Mr. Darcy's Christmas Carol

Mr. Darcy's Christmas Carol by Carolyn Eberhart Read Free Book Online

Book: Mr. Darcy's Christmas Carol by Carolyn Eberhart Read Free Book Online
Authors: Carolyn Eberhart
open, her voice was cheery, her demeanor was unconstrained, and her air was joyful. Except for her more outgoing manner, the Spirit looked just like Darcy’s sister.
    â€œYou have never seen the like of me before!” exclaimed the Spirit.
    â€œEvery day of my life, I have seen your likeness,” Darcy made answer to it.
    â€œYou have never seen the like of me before!” repeated the Spirit.
    â€œIf you say I have not,” agreed Darcy, “then I have not.”
    The Ghost of Christmas Present rose.
    â€œSpirit,” said Darcy, “conduct me where you will. I went forth last night on compulsion, and I learnt a lesson, which is working now. Tonight, if you have aught to teach me, let me learn it.”
    â€œTouch my gown!”
    Darcy did as he was told and held it fast.
    The greenery, food, and punch all vanished instantly. So did the room, the fire, the ruddy glow, and the hour of night, and they stood in the city streets on Christmas morning. Darcy and the Spirit began to walk down the road, where the people made a rough but brisk and not unpleasant kind of music, in scraping the snow from the pavement in front of their dwellings.
    The people who were shoveling away were jovial and full of glee, calling out to one another from the sidewalk and now and then exchanging a facetious snowball—better-natured missile far than many a wordy jest—laughing heartily if it went right and not less heartily if it went wrong.
    Darcy and the Spirit passed a fruit stall. As some girls went by, they glanced at the hung-up mistletoe and giggled. Darcy looked at it also; he had not understood the appeal of the plant.
    â€œMistletoe was sacred to the Nordic goddess of love. She decreed that whoever should stand under the mistletoe, no harm would befall them, only a kiss, a token of love. Is it any wonder that those young woman wish to indulge in the tradition?”
    â€œI suppose not,” Darcy replied as they walked on. The blended scents of tea and coffee, cinnamon and other spices filled the morning air. Darcy took a deep breath, letting the scents fill his mind. He had not taken the time to indulge in such a small but glorious pleasure in a long time.
    Soon the steeples called all good people to come to church and chapel, and away they went, walking through the streets in their best clothes and with their brightest faces.
    In time the bells ceased, and there emerged from the scores of bye-streets innumerable people, carrying their dinners to the bakers’ shops. The sight of these poor revelers appeared to interest the Spirit very much, for she stood with Darcy beside him in a baker’s doorway and, taking off the covers as their bearers passed, sprinkled incense on their dinners from her torch. There was a genial foreshadowing of all the dinners and the progress of their cooking in the thawed blotch of wet above each baker’s oven and where the pavement smoked, as if its stones were cooking too.
    It was a very uncommon kind of torch, for once or twice when there were angry words between some dinner-carriers who had jostled each other, she shed a few drops of water on them from it and their good humor was restored directly.
    â€œIt’s a shame to quarrel upon Christmas Day.”
    â€œSo it is! So it is! Have a Merry Christmas!”
    Away the former combatants went, feeling that all was right in their world.
    â€œIs there a peculiar flavor in what you sprinkle from your torch?” asked Darcy as they resumed their walk.
    â€œThere is. It is my own special spice.”
    â€œWould it apply to any kind of dinner on this day?” asked Darcy.
    â€œTo any kindly given. To a poor one most.”
    â€œWhy to a poor one most?” asked Darcy.
    â€œBecause it needs it most. My spice makes each dish taste its absolute best. It will cause the food to linger on the tongue and in the belly much longer.”
    â€œSpirit,” said Darcy, after a moment’s thought,

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