A Christmas Carol 2: The Wedding of Ebenezer Scrooge

by Anne Moore

  'So,’ Mrs Bannister continued, ‘Mrs Molloy and I have decided that young Sasha will come and work for you with effect from five p.m. this evening.'

  'Will she indeed.'

  'Indeed she will. And at the usual wages, of course.'

  Scrooge didn't care to ask what ‘the usual wages’ might be. He had an uncomfortable feeling that he would regard the figure as an outrageous recompense for a young slip of a thing who was doing no more than a bit of dusting. It was probably best if he never knew the figure, and left it to Cratchit to pay her, as he already did with Mrs Molloy.

  'Now, naturally,’ said Mrs Bannister, ‘you would not wish to take on a new member of staff without seeking appropriate references from a previous employer.'

  'Certainly not,’ said Scrooge stoutly, thinking that this suggestion might provide a tiny opening into which he might drive a wedge of objection.

  'But in this case, as there are no previous employers except me, you can't.'

  Scrooge was puzzled. ‘No previous employers,’ he said slowly. ‘How old is the girl?'

  'Eighteen.'

  'And she has been with you how long?'

  'Three months.'

  'So what on earth was she doing before that?'

  'She was a prostitute,’ said Mrs Bannister. ‘A street girl. She earned her living by going with men, for money.'

  Scrooge was left tongue-tied. He was more embarrassed than he could remember for a long time, and he shrank back in his chair.

  He had never, in his entire life, discussed the question of prostitution with a respectable married lady, and he was not at all sure how he had got sucked into doing so now. He made a mental resolve to think much more carefully before he asked questions in future.

  'So there are no references,’ Mrs Bannister continued. ‘Except mine, of course, and I recommend the girl highly. But you are entitled to know something about Sasha, of course—it would not be fair to you otherwise—so let me tell you a little of the background....'

  The Vicar's wife glanced up at Scrooge to make sure that he was listening. Which he certainly was.

  'From time to time I make it my business to visit one of the women's prisons. While I am there I do what I can to help those who are prepared to be helped—and in particular I look for those who have the mark upon them.'

  There was that phrase again. Mrs Bannister had used it before, Scrooge recalled. In relation to her sister, the widow of Pewsey, if he remembered aright.

  'The mark upon her,’ he repeated.

  'Yes. And by that I mean a sign that a girl is capable of being something different and better. An indication that she has some innate qualities of goodness and kindness about her—a sort of natural nobility which may be buried temporarily under layers of grime and filth, but which could be brought out and exercised, given proper care and attention.'

  'And young Sasha was in prison for prostitution?’ asked Scrooge.

  'No, she was in prison for theft. She stole some meat, with the object of getting caught, and thus being able to escape from associates who would not gladly release her.'

  Scrooge was genuinely intrigued. ‘And how did you find this out? Why did she confide in you? And how did you come to see this mark upon her?'

  'Through experience, Mr Scrooge. All of those things came about through experience.... If I possibly can, I call at the prison when the women are out in the yard, taking exercise, if one can call it that. All it amounts to is a few minutes in the open air, walking around an enclosed yard, in a big circle. But I make it my business, as I say, to call at the prison at that time, and, if the authorities will allow me, I go to the center of the circle and I watch the reaction of the women to my presence among them.'

  Scrooge tried to envisage the scene. It seemed to him that such an action as Mrs Bannister had described would require a good deal of self-possession. Courage was perhaps not too strong a word.

  'And what sort of reaction do you get?’ he asked.

  'Mixed. Contempt, very often. Jeering. Insults. But some girls, you see, they will look at me with a sense of longing. The more perceptive of them can tell that I am capable of helping them if they want to be helped. And in Sasha's case I could perceive it at once. It was as if she had called out to me loudly, in words.'

  'So what did you do?'

  'I interviewed her, alone. And when I was close to her I could see that the true Sasha was beautiful, both in body and soul. She had been crushed, beaten, battered, and despised. She had been driven into a life not of sin, as some would call it, but a life of desperation. She had been driven into it out of a need to survive—out of recognition that if she could only survive she might one day find a way to live a better life. To have a home, and a loving husband, and a family.'

  Ah yes, thought Scrooge. A home. And a family. Or fambly, as Billy would say. Both Scrooge, the bachelor businessman, and Mrs Bannister, the childless wife, could see the attraction of that.

  'What are we to make of this name,’ Scrooge wondered aloud. ‘Sasha—is that not a foreign name?'

  Mrs Bannister smiled her gentle smile again. ‘In Russia I believe it is a diminutive of Alexander, or Alexandra. But it is my belief that our Sasha was christened Sarah, and that Sasha is a name given to her by a younger child, who tried to pronounce her real name and failed. It is the only remnant of a once-happy family life, which ended in tragedy some years ago and about which Sasha will tell us nothing. As yet it is too painful a memory, too sharp a loss for her to be willing to speak about it. But the time will come, when she is happy and secure, when she will tell us these things of her own volition.'

  'I see.'

  Scrooge stirred in his chair. He realized now that any thoughts he might have had of wriggling out of Mrs Bannister's proposed arrangements were unworthy of him. What he was being asked to do was good work, and would cost him very little.

  'For your peace of mind, Mr Scrooge, let me tell you that the girl is perfectly clean. She has no disease. No syphilis or gonorrhea. Nothing that need cause you to hesitate.'

  Scrooge tried to meet Mrs Bannister's eye, and failed. He nodded dumbly.

  'Mrs Molloy and I have arranged it all between us. Nothing is required of you except to treat the girl well, and I have no doubt that you will.'

  'I give you my word on that,’ said Scrooge hoarsely. ‘And is Sasha herself content with her proposed employment?'

  'She is.'

  'You could find her more congenial surroundings, I think.'

  Mrs Bannister smiled again. ‘Not yet, I couldn't.'

  She set aside her sewing, at which she had continued to work throughout their conversation, and rose to her feet.

  'There, you see, Mr Scrooge. You understand now what I mean about working at the edges of the problem, taking one part of it at a time, and helping one person at a time? In Billy and Sasha you and I have found two lost souls—but between us we have got them off the streets and into useful employment. Now that is progress, Mr Scrooge! Progress!'

  CHAPTER 15

  When Scrooge returned to his apartment, Sasha was there to greet him. As he came through the front door she emerged from his sitting-room and bade him good evening.

  'Good evening,’ said Scrooge, trying hard to disguise his uneasiness. The fact was, he had never even had a manservant in his apartment before, much less a maid. He had employed ladies who came in to clean, yes, but they had mostly been middle-aged and married. Sasha was young and single, and the fact was, Scrooge didn't know how to deal with her.

  He took his coat off and Sasha hung it up for him. Also his hat. Then he stood for a moment, uncertain what to do next.

  'Mrs Molloy and I have prepared my room,’ said Sasha solemnly.

  'Oh yes?’ Room, thought Scrooge—what room?

  'Yes,’ repeated Sasha. ‘We have. Come and see.'

  She turned and led the way towards the spare bedroom, where Billy had spent a night some nine days earlier.

  Scrooge followed her and as he did
so he experienced a slight sense of dizziness. It felt as if he were losing control of his balance in the same way as—it appeared—he was losing control of his own domestic arrangements. Up to this moment he had assumed that Sasha would simply work for him during the day, and would otherwise lodge with Mrs Molloy, like Billy. But no—it seemed that she was to be resident here, in his own apartment.

  The two of them went into the bedroom, which was lit by a paraffin lamp on a bedside table—a new bedside table, Scrooge noticed, with a new lamp—and he saw at once that the bed had been made up with clean sheets and a brightly colored counterpane, turned down at the top. No doubt the sheets and the counterpane were new too, and charged to his account. But for once he hardly cared. He felt somewhat dazed by the progress of events.

  Sasha allowed him a moment to absorb the scene, and Scrooge gradually became aware that in some mysterious way this part of his apartment had been transformed into a young woman's room. A lot of old lumber had been removed—Scrooge wondered briefly where it had gone—and already the space had a young girl's stamp upon it. It even smelt different, perhaps because it had been cleaned more thoroughly than for some time.

  Eventually Sasha said: ‘I am very grateful to you for taking me on as your maid, Mr Scrooge, and I promise that I will serve you to the best of my ability.'

  Scrooge found himself strangely moved by the young girl's calmness and simplicity of manner. Her demeanor affected him in some way which he could not quite have explained, even to himself. Perhaps this is why I have always avoided company, he thought—because it disturbs me so.

  'I'm sure that you will give every satisfaction,’ he finally managed to say. And he smiled.

  Then he turned to move out of the room, but he remembered something.

  'Have you had an evening meal, Sasha?'

  'Yes, sir, I have, thank you, sir. I had a meal with Mrs Molloy.'

  Scrooge nodded. ‘Good.'

  Sasha's master—or was it the other way round?—made his way to the sitting-room, where he seated himself in his favorite chair by the fire.

  Scrooge's evenings were mostly devoted to reading, and he had a pile of books, periodicals, and newspapers on the floor beside him. Now, still feeling slightly bewildered, he began to work his way through them, as usual.

  To his surprise, Sasha seated herself in a chair on the other side of the hearth and began to do some sewing. She seemed to have acquired a complete sewing-basket from somewhere—probably, Scrooge suspected, it was another item which had been charged to his account—and she was definitely darning one of his socks: Scrooge recognized the pattern.

  After a moment, Sasha said, ‘I have received very detailed instructions from Mrs Bannister, sir, as to how I am to conduct myself. Very detailed indeed. And I shall certainly do as she told me. But if at any time what I do is not satisfactory to you, then you have only to say and I shall change my ways.'

  Scrooge looked at her over his newspaper. ‘Did Mrs Bannister tell you to sit with me in the evenings?'

  'Yes, sir. She was very insistent on that. Would you rather I didn't?'

  'Oh no, no,’ said Scrooge hastily. ‘No, I am glad of the company.'

  He hid himself behind the newspaper again.

  Glad of the company? Had he really said that? What was he talking about? A week or two ago the idea of sharing his apartment with anyone would have been anathema to him. But now—well, now the idea did not seem so dreadful. In fact, he thought he might very well come to like it.

  Every so often, Scrooge stole a glance at Sasha, without letting her see that he was doing it. On his visits to the vicarage, Mrs Bannister had twice told him to take careful note of the girl, but the fact was that he had seldom done more than register her presence; as ever, he had been too preoccupied with his own affairs. Now, however, he realized that Mrs Bannister was right: Sasha was a beautiful young woman. She was eighteen, reportedly, but she looked a little more mature than that. And certainly the last few months, with a decent diet, regular hours and a comfortable bed to sleep in, would have done much to fill out her figure.

  The girl sat very patiently, concentrating hard on her darning. Her dress was black, of course—that seemed to be the accepted uniform for female domestic servants, no doubt to hide the stains and the dirt—and she wore a white apron over it. But no cap, unlike some maids of Scrooge's acquaintance. The lamp over her right shoulder illuminated her blonde hair, which was drawn back and gathered together by a ribbon at the base of her neck. Her eyes were blue, large and shining in the lamplight.

  Once, when she caught him looking at her, Sasha asked him if he was warm enough.

  'Oh yes, yes, thank you. But don't hesitate to put another coal on if you feel the cold yourself. The wind outside is particularly bitter tonight.'

  Where did she come from, Scrooge wondered. What had happened to her parents? And brothers and sisters, if she had any. How had she come to be working on the streets? And what scars had it left upon her soul?

  Ten o'clock came, and Sasha had evidently been advised that this was bedtime, for as the St Andrew's church clock struck the hour she gathered together her sewing equipment and put it away. Then she asked Scrooge if he would like her to bring him a glass of brandy.

  'Why yes,’ said Scrooge, wondering how she knew that brandy was his usual night-time tipple. ‘That would be very agreeable.'

  Sasha crossed to the sideboard, poured him a glass and brought it over.

  Scrooge took the drink but felt obliged to advise her that half the size would have been adequate.

  'But Mrs Bannister told me that I have to give you a big one—especially on the first night.'

  'Ah,’ said Scrooge. ‘Well in that case I will dispose of it manfully.’ Which he did over the next few minutes, while Sasha disappeared into the bathroom and then to her own room.

  Scrooge considered it safest to stay where he was until all movement had ceased, because the idea of bumping into Sasha in her nightdress left him feeling somewhat alarmed. Indeed he was beginning to wonder how this arrangement was going to work at all. However, as he sat sipping his brandy he decided that he would see how things went for a day or two and then consider the matter again.

  In due course Scrooge went around the apartment, making his invariable night-time checks to see that everything was secure. Then he too prepared for bed, and just before he climbed into his spacious four-poster, he called out: ‘Goodnight, Sasha.'

  There was no answer, and he thought perhaps she was already asleep.

  But Scrooge had no sooner put his feet under the covers, and was about to draw the heavy curtains closed about his bed, when Sasha suddenly appeared in the candlelight beside him.

  Scrooge was, to say the least, taken aback.

  He said nothing, but merely stared at her, goggle-eyed.

  Sasha was wearing a long white gown, which covered her from throat to feet. Her hair had been loosened and hung down over her shoulders. Her eyes seemed to be larger and brighter than before.

  'Mrs Bannister says that I am to sleep with you,’ she announced.

  'What?’ croaked Scrooge.

  'Yes, sir. Mrs Bannister says that I am to sleep with you.'

  Scrooge babbled. Yes, indeed he did. He would not, two minutes earlier, have considered himself even a potential babbler. He was, he would have assured you, far too self-assured a fellow to disgrace himself by being at a loss for words, no matter how unusual or peculiar the circumstances. But, when he came to think about this conversation afterwards, Scrooge was forced to admit to himself that he had, at this point, babbled. Foolishly.

  'Oh but I, no but I, I am sure that you, Mrs Bannister would not have, she didn't, I am absolutely certain that ... Misunderstanding, can't have meant, wouldn't have ... I mean, ridiculous, absurd, preposterous ...'

  Eventually he stopped babbling and looked at Sasha, hoping that what he had said, however incoherent, would result in her immediate departure from his bedroom.

  But no. She rem
ained at his side.

  'Move over,’ she said. ‘Please. And let me in. Mrs Bannister would be most upset if I failed to follow her instructions.'

  'Instructions?'

  'She said that I was to sleep with you, Mr Scrooge. Definite. Like I said.'

  Scrooge heaved the top sheet up around his chin, like some old maid protecting herself against the mere thought of a burglar.

  'Sasha,’ he managed to say, ‘I am sure that Mrs Bannister said no such thing.'

  Well. That tore it. Sasha frowned, placed her hands on her hips, and thrust her face aggressively forward into his.

  'Are you calling me a liar?’ she demanded.

  Had he been in a position to, Scrooge would have stepped back three paces. As it was, all he could do was lean backwards against the headboard.

  'Well, no,’ he said lamely. ‘No, I am certainly not calling you a liar, Sasha. But I am sure that Mrs Bannister cannot have meant—'

  'She did!’ said Sasha firmly. ‘Don't argue!'

  This was a new Sasha now, not the slightly hesitant young lady of earlier in the evening. This was a Sasha who knew what she had been told to do, by the lady who had helped her to a new life, and by golly she was going to do what she had been told, whether Scrooge liked it or not. Sasha's first loyalty was to Mrs Bannister, and if Scrooge did not like it he would clearly have to lump it.

  Sasha took the top sheet from Scrooge's suddenly nerveless hands, flicked it back, and climbed into the bed beside him.

  It was a large bed, with plenty of room for two, and as Scrooge was sitting in the middle there was certainly enough space for his new maid to establish a claim on her territory.

  Scrooge made a fresh attempt to clarify the position. He babbled again. ‘Mrs Bannister ... well, she said ... she recommended ... she told you that you must spend the night with me?'

  'She did.'

  Scrooge could have believed many things about the unusual Mrs Bannister, but he was still having trouble believing this.