Читать книгу Miss Marley: A Christmas ghost story - a prequel to A Christmas Carol - Rebecca Mascull, Vanessa Lafaye - Страница 15

Chapter 4

Clara stood in the street and eyed her handiwork with satisfaction. The window of Mr Quoit’s toy shop glowed. There was barely any space between the jumble of carved boats, the bucket of tin whistles and the stand of wooden swords, yet all gave way to the magnificence of the doll’s house which took centre stage in the display. Now that she handled the window displays, Clara could indulge her study of the doll’s house, the same as before. Now, instead of a blinding pain, the sight of it produced a dull, persistent ache in her heart. Despite the hefty price tag, it had sold many times over, and Mr Quoit always ensured that the carpenter provided a new one in time for Christmas every year. Her dream was to own it one day.

There were moments when she wished that some genie would shrink her to mouse size, so she could live in it with Mama and Papa again – and Jacob, of course.

He was so busy these days, having taken over the running of the lending business from her, that they only saw each other at breakfast. It was their hectic time of year. As Christmas approached, many of their debtors spent too much – mostly on drink – and worked too little, recovering from it. Jacob worked even harder as the holiday drew near. She worried for him, as he often took dinner at the Lion’s Head and then carried on working into the night. He was so thin, compared to the solid little boy he had been. She felt it was time to give up the lending business. The competition had become more intense recently. Even with protection, they could expect to be threatened and even robbed on a regular basis. And she could no longer stomach the visits to customers, taking money from those less well off than themselves. Jacob would say, ‘The reason they’re less well off is that they’re not willing to do the things necessary to get on in this world.’ Although she knew he was right, she sensed that he was ready to move on too. There was a new weariness in his gait, a stoop in his shoulders from hours spent over the ledgers. Now that they could afford two rooms, at a better address just above the toy shop, more things became possible. They had come so far in only a matter of years; their time as beggars was like a terrible nightmare, and the time before that – at their childhood home – like a beautiful dream. Now she was a working woman, both times seemed as insubstantial to Clara as a will-o’-the-wisp.