The Darcy children and dragon Friends return for another installment of Christmas chaos!

December 12, 1827

Bennet ran into the nursery, shouting like a ruffian and nearly treading on Anne’s toes. Everyone kept commenting about how much a gentleman he had become during his year away at school, but the change was ephemeral, varying with his level of excitement or frustration at any given moment. “Ring has invited us to see what he has done with ‘The Puck’s Hoard’ for Christmastide!”

“Mrs. Sharpe, please, may we go?” Anne asked, prim and proper, hands folded in her lap. Someone had to be an example to her siblings. Though she was far too old for the nursery, on her break from her school term, it was nice to visit with her sister and brother.

Not just her siblings. Now that she attended Mrs. Fielding’s school, she missed all the wonderful things about Pemberley, things she had once taken for granted. Most of them dragon-related.

All of the girls at the school heard dragons, that was a given. But none had been raised with them, nor knew so much about them as she. It was not so much the knowing about them, as the understanding of them that made her stand apart. In that way she was most like her mother, the revered Dragon Sage. Reminders of which she could not escape. Although she was not supposed to be treated with special favor or expectations, it was impossible for it to be otherwise. Even if the warm-blooded staff forgot, the dragons never did. And their deference could, at times, be tedious, even embarrassing.

Being home, where she was just a normal girl, was a privilege and a relief.

“Certainly, you may go. And if you bring Mercy and Truth along with you, you may go without me.” Mrs. Sharp glanced at the pair of pretty green snake-type zaltys who had been a fixture in the nursery since Anne was born. Though they were kind and gentle as their names, no one ever forgot the day they rose to Anne’s defense and bit Grandmother Bennet.

“Of course! That is ever so good of you! I will look after George and Frances. I promise they will not get into any mischief.” Anne rose and smoothed her skirt.

“And I will help.” Bennet linked arms with Anne. This was the change in his behavior that everyone credited being away at school for bringing on. To be fair, he often treated her as a proper young lady, now. Even May had noticed the agreeable alterations in him.

“I expect you home in time to dress for dinner. Remember your mother insists on family dinners whilst you are home from school.” Mrs. Sharpe opened the nursery door, releasing them from their comfortable captivity.

“How could I possibly forget?” Bennet laughed. “There is nothing like a Pemberley dinner anywhere. School food is nothing to it!”

“I promise to mind the time.” Anne curtsied. “Go fetch your bonnet, Frances.”

***

The cool, late autumn walk to the old barn that Ring had converted into what might be England’s only dragon pub seemed shorter than she remembered. Bare trees cast dancing shadows in the afternoon sun. Just last year when they had used it for the performance of the family Christmas theatrical, it had seemed so far removed from the manor house. The low, thatched roof and thick walls felt less substantial, more primitive, too. But maybe going off to school had made her world bigger instead of everything at home smaller. That was a thought to ponder a bit more, later.

Ring, the grey-green knucker whose actual territory was Ring Pond, waited for them, standing just outside the barn’s open double doors. “Greetings! Greetings and good day!” Above his head hung a sign with a bright red puck sitting on a pile of gold, the sign of the Puck’s Hoard.

Opinion was divided on that sign. Proper dragons like Walker and Cait disapproved because pucks were not permitted to hoard anything so valuable—a puck with gold was utterly unthinkable. Those with a more ready sense of humor, like little Pemberley found it particularly amusing, and Quincy the Rosings Park butler’s Friend thought it perfect. Rumor had it that it was his likeness on the sign itself. Something that made Cait, Lady Catherine’s cockatrix Friend disapprove all the more.

“Good day, Ring!” George cried. He and Frances waved and ran ahead, forgetting all they might have learned about properly greeting a dragon. Ring did not seem to mind.

Was it wrong to be a bit jealous that they got to spend time here with Ring and the other Pemberley dragons while Anne and Bennet were off at school? Probably, but it was true nevertheless. With no adults about to disapprove, Anne dashed ahead to catch up with her siblings.

“I am so glad you are come! I have such a surprise for you. Come in, come in and see.” Ring ushered them all inside.

Though all the top-hinged window shutters had been propped open, it took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dimmer light inside. In the meantime, smells of hay, dragon musk, and slightly stale—was that beer?—assailed her nostrils. Somehow, the dragons at Mrs. Fieldings always managed to smell less pungent than they did here.

A traditional looking bar stood along the far wall of the pub, facing the stalls that still lined the left-hand wall. Metal tankards, some of Castordale’s design, suitable for wyrm and snake types, some of more traditional form, lined the shelves above the bar. None made of breakable materials like pottery or glass. Considering the dents in many of the tankards, it was probably a good thing.

Barrels of what was probably beer, jugs of mead and other spirits dotted the lowest shelf. Dragons, as Anne understood, enjoyed spirits and libations as much as warm-bloods, but had much less opportunity to obtain them, making Ring’s pub exceedingly popular. So much so, many traveling dragons detoured on their way to visit. Consequently, Ring seemed to know a great deal about dragon affairs throughout all of England, which seemed to suit Papa and Mama very well. Probably why Ring was permitted to continue operating his venture with a liberal allowance from Pemberley’s stores.

“Oh Anne! Look!” Frances tugged her arm. “There!”

Anne followed Frances’ pointing and waving toward the barn’s walls. “Those were from the theatrical last year!”

Wooden depictions of Ring, in the style of Hogarth, one in each corner, observed the pub with quiet mirth and welcome.

“Five golden Rings!” Frances and George sang.

“Where ever did you find them? I had no idea they were kept.” Bennet gawked and laughed.

“Look! There is the chest where Quincy and his family sat!” George broke away from the group to inspect the chest sitting inside one of the stalls. “It still has colored paper!” He tossed bits over his shoulder.

“Yes, well, I have not quite decided what to fill it with yet.” Ring, standing on his back legs,  wrung his front paws. “I hope you do not mind that I have brought them here.”

“I think it quite jolly! It makes me very happy to see them again.” Anne glanced about, identifying several more artifacts from the theatrical. The little pianoforte was missing, though. No surprise that he would not have access to such an expensive article that precious few dragons could make proper use of. “What inspired you to bring them here?”

“I called upon the house a few weeks ago as Mrs. Reynolds was taking cooked Christmas puddings to the storehouse near the garden, and she asked me to help carry them out. The stage dressings were in that storehouse, and she was only too happy to have them out of her way.”

“Did you see our Christmas pudding?” George asked.

“There were many Christmas puddings that day. They all looked quite alike to me. I have no idea which one was yours.”

“It was the one tied with blue ribbon. We tied it around the pudding before she took it away to boil it.” Frances’s voice turned shrill.

Ring cocked his head and blinked slowly. “No, I am quite certain I would have remembered that. They all looked the same. Not a ribbon in sight.”

“Perhaps she had already put ours away.” Anne clenched her fist. Hopefully Frances would not launch in to a full-blow fit.

Ring shook his head. “I do not think so, the storeroom was empty when we started, and she said we had carried all of them to the storeroom when we finished.”

“Oh no, our pudding is missing!” Frances began to weep. “We worked so hard on it. Mrs. Reynolds promised it would not be lost.”

“I am sure it was just overlooked, there is nothing to worry about.” Anne patted Frances’ shoulder.

“How can you be sure? What if it is lost and we have no pudding for Christmas? Mama will be so disappointed!” Frances wailed. “What will we do then?”

“Ring, can you take us to the storeroom so we can find the pudding and settle Frances’ nerves?” Bennet glanced at Anne, a question in his eyes.

Anne nodded vigorously.

“Certainly, certainly. Only too happy to oblige. Follow me.” Ring beckoned them to follow him along the sandy path from the pub to the herb garden.  A squat stone shed with a thatched roof faced the sparse autumn herb garden. “This is where the puddings are aging for Christmas.” He opened the door. “Go in, have a look.”

The rough wooden door squealed as it opened. The walls were lined with metal hooks, each one holding a cloth-wrapped, round pudding. Aromas of dried fruits, spices and brandy hung in the cool air, muted and dull compared to the smells of the kitchen when they were made.

“So many puddings! I had no idea Mrs. Reynolds made so many.” George touched each one as he walked past.

“There is one for each tenant family,” Bennet said.

“And one for each family in the parish, one for each of the alms houses in Lambton, and a number for the tradesmen to take home on Boxing Day, I think.” Anne added. Bennet was not the only one who knew things. “Pemberley gives away a lot of puddings.”

“I have never had a Christmas pudding.” Ring sighed, a wistful look in his big, dark eyes. “What do they taste like?”

“Like the holidays!” Bennet said. “It isn’t Christmas without one.”

“But where is ours?” Frances stomped her foot and crossed her arms over her chest. “I have looked at each one, and there is no ribbon to be found. And look!” She pointed. “This hook has no pudding. Ours has been stolen! I am sure of it!”

“What makes one pudding different to any other? They all look and smell the same to me.” Ring sniffed the air.

“We made it with our own hands! We made wishes over it. It is special and ours! Christmas dinner will be ruined without it.” Frances began to cry. Had she been this dramatic before Anne had left for school? It was difficult to remember now.

“Now, now, perhaps there is something that can be done.” Ring plodded out and shut the door behind them. “Say now, I have an idea. There is time. Why not make a new pudding? We can put it here to age with the rest, with a ribbon tied to it. Then you will have a pudding for your dinner. I will even help you.”

“Can we do that?” George locked eyes with Anne. “We don’t know how to make one.”

“Maybe we do. I copied Mama’s receipt into my commonplace book after we made it. With that we should be able to make another one.” Anne chewed her knuckle. With instructions as clear as Mama’s why couldn’t they?

“I don’t know, Anne. Mrs. Reynolds never lets anyone in her kitchen. Maybe there are some secrets there we don’t know anything about.” Bennet frowned, thoughtfully. He looked like Papa when he did that.

“All we did was mix things and wrap them in a pudding cloth. How hard can that be?” George stood on tiptoes to be nose to nose with Bennet.

“You may have a point, Bennet, but what else can we do? Think how upset Mrs. Reynolds would be to find she had lost the pudding she promised to keep safe.” Anne said.

“Very well.” Bennet rolled his eyes, clearly unconvinced.

“Excellent.” Ring’s tail swished along the ground, sweeping up a small dust cloud. Give me a list of ingredients, and I will have everything ready and waiting in the pub for you to come and make a new pudding for your Christmas dinner.”

Surely it could not be so difficult, could it? They had mixed them up with Mama and Papa several years in a row, now. How difficult could it be? And with Ring’s help, surely their pudding would be every bit as good as Mama’s.

Hopefully.

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