Simon and the Christmas Spirit (8 page)

Although perhaps Christopher was
finished with life in the theater. After tomorrow, he would go with
Dion and seek a real job at the paper. He owed it to his family,
particularly Will, to pull his weight. He would take on a more
traditional and steady way to earn their bread.

Lilah came in, slamming the kitchen
door. The picture of David Garrick perched on the credenza jumped
over the edge and crashed to the ground. It had done that often
enough the glass was long gone. She stooped to pick it up. “There’s
an open call at the Pantheon for chorus girls and comedians and
singers. A review, I hear. Hallelujah, and may we all find parts,”
she trilled as she unwrapped her long scarf from around her neck.
She studied Christopher. “How are you, Fool?”

“
Come hither, mistress. Is
your name Goneril?” He’d never played a part in Lear but had
memorized all the Fool’s lines just to have answers to his sister.
“And when is this exciting opportunity for players?”

He told himself he could manage work
at the paper and on the stage.

“
The call is after the New
Year,” she said, glum now. “No joy until then. But there might be a
traveling show as well, which means we might finally see more of
the country.”

Leave it to sunny Lilah to find
something positive about life in a traveling company.

Dion bustled into the kitchen and
closed the door with exaggerated care and a meaningful eyebrow
waggle directed at Lilah, who stuck her tongue out at
him.

“
Is my angelkins too tired
and cold to go back out with me to busk for the upcoming feast?”
Christopher asked his sister. He wondered if he could go near the
club for their singing. Perhaps he could coax the majordomo to give
Will back his job. He’d done more difficult finagling before. And
he might catch a glimpse of Simon and….

Yes indeed. Thou wouldst
make a good fool
, he thought.

Dion took down a bowl from the shelf
of mismatched but colorful plates on the credenza. He gently took
the spoon from Christopher’s father’s hand and shoveled some stew
into the bowl. “The weather shall turn ugly, and the temperatures
shall drop far too low for any performances out of doors. The
papers still blame that damned volcano for the change in
weather.”

Too cold meant less money to be found
performing on the streets. They let out a loud collective groan of
“Curse you, Krakatoa!” and then laughed. The laughter was cut short
when the small figure of Mike/Mimi crept into the room. He looked
ready to flee. Christopher called, “Good morning to
you!”

“
Your mum is off visiting
Mrs. Whatshername and the kiddies next door. You’d best explain the
rules to the boy,” Dion told Christopher. “I hate being the
welcoming committee, and he isn’t likely to take your sister
seriously.”

“
No one does,” Lilah
agreed mournfully.

“
Food first,” Christopher
said, and handed the slender, wide-eyed boy a bowl of stew. “His
fingers are nearly transparent, he’s that thin,” he whispered to
Lilah as the boy sat at the table across from their
father.

“
Mum will return soon
enough if you want her to take him in hand.”

“
No. The poor thing looks
ready to jump out of what skin he has. Best to help him relax and
enjoy the holidays.”

His sister laughed. “Sally already
said she’d keep an eye on him. I think she’s smitten by his sweet
looks.”

“
Poor Sally.”

“
No such thing. She’s too
young yet and wants nothing more than casual
flirtation.”

After the boy gulped down his stew,
Christopher walked him to the small sitting room where the girls
slept. The youth, who claimed he was almost eighteen, perched on
the bed and timidly requested that he be Mike, not Mimi. His smooth
skin, small cupid’s-bow mouth, and wide eyes were irresistible to a
certain sort of man—the sort who wasn’t Christopher. He could be
cast as Ganymede in a play about Zeus, Christopher
reflected.

Christopher remained standing. He put
his legs apart and folded his arms—the portrait of authority. “You
may stay. But our rules cover all. No matter what the name, what
the sex, what the age, you are expected to follow the rules. If you
break a rule, even if you are an Andrews born and bred, you are
sent to the cellar to sleep. That’s fine on nights when we have
coal and it’s warm down there, but it’s a cold dark place at the
moment.”

The boy smiled, but Christopher shook
his head. “No, it’s not a matter for laughter, Mike. We are crowded
in here often and must abide by the guidelines, which are quite
basic. Most of them consisting of cleaning your own rubbish and
don’t bring your rubbish home.”

“
Sir?”

“
I mean no unsanctioned
boys or girls may come over to play.” He crudely cupped his crotch
to show his meaning. “We must not risk it, you see. This is not the
best of neighborhoods, but we don’t want the neighbors to report
that we are more than a rather boisterous family of thespians.
We’re not a nelly house.” He went on listing the housekeeping rules
and ended with, “And no alcohol here, I am sad to say. We have a
few inhabitants who cannot resist the demon rum, my pap among
them.” He sang a few bars of a particularly unpleasant Temperance
Society hymn in his lugubrious preacher’s character, then snapped
back to serious. “This is an important rule, alas. If you roll in
drunk, we will
tsk tsk
and put you to bed. If you bring the bottle with you, we will
lock the door against you. At least until the bottle goes
away.”

Mike nodded. “Yessir.”

“
Do you act?”

Mike shook his head.

“
Dance? Sing? Play
cards?”

The boy shook his head at each
question.

“
You’ll be the rarest of
commodities here, then, an audience.” He clapped Mike on the
shoulder and recalled another important rule. “Bring food to share
when you buy it. Eat it elsewhere if it fell into your
pocket.”

Mike swallowed and looked down at his
battered boots. “How long may I stay?”

“
At least through the
holiday. M’ mother is out, but she will talk to you, and we’ll take
it from there. Please don’t take it amiss that I warn you not to
bother trying to steal from us. There’s nothing of value.” He
recalled what Lilah had said about Sally and decided he must add a
threat.

He let the menace touched with madness
come into his face. In a soft voice he added, “But hear this. If
you intentionally hurt any of my family, I shall hunt you down and
make you pay.”

Never mind that he was hardly a huge
figure, Christopher knew he looked as menacing as a killer and as
powerful as Puck. He believed it himself at that moment.

“
N-never, sir,” Mike
whispered. He crossed himself. “Never.”

“
Good!” Christopher
straightened. “Do you want more to eat?”

Mike shook his head no. He swallowed.
“Thank you, sir.”

“
You are entirely welcome,
Mr. Mike. Go forth and enjoy the miserably cold day, or stay inside
and sleep. You look as if you need to rest up more.”

Mike managed a smile and followed him
back into the room they now shared.

Christopher suspected Mike
would be with them for some time to come. He bid the newest refugee
good-bye. After he cleaned the kitchen, he wandered off to the
sitting room where the others sat close together for heat. They
labored over cards of promise, their usual gifts for each other
when times were tight. Lilah sewed a doll for Molly, the young
daughter of a trapeze artist who’d broken his leg and
recovered
chez
Andrewses.

Christopher looked for Will, hoping to
beg his pardon yet again for the whole horrible incident that
caused him to lose his job. His brother was out, so Christopher
fetched the coins they’d saved for the family’s kitchen feast.
Since he was the best at bargaining, he’d go to the marketplace and
do battle for their food.

The day before Christmas, shopkeepers
would want to get rid of their stock, he reasoned. Stale bread
toasted was fine, although toasting was more difficult these days
without a working stove. Stuffing, then. He’d go forth with his
face and posture the odd combination of a general in battle and
someone who deserved sympathy.

Simon, he thought, but the memory of
those eyes filled him with yearning, not a desire to imitate. Only
desire, pure and simple.

Father Christmas, bring me
that for a gift.

The rest of the day passed
uneventfully, and that night, he was able to offer his family meat,
cooked in the neighbor’s oven, potatoes that tasted fine once their
rotted ends had been removed, and bread that did a good job of
soaking up the drippings from the meat.

Will ate sullenly and stared down at
his plate. He still refused to meet Christopher’s gaze. He was
likely hungry even after eating. Though they never discussed it,
during times of famine, the older members of the household always
had slightly empty stomachs. Going without made Uncle Dion cross
and Lilah pleased.

After dinner, they wrapped themselves
in blankets to gather in the parlor to sing carols and, between
songs, listen to the splat of the heavy snow on the windows. It
should have been a festive day, but Christopher felt empty, and not
just because he hadn’t eaten as much as he’d wanted.

As the evening went on,
most of the “family” settled on the floor or the sofa to listen to
Uncle Billy, who’d played ghosts on stages from Scotland to London,
read a stirring rendition of Dickens’s
A
Christmas Carol
. Dion might have read as
well, but he’d slogged off to his job. Perhaps that was best. He
might have improvised, adding bits that would have been too racy
for this audience.

Will sat in a corner and repaired his
shoes, occasionally looking up to watch Billy. He’d been named
after Billy, and they were close. When Billy’s version of Marley
made one of the children shriek, Will looked up and met
Christopher’s eyes. Christopher made his terrified face, and Will,
bless him, grinned.

The relief that his brother might soon
forgive him cheered Christopher and he nearly forgot the emptiness
in his heart and stomach. He went to bed almost reconciled to the
idea of steady employment outside the theater. Perhaps he might
someday return to Brighton, where he’d never had trouble finding
work.

He’d leave behind the dreams of
conquering London. He’d leave behind Simon.

“
Shut up,” he
muttered.

“
Sorry, sir,” came Mike’s
voice from the floor. “Did I snore?”

“
No, no, I was talking to
my own busy brain.” He knew he wasn’t going to sleep well anyway.
“Come to bed.” He rose from the narrow bed.

Mike squeaked. “I-I don’t want to…
It’s not you, sir, but I don’t… Not anymore.”

Oh, poor boy. He wanted to weep for
Mike. And here he felt sorry for himself when he had a marvelous
family and home. Many of their outliers reminded him of his
blessings.

“
No, no, of course not,
and good for you for saying so. Get under the covers alone, Mike,
and sleep well.”

To make Mike more comfortable, he left
the room. Eventually, Christopher managed to fall asleep on the rug
near his sleeping sisters.

He woke in the morning when Sally’s
foot landed on his head. She gave a yelp and jumped back on the
bed. “Oh, I beg your pardon, I didn’t see you. What are you doing
there?” She peered down at him, her golden hair caught in a
plait.

Lilah’s head popped up on the other
side of her little sister. “I say, Fool, you’re not much of a
Christmas gift. Did you at least fill the stockings of the littler
ones?”

He yawned and looked around. Sunlight
poured through the windows. Someone yelped something excited in a
room down the hall. “I got them candied fruit and walnuts.” Those
came from the club where he’d met and bedded Simon. Was that only a
couple of days earlier? “Will left the stockings on the bottoms of
their beds.”

“
That’s good.” Lilah’s
hair had come undone during the night, and it was loose and messy
around her shoulders.

Sally got up again, this time not
stepping on Christopher, who’d rolled onto his back. She smiled
down at him, showing her dimples that would likely win her some
fine parts as an ingénue someday. “And I know we’ll have Christmas
pudding. What more could a body need?”

“
That’s the spirit,” he
said. “Help your old brother stand, and we’ll go start
breakfast.”

“
I ’spect that’s what all
the noise is about.” She paused. “I think? What time is
it?”

Lilah went to the window and scraped
away some frost from the inside pane. She tilted sideways and
squinted to read the clock tower. “Almost eight,” she said,
amazed.

“
And for our first
Christmas blessings, we are given sleep, and perhaps too much,”
Christopher told the girls, using his best pious, sonorous tones as
he rose to his feet and folded his blanket.