Free The Last of the Spirits by Chris Priestley Page B

poor man’s chins wobble like jelly, whilst apologising for his earlier disgraceful behaviour, he whispered into the man’s ear. Sam could tell by the charity man’s reaction that Scrooge was offering him an exceptionally generous donation.
    ‘Lord bless me!’ exclaimed the man, amazed. ‘Are you serious?’
    Scrooge assured him he was and would take no thanks, just an assurance from the man that he would come and see him at the office so that he could settle with him. When the man agreed, it was Scrooge who thanked him .
    Sam and Lizzie looked on in astonishment at this behaviour. Had they not seen it with their own eyes, they would neither of them have ever believed each such a change possible.
    They followed him to church, where he greeted those outside warmly despite their clear trepidation when he first approached. But so charming was this new Scrooge that no one could resist for more than a moment.
    After the service he again shook every hand available to him and patted the head of every child who passed within range, and then he took himself off alone down the church steps and stood for a while, watching the people hurrying this way and that.
    He wore a different expression now. It was not the excitable face of his first few infant steps along the road to generous humanity, but neither was it the scowl of old. It was a thoughtful expression, tinged with sadness as he looked from face to face.
    Then, like a sailor setting out on a long journey, he entered the flow of people and wandered among them, Sam and Liz in pursuit. He looked down into the kitchens of the houses he passed and saw the servants at work on the meals, and spent time chatting to the beggars he had so often ignored in times past.
    His smile had returned and this new and novel contemplation of his fellow man – this new attachment he was discovering – clearly brought him pleasure, and yet Sam could not help feeling there was something on the old man’s mind.
    ‘It’s like he’s looking for something,’ said Sam.
    ‘Looking for what?’ asked Lizzie. She had felt it too.
    ‘Who knows, Liz?’ said Sam as Scrooge dis­appeared into the throng. ‘Come on . . .’

The extraordinary events of Christmas Eve and Christmas Day faded more quickly than Sam or Lizzie could have imagined. It was hard to keep firm hold of such strangeness and soon they began to doubt their own memories. All except – for Sam – that glimpse of his own dreadful fate on the gallows and of the consequences it would have for Lizzie. The image of that carriage and the sound of its wheels up the wet cobbles beneath the viaduct would never leave him, however much he might have wanted it to. It was a livid scar on his mind. Had he done enough to assuage it or erase it? Only time would tell.
    Lizzie had never asked him what he saw that night. She knew that it must have been terrible for such a change to have been wrought in him. She did not want to know what it was, even had she believed that Sam would tell her if she asked.
    Sam and Lizzie had followed Scrooge all the way to his nephew’s house and had watched him pace up and down, picking up the courage to knock at the door. But he need not have feared, for the nephew was a good soul and welcomed his uncle in as warmly as if he had been expected.
    They had stood and listened to the voices inside, the sudden bursts of laughter as the new Scrooge was greeted with joyful surprise by one and all. Then they had walked away, their part in the story done.
    Or so they thought.
    Sam was exhilarated to have a second chance and Lizzie felt as though her brother – the brother she loved – had returned to her at long last, but though their souls had been lifted, their bodies had not escaped the grip of squalor. Their circumstances were the same as before.
    The warmth in their hearts was a warmth they had not had before, but it did not thaw their feet at night; it did not fill their pockets or their bellies. The magic was fading