Wednesday, December 21st, 1833
Four Days to Christmas
I WOKE THE next morning with a start. Someone stood by my window, a silhouetted man peering out at the street.
Roger Colley, surely!
Grabbing up my cane from beside my bed, I sprang at him—
And froze as Dickens turned from the window and lit a thinly rolled cigarette. “What are you going to do with that?” Dickens asked, snatching my cane from me with his free hand. “Get dressed. We have an appointment, you and I.”
“Shall we have breakfast first?” I asked, turning away, my cheeks hot from embarrassment. I didn’t even ask how Dickens had gained access to my rooms. Surely, all it took was a smile and a kind word to Mrs. Doors.
“No, Mr. Scrooge,” said the reporter. “I strongly suggest that, considering where we are bound, the less ei
