Christmas Carol Page 3

  “I can see you have a lot to learn.” Lady Augusta regarded her sadly. “Not everyone is interested solely in money. You need to learn that the heart and the spirit are what matter, not earthly possessions. Carol, have you never wondered why you have always been so unhappy?”

  “I know why,” Carol told her, “and since you claim to know all about my life, I shouldn’t have to explain it to you. By the way, you are partly to blame.”

  “Because I did not leave you any money in my will?” Again Lady Augusta smiled her ghostly smile. “Yes, in that document I was entirely too miserly toward all who were in my employ. I am paying for it now.”

  “Good,” said Carol in a nasty tone of voice. “Serves you right. You were grossly unfair to me.”

  “Will you be silent and listen to me, or not?” asked Lady Augusta.

  “Go ahead.” Carol tried to repress the anger she could still feel simmering inside her, threatening to burst forth once more. “Say what you want to say.”

  “Thank you.” Lady Augusta inclined her head with all the graciousness of a grand duchess. “Because of the unloving way in which I misspent my life, I am now doomed to wander the earth for all eternity, observing happiness that I cannot share, witnessing need that I am no longer able to alleviate.”

  “Alleviating the needs of others never bothered you much when you were alive,” Carol observed, “so it shouldn’t upset you now.”

  “But it does. You see, the passage from your dimension of life to my present state changes one deeply.”

  “I should think it would,” Carol said, intrigued by this unique point of view in spite of herself.

  “The heart that once was hard and uncaring is now transformed,” Lady Augusta went on, “so that I ache with unfulfilled love. But I have no one upon whom to lavish it. I see poverty and injustice that I want to lighten, but I am no longer in your world and cannot use my wealth for good. The opportunity has passed me by.”

  “You should have left your money to charity—and to your employees,” Carol said. “That might make you feel better. But it’s too late now for you to change your will.”

  “Precisely.” Lady Augusta nodded approvingly. “I am glad you understand. It is too late for me, but not for you. I do not want you ever to suffer as I am suffering now. Furthermore, you, dear Carol, are my means to everlasting bliss.”

  “What are you talking about?” Carol demanded.

  “I have been assigned to you,” Lady Augusta said. “If I can convince you to change your hardhearted ways, to open yourself to love and charity and beauty—if I can, in short, change you as I was never able to change, into a kind and generous and loving person—then I will be permitted to give up this eternal wandering and take my proper place in the other life.”

  “Whoa,” Carol said, putting up a hand to stop the eager flow of Lady Augusta’s words. “I’ve seen this plot before in an old movie. And I read something similar once in a Christmas story. This is some kind of a put-up job, isn’t it? Who planned this, anyway? That’s what I can’t figure out.”

  “From whom do you think the creators of those old movies or books received the plot lines, if not from the Greatest Planner of all?” asked Lady Augusta. “Such stories linger in the hearts of ordinary folk because those good souls recognize the eternal truth in them. This is no game, Carol, nor is it a trick. What I tell you is but a truth too simple and obvious for your closed and earthbound mind to grasp. In time, left to yourself, you will understand as I have come to understand, that love and charity and goodwill toward all whom you know are the most important qualities required of any soul. But by then it will be too late for you to alter your earthly life. In any case, you cannot stop what will happen next.”

  “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….

  Part II.

  Christmas Past

  London, 1818

  Chapter 2

  “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.

  “Good evening, Lady Augusta.” This salutation elicited raised eyebrows from the woman at the dressing table.

  “In this house, during this time,” said Lady Augusta, “you would be better advised to call me Aunt Augusta. Everyone you know will begin to wonder if you do not.”

  “Are you who I think you are?” Carol demanded. “Because if you are, I have to tell you that I am beginning to lose patience with this game you are playing.”

  “What seems to be the problem, Carol?”

  At the use of her real name, Carol let out a breath of relief. Then she got angry.

  “How dare you set me down all alone, without any preparation, with a girl who thinks I am her sister? If I didn’t have sense enough to keep quiet and listen instead of telling everything I know, that poor girl would be scared out of her wits about now. How do you think she would react if I claimed to be the victim of a sadistic trick played by a ghost?”