Chapter Text
For Constance Albany DoGoode, former Manhattan socialite, model and aspiring banker; the boat ride from New York had not been kind.
First, it had been a long trip. Longer than it had any right to be. Her hair felt greasy and she imagined the bags under her eyes were large enough to slip some sovereigns into. If only that were true, she thought remorsefully, at least there would be an upside.
Secondly, her third-class conditions and the choppy state of the seas had convinced her that she was walking around London with a green pallor, despite checking her reflection in her compact mirror many times.
Thirdly, she was having a hard time keeping down food and water thanks to the horrible nausea. Even chewing her ginger tablets from her doctor back home did not help. Not to mention, she hadn't been able to bring refill her pain medicine while sailing the breadth of the northern Atlantic ocean, and the withdrawals had her trembling and her legs aching.
The added terror of the seas rendered her dizzy, dehydrated, and one loud noise short of a migraine.
Thankfully, a newsboy must have psychically heard her plea, and made sure to yell extra loudly when she passed by.
Despite all the reasons she had to be down in the dumps, she kept her disposition sunny and positive. Even while in incredible pain, Constance smiled kindly at strangers and kept her shoulders squared with pride.
After all, nobody in London was going to give work to a woman who looked like a sad-sack. Even if she was a notable public figure back home, here in London ... she was just another anonymous woman. That was exactly what she wanted, after all. Constance wanted to blend in and escape.
To begin anew in a new city.
So, with nothing but the promise of endless possibilities pushing her onward, she squared her shoulders and walked forward.
As it turned out, finding a job in London was just as hard as finding work in New York, if not harder. The task was made all the more arduous by the unfamiliar layout of the city, whipping December winds, and lack of any local references to provide to the very few shopkeepers that didn’t immediate steer her back out into the street. No prospects, no relations, no good word-of-mouth gossip to turn the tide in her favor … the odds seemed to tower over her like a mountain.
By midday, the 38-year-old American redhead had bobbed her way in and out of dozens of businesses, each and every one turning her away. They either weren’t interested in adding employees or didn’t have the funds needed to bring on an extra set of hands.
As the sun lowered and temperatures dipped, it was hard to not feel her mood dwindle as well.
Of course, as she walked the streets, the whispers had also not gone unnoticed.
“Is she a widow? Must be. Why else would she travel alone?
“Poor woman.”
“Moving here with only one suitcase and no job? Why, she must have no sense, either.”
“Her dress is odd too. Incredibly beautiful! A little revealing, though."
"And no coat either! Is she mad?”
“Maybe she’s in trouble – or looking for some, if you know what I mean?”
“Hush, she’ll hear!”
Constance picked up the pace to breeze past the gossipers with urgency that she hoped would startle them and inspire them to cease their rambling. It did not. If fact, their whispers seemed to become even more fervent, as if her passive-aggression had offended them.
She sighed, resisting the urge to feel utterly defeated. The only distraction she had from the rising tide of depression was the increasing chill, which was hardly welcome.
She did so hate being cold.
As far as she was concerned, the holidays were the only good things about the bitter season. If she had a decent coat, she would have slipped it long ago. Alas, his heavier and finer quality clothing items had been among the plethora of old goods she had pawned off behind her husband's back to afford the trip overseas.
"S-So cold..." she trembled, another rush of wind blowing her red hair furiously about her shoulders.
As if on cue, a butcher who had stepped out the front door to take out the store’s garbage, eyes her with kind concern. “I say, ma’am, aren’t you freezing?”
Her current dress, red satin with a pearlescent rouching that circled her peachy shoulders, was not meant for the cold. She'd worn it because it was her favorite, leaving all the others behind or selling them. The light jacket was far from terrible quality, but didn’t quite provide the protection she needed. It was made from blue velvet with green and red accents. The long, eggshell loves that covered her arms were also helpful, but not nearly enough. She felt like it someone flicked her skin hard enough, it would crack off in flakes.
Colorful, fashionable (in her opinion only, she supposed) but not the warmest.
“Um, a bit,” she said honestly, dropping her suitcase temporarily to rub her biceps. The pitiful action did little to increase her blood flow or provide any other sort of relief, other than making her look even more mousy. Her nose probably looked as scarlet as a circus clown’s, and she suddenly felt like a sorry sight before the kind man.
“Come inside an warm up, lass,” he beckoned, extending a hand to her, hurrying her inside. “Hurry now, it’s getting’ dark too! Watch yet step on the stones, they’re slick!”
Not in any position to refuse the kindness, Constance bowed her head and muttered a seemingly endless stream of ‘thank you's as she shimmied up the small stone stems and through the store’s narrow doorway.
Despite stepping into a store filled with spiced and cured meats, she was greeted by the aroma of oranges and balsam, mixed with cinnamon and the aroma of something spicier, like a rotisserie. It was as soothing of an aroma as it was a welcoming one, and almost immediately, she felt some of her concern drop from her shoulders like snow melting off steam grates.
Another man and a large English mastiff stood at the opposite end of the counter, seemingly surveying a display of bones.
Ah, she thought, someone must have been getting a treat! What a kind owner, she thought. Vey tall and handsome too, from the very little she could see of him.
Her eyes fell upon the large dog by the man’s side. While the man remained focused on the taste at hand, the kindly pup looked her over with large sanguine eyes. Constance got the feeling the lovely mastiff was a girl; she wasn't sure why, she just looked like a lovely lady! The pup's mouth even opened in what she swore was a smile, and it was impossible to not chuckle when faced with such an endearingly goofy grin.
“Now, young miss, what are you doin’ out wanderin’ at this hour on Christmas Eve?” the butcher asked as he stepped back behind the register. “Ya look sadder than a skinny puppy out there, if you don’t mind me sayin’.”
At least he was frank about it, she thought. “Not at all, sir. It’s not like it isn’t true.”
The words sounded pitiful even to her own ears, and she wished she could retract them the moment she said them.
“My, your heart must be heavily burdened,” he said, leaning over the display to reach for her hand. She allowed him to take it, the calloused fingertips warm and pleasant to the touch. “What troubles you, miss? It’s been a while since I’ve seen such a sad soul, and especially on what’s supposed to be a joyous ‘oliday!”
She blinked. Was it Christmas Eve? She’d been bustling around so crazily that it must have slipped her mind. Not to mention, after a month on the boat, she had lost most of her sense of time.
“I, um, don’t wish to be a bother,” she stuttered, pulling at the fingertips of her gloves nervously. It was a bad habit of hers, and despite being well into adulthood, it didn’t seem like she was going to be able to kick the habit anytime soon. “Truthfully, I’m in a bid of a bind. I just arrived here, but … I’m afraid I’ve been unable to find employment.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the man incline his head in her direction, his top hat swiveling accordingly.
Meanwhile, the butcher’s eyebrows bowed in sudden understanding. “Oh. That is troublin’, dear. You’ve had no luck?”
“No, and I feel like I’ve walked everywhere,” Constance confided. "I'm sure I haven't. I don't know the city very well, but there, um, doesn't seem to be many businesses open. Knowing that it's Christmas Eve, that makes sense."
“It’s a rough time of year to start anew, miss,” he said, even his joyful spark seemingly dimmed by her predicament.
“I don’t suppose you’d know someone seeking work?” she asked, trying not to sound or feel too hopeful. "Perhaps as a secretary, or clerk? I'm not picky."
She heard the dog from before bark, as if replying to her, but that was silly. She remained fixated on the butcher, who had started stroking his wasp-colored beard in thought “Well, let’s see … nothing comes to mind immediately, I’m afraid. Do ye also need a place to stay?”
Oh Gods, she thought dismally. She was hoping he wouldn’t ask that.
“Y-Yes, I’m afraid so,” she muttered, trying to squash down her embarrassment. “Is there a shelter nearby? Or perhaps a women’s center? I would—”
Then, a new voice echoed from behind, and above, her.
“I say, miss, I don’t mean to pry, but…did you say you’re looking for work?”
The inquiry came from the older gentleman she’d seen staring at the bone and cartilage display. Since he’d approached her, the dog now carried a bone happily in its jaws, and his eyes had drifted down to meet hers. They were a handsome shade of slate-blue, and matched the kind yet inquisitive timbre of his voice.
She was distracted by his visage for a whole extra second before crashing back to reality with an awkward yelp.
“I, um…yes!” Constance finally managed, clearing her throat. “Do you know a place, good sir? A-Any recommendation is fine! I’ve tried everyone from doctors to dressmakers. I have plenty of skills, so any lead at all would be beyond welcome!”
The older man continued to stare down at her, eyes widening with each word. Finally, when she paused to take a breath, his thin lips formed a smile as both hands came to rest at the handle of his cane.
“Well, um, do you have experience in bookkeeping, miss?” he asked. “As in, maintaining records and such?”
“Oh, I do!” she said quickly, bobbing her head excitedly. The man actually leaned back at the gesture, obviously taken slightly off guard by her very sudden and very vibrant enthusiasm. Still, she continued undeterred, “I used to work in a bank, actually. They had to shutter our doors because of the owner spent people’s money on gambling, drinks and the company of ladies – he’s in a debtor’s prison now, ironically, but I …”
She silently cursed herself for being so prone to rambling. The poor man before her was just trying to be a gentleman and extend her a decent courtesy and she couldn’t even return the favor by making proper use of his time. What was she thinking, acting so immature and rosy-cheeked in front of him? She was in her late thirties - far too old to act so passionate and excitable about her interests, or so she’d been told plenty of times.
“Pardon me,” she mumbled, spine arcing forward as she shrank down and away from him. Not for the first time that day, she wished she had a scarf or hat to hide the blush on her cheeks, not to mention freckles that became all the more pronounced because of it.
As she looked up at his visage, expecting an irritated glare, she was met instead with a small, slightly bemused smile. Perhaps it was her imagination, but she also thought she saw a pinkish hue extend across his cheeks.
“Well, then,” he said, “If you wouldn’t mind a small walk, I would be happy to show you my office. I’m afraid the exterior is a little dismal-looking, but the business inside is good, I assure you.”
She paused, heart fluttering like a dove set from its cage. “Wait. Your … office?”
“I’m a private banker, you see,” he explained, removing his hat and tipping it to her. “A lender as well, and I’m in need of a clerk. The position was held by my partner before I promoted him for all his hard work. A rightful promotion, if there ever was one, but it left his old seat open, and we’ve been a little short-handed as a result. You clearly have experience, so, if you’re interested …”
The woman’s hands flew to her mouth. “Oh! Sir, y-you’re serious?”
“Serious as this winter's chill,” he said, hands flying up to his face in mock surrender. “Truly.”
She must have looked truly disbelieving, because the older man suddenly chuckled again, and the pinkish hue did not dissipate from his cheeks. “If you have the time, we can stop by, and I should like to ask you a few questions. You know, to cover the basics and—”
Practically dancing on her tiptoes from joy, she looked to the butcher in disbelief, only to see that he was encouraging her on as well.
“Oh, thank you!” she proclaimed, clutching her heart to prevent it from jumping out of her chest and doing cartwheels. She couldn’t contain herself; she leapt forward and hugged him, using almost all the strength in her arms to bring him in close. She would have all-out embraced him had the stitching on her satin jacket allowed her the flexibility to do such a feat.
“Oh, thank you, thank you!” she exclaimed, blinking tears from her reddened eyes. “You’ve saved my life, you have no idea!”
While the man did stammer in response to her sudden embrace, he didn’t try to pull away. In fact, he remained frazzled and red-faced in her arms, struggling and failing to articulate a proper reply to her display of affection.
Meanwhile, the butcher let out a chortle behind the thick glass of the counter. He laughed so hard that his penny-sized spectacles almost toppled off his nose. “Well, well! If you would have told me I’d see Ebenezer Scrooge blushing like a schoolboy, I would ‘ave thought they were ‘igh up the poll!”
Prudence watched her owner all the while, ears perking up in sincere surprise at the hug. One would have thought she’d taken a glove across his cheek and branded him as a rapscallion by the way her entire face seemed to blare confusion. Her wide eyes bounced from each party with each new sentence, as if she truly understood their human words and would be more than willing to participate in their human conversation if she had the ability to.
When Constance finally released him, she noticed that their contact had roughed up his clothes a bit. In particular, the white cravat was pulled up and rendered distinctly crooked.
“S-Sorry, um…” she stammered, then reached up to straighten the fabric. “May I?”
Again, the older man stuttered. This time, he did manage to form a coherent reply. “W-Well, I suppose.”
Once it was smoothed, she glided her fingers across his suit’s velvet lapels and made sure they were pressed back into place, the points correctly pressed and the sides as symmetrical as if it had been sewed onto his body right out of the factory. The firmness she felt under her fingertips surprised her, but she was quick to remember herself and pull her hands back properly. “There.”
“Ah, thank you,” Scrooge said, dipping his head in thanks. His hands worried the tips of his gloves before finding purchase again at the finely carved handle of his cane.
“It’s the least I can do Mister … Scrooge, was it?” she repeated, recalling the remark the butcher had made earlier.
“Indeed,” he said, bending at the waist to extend an arm to her. “Ebenezer Samuel Scrooge, of Cornhill. And tell me, miss, whom do I have the pleasure of escorting this evening?”
Now certainly going red in the face, she tentatively accepted his arm, half expecting him to yank it away. After all, she was in her thirties and had never walked arm-in-arm with a man who wasn’t family ... or her husband. Certainly, he was just being polite and making a hollow offer.
However, when a beat passed and there was no punchline delivered at her expense, she took his arm. The warmth radiating from him, as well as the pleasant pine smell with an undercurrent of vetiver cologne, was instantly calming.
She almost forgot to wave goodbye to the helpful butcher, and answer Mr. Scrooge’s question.
“My name is Constance," she said with a with a polite nod of the head. "Constance Albany DoGoode, of Manhattan."
He hummed in response.
“A lovely name for a lovely woman,” he replied in earnest. Although he seemed to embarrass easily, his works were as smooth as a finely aged cabernet.
“Lovely?” she repeated, the cold causing the incredulous utterance to condense into a cloud before her lips. “My goodness! Such a flatterer.”
“Now, now. Flattery implies a level of dishonesty or hyperbole, neither of which I tend to employ in my daily vocabulary,” he said.
Before she could manage a reply, the chime of the bell tower pulled their attention to the looming, circular clock in the heavens, its mighty hands ticking away despite everyone else beginning to hunker down indoors for the night.
With a flick of his wrist, he brandished a silver pocket watch from his breast pocket and checked the time. Apparently dismayed by the answer, he put it way and redirected his gaze back at her. “Well, we don’t have much daylight left. I’m afraid it would be a cold, dark walk to the office.”
A brief pause, then another look of concern was etched across his face. “You mentioned you did not have a place to stay, correct?”
Reluctantly, the woman nodded. "I do not."
“Hm, that’s no good,” he mumbled.
"Do you think the shelters are full this time of year?"
He knew they were; in the past year since his visits with the Three Spirits, he'd become the top donor for all the shelters across London's vast city limits. While the shelters were more stocked than they'd ever been in the city's history, the economy was still rough enough to force many into hardship, especially around the holidays.
At this, she furrowed her brow. "That makes sense."
“Miss, I don’t wish to offend, but… would you be open to staying at my home until you find a more permanent place to stay?”
As if the woman couldn’t be more astounded that evening, Ebenezer had gone out of his way to astonish her again with his generosity. “I-I couldn’t! It’s an amazing offer, but, I couldn’t possibly—”
“If you’re worried about privacy, I assure you, there is more than enough space,” he added. “The house is one that is beyond my means. It was given to me as a gift by my old mentor and business partner, and he had quite the flair for luxury. I have a maid who comes in and out daily to assist with cleaning, so you needn't worry about any everyday tasks. Of course, your door will come with a lock, which you and the maid will be given the only keys to. I’m willing to make additional changes if there is something that causes you discomfort.”
She could honestly cry. Had whatever deities above, or simply the cosmic forces of the universe, heard her pleas and sent her a literal angel? She couldn’t know for sure, but there was no question the man before him was no ordinary banker.
“You would truly let me stay with you?” she asked, her voice only barely managing to creep from the crevices of her gloved fingers. "You're sure?"
“Miss, I do not wish to sound improper, but knowing you have no other safe place to stay, I could not let you walk away,” he said. “I’ve … been on the receiving end of kindness such as this, and know it can be life-changing.”
“I-I…” she stuttered, at a loss for words.
“I understand it’s a peculiar arrangement,” he admitted. He couldn’t deny that there would be the infuriating few that would gossip, but even so, it was his truest intent not to come across as anything other than genuine in his desire to help. Despite that, he wasn’t stupid. He knew that it was frowned upon for an unmarried couple, regardless of any affiliate, to share a home.
He looked down to glimpse her gloved hands. He didn't see the outline of a ring, but that didn't mean much,
She had every right to be cautious and careful as well. After all he was a stranger to her, just as she was to him.
Still, there was something about her.
Perhaps it was her genuine nature, or how easily excitable she was, or even the fact that she looked so much like a fish out of water in the new city that it was impossible to ignore her, but he couldn't abandon her.
Then, there was the way she’d fixed his scarf so readily.
She reminded him of someone … someone he’d moved on from, yet someone he still admitted he’d loved ardently.
Scrooge averted his gaze to focus on the cold ground below, which was slowly becoming dotted with powdered snowflakes.
“Oh, it’s snowing,” she realized, extending a hand up and out to catch some snowflakes in her glove. “A white Christmas in London … how wonderful! Though, I suppose this is mundane for you.”
Surprisingly, Scrooge had also turned his gaze skyward, watching the delicate snowflakes spin down to the city’s orange-lit walkways, their mere decoration making even the most decrepit corners of the city look a smidge merrier.
“A year ago, I think I might have agreed with that sentiment,” he explained softly, his thin lips grinning as a snowflake landed upon his nose. “I’ve since learned to appreciate more and more things about this season. It’s been a change. Well, a series of changes, to be more exact.”
“Truly?”
“I…was not the kindest man a year ago,” he explained vaguely. “I’ve lived my entire life here in London, and yet, I’ve only just now started to actually live it, if that makes sense. Especially this time of year.”
It did. All too well, as a matter of fact. “You’ve had a hard life, I take it.”
“I make no excuses for how I acted to people before,” Ebenezer said, tone deepening as he seemed to remember his old self. It was obvious to say he didn’t regard the person he’d used to be kindly. “I had an epiphany, of sorts. The kindest rude awakening one could imagine.”
Constance struggled to imagine what in the world he could mean by that, but also realized it wasn’t her business.
“Now I simply … live to give back to others as much as I can, whenever I can,” he concluded.
“Well, you’ve certainly proven that,” Constance said. “Agreeing to bring me in for an interview when you barely know me, and allowing me to stay at your house! Really, it’s all too much!”
“Nonsense,” he insisted. “I’ll not hear of your fending on the streets when I have more space than I could possibly ever use.”
“Even with your maid?”
“She does not reside with me,” he clarified. “I extended the invitation, but she has a home of her own already with a husband and children. We're neighbors, and nothing more.”
“So, you really live alone?”
“Y-Yes,” he said, this time sounding shy. “Well, aside from Prudence, of course.”
Her eyes went wide. “You’re not married?”
“Did you … think I was?” he asked curiously.
“It’s just, you’re a kind man, wealthy, and your looks too … you think you’d have suitors of all kinds lined up at your door!”
It had been a long time since he'd been complimented so abundantly. Probably not since he was a young man, still betrothed to Isabel and drowning in the privilege of not having to worry about his appearance as much. “Your compliments are misplaced on someone like me,” Ebenezer insisted in a polite yet firm tone, keeping his gaze directed straight-ahead, his legs moving as a brisk forward momentum.
“Have I offended you?” Constance asked hurriedly. “Apologies, I’m just genuinely surprised.”
“If I’m surprising you with any of my behavior, the bar for moral standards must be lower than I thought.”
“Oh, believe me, compared to some of the other employers I’ve talked with, you’re one holy deed away from being a saint by comparison!”
“Now who’s the real flatterer?” he challenged with a teasing smirk that, she had to admit, did look nice on him.
As if realizing how their banter was threatening to cross a line into something much more personal, the man straightened his posture and into something streamlined and austerely formal. “Y-Yes, well. Come along, then. Nothing good will come from us standing in the cold, especially you! Goodness, you must be shivering like mad. Come. We're getting you something hot to drink, a bath, and a warm coat.”
She followed his lead, grabbing her suitcase as they went. Just as quickly, he took it from her hand and carried it for her, transferring his cane to a spot under his arm.
Still arm-in-arm, he led her down the city’s brightly-lit and decorated walkway, taking great care to angle his body so he took the brute force of the whipping winter winds hit him and not her.
While a nagging part of her brain told her she was being absolutely idiotic for accepting such kindness from a stranger and that there had to be some horrible catch, she also realized she wasn’t in a position to disagree. It was a leap of faith, no doubt, but … his grip was strong and warm. It made her feel safe.
“Mind how you go. The cobblestones on these streets are deceptively slick.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Please, call me Mr. Scrooge, or even Ebenezer. Whichever you prefer.”
“Very well, Mr. Scrooge,” Constance said, still feeling a little awkward about being so informal with him, especially if he really did end up becoming her employer.
He chuckled. "Much obliged, Ms. DoGoode."
The couple, and Prudence, continued to navigate their way back to the man’s abode in relative silence. The lack of chatter was comfortable, the quiet soothing rather than anxiety-inducing, like she usually found prolonged silences to be.
That wasn't the only strange thing about their walk, she noticed. Even as the snow fell at an increasingly fast pace, the streetlamps never faltered in bathing their path in a radiant, warm light. Perhaps it was her imagination, but she thought their path shone a little brighter than the other alleyways, even the ones with the same lamps and foot traffic.
Perhaps it was another part in the all-too-fantastic dream she felt she had to be stuck in. Perhaps it was all incredibly good luck.
Whatever it was, she was thankful for it, and even more so for the dependable arm she was able to hold on to for the remainder of the journey.