Christmas Child: an absolutely heartbreaking and emotional Victorian romance

by Carol Rivers

  Ettie’s cab arrived at the milliners of Oxford Street. She had no idea how much all the things would cost but Lucas had provided her with ample money.

  ‘Spend every penny if needs be,’ he had instructed her. ‘For Clara, nothing is too expensive.’

  Ettie was shown bonnets decorated with frills and flowers, fruit and ribbons, muffs of the finest fur, gloves of delicate leather. But none of them appealed to her, for Clara wore understated clothes of very good quality. Instead she selected other items she knew Clara would prefer.

  ‘You have made an excellent choice,’ praised the female milliner, who fixed Ettie with a shrewd eye after attempting to persuade her into unsuitable designs.

  ‘Thank you. My mistress has an unblemished complexion and hair the colour of wheat. I am sure this bonnet and gloves will suit her very well.’

  The woman gave a rueful smile. ‘I can see you are a young lady with an eye for fashion.’

  Ettie blushed at this. ‘If I have, then the opportunity to develop it has not come my way.’

  The milliner looked surprised. ‘I am in need of an assistant. Would you consider an apprenticeship?’

  This offer came as such a surprise that Ettie wanted to giggle.

  ‘I don’t think my appearance would be suitable,’ she replied modestly, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

  ‘You have beautiful hair,’ said the woman. ‘With a little attention to facial powdering, you would model my hats perfectly. Added to your grasp of prices and demure character, you have all the qualities I require.’

  Once again Ettie’s cheeks turned scarlet. ‘Thank you. But I am committed to the service of the tobacconist of Silver Street and his wife.’

  ‘A pity,’ said the milliner as she packed away Ettie’s purchases. ‘You would have done me very nicely.’

  Ettie left the shop with light steps and a smile. The milliner, though out for herself and the filling of a position, had given Ettie great encouragement. Did she really have the qualities the woman had listed?’

  It was with that same smile on her lips that she entered the boot makers not two doors along. Dressed in a brown leather apron over his working clothes, the surly-faced boot maker greeted her very differently. His gaze went to her boots which were not of high quality, unlike the many rows of expensive-looking footwear that lined his shelves.

  ‘Good morning,’ Ettie greeted and received a disgruntled mutter in reply.

  But as he examined Clara’s pretty shoe that Ettie had brought with her, his manner improved. ‘These have silk uppers and foxing on the heel. A very nice job indeed,’ he decided.

  ‘I would like two pairs made in the same size and style, but in pale yellow and olive green. Also, a pair of button boots and walking boots of your highest quality,’ Ettie requested.

  He gave her a suspicious frown. ‘I don’t come cheap, you know. Each pair of shoes will cost eight shillings and sixpence. Twelve and sixpence for boots. I use the finest leather from Cordorba in Spain; my materials and workmanship are unique. My regular customers, none of ‘em short of a pound or two, can vouch for that.’

  ‘Will my order be ready by the first week of September?’

  The boot maker looked her up and down. ‘You must settle the account up front.’

  Now it was Ettie's turn to hesitate. For Sister Ukunda had shown her how to barter and this man seemed not unlike the market traders. ‘I shall pay you for the shoes now,’ she decided. ‘And the remainder in September when the order is complete.’

  ‘You drive a hard bargain,’ the boot maker complained, but nevertheless, eyed her plump purse. ‘Wouldn’t have thought it when you walked in this shop. A child, I imagined, wanting patches on soles for next to nothing.’

  ‘We are agreed then?’ Ettie ignored his rudeness. ‘Four sets of footwear in total?’

  ‘As soon as I see the colour of your money.’

  Ettie opened her purse and took out the note.

  The boot maker looked startled. ‘Well, well! I should have asked for more,’ was all he could say.

  Ettie smiled. She had struck a fine deal and been offered a position of some interest, all in one day!

  Chapter 18

  ‘Good gracious, you would think we were leaving England for good,’ complained Lucas later that month, when business was over for the day. He inspected the three cabin trunks that Ettie had labelled, and secured each with locks.

  ‘One is for footwear,’ Ettie explained. ‘Mrs Benjamin’s favourites in addition to her new shoes.’ The boot maker had proven trustworthy and had produced the highest quality footwear. Both pairs of shoes and boots fitted Clara perfectly. ‘The other is for dresses, coats, underwear and night clothes. The third trunk is yours, Sir, which you packed yourself.’

  ‘And what a tiring job that was!’ exclaimed Lucas, heaving a sigh. ‘How is my wife today?’

  ‘A little better, Sir,’ Ettie said hopefully. ‘We took a walk to the green. She seems to be in good spirits.’

  ‘Perhaps the prospect of the holiday has helped?’ Lucas suggested.

  ‘Yes, Sir.’ Ettie hoped that was the case.

  ‘Wintering abroad is the very best thing, so the Soho Square physician tells me.’ And as the days passed by Ettie saw that Lucas could barely contain his enthusiasm.

  On the morning of 15th September, he mopped his brow anxiously. ‘We must be on time for the cab at nine o’clock,’ he muttered as he stood in his best suit, checking his fob watch repeatedly. ‘Is everything ready?’

  ‘Yes, Sir. Here are your papers and Mrs Benjamin’s medicine should you need it on the journey.’ She gave Lucas the small leather satchel and watched him loop the strap across his shoulder. ‘I have given Mrs Benjamin a separate purse containing a mirror, a compact of face powder, some rouge en crepe and a phial of eau-de-cologne.’

  ‘Ettie, you are a marvel!’

  ‘There are crackers and sandwiches in the carpet bag, should you be delayed on the road.’

  ‘You have thought of everything. After breakfast, we shall adjourn to the salon; a last-minute refresher will do no harm.’

  ‘I shall write to you with every detail,’ Ettie promised.

  ‘Oh, Ettie, my dear!’ He threw his arms around her. ‘Thank you.’

  He was whistling through his two big front teeth as he walked away. It was the first time in many months that Ettie had seen him so happy.

  The cab arrived on the dot of nine. While Lucas helped the driver to stow the trunks, Ettie assisted her mistress inside. She tucked a stray wisp of Clara’s hair under her new silk bonnet. The pale rose tint of its ribbons looked tasteful against the dark plum of her cape. Ettie had dusted Clara’s cheeks with rouge and fastened her button boots securely about her slender ankles.

  ‘You look most charming, Mrs Benjamin.’

  Clara grasped her hand. ‘Where am I going, Ettie?’ she whispered.

  ‘To Dover,’ Ettie replied, a little disturbed at the lapse in Clara’s memory. ‘And afterwards to France.’

  ‘I shall miss you.’ Clara’s pale eyes blinked tears.

  ‘And I, you.’ Ettie took her mistress’s hand. ‘Mr Benjamin will hire a maid when you arrive in Paris.’

  Clara gave a little choke. ‘Goodbye.’

  Ettie embraced her. ‘Next time we meet you will be your old self.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Clara replied sadly.

  ‘We are all set,’ shouted a voice, making Clara and Ettie jump. Lucas stood waiting impatiently.

  ‘May the Good Lord be with you, Mrs Benjamin,’ Ettie murmured. ‘I shall pray for you each day.’

  ‘Hurry along, Ettie,’ ordered Lucas as he waited at the cab’s door. ‘We must keep to schedule.’

  Ettie climbed down the carriage steps. ‘Goodbye, Sir.’ She watched Lucas settle himself next to Clara.

  ‘I leave all I own in your hands. Don’t fail me,’ he called.

  Ettie stood on the cobbles, watching the cab disappear in the early morning mist. She wa
s worried. Would Clara endure the long journey?

  ‘I leave all I own in your hands. Don’t fail me.’ Lucas’s words ran through her mind uncomfortably. She had always been confident when he was with her. But now she was quite alone.

  Chapter 19

  On Monday morning, Ettie put on her new salon uniform, made for her by Mrs Buckle. A delicate white frill lay at her throat. Two small pearls decorated her fitted bodice. The colour of the wool was not quite the deep brown of her eyes.

  With her hair drawn to the back of her head and coiled at the nape of her neck, she hoped she looked older than her years.

  ‘I wish to speak to the proprietor,’ said the first customer, a silver-haired gentleman who fixed her with a disdainful frown.

  ‘Mr and Mrs Benjamin are holidaying in Europe.’ Ettie repeated the mantra that Lucas had taught her. ‘How may I help?’

  ‘I doubt you can,’ snapped the man, irritably tapping his cane on the floor. ‘Most inconvenient. I have travelled some way to make a purchase.’

  ‘I am sure I can advise you,’ Ettie insisted.

  ‘A chit of a girl – advising me!’ The man exclaimed angrily. ‘I take that as an insult!’ He marched to the door and yanked it open. ‘Tell your employer he has lost a customer,’ he called over his shoulder. ‘And will never see me again.’

  Before Ettie could reply, the door slammed loudly.

  Tears of humiliation squeezed in her eyes. She remembered the day in Victoria Park when she had realized how it felt to be poor. It was a lesson she would never forget. The gentleman today had reminded her of her lowly station.

  Ettie tried not to think of the failure. She set about cleaning the shelves and unpacking the crates from Tobacco Dock. Diligently, she examined each box and package as Lucas had shown her. The strong aromas of fresh tobacco filled the salon. After rearranging the pipes, cigars and cigarettes, she turned her attention to the glass cabinets. Just as she was brushing the blue velvet cloths, the door opened. A young gentleman entered.

  ’Top of the morning,’ he said from under his small black moustache. Removing his tall hat, he placed it on the cabinet. His sleek black hair, loud necktie and cheap-looking coat gave him a sharp look. He twitched an eyebrow. ‘My, my. Who have we here?’

  Ettie shyly lowered her eyes. ‘Good morning, Sir.’

  He removed his gloves. She noted the slight brown stain on his forefinger and middle finger. This was a sign, so Lucas had indicated, of a dedicated cigarette smoker.

  ‘I would like to speak to the proprietor of this establishment,’ he said with a roguish grin.

  Ettie replied as she had replied before. ‘Mr and Mrs Benjamin are holidaying in Europe.’

  ‘And left you on your own?’

  Ettie nodded. ‘How may I help, Sir?’ If fifty or even a hundred gentlemen scorned her, she would still politely offer to serve them.

  ‘Lucky devils,’ said the man, surprising her. ‘What I would give to sally off like that. Leave London Town behind me and venture abroad.’ He gave a cheeky grin. ‘But some of us must work diligently, I suppose. Like you, my dear. Left to hold the fort, were you?’

  Ettie was not certain of this man. He was not the salon’s usual type of customer.

  ‘What is your choice of tobacco?’ Ettie asked politely.

  ‘I prefer something smooth, as soft as a woman’s skin.’ He gave her a flirtatious wink.

  Ettie drew herself upright. ‘What brand, Sir?’

  ‘Come close and whisper a recommendation.’ He tried to reach for her hand but she snapped it away.

  ‘A cool little madam, I see,’ he sneered.

  Ettie felt humiliated. While Lucas had been present his customers had all been mannerly. But now she was unchaperoned, she knew she had to be careful. The cheap cigarette tobacco that clung to his coat wafted into her face.

  ’Is it cigarettes you prefer?’ she asked, reaching out to the shelf where the inexpensive makes were discreetly stored.

  ‘Cigarettes?’ he questioned.

  ‘Perhaps Sweet Threes?’

  ‘Sharp little miss, ain’t you?’ He narrowed his eyes, clearly disturbed. ‘How do you know I’m after fags?’

  Ettie shrank away as he leaned across the counter. ’Every tobacco has a unique bouquet, Sir.’

  ‘Bloody cheek!’ He roared, his face flushed. ‘You mean I … smell?’

  Ettie cowered as he almost leapt over the cabinet. She was certain he would have grabbed her had not another customer arrived.

  ‘Don’t bother trading here, chum!’ bawled the young man to the new arrival. ‘She’ll tell you that you stink!’ He swiped up his gloves and hat, glared at Ettie, then stormed out.

  Tears of defeat glistened in Ettie’s eyes. Would she ever be able to say the right thing? It seemed so easy when Lucas had been there and now it felt impossible. How could she ever have thought she would be able to manage the salon? It was all she could do to breathe. What a fool she had been!

  ‘What are those tears for, Gwen’s little beauty?’ enquired the new customer.

  Ettie looked up. ‘Oh, Terence, it’s you!’ She had last seen the butcher a week ago when she had purchased a special leg of pork for Lucas and Clara’s last dinner.

  ‘It’s me all right. Thought I’d pay you a visit as you’d be on your own, unable to get out for shopping.’

  Ettie tried to smile.

  ‘Did that dandy upset you?’

  ‘I could smell Sweet Threes on his person and mistakenly told him so.’

  With an enormous guffaw, the butcher fiercely patted his stomach. ‘Bravo, bravo! You’ve done yourself a favour. That cheeky pup was on the make, my dear.’

  ‘On the make, Terence?’

  ‘Could tell in an instant. Nasty piece of work. Did he ask for your boss? If you were alone?’

  Ettie nodded.

  Terence rubbed his whiskers. ’Probably been watchin’ the premises. While your back was turned he’d be filching, pocketing, that sort of thing. Fingers as nimble as magpies’ beaks. Eyes as sharp as needles. Don’t truck with the rascals. Send ‘em off with a flea in their ear.’

  Was Terence trying to make her feel better, she wondered?

  ‘Look what I brought you.’ From his cloth bag he produced a slightly blood-stained muslin. ‘Trotters m’dear, fresh today. Boil ‘em up with an onion. Do you the world of good.’

  Ettie stared at the two, sweating fat pink pigs’ feet oozing grease as they lay on the counter. Hiding the queasy roll of her stomach she smiled.

  ‘How much do I owe you?’

  ‘Not a halfpenny, m’dear. A little titbit from old Terence for all the custom you’ve brought my way. Now, I’ll be off. Any problems, you know where to find me.’

  But as each day passed, the customers refused to use the smoking room. Instead, they conducted a swift purchase and went on their way without having spent much money. She knew they were not comfortable in her presence. How could she hope to gain their trust?

  One November evening, she was sitting alone at the dining table after a quiet day in the salon. The nights were closing in and heavy with city fogs. It was ice-cold in the house but she had not lit the fire. Mindful of the drop in takings, she tried to be thrifty. The succulent stew of pigs’ trotters was now a distant memory. Tonight she was feasting on dry bread and cheese, her staple diet.

  But she wasn’t hungry. What if the business failed? The prospect haunted her.

  Ettie turned away from her untouched meal. She closed her hands together and prayed. ‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph, I’m desperate. Almost a month and the customers are dwindling. Help me not to disappoint Lucas. Bless Clara and make her well. And wherever Michael is, keep him on the straight and narrow. Amen.’

  When Ettie opened her eyes, she was staring into the gaze of the portrait hanging over the mantle. Rose Benjamin seemed to be smiling.

  Ettie blinked. After a moment she got up and walked to the hearth. Stretching out her hand she touched the elaborate gold
frame.

  ‘Buck up Ettie! Show the world your mettle.’

  Ettie jumped back. Her heart jumped. Had the portrait spoken? Surely not. The frame was just painted wood, the image inside a replica of Lucas’s mother. Yet Ettie had heard the words clearly. Had they come from her mind?

  Silence again.

  Ettie stared around her, fully expecting to see an apparition. But the room was empty. She had been taught by the nuns never to fear God’s spiritual messengers. But there was no sweet voice that Ettie imagined might be her mother, Colleen O’Reilly. The words had come from the portrait. Ettie was at a loss to understand.

  She sat down on the chair again. ‘Did you speak, Mrs Benjamin?’ She asked, while her voice was a shaky whisper.

  Only silence filled the room. Her imagination had taken over. Yet, if she was to consider those words, did they have meaning? ‘Buck up Ettie! Show the world your mettle.’

  An idea came to her. It was something Lucas had said as he read from his diaries. With nervous fingers she unbolted the door to the salon. Lighting each gas mantle, the dark shadows transformed into golden, glowing shelves of tobaccos. One space remained, where a sturdy brass hook poked out from the wall. Ettie had often studied the faded illustration that hung upon it. A muscled arm sprouting three male hands. The first hand grasped snuff, the next a pipe, the third a pound of tobacco. Ettie smiled to herself. The hook was the answer! And finding herself a stool, she began her night’s work.

  Chapter 20

  ‘God rest ye merry gentlemen,’ the carollers sang.

  Ettie gazed out of the salon window, her heart lifting at the sight of the raggedy beggars huddled in front of the dirty, cockeyed houses and shops of Silver Street. The scene was transformed into beauty by showers of tiny, pearl-white snowflakes. December had begun with a freezing wind. Now it whistled beneath a threatening sky swollen by purple-grey clouds. She could see the building drifts of snow settling over the smoke-pitted terraces.