Frosty Wind Made Moan

6

6

The old man held on to Toby's hand and passed through the door, back into the house, as though it wasn't even there. Toby closed his eyes as he placed his trust in the old man, allowing him to pull him along and he felt a strange sensation as he walked through the door. It felt as though he became part of the wood of the door for an instant and, when he opened his eyes again, they were back in the kitchen.

"We must away, up the stairs to see the father meet the son." With a look over his shoulder, the old man headed towards the tight corridor, back to the stairs and the main house above. "There is still much to see."

"No. I don't want to." Toby pulled against the old man's hand and, for once, he managed to make him stop. "I get it. You wanted to show me cruelty because I thought you were being cruel. I've seen it. People can be awful. That girl, she ..."

He looked back towards the kitchen door. Even though the door was now closed, he couldn't feel the heat of the ovens as he had before. It felt cold. As cold as he had felt outside as he watched the severe woman turning away the girl. A pregnant girl, tossed out into the night on Christmas Eve. All because she was having a baby. He doubted he would ever see anything so cruel again in his life.

"That girl suffers but one kind of cruelty. She had little and now has nothing." Those sparkling eyes looked down at Toby from beneath fur-trimmed hat and bushy eyebrows. Eyes that didn't seem quite human, but held so much humanity. "But there are other kinds of cruelty. Some with plated gold and glittering diamonds. Some with it hidden behind faces of kindness. Cruelty is not the province of only the rich or the poor, or the powerful or the weak. It comes in so many forms."

The old man's beard puffed outwards and Toby realised that the old man smiled, trying to comfort Toby, but that didn't stop him wishing he could wake up now, or go home if this wasn't a dream. They started to move once more and soon found themselves back in the entrance hall of the enormous house.

Through a door to the side, Toby saw the party continuing, the guests looked as though they played a game. One woman, blindfolded, ran around a circle of people, each of them laughing as the woman reached out to find others. Toby felt a little blind. Not knowing where he really was or what was really happening.

"That man said it was eighteen-hundred and something." He rushed to keep up as the old man took the stairs two at a time. "Are we really in the past, or is this a dream. I can't tell which. I think it's a dream."

"A dream? Possibly. And if it were a dream, would it be any less true?" At the top of the stairs, the old man jumped on to the top step, like a child jumping into a puddle, and turned, bowing down and looking into Toby's face. "And if it were real, would it be any less magical? Come, the father is coming and you must see before he arrives."

The house seemed to go on forever, easily as big as any of the tower blocks near where Toby lived, but spread out to the sides instead of upwards. The old man appeared to know exactly where he needed to go, weaving his way along corridors lit with candles in candle holders, oil lamps with glass covers and gas lamps attached to the walls.

Whoever owned the house didn't seem to care about the expense of keeping the place lit. Everywhere was almost as bright as day and, through a couple of open doors along the way, Toby saw great blazing fires within rooms that held no-one within to keep warm. It all seemed a waste to Toby. His Mum always made certain he turned off the lights in rooms he left, even when he was going straight back in.

Now, the old man stopped before a door at the far end of a corridor. The last door before the corridor ended in a large, leaded window. Toby couldn't help but look out of that window, searching for the girl thrown out in the snow, but he could see nothing outside.