A Ghost Tale for Christmas Time (4 page)

“Well, we’ve got a brush, a broom, and rags,” said Annie. “Let’s start by using them. Remember, we’re just waiting to run into Charles Dickens. Then we’ll chat with him and play our music and—”

“Okay, okay,” said Jack. He put the book away.

Jack and Annie stepped into the hearth. Annie got down on her hands and knees and began scrubbing the stones with the brush. Jack pushed
his broom up the chimney and tried to sweep the soot off the bricks. A pile of soft black powder fell on his head. It got in his eyes and mouth.

“Oh, no!” whispered Jack, puffing and blowing. As he squeezed his eyes shut, he felt Annie yank his sleeve.

“Don’t …,” he said. “I—”

“Shh!” whispered Annie. “He’s here!”

Jack opened his watery eyes. He saw a small, slender man standing in the hallway outside the door. The man had wavy brown hair. He wore a dark coat and pants. He was reading some papers and muttering to himself.

“Mr. Dickens,” whispered Annie.

Before Jack could say anything, the man shouted, “Let no one enter my study, Mrs. Tibbs! Under penalty of death!” And he came into his study and slammed the door.

Penalty of death?
thought Jack.
He’s got to be kidding!
But he and Annie crouched down in the fireplace.

Mr. Dickens didn’t notice them or Jack’s green
velvet bag sitting on the carpet. As he crossed the room, he kept looking at his papers and muttering to himself. He sat down at the desk, facing the window. He picked up the feather pen, dipped it into an ink pot, and began to write.

Suddenly Mr. Dickens leapt out of his chair and rushed to one of the mirrors. He put his hands around his neck and cried, “AGHHH!” He struggled and made a horrible face as if someone were choking him.

Then the writer hurried back to his desk and scrawled a few more lines. He stopped and read what he’d written. “Good, good!” he said.

Then Mr. Dickens leapt up again and rushed back to the mirror. This time he rapped his head with his knuckles. He looked furious. “Bah-bah-bah!” he shouted.

Jack and Annie watched, fascinated.

Again Mr. Dickens hurried back to his desk and wrote. He stopped and read what he’d written. Then he crumpled the paper and threw it across the room. He covered his face with his hands and
murmured, “I can’t, I can’t!” He was still for a long moment.

“Excuse me. Are you okay?” Annie asked in a soft voice.

Mr. Dickens gasped and whirled around. He saw Jack’s green velvet bag on the carpet. “What’s that? Who’s here?” Then he saw Jack and Annie huddled in the fireplace. He jumped out of his chair.

“Chimney sweeps?” he cried. “Why—why are you in my study?”

“Sorry, we’re just working on the chimney,” said Annie.

Mr. Dickens groaned. “I—I can’t bear it,” he said. “I have to get out. I have to leave.…” He rushed across the room and threw open the door.

The housekeeper was sweeping in the hallway. “What’s wrong, Mr. Dickens?” she asked.

“I’m finished for today, Mrs. Tibbs,” said Mr. Dickens. “They—they …” He pointed back into his study.

Mrs. Tibbs saw Jack and Annie. “Oh! What are you doing in there?” she cried. “Mr. Dickens, I’m sorry! They—”

“Never—never mind. I’m going out,” said Mr. Dickens. “Tell Mrs. Dickens I don’t know when I’ll be back.” He grabbed his hat and walking stick. Then he hurried out the front door.

“Mr. Dickens, don’t go!” cried Mrs. Tibbs. But the door closed before she could stop him.

Mrs. Tibbs whirled around and charged into
the room. “What are you doing in here, filthy brats?” she shrieked. “You know you’re to start with the back rooms! Not his study! Never his study!” She waved her broom at them, as if she was trying to sweep them away. “Out! Out! Out!”

Jack grabbed his green bag. Then he and Annie fled from Mrs. Tibbs and her broom. They hurried out the front door.

Mrs. Tibbs followed them to the iron gate. “Poor Mr. Dickens! You’ve ruined his day!” she cried. “I hope that makes you happy!”

“No, it doesn’t,” said Annie.

“All of England is waiting for his next story!” cried Mrs. Tibbs.

Oh, brother
, thought Jack.

Mrs. Tibbs yanked open the gate. As Jack and Annie tried to slip past her, she grabbed Jack by his jacket. She looked at him closely. “Why, you’re not Harry!” She turned and looked at Annie. “And you’re not Colin! What have you done with my regular sweeps?” she cried.

“Nothing! They’re fine!” said Jack.

“You better not have hurt them, you scamps!” she said, pushing Jack and then Annie out onto the sidewalk.

“They’re fine! We promise! We’re sorry!” said Annie.

“There’s no forgiveness for all the harm you’ve done today!” the housekeeper said, looking as if she might burst into tears. Then she pushed the iron gate shut. It slammed with a loud
clang
!

“O
h, man,” said Jack, dazed. “She was nuts. Everyone here is nuts, including Mr. Dickens.”

“It’s all my fault,” said Annie. “I shouldn’t have—”

“No, no, don’t worry,” said Jack. “We just have to catch him and try to fix things.”

“He couldn’t have gone far,” said Annie. She and Jack glanced up and down the busy street. The afternoon sun had disappeared. Dark clouds filled the sky.

“Look, there he is!” said Annie, pointing.

Jack saw Mr. Dickens weaving through the horse-and-carriage traffic. He was signaling to a cabdriver with his walking stick.

“Mr. Dickens!” cried Annie. She started into the street, but Jack grabbed her just in time. Another horse and cab clattered by, barely missing them.

“He’s getting away!” said Annie.

“I know,” said Jack. “But we don’t want to get run over!”

“Look!” said Annie. “There’s the driver who brought us here! I’ll bet he’s waiting for us!”

Across the street was the red cab pulled by the small, fat horse.

“Great!” said Jack. He dodged the carriage traffic and rushed toward the driver. “Hi! Hi there!” Jack yelled. “Thanks for coming back! We need a ride! We have to follow—” He started to climb into the cab.

“Sorry, no free rides today, boy!” the driver said. “I’ve got mouths to feed at home!” He jiggled his reins, and his horse took off.

Jack nearly fell backward onto the sidewalk.
“Wait! Don’t you remember us?” he called. “We’re the young gentlemen from Frog Creek!”

But the driver didn’t seem to hear him in all the traffic.

Annie touched Jack’s arm. “He didn’t recognize us. We don’t look like gentlemen anymore,” she said. “Our clothes are ragged, and we’re covered with soot.”

“Oh, man,” said Jack. “Everyone was nice to us when we looked rich. Now it feels like the whole world’s against us.”

“I’m sorry, it’s all my fault,” said Annie.

“Forget it,” said Jack. “We just have to find Mr. Dickens. Come on. Let’s try to find his carriage.”

Clutching his green bag, Jack led the way down the street. He and Annie half ran, half walked past a long row of shops. As they looked for Mr. Dickens, they passed little girls sewing in the window of a dress shop. They saw boys sweeping trash and polishing boots, and girls selling matches and meat pies. Jack had never seen so many kids working at real jobs.

“Hey, isn’t that him getting out of that carriage?” said Annie. She pointed to an intersection in the distance.

A small man wearing a top hat and carrying a walking stick was climbing down from a cab.

“Yeah, I think it is!” said Jack. “Hurry!”

Jack and Annie ran up the sidewalk, dodging shoppers and merchants. By the time they got to the intersection, Mr. Dickens had disappeared again.

“Darn,” said Annie.

“Let’s keep looking,” said Jack. “If we don’t find him soon, we’ll go back to his house and wait for him outside the gate.”

A light rain began to fall as Jack and Annie started down a crowded, muddy road. They passed shabby shops and rows of small shacks. They passed vendors selling secondhand clothes and hats and shoes. They saw lots of ragged kids hanging around the street.

Jack caught the eye of a big, tough-looking boy
slouching against a lamppost with his hands in his pockets. As Jack passed him, the boy looked him over. Jack saw the boy say something to another kid. The two of them started walking after Jack and Annie.

“I think we’re being followed,” Jack said.

“Walk faster,” said Annie.

As Jack and Annie hurried up the muddy street, black smoke from chimneys blended with the rain. The air felt grimy and dirty.

Jack glanced back. The two boys were getting closer to them.

“Run!” said Jack.

Jack and Annie ran past a butcher shop, a bakery, and a cigar store. Jack looked over his shoulder. The boys were running, too!

Jack slipped in the mud and fell. Before he could get up, the tough-looking kid caught up with him. The boy grabbed Jack’s green velvet bag and took off. The magic violin, the bow, and their book were in the bag!

“Help! Stop him!” cried Jack. “He’s got my bag!”

Jack jumped up from the mud and charged after the kid. But the big boy tossed the bag to the other boy.

“That one’s got it now!” Annie yelled, pointing.

Jack and Annie took off after the boy with the stolen bag. Fierce anger made Jack run as fast as he could. He caught up with the kid and wrestled the bag away from him. Then Jack turned around and started running back the way they’d come. Annie followed.

“Stop, thief!” the boy yelled.

Jack and Annie kept running through the black rain, passing the same shops again.

“Stop, thief!” Both boys were yelling now. “Stop, thief!”

Thief!
Jack thought wildly. Why were they calling
him
thief?

But others quickly joined the two boys, chasing after Jack and Annie:

“Stop, thief!” the butcher yelled.

“Stop, thief!” the baker yelled.

“Stop, thief!” the cigar seller yelled.

Even dogs and old ladies joined the chase through the muddy streets.

Jack looked over his shoulder. The two boys and a bunch of grown-ups and dogs were running after him and Annie. Everyone was yelling, “Stop, thief!”

“What should we do?” cried Annie.

“Keep running,” Jack answered. He clutched the green bag closer to his chest and spotted an alley up ahead. “Turn right!” he called.

Jack and Annie ran into the narrow alleyway filled with junk—broken wagon wheels, cracked plates, old pots and pans. The crowd followed them down the alley. Everyone kept shrieking, “Stop, thief!”

As the black rain fell, Jack and Annie scrambled over the rubble, desperately looking for an escape. Soon they came to a dead end. There was nowhere else to run!

Jack and Annie turned around. The crowd was closing in on them. Jack clutched the green bag in his hand. “Get away from us!” he shouted. “This is my bag! It’s mine!”

But the crowd kept moving toward him, led by the two boys who’d stolen the bag. They sneered at Jack. “We’ve got you now, thief,” said one.

“Just hand the bag over to us,” said the other, “or we’ll have to take it.”

“Play the violin, Jack!” said Annie.

Of course!
thought Jack. Only magic could save them now! Jack turned his back to the crowd. But before he could unbuckle the bag, someone grabbed him by his shirt collar. Jack looked up.