by Anne Moore
'Why damn me,’ he said. ‘Mr Scrooge, as I live.'
Scrooge nodded an acknowledgment, and was dismayed to see a broad grin spread over the face of Mr Wilkins.
'Why, look at this, Potter,’ said Wilkins gleefully to his companion. ‘If it is not the hardest man on ‘Change, out for the evening with a beautiful young lady. Who would have thought it!'
Potter indeed would not have thought it, had he not seen it too. He lowered his head and peered short-sightedly forward, jostled by the chattering crowd as he did so.
'Why yes,’ he said. ‘Stap me if it is not so!’ He leaned closer to Scrooge. ‘You old goat!’ he said boldly. ‘Who'd have guessed you had it in you?'
And off the two fellows went, fairly howling with laughter as they pushed their way to the bar.
Scrooge, who had maintained perfect dignity throughout this rather vulgar exchange, did his best not to look disconcerted. But inwardly he thought, That's torn it. I haven't heard the last of this.
Nor had he. The very next day, a veritable procession of fellows made it their business to pass by his position on ‘Change and to comment on this and that. But they could hardly keep their faces straight for two minutes, and before long, if not immediately, they would say something like: ‘Hear you've found yourself a young friend, Mr Scrooge! Bit of a surprise, eh what? Thought you were past all that!'
And then they would chortle wickedly, and perhaps add some unrepeatable comment about still being able to do things at his age and hoping they would be able to say the same in due course.
Rather to his own surprise, Scrooge took all this in good part.
'Matter of fact,’ he would say, ‘the girl is me little maid-of-all-work, and I thought she deserved an evening out.'
'Of course, of course!’ his colleagues would bellow, looking round to make sure that everyone within earshot was enjoying the joke. ‘Done it meself, many a time!'
And off they would go, with the obvious intention of describing this merry conversation to the first ten fellows they met.
Yes, to his own surprise, Scrooge did not object to any of this at all. A reputation as a ladies’ man and a debauchee was entirely new to him, but he discovered that it troubled him not in the least. And as a matter of fact, it was rather good for business.
But, in his quieter moments, Scrooge made a conscious attempt not to invest too much hope and affection in his new relationships. Yes, he was filled with pleasure at the sight and sound of Billy and Sasha. But more than three decades of business life had taught him that circumstances can change very rapidly. His beautiful Sasha, for instance, might run off with a soldier. And young Billy might be tempted to follow a circus. So, it was no good expecting things to last. Scrooge was painfully aware that it was in the nature of life that just when you thought you were happy and content, something would go badly wrong.
CHAPTER 18
London had experienced exceptionally cold weather since well before Christmas, and from the beginning of January the situation deteriorated still further. A series of hard frosts made the streets treacherous all day and left the capital's plumbing in a state of disorder.
Then, for three more days, a heavy, smoke-filled fog settled over the city. This dense vapor might have been expected to trap any heat within it, but the reverse seemed to happen, and the cold became more intense still.
It was this type of weather which had so depressed Scrooge on Christmas Eve, and he was not pleased to see its return. At nights, only the major thoroughfares were lit by gas streetlamps, and the fog was so thick that even here the darkness was well nigh impenetrable. Such hackney-cab drivers as remained on duty were obliged to climb down and lead their horses on foot.
Even in the daytime, many a pedestrian wandered hopelessly lost along streets which were normally familiar; and Billy, whose ear for gossip and rumor was sharper than most, returned to the office after his lessons each morning with numerous tales of injuries and even deaths which had resulted from the confusion.
When the fog cleared, the wind blew from the east. Scrooge bought an atlas to demonstrate to Billy that it came all the way from Russia, with no mountains in the way to break down its bitter intensity.
The wind brought with it heavy snow, which continued, with short intervals, for forty-eight hours. And for the next five weeks the temperature barely rose above freezing-point.
The result of these circumstances was that, towards the end of January, Billy was picking up excited stories about the Thames beginning to freeze over. And if it did, so the word on the street said, there would be a frost fair held on the river itself!
'Can that happen, Mr Scrooge?’ inquired Billy. ‘Can the Thames really freeze over, so that people can walk on it?'
'Oh yes,’ Scrooge confirmed, ‘it certainly can. ‘It's happened several times before. Not often, mind. Perhaps once every couple of hundred years on average. But the last time it occurred was when I was a boy a little older than yourself, Billy. It was long before you were born—I remember it well.'
'They say the ice was so thick that an ox was roasted on it.'
'So it was, Billy. I saw it myself. And sheep were roasted too. The tradesmen called it Lapland mutton, and charged a shilling a slice. I refused to pay that much myself, of course, as any sensible person would, but there were many who did.'
Billy gasped. ‘Wow!'
From then on, Billy's talk was of nothing but the prospect of a frost fair on the river.
At home, Sasha had assumed that the weather would not improve and had ordered several tons of coal to keep the fires well stoked. It was just as well she did, because before long supplies were exhausted. But one morning Scrooge's eyes happened to fall on the bill for these supplies of fuel, and the cost appalled him. He turned on Sasha angrily and asked him what she thought she was doing, spending his money like water.
But Sasha was no ordinary servant. Sasha would not go pale, put her hand to her mouth and suffer a tongue-lashing meekly, as most would, if only to preserve their employment. No, indeed. Sasha yelled back at him, giving as good as she got, with interest added.
'You're a stupid, mean, tight-fisted old miser!’ she bawled at him. ‘What's a few pounds to you? You've got more in the bank than you could spend if you live to be a hundred. Very well then, freeze to bloody death if you want to, but don't expect me and Mrs Molloy to die with you.'
And she stamped out of the room, slamming the door behind her so hard that Scrooge feared for its hinges.
He sat down with a thump on the nearest chair. He really felt quite faint. And what troubled him most, of course, was that Sasha was right.
Once again, Scrooge realized, he had made a fool of himself. He had quibbled over an amount which he would never have missed had he not chanced to see the paper. And the money was for the purchase of something which would mean the difference between life and death for some. Scrooge had no doubt that, before the winter was out, many would die from the cold—while he, on the other hand, would sit by a nice warm fire.
He held his head in his hands and wondered what on earth he was going to do with himself.
After a while he went to find Sasha, who was working in the kitchen and was not pleased to see him.
'Sasha,’ he said abjectly, ‘I most humbly apologize. I beg your forgiveness. I was rude and thoughtless. And, yes, you are right, I am a stupid, tight-fisted ... What was it?'
'Miser, I reckon.'
'Yes, miser. Well, technically I am not a miser because I don't know how much I've got and I don't gloat over it. But in principle you are right. I am very, very sorry for shouting at you, and I humbly beg your pardon.'
Sasha couldn't help grinning. ‘Changed your tune a bit, haven't you?'
'I have. Sometimes I sing the wrong tune, I know, but I look to you, Sasha, to set me straight. Now, am I forgiven?'
Sasha came to him, smiling broadly. She put her arms round his neck and kissed him. ‘You are, but it'll cost you.'
Scrooge groaned.
‘What is it this time?'
'Mrs Bannister is collecting for them as can't work because of the cold. All building work's stopped, for a start, so there's carpenters and brickies standing idle. And when they don't work they don't get paid, and their children starve. Then there's the watermen—they can't hardly get a boat out these days. So there's a long list of people as needs money.'
'How much?’ said Scrooge, submitting to the inevitable.
'I reckon fifty quid.'
'Fifty quid?’ squawked Scrooge.
'For starters.'
'But I haven't got fifty quid. Not on me.'
'That's all right,’ said Sasha. ‘A check will do.'
By the beginning of February the ice on the Thames was said to be eighteen inches thick, and not even the daily movement of the tides could disturb it. As a result, entrepreneurs of all kinds began to turn the unpleasant circumstances to their advantage.
Each morning the newspapers gave breathless accounts of the assemblage of a frost fair, just as Billy's informants on the street had predicted. And each day Billy brought back to the office a lunchtime account of the very latest developments.
By the Friday of that week there was no other topic of conversation in the office, and since business at the Royal Exchange had itself slowed somewhat on account of the inclement weather, Scrooge eventually decided that there was nothing for it—they would all have to go to see the fair for themselves. Even if it was a working day, when all responsible citizens should be at their desks.
Billy could hardly contain his excitement. ‘All?’ he squeaked, hopping up and down. ‘We're all going to go and see it, Mr Scrooge?'
'All,’ said Scrooge. ‘You, me, Mr Cratchit, Sasha, and Mrs Molloy, if she wishes to come.'
Well, nothing would have kept Mrs Molloy from seeing the frost fair, short of a broken leg, and even then she would have requested that her employer should hire a Bath chair; so after a quick lunch they all set off.
The afternoon was bitterly cold, of course, though the air was mercifully still. The clouds hung low and gray, threatening more snow, but the streets were full of people, most of whom evidently had the same destination in mind.
A half-mile walk brought them to Queen Street, in Cheapside; it was from here, reportedly, that the fair covered the ice as far as Blackfriars Bridge.
As Scrooge's party approached the river, it became clear that all the streets leading down to it had been sprinkled with cinders, so that pedestrians could walk safely without the risk of skidding helplessly on the sloping ice underfoot. The enterprising gentlemen who had arranged this facility stood at the entrance to each lane or alley and demanded a fee for their work.
To Scrooge's mind, this charging of money at the entrance to a public thoroughfare was illegal, immoral, and unenforceable, and if he had been on his own he might have argued to case at some length. But, since he was with company, all of whom were eager to venture out on to the real ice, he paid up like a gentleman and merely snarled under his breath.
Once at the riverside, there were more obstacles to be negotiated. Gangplanks which normally provided access to river boats had been hauled ashore and now provided a safe means of moving from bank to ice, but once again a small toll was involved. Scrooge smiled a suitably frosty smile and tried to think of it as money well spent.
And now, at last, they were on the ice. The frozen river Thames.
The ice was not so much white as a dirty gray. And it was far from flat, particularly at the sides and at the approach to bridges. In those parts, the movement of the tides in the early stages of the great freeze had jumbled up slabs of ice in uneven piles. At all times it was necessary, therefore, to take some care with the placing of one's feet. Mr Cratchit assisted Mrs Molloy, while Scrooge offered his arm to Sasha. Or in his case, he suspected, it might be the other way round.
Out on the ice, in the whole area below Blackfriars Bridge, a veritable village of makeshift canvas booths had been erected. Someone, a Napoleon manqué no doubt, had organized the village into streets which ran from bank to bank in a reasonably orderly fashion.
Most of the stalls were ornamented with flags, streamers, and signs, and one could wander for some time, eyeing the wares on offer, just as easily in the frost fair as in the streets of London proper.
And what wares there were.
To begin with, of course, there was food, for everyone present needed plenty inside them to maintain their energy in these curious circumstances. At present there was no ox actually being roasted, though there was talk of such an event at the coming weekend, but there were certainly many braziers providing hot meats and drinks. All the traders who normally worked the city streets seemed to have transferred their business to this site.
On sale from the various dealers in hot cooked food were eel pies, pea soup, fried fish, sheep's trotters, and potatoes. Uncooked edibles included ham sandwiches, seed-cake, plum-cake, tarts, mince pies (of which Scrooge was deeply suspicious, the insides being invisible), Chelsea buns, muffins, and crumpets. Among the shellfish, pickled whelks were particularly popular. And for the sweet of tooth there were sticks of rock and candies. Finally, there were small paper bags of nuts to put in your pocket as you walked away.
Next, drink. For the abstemious, and those who could face a cold drink, there were lemonade, ginger beer, Persian sherbet (whatever that was), and milk. Hot drinks included coffee and tea, of course. For those whose innards needed the warming effect of alcohol, numerous vendors offered beers, ales, stouts, brandy, rum, whisky, gin, hot toddies, steaming bishops, and mulled wine.
Whatever their choice, Scrooge saw to it that his friends were suitably refreshed. Billy partook of the hot eels, which were always a street boy's favorite, while the others chose a mixture of hot buttered scones and waffles, with cream and jam.
As to trinkets and mementos to mark the occasion, why there was no end to them. To give but one example: brooches with the words ‘frost fair', with the year underneath, had been already manufactured by the thousand, even though the fair had only been here for a day or two. Scrooge counted fourteen boxes behind the stall on which they were offered, and he had no doubt that they would all be sold, for the man in charge of the operation could hardly keep up with the demand.
Also doing a mighty brisk trade was a printer, who had hauled his press on to the river, and was running off little one-sheet keepsakes. These consisted of the following doggerel:
The silver Thames was frozen o'er,
No difference twixt the stream and shore;
The like no man hath seen before,
Except he lived in days of yore.
This verse was followed, at the bottom of the page, with the words: ‘Printed on the River Thames for Mr J. Smith (or whoever)’ and the day's date. This entire sheet of paper, with your own name on it, could be purchased for a mere shilling.
For those who wearied of shopping, there were other diversions. Skittles, for instance; the hiring of skates, for brave souls who dared to venture up-river; fortune-telling (Sasha was told that she would live to be ninety-three); and dancing reels to the sound of a fiddle (Scrooge was excused, on account, Sasha said, of having been born with two left feet).
On the southern side of the river, a stretch of ice had been flattened sufficiently to permit horse-drawn vehicles to ply to and fro. Rides could be had for a consideration. Astonishing, Scrooge, thought, that a hundred-yard ride on the ice could cost as much as a mile on a sunny street.
On the edge of the ice village, a heavy wooden stake had been fixed into the ice; a rope had been attached to the stake, and on the end of the rope was a chair. Willing victims were persuaded to sit in the chair, which was then pushed around in a circle by two brawny fellows with spikes on their boots. Young ladies who were subjected to this treatment squealed loudly in terror, but Billy, who had two goes, proudly remained silent.
As darkness fell, and after all the stalls and attractions and amusements had been visited and thoroughly explored, S
crooge and his friends unanimously concluded that it had been a day they would not soon forget. Mr Cratchit declared that he would have to come again, bringing his family this time.
They made their way slowly back to the gangplank and then up the cindered lane. There Mr Cratchit left them, to make his own way home to Camden Town.
Before he left, Cratchit shook hands with his employer, a little aside from the others, and thanked him most warmly for his generosity.
'It has been a particular pleasure of mine,’ he said quietly, ‘if I may make so bold, sir, to see yourself in the company of young people, and in such good spirits too, sir. I see quite a difference in you now, sir.'
'Do you think so?’ said Scrooge. He was intrigued to hear what Cratchit said.
'Oh yes, sir. To my mind you've been a bit down this last year or two. Nothing wrong with you, I'm sure, but you seemed to have lost your appetite, so to speak. But since Christmas—why, you've been quite rejuvenated.'
'Oh,’ said Scrooge, feeling curiously proud of himself. ‘Well I'm very pleased to hear it, Cratchit. Very pleased indeed.'
CHAPTER 19
Three days later, in the early hours of Monday morning, Scrooge was awoken by Sasha.
'You must get up,’ she said, shaking him by the shoulder.
Scrooge struggled to understand what was happening. ‘What?’ he growled.
'You must get up. Now. Mrs Molloy is at the door, and she says that Billy is ill.'
Well, Scrooge understood that all right. He heaved the covers off himself and climbed out of bed.
Scrooge and Sasha, wrapped in dressing-gowns, slippers on their feet, made their way down the broad staircase and through the interior entrance to Mrs Molloy's apartment. There they found the lady at Billy's bedside.
By that time, Billy was already delirious with a fever of some sort. That was obvious even to Scrooge, and after a few minutes he decided that medical help was needed.
He dressed rapidly and went round to fetch Dr Medway.
As he set off, he heard the church clock strike six. The streets were still as icy as ever, and Scrooge was shaking with both cold and anguish as he reached the doctor's house.