by Anne Moore
Of course Scrooge had been visited by the widow many times before during his illness, and had been dosed regularly with her herbal potions, but this was the first occasion on which he had been fully conscious. He struggled to sit up, which was only polite, after all; but he still needed someone to help him.
When he had been raised into a sitting position, with numerous pillows propping him up, Scrooge felt it only proper to express his gratitude for the care and attention which he had obviously received.
His thanks were gracefully accepted.
'I'm afraid I've been a terrible nuisance to you,’ he added.
'No more than you are when you're well,’ said Sasha promptly. ‘Less, actually.'
The widow smiled at this, and said tactfully that she would bring him some soup. She left the room.
Sasha sat down beside the bed again and began to work on some sewing.
After a pause, Scrooge said, ‘What was that you told me about this good lady being a witch?'
'That's what they say,’ said Sasha.
'Well, that's a wicked slander,’ said Scrooge. ‘She's a most delightful lady, and I won't have her spoken of disrespectfully.'
'Oh she's not a bad witch,’ Sasha explained. ‘And she's very highly respected. She's what they call a white witch, you see. She doesn't do nasty things to people. Quite the other way round—she helps them to get well.'
Scrooge still didn't understand, but he didn't pursue the matter. Although he had been brought up in the country, many decades ago, he was more used to city ways than country ways. And besides, he still wasn't thinking very clearly.
'Her husband used to be a doctor,’ Sasha continued. ‘He used to cater for the gentry in these parts, and she dealt with the poor. But they reckon the poor got the better part of that bargain. They got better treatment, and they got it free, too. She has a clinic every morning, and people come from miles around to see her. Herbal remedies and such. Healing hands.'
'Well,’ said Scrooge, ‘she certainly seems to have looked after me very well.'
'You would have died,’ said Sasha simply. ‘If you hadn't had her to look after you.'
After another week of hot soup and carefully prepared food, Scrooge was well enough to get dressed and venture downstairs. He had his first shave for some time.
The widow's house, he discovered, was located not in the town of Pewsey itself, but in a small village called Tanway, some three miles to the north-west. The village sheltered close under the escarpment which marked the northern edge of the Vale of Pewsey. Those who made the steep climb up the hill would find themselves on the Marlborough downs, with views for miles in all directions. It was said that, on a clear day, you could see the spire of Salisbury cathedral.
The village was named Tanway, so the widow informed Scrooge, because it had once been on someone's route to Tan Hill; and it was on Tan Hill that a great stock fair was held every St Anne's Day, attracting farm folk and their animals from all over Wiltshire. For that matter, horses were brought for sale from as far as Wales and Ireland. The day after the stock fair, there was always a pleasure fair. Nowadays, however, the village was on no one's way to anywhere, and was mercifully isolated and quiet. The only visitors were occasional peddlers.
The widow's home was positioned on the main street of Tanway. It was a solidly built, eighteenth-century construction, which had originally been the property of a prosperous wool merchant.
As he gradually returned to something like normal health, Scrooge was pleased to note that the weather was on the mend too. All signs of frost and snow had disappeared, to be replaced by blustery showers of rain. But there were at least occasional bursts of sunshine, offering some hope that spring would eventually arrive.
On Scrooge's first morning downstairs, Sasha read out a letter from Mr Cratchit, in which he described how the great frost fair had ended. Some of those participating had apparently been slow to accept that a thaw had set in, and as the ice on the Thames broke up a few tradesmen had been left marooned. Two men had been drowned.
Scrooge listened but said nothing. He would have preferred, on the whole, to forget about the frost fair.
Instead, he gave his attention to the widow. She was, he guessed, a year or two older than her sister, the Vicar's wife. But she now appeared to him as an even more handsome woman than he had remembered her from Christmas Day. Just the sort of woman he admired, in fact.
His attention did not go unnoticed. ‘You like the widow, don't you?’ said Sasha with a wicked grin when they were alone together. ‘Think she's a pretty lady, Mr Scrooge?’ And she laughed.
Scrooge stood on his dignity. ‘I'm sure I have given you no reason to think that I am especially fond of her.'
'Oh yes you have. You go all soft when she's about.'
'Well.... The good lady did save my life, you know. And she is a lady of good breeding.'
'Unlike me. But that's nonsense, Mr Scrooge, and you know it. Your going all soppy has got nothing to do with her being a fine lady. It's just that you like ‘em with a bit of meat on the bone. I've noticed that before.’ And she tittered, in the manner of Mrs Molloy. ‘Hee hee hee hee hee!'
Scrooge took offense. ‘Hmmph!’ he said, and hid himself behind a newspaper.
Later, when he was alone with the widow, he thanked her for allowing Sasha into her house, and for treating the girl so generously—for Sasha seemed to be regarded as one of the family rather than as a servant.
'Oh, it's a pleasure,’ said the widow cheerfully. ‘You've done a good job with her, Mr Scrooge, you and my sister before you. You caught her just in time, do you see. Brought her in off the streets, I mean. If you do that with a girl, catch her early enough, you can sometimes set her straight. But once they've got established in a proper brothel, one frequented by gentlemen, and got used to eating good food and having a bit of warmth and some money, why then it's very much harder. It's an uphill task to change their ways after that.'
Scrooge swallowed hard, and felt himself go pale. ‘Why yes indeed,’ he mumbled.
As with the widow's sister, he had not expected to find himself discussing the mechanics of prostitution, and he hastily changed the subject.
The following morning, Sasha told him that she was going to the market in Pewsey.
'The widow lets me buy her meat,’ she told Scrooge confidentially. ‘Which is nice because it gives me a chance to talk to the butcher's boy. He's only a simply country lad, Mr Scrooge, but he's lovely.’ She smiled happily at the memory. ‘Our eyes met over a pile of giblets, soon after I got here, and I've been after him ever since.'
Scrooge was slightly taken aback at this frank confession of affection for another man, but he did his best to repress all thought of jealousy.
'Well, I'm very pleased to hear it, Sasha,’ he told her. ‘Of course, it's early days yet, but I'm sure you'll catch the eye of a lot of young men—it's only right and proper that you should. In due course you will no doubt want to set up a home with one of them. And when you do, I shall be very pleased to help you. I promise.'
Sasha smiled and bent to kiss him. ‘Too soon to think of that yet,’ she said. ‘And too soon for me to come back into your bed, too. The widow says you mustn't do it for a while yet. The illness will have weakened your heart, you see. You'll be all right in a couple of weeks or so, but you have to give it time to recover.'
And off she went, with a wave and skip in her step.
Scrooge sat quite still for a moment. Had she really said what he thought she'd said? The widow says you mustn't do it for a while yet. Did that mean that the widow knew that he and Sasha were lovers? Had he no secrets from anyone?
While Sasha was out, the widow held her usual morning clinic. And when it was over—only eight patients that day—she took Scrooge into her pharmacy, as she called it.
The pharmacy was a spacious room at the rear of the house: a conservatory, was the term Scrooge would have used. In any event, there were large areas of glass which looked out o
n to the garden.
Adjoining the pharmacy was a small entrance hall with an external door which could be approached round the side of the house. It was though this door that patients gained their admission, and if necessary they could take a seat in the hallway while waiting their turn to be seen.
Once admitted to the pharmacy, they were asked to explain the nature of their problem and to answer the widow's questions. Then, depending on her diagnosis, she provided the appropriate treatment.
Sometimes, the widow explained, the treatment consisted of a standard herbal potion or an ointment of a kind which she had already mixed. On other occasions, a special brew had to be prepared, and the patient had to call back for it later. Either way, most of her medicines were based on herbs which she grew in her garden or, in some cases, acquired from other parts of the country or from abroad.
'This morning, for instance, I had a young man with a toothache. Well, I expect you could have treated him yourself, Mr Scrooge.'
'Oil of cloves?’ suggested Scrooge.
'To begin with, yes. We will see how he progresses on that. Then there was a baby with diarrhea, and an old gentleman having trouble passing his water, and so on. Common enough ailments, most of them, and all I do is use the knowledge which has been passed on to me, through the family, for a good many centuries.'
'So there is a tradition of this in your family?’ asked Scrooge.
'Oh yes. On the female side. And in recent years the men have mostly practiced medicine or surgery of the orthodox kind. Like my late husband.'
Scrooge did not want to dwell on her husband.
'Do you make any sort of charge?’ he asked.
The widow laughed. ‘Oh no. Fortunately I have a modest income from land and property. Enough to see me out. But I do get given gifts, such as vegetables or fruit, or a chicken sometimes, which I am always happy to accept.'
Scrooge summoned up his courage to ask a potentially offensive question.
'Is it true what they say about you?'
'What do they say about me?'
'That you're a witch.'
The widow laughed, and it was a genuine laugh, but she busied herself with returning bottles to the right shelves rather than look at him directly.
'I don't object to that description, if it's used in the right way. But whether I am or am not a witch depends on your definition of the term. The truth is, I practice the healing arts in a manner which has been handed down to me from generation to generation. And I add to that body of knowledge such insights as I have gained from my own experience. I hope in due course to pass that knowledge on to someone else, though I have no children, as you know. I am therefore, in a sense, the embodiment of the accumulated wisdom of the local community—at least insofar as medicine is concerned. As a result, some people call me the wise woman of the village. And they do say that witchcraft is the craft of the wise, so in that sense I am a witch, yes. I heal as best I can. Of course,’ she added, turning to face him, ‘we all have to die in the end. But I try not to let it happen before it has to.'
'I only wish,’ said Scrooge with a choke in his voice, ‘that I had had access to your skills to treat young Billy. I am sure you must know the story.'
The widow nodded. ‘I do. But I did see him, you know, on Christmas Day. When he ate too much rich food and was sick, at your nephew's house, I was called downstairs to look at him. And I have to say, Mr Scrooge, that I could see at once that he was frail. It was clear to me that the merest breath of wind would soon be carrying him away.'
Scrooge gave a moan of anguish, and banged on the floor with the stick which he was using to support himself on his still-unsteady feet.
'But it is not right!’ he cried. ‘Not right that a man like me should survive and a boy like Billy die!’ He stared into the widow's face, his eyes filled with tears. ‘I am sure that you could have saved him! I am sure that you could!'
He began to sob helplessly, like a young child, and the widow put her arms around his shoulders to comfort him.
'You did your very best, Mr Scrooge. You did everything possible, and you have no cause to reproach yourself. No man can do more than that.'
But Scrooge was inconsolable.
CHAPTER 21
On the Saturday night of that week, a barn dance was held in the village. This social occasion was open to anyone who cared to attend, and Sasha was looking forward to it.
On the day itself, she spent much of the morning consulting the widow on precisely what she would wear. It was, apparently, a most difficult matter to choose something which showed her good looks off to advantage while at the same time not causing offense to the country girls through too much ostentation.
When seven o'clock came, Sasha was called for by the young girl who acted as the widow's maid. (Like the Cook, this girl lived elsewhere in the village and came in to work on a daily basis.) And, after the house fell quiet, Scrooge and the widow sat peaceably by the fire.
Scrooge had a rug around his knees. The room was warm, the light from the lamps pleasantly golden. On all sides were ancient and well-worn pieces of furniture, old pictures, and shining items of silver.
The widow sewed. Scrooge had a book, but he didn't read; for the most part he simply stared into the fire, thinking about the past. Occasionally he dozed a little.
After perhaps an hour, the widow made them both a cup of coffee. Then, as she sat down again, she said, ‘I can see that you have been thinking this evening, Mr Scrooge. And I wonder if you have ever asked yourself why it was that you fell ill at this time—and why you have survived.'
Scrooge was puzzled by this, but to give himself time to think he said, ‘Why, I am quite sure that I survived because of your excellent nursing.'
The widow smiled. ‘No doubt that played a part. I would not deny it. But you survived mainly because you were determined not to die. If you had been weary of life, sickened by it, you would have died soon enough. But you are not yet ready to die, I suspect, because you know that you have unfinished business.'
Unfinished business. Scrooge thought about it. He was astute enough to know that the widow was not referring to the contracts and commitments which he had entered into via the Royal Exchange. But what other ‘unfinished business’ did he have?
'I wonder if I might ask,’ he said, ‘without in any way questioning your judgment, what is it about me that gives you the impression that I have matters still to attend to? I am not denying that you are right, please note. But I am curious as to how you came to your conclusion.'
'A fair question.... Well, when we met you on Christmas Day, Mr Scrooge, my sister and I were intrigued. We thought you a most unusual person.'
'Why so?'
'Well, to begin with, you sat alone whenever possible, towards the back of the room. You did not join in the singing and the dancing, and you did not play the silly games. True, you were not surly and difficult. You were polite and affable, up to a point. But we noted that you were a solitary person by nature, and we knew from other sources that you had a reputation as a rich man who was tight with his money. And yet you alone, of all the people there, had brought with you a boy from the streets, and had seen to it that he had a much better Christmas than he would have done without your help. You had performed an act of exceptional kindness and charity. And so there was clearly a compassionate man lurking within you somewhere. A man capable of feelings even if you were not much good at expressing them. In short, we felt that you were a person wrestling with yourself—that you were in much doubt about what to do and how best to do it.'
This was such a perceptive analysis, and so much in accordance with the views which Scrooge had come to have about himself, that he felt quite disconcerted. In his own mind, he had always considered that he took great pains to disguise his hopes and fears. But now here was a lady telling him that they were writ plain, all over him, for those who chose to look.
'It is true,’ he said haltingly, ‘that during these last few years I have become i
ncreasingly dissatisfied with my life. Not to the point where this unhappiness has interfered with my work, or troubled my sleep. But in my quieter moments I had come to understand that my life has not been lived as best it might. And I have been thinking, it is true, about how I might best conduct myself in such years as I have left.'
He took a drink of coffee before continuing.
'At Christmas time, I am always reminded of the fate of my late partner, Jacob Marley, for he died on Christmas Eve, seven years ago. Died alone and miserable, a hard, bitter, cold-hearted man. There was not an ounce of emotion or warmth in him. Those were good qualities, one might say, for a man of business, but hopeless for a husband or father. And Marley, needless to say, was neither. He died without a wife, without children, without friends.'
Scrooge gazed into the flickering fire before continuing.
'I dreamed of Marley last Christmas Eve. I dreamed that I saw him in death, dragging his chains behind him. And in some mysterious way his chains were made up of all the miseries and bitterness that he had accumulated during his life. And I, of course, do not wish to end my days like him.
'Furthermore,’ said Scrooge with a sigh, ‘as if that were not enough, I am every day reminded of my father, who was another unhappy and unfulfilled man, resentful of his condition and fate. I am reminded, I say, because whenever I look in the mirror to shave, my father's face looks back at me. And that is troubling, to say the least. For my father's habitual expression, at least in my memory, was sour, pinched, and bitter, with a perpetual sneer of contempt close at hand in ready reserve.'
The widow thought for a few moments. Then she said, ‘I have been told—and I have it only third-hand, so I may be mistaken—but I have been told that you and your father fell out, while you were still a boy.'
Had it third-hand, thought Scrooge. So probably the chain of communication was nephew Fred, to his wife's aunt, Mrs Bannister, and from her to her sister, the widow.
So people had been talking about him behind his back—again. Scrooge was surprised that anyone should find him a sufficiently interesting subject for gossip. But he could hardly complain, for the talk had resulted in his invitation to this house, and if he had not ended up here he might very well not have lived—whatever the widow might say about his unfinished business.