It was a lengthy process, mainly because Alexander had just recently learned how to walk proficiently. His stumbling early steps and need to hold on to a solid foundation were gone in the wake of new maturity. He was quite proud of his skill and also well aware of just how much more of the world he could explore on two legs that functioned fairly well most of the time. Suddenly sitting on his bottom confined to a small space was wholly untenable! Alexander was an oddly complacent child, but even he grew cranky and annoyed at being compelled to stay put. Luckily he was easily distracted, as most infants were, and readily calmed when a new sparkling bauble was thrust under his nose.
The loving adults thought it was the greatest fun ever.
“Here, Alexander,” Dr. George Darcy said as he loosened the ties holding the maroon and yellow cloth concealing the spongy item inside. “Jharna’s son, Nimesh, had this made for me. It is a hoolock gibbon, my favorite of all the primates in India.” George, younger brother to Darcy’s deceased father, freed the exquisitely crafted stuffed animal from its wrappings, grandly plopping it onto the toddler’s lap.
“Uncle! He is remarkable.” Darcy leaned forward from his cross-legged perch behind his son to finger the soft brownish-black fur. “This is incredible taxidermy. Are you sure you want Alexander to drool and chew on such a masterpiece?”
George waved his hand dismissively. “It is well preserved. Allow him to play with it for a while, then perhaps it can be put aside temporarily to extend its life. But I wanted it for a toy. See how the long arms wrap around you, Alexander. He is bigger than you so will be great for cuddling.”
Alexander was mesmerized. He pressed the black bead eyes, ruffled the thick white fur rings around the eye sockets, pried open the toothless mouth to peer inside, squeezed the thin arms, and wiggled the long toes. He looked up at his father, smiled widely, and released a string of nonsense intermingled with “papa” and a smattering of intelligible words as he proudly showed off his newest animal.
Darcy smiled, pulling his son onto his lap for a tight hug. “You are assuredly the only child in Derbyshire with a stuffed gibbon, my sweet.”
“Papa, see? M’key? Mine, Unc Goj?”
“Yes, he is yours and ‘monkey’ will do, I suppose. Your Uncle George spoils you.”
George snorted. “Somebody has to. Poor baby would have no toys to play with if not for his favorite uncle.”
Georgiana laughed. “Yes indeed. Nothing to play with! Poor Alexander. Now, open this one from your favorite auntie, my precious.”
“Thank goodness it is only you two here this Christmas or we not only would never get through the gift unveiling, but we would also have a brawl on our hands. Jane may take exception to the ‘favorite’ appellation.” Lizzy spoke from her lounging location on the chaise, her voice weak and rough from coughing.
Darcy had returned from an eventful visit to London several days ago and discovered his wife extremely ill with a vicious cold. Darcy was still furious over not being informed of her illness. She was gradually improving under the care of their resident physician and her diligent husband, but remained lethargic and symptomatic. Yet, as sick as she was, Lizzy refused to lie abed for her son’s first Christmas of consequence, the prior one occurring when he was not yet a month old. Darcy understood—his attempts to dissuade feebly offered—but he was worried. He directed a glare at his uncle, who ignored the not-so-subtle reminder of his nephew’s irritation at not being notified, before closely examining his wife’s face for the slightest sign of increasing distress.
“Cease staring at me, William. I am fine.”
“Drink all your tea and then I will cease staring at you.”
Lizzy lifted the cup reluctantly to her lips, grimacing with each swallow. “This is exceptionally foul.” She shuddered, it now her turn to glare at the doctor.
“If medicine was delicious, people would stay sick,” George asseverated. “It is a psychological inducement to get well if the medicine is bitter and fetid.”
“Alexander’s medicine was a sweet, berry-flavored syrup,” she grumbled sulkily, already knowing his response since they had had this argument several times, the physician always winning and the tonics suspiciously tasting worse.
“Babies must be tricked into taking their medicine. Adults apply reason.”
“Or force,” Darcy added, pointedly nodding toward the half-filled cup.
“Lizzy may be ill and you larger, but I am not so sure who would prevail in that contest of wills,” Georgiana offered. “Here, Alexander, open this one from your Aunt Giana.” She knelt onto the floor, handing her nephew the wrapped bundle and winking at Lizzy.
Darcy made no attempt to dispute Georgiana’s allegation, knowing his wife’s temper, but he held no doubts he would indeed prevail even if he had to physically restrain and pry open her jaws! Luckily that course did not appear imminent, as Lizzy finished her tea in one pained gulp.
An enthusiastic upward launch from Alexander with hard skull cracking against an equally hard, firmly set jaw effectively diverted attention from ill wife to giddy son. Wiping tears of pain from his eyes, Darcy examined the collection of sock puppets spread between the happily gibbering toddler and delighted aunt.
“Papa! Papa, see?” Alexander grabbed the top two, one in each fist, swinging them directly into Darcy’s face.
“Yes, son, I see them. No need to hit me. Let me look.”
Georgiana leaned forward. “This is a grandfather and this a grandmother. She is the pretty blonde shepherd girl and here is her sheep. This is a footman in livery, perhaps Phillips or Watson. And the soldier like Uncle Richard.” She inserted her hand into the latter, her pinkie bringing the puppet’s arm up for a salute.
“Most impressive, Georgie. A judge, a frog, an elegant lady, and a horse. Well done.” George slipped his bony hands into the frog and horse, “hopping” and “galloping” around Alexander’s head while the infant laughed and wiggled.
“These are very thick, woolen socks. Where did you get them?” Darcy asked, one arm firm about his son’s squirming body while examining the shepherd girl with his free hand.
“Mr. Clark gave me a dozen. The groundsmen wear them in the winter. They are the thickest stockings I have ever seen. Perfect for warmth and sturdy puppets, is that not so my sweet, sweet Alexander? Give your Aunt Giana kisses.”
Georgiana was nuzzling Alexander and did not notice the strange expression on her brother’s face until Lizzy began to hoarsely laugh. She glanced from Lizzy to Darcy, and then rolled her eyes. “I was not looking at the gardener’s legs, William, only their attire.”
“I was not imagining that. I am merely surprised you noticed the workers’ leg coverings as suitable for creating puppets.”
She shrugged. “I noticed the socks years ago and asked Mrs. Reynolds to get them for me to wear in winter. They are the warmest woolens in all of England, I am sure of it.”
Darcy’s mouth dropped open in shock. “You wear these ugly, roughly woven things?”
“Not in public!” She flushed but lifted her chin. “Not all Darcys are impervious to the cold of Derbyshire.” And she nodded significantly toward his muscular legs, thinly sheathed in lightweight wool breeches, silk stockings, and low soft-leather house shoes.
“Lord knows I am not,” George interjected with an excessive shiver, his thirty years in India’s kinder clime meaning the gesture was only slightly overblown. “I wish you had shared your secret with me sooner, Georgiana. I would wear those socks, public or private.”
“They might clash with your garments, Uncle. Plain grey and bleached beige? Unacceptable!”