Chapter 7: December 25
It was still dark, eleven hours later, when McFergus woke up. The house was cold and the fire in the kitchen was out. A note on the small kitchen table told him that Sampson had gone out an hour before. Sighing, McFergus first used the common toilets out back, then clothed himself a bit more formally and went out the front and onto the street at the first light of the day. On the way to Scrooge’s house, he bought a hot eel pie from a street vendor. The man wished him a merry Christmas. McFergus remembered that it was, in fact Christmas day. “And a merry Christmas to you,” he said.
The was a slight breeze blowing and the worst of the fog was gone. Magically, the quantity of falling snow had, at some time in the night, overwhelmed the soot, and London was white rather than grey for a short time. The street in front of Scrooge’s house was quiet, with only a few wheel and horse tracks in the snow. How pretty, McFergus thought. Ahead, he could see Sampson, walking back and forth, trying to keep warm. He waved, and Sampson waved back.
At that moment the upstairs window to Scrooge’s residence came open, and the man himself stuck his head out. McFergus stepped back into a doorway, not wanting Scrooge to see him. He watched as Scrooge and Sampson carried out some sort of conversation, but he was too far away to hear. The noise of a herd of cattle being driven into the city behind him didn’t help. He watched, but Scrooge didn’t throw anything at the youth.
In a moment, Sampson came running. He paused for breath as he got to McFergus. “He wants me to come back with the poulterer and his biggest turkey,” he said, panting a bit. “Should I do that?”
“Probably best not to upset him,” McFergus suggested. “I can watch from here.” He did, while Scrooge appeared in his own doorway and seemed to have an affectionate conversation with his door knocker.
Sampson passed McFergus again within ten minutes, followed by the poulterer pushing a barrow with an extremely large turkey in it. McFergus thought that that turkey must have been a big investment for the merchant, and yet, now on Christmas morning, it was yet unsold. No wonder he was moving as fast as his legs and the size of the bird would let him.
Sampson returned, then sat down by McFergus. He opened his fist. “He paid me half a crown.”
“Definite personality change,” McFergus said. “And in a positive direction. Let’s hope he doesn’t try to walk across the Thames now.” But Scrooge’s door closed and the poulterer came wheezing by.
“Changed his mind, did he?” Sampson asked the merchant.
“No, no. Paid me for it, he did. Paid in full, and paid for me to take a cab to the home of a Mr. Cratchit. A cab! For me and the turkey, too.” And he hurried off with the barrow and the bird.
The two watched the house for another few minutes. “Now what?” Sampson asked.
“Don’t know,” McFergus said.
“Theoretically, we’re done,” Sampson noted. “We solved the mystery of Mr. Marley’s death.”
“We seem to have done so.”
“We prevented Mr. Scrooge from dying.”
McFergus raised his eyebrows. “Well, he’s alive, but I don’t think we had much to do with that.”
“He’s alive, in any case,” Sampson said. “I think we should get some breakfast and something hot to drink.” He showed McFergus the half crown in his glove. “I’ll buy this time, if there’s a good public house around.” He pulled the pipe from his pocket. “I still have your pipe.”
“Keep it. It’s a Christmas present from me. The pub is just around the next street,” McFergus said. The streets were, in fact, getting busy; not everyone could afford to take Christmas day off. The costers were selling last-minute Christmas gifts and the street-sweepers and step dusters were hoping for money from well-off people in a good mood. Merchant’s boys were delivering edibles for feasts. McFergus saw a cab go by carrying the poulterer and his bird.
As they crossed the street, two ragged children swept it ahead of them. McFergus tossed them a coin. A family was sieving the streetside sewers; McFergus gave them two coins.
“Are they all deserving?” Sampson asked. “I can’t see how you tell.”
“Experience,” said McFergus, “ Some are running a con game. Some are desperate. Many are both.” He continued along the street, handing out coins. Just before they got to the Green Oak, they looked behind them, and saw a smiling Scrooge come into the street, happily greeting people. McFergus shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said, “whether Dwan should be hanged or knighted.”
Sampson laughed. “A merry Christmas to you,” he said.
“Actually,” McFergus acknowledged, “it is.”
***