Tim Cratchit's Christmas Carol (15 page)

Tim listened for a moment. The house was completely silent, and he was glad. This was a private ritual. He dropped to one knee beside the box, picked up a clump of yellowed newspaper, and carefully unwrapped it. He wondered, with a thrill of anticipation, who or what it would contain. Parting the newsprint with a crinkling sound, he smiled at the sight of a shepherd, staff in one hand, a lamb under the other arm.

The nativity set had been Scrooge's. The wooden figures were hand-carved in Italy and painted in soft, muted colors. Tim had always admired the set, which Scrooge displayed on the mantel in his parlor every December. The Christmas before he died, Scrooge had told Tim that he was giving him the set.

“With all the bustle of Christmas I occasionally need a reminder of what this holiday is actually about,” the old man had told Tim. “This does not let me forget, and I want you to have it, so you will always remember, too.”

Tim placed the shepherd in the center of the mantel. He unwrapped two more shepherds and a dozen sheep and positioned them in the same area. They faced an angel with gilded wings, who had appeared to bring them the glad tidings. Next came Wise Men and camels, who went on the left. On the right went the wooden stable building, painted a dark brown. Tim placed two cows, one standing and one lying, inside, along with the donkey. Several bundles of straw and some small birds he put in a loft built under the peak of the roof. Finally, Tim withdrew Mary and Joseph from their wrapping, situating them on either side of the empty manger. Tim stepped back to see the effect, which was intended to depict the Christmas story: stable on the right, shepherds outside of Bethlehem as if in the fields, the Wise Men beginning their journey. Tim placed the last figure, still wrapped, behind the stable where it was hidden from view. Only at midnight on Christmas Eve would he place the infant Jesus figure in the manger.

Tim stuffed the paper wrappings back in the box, returned it to the closet, and stood for a moment in the dining room doorway, gazing at the scene he had created. It was perfect. He returned to bed and, with his mind freed from the torrent of thoughts, pleasant and unpleasant, that had plagued him earlier, immediately fell asleep.

Chapter 14

D
uring breakfast on Friday morning, Bridget reviewed with Tim the preparations for the next day's party.

“William is going to arrange the furniture, and Ginny and Lizzie will take care of the cleaning,” Bridget explained, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Henry and I will pick up all the food. We'll prepare what we can today. Tomorrow your mother and Belinda will come for lunch and then help with the cooking.”

“The same menu as last year?” Tim asked. “Turkey, and beef, and ham, with all the side dishes? And the desserts?”

“Exactly the same,” said Bridget, “unless there's something you want to change. Oh, and Lizzie specifically asked for cake.”

“Of course,” Tim said. “My sister Martha will be bringing a cake. She always does, and I'm sure Lizzie will love it. I can't think of anything to add. Use your judgment if you see anything while you're shopping. You can do this much better than I.”

“I'll look around, but I don't think there's anything not already on the list,” Bridget observed.

“An outstanding job, as usual, Bridget,” Tim effused. “I don't know what I'd do without you.”

Bridget nodded her thanks. The doctor's comment, though sincere and well meant, underscored her reluctance to tell him that she would be leaving his service when she and Henry were married. That conversation, she concluded, was best left for another day.

Tim had just finished breakfast when the sound of the front door opening and shutting announced Henry's arrival. He entered the room smiling and bade Tim good morning.

“Your coach is ready, Doctor, but don't let me rush you,” Henry said, gazing at Bridget rather than Tim.

“All right, Henry,” Tim said. “Let me run upstairs and fetch my bag.”

“I'll do it, Doctor,” Bridget offered.

Tim thanked her, and while he waited for her to return, he took a few more sips of tea. He told Henry that they would visit the Beckhams first.

A frigid breeze greeted Tim as he stepped outside. He was glad that today he was not riding alongside Henry. He felt a pang of sympathy for his devoted coachman, who never complained about facing the worst whims of nature.

Tim found Molly Beckham and Violet in good health, and removed Molly's sutures. A few more stops dispensed with Tim's regular patients, and he checked his watch. He saw that it was not yet eleven. It was rare that he finished his Friday rounds before one o'clock, but that, he thought, was the benefit of treating so many hypochondriacs. Their phantom ailments could always be put aside so as not to incommode them at Christmastime or other holidays.

“Home for something to eat, Doctor?” Henry asked. “You've plenty of time.”

Tim considered this for a moment, but then, with a wisp of a smile, he turned to his coachman.

“Please take me to the Crompton house, Henry,” he said.

“Right, Doctor,” the coachman replied, turning slightly away to conceal his grin.

The storm that had erupted in the Crompton household forty-eight hours earlier had yet to subside completely. After alternately nagging her husband and ignoring him throughout Wednesday afternoon's shopping, Mrs. Crompton had picked sulkily at her dinner. During the meal, Archibald Crompton had told his daughter to take the coach to the dressmaker's on Friday and buy any gown she wanted for Tim's party.

“Spare no expense—your mother never does,” Archie Crompton had said with a glance toward his wife. Mrs. Crompton had made no reply. Instead, she retired to her sitting room, where she spent an hour pondering a course of action. At last she remembered something one of her friends had told her a few days earlier, and then she quickly settled on a deliciously satisfying plan that would surely interfere with any attempts at romance on the part of that plebeian doctor. Rising from her armchair, she turned down the gas and headed toward the carriage house. It was not too late to call on her friend and make the necessary arrangements.

After her husband left for work on Friday morning, Mrs. Crompton rose, dressed, and went downstairs to breakfast. Jane had just finished setting the table when she reached the dining room. The girl was humming to herself as she went back to the serving pantry. A minute later Jane returned with two serving trays and set them before her mother. Mrs. Crompton helped herself to a generous portion of eggs and sliced ham. Jane sat and took smaller portions.

“I know you planned to go shopping this morning, my dear,” Mrs. Crompton said to her daughter. At the unexpected words “my dear,” Jane raised her eyebrows. “I'm sorry, but I remembered a few things I have to do, so I'll need the coach,” Mrs. Crompton continued. “I promise to be back by noon, and I'll even bring us a meat pie. You'll still have the whole afternoon to find a proper gown.”

“Very well,” Jane said, not surprised that her mother had manufactured an errand to delay her visit to the dressmaker's.

“And do get out of that old frock. You don't want to waste time changing after we eat, not when you have shopping to do!”

Jane found her mother's behavior puzzling. Had she reconciled herself to the fact that she could not prevent Jane from attending Tim's party? That seemed unlikely. Perhaps her mother was only feigning acceptance, and had no intention of returning from the excursion she had concocted until late in the evening, thus preventing Jane from shopping for a gown. If that was the case, Jane resolved, she would walk to the dressmaker's. She would give her mother until one o'clock and then set out.

To Jane's surprise, Mrs. Crompton kept her word. She returned at half past eleven. Jane heard the coach approaching and opened the front door to find that her mother was not alone. With her was a portly middle-aged man of medium height, clad in a formal black coat and matching hat. He carried a steaming meat pie fragrant with the smell of cloves. Jane was taken aback by the sight of this unexpected visitor. She looked at her mother.

“I'm back as promised, dear,” Mrs. Crompton said in an unctuous tone. “This is Mr. James Howard. You know our friends the Bransons? They were at our party. This is Mrs. Branson's cousin.”

“I'm pleased to meet you, sir,” Jane said, trying to conceal her surprise. They went into the dining room, where Howard placed the pie on the table, bowed to Jane, and extended his hand. When she took it, he lifted her hand to his lips.

“Call me James, please,” Howard said. “I'm so very happy to have the opportunity to meet you.”

Jane had already set the table for two, and she went to the pantry with her mother to get a setting for their guest and brew a pot of tea. After filling the kettle with water, she turned to her mother.

“What's he doing here?” she demanded. “What is all this about?”

“I just thought you'd enjoy meeting a nice gentleman,” Mrs. Crompton said soothingly. “The Bransons speak very highly of James. You might enjoy his company. Why don't you sit with him while I take care of the tea? It's impolite to ignore a guest.”

Jane found Howard standing when she returned to the dining room; after she had put his utensils and napkin on the table, he pulled out her chair and then slid it toward the table once she was seated.

“You're such a polite fellow,” Mrs. Crompton said, emerging from the pantry.

“One must treat the ladies properly,” Howard said as he handed his plate to Jane. “Don't stint with my portion. I've worked up a healthy appetite this morning.”

“Mr. Howard is a barrister,” Mrs. Crompton remarked. “He has a practice in Birmingham, but comes to London frequently on business.”

“Yes, I represent many London manufacturers who also have factories in Birmingham. My business in London has grown so much of late that I've decided to move here. I have several other lawyers working for me and they can handle the Birmingham end of things.”

Jane appraised their guest. He had a deep voice and pleasant face; his hair was dark but his neatly trimmed beard showed strands of gray. She guessed him to be in his early forties. It seemed obvious that her mother had brought him here to court her, so Jane thought that he must be a bachelor. She decided to probe a bit.

“Your absences must be difficult for your wife,” she said.

“Sadly, my wife has been gone these past four years. But she left me with three children who do miss me when I'm away. They are constant and pleasant reminders of her, especially my daughter, who is the image of her mother.”

“Then she must be very pretty,” Jane said.

“That she is, Miss Crompton, though not quite so lovely as you are,” Howard declared.

Jane blushed. “Thank you,” she murmured.

“I don't stint with compliments when they're deserved. I daresay you must have to fight off an army of suitors!”

Mrs. Crompton had remained uncharacteristically silent up to that point, observing the conversation with beaming eyes. Now seeing that she needed to say something before Jane misspoke, she interjected. “That's right. Men are constantly knocking at our door. But Jane is a discriminating young lady.”

“As you should be,” Howard said to Jane. “A woman like you deserves a husband who will treat her properly and provide her with the good things in life.”

Jane smiled. The man made little effort to disguise his intentions.

“Do pour me some tea,” Howard said, handing Jane his cup, “and mind you, leave enough room for the cream.”

Jane did as he asked, a bit put off by the demand. Mrs. Crompton asked Howard to tell them about his recent trip to the Continent. He launched into a detailed description of Paris, then paused and glanced about the table.

“Bread?” he asked. “And butter? No meal is complete without bread. Sliced thick, and slather on the butter, that's how I like it.”

Jane rose and went to the pantry without excusing herself. Howard seemed intelligent and affable, but she disliked the way that he made requests sound like orders, given without a hint of politeness. No wonder her mother liked him. They both expected to be waited upon. She took a knife, plunged it into a loaf of bread, and began slicing.

By the time Jane came back, Howard had begun a discourse on Rome. She slid a plate in front of him, the bread sliced nearly two inches thick and heavy with butter. Howard looked askance at it.

“Is something wrong?” Jane inquired, her tone excessively polite. “I thought this was what you wanted.”

“It would be if I was an elephant,” Howard said, a tinge of anger in his voice. His brows furrowed but he quickly caught himself. “Heh, heh. Just joshing, young lady. You'll find I have quite a sense of humor, or so everyone tells me.” He stuffed part of a slice of bread into his mouth and bit it off. A gob of butter clung to his mustache and he rubbed it away with his napkin.

Mrs. Crompton shot Jane an angry glance. “Now, James,” she said, hurrying to move the conversation back to safe ground, “tell us all about the Colossus of Rome!”

Howard swallowed the bread and washed it down with a gulp of tea. “Yes,” he said. “The Colosseum. It's quite a sight.”

The thud of the brass door knocker interrupted them. Jane stood.

“Some deliveryman, no doubt,” Mrs. Crompton said.

“Then let me help you, Miss Crompton,” Howard offered. “You shouldn't have to lift any heavy parcels.”

Jane walked into the foyer, Howard a step behind. Pulling open the door, she saw the smiling face of Dr. Cratchit. When he caught sight of her companion, Tim's smile turned into an expression of bafflement.

“Good afternoon, Jane. Have I come at an inconvenient time?” Tim asked.

Jane felt discomfited. Her first instinct was to invite Tim in, but she did not know how her mother would react. Instead, she settled for a greeting and then introduced Howard to Tim. They shook hands.

“A doctor, eh?” the lawyer said. “I hope I haven't become ill without my knowing it. Or perhaps you've brought an ounce of prevention?”

Tim smiled warily, uncertain about why the man was at the Cromptons' and of the nature of his relationship with Jane.