Christmas Carol (18 page)

“You would be hungrier still if you waited
for this meal,” Lady Augusta noted, “since it will not take place
until Christmas Day. The scenes you will see tonight are of the
present holiday season, unmodified by any act of yours. Listen,
now.”

“Ain’t the flowers pretty?” asked Hettie,
taking her place at the festive table. “They didn’t wilt after all.
It were so nice of Miss Simmons to think of us.”

“It was, indeed,” said Crampton, speaking
right over Mrs. Marks’s derisive snort.

“Miss Simmons has a real kind heart,” Nell
remarked. She was sitting across from Hettie, with Crampton at the
head of the table and Mrs. Marks at the foot.

“Miss Simmons is a snob,” said Mrs.
Marks.

“Oh, no, Mrs. Marks,” cried Hettie,
apparently greatly upset by this point of view. “She ain’t no snob.
She always speaks to me.”

“Be quiet, Hettie,” commanded Mrs. Marks.
“What could an ignorant girl like you possibly know about Miss
Simmons?”

“I knows that I likes her,” Hettie
responded.

“Let us have no dissension on this special
evening,” said Crampton. “Enjoy your meal, Hettie, and be grateful
for it.”

As soon as Crampton finished carving the
turkey, the vegetables, stuffing, gravy, and rolls were passed, and
everyone at the table fell silent while the dinner was eaten.

“Mrs. Marks,” said Crampton after a while,
leaning back in his chair and glancing around at the empty plates,
“allow me to congratulate you upon a superlative meal.”

“There’s still dessert to come,” said Mrs.
Marks, rising.

“And brandy to go with it.” Crampton rose,
too, disappearing into the pantry, while Mrs. Marks headed for the
kitchen and Hettie and Nell began to clear the table.

“He’s got my best brandy!” cried Lady Augusta
as Crampton returned bearing a silver tray with a bottle and brandy
glasses on it.

“What difference can that make to you when
you didn’t care about the wine?” asked Carol, who had been
observing the meal with a watering mouth. “Can’t I just have a tiny
piece of turkey? I’m starving.”

“You don’t have time to eat,” responded Lady
Augusta. “You are supposed to be learning valuable lessons from
what you see before you. Have you noticed Hettie?”

“What about her?” Carol tore her eyes from
contemplation of the turkey carcass and the remains of the whipped
potatoes to glance toward the scullery maid. “Hettie looks fine to
me. She’s the same as she always looks.”

“Exactly,” said Lady Augusta. “The same as
always. Do you know why Hettie does not change?”

“I suppose you intend to tell me,” said
Carol, her thoughts still on food.

“Hettie will never be more than a scullery
maid because she cannot read or write.”

“That’s nonsense. Everyone in England has to
go to school.”

“There will always be children who do not
learn what they should,” said Lady Augusta. “Hettie was not slow
enough to come to the notice of the school authorities, who are
always overworked and understaffed, and who do not have the time to
look for problems that are not obvious. Hettie can write her name
and do simple arithmetic, but she has never mastered the art of
reading fluently, and certainly she could not compose a letter or
fill out a complicated employment form. She got through school by
pretending she can read and by memorizing a good portion of her
schoolwork, but once her schooling was over, she was qualified for
little but a life as a scullery maid.”

“What a shame,” Carol said. “Hettie is a nice
girl, and I don’t think she’s stupid.”

“Not stupid at all,” agreed Lady Augusta.
“Were she fully literate, Hettie might go far in life. But she will
never have the chance to discover just how far unless—”

“Unless what?” Carol asked.

“Hettie needs a teacher,” said Lady Augusta.
“Someone she respects might set her on the right path.”

“If you’re thinking that I ought to teach her
to read,” Carol said, “forget it. I wouldn’t know how to
begin.”

“You could begin by offering encouragement.
Or by discovering where there are schools that teach adults to
read. You could volunteer your services to such a school.”

“Volunteer? Look, maybe you aren’t aware of
my financial situation. I need to find a paying job for myself,
never mind Hettie.”

“What kind of job do you think Hettie will be
able to find?” asked Lady Augusta.

“Hettie is not my responsibility.” But even
as she said the words Carol experienced a pang of guilt.

“Observe,” said Lady Augusta, waving a hand
toward the scene in the kitchen.

Mrs. Marks had just removed a large steamed
pudding from its basin and was placing it on a silver platter that
could only have come from Lady Augusta’s supply of family plate.
The cook stuck a sprig of holly into the top of the pudding, then
doused the whole dessert with brandy and set it alight.

“I’m ready,” Mrs. Marks announced.

With Mrs. Marks leading the way with the
flaming pudding, Nell following with a bowl of hard sauce, and
Hettie bringing up the rear carrying a plate of decorated sugar
cookies, the three women made a procession into the dining room,
where Crampton awaited them.

“Well,” said Crampton, beaming his approval,
“this might be a Christmas scene right out of a Dickens novel. Mrs.
Marks, you have provided a suitable finale for our years of
employment here at Marlowe House.”

As if these words were a signal, Hettie burst
into tears. Nell, after casting a worried glance in Mrs. Marks’s
direction, all but tossed the bowl of hard sauce onto the table and
took the cookie plate out of Hettie’s hands before she could drop
the cookies onto the floor.

“Hettie,” said Crampton, “you ought not to
cry on such a joyous occasion.”

“It ain’t joyous,” Hettie wailed. “It’s the
last holiday we’ll all be together. Next year Nell and me’ll be in
the poorhouse.”

“There is no poorhouse anymore,” said Mrs.
Marks in her sternest voice. “Good heavens, girl, haven’t you got
any sense at all?”

“I’ll be out on the streets,” Hettie cried.
“I’ll be homeless. I’ll never find another job. I ain’t fit for
nothin’ but kitchen work. You told me so yourself, Mrs. Marks, and
it’s true.
It’s true
!”

“Hush now, Hettie.” Nell put her arms around
the weeping girl. “I’ll take care of you. I said I would. We’ll
find some kind of work to do. Well start looking on Tuesday, soon
as Boxing Day’s over.”

“Why is Hettie so upset?” Carol asked Lady
Augusta.

“For the same reason you were upset
yesterday,” Lady Augusta responded, “and for the reasons I
explained to you earlier. Hettie knows how slim her chances of
finding employment are. How is a semiliterate young woman to find
work in today’s harsh world? Nor will she have a home after Marlowe
House is closed up and sold when my estate is settled.”

“There are social services available for
people like her,” Carol said.

“Perhaps. I am inclined to think that what
Hettie needs is a caring mentor rather than an overburdened social
worker.”

“Nell said she would help.”

“Nell’s situation is not much more hopeful
than Hettie’s.” Lady Augusta paused for a moment, gazing at the
scene of the two young servants in a tear-drenched embrace while
Crampton and Mrs. Marks looked on as if uncertain what they ought
to do or say.

“I know Crampton and Mrs. Marks have worked
for your family since the end of World War II, so they at least
must be pretty well fixed,” Carol said. She was trying
unsuccessfully to shake a growing sensation of uneasiness and guilt
generated by the scene she was witnessing. She told herself that
none of the misfortune she saw before her was her fault, nor could
she be expected to do anything about it.

“I regret to say that neither my father nor I
ever paid our servants adequately,” Lady Augusta replied to Carol’s
comment. “Both Crampton and Mrs. Marks remained with me out of a
combination of loyalty and inertia, and perhaps also because they
did not wish to be separated from each other. Now, they are left
with whatever they have been able to save out of their wages and
the small bequests I made to them in my will.”

“But they are all four decent, hardworking
people,” Carol cried. “Can you foresee their futures? What will
happen to them?”

“Crampton and Mrs. Marks will pool their
resources and retire together,” Lady Augusta replied. “Nell and
Hettie will try to find work, but there are almost no more
establishments like mine left these days, where a girl could begin
as a scullery maid and slowly work her way up to cook or
housekeeper or lady’s maid. Hettie and Nell will have to move into
another line of work.”

“But if Hettie can’t read well,” Carol
protested, “then she’s right. She won’t find a good job.”

“There is always one kind of work available
to a desperate young woman. An ancient profession. Neither Hettie
nor Nell is homely. With some paint on their faces and some bright,
tight-fitting clothes—”

“No!” Carol cried. “Don’t even suggest such a
thing, not with all the terrible diseases people can be infected
with these days. Prostitution would be an almost certain death
sentence for them. Even if they should survive, what they would
have to do each day and night would still break their hearts and
their spirits. They don’t deserve that.”

“If no one will help them, they will have
little choice.” Lady Augusta shrugged her velvet-clad shoulders.
The movement sent a spray of pure, icy glitter dancing from her
diamond earrings across the faces and the worn clothing of the four
people in the servants’ dining room. Only Carol saw that
supernatural light or heard Lady Augusta’s next, seemingly careless
words. “With workers in the social system too busy to spare more
than a thought for two badly educated, jobless girls, what can you
expect?”

“You are trying to make me feel personally
guilty about something that isn’t my fault,” Carol said, angrily
fighting against her own emotions. Deliberately, she turned her
back on the scene in the servants’ dining room, as though not
seeing it could block it out of her mind. “If Hettie’s
situation—and Nell’s—is anyone’s fault, then it is yours, Lady
Augusta. You are the one who took advantage of them, who didn’t pay
them properly, or make any provision for their futures so they
would have a little money to fall back on when you died.”

“Very true,” said Lady Augusta, her nod of
agreement sending another shower of light into the room. “I will
never cease to regret my miserly actions. I know now, as I did not
know during life, that we are all responsible for the helpless
among us. Unfortunately, I am no longer in a position to assist
Hettie and Nell. You, however, might do something, if you care
enough to make an effort in their behalf.”

“How do you expect me to do anything for them
when I’m no better off than they are?” Carol shouted at her. “Take
me out of here. I’ve seen enough.”

“Not quite,” said Lady Augusta. “There is
more. Turn around, Carol. Watch and listen.”

While Lady Augusta and Carol argued unseen
and unheard, Nell had succeeded in calming Hettie and had coaxed
her to sit down at the table again. Crampton stood in his place at
the head of the table, pouring an amber liquid into four glasses
from the bottle that Lady Augusta claimed held her best brandy.
These glasses Crampton passed around to the women.

“I would like to offer a toast or two,”
Crampton said, lifting his glass. “First, to the blessed
holiday.”

“To the holiday,” echoed Mrs. Marks, drinking
with him. The two younger women sipped at the brandy as if they
didn’t much care for it.

“And now,” said Crampton, “I ask you to drink
to the memory of our late employer. To Lady Augusta.”

“To Lady Augusta.” Mrs. Marks swallowed
another mouthful of brandy and Crampton refilled her glass and his
own.

“Lady Augusta,” cried Nell.

“Lady Augusta.” Hettie tipped back her glass
and drank.

“Nicely done,” said Lady Augusta, smiling her
approval of the toast.

“Mindful of the improbability that we will
all be together for much longer,” Crampton went on, “I would now
like to offer a toast to the entire household staff. We have worked
well together, I think, and I can honestly say that I will miss
those of our little group who plan to move on to other
positions.”

“Very well put, Mr. Crampton,” said Mrs.
Marks. “A sentiment suitable to the holiday. A toast to the four of
us.” Thus bidden, they all drank.

“I want to make a toast, too.” Nell was on
her feet, glass in hand. “We can’t forget Miss Simmons. To her
health!”

“To Miss Simmons,” said Hettie, bravely
trying not to start crying again.

“Custom dictates that the butler should
propose the toasts,” Mrs. Marks declared, sending a disapproving
glare toward each of the young women.

“In the name of the holiday,” remarked
Crampton, reaching for the brandy bottle again, “I will drink to
Miss Simmons’s good health. This is not a time for pettiness, Mrs.
Marks. You and I both know that the grand old days of this house
are long gone. Let us participate in our last Christmas here with
generosity in our hearts.” With that, he refilled glasses all
around, and everyone drank to Carol’s health.

“It is time to go,” Lady Augusta said to
Carol. “We have another visit to make tonight, and the hour grows
late.”

“What will happen to them?” Carol whispered,
her eyes and her thoughts still lingering on Nell and Hettie. “What
could I possibly do to help them when I need help myself?”

“Unless the shadows I foresee are modified by
kind and loving hearts,” Lady Augusta told her, “the future
prospects for all four of my former servants are unpleasant.
However, the time for action is not yet. First, there is more for
us to see.”