Christmas Carol (36 page)

Pillow
?
Nightgown
?
Hadn’t
she been sitting by the fire
?

Christmas Eve Day was Carol’s 27th birthday.
She gave the fact only the briefest thought as she rose from her
bed at an early hour. When she finished washing her face in the
bathroom down the hall, she stared at herself in the mirror over
the sink, expecting to see in her visage the marks of the great
changes that had taken place in her. However, except for the faint
hint of a smile lingering about her usually downturned lips, her
face looked the same as it always did.

“After what I’ve just been through,” Carol
said softly to herself, “I ought to be red-eyed from crying all
night. But I slept better than I have for years, and I can’t see
any outward signs of severe emotional conflict. Why not?”

It did not take much thought before she knew
the answer to her question. Though they were real enough to her,
the horrors of the future had not yet actually occurred, so they
could not mark her. Nik was not yet born; thus, he had not died by
order of Commander Drum. Nik, his sister, and his friends might
never have to face the terrible deaths Carol had witnessed. She
could make the difference for them.

“And I will,” Carol told her damp reflection.
“I have the power to change the future. Lady Augusta said so, and I
believe her. The only question is, exactly where to start.”

By the time she had applied her makeup and
dressed, her plan of action was formulated. It was still early.
Nell brought her breakfast on a tray every morning at 7:30, but
today Carol did not wait to be served. She hastened below to the
kitchen.

“Oh, miss,” cried Nell, catching sight of
her, “I was just fixing your tray.”

“There’s no need for you to climb all those
stairs,” Carol told her. “I will eat right here, at the kitchen
table. Unless I’ll be in your way, Mrs. Marks? You look very
busy.”

“Eat where you like,” said Mrs. Marks,
somewhat ungraciously.

“Thank you, I will. I would like to talk to
you, Mrs. Marks. And to you, too, Nell.”

“What about?” asked Mrs. Marks, slamming two
pans of freshly baked bread down on the table.

“First,” said Carol, “if the invitation is
still open, I would be very happy to join all of you for Christmas
dinner tomorrow night.”

“I thought you had other plans.” Mrs. Marks
was turning the hot loaves out of the baking pans onto racks to
cool, but she paused to send a sharp glance in Carol’s
direction.

“Well, my original plans have—um—they’ve
fallen through,” Carol said. “Besides, it might be nice if the
entire staff ate a meal together on what will almost certainly be
our last Christmas at Marlowe House.”

“Oh, yes,” said Nell. “Oh, that would be
lovely, wouldn’t it, Mrs. Marks?”

“If you want to eat with us,” Mrs. Marks said
to Carol, “then you are welcome. It is Christmas, after all. But I
still don’t understand why you want to.”

“She just told you why,” Nell cried.

“No, she didn’t.” Mrs. Marks frowned at
Carol, who suddenly grinned at her. Mrs. Marks stared, too taken
aback to say another word.

Carol had just recalled an old adage.
If
you want someone to be your friend, don’t do a favor for him.
Instead, let him do a favor for you
.

“Mrs. Marks, I have a great favor to ask of
you,” Carol announced.

“Now we come to it,” said Mrs. Marks with
another of her hard looks.

“Yes, indeed.” Carol was still smiling. “Do
you know St. Fiacre’s Bountiful Board?’

“Everyone in this part of London knows about
St. Fiacre’s,” said Mrs. Marks. “The Reverend Mr. Kincaid and his
wife do a lot of good there.”

“I agree.” Carol extended her smile to
include not only Mrs. Marks and Nell, but also Crampton and Hettie,
who had come into the kitchen while she spoke and who both looked
very surprised to see her sitting there at the table. “I think we
should help Lucius Kincaid and his wife in their efforts to feed
the poor. I am sure they could use more food, and extra hands to
help serve this evening’s meal would also be welcome.”

“Help them?” Mrs. Marks looked doubtful.
“Well, I don’t know. I have so much work to do in preparation for
our own Christmas dinner tomorrow.”

“Don’t be silly,” said Nell. “Only half an
hour ago, you were bragging to me how you had preparations so well
in hand that there would be nothing left for you to do from
breakfast time today until late tomorrow morning. And just think of
all the cookies you’ve been baking for days. Who you intended them
for I’ll never know. The five of us can’t eat all of them before
they go stale. We might as well donate them to St. Fiacre’s, where
they’ll be appreciated.” When Nell paused for breath, Crampton
cleared his throat.

“If I may make an additional suggestion,”
said Crampton, “I believe canned goods are always acceptable at
such establishments. If they are not used for tonight’s meal, they
can be easily saved to be served at some future time. Hunger is not
confined to the holiday season, and St. Fiacre’s Bountiful Board
serves meals all the year round. Now, the cellars below this
kitchen are filled with food that will be useless if Marlowe House
is soon to be closed. The executors of Lady Augusta’s estate will
be forced to find a means of disposing of all of those cans. We
could carry some of them to St. Fiacre’s today.”

“I don’t think Lady Augusta would approve of
your idea, Crampton,” said Mrs. Marks in a stern tone of voice.

“Believe me,” Carol told her, “the Lady
Augusta I know would wholeheartedly endorse Crampton’s wonderful
idea.”

“Do you really think so?” Mrs. Marks appeared
to be puzzled by Carol’s assured tone, but after a moment she
nodded, accepting the notion that Lady Augusta might have been more
generous than her cook had ever realized. “Well, in that case,
seeing that this is the holiday season, I could make another batch
of bread and send it to the church.”

“Thank you.” Carol paused, then asked, “If I
buy a turkey to contribute to the cause, could you have it cooked
in time to take it to the church hall late this afternoon? I’m not
certain what time the dinner is to be served. And, I confess, I
wouldn’t know how to roast a bird on my own.”

“Here now, I’m not sure about all of this,”
Mrs. Marks began, puzzled again and a bit upset by so many
unexpected suggestions.

“The doors of the Bountiful Board open at
five o’clock this afternoon,” Hettie stated. “Oh, Mrs. Marks, let’s
do it. I know Lady Augusta was never one for charity work, but Mr.
Kincaid has always been nice to me. I go to St. Fiacre’s every
Sunday,” she confided to Carol.

“I suppose we could do our bit to help out,
just this once, since it is Christmas Eve.” Mrs. Marks looked at
the small, plain roll on Carol’s plate and at the cup of tea Nell
was pouring for her. “That’s not much of a breakfast. I could cook
an egg or two for you, if you’d like.”

“I would love it.” Carol sat back in her
chair, well satisfied with the response of Lady Augusta’s staff to
the first part of her plan to change the future. “Two eggs,
scrambled, if you please. And thank you very much, Mrs. Marks.”

Carol spent the morning in a burst of
last-minute Christmas shopping. The first order of business was the
turkey. She bought the biggest, plumpest bird she could find and
carried it back to Marlowe House herself.

“I wanted to be sure you would have enough
time to cook it,” she said to Mrs. Marks, “so I didn’t wait for the
delivery service.”

“Hah. At least you know how to shop for a
crowd.” Mrs. Marks regarded the turkey with satisfaction. “That
ought to feed a fair number of people. I’ll fire up the big oven,
the one we used to use for great roasts in the days when Lady
Augusta’s father was alive and still entertaining. Now, where are
you going? I thought you were going to help us.” This last
exclamation was addressed to Carol’s back.

“I never learned to cook,” said Carol, one
hand on the door knob. “I leave that to experts like you, Mrs.
Marks. I have more shopping to do. I will be back in time to assist
in carrying everything to the church.” She did not add that she was
feeling increasingly nervous about this charitable project of hers,
or that she was comforted to know the servants would be with her so
she would not have to meet the Kincaids on her own.

“While you are gone,” Crampton put in before
Carol could leave the kitchen, “I shall call the Reverend Mr.
Kincaid and inform him of our intentions. He should know of them in
advance, for it may be that with our additions to his menu, he will
be able to invite more hungry folk than he originally planned to
feed.”

“That’s a good idea, Crampton. I’m glad you
thought of it.” She was more relieved by his suggestion than
Crampton could possibly guess. It was cowardly of her to let him
smooth the way for her with the Kincaids, but Carol was afraid the
rector and his wife might not be glad to see her after her rudeness
to them on Monday afternoon. The episode after Lady Augusta’s
funeral seemed years ago to Carol, but to the Kincaids it was only
a few days in the past. They could not have forgotten it.

With a silent prayer that she would be
forgiven her earlier sharp words and permitted to do what she could
to help the good people of St. Fiacre’s, Carol let herself out the
door before Mrs. Marks could think of any reason why she ought to
stay and help with the cooking. Now, with the turkey in the cook’s
capable hands, Carol could begin the rest of her errands. She
headed toward Bond Street first and then to Regents’ Street.

Within a very short time she bought a bottle
of toilet water and a jar of hand cream in the same scent for Nell,
whose hands were often red and rough from housework and who Carol
suspected often longed for feminine pleasures she could not afford.
For Crampton, Carol purchased a book about the historic houses of
England. Next she selected a pretty blouse for Mrs. Marks. Finding
a gift for Hettie was a bit of a problem, since the scullery maid
did not seem to have any interests beyond her work at Marlowe House
and Carol knew from the vision of the servants’ holiday dinner
shown to her by Lady Augusta that Hettie could not read very well.
A book would not suit but, recalling Hettie’s remark that she went
to St. Fiacre’s every Sunday, Carol at last settled on a felt hat
decorated with a sprightly red feather.

It had been years since she had bought a gift
for anyone, and in those earlier, youthful days Christmas shopping
had always seemed like an unpleasant chore. It was not so today.
Every present she bought represented in some way a gift of love,
and the cheerful “Merry Christmas” that she regularly heard during
those hours was music to her newly blossoming spirit, a sound
almost as joyous as the Christmas carols being played in the stores
she visited.

“This is fun,” Carol said to herself with a
sense of wonder. “I never guessed that shopping for presents to
give to someone else could make me feel so wonderfully happy.” She
knew it would be even more fun if the man she loved could be with
her, but she refused to think about her own longings. She was
engaged in a project to ensure that same man a long and happy life.
Knowing that she was succeeding would be enough for her.

Her arms filled with packages, she paused
outside a confectioner’s shop. She thought Lady Penelope Hyde would
have appreciated the gaily decorated and cleverly arranged boxes of
chocolates and other sweets in the window. The Pen who lived in the
far future loved sweets. Taking a chance that Abigail Penelope
Kincaid also had a sweet tooth, Carol went into the store and
selected a large box of assorted candies.

“A merry Christmas to you/’ the shopkeeper
called after her as she left.

“Merry Christmas,” Carol replied, giving him
a bright and totally sincere smile.

She stood outside the shop for a moment,
trying to balance all her parcels and realizing that she could not
possibly carry anything more. Hailing a taxi, she returned to
Marlowe House a second time, to sneak in by the front door and
carry everything up to her bedroom, there to hide the packages in
her closet in case Nell should come into the room for some reason.
Having deposited the gifts on the closet floor, she straightened to
look at her wardrobe. It was not large, and all of her clothes were
in shades of brown, black, or gray.

“Not very cheerful,” Carol noted. “I will
have to do something about that. And I still need decorations for
St. Fiacre’s hall and for the church. Do I have enough money
left?”

After scraping together every pound note and
coin she could find, she went out again. This time she bought a
packet of pretty but inexpensive wrapping paper and some ribbon,
then purchased a green silk scarf and a bright lipstick for
herself, before ending her Christmas shopping at the florist’s shop
where she had purchased roses and narcissus just a few days
previously. There she selected an assortment of red and white
flowers and holiday greenery for the altar at St. Fiacre’s Church,
a table arrangement for the buffet, and three wreaths with red bows
on them.

“We can deliver these,” said the shopkeeper
when Carol explained why she wanted so many decorations. “I am
closing the shop in half an hour, and I will be happy to take
everything to St. Fiacre’s myself. In fact, I’m helping to serve
the dinner tonight.”

“Then I’ll see you there,” Carol said.

“If you are working with Mrs. Kincaid, you
certainly will.” The young woman smiled at her. “Merry
Christmas.”

“Oh, merry Christmas!” Carol cried. “Until
later, then.”

Back at Marlowe House, the kitchen was filled
with the good smell of roasting turkey and sage and thyme. Hettie
was packing cookies into large tins for transportation to St.
Fiacre’s, Nell was wrapping loaves of still-warm bread, Crampton
was sharpening a carving knife, and a slightly frazzled-looking
Mrs. Marks was bustling about giving orders to everyone.