

Both Elizabeth and Charlotte smiled.

There might be many years between them,

But Kitty was fast embodying her mother's nervous constitution.

Tea,

Kitty?

Mrs.

Reynolds pawed and Kitty sat and explained all that had transpired.

I've been lost,

Dreadfully lost.

I left Mama in the apartment and followed the long passage as you said,

And ever since I've been lost.

I really consider it a miracle I'm talking to you now and not laying in some darkened corner dead.

Oh,

Kitty,

Don't say such things,

Cried Elizabeth,

Half amused,

Half frustrated.

Just what is it you're so concerned with?

Elizabeth exchanged a glance with Mrs.

Reynolds,

Who tactfully withdrew.

That dress is,

Elizabeth,

The silk brocade that was ordered from London.

It's not arrived.

Mama is out of her wits.

Charlotte stifled her smile with fine bone china,

As if being out of her wits was something Mrs.

Bennett rarely was.

But it's scarcely 10 o'clock,

Kitty,

Elizabeth suggested.

There is time.

Mr.

Gardner sat on the edge of his seat,

Eyeing his nephew-in-law with concern.

They had been discussing estate business at length,

But the subject of Mr.

Bennett's whereabouts had arisen,

And now Mr.

Darcy appeared agitated.

I understand,

Mr.

Gardner began.

My brother-in-law has absconded with one of your fishing rods.

He disappeared after breakfast,

Mentioning something about the trout,

Said Darcy.

I did not feel it appropriate to detain him.

A golden opportunity to escape the disaster that's silk brocade,

Joked Mr.

Gardner.

Be not alarmed,

Sir.

My wife has trusted me with the task of retrieving him before midday.

She believes his presence will have a calming effect upon my sister's nerves.

They chuckled.

Neither man really believed that.

Then,

Who should they spot?

A lighting at the side entrance from a post chaise,

But Mr.

Bennett himself with a large parcel from London,

And an untimely letter from Lady Catherine de Bourgh,

Which,

Considering the recent spate of illness at Rosings,

They perceived to be the reassurance of a very merry Christmas.

Indeed.