Christmas Carol (4 page)

“Happen?” Carol repeated weakly. “What do you
mean, happen? What are you going to do to me?”

“Now then,” Lady Augusta went on as if Carol
had not spoken. “I have been given this special season, from the
winter solstice until Twelfth Night, in which to convert you to a
better life.”

“I don’t like that word
convert
,”
Carol said.

“No matter. Another word will do as well. Say
change, alter, transform, or
transmute
if you prefer. It is
all the same to me. According to your earthly time, we have the
three nights until Christmas Eve in which to begin our work.
Afterward, the final changes will be up to you.”

“You mean,
your
work,” Carol said. “I
hope you don’t actually expect me to contribute anything to this
project. I am not in favor of donations. And I am definitely not in
the Christmas spirit.”

“You will be, by the time I have finished
with you.” Lady Augusta’s pale face took on a serious expression.
“You must be, Carol, for the future of my very soul depends upon
your transformation. Fight the events to come as hard as you wish.
The alteration in your heart will mean more to you if it happens as
the result of struggle. In my place, as in your world, what comes
easily is not appreciated.” Lady Augusta rose, her robes billowing
about her, though Carol still could feel no wind. When Lady Augusta
held out her hand, Carol shrank back into the shelter of the wing
chair.

“I am not going anywhere with you,” Carol
declared.

“I cannot give you a choice in this, lest you
reject an opportunity that will never arise again for you or for
me. You
will
come with me, Carol, and you will give your
all—heart, soul and mind—to what transpires. Let us begin.”

Lady Augusta spread her arms wide. The folds
of her flowing gown whipped toward Carol, who sat clutching at the
arms of the wing chair, determined not to participate in what she
still perceived as a farce or a trick. The lavender folds blew and
drifted ever nearer, wrapping themselves around the chair until
Carol and chair were both totally encompassed in fog-like, wispy
fabric.

“Don’t!” Carol clawed at the sheer cloth,
fighting desperately, afraid she would be smothered in what was now
a pale, lavender-colored, lavender-scented mist. “Stop it! Let me
go!”

“Fight all you want,” Lady Augusta said,
embracing her. “What will happen, will happen. But I will not
desert you. I will remain at your side.”

“I don’t want this! Go back where you came
from!” Carol shrieked, still trying to push the cloth away from her
nose. She could not breathe, the lavender scent was so strong it
was choking her, and Lady Augusta’s cold embrace almost stopped her
heart with fear. Carol had never been so cold. It was like the
coldness of the grave. She screamed….

Christmas Past

London, 1818

“Caroline, my dear, wake up. How can you be
dozing on such an important night?”

“Who—what?” Carol battled the last shreds of
a lavender-scented mist into the background of her mind so she
could determine who was speaking to her. The voice was vaguely
familiar.

“Dear sister, you have been dreaming.” A
youthful face surmounted by short curls of pale gold hair presented
itself to Carol’s confused sight.

“Dreaming?” Carol repeated. Then,
remembering. “No, this is Lady Augusta’s doing.”

“Oh, dear.” The pretty girl leaning over
Carol bubbled with barely suppressed laughter. “Has Aunt Augusta
brewed another of her famous herbal potions and sent you to sleep
when you ought to be up and stirring in preparation for the
ball?”

“Aunt?” repeated Carol. “What ball?”

“The Christmas ball, silly. Oh, do wake up,
Caroline. It is time to put on your gown, and you did promise that
I should be the only one to help you. Come, now, out of that chair
at once.”

Thus urged, Carol could only obey. She was
sitting in a wing chair that, save for a change of upholstery, was
the same chair in which she had been sitting while eating her
lonely dinner and while talking to the ghost of Lady Augusta.
However, the room in which she now found herself was most
definitely not the same. This was a luxuriously furnished room, a
lovely and spacious chamber with pale blue walls and ornate white
molding all around the ceiling. A simpler molding outlined panels
on every wall. A warming fire blazed high in the fireplace, candles
burned on the wide mantel to light the room, and more candles shone
upon tables and in wall sconces. And the once-frayed green fabric
covering the wing chair was transformed into a fresh shade of blue
brocade.

“I do believe Aunt Augusta was right after
all,” said the blond girl, lifting the hem of the gown that was
spread across the blue coverlet of a large, canopied bed. “Peach is
more properly your color than white.”

This charming creature was herself gowned in
white, a dress made with a high waistline, a low, rounded neck, and
tiny puffed sleeves. A simple gold locket hung about her neck on a
thin gold chain and her earrings were tiny pearls with pearl
droplets. Her sweet face appeared to be untouched by cosmetics.
Though Carol had never seen the girl before, she felt a peculiar
stirring of affection toward her, as if she did know her and as if
the girl were important.

“Off with your wrapper,” said the girl,
tugging upon the sash at Carol’s waist. Looking down, Carol saw
that she was no longer wearing her old bathrobe and flannel
nightgown, but a pale yellow silk robe with ruffled edges. When she
let the girl remove it, Carol gaped at unfamiliar underwear. An
embroidered linen chemise covered a light corset that felt as if it
had thin stays in it. Sheer peach-colored stockings were gartered
at her knees. She was wearing flat satin slippers dyed a delicate
shade of peach.

“Here you are.” The girl steered Carol toward
the bed. “Put up your arms. Do be careful, now. It is delicate and
we don’t want to tear it.”

Carol followed the young woman’s instructions
without protest, standing still while a cloud of sheer, pale peach
fabric was lifted over her head and adjusted around her body. With
remarkable speed Carol’s companion fastened a row of tiny buttons
up the back of the dress. A gentle tug pulled everything into
place.

“There. Don’t I make a wonderful lady’s maid?
My dearest, you have never looked lovelier. Montfort will be
ravished by the very sight of you. Just see for yourself.”

“Montfort?” Yielding to the pressure of her
companion’s hands upon her shoulders, Carol turned to look into the
cheval glass that stood in one corner of the room. The reflection
that greeted her there was a real shock.

It was her own face that Carol saw, but her
shoulder-length, light brown hair was cropped into a tumble of
short curls, a coiffure almost identical to the one the young woman
with her was wearing. Carol’s peach-colored dress was also similar
in style to the white one, and a matching pair of pearl earrings
dangled from her own lobes.

What was most amazing to Carol was the
difference she perceived in her face, for despite the astonishing
similarity of feature, the face in the mirror was not exactly hers.
Except for brief periods after her infrequent walks about London,
when she had some color in her face and looked alive again, Carol
was used to seeing her reflection pale and wan and somewhat
listless. Even without makeup, the cheeks of the woman in the
mirror glowed with good health and her eyes sparkled with
excitement. Or—upon a closer, more thorough inspection— was that
glow a feverish flush? Were those eyes perhaps too bright? And was
it a shadow of fear Carol saw in the gray depths that were so
similar to her own eyes? She did not have long to ponder the
puzzling reflection.

“Shall I fasten this for you?” The girl in
white held up for Carol’s inspection a necklace of magnificent
pearls with a clasp carved from a large sapphire.

“I can’t wear that,” Carol gasped. “It must
be worth a fortune.”

“My dear, Montfort told you himself that this
necklace is part of his family’s jewels. You must wear it. You
cannot insult your fiance on this night of all nights by spurning
his betrothal gift. Besides, you have already told him how much you
like it.”

“I do like it. That’s just the trouble.” But
Carol obediently bowed her head while the necklace was fastened
about her neck. She lifted her head and, gazing into the cheval
glass again, adjusted the heavy clasp so it lay just at the hollow
of her throat. Three strands of large, perfect pearls glowed
against her skin.

“Oh, how I envy you, Caroline,” said her
companion with unaffected sweetness. “I sometimes wonder if Lord
Simmons will ever come up to scratch. But he is the only man I will
consider marrying. I don’t care who else asks me.”

“Lord Simmons?”

“Good heavens, Caroline, can you do nothing
but repeat everything I say?” The girl laughed at Carol with open
affection in her manner. “However, I am sure that on the night of
my own betrothal party, I will be as slack-witted as you appear to
be, so I ought not to criticize my own dear sister.”

Thus chastised, Carol refrained from
repeating
sister
. She was by now in a state of absolute
confusion. She did not have a sister, had never had a sister, and
did not want one.

“I thought you said this was the Christmas
ball.” It was the only thing Carol could think of to say that would
not sound like the raving of a lunatic. “Now you’re telling me it’s
for my engagement?”

“You know perfectly well it is both.” The
girl in white laughed again. “The three of us and Montfort together
agreed on the purpose of the ball, and I must say Aunt Augusta has
done well by you. So many flowers and the best musicians! But then,
she likes Montfort .I swear, she would marry him herself if she
were young enough.”

“Montfort.” Carol bit her lip. This pretty
girl was right; she did seem to be making a habit of repeating
whatever was said to her. Only one name gave her hope that she
could make some sense out of her bewilderment.

“Aunt Augusta,” Carol said.

“Yes. She wants to inspect you as soon as you
are dressed. Here.” The girl took a pair of long white gloves off
the bed and handed them to Carol. When they were on, they reached
above Carol’s elbows. Her companion helped Carol to fasten the
buttons. “Now your fan.” This was a confection of peach silk on
ivory sticks, the silk painted with delicate flowers and
leaves.

“Are you coming with me?” Carol did not know
whether to hope the girl would accompany her, or hope she would
stay behind. If “Aunt Augusta” proved to be the Lady Augusta whom
Carol knew and who was the cause of Carol’s present confusion, then
she wanted to confront the woman without having to be careful of
her words in front of someone else. On the other hand, if it was
not Lady Augusta, then Carol might need some support from this girl
who seemed to hold her in great affection.

To Carol, there was something tantalizingly
familiar about this young person, as if she were someone she had
seen and heard in a dream or, perhaps, met briefly long ago. Carol
looked more closely at her, wishing she dared to ask the girl what
her name was, but it did not seem appropriate to inquire as to the
identity of one’s own sister. Except that Carol knew perfectly well
the girl was not her sister. She experienced an odd tug of regret
at the thought. A sister like this one might not be so bad.

“I have already passed inspection,” the girl
said in answer to Carol’s question about Lady Augusta. “You go
along. I will join you in a few moments. I want to brush my hair
one last time, so I will look my very best.”

“Just in case Lord Simmons appears at the
ball?” The gently teasing tone of her own voice startled Carol. She
actually sounded as if she were fond of the girl.

“Oh, I do hope he will come.” Soft blue eyes
shone at the thought; the sweet young mouth curved into a tremulous
smile. “If he does, he might ask me to dance the waltz with
him.”

“Now, that would be cause for excitement.”
Realizing she could not remain in that chamber thinking up excuses
to delay going to see “Aunt Augusta,” Carol stepped through the
door and into a long hall lit by a series of wall sconces in which
candles burned.

The hall was not familiar to her, but she
went toward an area that appeared to be more brightly lit than the
area just outside the bedroom she had left. And then, suddenly, she
did recognize the hall. It was because of the staircase. That
lovely, curving sweep of step and banister was unmistakable to one
who had been up and down it several times every day for five and a
half years. And there, just a few steps away, was the door leading
to Lady Augusta’s suite of rooms. Taking a deep breath and hoping
she was not mistaken, Carol went to the door and knocked upon it.
The door was opened at once by a middle-aged woman in a black dress
and white apron.

“Who is it?” said a well-known voice from
within.

“It’s me,” said Carol, brushing past the
servant to enter the room.

The decor was different. The paneled walls of
the room were cream and white, with pale green taffeta curtains at
the tall windows and matching hangings on the bed, but it was
definitely the room Carol remembered from her time as Lady
Augusta’s companion. The woman sitting at the dressing table with a
jewel box before her certainly looked like the Lady Augusta whom
Carol knew.

“Come in and let me look at you,” commanded
Lady Augusta. “Marie, you may leave us. I will call when I want you
again.”

``
Oui
, madame.” With a curtsy, the
servant disappeared out the door, leaving Carol alone with a woman
whom she believed to be a ghost. Or perhaps, despite appearances,
this was not the ghost she had seen earlier that night. Carol
decided to be cautious.