A Ghost Tale for Christmas Time (3 page)

As the horse and cab clattered away, Jack looked at Annie. “He was nuts,” he said.

Annie laughed. “I think you gave him a lot more than the regular fare,” she said.

The gate behind Jack and Annie swung open.
Three small children bounded out to the sidewalk, two girls with curly hair and a round-faced boy.

A woman with a baby followed them out. “Mary! Kate! Charley! Wait for me!”

“Hurry, Mother!” yelled the little boy.

“You wait for me, Charley Dickens!” the young mother called. She caught up with the children, and they all vanished around the corner.

“Charley Dickens?”
said Jack, stunned.

J
ack looked at Annie. “She called that kid Charley Dickens,” he said.

“I heard,” said Annie. “So Charles Dickens must be five or six years old.”

“Oh, man,” said Jack, groaning. “So Merlin wants us to help another little kid, like we helped Wolfie Mozart?”

“Seems like it,” said Annie.

“Wait a minute. That doesn’t make sense. Let’s do the math,” said Jack. “Our book said Charles Dickens was born in 1812.” He pulled out their
research book and looked at the first page. “And Queen Victoria became queen in 1837.”

“The driver said she’s been queen for six years …,” said Annie. “So now it’s 1843. Subtract 1812 from 1843.…”

Jack squeezed his eyes shut. “And you get … thirty-one!” he said.

“Good work!” said Annie.

“So Charles Dickens is thirty-one,” said Jack. “And Charley must be Charles
Junior.”

“Great,” said Annie. “Let’s go meet Charles Senior.”

Jack put away their book, and he and Annie walked to the front gate. Between the iron bars, they could see a beautiful three-story house with tall windows.

“Nice place,” said Annie. “It looks like Charles Dickens has already given his gifts to the world.”

“Yeah, and gotten some back,” said Jack. “So I wonder what his problem is?”

“We’ll have to figure that out when we meet
him,” said Annie. She jangled a bell hanging from the gate.

A moment later, the front door opened. A stout woman in a white apron came out and walked to the gate. “Yes?” she said through the bars.

“Is this the Dickens residence?” said Annie.

“Yes,” said the woman.

“Ah, excellent!” said Annie. “We’ve come to call on Charles Dickens.”

“Indeed? Who are you?” asked the woman.

“We’re Jack and An—” started Annie.

“Andrew!” finished Jack.

“Right,” said Annie, clearing her throat and deepening her voice. “We’re Jack and Andrew from Frog Creek. And who are you?”

“I am Mrs. Tibbs, the housekeeper,” said the woman. “And it is my sad job to tell you that Mr. Dickens can have no visitors today. He is working on his latest book and cannot be disturbed.”

“Mrs. Tibbs,” said Annie, “may we have just five short minutes of Mr. Dickens’s time, please?”

“Young man, I am afraid that right now Mr. Dickens needs every minute he can spare for his writing,” said Mrs. Tibbs. “Surely you know how important Mr. Dickens’s work is.”

“Yes, ma’am, surely we do,” said Jack. “But—”

“I am terribly sorry, young gentlemen,” said Mrs. Tibbs. “It grieves me to turn you away, but I must. I pray that you will bear no grudge against Mr. Dickens.” With that, Mrs. Tibbs turned and hurried back inside.

“Well, that didn’t get us very far,” said Jack.

“Surely it did not,” said Annie.

“Pardon us, sirs,” someone said.

Jack and Annie turned around.

Two boys with dirty clothes and dirty faces were standing behind them. The taller boy wore an old top hat, and the smaller one wore a wool cap that was too big for him. He carried a large, round brush, a broom, and some rags.

“Oh … hi,” said Jack.

“We was just needing to ring the bell, sir, if you don’t mind,” the bigger boy said.

“Sure,” said Jack. “But the housekeeper’s not letting anyone in today. That’s why we’re leaving.”

“She’ll let us in,” said the smaller boy. “We’ve come to sweep the chimneys.”

“Really? She’ll let you into the house?” said Annie. “Hold on.” She turned to Jack. “I’ve got an idea!”

“No you don’t,” said Jack. “See you, guys. Bye.” He tried to move Annie along, but she pulled away.

“Wait, don’t ring the bell yet,” Annie said to the boys. “Would you be interested in trading places with us for a while?”

“Annie—” said Jack.

“Shh,” said Annie.

The boys looked confused. “Trade places?” asked the bigger boy. “Why?”

“Actually—” said Jack.

But Annie jumped in. “Here’s the deal,” she said. “We’ve come a long way. And we really, really want to talk to Mr. Dickens. So … maybe if we go in and clean the chimneys, we’ll have a chance.”

“We can’t lose our wages,” said the bigger boy.

“How much do you get paid for this job?” asked Annie.

“Twopence,” said the smaller boy.

Annie reached into her pocket and pulled out a handful of coins. She gave them to the boy. “Is that good?”

Both boys looked at her with wide eyes and nodded eagerly.

“And you’ll get our coats, too,” said Annie. “If you give us yours.”

“Whoa, whoa. Excuse me,” Jack said. He pulled Annie aside. “This is not a good plan.”

“Yes it is,” Annie said. “Remember when we got kicked out of the Big House in Ireland? If we’d had a job, we could have hung around there longer.”

“But we don’t know how to sweep chimneys,” said Jack.

“How hard can it be?” said Annie. “It will get us inside the house. Then we can keep an eye out for Mr. Dickens. The next thing you know, we’ve figured out the problem and we’re playing our
magic music and Mr. Dickens is giving more gifts to the world. Mission accomplished!”

Before Jack could protest, Annie turned back to the chimney sweeps. “So do you want to trade your coats for ours? Hats, too?”

The boys stared at her in wonder. “Them is fine coats, Harry!” said the smaller boy. “And fine hats, too!” He threw down the brush, broom, and rags. He traded his coat for Annie’s velvet coat, and traded his dirty, ragged cap for her new, clean cap.

“Hey, you’re a girl!” the boy said when he saw Annie’s braids.

“So what if I am?” Annie asked, tucking her braids under the dirty cap.

“Forget it, Colin. Rich folks are strange,” Harry said. He pulled off his coat and held it out to Jack. “Here,” he said with a big grin.

Jack sighed and traded his beautiful velvet coat and wool cap for Harry’s tattered coat and old top hat.

“And what about your boots?” asked Harry.

Jack looked down at his shiny leather boots. He looked at Harry’s dirty, old shoes.

“Come on, Jack,” said Annie. “These guys need them more than we do.”

Annie pulled off her boots. Colin took off his shoes and handed them to her. Jack sighed again and sat down to take off his boots.

Colin and Harry stood tall in their new boots and jackets and hats.

“How ’bout it, Colin?” said Harry, shaking his head. “In two minutes, we went from rags to riches.”

Colin let out a wild whoop. Then the two boys linked arms and danced a jig, kicking up their boots. When they stopped dancing, Harry rang the gate bell wildly.

As the bell clanged, the front door of the house flew open. The housekeeper stuck her head outside. “Stop the noise, you idiots! I’m comin’!” she screeched.

“Let’s go, Colin, before they change their minds!” said Harry.

As the two boys ran off in their new velvet coats, Jack heard money jingling. “Oh, no!” he said. “We forgot to empty our pockets!”

“That’s okay,” said Annie. “I’m sure they need the money more than we do. They were so happy going from rags to riches.”

“Yeah, right,” said Jack, “and we just went from riches to rags.”

“Shh! Here comes Mrs. Tibbs!” said Annie. “We’d better smudge our faces with the rags so she won’t recognize us.” She rubbed her face with a dirty rag, then Jack’s. “There! You look like a real chimney sweep now.”

The housekeeper stomped to the gate and unlocked it. “Don’t break my eardrums next time, you knaves!” she cried.

Jack and Annie grabbed the brush and broom. They kept their heads down as they headed for the front door. “Not
that
door, you fools!” yelled Mrs. Tibbs. “Go round to the back!”

J
ack and Annie hurried around to the back door and slipped inside the house. They walked through a small, dark mudroom, then stepped into the large front hallway. Sun slanted through the tall windows. Everything seemed to be made of carved wood or marble. A wide staircase curved up to the second floor.

“Get to work, sweeps!” barked the housekeeper. “Do the regular!”

Mrs. Tibbs left them and clomped down the back stairs. Jack heard pots clattering below. He
realized the kitchen must be in the cellar. The rest of the house was quiet, as if it were waiting for the mother and children to return.

“I wonder where Mr. Dickens is writing,” Annie whispered.

“He must be working quietly somewhere in the house,” said Jack.

Mrs. Tibbs came bustling up the back stairs and burst into the front hallway. “I told you to get to work!” she said. “If I don’t see you working in two minutes, I’ll throw you out on your ears!” The housekeeper then disappeared up the wide staircase to the second floor.

“I guess we’d better get to work,” said Jack.

“So where do we start?” said Annie.

“Let’s check out the fireplaces on this floor,” said Jack.

Jack and Annie crept into a dining room that overlooked a garden. A fire crackled in the hearth.

“She can’t expect us to clean
that
chimney,” said Jack, “unless she wants us to burn to death.”

Jack and Annie went back through the front hall and into a room filled with leather-bound books.

There was no fire in the large fireplace, but the room was bright and warm. It had big windows, a rich-colored plush carpet, and mirrors that reflected the light from outside. A vase of fresh flowers sat on a desk facing one of the windows.

“Oh, man, I love this room,” said Jack, staring at all the books.

“Yeah, and look—there’s a desk with a feather pen and paper,” said Annie. “I’ll bet this is where Mr. Dickens does his writing. I wonder where he is.”

“Maybe he’s taking a break,” said Jack.

“Maybe he’ll come in here soon,” said Annie. “Let’s start cleaning the chimney.”

“Okay,” said Jack. “But first we have to figure out
how.”
He unbuckled the green bag and pulled out their research book. He looked in the index and found
chimney sweeps.
He turned to the right page and read aloud:

“Great.” Jack closed the book. “Good work, Annie. You made us give up our nice clothes and all our money, and you landed us a dirty, dangerous job.”

“Don’t worry,” said Annie. “We shoveled coal, washed dishes, and hauled bananas with Louis Armstrong. We can do this.”

“Yeah, but
how
do we do it? The book doesn’t tell us,” said Jack.