Christmas Child: an absolutely heartbreaking and emotional Victorian romance

by Carol Rivers

  Ettie realized he was teasing her. She smiled shyly.

  ‘Ettie, you have worked wonders.’

  ‘I am only a quarter way through my chores, Sir.’

  ‘Then a quarter is as good as one whole in my opinion.’ Lucas beamed.

  ‘Will Mrs Benjamin be eating breakfast, Sir?’

  ‘Indeed she will. I would say in fact, there’s no doubt on that score.’

  ‘I’m afraid we only have eggs. But they will cook very well if poached lightly with a little cheese I found.’

  Lucas had clapped his hands in delight. ‘Manna from heaven!’

  ‘I’ll have breakfast cooked in ten minutes, Sir. The table is laid.’ She added hesitantly, ‘I have toasted all the bread in the larder.’

  Lucas thrust his hand through his red hair. ‘Please forgive its meagre contents. I cannot leave my customers, you see. Berwick Street market is just down the road.’

  ‘I shall go there today, Sir. Mrs Lucas will have the very best pie to eat tonight.’

  ‘Oh, joy!’ Lucas patted his pockets. ‘Before we open, I shall give you a whole two and six pence. Is that enough do you think?’

  ‘I am sure it will be, Sir.’

  ‘Then I shall make haste and call Clara.’

  Ettie found no difficulty in preparing the meal, even with the few items she found in the larder. for the nuns had taught her how to make a great show of very little.

  ‘I can’t recall when we ate eggs cooked so deliciously,’ Clara exclaimed as she sat at the breakfast table.

  Ettie served the poached eggs on slices of thin toast lavished with butter. Added to the hot coffee, and presented on the very best china that she had discovered hidden at the bottom of the chiffonier, the first meal she had cooked for the couple was a success.

  ‘Do please sit down and eat with us,’ offered Clara. ‘The house is sparkling. You must have risen early.’

  ‘I have eaten, thank you, Mrs Benjamin,’ Ettie replied, although she had been too nervous to eat breakfast.

  ‘A perfect start to the day,’ said Clara dabbing her napkin at the corner of her mouth. ‘I feel so much better this morning. I am sure I could not eat a fig more.’

  ‘Ettie, you have worked wonders,’ said Lucas gratefully. ‘If only we had known you before …’ He stopped and glanced at his wife. ‘It is so wonderful to see Clara with roses in her cheeks.’

  As Ettie cleared the table, she wondered what Lucas had been about to say.

  Chapter 11

  Ettie had left for the market, making her way through the crowded lanes of Soho, when she came across a small theatre where a tall man dressed all in black stepped in her path. He wore a floppy velvet hat complete with red feather that danced in time with the music he played on his violin. A performance of Kiss Me, Miss Carter was advertised as being shown that night. The poster on the wall showed a woman dressed in her underwear peering from behind a screen. The top-hatted man in front of it had a leer on his face that brought Ettie up short. She had never seen such a thing before.

  ‘Enchanting girl,’ invited the violinist, ‘are you interested?’

  Ettie clutched her basket tightly. ‘No sir, thank you.’

  ‘Tell me your wish, then,’ came the answer. ‘And I shall grant it.’

  Ettie shook her head and tried to dodge him. But he blocked her path.

  ‘Or perhaps you would like a serenade?’ he persisted, drawing the bow across the strings of the violin. ‘Music is the food of love, is it not?’

  Ettie felt a wave of panic. The people going by glanced at her with curiosity. Her cheeks went scarlet. She wished she hadn’t stopped to gawk at the poster. She was just deciding which way to run when a voice called out, ‘Allez nous en, Gino!’

  A young woman put an arm around her shoulders. She was dressed in an embroidered shawl and a low-cut blouse over her skirt that showed her brightly coloured petticoats. ‘Forgive my friend. He means no harm. I’m Gwendoline. But everyone in Soho calls me Gwen.’

  Ettie was grateful for being steered safely away from Gino. ‘I’m Ettie O’Reilly.’

  ‘Well, Ettie O’Reilly, pay no attention to Gino. He’s not used to nice girls like you.’ She paused, frowning. ‘And you are a nice girl, aren’t you?’

  Ettie had no idea how to answer. She said meekly, ‘I hope so.’

  Gwen gave her a curious smile. ‘How old are you?’

  ‘I shall be fifteen at Christmas.’

  ‘I would not have put you past twelve. Those innocent brown eyes had me fooled.’ She heaved in a breath, causing her breasts to rise almost to their extreme out of her blouse. ‘A word of warning, Ettie. If you have never been to Soho before, be careful. The men will try to relieve you either of your money or your knickers.’

  Embarrassed, Ettie gazed down at her boots.

  ‘Ah, don’t be shy, little one. Gwen will look after you. Where are you from?’

  ‘Poplar,’ Ettie explained hesitantly. ‘I’m an orphan and lived with the Sisters of Clemency.’

  ‘A convent?’ Gwen asked in surprise.

  Ettie nodded. ‘But now I work for the tobacconist of Silver Street.’

  ’Mon dieu!’ Gwen exclaimed. ‘A baby like you in Soho. Those nuns are mad!’

  Ettie shook her head firmly. ’My new family is a good one.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Gwen shrugged. ‘But Soho can be a dangerous place. Where are you off to?’

  ‘My employer has an empty larder and I hope to fill it.’

  ‘Have you any money?’

  Ettie was reluctant to open her purse. After all, she didn’t really know this stranger.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m not going to rob you,’ laughed Gwen, ‘Keep your money hidden. But you need an honest trader to deal with. Fortunately, I know one. A butcher. I’ll take you to him and see he doesn’t cheat you.’

  Ettie was warming to this young woman. Something about her felt safe.

  Soon they arrived at a shop where rows of dead rabbits and assorted fowl hung upside down from the blind. The smell of blood-soaked sawdust greeted Ettie's nose. A stout, red-cheeked man in a greasy apron and flat cloth cap put down the cleaver in his hand.

  ‘What can I do you for, this morning, my lovely?’ he boomed.

  ‘Terence, this is my friend Ettie O’Reilly,’ said Gwen. ‘Give her the best and cheapest cuts you have.’

  ‘Oh!’ said the butcher, frowning at Ettie. ‘And why should I do that?’

  ‘You know very well,’ snapped Gwen. ‘If you want tea with me on Friday then you’ll see she is satisfied.’

  ’Tea is it now?’ guffawed Terence, patting his fat belly. ’Two sugars will I get?’

  ’Two or three if you so wish,’ answered Gwen flirtatiously.

  ‘All the trimmings?’

  ‘Every one,’ agreed Gwen.

  ’What can I serve you, young lady?’ Terence addressed Ettie. She was so fascinated by this exchange that she almost forgot what she wanted to buy.

  By the time they left the shop Ettie had bought four large brown hens’ eggs, two ounces of lard and six lean rashers of bacon.

  ‘Terence is trustworthy,’ Gwen advised on the way to Berwick Street. ‘But beware of the traders who give you the biggest smiles.’

  Ettie kept close to Gwen as they mingled with the crowds. The market seemed to be much like the one she visited with Sister Ukunda. But Ettie was careful to compare the prices before she purchased the rosy apples and shiny pears, adding a selection of vegetables to the meat in her basket.

  The stalls sheltered beneath roofs of canvas stretching across the narrow lane. Marketeers yelled out, offering to knock a penny off here, a half-penny off there. But Ettie was careful. She recalled how Sister Ukunda had bargained with the traders. Eventually she paid a farthing for a sprig of lavender.

  ‘So you will smell nice for your sweetheart?’ Gwen asked curiously.

  Ettie smiled shyly. ‘I don’t have a sweetheart, but Michael is my best friend. We grew up to
gether at the orphanage.’

  Gwen seemed eager to know more but Ettie didn’t want to talk about Michael. She pointed to the clothes stall.

  ‘I wonder if there are any boots for sale?’ There was such a crowd that she couldn’t quite see.

  ‘Aggie will sell you the services of her husband for a price.’

  ‘Does he work at the market, too?’ Ettie asked innocently.

  Gwen laughed. ‘Didn’t the nuns teach you about the birds and bees?’

  ‘Sister Patrick taught us about nature,’ Ettie said eagerly. ‘How to tend a garden. And how to scare the crows away.’

  ‘Crows?’ Gwen said bewilderedly. ‘Non! Les garçons et filles!’

  Ettie knew what this meant. ‘Boys and girls?’

  ‘What happens when a boy is amorous?’

  ‘The boys at the orphanage only larked around and told silly jokes.’

  Gwen took hold of Ettie's shoulders. ‘One day you will learn about the world. If you like, I’ll teach you.’

  Ettie was eager to end the tricky conversation that appeared to be taking place in the middle of the street. ‘I had better finish my shopping.’

  Gwen slipped her arm through Ettie's as they continued on through the market. ‘I live with my friend Lily in rooms behind the theatre,’ she explained, swinging her hips. ‘We enjoy men’s company, you understand?’

  ‘Like Terence?’ Ettie guessed, recalling the tea he’d spoken of.

  ‘Yes, like Terence,’ Gwen agreed. ‘Would you like to visit us?’

  ‘Yes. Very much.’

  ‘Visit any time,’ Gwen decided. ‘I might be at home. I might not be. You can wait. Lily will entertain you.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘You are a shining light in Beelzebub’s fiery pit, Ettie O’Reilly.’

  Ettie knew that Beelzebub was the Hebrew word for devil. Her face must have shown her dismay for Gwen nudged her arm. ‘A tease, cheri.’

  Ettie replied politely. ‘I had better hurry.’

  Gwen waved her merrily goodbye.

  Ettie's steps were light as she walked down Silver Street. As soon as she had some free time, she would certainly visit her new friend.

  Chapter 12

  In the weeks that followed, Ettie attended Sunday Mass at the small church that Clara had told her about. She prayed for the nuns and the children including Michael, and for her new family. Clara had provided her with money to buy a new cape and bonnet from the market and a sound pair of working boots. Ettie felt very fortunate to have such a considerate mistress.

  In return, she did her very best to please her employers. Every day there was the cooking, shopping and washing to do; years of neglect blighted every stick of furniture. Clothes were rarely hung in wardrobes, instead left aside to gather the moths. Footwear was discarded in unexpected places. Personal items were scattered far and wide. Newspapers and books accumulated overnight. The cleaning and sweeping were never-ending; making the beds came second only to disposing of the contents of the chamber pots. Although Lucas admitted he only ever smoked in the passage, she found more little glass dishes all hidden away.

  Most of all, Ettie enjoyed being with her mistress. Sometimes Clara was full of chatter. At other times, she was withdrawn; a state of affairs that Clara said was due to her delicate health. As time went by, in the absence of her hard-working husband, Clara insisted on Ettie’s company. They played games of cards when Clara was feeling happier. When she was not, Ettie would read aloud to her from a favourite book. If Clara had no interest in either, Ettie sat with her needlework as Clara dozed by the fire.

  ‘I suppose you would like to go to the market this morning?’ Clara said despondently one bright May day. Ettie knew her mistress did not want to be left alone; on the days Ettie went to the market, Clara’s spirits sank low.

  ‘We might take a stroll,’ Ettie suggested. ’Enjoy some fresh air.’

  ‘Not today.’ Clara swayed a little. ‘I feel quite exhausted.’

  ‘Then rest in your chair.’

  ‘You are so kind, my dear,’ Clara said as she sank down.

  ‘Shall I make some chicken broth, your favourite?’ Ettie pushed the foot stool beneath Clara’s tiny feet.

  But Clara seemed not to hear. ‘Lucas adored his mama, you know,’ she said vaguely. ‘Rose was his idol. We were married a year before she died, whereupon my husband was plunged into grief.’ Clara stopped and gazed at Ettie. ‘I couldn’t hope to fill her shoes. She was remarkable.’

  ‘As you are, Mrs Benjamin.’ Ettie felt sad for Clara.

  ‘Seven years of marriage have left me childless.’

  ‘A baby may yet arrive,’ Ettie replied, as she tucked a blanket over Clara’s knees.

  ‘I doubt that.’

  ‘Jesus tells us to always have hope, Mrs Benjamin.’

  Clara tilted her head curiously. ‘Do you miss the orphanage, my dear?’

  Ettie had not been asked this question before. She shook her head, not wanting to upset her mistress. For she was kept so busy that she didn’t have time to miss the nuns or the children. It was late at night when she tried to sleep that the heartache crept in. She saw Michael in her dreams; his beautiful grey eyes and rebellious expression. He was always laughing and jesting, promising to get a message to her, as he had that day in the park. But when the dream ended, the pain of reality set in. Had he abandoned her? Would he find out where she lived? It was then she was lonely and the missing of her old life returned.

  ‘You are the only one I talk to,’ Clara moped. ‘My husband is busy. My parents are passed. Sadly, I have no brothers or sisters. Hence, you see, I feel a little neglected.’

  ‘Would you like to read today’s newspaper?’ Ettie hoped to distract her mistress.

  But Clara shook her head. ‘I need my remedy.’

  Ettie went to the pedestal desk in the hall. She had cleaned its drawer thoroughly to eliminate the strange smell that pervaded the house and was now seeping into Clara herself. But even with vigilant cleaning and the sprig of lavender, the battle seemed lost.

  Clara took her medicine and collapsed in the chair. ‘I am quite tired, yet I am sure your broth will revive me.’

  But as Ettie feared, by the time it was cooked, Clara had fallen asleep. Ettie was certain the remedy caused her drowsiness. In Lucas’s absence, the little blue bottle was very much in demand. Nothing would rouse her from her slumber now, so returning the broth to the pan on the range, Ettie began her chores.

  Upstairs in Clara’s bedroom, her jaw dropped open. It was as though a storm had gusted through the room scattering Clara’s lovely gowns and undergarments all over the place.

  One by one, Ettie hung them back in the wardrobe. At the bottom of the wardrobe there lay a small bottle like the one in the downstairs cupboard.

  Ettie removed the dropper and sniffed the contents. She turned up her nose. The same odour exactly! Was this what Clara was looking for? Did she take this preparation in addition to the contents of the bottle downstairs?

  Ettie place it on top of the dressing table. Then, on second thoughts, pushed it out of sight, into a recess of the ornate wood. Was Clara’s dependence on the remedy the cause of her poor health and erratic moods?

  It was at the end of the month when Ettie was given her first taste of freedom.

  ‘Off you go,’ Lucas instructed Ettie one morning. ‘Put on your new cape and bonnet. It’s high time you got out and about.’

  ‘But Mrs Benjamin isn’t well today, Sir.’ Ettie was worried, for Clara had taken yet another dose of her remedy.

  ‘Titch! Titch!’ Lucas dismissed. ‘We have visitors arriving. I mean it to be a surprise for Clara. Florence and Thomas are good friends. But they are often abroad and are only home for a month.’

  Ettie wanted to say that Clara was too distressed to greet visitors, but her master was eager to have his own way.

  ‘Shall I leave some refreshment?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes – yes! A good idea. Cold
meat if we have any. And pickles. I do remember that Thomas is partial to pickles. I’ll open a bottle of wine to celebrate.’

  Ettie added her own suggestions; cheese and biscuits that she had bought from the market only yesterday and a punnet of strawberries and fresh cream. Preparing the light lunch, she left the table set in the dining room.

  ‘Wonderful!’ exclaimed Lucas. ‘Now put on your bonnet and cape and enjoy the fresh air. Here is a shilling to buy any items we may need.’

  ‘Thank you, Sir. What time shall I return?’

  ‘Oh – seven I think,’ Lucas answered distractedly.

  ‘Will your friends be dining with you?’

  Lucas drew his hand uncertainly through his mop of red hair. ‘I suppose they might.’

  ‘I’ll be back in time to prepare supper.’ Ettie didn’t want to leave Clara but Lucas gave her little choice.

  A short while later, she stepped into Silver Street. Lucas had still not roused his wife. What mood would Clara be in when Florence and Thomas arrived?

  Ettie tried to push this from her mind and tucked her purse deep in the folds of her cape. She had witnessed the light fingers of the Soho pickpockets - not that she condemned them. For the children had mostly been guilty of such misdeeds before entering the orphanage. Instead she simply said a prayer to Saint Jude, the saint of impossible cases, asking him to convert all thieves.

  As she made her way through the thronging Soho lanes she thought about Michael. What was he doing now? Did he miss her? When she thought of Michael, the pain deepened. Would she ever see him again?

  Feeling a need for company, Ettie recalled Gwen’s invitation. So, she hurried on, past the shops and the shadowy doorway where Gino usually stood. He was not there today. Although she no longer feared him, she felt a little relieved he wasn’t there to stop her. Sometimes she smiled politely when she passed him. At other times, he was playing his violin and didn’t even notice her.

  Entering the narrow alley beside the theatre she felt the coldness of its shadows. Ettie pulled her cloak close and hurried her pace. Thank goodness she passed no one. For she doubted that two people could squeeze in such a small space. When she stepped into the light, she met a familiar figure.