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Business as usual by Lilachigh
 
Chp 46 Christmas Special
 
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A Christmas story - Season Six and Agnes is looking forward to Christmas but her friends have other things on their minds...




…. And mercy mild…

by Lilachigh


Agnes Pringle loved Christmas – it was her favourite time of the year. Even after the unfortunate problem in Hollywood, that had Not Been Her Fault, she had continued to await the season with anticipation. Which was odd because Christmas had never been a particularly happy time for her in the old Unturned days.

When her Mother had been alive they had gone to church in the morning, of course, then returned home for Christmas lunch – a slightly larger chicken than usual because Leticia, a very old cousin who smelt of humbugs and camphor, arrived every year to spend a few days with them. No crackers or silly hats: Mother thought they were common. No Christmas tree because Mother hated pine needles in the carpet.

Lunch was followed by The Queen’s message to the country, a nice cup of tea and slice of cake made by Agnes, eaten in the front room which was only used on Christmas Day, of course, so always felt damp. Then the three of them returned to the back room to sit by the small fire. Agnes would listen to the radio while her mother and Leticia dissected with relish the character of everyone they knew.

Agnes had longed for paper streamers, balloons, big bunches of holly, even mistletoe with all the hope that could inspire in her heart. She’d vowed that if she ever had her own little home, she would celebrate Christmas in a grand fashion.

And that was just what she was determined to do when she opened her first Willow Tree Tea Shoppe in Winchester when her dear mother passed on. But somehow she had been so busy trying to earn a living that Christmas had slipped past so fast that she had been unable to reach out and touch it.

Of course, being in California did make a big difference because of the weather. No snow. Not that there had often been snow at Christmas time back in England: usually it had been chilly and damp and grey. But Christmas cards had joyful scenes of snowy fields and robins perched on holly bushes and stagecoaches dashing through villages where every window glowed gold and red-cheeked children threw snowballs at each other.

And although she told herself there was a lot to be said for non slippery pavements and the post arriving on time, she couldn’t help feeling dreadfully sad that she would never be able to open her door and find carol singers treading through the deep and crisp and even.

She’d also been a little distressed and annoyed in the early days of her new Unlife to discover that vampires and demons tended to ignore the Festive Season. After all, what harm could it do to give a few pretty little bottles of blood, tied up in paper with all the fancy American ribbons? (American parcel wrapping was something Agnes heartily approved of).

Of course, when she’d been friends with Dear Richard, Christmas has been almost too wonderful. He’d been a great believer in traditions, although some of his own had been a little suspect. She’d never been certain how he’d managed to arrange a midnight carol service in an empty church for her. Perhaps it had been a rehearsal. Whatever, she had sat next to Richard, comfortably away from all the crosses, listening to Hark, The Herald Angel Sings.

The singing had been lovely but it had obviously been very late for the choirboys to be out because they looked so pale and scared and the choirmaster must have been cold because his teeth chattered throughout the whole performance.

But all that was in the past. She had her lovely teashop in Sunnydale now – bought with Dear Richard’s money, his final gift to her. And although she would not be attending church – which really was the biggest regret of being a vampire, she’d decided to close the Willow Tree for two days at Christmas. She felt quite wicked: she was putting herself and her friends first. Well, it was a very small sin.

Agnes had told practically everyone she knew to just drop by on Christmas Eve night – and in the weeks before she’d indulged in a frenzy of cooking. The puddings were made on Stir Up Sunday, mince pies, gingerbread Christmas trees, trifles – and although she did not hold with strong drink, she had to admit that soaking the sponges in a mixture of sherry and blood gave them a wonderful – pink – appearance.

And she even had a little tree with gifts underneath it for those of her closest friends she knew would put in an appearance. For Spike, of course, Clem, Dawn, Andrew – although that was more in hope than belief - and lots for Eric and Nancy, the vampire children she cared for while their mother was away earning a living.

She feared she might have slightly over-decorated the shop. Balloons hung in bunches, swags of tinsel and garlands galore jostled for position and the constantly twinkling lights had apparently the night before, caused one particularly bad-tempered demon to have some sort of fit and eat his companions before Agnes could stop him, although afterwards she had wondered if they had actually been his Christmas dinner, so to speak.

By ten o’clock everything was ready – candles flickered and gleamed and a saucepan of mulled blood and cinnamon and one of plain mulled wine for those who didn’t indulge, sent wonderful smells through the shop.

Both were luke-warm by the time the church bells rang in Christmas Day and the last of the congregation had chatted their way home through the Sunnydale streets.

Both were very cold and scummy by three in the morning.
The candles had gone out a long time ago. Agnes sat, staring at the silly tree, the presents no one had bothered to collect. She hadn’t moved for an hour and she was shivering, which was ridiculous because she couldn’t get any colder than she normally was these days. She felt weary and stupid. Christmas was a disaster. Why had she believed it would be any different this year?

She gazed round the shop – her home – tables, chairs, a few ornaments. Things she loved, treasured. The tyranny of small possessions. But not friends, family, neighbours. Stiffly she got up and walked down the stairs into the kitchen. Christmas Day – well, she supposed she could make a start on baking.

For a ridiculous moment tears burnt her eyes and she sank down at the table, burying her head in her arms. It was all very well knowing it was darkest before the dawn, if you were given lemons you should make lemonade, if God shut a door he opened a window – Agnes would comfort herself with all those words tomorrow. Just now she was a plump, middle-aged vampire who was going to spend Christmas Day on her own.

Suddenly she got to her feet. She would finish crying later on.
All her lovely Christmas food was not going to waste! There were plenty of poor people in Sunnydale; she’d often seen them lurking around the bus station. A lot of them would be turned, especially at this time of the year when vamps got bored with being indoors but until then, they needed to be fed.

An hour later, she was walking home through the streets, pushing the old shopping trolley she’d discovered pushed into a corner of the basement. Sadly she’d had to discard the mulled wine, but the rest of the feast had been packed into bags and boxes and she’d been amazed at the number of people who’d appeared, desperate for sausage rolls and gingerbread Christmas trees. It seemed that the normal charity organisations hadn’t got to Sunnydale yet.

At the corner of the road she paused. There was the church – no lights on, of course, at this hour, but she could just tiptoe up to the door and peer in. But perhaps not. After all, she was a vampire and although she was fairly sure God knew it Hadn’t Been Her Fault, perhaps it wasn’t fair to remind him of her existence on his Son’s birthday.

She could always call in and see Spike, of course. Just to wish him a Happy Christmas. The cemetery was only a few yards away. She hesitated, then jumped with a startled squeak as a very tall man, wrapped in a dark cloak with the hood hiding most of his face, appeared in the gateway to the graveyard.

“I really wouldn’t walk through there tonight, Miss Pringle,” he said, his voice very deep. “A certain demon Slayer is patrolling.”

“Oh! Oh, thank you. Yes, perhaps it wouldn’t be wise to meet her. How very kind of you to bother – but – “ Agnes frowned – “You’re not a vampire, are you?”

The stranger shook his head.

“And you know my name.” Agnes was beginning to feel nervous. The last time she had spoken to a tall dark stranger, her life had changed completely. She really didn’t feel strong enough for another career change.

“Oh, Miss Agnes Pringle is very well known in charitable circles.”

“Oh, I see, you’re with the church charity people!”

“Hmmm. Yes, I suppose I am. I’m a sort of - well - I broadcast news and information.”

Agnes frowned. He sounded tired. “Well, I won’t keep you. I expect you’ve had a busy night and will be glad to get home. Look – I have one gingerbread Christmas tree left. Do take it! They’re very tasty.”

A hand reached out from the cloak and the gingerbread vanished. “How very kind of you, Miss Pringle. I’ll eat it as I go, if I may. Now do take care.”

“Oh, I know. Be indoors by sun up!” Agnes sighed. “Christmas Day. Perhaps I will open the shop after all. There are sure to be other people on their own who might like to call in for lunch or tea. Unturneds but somehow that makes it even sadder if they have no family or friends. As a vampire, you shouldn’t really expect to be happy, should you? If I hurry, I can bake again before lunchtime.”

“I meant be careful you don’t slip!” The man gestured upwards and Agnes’ gaze followed his hand, staring up in amazement at the fat, flakes of snow that were hurtling down towards Sunnydale, covering everywhere with a thick white layer.

“Snow! Oh how wonderful! It’s a miracle.” She clasped her hands together and turned to the man. “You can have no idea how happy this makes me. It’s a wish come true.”

There was the glint of a smile deep from under the hood as the man turned back towards the church. “Goodbye, Agnes Pringle. And I hope you have a very Merry Christmas.”

“Oh and to you, Mr – oh, I don’t know your name.”

The man hesitated then as he strode away into the shadows, he said, “Some people call me - Hark.” And from a long, long way away, Agnes thought she could hear singing sounding through the snow ... "...God and sinners reconciled...."

Ends








 
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