The Last of the Spirits (11 page)

‘That’s right,’ said Sam. ‘Hang your head in shame. We saw you there. It’s all your fault!’

‘Is it?’ said Marley, looking up.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Oh, I played my part,’ said the ghost. ‘I certainly played my part, and I have paid dearly for it. But I was not alone . . .’

‘Look,’ said Sam. ‘If you’ve come here to curse my father then you may as well be on your way. My father was a good man.’

Marley shook his head.

‘No,’ he said grimly. ‘No, he wasn’t.’

Furious, Sam launched himself at the ghost but tumbled through his body to land sprawled on the ground, fists flailing.

‘Give me one good memory you have of him,’ said Marley, ‘and I will take it back.’

Sam got to his feet, scowling, dusting himself off. As he did so he tried to do as the spirit asked, but found nothing. Nothing.

‘You can’t think of anything at all, can you?’ said the ghost sadly. ‘Good or bad. Either of you.’

Marley looked at Lizzie, who shook her head.

‘The reason you cannot think of him is that he was never there,’ he went on. ‘He was a wastrel. He was a gambler and a poor one at that. I warned him many times where his actions were leading, but still he borrowed more money to throw after that which he had already wasted.

‘And to make matters worse, your mother, whom he was not fit to pass in the street, loved him with a devotion that I found exasperating and saddening in equal degrees.

‘I was a cool businessman and not one for sentimentality, but your mother’s case affected me and I offered her help. She refused and insisted on living with that man in the Marshalsea, a decision which cost her her life. She did, however, allow me to find somewhere for you . . .’

‘Pah!’ snorted Sam. ‘You’ll get no thanks from me for putting us up with those people. I had to get Lizzie away from there or . . .’

Again Marley shook his head.

‘No,’ he said. ‘You chose to leave, Sam. They were strict and they were a little severe. But they were kind people and they would have looked after you.’

‘No!’ shouted Sam. ‘They were horrible.’

Marley looked at Lizzie.

‘Do you remember them, Lizzie?’ asked the ghost.

‘She remembers them all right,’ said Sam.

But Lizzie was ignoring Sam, trying to see beyond the stories he had told about them.

‘Try, Lizzie,’ said Marley.

‘He’s right . . .’ said Lizzie, struggling to recall. ‘I think he’s right. It was you who weren’t happy there.’

‘Liz,’ said Sam.

But he could not argue his case. It was the truth. Sam had taken them away from that house. He could not hit out at fate and so he had hit out at these people who were trying their best to help. He had made things impossible for himself and then added to this error by making Lizzie side with him. He was the reason they were on the streets.

‘You were angry, Sam,’ said Marley. ‘And you had every right so to be. You had the recklessness of your father but you could not leave Lizzie, for you had the devotion of your mother. We can’t tell what strengths and what weaknesses we shall be gifted by our parents.’

It was Sam’s turn to hang his head.

‘But will you die railing against the hand you have been given, or throw in those cards for another?’ said Marley. ‘Will you die from stubbornness, just as it has kept you alive all these years?’

‘I’m so sorry, Liz,’ said Sam quietly.

‘I wanted to be with you,’ she replied. ‘I could never have stayed there without you. It would have broken my heart if you’d gone and left me there.’

‘Sam,’ said Marley, ‘ask for help. It’s waiting for you.’

‘Why does he care about us?’ Sam said. ‘What about everyone else on the streets? Don’t they count for nothing?’

Marley raised an eyebrow.

‘I thought you didn’t care about them,’ he answered with a twist of his lip. ‘That was a weakness, you said. A weakness you couldn’t afford.’

It was Sam’s turn to have his words fed back to him. They tasted bitter.

‘I see what you’re doing,’ said Sam. ‘You’re trying to make me sound like him – like Scrooge – but it won’t wash. He could have helped people and he didn’t. We had nothing. If we didn’t look after ourselves, then who would?’

Marley nodded.

‘True. I cannot say that any of what you say is a lie, but where do these words lead? Things have changed. A door that was locked is now open. Are you brave enough to walk through?’

Sam looked away, muttering. Marley dropped to his knees and looked them in the eyes. Sam and Lizzie had been terrified of that face, but now it was nothing more than a sad and tired old face. There was kindness there.

‘Do you think the world will care if you die?’ said Marley. ‘Do you think the world will notice?’

Sam did not reply. Lizzie squeezed his arm again.

‘If you die from pride or spite,’ said Marley, ‘your father will have won. His selfishness did for his own life and your mother’s. It is a miracle that he has not already done for yours. But that miracle is at an end. It is time to embrace another.’

Sam squeezed his eyes shut. Lizzie felt his pain and rested her head against his shoulder.

‘All right,’ he said eventually. ‘All right.’

When he opened his eyes, a tear ran down each cheek, and Marley was gone.

Sam lifted the heavy metal knocker and struck it three times. It seemed to echo through the house, and for the first time Sam felt afraid.

As the sound of the door knocker died away, the distant patter of footsteps came in answer and grew in volume as they descended the stairs and headed towards Sam.

The door swung open and, to Sam’s amazement, instead of the dark and dismal interior that they had seen when they were last there, the hallway was now brightly lit and decorated.

Sam actually wondered for a moment whether he had the right house, particularly when he looked into the face of the man who had opened the door and saw, instead of Scrooge, his nephew, with a wide smile on his face.

‘Well, now,’ he said. ‘What have we here?’

The young man’s smile weakened as he saw Lizzie, and he stepped forward to help Sam hold her up.

‘Come in,’ he said. ‘Come out of the cold. Uncle!’

He helped Sam and Lizzie across the hall as a group of people gathered at the top of the stairs outside Scrooge’s door began to descend hurriedly.

‘Oh my Lord,’ said a woman, rushing to take Lizzie from Sam.

Sam struggled at first but he did not have the strength. He was about to fall, when he found himself lifted up and into the arms of Scrooge’s nephew.

Lizzie was carried ahead of him and they were both taken to the room where they had hidden under the table.

It was brightly lit, with a great fire roaring in the hearth and wreaths of holly and mistletoe on the walls. The long dining table was laden with food and silverware and crystal glasses, laid out as for a feast.

Am I dreaming?
thought Sam.
Am I asleep in the graveyard and dreaming? Or am I dead?

‘Bring them to the fire,’ said another man, whom Sam recognised straight away as Bob Cratchit, Scrooge’s clerk. ‘Mind out the way, Tim, there’s a good lad.’

The small boy hopped about excitedly on his crutches.

‘Who are they, Pa?’ he said.

‘Well, I’m not sure, my boy,’ said Bob Cratchit to his son.

Lizzie was put down in a chair by the fire and a blanket wrapped round her. A woman knelt next to her, rubbing her hands.

‘Keep her warm, my darling,’ said Scrooge’s nephew, as he put Sam down in a chair on the other side of the hearth. ‘Let’s get them some soup, Bob. They need something warm inside them. They are so cold and I don’t think they can have eaten for days. Where’s Uncle?’

‘I’m here, my boy,’ said a voice nearby. ‘I’m here, Fred.’

Sam turned at its sound and there was Scrooge. The sour, pinched old miser of a fortnight ago was now a picture of geniality.

‘Upon my word!’ he said. ‘Upon my word! It’s them. Is it really them? It is! It is!’

‘You know these children, Uncle?’ said Fred.

‘I do,’ said Scrooge. ‘In a manner of speaking.’

‘But how?’

Everyone in the room – the clerk, the nephew, their wives and their children, including the boy on crutches – all looked towards Scrooge for an answer.

Sam could see by the uncomfortable look on Scrooge’s face that the old man had not shared the events of that night with his guests.

‘Who are they, Uncle?’ asked Fred.

Scrooge had no answer.

‘Ignorance,’ said Sam. ‘My name’s Ignorance. This is my sister, Want.’

Everyone exchanged puzzled looks – all except Scrooge, who smiled sadly at Sam as a maid arrived with bowls of soup.

Neither Sam nor Lizzie thought they would be able to eat and Lizzie had to be helped at first, but soon the soup worked its magic, warming their innards and dissolving the fog that still clung to their brains.

‘Sam?’ whispered Lizzie. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Sam you say?’ said Scrooge. ‘Of course! How d’you do, Samuel! And you must be Elizabeth. Ha! Oh my word, but how the fates are playing with us all!’

‘How does he know who we are?’ said Lizzie.

‘This is Samuel and Elizabeth Hunter,’ said Scrooge to those around him. ‘Ha! Who would believe it?’

Lizzie stared at Sam in confusion.

‘It’s all right,’ Sam told her. ‘Everything’s all right.’

‘Are they spirits?’ she said, peering suspiciously at the crowd that sat watching them eat.

‘No, Liz. I don’t think so.’

‘I’ve been looking for you,’ said Scrooge.

‘Yes, I heard,’ Sam replied.

Scrooge smiled and peered at him.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘From our mutual friend, no doubt?’

‘He’s no friend of mine.’

Scrooge frowned and nodded.

‘What on earth is all this about, Uncle?’ said Fred. ‘Is no one going to explain what’s going on?’

‘Well,’ said Scrooge, ‘why don’t we all sit ourselves down and I shall try.’

The whole audience leaned in expectantly as Scrooge began his tale. He took a little while to start, his jaw and lips chewing over the words before they came out.

‘Some of you remember my old partner, Jacob Marley, do you?’ said Scrooge finally.

Fred and Bob Cratchit exchanged a frown. Scrooge winked at Sam and Lizzie, and so they took this cue to keep silent.

‘Ha! Jacob was an acquired taste,’ said Scrooge with a chuckle. ‘For most it was a bitter taste they did not try again. But I liked him, though he did not want me to, I think. Admired him too, though he did not want my approval either.

‘He was a good businessman and that, in those days, was everything to me. He showed me all I needed to know of the business and I was an eager student.’

Sam saw tears glistening in the old man’s eyes.

‘Jacob trusted more and more of the business to me and he kept only a few cases as he neared the days of his retirement. He had no family and I was both surprised and honoured to discover that he had left the business to me in its entirety upon his death.

‘He was a careful investor and frugal in his own living. He had inherited a considerable fortune from his parents and seemingly did not spend a fraction of it. In fact, he seems to have taken as much pleasure in not spending his money as another might derive from a lifetime of excess.

‘So Jacob died a wealthy man. On going through his effects, I discovered a curious box containing papers relating to a certain man who had failed to repay his debts or keep up the payments – a not uncommon occurrence.

‘This man had been sent to the Marshalsea as a debtor and had died soon thereafter of jail fever, along with his poor wife, who had chosen to join him there.

‘Jacob was a man whom I had thought was hardened to the work we did, and yet this case had clearly affected him. It had eaten away at him for all those years. He had tried to find the children of that sorry couple: Samuel and Elizabeth – these children you see here.’