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

November 25, 1827

Darcy and Elizabeth led the children home from Sunday services at the old Lambton church. The children ran and skipped ahead, delighting in each other’s company, a rare treat since both Little Anne and Bennet now attended school away from Pemberley. Sending Little Anne to Mrs. Fieldings had wrenched his heart like almost nothing else, despite their long-standing affiliation with the school. Bennet had been easier to turn over to the Barnes Academy, run by esteemed dragon Keeper Mr. Andrew Barnes of Painswick Park. After all, it was expected that the boys would go off to school, and with the opportunity for Bennet to study under Painswick, the resident lindwurm who was the only major dragon in England to directly instruct Keepers, Darcy could hardly begrudge him the opportunity.

How big they all were growing. Too fast, much too fast.

 A light wind blew around them, rustling the trees to cast dancing shadows upon the ground ahead of them. The last Sunday before the start of Advent, the perfect sort of day to begin the first of their holiday preparations. Days were short now, with sundown forcing dinner to be served near the four o’clock hour. But it did offer the opportunity to spend longer evenings in the family parlor, enjoying the company of his offspring and their dragon Friends.

Admittedly, Darcy still did not understand the allure of stirring up the annual Christmas pudding, something which Elizabeth insisted upon each year. Apparently, she had warm memories associated with it from her father’s house, but she never quite explained why. His own parents never indulged in the practice, allowing the kitchen staff to do what they did best, without interference from those with no experience or insight.

But Elizabeth and the children so enjoyed the experience, he could hardly deny them, even if it did require him to get flour on his suit and batter on his shirt cuffs. It was a small price to pay for their pleasure and Elizabeth’s promise he did not actually have to eat any of it. It was a taste he had never acquired.

“Now children,” Elizabeth gathered their brood close. “When we return to the house, go upstairs and Mrs. Sharp will help you change from your church clothes into—”

“Pudding clothes!” nine-year old George sing-songed. “Pudding clothes! Pudding clothes. I’ll wear a pudding shirt and you a pudding gown! Pudding clothes! Pudding clothes, in them we’ll go to town.”

“Have a little dignity,” Bennet scolded. Now a full eleven years old, with nearly a year of formal schooling behind him, he was beginning to appreciate the need for decorum in a young gentleman.

George grabbed seven-year-old Frances’ hand and they skipped ahead, singing, “Pudding clothes! I’ll wear my pudding frock and you your pudding suit.”

“Someday I’m going to remind him of this just, like Uncle Fitzwilliam—”

Darcy turned to look at Bennet. “No, there is no need to bring up those reminders. Unless you wish me to remind us all of a certain incident—”

“No need, Papa, no need at all. “ Bennet ran after his siblings, face turning decidedly red.

Little Anne giggled.

“And before you are tempted to become high handed, my dear,” Elizabeth eyed their dignified thirteen-year-old daughter, “need I remind you of a certain young lady who once decided she was a fairy dragon?”

“No, Mama, no one needs to be reminded of that exercise. Excuse me, while I go help Mrs. Sharp.” She curtsied and dashed off.

“In all fairness, it was very cute when she was trying to eat jam with the fairy dragons at tea that day.” April hovered near Elizabeth’s shoulder. “We all appreciated her efforts very much.” She was the only dragon Friend who attended church that morning. The children’s Friends could not yet be relied upon for decorous behavior.

“But you did not have to try to clean the jam out of her curls. She screamed for hours as we tried to wash out the raspberry goo.” Elizabeth rolled her eyes at the memory.

Darcy snickered. It had been an interesting experiment, raising the children with dragons from the moment of their birth. And not without its challenges, but, all told, it seemed a rousing success. All four of them had incredible sensitivity and understanding toward all sorts of dragons, large and small. At least one of them was destined to be an officer of the order, probably Bennet, considering the relationship he had struck up with Cownt Matlock. And, though no one said it out loud, it was an accepted fact that Anne would likely be the heir to her mother’s role as Dragon Sage.

“I can see you’re lost in thought, my dear. The future is still years off. Don’t fail to appreciate what we have now.” Elizabeth twined her fingers in his and squeezed.

She was right, as usual.

“Are you planning to put charms in the Christmas pudding this year?” he asked

“Of course, though, as agreed, there will be no ring in the pudding. Foretelling marriage is inevitably fraught with trouble.”

  “I could not agree with you more. What have you planned instead?”

“You’ll see soon enough.”

***

Dressed in the ‘pudding clothes’ and having enjoyed a light nuncheon in the nursery with Mrs. Sharpe, the nursery zaltys, Mercy and Truth, and their dragon friends, the children tumbled downstairs and met Elizabeth and Darcy in the family parlor. Mrs. Reynolds announced all was ready and ushered them all to the kitchen, where children (and their dragon friends) were usually not permitted. George and Frances sang of pudding clothes the whole way.

Bennet was correct, the song was getting very tiresome.

Though he had grown up at Pemberley, Darcy rarely visited the kitchen. That was Mrs. Reynold’s domain, one which he respected as much as he respected her. It was somehow an honor and privilege to be permitted access on this particular day.

The air swirled with the aroma of brandy and spices hanging in the humid heat of the great cauldron standing bubbling and ready to accept the finished pudding. Two other huge pots already contained puddings made earlier that day, to be given out as gifts on the estate. Just the beginning of a great deal of good food that would be prepared throughout the season.

The cook and her undercooks and scullery maids bustled about them, along the walls, striving to be out of the way and unnoticeable, as they tended, open fires with bubbling pots and tables of pastry and filling for mince pies.

An ample worktable, holding all the makings of the pudding, had been moved into the center of the large kitchen. All the ingredients had been carefully portioned and contained, ready for mixing. According to Elizabeth, the chopping and measuring for the pudding ingredients took far longer than the children would have tolerated in the kitchen. At least the younger two. Little Anne, who was not so little any more, and Bennet were far more patient.

“Come gather around the table.” Elizabeth arranged the children around the table as she tied the apron Mrs. Reynolds handed her over her dress.  “One of you on each side so there is plenty of room. No need to tread upon each other’s toes.”

“Last year George stood upon my foot the entire time.” Little Anne glared at her brother.

“It was not my fault. The table was so small I could not help it. If you would stand like a lady and not take up so much room—”

Darcy rapped the table with his knuckles. “That is enough from both of you. There is plenty of space to stand like proper ladies and gentlemen, and I expect you to do so.”

Elizabeth looked at each child in turn and they shuffled into proper position. Such power had a mother’s glare! “If we all have enough room to stand now, we may begin. Your father can start by adding the flour to the great bowl. Then he must past it east to west.”

“Clockwise—” Bennet whispered loudly, staring at Frances, not without good reason.

”I remember. I’m not a baby. I may not go to school yet, but I know things, too.” Frances thumped her elbows on the table and huffed.

“Of course, you do, dear. Your brother was only trying to be helpful.” Elizabeth raised her eyebrow at Bennet, who shrunk back a bit.

As expected, flour floated through the air and dusted his coat. Darcy slid the bowl along the table and dusted his lapels. “Here you are, Anne. What gets added next?”

Little Anne centered the bowl in front of her. “The suet is next, I think.” Without waiting for confirmation, she dumped in the bowl of minced suet. “Bennet’s turn is next.”

Bennet pulled the bowl his direction. “Shall I add the fruit, Mama?”

“The fruit and the nuts this year.” She pointed out the correct pile.

He made a great show of sweeping them into his hands and dropping them carefully into the mixing bowl.

“You’re taking forever, I’ll never get a turn.” George snuffed and dropped his elbows on the table.

“Fine, fine, here you are.” Bennet shoved the large earthenware bowl at George. “What does he add, Mama?”

“The milk and the bread crumbs. Why don’t you stand up on the stool so you can reach better?”

Darcy lifted George onto the stool and helped him raise the dish of milk-sopped breadcrumbs to pour it into the mix. “Hop down now and let Frances up.”

Frances took her brother’s place. “Do I get to do the eggs? I ‘member them from last year.”

“I am very impressed. You are absolutely right; you shall do them.” Elizabeth passed Frances a bowl of eggs. “Mrs. Reynolds cracked them for you for your hands are still too small for that task.”

“Aww! Can I do that part next year?”

“We shall see, dear.”

Frances was forever trying to keep up with her elder brothers and sister, which might not have been a problem, except that she often succeeded. She poured the dish of eggs into the pudding.

Elizabeth took the bowl. “Now my turn. The brandy-soaked citron and the spices.” Cinnamon and nutmeg and something else Darcy could not name filled the air.

“And the sugar too! Don’t forget that. Mama adds the sugar because she is so sweet!” Little Anne glanced at Darcy, appropriate considering it was his words she was repeating.

“Indeed she is.” Darcy helped Frances down.

“And that is all thirteen ingredients. Do you remember what they symbolize?” Elizabeth asked.

“I do, I do.” Frances jumped up and down, clapping. “They stand for Christ and the apostles.”

“Very good. What about the wooden spoon your father will mix it all up with?”

“It is made of wood to remind us of the Christ child’s crib.” Little Anne smiled proudly and folded her arms across her chest.”

“Now stir it east to—clockwise—with your eyes closed. Each one of us will stir it and make a wish.”

“What will you wish for, Papa?” George asked.

“No, no, the wish must be kept a secret,” Bennet said. “Or it will not come true.”

The bowl slid from one to another as the pudding was stirred and wishes made.

“One last step and the pudding will be done. We must add the charms.” Elizabeth pulled a small bag from her apron pocket. She poured the silver charms out on the table.

“I have had new charms made especially for us this year, for our family pudding. A fairy dragon, a tatzelwurm, a cockatrice, a drake, a knucker, a water wyrm, a forest wyrm, a basilisk, an amphithere, and a firedrake.”

“Oh, Mama! They are perfect!” Little Anne picked up the tatzelwurm and held it up in the sunlight. “It looks like a tiny version of May.”

“Oh, oh, that looks like April! May I put that one in?” Frances reached for the fairy dragon.

“Of course, you may each choose two charms. Papa, of course must have the cockatrice though, in honor of Walker.” Elizabeth handed him the silver replica of his Friend. 

“But what will the charms mean at pudding time? How will we know our fortune?” George asked tossing his charms into the pudding.

“You will have to wait and see. Now, Papa must mix it up one more time whilst we spread out the pudding cloth for him to turn it out into.”

Darcy mixed the charms into the pudding, then dumped the bowl onto the cloth. “Mrs. Reynolds, will you help us tie this up good and proper?”

“Of course, sir.” She helped him form a neat cannonball bundle with the pudding cloth. “Now I will take it off to cook, and to age. You will see it again at Christmas dinner.”

“But where will you keep it until then?” George crowded close to Mrs. Rynolds.

Frances followed. “And how will you know which one is ours?”

“The puddings will all keep in the storeroom, rest assured. And I have this special ribbon I tie around the family pudding to make sure I know which is which.” She pulled out a length of blue ribbon and tied it over the string that held the pudding closed. “Never you fear, I have never mislaid the family pudding.”

Subscribers to my newsletter can download a free copy. Click HERE to subscribe and get it.

(If you’re already a subscriber click HERE)