by Anne Moore
To Scrooge, however, the whole thing was an obvious fraud. Why, he had not seen such a transparent conjuring trick for forty years. Topper, it was clear, was determined to catch nobody but Fred's plump sister-in-law (the one with the lace tucker). And Fred, it was clear to Scrooge, was giving him directions. One cough meant turn left, two coughs meant turn right. Such is the chicanery which several years at the same boarding school produces in fellows who might in all other respects pass as gentlemen. Scrooge was quite shocked.
The result of this conspiracy was that Topper was able to catch the plump sister behind the curtains, and not just once, either, but twice, to the great joy of the assembled watchers. The young lady complained bitterly that this was grossly unfair, but no one was convinced.
Finally, the cheeseboard was brought back in, the hostess having complained that not enough had been eaten at lunch, and Fred declaring that he really didn't wish to live off it for the rest of the week. Several bottles of Scrooge's champagne were opened, and some of the company began to look at the clock and declare, with justification, that they really must be going, for they were due at the office again the following morning.
Scrooge seized this opportunity to rise to his feet and knock on a table to call for silence.
'Ladies and gentlemen,’ he said, when the voices had been stilled. ‘I think I am perhaps the oldest here, and I am certainly the one who deserves least the splendid hospitality which has been offered to us today. My nephew Fred and his wife Deborah have set a new standard for us all, both in the food and drink which they have provided, and in the warmth of their welcome. I for one will try to learn from their example. May I therefore, on behalf of the good folk assembled here, offer our must humble and heartfelt thanks to our host and hostess.’ He raised his glass. ‘A toast—to our host and hostess.'
'Our host, and hostess.'
CHAPTER 6
Scrooge waited until all the others had gone—their departure occupying some minutes—before he ventured downstairs. Then, at last, he pulled on his coat and took possession of his hat.
Finally he said: ‘One other thing—I do believe I had a boy with me when I came.'
'Oh!’ Deborah had genuinely forgotten, though Fred hadn't.
Deborah led the way to the kitchen in the basement, and Scrooge followed. Down there he found a sight which would have daunted even the boldest employee. Most of the plates, pans and dishes from lunchtime had been washed up and put away, but there was still a mountain of crockery from tea and supper. And there was, of course, a whole sideboard full of leftover food, for Fred and his wife had concluded that there could be no worse sin than running short.
Mrs Weatherby, the cook, and Cassie, the maid, both looked exhausted, and were attempting to revive their energy with a cup of tea.
'No, no, please don't stand up,’ Scrooge insisted, though neither took any notice. ‘I have just come to collect my young companion.'
'He's over here, sir,’ said Mrs Weatherby, though at first the light was too dim for Scrooge to make out where she was indicating. But after a moment he caught sight of Billy, curled up on an old wooden bench, fast asleep. Scrooge couldn't have got comfortable on that bench for an instant, but Billy had had years of practice.
'He's been as good as gold, sir,’ said Mrs Weatherby. ‘Did what he was told, never complained, never dropped nothing, and never stopped talking and asking questions. Not till he fell asleep, anyhow.'
'Did he eat well?’ inquired Scrooge.
Mrs Weatherby laughed. ‘Oh yes, sir, I think I could say so. We three down here ate after the rest of you, of course. But he enjoyed the soup—had two bowls, as I recall. Then the turkey, of course. Reckoned he'd never had any before, but he picked clean the bones of what we give him and no mistake. And then he had the fruit salad and the cream. Quite a lot of cream he had, but as the mistress says, it'll only go off if it's left. Very partial to cream he is. Oh, and then he had a bit of plum pudding as well.'
'And then he was sick,’ said Cassie.
'Well, yes, that's true,’ acknowledged Mrs Weatherby, who would no doubt advise Cassie later that she might have left that last remark unsaid. ‘But at least he did it in the sink, and he got the benefit of most of what he'd had, that much I'm sure of.'
Scrooge nodded with satisfaction. ‘Thank you very much, Mrs Weatherby,’ he said, and he passed her a sovereign, with half that amount going to Cassie, who was so overcome that she curtsied.
'God bless you, sir,’ cried the cook, when she had glanced at the coin. ‘I'm sure I'll never hear another hard word said against you.'
Scrooge pretended not to notice the implication that hard words had been said against him in the past, and simply murmured, ‘I hope you'll never have to.'
He woke up Billy, and the two of them walked home together.
More snow was falling, but the gas lights showed them the way without difficulty. Scrooge avoided the short cut through the alley, and Billy didn't mention it.
As they walked, Scrooge explained to Billy that he could sleep in a spare room for the night, and Billy was too tired to do more than say, ‘Thank you, sir.'
They arrived at Scrooge's house and he led the way up the huge, wide staircase to his apartment above. Once there, he lit some candles and showed Billy the bed in what was mostly used as a lumber-room.
'Here you are, Billy. You can sleep here tonight, with these blankets to keep you warm.'
Billy clambered on to the bed, boots and all, and Scrooge realized that this was the way he was used to retiring for the night.
'That's right,’ he said. ‘Sleep in your clothes tonight, Billy, and tomorrow we'll get you some new ones.'
'What, new clothes?'
'Yes.'
'You mean, a new pair of trousis?'
'Yes, Billy. New everything.... Settle down now.'
Billy maneuvered himself under the blanket. But just as Scrooge turned to go he said, ‘Mr Scrooge....'
'Yes, Billy?'
'Do you want me to do anything for you?'
Scrooge wasn't quite sure what that guarded question meant, but he had a pretty strong suspicion. If Billy ever had been shown any kindness in the past, it was odds on that it came from men who did want him to do something for them.
'No, thank you, Billy,’ he said firmly. ‘I don't want you to do anything for me. And you'll never have to do that sort of thing again. I promise.... Now—settle down and go to sleep, do you hear?'
'Yes, sir,’ said Billy in a very faint, weary voice.
And then, just as Scrooge entered his own room, he heard two final words: ‘Goodnight, sir.'
'Goodnight son,’ said Scrooge.
Part Two
CHAPTER 7
In Scrooge's time, there were only three public holidays in the entire year: Christmas Day, Shrove Tuesday, and Good Friday. The following morning was therefore a normal working day, and Scrooge was up at his usual time: six o'clock. Much of the rest of working London rose at the same hour.
The snow was still on the ground, but no more of it had fallen. Scrooge had a suspicion, based on little but the feeling in his bones, that it would soon start to melt.
When he was dressed and ready, he bustled into the old lumber-room and roused Billy. And rouse him he had to, for the boy was sound asleep. However, mention of the word ‘breakfast’ soon had Billy swinging his feet off the bed.
Outside, the street was not yet slushy. The air was crisp, and their breath harsh in the throat.
A short, brisk walk in the cold sharpened their appetite, and on arrival at Scrooge's usual café they demolished two considerable portions of Mr Montini's kedgeree.
Scrooge was slightly suspicious of this dish, reckoning that the bulk of it was almost certainly leftovers from yesterday, given a good warming and flavored with a few extras. But it tasted well enough. And besides, he asked himself, what in the world had got into him that he should think of criticizing a man for allowing nothing to go to waste?
M
r Montini, choosing a moment when the other customers were busily engaged, bent low and whispered in Scrooge's ear that his generosity of the previous day had been much appreciated.
'If God's blessings are of any use to you, Mr Scrooge,’ he said, ‘you should have many of them. Your ears should have burning something rotten.'
'I must confess,’ said Scrooge, ‘that I did feel a slight tingling from time to time. And I trust you had enough cash to cover your expenses?'
'Ample,’ Mr Montini assured him. ‘And what little was left I shall use for more of the same, when I see a deserving cause.'
Scrooge nodded. ‘A sensible solution, sir.'
When Scrooge and Billy returned to the apartment they found it a whirl of brushes and dustpans. Scrooge's housekeeper, Mrs Molloy, was hard at work.
Mrs Molloy was a thin, gray-haired, wiry little woman. Her husband had been an Irishman, but she was now widowed. The lady was well over sixty, Scrooge knew that for a fact. She could describe events which had occurred well before he was born, so he could roughly guess her age.
These days Mrs Molloy was just a little bowed in the back from her many years of hard work, but she was still quite spry and alert. Her chief characteristic was that she found almost everything inexplicably amusing, and went around with a constant smile on her face, as if she were party to some secret joke which was unknown to the rest of the world.
Normally, Scrooge was gone for the day, once he was out of the house, and so Mrs Molloy was surprised to see him. Some cleaning ladies of Scrooge's acquaintance would have turned him away at his own door, and told him to come back when they were finished. Mrs Molloy, however, merely tittered with amusement when he entered, and asked him if business was so bad at the ‘Change that he was ruined already.
'No, Mrs Molloy,’ said Scrooge equably, he being well used to having the lady question his financial acumen. ‘No, I am not quite bankrupt, not as yet, though if the nation insists on continuing to waste perfectly good working time with frivolity and foolishness, as it did yesterday, I dare say I soon shall be. No, madam, the reason for returning this morning is to introduce you to Master Billy here.’ Scrooge turned to find Billy, who had come over unaccountably shy. ‘Here, boy, shake Mrs Molloy's hand.'
Billy did so, and Mrs Molloy found that as much a source of hilarity as she habitually did almost everything else. ‘Hee hee hee hee hee!’ she said. And Billy, not knowing quite what to make of that, retreated once again behind Scrooge.
'I intend to give Billy a job,’ announced Scrooge. ‘As an errand boy, at the office.'
Mrs Molloy's smile grew broader still. ‘Do you indeed?’ she asked. ‘Hee hee hee hee hee!’ Clearly, her employer's follies were an endless source of pleasure to her, and Scrooge had the uneasy feeling that she entertained whole streets with her accounts of his eccentric ways.
'Yes,’ he asserted with a frown. ‘I do. But first, I want you to take him out, Mrs Molloy, and buy him new sets of clothes. Two of everything, from the skin up. Nothing too fancy, mind.'
'Oh no.'
'But new—not second-hand. And not your cheap and nasty, either.'
'Oh no.’ Mrs Molloy beamed at the very idea.
'Then you are to bring him home, give him a good bath, and burn what he's got on.'
'I should think so,’ said Mrs Molloy, forgetting herself to the point where she actually ceased to smile. ‘Smells somethink awful, he does. I could tell you'd had a visitor, soon as I come in the door. And that bed what he slept in has still got a stink about it. Mind you, at least he didn't wet it. And I note you had the decency to give him a separate bed, Mr Scrooge.'
'Well,’ said Scrooge, ‘I certainly should hope so.'
Mrs Molloy nodded. ‘I've heard many a bad thing said about you, Mr Scrooge, but never that you was interested in little boys.'
Scrooge sighed. He was becoming just the tiniest bit weary of hearing that people had been making criticisms of him behind his back. Once upon a time he would have thought nothing of it—been proud, in fact, to hear that he had incurred the displeasure of some remarkably soft-hearted and overly sentimental souls. But now, somehow, the fun had gone out of it.
'Be that as it may, Mrs Molloy,’ said Scrooge. ‘Young Billy has not had our good fortune, and you and I would smell just as bad had we fallen upon similarly unfortunate circumstances.'
He opened his wallet, took out yet another five-pound note, and handed it over to the housekeeper. ‘Now, do you think that will suffice for what I have described?'
Mrs Molloy examined the note and found it the funniest thing she had seen for some time. ‘Hee hee hee hee hee!’ she said. ‘Yes, I shouldn't wonder if it will suffice, Mr Scrooge. If suffice is the word. Might run to a saucer of hot eels too, if we're careful.’ She smiled at Billy with genuine affection, and he managed to grin back. Evidently Mrs Molloy was not as fearsome as she looked, once you got used to her.
Scrooge coughed tactfully as he looked down upon the top of Billy's head. ‘And, er, while you're about it, a good close haircut and a little delousing powder might not go amiss. No offense, Billy.'
'None taken, Mr Scrooge.’ Billy ran an exploratory hand through his hair. ‘Things do get a bit scratchy from time to time.'
'Off you go then, Billy,’ said Scrooge. ‘You go along with Mrs Molloy and do whatever she says. No need to be nervous of her.'
'Hee hee hee hee hee,’ said Mrs Molloy.
'She won't bite,’ said Scrooge. Not got the teeth for it, he almost added, but that would have been unkind.
Scrooge's office was in St Michael's Alley, just off Cornhill. It lay conveniently close to his principal place of business, the Royal Exchange, and nearby were other major financial institutions such as the Bank of England, the Stock Exchange, and Lloyd's. All of these, Scrooge was fond of pointing out, were located within comfortable walking distance of the Tower of London, where, in the past, many a malefactor had been imprisoned and beheaded.
The building in which Scrooge rented office space housed a number of other businesses, and the man whose job it was to act as caretaker for them had laid a fire both in the inner room, which was Scrooge's precinct, and in the outer office, his clerk's domain. But these ‘fires’ were currently small, smoky little piles of reluctant coal, and even Scrooge felt chilled. He poked both of them restlessly while he thought about how to allocate his time for the day.
He looked at the clock: Cratchit was late, dammit.
Cratchit was Scrooge's clerk, and each year he and Scrooge acted out a little charade, in which Cratchit promised faithfully to be in the office bang on time on the day after his Christmas holiday, and each year he was late. Scrooge didn't really mind, not to the extent of reprimanding the fellow, but it did irritate him. It was part of the general irritation of Christmas—all that nauseating goodwill and cheeriness. Enough to make a chap sick. Most years. But this year, Scrooge was forced to admit, he had quite enjoyed himself.
While he was waiting, Scrooge had a think about Cratchit.
The truth was, he and Cratchit got on well together, which was more than could be said for some clerks he had had. Several had lasted only a few weeks before finding another berth, and one only three days. Cratchit, however, seemed to catch on pretty quick that Scrooge was not quite as nasty and mean as he sounded. He understood very well that Scrooge did not have a heart of gold—but that, underneath his cold, stony exterior, there was at least a touch of irony, some little awareness of the grim humor of life as it was lived in nineteenth-century London.
And then there was the money. Cratchit's pay. Fifteen shillings a week, no less. Cratchit might be able to do better—in fact he could do better, for a man who was known to have satisfied Scrooge's exacting standards would have no difficulty in getting a job elsewhere. But Cratchit evidently liked it well where he was. He was his own master, more or less. When Scrooge wandered over to the Royal Exchange, Cratchit could relax—perhaps nip out and do a bit of shopping. Scrooge had come in many a time and
seen the bags, tucked away half out of sight under Cratchit's feet. Nevertheless, the time had come—yes it had, there was no denying it—the time had come when Scrooge might have to think about giving Cratchit a little bit more. It seemed an odd thing to do, given that the chap showed no sign of leaving, but nevertheless Scrooge thought that it was his due.
Through the open door of the inner office Scrooge saw the street door open. Cratchit at last came in, his long scarf trailing, his breath white on the air. Probably he had run part of the way to warm himself, and now he stamped his feet on the mat to get rid of the excess snow.
'Cratchit!’ bawled Scrooge. ‘You're late.'
Cratchit glanced anxiously in Scrooge's direction as he unwound his scarf. No doubt he hoped that his employer might have had a lie-in just for once. But no such luck.
'Yes, sir, very sorry, sir,’ gasped Cratchit. ‘But it is only once a year, and we were up rather late last night.'
Scrooge growled unintelligibly, expressing his general dissatisfaction that this feeble comment should be offered as an excuse. He stood with his back to the struggling little fire, warming his bottom.
'Come in here,’ he called. ‘I want to talk to you.'
After a moment the clerk appeared, pad and pencil in hand.
Cratchit was a man just short of forty, and of average height and build. His clothes were somewhat shabby if you looked closely, but since he was the father of a growing family he preferred not to pay fancy tailor's bills; he worked on his father's principle that if you had a clean collar and clean shoes you could get away with quite a lot in between.
Bob Cratchit was the son of a London shopkeeper who had had four children: the elder son inherited the shop (but was doing badly with it); the two daughters married; and his father had seen to it that young Bob was educated to the point where he could be sure of a clerking job for life.
Cratchit was a quiet man, not one of nature's leaders, but he was meticulous in his work and prided himself on never being a penny out in his accounts; these were virtues much appreciated by his current employer.