by Anne Moore
'For a while I tried to keep myself apart from the filth and the crime, but I was mocked and cursed for thinking myself finer than the rest of them. Look at her for a damned modest fool, they said, and worse. And I was still only a child.
'A few months later I tried to make a living as a flower girl. I begged some money from fine gentlemen, for I was a pretty girl and they liked me. I bought a stock of flowers and tried to sell little bunches on the street, but some of the older girls kicked me and punched me for stealing their pitch. They left me crying on the ground and stole my stock and my money, and after that I didn't have the heart to try again. Like the rest of my kind I stole food from the street traders and begged money from strangers.
'When I was sixteen I took up with a young man and became his girl, though I didn't like him very much. He fancied me and protected me. He sent me out on to the street to go with men, and he beat me with his fists if I wouldn't. And I had often seen girls in the street who had been treated in a like manner, knocked down and kicked senseless, lying sobbing in the gutter, or even unconscious, with their teeth missing and their mouths bleeding. I was afraid of that happening to me, so I did as I was told. You get frightened, and tired of the pain, and it was easier to agree. On the whole, going with strangers was no worse than going with the boy, and sometimes better.
'I walked the streets for two years, sometimes getting good money and sometimes none. I tried to get work as a maid, in a gentleman's house where they would treat me properly, but I had no character and I couldn't. No one would take me in. All the money that I had was taken from me by the young man, or spent foolishly.
'In the end I became sick of the life I was living, and I determined to change my ways before my health was quite destroyed. So I stole a piece of beef from a butcher. I let him catch me and got taken into prison. And there I met Mrs Bannister, who took me out of that place and into her home. She taught me how to work in a nice house, and how to mix with honest people. And I swear that as long as I live I shall never disobey her or let her down, for I owe her everything I have and everything I could ever hope to have.
'There, Mr Scrooge. That is my background.'
Sasha stopped speaking and Scrooge covered his face with his hands. He turned his head to one side, pressing his forehead against the wing of the chair.
Sasha stood up quite suddenly and stepped over to him. She pulled his resisting hands away from his face.
'Don't you hide your face from me!’ she said vehemently. ‘Don't be ashamed if you weep, for your tears show that you are a decent and honorable man. A man worthy of being respected.'
Scrooge reached out and pulled her close to him. He hugged her tight against him, rocking back and forth as if in pain.
'Oh, Sasha, Sasha, Sasha,’ he said, and wept again..
And when he had regained control of himself he said: ‘Sasha, if I do nothing else in this world I will see to it that you never have to go back to that way of life. I promise, I promise, I promise.'
Later, Scrooge told Sasha once again that it was only right and proper that she would one day find a man whom she wanted to marry, and that when that day came he would see to it that she was able to start her married life with a home of her own.
Then they retired to bed.
Scrooge felt exhausted. Quite apart from the effort of his journey back to London, his talk with Sasha seemed to have drained him of energy. He wanted nothing more than to crawl between the sheets and go to sleep.
But Sasha would hear none of this.
'No excuses!’ she said with a grin. ‘What's past is past, it can't hurt me now, and it's no use you wriggling and squirming.'
And, when she slipped out of her clothes and he saw her naked in the light of the last candle, Scrooge knew that he would, after all, be capable of making love to her.
He would have been relieved, in a sense, if he had found that his illness and general fatigue had rendered him impotent. He might have felt less guilty; less of a lecher. But that was not the case. His body gave him no escape route. Rather the reverse, in fact. He was as hungry for her as he had ever been. And, in spite of what she had said about sleeping with him being a matter of obligation, he was conscious that Sasha took pleasure from it too.
CHAPTER 25
A week after Scrooge's return from the country, Mr Larking, of Larking and Chester, took up a suggestion which had been made to him, very discreetly, by Mr Cratchit: he called at Scrooge's office.
Mr Larking was a good deal younger than Scrooge—just a year over thirty. He was short, and slight in build, and wore spectacles which made him look like a schoolboy. His clothing, while still sober enough to indicate that he was a member of one of the older professions, displayed a certain youthful dash and style which caused eyebrows, in some quarters, to rise.
On arrival, Mr Larking explained that he had just been passing, and had thought it sensible just to put his head in and to inquire whether all was well with the papers which he had prepared for Scrooge's signature: the papers which would, in due course, and when fully signed and witnessed, set up Scrooge's intended charitable trust; the papers which would involve Scrooge in signing over to the trust, in all, nearly nine hundred thousand pounds.
'Are there, perhaps, any paragraphs in the documents which require elucidation?’ asked Mr Larking tentatively.
No, no, Scrooge assured him, everything was entirely clear.
Were there, perhaps, points which Mr Scrooge had thought of, subsequent to issuing his original instructions and which might involve amendments?
No, no, Mr Scrooge was entirely satisfied that his first thoughts on the matter should be the basis on which to proceed.
Splendid, splendid, beamed Mr Larking. In that case, he would cease to occupy Mr Scrooge's time, because he knew full well that Mr Scrooge must be a busy man. He looked forward, he said, in a few days’ time, perhaps, to receiving one copy of the papers, signed and witnessed as indicated, a copy which would enable him, as was Mr Scrooge's undoubted wish, to register the charitable trust with Her Majesty's charitable commissioners, and so to put the matter on to a proper footing—put it, as it were, in a position in which it could begin to operate, as was, no doubt, indeed Mr Larking felt quite certain of it, as was in accordance with Mr Scrooge's wishes. But if, in the meantime, anything should require explanation or amendment, why then he, Mr Larking, son of the senior partner of Larking and Chester, would be only too delighted....
Taking note of Scrooge's fingers, drumming impatiently on the desk, Mr Larking's voice dried up on him, and he departed, feeling somewhat young and foolish.
Mr Larking was much too polite (and Mr Cratchit was much too nervous) to ask Scrooge a direct question. But both men wondered why it was—if the papers were entirely in order, and entirely in accordance with Scrooge's wishes—why it was Mr Scrooge had not actually signed them. Yet. That remained a mystery both to Mr Cratchit and to Mr Larking. But perhaps, they wondered, perhaps Mr Scrooge had changed his mind. It would scarcely be surprising, they thought, if he had.
Meanwhile, even though he had not signed the papers (indeed he had hardly glanced at them), Scrooge continued to wind up his business affairs. Or rather, he tried to begin to wind them up.
The truth was, he was involved in so many damned schemes that he had almost forgotten many of them. And even in the case of the nice simple ones—the ones which were prospering and making money—bringing to an end his involvement seemed to be deucedly difficult.
As for the others—the ones which were going badly—well, pulling out of some of those would mean sending the scheme into certain insolvency, with damage to some innocent parties. And while Scrooge might once have taken such action without so much as an extra blink of his eye, he was now much more cautious.
If people asked him what he was intending to do, he told them that he planned to retire. But saying even that made him bad-tempered. He became rude and abusive, and was then obliged to apologize to people, and then he began to wonder
whether he really wanted to retire, and that made him even more grumpy and short with people.... And so it went on.
Eventually, the day came when Scrooge realized that he really must give the proposed charitable trust his wholehearted attention. So early one morning, before even Cratchit was in the office, he sat down and went through Mr Larking's legal documents line by line.
'Aha!’ said Scrooge, after a time.
When Cratchit came in, he was dispatched at once to ask Mr Larking if he would be kind enough to call. And when Mr Larking returned, at once, in company with Mr Cratchit, Scrooge sat him down in front of his desk and gave him the bad news.
'I have found,’ he said, ‘a spelling mistake.'
Mr Larking gulped. And gasped. ‘A spelling mistake? In the papers which my firm prepared for you?'
'I am afraid,’ said Scrooge gravely, ‘so.'
Scrooge steepled his hands on the desk and gazed at the ceiling.
'One thing I will say about Mr Cratchit,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘is that the fellow can spell.’ He lowered his eyes to look at Mr Larking. ‘Cratchit is pretty much a self-taught man, you know.'
'Is he really?’ Mr Larking was impressed.
'Oh yes. But very hot on spelling. Mr Cratchit knows that accommodation has two C's and a double M. He even knows that benefited has one T, which is a rare accomplishment indeed. Many respectable journals remain entirely unaware of that refinement.'
Mr Larking tutted. ‘So, we have misspelt accommodation, have we? Or benefited?'
'Oh no, no,’ said Scrooge. ‘Neither of those. Have you any Latin, sir?'
'Er, a little,’ admitted Mr Larking.
'But not enough, it appears.'
'Possibly not, Mr Scrooge, no.'
'Supersede has been spelt with a C in the middle. Whereas it should, of course, be an S.'
'Of course,’ Mr Larking agreed. ‘I do apologize.'
'Not at all,’ said Scrooge. ‘No harm done. I have altered the word, on both copies, and the correction hardly shows. I doubt whether Her Majesty's commissioners will even notice.'
Mr Larking acknowledged that this was a relief of the first order.
'But perhaps,’ said Scrooge, ‘in the circumstances, I should knock a guinea off your fee.'
'A very proper reaction,’ said Mr Larking. And both men knew that Mr Larking would add two guineas, before submitting the bill, to make up for this reduction.
'And is there anything else which requires correction?’ Mr Larking asked.
'Oh no, no, thank you. That was all. Everything else is perfectly in order.'
'I see,’ said Mr Larking.
He was far too polite, as ever, to inquire as to why, in that case, he had been asked to call round. He simply remarked that, if there was nothing else he could do for Mr Scrooge, he would return to his own office; but he would be available, he assured Mr Scrooge, on request, to call again, if need be.
'If, in the meantime,’ he said, ‘should you wish to sign the papers, all it requires is a signature from you on each copy, and of course the signature of an independent witness below.'
'Quite,’ said Scrooge with a smile.
But he made no move whatever to actually sign the papers in front of him, and so, feeling even more puzzled than ever, Mr Larking withdrew.
A few minutes later, Scrooge announced to Cratchit that he was going for a walk.
Well, this was a new one. Cratchit had often heard Scrooge declare that he was going to ‘Change, or the bank, or to get his hair cut, and even, occasionally, that he was going to see a man about a dog. But never, in the entire history of their relationship, had Scrooge said that he was going to go for a walk.
Left alone, Mr Cratchit shook his head in wonder at the way the world was changing, and returned to adding up his columns of figures.
Scrooge meanwhile, made his way to the vicarage, where he asked the maid—a new girl this time, not as pretty as Sasha—whether her mistress might be willing to see him.
Mrs Bannister, it emerged, was willing to see him, and she took him into her workroom and sat him down.
Before his arrival she had evidently been writing some letters, but she now sat in an easy chair and took up some knitting while they talked.
After various preliminaries she told him how much she admired his beard. ‘Very distinguished,’ she said.
'I am pleased you like it,’ said Scrooge. He was very pleased with it himself. ‘Beards are common enough, but not all ladies approve of them. However, Sasha seems to find it quite acceptable.'
Mrs Bannister smiled.
'Speaking of whom,’ said Scrooge, ‘there is something I would like to ask you about Sasha. Please forgive me if I am out of order. Overstepping the mark, or raising with you matters which should not be raised with a lady....'
'But...’ said Mrs Bannister, encouraging him to proceed.
'But I have been wondering—is it true that when you sent Sasha to work for me, as your maid, is it true that you instructed her to share my bed?'
'Oh yes,’ said Mrs Bannister instantly.
This was as Scrooge had expected, but it was still a surprising answer.
'But why did you do that? It seems, if I may say so, a highly improper instruction to give.'
'Oh, but Mr Scrooge, I considered that arrangement to be essential for both of you.'
Scrooge couldn't follow that at all. ‘I'm sorry but I'm afraid I don't understand.'
Mrs Bannister stopped knitting for a moment. ‘Well, when I first thought of sending Sasha to work for you—or rather to work for Mrs Molloy, for she was the one who was unable to cope—it was before Christmas, and I had not at that time seen very much of you. But then we met, on Christmas Day, and I was able to talk to you face to face for some time. And, both on Christmas Day and later, I heard about young Billy. And I realized at that stage that you were not as cold-hearted and mean as your reputation had painted you. But you were a cold man, with a stiff and formal manner. A man who found it hard to express any sort of affection or warmth of feeling....’ She began to knit again. ‘Do you know what your name means, Mr Scrooge?'
'My name?'
'Yes. Your christian name.'
'Why no, I can't say I do.'
'Ebenezer is a Hebrew word meaning stone of strength. Well, the strength part of it is all very well, but being made of stone is no help to anyone. So I came to the conclusion that you were in pressing need of someone to draw out and develop the emotional side of your nature.'
Scrooge moved uncomfortably in his chair. He hadn't realized that Mrs Bannister knew his first name; and while he recognized the accuracy of the portrait of himself which the lady had painted, he didn't much like having to look at it.
'And Sasha?’ he asked, to change the focus of the discussion.
'Ah yes, Sasha. Well, Mr Scrooge, as I am certain I told you, Sasha was in her former life a prostitute. She had therefore been in the company, almost exclusively, of men who were little better than brutes—and worse, in many cases. In that life her experience of relations between men and women had mostly been in the form of one-sided transactions which occupied barely two minutes and took place up some filthy alley. So I felt it was vital for Sasha's her future health and happiness that she should come to understand that there are different and better ways of proceeding. I wanted her to spend some time as the lover of a man who would treat her with kindness and consideration. In that way she would come to know from first-hand experience that a man and a woman can share warmth, and affection, and laughter. There can be embraces, caresses, kisses, as between equals. There can be, and should be, concern for each other's feelings. I wanted her to experience love-making as an exchange of pleasure, in a relaxed, warm, quiet, and private place, where two people can be at ease with one another. For if she never had that experience, how could she possibly look forward to being married, and to having a family of her own?'
Scrooge sighed heavily. ‘And you thought,’ he said haltingly, ‘that I was t
he best man to provide all that for Sasha?'
Mrs Bannister smiled. ‘Not perhaps the best man, Mr Scrooge. But the best man available at the time.'
Scrooge winced. It was a painful blow, but a fair one.
'I see,’ he said. ‘Well thank you for that explanation. It had been troubling me. But what if young Sasha had become pregnant?'
Mrs Bannister looked him full in the face. ‘What if she had?'
'Well—would that not have been a disaster?'
'Tell me this, Mr Scrooge. If Sasha became pregnant by you, would she be better off, or worse off, than if she had become pregnant by one of her five-minute customers, twelve months ago? Would you discard her if she told you she was with child?'
'Of course not!’ said Scrooge angrily.
'You would stand by her, and provide her with a home and financial support?'
'Of course I would!'
'Well then. Your question answers itself.’ Mrs Bannister looked down at her knitting. ‘But in any case, if you continue to observe the same sensible precautions as you have observed so far, there is no reason why she should become pregnant.'
'Dear God!’ said Scrooge. ‘Is there anything about me which you do not know?'
'Not much,’ said Mrs Bannister, and she burst into a peal of laughter so long and so unaffected that Scrooge simply had to join in.
For a while they talked of other things, but then Scrooge rose to go.
'Tell me, Mr Scrooge,’ said Mrs Bannister, as she prepared to show him to the door, ‘how are arrangements progressing for the establishment of your charitable trust?'