A Christmas Carol 2: The Wedding of Ebenezer Scrooge

by Anne Moore

  'Oh, slowly,’ said Scrooge, feeling a sharp pang of guilt at his tardiness. ‘Slowly. To tell you the truth, I am finding it hard to bring myself to sign the papers. It is my old problem again, I fear.'

  Mrs Bannister nodded. ‘Well, that is not a matter on which I can be of any help,’ she said firmly. ‘It will have to be your own decision, and no one else's.'

  'Yes,’ said Scrooge. ‘I'm sure you're right.'

  On the doorstep, he paused to put his hat on, tapped it into place, and prepared to set off.

  'Do give my warm regards to your sister,’ he said.

  'I will indeed,’ said Mrs Bannister. ‘Though I don't expect to see her for some time. She is being courted, Mr Scrooge.'

  A sudden chill of wind made Scrooge shiver. ‘Courted?’ he managed to say.

  'Oh yes. By a baronet from Bath.'

  Well. Scrooge had seldom walked so fast in his life. In fact he practically ran.

  Pausing only to buy a bottle of malt whisky from a liquor merchant, he rushed back to the office, hoping against hope that Cratchit would not be at lunch.

  'CRATCHIT!’ he roared, as he came through the door.

  'Yes sir?’ Cratchit leapt up from behind a chest where he had been filing some papers.

  'Fetch Mr Jarvis from next door. Give him this bottle of whisky with my compliments and tell him that I would be honored if he would act as a witness while I sign some documents.'

  'Yes sir!’ cried Cratchit, who was in no doubt what documents were being referred to, and he was off and running.

  When he returned, with the said Mr Jarvis (a dealer in rare books), Scrooge was sat at this desk, the papers for the charitable trust set out in front of him. His pen was poised above them.

  'Watch!’ cried Scrooge. ‘Observe, Mr Jarvis, if you please.'

  Scrooge signed. Twice.

  'My word,’ said Cratchit. ‘That's a big bold signature, sir.'

  'Well,’ said Scrooge, ‘it's a big bold move.'

  The papers signed and witnessed, Mr Jarvis departed, thanking Mr Scrooge most warmly for his handsome fee.

  'And you, Mr Cratchit, must go round to see Mr Larking.'

  'Yes indeed, sir. And will you be going to lunch, sir?'

  Scrooge paused and thought about it.

  'No, Cratchit, I think not,’ he said after a moment. ‘I think I fancy a breath of fresh air. To be precise, country air.'

  CHAPTER 26

  Scrooge went back to his apartment and asked Sasha to pack him a bag.

  'I'm off to Pewsey for a day or two,’ he told her.

  Sasha frowned. ‘Pewsey? What you going there for?'

  'Business,’ said Scrooge abruptly.

  'Business? Huh! You're after that widow woman, that's what you are.'

  'When I say business, I mean business,’ Scrooge declared. ‘Now don't fret. I'm not taking you with me this time, but you'll be there again soon enough, and I'm sure your young man won't have found anyone else in the meantime.'

  Sasha turned away with a twirl of her skirt. ‘Can't say I'm bothered if he has,’ she said with a sniff, but Scrooge was not deceived.

  He took the train to Pewsey and on arrival booked himself in at the best of the town's inns: The Bear.

  A question often asked in those parts was: What would Pewsey be like without The Bear? And the answer was: un-bear-able.

  Well, Scrooge found it comfortable enough.

  The following morning he sent a messenger to the village of Tanway (at no small expense) to deliver a note to his friend the widow, asking her if she would care to join him for dinner that evening; in which case he would send a carriage for her. The messenger brought back word that the lady was pleased to accept his invitation, and in due course Scrooge and his guest met in the inn's dining-room.

  During the meal, Scrooge reminded the widow that, during his time as a guest in her house, he had decided to set up a charitable trust. The widow had not forgotten. He now went on to tell her that he had, at last, and after a good deal of hesitation, signed the necessary papers. The widow said that she was pleased to hear it, and congratulated him on taking such a generous and far-reaching step.

  Scrooge waved away all talk of congratulation. ‘The time was right,’ he said. ‘I shall be much happier now it's done, so in that sense it was a selfish move.'

  When the meal was over, the two of them retired to a small room known as the snug; it was a space which the landlord reserved for gentlefolk. There they took coffee and talked.

  'I think I should tell you,’ said Scrooge eventually, ‘lest you hear it first from someone else and feel offended that I have not confided in you, that I am thinking about buying your old friend's house—Tanway Manor.'

  'Are you indeed?’ said the widow, with an amused smile. ‘Well well.'

  'You will remember,’ said Scrooge, ‘that one day during my convalescence we looked at it together. Just from the outside, of course.'

  'I remember very well.'

  'The place kind of took my eye,’ said Scrooge. ‘Something about it seemed to appeal to me. So after my return to London I began some correspondence with the lawyer who is acting for the present owners.'

  The widow said nothing, but continued to smile. Scrooge had the uneasy feeling that none of this was news to her. So either her network of informers was even more efficient than he had thought, or she was psychic. One or the other. Or both.

  'I have made arrangements to be shown round the place in some detail. Tomorrow afternoon. And I was wondering, if it is not too much trouble, whether you would be willing to accompany me on that occasion?'

  'Certainly,’ said the widow. ‘I should be delighted.'

  'A woman's view of these things,’ said Scrooge, ‘is always useful.'

  The following morning gave promise of a fine day, a promise which was fulfilled by a warm, sunny afternoon.

  Scrooge used the same firm of carriers to transport him to Tanway as he had used to bring the widow for dinner, but this time, the weather being so pleasant, he was able to ride in an open-top landau. It was a three-mile drive, and he enjoyed the fresh air and the sunshine.

  He called first at the widow's house to collect her, and then they drove together to the Manor at the western end of the village.

  The gates of the Manor were this time wide open, and the carriage delivered them to the front door in good style.

  They were a trifle early, by intention, and the lawyer whom he had arranged to meet had not yet arrived. Scrooge was not disturbed by that; he had wanted the opportunity to have an initial look round without supervision.

  The grounds at the front of the house were a little untidy, he noticed, but that was not surprising. The previous owner, an elderly lady, had died some six months earlier, and since then the house had been empty. Presumably the staff, including any gardeners, had been dismissed.

  The widow accompanied Scrooge as they walked all around the outside of the house.

  'Anything known against this place?’ asked Scrooge. ‘Leaking roof, sinking foundations, foul smells from the drains.... Ghosts?'

  'None of any of those known to me,’ said the widow, and Scrooge could think of no better recommendation than that. ‘My friend, Lady Brown, grew old and infirm in her last years, but we kept a close eye on her and ensured that the house was kept in good order.'

  'What size of household staff would be required?'

  'Well, that would depend to some extent on the style in which a man wished to live. Once upon a time, decades ago, this house was always full of people. There is ample space for entertaining, and guests used to come from all over the country—even from abroad. For that sort of thing you need a good few staff. But for a single gentleman, living a quiet sort of life, a cook and two maids would suffice.'

  'And for the garden?’ asked Scrooge.

  'Ah well, that again would depend on how elaborate you wished to be. There is an old kitchen garden, for instance, long since abandoned, but it could be revived. I would
say that, to begin with, one man and a boy could do most of what you would require.'

  On their return to the front of the house, they found that the estate's lawyer, a Mr Nesbitt, had arrived.

  Mr Nesbitt was from Pewsey, and was therefore a sophisticated fellow, at least by Wiltshire standards. He was about fifty years of age, bald, somewhat stout, and with a rosy complexion which suggested a fondness for port. His suit, Scrooge noted with amusement, had been chosen for its capacity to withstand contact with any number of briars and brambles.

  The lawyer's basic education had been acquired at Marlborough (where he had learnt how to use his fists and, more useful still, how to kick a man in the balls); his law had been learnt at one of the less fashionable Cambridge colleges.

  Today Mr Nesbitt was sweating somewhat. Scrooge suspected that this was a result of both the warm weather and the prospect of earning commission on the sale of a substantial property. A property which had, moreover, been sticking on the market.

  After some preliminary discussion with Mr Nesbitt, as they stood on the steps below the front door, Scrooge and the widow were taken inside and given a tour. The house was largely empty, but in some rooms a few elderly pieces of furniture remained, presumably because they were thought to be of no value.

  As in many such houses, after the owners have decamped and most of their belongings have been removed, the Manor had a sad and depressed air about it. But Scrooge could see that it could be brought to life again.

  He asked the widow if she would be kind enough to re-acquaint herself with the kitchens and assorted workrooms of the house, so that she might advise him on their condition. Meanwhile, he and Mr Nesbitt began to examine the other areas.

  There were two principal stories to the building, with servants’ quarters and attics higher still. On the main upper floor, at the rear of the building, there was a rather fine room which had traditionally been used as a gentleman's study. A library, adjoining it, ran all the way to the front of the house.

  The great virtue of the study was that it looked out on to an avenue of beeches, which ran some two hundred yards or so before disappearing over the brow of a hill, beyond which there was woodland.

  'I understand,’ said Scrooge to Mr Nesbitt, ‘that there is a fair bit of land which is technically part of the Manor garden.'

  'Oh yes indeed. About thirty acres. And then, of course, as you know, there are seven farms which constitute part of the estate.'

  'Yes,’ said Scrooge. ‘We will talk about them later. But where does this avenue of beeches lead?'

  'Nowhere in particular. But at the end of it, just out of sight, there is an ancient circle of small stones, each of them about three or four feet high. There are twenty stones in all, and for that reason they are known as the Maidenscore. Local legend has it that when the maidens hear the church clock strike midnight, they begin to dance.'

  'Do they indeed?’ said Scrooge, who could remember from his childhood that stones have no ears and can therefore never hear the church clock as it strikes the hour.

  With the tour of the house complete, the three visitors sat down at the dining-room table. Mr Nesbitt spread out some plans of the house and the estate, and they began to pore over them.

  'What about the village?’ Scrooge asked.

  'No longer part of the estate, sir. It was once, in the last century, but all the houses are now in private hands.'

  'And the seven farms?’ said Scrooge. ‘All contiguous, I see, though somewhat higgledy-piggledy in pattern. All currently occupied and in good order?'

  'All but one, sir.'

  'Well that is good news. You don't need me to tell you, Mr Nesbitt, that farming is going through one of its periodic depressions. Rents will have been reduced accordingly.'

  'That is true,’ Mr Nesbitt admitted. ‘Neither agricultural rents nor land prices are what they were twenty years ago. However, while the family might possibly be willing to sell the house and garden without the farms ...'

  'They are naturally anxious to be rid of the burden of management,’ said Scrooge, completing the salesman's patter for him. ‘Especially since the new owners are, I believe, resident in Canada, and would naturally prefer to convert land to cash. Very understandable.'

  The discussion continued for some time. The widow gave her opinion on the present state of the domestic arrangements, and Scrooge asked detailed questions about the extent to which the farmland had been drained, whether new barns, dairies, cow-pens, and pigsties had been provided. All of these works, he knew from other contexts, would be expensive to carry out if they had not already been completed.

  However, at the end of an hour, Scrooge declared himself reasonably satisfied.

  'As you will understand, Mr Nesbitt,’ he said, ‘I have taken advice from many quarters. Since we began to correspond I have had a number of discussions with experienced parties about the pros and cons of purchasing this estate. And you will appreciate, also, that a man who has taken the trouble to inform himself could not possibly make an offer to buy at the price which your clients have named.'

  Mr Nesbitt, mopping his brow, said that he was disappointed to hear that, but not altogether surprised.

  'As we have been speaking,’ said Scrooge, ‘I have been jotting down the estimated cost of work which seems to be necessary in order to bring the farms and the house up to standard, and it amounts to a very substantial sum. Furthermore, Mr Nesbitt, with the greatest possible respect to you and your clients, I do not see any queue of potential purchasers waiting to talk to you after I have departed.'

  Mr Nesbitt said with a forced and unconvincing smile that oh, that was not quite the case. He could assure Mr Scrooge that there had been an number of other inquiries. He did not add that the number was one, made three months earlier, and that nothing had been heard from the inquirer since. Nor did he admit that, given the present state of agriculture, those who were thinking of buying estates of this sort were rarely sighted.

  'All things considered,’ said Scrooge, ‘I think I might be persuaded to make an offer at seventy per cent of the asking price.'

  'Seventy per cent,’ repeated Mr Nesbitt.

  'That is correct. Without prospect of negotiation upwards. And, I might add, were it not for the presence here today of a lady who was a personal friend of the previous owner, and whose reproach I could not bear to countenance, I would have quoted a figure considerably lower than that.'

  'Never mind, Mr Scrooge,’ said the widow. ‘You can afford to pay a little above the odds.'

  'That,’ said Scrooge grimly, ‘is what I am trying to tell myself.... Well, Mr Nesbitt, I don't doubt that you have delegated authority to strike a deal, within certain limits, seeing as how your principals are so far away. What do you say?'

  Mr Nesbitt rose to his feet.

  'I accept,’ he said. And the two men shook hands.

  Scrooge was rather disappointed. It was no fun negotiating with such a complete amateur.

  The business of the day completed—and a considerable item of business it was too—Mr Nesbitt got on his horse and went home, no doubt singing to himself as he went. And the widow invited Scrooge to take tea at her house, which he was delighted to do.

  'Well, Mr Scrooge,’ said the widow, after they had fortified themselves with scones, cream, jam, and fruit cake (two slices each), ‘that is quite a decision you have made.'

  'Oh,’ said Scrooge, ‘I don't wish to boast, but in financial terms I have done far bigger deals than that, and signed the documents without my hand so much as trembling. You see, the Manor is a pretty good investment, all told. Of course I shall have to sit on it for a few years to perceive any rise in value, but that it will rise, in due course, I have no doubt.'

  'I wasn't so much thinking of the money,’ said the widow patiently, ‘as of the change in your life which the purchase of the Manor involves.'

  'Ah, well, there again, it seems like a natural enough progression. I began life in the country, and it seems only rig
ht to end my days there too. If I still enjoyed London life, and wanted to continue my present work, I wouldn't dream of changing. But as it is I am weary of the old ways.'

  Scrooge paused and glanced at the door of the widow's sitting-room to make sure that it was closed and that they were not overheard.

  'And, er, speaking of change,’ he said. ‘There is one further change in my circumstances, one major change, which I would be glad to bring about. But it requires the co-operation of another party.'

  The widow looked at him enquiringly, but he could see that, as usual, she sensed what he was about to say.

  'That change, as I believe you understand, is a change from bachelor status to that of married man. It is, of course, very late in the day for me, but I would be a foolish man indeed if I did not at least tell you that I would be greatly honored if you would consent to become my wife.'

  The widow began to pour him another cup of tea.

  'Goodness me,’ she said. ‘Is that a proposal?'

  'It surely is.'

  'Well!’ The widow made a half-hearted attempt to look surprised. ‘I will forgive you, Mr Scrooge, for not going down on one knee, for we are both mature people. But I hope that you will forgive me, Mr Scrooge, if I say that I think it would be premature to give you an answer today, or even for some time. So instead, let me make a suggestion.'

  'Please do.'

  'Let us pretend, for the moment, that the question has not been put. Now, over the next few months, you are going to have to do quite a lot of work on Tanway Manor before it is ready for you to move in. During that time you are very welcome to stay here as my guest, as and when you wish. Then, when your new home is ready for occupation, you can consider your position again.'

  The widow laughed as she passed him his refilled cup.

  'After all, we do not know each other particularly well. And it may be that after you have been under the same roof as me for some time, you will be heartily glad to be on your own again.'

  Scrooge rejected this proposition forcefully, but he could not deny that the widow's suggestion was a sensible one, and he was happy to accept it.