Chapter 14—Christmas Day Surprises

Christmas morning was, in contrast to the previous day, very foggy. The characteristic London mists, however, could not obscure the happiness and familial bliss that descended on Aunt Polly's household when the bell rang to announce the arrival of the seldom seen brother, the younger George about whom not much has been said in this story already.

George Aubrey, the same son and brother who had thoroughly disappointed his father by renouncing the navy as his career of choice and going instead into the medical profession, had grown several inches since his mother had seen him last and was now nearly as tall as his papa, not a lean accomplishment at all, as Jack Aubrey was a good deal taller than six feet. His sisters had to stand on tip-toe to kiss his cheek, and he played his part as annoying younger brother very well by taking the opportunity to steal hairpins and, in the case of Charlotte, filch a hair-ribbon and dangle it over her head while she in turn struggled to return it to her possession.

"George," complained his sister, grasping for the accoutrement and giggling uncontrollably, "You've had your fun, now give it back!"

George finally released his hostage and sighed. "I don't get to do that very often, you know, Lottie," he complained as his sister tied her hair back in. Charlotte smiled at her younger brother and gave him a light slap in the arm.

"Just tell me you don't do that to Bridget and I'll be satisfied," she said with an older sister smile. "I thought physicians were supposed to be very grave and drab about things," she prodded.

"I couldn't very well do that all the time, or I'd go mad," the sixteen year old said. "I like Uncle Stephen very well and all, but he's a great deal too serious. I think that's where Bridget gets it from. Old before her time…I would hate to be like that."

"No, Lottie, you watch him. He'll marry Bridget, they'll have nine children and more dogs and cats than you can count, take care of the entire parish, and live like church mice but be perfectly happy in spite of it," Fanny predicted, stealing George's tiepin before he had anything to say about her forecasting and leading him off to chase her and try and both defend his interest in Bridget as well as retrieve the errant tiepin.

"I don't like Bridget like that, Fanny!" George defended, in pursuit of the tiepin. Fanny laughed.

"Oh, you say that, George, but any fool could see that you like her, and she likes you," she sermonized, rounding on him to hand back the pin. "Father couldn't be any less pleased with you for marrying her."

"A little early to be thinking about marriage for him, isn't it?" Jack asked, embracing his son and giving him a good thump between the shoulder blades. "George my boy, how go things in St. Andrew's Street?"

"Well enough, Papa," George said, escaping his father's embrace to kiss his mother on both cheeks and hand his coat, hat, and walking stick off to Jarvis. "Uncle Stephen will be around in a bit -- he said not to wait. He had a late night last night with one of the locals, and Bridget will bring him round once he's had some sleep."

Sophie tut-tutted her displeasure and led her son into the drawing room, where the Christmas tree sat poised in its entire fat evergreen splendor rigged with all the accoutrements of its proud office as master of ceremonies. "I wish Stephen didn't involve you in all of these charity cases he takes on, George," she opined. "A physician is only for the wealthy. The poor should make do with their surgeons and apothecaries; it pays better to keep such hours, you know."

"Mama, I think it's perfectly normal to take on 'charity cases' as you call them; why should the rich be the only ones who receive the benefit of a trained professional? Uncle Stephen's a physician and a surgeon, which is more than most can say. And besides, they pay just as well as any of his clients on Park Lane – better, even. Joe Herbert, the man he helped last night after a nasty fall on the ice, is going to fix Bridget's rocking chair for payment. That's more helpful than just the standard 'five shillings sixpence' kind of bill he normally gets."

"Yes, well, your uncle never was a wise one," Sophie said sagely. "Better a gold guinea then a promise unkempt, that's what my mother always said."

"It's cheaper to have Joe fix it than having the carpenter come," George finally reasoned, playing his last card and winning over his mother just as Aunt Polly came in with Jarvis and the tea. "Good, presents!" he said, sitting on the settle. "Which one's mine?"

Fanny frowned at him and went for one of the packages. "Papa first," she reminded, pointedly handing her father the first box. "From Charlotte and I," she said, waiting as her father ripped off the wrapping to find a framed map for his study. Jack beamed.

"My daughters are too good to me," he said, gazing fondly at the delicately limed coastline of the Mediterranean. "Thank you, girls."

And on it went- a cushion for Mama, handkerchiefs and an apron for George, perfume for Sophie from Jack, soaps for Fanny and Charlotte from their brother ("French," remarked Jack somewhat disapprovingly,) and candied fruit for everyone from Jack, who argued that since he was the one paying for education and dresses he was exempt from giving Christmas presents to his children.

"Here now, where's my apprentice got to?" Called a familiar voice from the hall. George quickly got up off the couch and opened the door to a very cold looking Doctor Maturin and his equally cold looking daughter. "You're going to have to keep a watch on that boy of yours, Jack, he's made of trouble," Stephen said with a grumpy sort of smile, embracing his long-time friend.

"Don't I know it," Jack reasoned, patting Stephen on the back and turning to Bridget. "You look very lovely this morning, Bridget. I'm sure your mother would approve."

"Thank you, Uncle Jack," Bridget said with a slim smile. George took the opportunity to help her to the divan, and Fanny and Charlotte exchanged a look, smiling between the two of them. Once settled, Bridget opened up the basket and began passing around her gifts; herbal sachets for Mrs. Aubrey to put in her clothes chests and special teas for her 'nervous attacks.' Jack was the recipient of a very handsome looking bottle of wine, which he had Jarvis put aside for dinner, and George, who had received his present already, feted it around by blowing his nose several times very conspicuously so that they could all see the very delicately embroidered GA that graced the corner of his new pocket handkerchiefs.

Fanny and Charlotte were both given bags of what appeared to be a fine gray powder. "What is it?" Charlotte asked, brushing the mixture with her finger.

"Taste it," Bridget said with a smile, and interested, Charlotte raised the dust covered finger to her lips, her tongue darting out to touch it. She thought for a moment and then licked the finger clean, smiling.

"It's drinking chocolate! But with…something else added."

"Spearmint." Bridget explained. "Father and I dry the leaves, and then grind them up for flavoring."

Charlotte passed the bag for everyone to taste, and the smiles were universal. "What a wonderfully clever daughter you have, Stephen," Jack said with a smile, licking his finger clean. "You should sell this."

"I'm a doctor, not a confectioner," Stephen said, his arm around his daughter's shoulders. "But she is very clever, and I am very, very proud of her."

The drinking chocolate was served that afternoon instead of tea, to the mutual delight of all, and Bridget's confectionary genius was once again lauded, for the chocolate, once properly sweetened and prepared whipped to the delicate froth for which chocolate shops all over London were known for, was far better than the bitter powder of the raw base.

By far the best gift anyone received that day was a letter, from George to Charlotte, delivered by hand just after luncheon and eagerly devoured by the addressee as soon as time permitted.

"My darling Charlotte," he wrote,

"I hope that your Christmas has been just as pleasant as mine has been nightmarish; having all four of my mother's sisters, not to mention their children and husbands, in one house has been nothing short of disastrous. My Aunt Jane and Uncle Charles behave well enough, but the rest of the family, as you have no doubt gathered from our previous conversations, is in a terrible shambles where manners are concerned. My Aunt Lydia is once again with child (this is their seventh) and spends all her time crowing very loudly about what pain she is in. Her husband, my Uncle George (whom I am not named after), is oblivious to all of this, and spends his time either playing cards or drinking. Both of these activities, I should add, are not done at home, since he is hardly ever there; a welcome change for my father, who does not get on very well with him owing to events that transpired well before my birth and which my mother says she will someday explain in full.

Aunt Kitty and Uncle Frederic are just as bad, for they seem to think they have more money than the Darcys, which is preposterous, considering that Uncle Fred is only a barrister. Additionally, their three daughters seem to have been taught since infancy that one of them will marry me, and as such are making gift giving a yearly pain, as they all expect smallish jewelry boxes containing rings and are forever disappointed when that is not their gift. To add to all this, Aunt Mary and her husband, the Reverend Wimple, are both constantly quoting from a selection of books that would make your sister cringe in boredom in an attempt to counterbalance the stupidity of the other side of the family and are only succeeding in making everyone more perturbed.

In short, Charlotte, I am hoping that your company will provide me with a much needed island of sanity in the coming weeks when you accompany me to the opera on Saturday next. Aunt Jane has agreed to chaperone us. If you refuse me, I shall be forced to take one of my cousins, and will probably end up saying something I will later regret. Please respond as soon as possible, your adoring if overtaxed at the moment, GEORGE."

Charlotte, who despite herself had been smiling and occasionally laughing throughout the entirety of the distraught letter, responded immediately.

"George,

I should feel very ashamed of myself if I did not extend a helping hand to you in this, your hour of distress, and will most gladly accept the invitation to the opera. My own Christmas has been quite delightful, and I am sincerely sorry to hear that yours has not. My brother George is spending the week with us, and I would like very much for you to meet him, as I think you will get on splendidly. We are here for callers on Fridays.

Your affectionate CHARLOTTE."