A Visit From Sir Nicholas by Victoria Alexander Page A
Authors: Victoria Alexander
Tags: Historical
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time.
Hurting her with his hateful comments had been the most difficult thing he had ever done. He was confident she would never forgive him and confident as well that he would never get over the look in her eyes and the unrelenting pain in his own heart.
Still, it was a small enough price to pay for doing what was right. Indeed, there was no better way to start his journeys than with the sure and certain knowledge that the woman he loved would be safe and happy and loved.
He gripped the book in his hand tighter. He needed no reminder of this night, this Christmas, but he would cherish the gift always as a token of her affection, no matter how misplaced it might have been. He would keep it close to his heart, as he would keep the memory of her laugh and her kindness and her
kiss, and it would warm him as he went on with his life. Alone. And that too was meant to be. The moment Scrooge's hand was on the lock, a strange voice called him by his name, and bade him enter. He obeyed.
It was his own room. There was no doubt about that. But it had undergone a surprising transformation. The walls and ceiling were so hung with living green, that it looked a perfect grove; from every part of which, bright gleaming berries glistened. The crisp leaves of holly, mistletoe, and ivy reflected back the light, as if so many little mirrors had been scattered there; and such a mighty blaze went roaring up the chimney, as that dull petriftcation of a hearth had never known in Scrooges time, or Marley's, or for many and many a winter season gone. Heaped up on the floor, to form a kind of throne, were turkeys, geese, game, poultry, brawn, great joints of meat, sucking-pigs, long wreaths of sausages, mince-pies, plum-puddings, barrels of oysters, red-hot chesnuts, cherry-cheeked apples, juicy oranges, luscious pears, immense twelfth-cakes, and seething bowls of punch, that made the chamber dim with their delicious steam. In easy state upon this couch, there sat a jolly Giant, glorious to see: who bore a glowing torch, in shape not unlike Plenty's horn, and held it up, high up, to shed its light on Scrooge, as he came peeping round the door.
"Come in!" exclaimed the Ghost. "Come in and know me better, man!" Scrooge entered timidly, and hung his head before this Spirit. He was not the dogged Scrooge he had been; and though the Spirit's eyes were clear and kind, he did not like to meet them.
"I am the Ghost of Christmas Present," said the Spirit. "Look upon me!" Scrooge reverently did so. It was clothed in one simple green robe, or mantle, bordered with white fur. This garment hung so loosely on the figure, that its capacious breast was bare, as if disdaining to be warded or concealed by any artifice. Its feet, observable beneath the ample folds of the garment, were also bare; and on its head it wore no other covering than a holly wreath, set here and there with shining icicles. Its dark brown curls were long and free: free as its genial face, its sparkling eye, its open hand, its cheery voice, its unconstrained demeanour, and its joyful air. Girded round its middle was an antique scabbard; but no sword was in it, and the ancient sheath was eaten up with rust.
"You have never seen the like of me before!" exclaimed the Spirit.
"Never," Scrooge made answer to it.
— A Christmas Carol , Charles Dickens,
Chapter 4
Christmas
Present December 1853
"I wondered if you were ever going to return home." Frederick puffed on his cigar and studied his nephew. "It has been a very long time."
"Nonsense." Nick settled deeper into the library chair that matched his uncle's, a glass of excellent brandy in one hand, a fine cigar in the other. "Why I was here a mere four years ago." Frederick snorted. "Scarcely worth mentioning, I'd say. You were in London for no more than a handful of days. Barely long enough to attend your own investiture."
Sir Nicholas grinned. "Who would have imagined the furtherance of steam transport between England and North America
Hurting her with his hateful comments had been the most difficult thing he had ever done. He was confident she would never forgive him and confident as well that he would never get over the look in her eyes and the unrelenting pain in his own heart.
Still, it was a small enough price to pay for doing what was right. Indeed, there was no better way to start his journeys than with the sure and certain knowledge that the woman he loved would be safe and happy and loved.
He gripped the book in his hand tighter. He needed no reminder of this night, this Christmas, but he would cherish the gift always as a token of her affection, no matter how misplaced it might have been. He would keep it close to his heart, as he would keep the memory of her laugh and her kindness and her
kiss, and it would warm him as he went on with his life. Alone. And that too was meant to be. The moment Scrooge's hand was on the lock, a strange voice called him by his name, and bade him enter. He obeyed.
It was his own room. There was no doubt about that. But it had undergone a surprising transformation. The walls and ceiling were so hung with living green, that it looked a perfect grove; from every part of which, bright gleaming berries glistened. The crisp leaves of holly, mistletoe, and ivy reflected back the light, as if so many little mirrors had been scattered there; and such a mighty blaze went roaring up the chimney, as that dull petriftcation of a hearth had never known in Scrooges time, or Marley's, or for many and many a winter season gone. Heaped up on the floor, to form a kind of throne, were turkeys, geese, game, poultry, brawn, great joints of meat, sucking-pigs, long wreaths of sausages, mince-pies, plum-puddings, barrels of oysters, red-hot chesnuts, cherry-cheeked apples, juicy oranges, luscious pears, immense twelfth-cakes, and seething bowls of punch, that made the chamber dim with their delicious steam. In easy state upon this couch, there sat a jolly Giant, glorious to see: who bore a glowing torch, in shape not unlike Plenty's horn, and held it up, high up, to shed its light on Scrooge, as he came peeping round the door.
"Come in!" exclaimed the Ghost. "Come in and know me better, man!" Scrooge entered timidly, and hung his head before this Spirit. He was not the dogged Scrooge he had been; and though the Spirit's eyes were clear and kind, he did not like to meet them.
"I am the Ghost of Christmas Present," said the Spirit. "Look upon me!" Scrooge reverently did so. It was clothed in one simple green robe, or mantle, bordered with white fur. This garment hung so loosely on the figure, that its capacious breast was bare, as if disdaining to be warded or concealed by any artifice. Its feet, observable beneath the ample folds of the garment, were also bare; and on its head it wore no other covering than a holly wreath, set here and there with shining icicles. Its dark brown curls were long and free: free as its genial face, its sparkling eye, its open hand, its cheery voice, its unconstrained demeanour, and its joyful air. Girded round its middle was an antique scabbard; but no sword was in it, and the ancient sheath was eaten up with rust.
"You have never seen the like of me before!" exclaimed the Spirit.
"Never," Scrooge made answer to it.
— A Christmas Carol , Charles Dickens,
Chapter 4
Christmas
Present December 1853
"I wondered if you were ever going to return home." Frederick puffed on his cigar and studied his nephew. "It has been a very long time."
"Nonsense." Nick settled deeper into the library chair that matched his uncle's, a glass of excellent brandy in one hand, a fine cigar in the other. "Why I was here a mere four years ago." Frederick snorted. "Scarcely worth mentioning, I'd say. You were in London for no more than a handful of days. Barely long enough to attend your own investiture."
Sir Nicholas grinned. "Who would have imagined the furtherance of steam transport between England and North America
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