Tim Cratchit's Christmas Carol Read online

  “Home for something to eat, Doctor?” Henry asked. “You’ve plenty of time.”

  Tim considered this for a moment, but then, with a wisp of a smile, he turned to his coachman.

  “Please take me to the Crompton house, Henry,” he said.

  “Right, Doctor,” the coachman replied, turning slightly away to conceal his grin.

  The storm that had erupted in the Crompton household forty-eight hours earlier had yet to subside completely. After alternately nagging her husband and ignoring him throughout Wednesday afternoon’s shopping, Mrs. Crompton had picked sulkily at her dinner. During the meal, Archibald Crompton had told his daughter to take the coach to the dressmaker’s on Friday and buy any gown she wanted for Tim’s party.

  “Spare no expense—your mother never does,” Archie Crompton had said with a glance toward his wife. Mrs. Crompton had made no reply. Instead, she retired to her sitting room, where she spent an hour pondering a course of action. At last she remembered something one of her friends had told her a few days earlier, and then she quickly settled on a deliciously satisfying plan that would surely interfere with any attempts at romance on the part of that plebeian doctor. Rising from her armchair, she turned down the gas and headed toward the carriage house. It was not too late to call on her friend and make the necessary arrangements.

  After her husband left for work on Friday morning, Mrs. Crompton rose, dressed, and went downstairs to breakfast. Jane had just finished setting the table when she reached the dining room. The girl was humming to herself as she went back to the serving pantry. A minute later Jane returned with two serving trays and set them before her mother. Mrs. Crompton helped herself to a generous portion of eggs and sliced ham. Jane sat and took smaller portions.

  “I know you planned to go shopping this morning, my dear,” Mrs. Crompton said to her daughter. At the unexpected words “my dear,” Jane raised her eyebrows. “I’m sorry, but I remembered a few things I have to do, so I’ll need the coach,” Mrs. Crompton continued. “I promise to be back by noon, and I’ll even bring us a meat pie. You’ll still have the whole afternoon to find a proper gown.”

  “Very well,” Jane said, not surprised that her mother had manufactured an errand to delay her visit to the dressmaker’s.

  “And do get out of that old frock. You don’t want to waste time changing after we eat, not when you have shopping to do!”

  Jane found her mother’s behavior puzzling. Had she reconciled herself to the fact that she could not prevent Jane from attending Tim’s party? That seemed unlikely. Perhaps her mother was only feigning acceptance, and had no intention of returning from the excursion she had concocted until late in the evening, thus preventing Jane from shopping for a gown. If that was the case, Jane resolved, she would walk to the dressmaker’s. She would give her mother until one o’clock and then set out.

  To Jane’s surprise, Mrs. Crompton kept her word. She returned at half past eleven. Jane heard the coach approaching and opened the front door to find that her mother was not alone. With her was a portly middle-aged man of medium height, clad in a formal black coat and matching hat. He carried a steaming meat pie fragrant with the smell of cloves. Jane was taken aback by the sight of this unexpected visitor. She looked at her mother.

  “I’m back as promised, dear,” Mrs. Crompton said in an unctuous tone. “This is Mr. James Howard. You know our friends the Bransons? They were at our party. This is Mrs. Branson’s cousin.”

  “I’m pleased to meet you, sir,” Jane said, trying to conceal her surprise. They went into the dining room, where Howard placed the pie on the table, bowed to Jane, and extended his hand. When she took it, he lifted her hand to his lips.

  “Call me James, please,” Howard said. “I’m so very happy to have the opportunity to meet you.”

  Jane had already set the table for two, and she went to the pantry with her mother to get a setting for their guest and brew a pot of tea. After filling the kettle with water, she turned to her mother.

  “What’s he doing here?” she demanded. “What is all this about?”

  “I just thought you’d enjoy meeting a nice gentleman,” Mrs. Crompton said soothingly. “The Bransons speak very highly of James. You might enjoy his company. Why don’t you sit with him while I take care of the tea? It’s impolite to ignore a guest.”

  Jane found Howard standing when she returned to the dining room; after she had put his utensils and napkin on the table, he pulled out her chair and then slid it toward the table once she was seated.

  “You’re such a polite fellow,” Mrs. Crompton said, emerging from the pantry.

  “One must treat the ladies properly,” Howard said as he handed his plate to Jane. “Don’t stint with my portion. I’ve worked up a healthy appetite this morning.”

  “Mr. Howard is a barrister,” Mrs. Crompton remarked. “He has a practice in Birmingham, but comes to London frequently on business.”

  “Yes, I represent many London manufacturers who also have factories in Birmingham. My business in London has grown so much of late that I’ve decided to move here. I have several other lawyers working for me and they can handle the Birmingham end of things.”

  Jane appraised their guest. He had a deep voice and pleasant face; his hair was dark but his neatly trimmed beard showed strands of gray. She guessed him to be in his early forties. It seemed obvious that her mother had brought him here to court her, so Jane thought that he must be a bachelor. She decided to probe a bit.

  “Your absences must be difficult for your wife,” she said.

  “Sadly, my wife has been gone these past four years. But she left me with three children who do miss me when I’m away. They are constant and pleasant reminders of her, especially my daughter, who is the image of her mother.”

  “Then she must be very pretty,” Jane said.

  “That she is, Miss Crompton, though not quite so lovely as you are,” Howard declared.

  Jane blushed. “Thank you,” she murmured.

  “I don’t stint with compliments when they’re deserved. I daresay you must have to fight off an army of suitors!”

  Mrs. Crompton had remained uncharacteristically silent up to that point, observing the conversation with beaming eyes. Now seeing that she needed to say something before Jane misspoke, she interjected. “That’s right. Men are constantly knocking at our door. But Jane is a discriminating young lady.”

  “As you should be,” Howard said to Jane. “A woman like you deserves a husband who will treat her properly and provide her with the good things in life.”

  Jane smiled. The man made little effort to disguise his intentions.

  “Do pour me some tea,” Howard said, handing Jane his cup, “and mind you, leave enough room for the cream.”

  Jane did as he asked, a bit put off by the demand. Mrs. Crompton asked Howard to tell them about his recent trip to the Continent. He launched into a detailed description of Paris, then paused and glanced about the table.

  “Bread?” he asked. “And butter? No meal is complete without bread. Sliced thick, and slather on the butter, that’s how I like it.”

  Jane rose and went to the pantry without excusing herself. Howard seemed intelligent and affable, but she disliked the way that he made requests sound like orders, given without a hint of politeness. No wonder her mother liked him. They both expected to be waited upon. She took a knife, plunged it into a loaf of bread, and began slicing.

  By the time Jane came back, Howard had begun a discourse on Rome. She slid a plate in front of him, the bread sliced nearly two inches thick and heavy with butter. Howard looked askance at it.

  “Is something wrong?” Jane inquired, her tone excessively polite. “I thought this was what you wanted.”

  “It would be if I was an elephant,” Howard said, a tinge of anger in his voice. His brows furrowed but he quickly caught himself. “Heh, heh. Ju
st joshing, young lady. You’ll find I have quite a sense of humor, or so everyone tells me.” He stuffed part of a slice of bread into his mouth and bit it off. A gob of butter clung to his mustache and he rubbed it away with his napkin.

  Mrs. Crompton shot Jane an angry glance. “Now, James,” she said, hurrying to move the conversation back to safe ground, “tell us all about the Colossus of Rome!”

  Howard swallowed the bread and washed it down with a gulp of tea. “Yes,” he said. “The Colosseum. It’s quite a sight.”

  The thud of the brass door knocker interrupted them. Jane stood.

  “Some deliveryman, no doubt,” Mrs. Crompton said.

  “Then let me help you, Miss Crompton,” Howard offered. “You shouldn’t have to lift any heavy parcels.”

  Jane walked into the foyer, Howard a step behind. Pulling open the door, she saw the smiling face of Dr. Cratchit. When he caught sight of her companion, Tim’s smile turned into an expression of bafflement.

  “Good afternoon, Jane. Have I come at an inconvenient time?” Tim asked.

  Jane felt discomfited. Her first instinct was to invite Tim in, but she did not know how her mother would react. Instead, she settled for a greeting and then introduced Howard to Tim. They shook hands.

  “A doctor, eh?” the lawyer said. “I hope I haven’t become ill without my knowing it. Or perhaps you’ve brought an ounce of prevention?”

  Tim smiled warily, uncertain about why the man was at the Cromptons’ and of the nature of his relationship with Jane.

  “No, Mr. Howard,” Tim replied after a few seconds. “I was in the area and stopped by to see if Jane was prepared for the party tomorrow night.”

  “I am,” Jane said. She was about to say more, to tell Tim that she was eagerly anticipating the event, but she hesitated a moment, not sure how much she wanted to say in front of Howard. The barrister plunged into the silence.

  “There’s your answer, Doctor,” he interjected. “Good afternoon.” Howard began to shut the door.

  “I’ll be on my way, then,” said Tim, thinking that Jane’s statement had been rather curt. He was unable to decipher her expression. Her face conveyed both surprise and embarrassment. Was she embarrassed that he had found her with a suitor? Or was her distress the result of the man’s abrupt dismissal of him? Tim strode down the walk and climbed back into his carriage.

  Mrs. Crompton, who had sidled to the foyer door to eavesdrop, rushed to take advantage of the situation.

  “Just as I said, James. One suitor after another knocking at our door. This Dr. Cratchit is quite a prominent medical man. He’s had his eye on Jane for some time.”

  “Is that so?” Howard asked. “No time for other suitors to shilly-shally about, I daresay. The early bird, and all that.”

  “Well said, James,” Mrs. Crompton agreed, a wide smile on her face.

  “Yes,” Jane added with feigned politeness. “Very well said, if you think that some people are worms.” She looked at the amazed faces of Howard and her mother. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to tell the coachman that I’m ready to leave.”

  Tim’s thoughts were a jumble as the carriage wound its way to his office. Who, he wondered, was this Howard fellow, and why was he so upset to have encountered him? Howard might have been one of Archie Crompton’s friends or business associates. But if so, why had he come to the door with Jane? And why had Jane seemed uneasy to see him? She had not invited him inside, but instead had said nothing while Howard practically dismissed him. In their conversation the night of the Cromptons’ party, Jane had made no mention of a suitor. On the contrary, she had at the very least implied that no other men were courting her. Then again, Tim recognized, he supposed he was not courting her, either.

  During his time in Edinburgh, Tim had been invited to dinner at the home of a local surgeon, and met the man’s daughter. He had taken an immediate liking to the girl, and over the next few months he had visited her on several occasions. Although he grew quite fond of her, he was reluctant to take time away from his studies to pursue her more vigorously. It would be wiser, he decided, to wait until his education was finished and he could offer her better prospects. By that time, she had gotten engaged to another student.

  Tim concluded that he had deceived himself into thinking that his only interest in Jane was professional. If it were not more than that, he would not have been so disturbed to encounter Howard at the Crompton house. He also knew that he was not the type of person who rushed into anything, so he needed to assess the exact nature of his feelings for Jane and determine how to proceed. Then, as the carriage came to a stop at the curb outside his office, he chided himself for taking such a clinical approach to the situation.

  Tim decided to call on his partner and give him the bottle of Bordeaux. He hoped that Dr. Eustace would accept it as a goodwill offering and put their dispute behind him. Eustace’s clerk, Nathan Penrose, greeted him coolly.

  “Dr. Eustace is busy,” Penrose said. “Is that for him?” The clerk nodded toward the bottle. Before Tim could utter a word in reply, Penrose stood, took the bottle from him, and placed it on the floor behind the desk. “I will see that Dr. Eustace gets this. I am sure he will be delighted. He has instructed me to come to your office at six tomorrow evening to settle the week’s business. Good day.” With that, Penrose sat and returned to his ledger as though Tim were not even there.

  A relatively quiet afternoon in the office was interrupted by a sudden clatter of hooves and wheels on the pavement that brought Tim to the window. A cab hurtled down the street and a small man leaped out of the vehicle as the driver struggled to rein in the horse. The man ran up the walk, and his cap, tattered shirt, and the worn and dirty knees of his trousers told Tim that he was a workman. He opened the door and the man halted.

  “Dr. Cratchit, please, sir, you must come at once,” the man said, gasping to catch his breath. “There’s been a horrible accident.”

  “I’ll get my bag,” Tim said. He hurried inside, gathered his medical bag, paused to stuff in extra supplies, then grabbed his coat. He locked the office and followed the man to the hansom. He did not bother to look back. If he had, he would have caught sight of Dr. Eustace, scowling from his office window.

  As the cab raced off, Tim listened to the workman’s story.

  “The whole thing collapsed, sir, no warning!” the man said. “One minute they’re up hammering away on the roof boards, and the next it’d all come down!”

  “Is anyone badly hurt?” Tim asked.

  “Don’t know, sir,” the man answered. “Nobody dares go up, afraid the rest of the building will fall in. When they asked somebody to fetch a doctor, I came straightway to you. I remembered folks in Whitechapel saying you was always ready to help in a pinch.”

  “Well, I’ll have a look and I’m sure something can be done,” Tim said, his tone calm. Panic, he knew, was infectious, and so was self-possession.

  “Now, after we arrive, please go to the nearest telegraph office,” Tim said, handing the man a half crown and a note he had scribbled while they rode. It was a message for Henry, telling the coachman not to pick him up. No sense leaving the poor man waiting at the vacant office for who knew how long.

  The cab veered sharply to the right and stopped in the middle of a street crowded with people. It was a neighborhood of three- and four-story buildings, where clerks, craftsmen, and their families lived above small shops. The buildings stood close to one another, only narrow foot passages separating them. In the gathering darkness, Tim could see blackened ruins where three of the structures had recently burned down. The one on the far left was being rebuilt, and had been the scene of the collapse.

  Tim easily reconstructed the accident in his mind. The buildings’ owner had salvaged lumber from the wreckage and had used it to begin rebuilding one of the structures. The two partially completed stories that still stood were framed w
ith charred timbers, some sections already sheathed with slightly burned boards. The damaged wood was too weak to support the accumulated weight of the rafters and the men laying the roof boards and had collapsed, bringing down the uppermost story and the chimneys.

  Clutching his medical bag, Tim wormed his way through the onlookers who had come to gape at the disaster. When he reached the front of the crowd, he saw three constables spread out at fifteen-foot intervals, holding the people back. He stepped forward.

  “You there!” the nearest constable bellowed. “Stay back.”

  “I’m a doctor,” Tim said, lifting his medical bag.

  “Sorry, sir,” the constable said. “Just trying to keep order.”

  Tim approached the unfinished building. A ladder built of scrap lumber leaned against the structure, extending more than twenty feet to the rubble-strewn third level. The ladder looked rickety, but Tim figured that if it had held the workmen, it could bear his light weight. He took off his coat, grasped a rail with his left hand, and planted his left foot on the bottom rung. The ladder was more solid than it appeared, and Tim made his way to the top with relative ease. Stepping carefully onto the floor, he looked about.

  Debris lay everywhere: irregular piles of timbers, boards, and chunks of brick. Dusk was settling fast, long shadows falling over the clutter. Tim observed a man lying facedown on a heap of boards, another, half buried, sitting propped against the remnants of the back wall.

  “I can’t do this,” Tim said aloud to himself. These people needed a doctor, not the medical impostor he had become since he’d joined Eustace’s practice. He turned and scanned the street below, but no one else had come forward to help. Tim sighed. He would have to do this alone. Maybe I can do it, he encouraged himself. I delivered Molly Beckham’s baby. So maybe I haven’t lost all my skills. And I have an obligation to help these men. I have to try.