Christmas Carol Read Free Page B

which
Lady Augusta had always spoken to the chambermaid. Nell’s youthful
warmth could not be diminished by anyone else’s coldness, and her
broad, rosy face showed her concern for Carol. “Especially not
tonight, you shouldn’t be up here by yourself. Not after the
funeral and all.”
    “I’m tired. I want to be left alone.”
    “All right, then, if you’re sure. But
tomorrow, you ought to come to the kitchen and join our plans.
We’re hopin’ to make a nice little Christmas feast while we’re all
still together, and you’re invited, of course. Well, good night,
miss. Sleep tight now.”
    “Good night, Nell.” As Lady Augusta had often
remarked, Nell did not know her place in the household hierarchy.
According to Lady Augusta, Nell’s most improper friendliness was a
sign of the degenerating times. In Lady Augusta’s day, servants had
known their places and stayed in them. If she could have heard
Nell’s invitation, Lady Augusta probably would have declared that
no lady’s companion should have been invited into the kitchen to
share a Christmas feast concocted by servants. While not entirely
agreeing with Lady Augusta’s undemocratic attitudes, Carol had no
interest in holiday celebrations of any kind, whether above or
below stairs.
    Carol sat down before the fire, put her feet
upon the low stool, and took from her dinner tray a bowl of
steaming soup. Mrs. Marks was an excellent cook, seeming to find
challenge rather than discouragement in the tight budget which Lady
Augusta allowed her. Carol spooned up rich chicken broth with thin
slices of mushroom in it and wondered if the staff was eating as
well as she. Lifting the domed metal cover over her dinner plate,
she discovered a healthy portion of the chicken itself, with peas,
diced beets, and a small pile of rice. A wedge of apple tart
completed the meal, along with a large pot of tea.
    “Foolish extravagance.”
    Had she spoken aloud? Surely not. But there
was no one in the room except herself to make such a remark. Save
for the crackling of the fire, all was silent. The kitchen was too
far away for any noise from that area to disturb her.
    Or for anyone to hear her if she called.
    Telling herself that she was indeed overtired
as well as overstressed, Carol disregarded the odd little shiver
that ran down her spine. She re-covered the plate of chicken to
keep it warm, and resumed eating her soup. She certainly had good
reason to be nervous, but not about being upstairs alone in a big
old house. Her future prospects were enough to scare anyone. Should
she look for a new job in London, or should she spend precious
money to fly back to New York and try to find employment there? As
Lady Augusta’s companion she had taught herself to type, and she
had devised a rudimentary version of shorthand so that she could
tend to her employer’s scanty correspondence, but she did not think
either skill would be much help to her in the world outside Marlowe
House.
    Why in heaven’s name didn’t all parents
insist that their daughters learn early in life how to do some kind
of useful work? Carol’s mother had been too busy with social life,
and her father too preoccupied with business and with earning vast
sums of money, to pay much attention to their child, and so Carol
had drifted through her girlhood and teen years with neither goals
nor ambition. All that was required of her by her parents was that
she look pretty, be polite, and not embarrass them. Being possessed
of light brown hair with a natural curl to it, clear gray eyes, a
nicely rounded figure, and a rather quiet personality, she had
never caused them any trouble.
    “And I’m paying for all of that now,” she
muttered, staring into the soup bowl. “Until six years ago this
week, my life was just one long vacation. Now look at me. Oh, how I
wish I had a million dollars! No—ten million. Out of all the money
Dad made for himself and others, that wouldn’t be much.”
    What would you do with it if you