In the Shade of a Silent Night

Marley was alive: to begin with. There was no doubt whatever about that. The register of his gentleman’s club was signed daily. Marley was alive as a man could be. Much to the detriment of everyone who came into contact with him, everyone but his partner and to a lesser extent, friend Scrooge.

Jacob Marley had a golden touch with his investments, but a heart of stone with people. He owned coal mines, factories, ships and many houses which had turn overs in cash almost as high as their turn over in lives. The accidents in his mines were written off with a pen stroke, lost ships returned clever insurance claims and when one of his factories burned down he found he had prime development land. With the vast wealth he had acquired he had set up a counting house with an up and coming young man he had met working for a warehousing company he had recently aggressively bought.

That young man had proved as able as he had hoped and eventually he was given a full partnership in the business. Having come from modest means the younger man hoarded his wealth in fear it would one day leave him, Jacob Marley on the other hand was accustomed to a life of plenty and lived a lavish life. One that he refused to share, even with those closest to him. There were rumours he had even allowed his own parents finish their years in the workhouse after their fortune was lost in the great panic of 1825 (conversely Marley himself did rather well as a result of the failure of many of his competitors).

Marley lived in a giant extravagantly decorated townhouse which was grotesquely too large for himself but jealousy guarded to the point only himself and his three domestic staff ever knew what it really looked like. He employed a cook, a young housemaid and a butler. The cook had once been the housemaid, then housekeeper now cook, the path her new maid was destined to take. Then there was the butler, he was relatively new, the previous butler, Jenkins, had been unceremoniously relieved of his duties when Marley decided after years of diligent service, he was too old to carry them out, he was dismissed without warning or even small lump sum to help him in his older years. He had died soon after due to his impoverished standing. Had he had warning of his impending unemployment he would still have been unable to prepare for it as Marley paid the lowest wages of any homeowner on the grand street his house stood.

Despite the poor pay the three worked hard for Mr Marley ensuring his house was well maintained, his food was delivered fresh and in time and his clothes were always ready for him. Although the work was hard it was eased by it’s absolute predictability. He rose at seven when he expected his toileting to be prepared, his newspaper, the Morning Chronicle set out and his breakfast prepared to be delivered to him the moment he arrived in the dining room. Even his breakfast was predictable. Monday and Wednesday Scrambled eggs and kippers, Tuesday and Thursday scrambled eggs with tongue and on Friday two boiled eggs with devilled kidneys. It was all washed down with tea and finished with a season specific fruit compote. Weekends would depend where the time was being spent As he had a second home in the country where he would have a light breakfast before travelling and insist on game pie on the Saturday for lunch and the local fish on the Sunday.

He was rarely at home during the day, his carriage arrived at eight fifteen to take him to his office and he worked solidly till two when he would walk to the Foal and Mare tavern for lunch before returning to work from three to five. At five he would be picked up again by a carriage and taken home where he would spend time reading his copy of The Times and any correspondence he had received with coffee and his pipe (he only smoked cigars in public). This is where much of his plans for future investment took place. His evening clothes were laid out by six fifteen and his carriage to the Corinthian Club was expected at six forty five. He always ate his evening meal before his evening activities. Monday was the gaming table, Tuesday the Theatre, Wednesday home early, Thursday the Italian Opera in Haymaket followed by a Supper Party and Friday he had a long standing arrangement with a courtesan at a Lady Ellingham’s Salon in Mayfair. His week worked like clockwork.

Marley’s contemporaries did not dislike him but by no means did they like him. They would pass the time politely but felt that there was something of the dark about him, they did not trust him or how he consistently knew how to pick the right investments. It was, however, in their best interests to stay cordial with him as he was a great barometer for the markets and he was never alone during conversations in the club. His employees and those who relied on work through his investment on the other hand absolutely despised him. He was a man motivated entirely by profit. A worker was a simple number on a ledger, they could be moved, replace, removed by the swish of a pen. He was deaf to cries of safety and consideration of humanity unless in some way it increased productivity in profit. He would shut a factory, move a warehouse or scuttle a ship without a moment’s thought of those he was depriving of an income, it was as if the man was free of a conscience against the wake of misery, hardship and death he left. Yes, to say Jacob Marley was a hated man was an understatement. Quite frankly though. He did not care.

It was nearly Christmas in his forty ninth year when Marley’s difficulties began. He hadn’t realised quite how bad those difficulties were initially, but had he looked hard enough he would have seen the portents far earlier. The first time it became clear was on a Thursday on his way to the opera. His carriage was brought to a halt suddenly knocking him to his knees. He scrambled to the window to admonish the driver when he spotted what had caused the incident. There in, in the dark street, in front of the carriage was a large black dog stood still in the middle of the road, it did not flinch at the sight of the giant horse ahead of it. It stood looking straight on, and for a moment Marley was certain it was looking straight at him. As quickly as he had thought this the dog turned and ran up a side street allowing the apologetic driver to continue the journey. This event alone may not have stuck in Marley’s memory had it not been for the fact that on his arrival home later that evening, when he climbed the steps to his front door he turned back to the street to see the same black dog sat calmly under a street light watching him as Stubbins the Butler opened the door and he walked in.

It wasn’t the presence of the dog that alarmed him, more the manner with which it held itself, its calmness, its confidence and the almost human like stare it gave him as if it knew each and every one of his secrets. He paused for a moment to process the odd thoughts beginning to enter his mind before shaking his head as if to scramble them and allowed Stubbins to remove his overcoat.

The following day he followed his usual routine and was closing up the office behind his partner who had grumbled as ever about the early finish when he heard what sounded like bells ringing inside the building, he put his ears to the door and listened again. There it was, bells, small, clinking, broken bells. He fumbled with the heavy iron key to open the lock and once he had unlocked it he shoved the weighty black wooden door open to reveal an empty and quiet office. But there was a smell, a strong and distinctive smell. It was that of a wet, uncared for dog. He walked over to the fireplace and picked up a poker creeping around the large office before moving into the smaller office at the back where the two junior clerks worked from. Nothing.

He chided himself for his stupidity, replaced the poker and moved to the door. As he opened it the smell changed. It was no longer dog but smouldering wood, it got stronger the closer he got to the door. He pulled it open and between him and the waiting carriage were two raggedly attired children, pale to the point of being grey, their clothes charred and their colourless skin smeared with black. He looked down at them and they looked up at him.

“I’ve no money for you!” He scolded shaking his fist. “None at all!”

They remained unmoved, staring straight up at him. The three stood looking at each other for a moment before Marley realised the elder of the two was speaking to him, or rather trying to speak. Her mouth was moving as if she was talking but there was no sound. There was something not right about her, not natural. He turned his attention to the younger boy next to her. He wasn’t speaking but rather holding out a torn sheet of paper. Marley squinted to see what was written on it. He edged forwards towards the boy and tried again.

The letterhead read ‘Shuttlefield Hall Mill’

Suddenly he realised what was going on and he raised himself to his full height roaring at them. “If your parents left you without the means to survive don’t blame me. That bloody mill burned down four years ago and I’m sure you do alright at the hands of your parish. Now leave me al….”

Marley didn’t finish his sentence as out of the corner of his eye there it was, the black dog off to the right he looked over at it and immediately it turned and ran. When he looked back at the children they were gone. Welcoming his good fortune he hurried towards the waiting carriage and trundled his way back home.

For the first time in years Marley spent a restless night. Each time he felt he was on the verge of falling asleep the tinny sound of broken bells seemed to appear with perfect timing. He rose twice from his bed to check that his window was closed and the noise was not coming from the street. When he eventually managed to rest he was awoken by Stubbins to ready him for the arrival of his early morning stagecoach that was ordered to take him to his villa in Kent.

The cook and the maid had travelled the night before in his carriage meaning Marley would follow early on the Saturday morning along the turnpikes to arrive before midday where lunch would be ready for him. He would stay all day Saturday and Sunday returning to London on Monday Morning where he would return to the office in the afternoon to check on matters with his partner. This was a monthly trip that Marley found a welcome tonic to the hectic life he experienced in town. The only drawback was the travel to and back as while the stagecoach was significantly quicker than his own carriage the three hours spent on the less than even turnpike road was uncomfortable and tiresome. This particular Saturday morning was not much different and when added to his tiredness he was regretting having planned this particular trip. The first leg of the journey was taken through the dimly lit streets of London, it was before sunrise and much of the city was still asleep. The horses pulling the coach frustrated at the built up streets which while quiet didn’t afford them the space to fully open their stride. Marley aimlessly gazed out of the window hoping that today’s trip would be smooth enough for him to get some sleep. He watched as the milkmen began their rounds, the bakers lads filled their carts ready for their deliveries, street sweepers diligently cleared the road while it wasn’t yet too busy and the odd beedle finished off his shift and trudged tiredly home. Marley paid little attention to the people he passed, his disregard for humanity was marked at the best of times, feeling as jaded as he did now his ambivalence was extreme. His head felt thick as if filled with the beer soaked sawdust of a dockside inn and it ached terribly. He hoped the clearer air of the countryside would clear it.

The coach navigated the streets with as few delays as possible on one of the irritating pauses it took behind a particularly slow cart of ambiguous cargo Marley was mindlessly looking out of the window at the increasingly dilapidated buildings on the outskirts of the more fashionable areas he was used to when he noticed a man stood at the side of the road staring right into the coach at him. It was unmistakable, he was looking directly at Marley. He sat up in his chair and looked back trying to ascertain if the man was truly looking at him or something beyond the coach. Yes, it was undeniable he was looking directly at Marley and he now sat transfixed. The odd looking creature dressed in the attire of a merchant seaman stood across the street, his lips blue against his gruel grey skin. His bloodshot eyes sunken into dark circles as his soaking hair dripped down his face. But this was not what made him stand out, what made Marley feel the most uncomfortable was that that he appeared to be shouting as loud as he possibly could but no noise was coming out. Marley was relieved as the carriage wobbled and crunched up the road and away from the city. He looked away for just a moment and when he looked back the sailor was gone, his fatigue overtook him and he slumped back into his seat the sailor drifting away from his mind.

The stagecoach ran like clockwork, they flew through to the first turnout and the time between the driver pulling into the posting house and the horses being changed over was remarkably short and would have been unremarkable in the experience had it not been for the figure stood in the top window of the house itself. As Marley casually glanced around the area outside the coach his eyes caught a familiar face looking down from the first floor. It was the same man, there, unmistakably him. The same pallid complexion, the same sodden blue jacket and the same mournful expression. Again, he seemed to be shouting towards the carriage and at Marley.

“Stubbins, Stubbins, do you see that man. There at the window?” He blurted urgently pointing at the house. The butler stood up and moved to the stagecoach window and leaned out.

“No sir, there is nobody at any of the windows sir.” Came the calm and measured reply.

Marley pushed him out of the way and stared at the spot he had seen the sailor. Stubbins was entirely correct. There was no man to be seen. He flopped back into his chair and stared at the opposite wall of the coach. Stubbins knew his employer well enough to withhold comment and sat back down on his own seat waiting for the coach to pull away.

There were a number of toll houses on the road and each time they paused for the driver to pay the charge to pass through the gates Marley leapt to the window to check for the sailor. After the first three he had started to return to some form of sobriety in his manner and when the sign for Pratt’s Bottom appeared by the roadside he was so at ease he had nodded gently to sleep.

The slam of the carriage door jolted him awake. His eyes slightly blurred cleared to reveal the silent sailor directly opposite him, as real as Stubbins beside him, but Stubbins was not there. He was alone in the tight space with this thing in front of him. Up close he could make out every line on his grey face, the cracks in ill ordered teeth sitting awkwardly in blackened gums as he shouted noiselessly at him. Marley grabbed at the seat and tried to push his way as far as he could away from the monstrous sight in front of him. He pushed his way to the opposite corner from the creature and grabbed at the door. He took one look back and saw it turning its head towards him. It’s jacket opened slightly and on the inside he saw the words “The Providence”, his heart sank and he grabbed at the door handle again. Before he got his hand around it the door eased open and the welcome sight of Stubbins was at the door.

“Are you feeling unwell sir?” The butler asked with genuine concern.

“The sailor!” Marley spluttered pointing behind him.

“Where did you see him Sir?” Stubbins replied, to which Marley whipped his head round expecting to see the sailor an outstretched arm’s length away. But there was no one to be seen. Stubbins climbed into the cabin and sat opposite Marley. He shut the door and looked at his master.

“I have bought you some bread and meat, I was worried that you might be coming down with something as you’re so pale sir. Here.”

Usually such a familiar observation would have annoyed Marley but he knew himself he was unwell and getting moreso by the minute. He had to be suffering some sort of fever to have had such a hallucination. What else could explain seeing a sailor from “The Providence”. It sunk five years earlier taking its entire crew and overly insured cargo with it. Yes. That was it. He was unwell and needed to use the weekend in the country to recuperate. He gratefully took the food from his butler and settled back down and tried hard to relax for the rest of the journey.

Marley’s villa in Sevenoaks was the envy of his club. Not that any of its members had ever been invited to visit, but they had all, at some point travelled past the end of its stunning entrance with avenue of oak trees leading to a carriage turning point in front of the beautiful two floored red brick building. As you arrived you were met with its white porticoed porch made out of ashlar stone in the ionic order. The door itself was tastefully painted in a deep scarlet and framed in stone architraves with a semi elliptical fanlight above. The six, twelve light sash windows handsomely reflected the rising sun as the carriages, had any attended, would make their way towards the building.

Behind lay the additional seventeen acres of Marley’s immaculately landscaped gardens, ponds and orchard for which he retained a gardener and his boy to maintain. There were no staff for the house itself. He paid a local woman to attend weekly to ensure the house was regularly aired and ready for each visit but it came to his own house staff to run the house when he was visiting and they would always arrive before him to prepare.

As the stagecoach crunched down the driveway Lizzie the housemaid darted to the door and flung it open so Marley could quickly make his way into the house to be met with a cup of tea and his lunch. Marley stormed into the house without acknowledging the driver. He walked straight through the house ignoring the immaculately laid out siding table and out into the garden. He stood for a moment before dropping his hands to his knees and gasping for breath. He had absolutely no idea why he felt the need to do it but deep down there was a sense he felt that in some way whatever had been in that carriage with him had contaminated him in a manner he could not fully comprehend. He needed to be in an open and familiar place and stood at the threshold of his beautiful gardens was the place for him to feel that. He was alone for a few moments before Stubbins arrived behind him. He had paid the driver and brought in his trunk and was now politely and judiciously awaiting his employer’s next request.

“Stubbins, I believe I may have a chill. I am not myself but I do wish to eat before I make any decisions about the rest of my day. I trust Mrs Harrington has prepared lunch?” He asked with a hint of premeditated irritation.

“She has it all warming in the kitchen. It is ready when you are.”

“I’ll take it in the dining room. Let Lizzie know please I will be there shortly.”

Marley stood as his butler headed back into the house. He looked across his garden hoping that the view would be enough of a tonic to clear his head. As he stood enjoying the crisp midwinter air the lack of birdsong made the air hang like a composer’s unwritten stave. He was about to turn back into the building when his ear caught on the scattered notes of the broken bells. It took far to long for him to register what it was he was hearing and by the time he did his heart stopped, his body drained of all warmth and his stomach filled with the sickness of dread. His anxious eyes darted across the view but there was nothing to see. He half expected the sailor to tap him on the shoulder but there was nothing. Just the still cool air lying gently on his skin.

The rest of Saturday was spent finding any excuse not to leave the house. He read books in the library, his newspaper in the parlour and then dozed in the sitting room after tea and scones with the cook’s home made jam delivered by the maid. He stumbled around his own house like a drunken party guest who nobody remembered inviting, the staff watched on as their usually impeccable but stern master struggled to maintain his senses, faculties and equilibrium all at once. Secretly they found humour in his condition if not pleasure as they very much knew their fate would in some way be connected to his. They still upheld their duty of care to their unpleasant employer while mentally scrapbooking each of his peculiarities.

Usually during his country visits he would take supper early before heading out around the gardens for a leisurely stroll but today he asked for his bed to be readied and determined to retire early in the hope that whatever was ailing him would be eased away with extra rest.

When he reached his bed he found that it had been pre warmed and the argand lamp by the side of his bed topped up and was filling the room with a warm and welcoming glow. He closed the door, and climbed under the blankets before turning to the lamp. Usually he would not think before he turned the wheel all the way down. Tonight he hesitated. The dark seemed so absolute. He turned it round slowly and the light gradually dimmed. He paused just before it went off and looked around the room, there was just enough light to make out most of the shapes in the room and still dark enough to sleep. Tonight he wanted that little peace of mind, he closed his eyes and his exhausted body took over carrying him off to sleep.

Stubbins’ presence to wake him was neither unexpected or unwelcome. He had slept uneasily and he now he was beginning to wake he could feel the ominous signs of a headache. The light of the room was still limited by the curtains and the lamp only offered a small amount of support to the window. As he allowed his eyes to adjust Marley noticed that Lizzie had joined them and was stood by the door. This was not her usual routine in fact she rarely entered his bedroom while he was there. He propped himself up against the head of his bed and rubbed his eyes. As the image became clearer through the dim light he realised that whoever it was, it wasn’t Lizzie. While the figure was female it certainly wasn’t the young maid, it was older, slightly stooped and dressed in workhouse attire. In an instant he recognised her and looked across at the man at the window, before he looked he knew. The man at his window was his father.

It had been close to a decade since he had last seen his parents and they had both died not much longer after that, he sat up slowly and leaned over towards the lamp. He fumbled with the wheel and turned it, as he did the skeletal shapes of the two emaciated creatures. His mother in her thin frayed shawl and her sorrowful husband in a hard, ill fitting and unforgiving grey suit. They looked at him with expressions that filled him with a feeling his body tried to reject with every fibre of his being. Had they shown anger, or hatred it would have ricocheted off his emotionlessly thick skin but this was not what they offered him. Through their deathly visage they expressed disappointment and pity. Pity for him. It made him sick to the deepest point in his being. They stood over him, speaking calmly and slowly but no words came out. Each second of this experience was torture and the tempest in his guts raged. The headache thundered and the room around him began to shift. A final great wave crashed through his stomach and with a relieving heave he vomited all over his bed.

Stubbins had heard the commotion and raced to Marley’s room. The local doctor was sent for and by the time he had arrived, administered a laudanum tincture and recommended a thin beef broth, barley water and rest Marley was asleep again, this time far, far more deeply.

Marley rose briefly in the afternoon. He was drowsy and still feeling the ill effects of the fever that was now raging through his body. The doctor had not ruled out gastric fever but had promised to return the following day to see if, as he suspected this was a result of fine living and too much over indulgence. Marley had been too distracted by the aches all over his body to really analyse what the doctor had said at the time but by the afternoon, despite his clear infirmity he was beginning to return to some sort of competence and his determination to return to London to seek a more reliable diagnosis from his expensive Grosvenor Square doctor kicked in. The booking for the Monday stagecoach was kept and while by no means was he well he was fit enough to go home. The only change to the arrangement was that rather than head off early with the cook in Marley’s carriage Lizzie the maid would travel in the stagecoach with Stubbins and Marley in the afternoon.

Marley dozed in and out of sleep on the way back to London. Stubbins sat next to him and Lizzie opposite. Stubbins occasionally moved next to the maid at stops during the journey and left his overcoat hanging next to Marley giving him the sensation that he had people all around him. His vision was beginning to falter and he noticed that when he looked up the faces opposite blurred and looked almost identical, the strange sensation made him feel nauseous and he spent much of the remainder of the ride with his head propped on the window frame gasping at the cold winters air as it rushed past.

Back in London he was helped back into bed and his butler placed a chair next to his head and sat down.

“Would you like me to stay and talk to you sir or do you prefer to rest while we wait for the Doctor?”

Marley patted the chair and Stubbins dutifully sat down.

“The most peculiar thing Stubbins. When we were in the coach my eyesight went somewhat bosky. When you sat next to Lizzie you both looked like the same damned person. I think that tincture was too blasted strong.”

“I think it must have been far too strong indeed sir, I never sat next to Lizzie, I sat next to you for the whole trip.”

“Goodness. I’m in a mess Stubbins, wake me when Dr Lehther arrives and can you get me something to drink when I wake.”

Marley didn’t hear the reply as he slumped into sleep.

When he woke his eyesight was again blurred and though the chair was close his butler’s legs were still quite difficult to make out clearly. The longer he looked at one spot, like a disturbed pool it gradually settled and he could make out the shapes. He could see a cup was being held out towards him and so he sat up ready to take a drink. He grasped at it but couldn’t focus clearly enough so he gestured for it to be placed on the bedside table where he focussed hard and eventually managed to grasp it in two hands and put it to his mouth. He sipped the barley water and then looked up to try and focus on the butler’s face. It took a moment for the soft gaze across his face to go and his features to become clearer.

It wasn’t Stubbins, it absolutely wasn’t him. Marley blinked. It was not the doctor either. The impossible man sat by his bed was his former butler Jenkins. Marley blinked but the apparition did not disappear, it remained staring at him, talking without speaking. All Marley could hear were those broken bells, louder and closer. Jenkins was pale and gaunt, his gums receded and black, his fingernails grey and ragged. He leaned closer and closer to Marley’s face and as he did the sound of the bells got louder. Jenkins reached out and his cold fingers touched Marley’s cheeks. The living man let out a deathly scream and collapsed back on his bed, the cup tumbling to the floor.

When Marley woke again he was surrounded, seated by his head was Dr Lehther, standing behind him was Stubbins and Lizzie was at the foot. The doctor looked gravely down at him.

“Mr Marley, you are very ill. It is essential that you rest until this illness passes through you. I have left medicine that must be administered regularly but you must rest, do you understand?”

Marley did but he was not listening as his eyes were focusing on a spot in the corner of his bedroom. Stood there, clothed in all long ragged cloth, drooping hood obscuring its face was a ghostly being. It stood silently floating above the floor. In its hands it held long iron chains which it shook giving the noise of small broken bells.

“Wraith. Do you see the wraith.” Marley croaked pointing in it’s direction.

The three visitors to his bedroom turned and looked into the corner.

“Rest sir, it is only your gown and the shadow it it’s casting.” Stubbins replied.

“I must leave now, he needs that medicine and rest.” The doctor said before turning and being escorted out of the room. Stubbins instructed the maid to administer the medicine and then leave their master to sleep.

Lizzie moved around the bed and took a bottle and spoon from her pocket. She poured a generous dose onto the spoon and held it out towards Marley with her right hand, her left carefully cradling his chin.

“It’s nasty sir, but drink it down it will do the job.”

Marley winced as he gulped the bitter liquid down. He lay back down again as Lizzie replaced the bottle and spoon in her pocket. Once she had done that she leaned over to the bedside table to pick up the bottle of medicine the doctor had left for her to give to her master. She poured a small amount into the glass she had picked up off the floor earlier and then returned the bottle to the table.

“You’ve been taking my medicine for quite a few days Jacob Marley and this dose should finish the job. You never asked my name when you employed me. Lizzie was good enough for you. Well it’s Elizabeth Jenkins, you killed my grandfather with your dereliction to his welfare. So now you can sleep on your last draught of nightshade Mr Marley. Goodnight.”

The dose he had been given was strong and acted quickly, he was too weak to call out and as he felt the coldness of death creeping through his body Marley closed his eyes and drifted away to the chorus of his ringing chains.