by Carol Rivers
Her alarm increased as a stranger strode into the yard. He walked with a slight limp and was aided by a cane. Wearing a large felt hat positioned over his eyes and a heavy greatcoat, he came to a sudden halt. Two burly male orderlies stood with him.
‘Be quick, bring the rest,’ said the man to one of them. ‘I’ve much to attend to today.’
The orderly hurried off and Ettie was filled with trepidation. Why were the inmates made to stand out in these bitter conditions? The grey walls loomed above them and the stormy sky threatened rain.
Two young women with painted faces swaggered into the yard. They tossed back their tousled hair with defiant expressions. She guessed they must be new to the workhouse as she had never seen them before.
The man with the cane addressed them, though Ettie couldn’t hear what he’d said. One stepped forward and crudely adjusted her blouse to display her full breasts. This sight had no effect whatsoever on the man. The woman, apparently enraged that her offer had been rejected, broke into a stream of vile language. Her companion soon joined the fracas.
Ettie’s heart thumped wildly. Under the brim of the man’s hat, she glimpsed a cold, impenetrable stare. He gave an instruction that soon had the two women removed.
When all was quiet, the man limped slowly up and down. He inspected every one of the inmates. When it came to her turn, Ettie cast her eyes down, as she had learned to do in the workhouse. The seconds dragged as his shadow hovered over her.
By the time he limped away, Ettie was certain that he had decided on some terrible fate to befall her.
‘I am the new Governor,’ came a harsh voice that roused Ettie from her fearful thoughts. ‘I want you to pay attention. I will be assuming the late Master’s position. My wife will assist me as Matron.’
Ettie’s head came up, as did all the others along the row of inmates. She stared at the new Governor. The woman who had come to the dormitory this morning must be his wife. So, the Master really was dead.
‘I have been charged with the duty of reforming the workhouse,’ the Governor continued. ‘The borough is not a philanthropical society. It does not have bottomless pockets. And it has come to our understanding that this workhouse suffers from a squandering of generosity. This means I shall trim off the excess fat, cut down to the lean, and restore order.’
He took a slow, inward breath. ‘The healthy amongst you will be found more productive work to do. Your wages will be added to the government’s coffers in repayment for your board and lodging.’ He straightened his shoulders and leaned both hands on his cane. ‘All of you have been inspected and passed the medical examination. Think yourselves fortunate to be among the first to offer your assistance to this noble country in return for the hospitality it has shown you.’
Ettie glanced at the poorly-dressed and starving men, women and children who stood shivering beneath the workhouse walls. Most were sick. Some like her, had received severe beatings. What kind of productive work had this Governor planned for them?
‘Obey your new employers. Disobey and you will find yourselves punished.’
Ettie choked down a sob. Not for herself, but the unfortunate souls in the workhouse who had done nothing to deserve such injustice.
Very soon they were sent through the workhouse gates to the street outside. Here a line of horse-drawn vehicles were waiting. Ettie’s heart raced with fear – or joy – she did not know which. For she had not been outside the gates since entering the workhouse.
She watched in dismay as the red-headed man and the boy were roughly pushed aboard a brewery cart. The mother and her two children were dealt with as unkindly, sent off in the rear of a horse-drawn vehicle. A young, dark-skinned woman and an aged cripple were loaded like sacks upon the back of a refuse wagon. One by one, the others were dispatched in the same fashion.
Ettie was the last to go. Would the work she was to do prove any better than the tunnels? She stood watching the line of carts trundle off. The look on the faces of their passengers made Ettie sad. Each man, woman and child, had been sold into slavery by the new Governor.
A youth jumped down from the remaining wagon. He was dressed in a black, woollen duffle coat and patched working trousers. He tugged his waterman's cap into place over his thick, dark hair.
‘Mistress O’Reilly?’ he demanded as he approached.
‘Yes?’
‘I have orders to collect a full-grown woman, not a child.’
Ettie lifted her chin. ‘I assure you sir, I am sixteen years this Christmas Day.’
He jerked his head towards her swollen eye. ‘And your injury?’
‘I slipped,’ Ettie replied shortly. ‘But I am fit to work and can see perfectly well.’
‘I suppose you will do,' he returned with a shrug, ‘though what my employer will say I don’t know.’
‘Sir, who is your employer?’ Ettie asked boldly.
‘You haven’t been told?’ The young man crooked an eyebrow and answered in a pompous voice. ‘An agreement has been made on your behalf to work as a trial for Sir Albert and Lady Edwina Marsden, of Chancery House, Poplar.’
‘If the work is honest,’ Ettie replied with dignity, ‘then I am pleased to do it.’ It made little difference to her what she did; to be free of the workhouse was a blessing.
Tugging on his cap as if giving himself time to think, he took a deep breath. ‘Well, Mistress O’Reilly, before you accompany me, you should know Lord Marsden’s artisans labour in all weathers, be it sunshine or frost, or downright damnable. Should you be allocated to domestic service in the house, you will find the same exacting standard. In return you shall have three meals each day, clean water to drink and accommodation. Should you disagree with this contract or are displeased in any way, then please say now and I will return you from whence you came.’
Ettie thought these terms very generous and the offer of three meals a day quite unbelievable! ‘How long is this contract for, sir?’
‘I was told for one month. With an amendment. If you are found to be satisfactory, an extension may be granted.’
Ettie’s hesitation was brief. ‘Then I agree to work for your employer.'
‘Good enough,’ he replied sharply.
Ettie had not considered refusal, for what was her alternative? If she returned to the workhouse, she may face investigation over the late Master's demise. A month of freedom would be preferable to the purgatory of the sewers.
He gestured towards the cart. ‘Let us be going, then.’
Ettie walked to the rear in order to climb aboard.
‘You will ride more comfortable alongside me.’ He pointed to the high seat above the shiny rumps of the two black horses.
‘I shall travel quite safely in the back,’ she objected.
‘You may ride there safely perhaps,’ he agreed, ‘but not comfortably. I don't wish to add to your injuries.’
Reluctantly she did as she was told, surprised at the gentle hand he put under her arm.
‘Take this,’ he said as he jumped up beside her and tossed her a blanket. ’Put this about you. A storm is brewing.’
‘I'll do quite well without it,’ Ettie refused proudly.
‘Mistress O’Reilly, I find you quite vexing,’ he grumbled. ‘Are we always to argue about such small matters?’
‘That would depend on the matter.’
A wry smile lifted his lips. ‘Do as I say or I shall get a lecture.’
‘From whom, sir?’
‘Wait until you meet Mrs Powell,’ he said, even more amused. ‘You’ll soon understand my meaning. Now cover yourself or else you will soon be soaked.’
Ettie lay the blanket over her knees. This youth was not entirely displeasing. He was certainly a marked improvement to the staff of the institution from where she had just come.
Chapter 53
Not a word passed between them as they travelled the narrow lanes of Docklands. Sharp darts of rain fell from the sky and blew against her face. Thunder boomed overhead. The wagon
splashed through filthy brown puddles and clumps of horse dung. It veered so close to the green, mossy wharf walls of the river that Ettie could've reached out to touch them.
She was full of wonder at the bustling and chaotic world she had not seen for three long months. Even the grime-ridden two-up, two-down dockers' houses bordering the narrow streets looked pleasant. Here, where people lived and walked freely, she breathed the river air, filling her lungs with the salty brine.
She marvelled at the street buskers and the musical language of the shouting costermongers.
‘A penny a pound pears!’
‘Taters for a tanner, Mrs!’
‘Get your Uncle Reg here!’
With dustcart workers and lamplighters, organ grinders and cheeky newsboys, the crowds were lit up starkly by a bolt of lightning. A man with plump, flushed cheeks sold hot chestnuts from his brazier. A fish stall appeared with a pretty young girl crying, ‘Cockles and mussels, alive, alive oh!’
Ettie’s mouth watered. The streets were full of tempting food.
The driver drove onwards along the dock roads. The horses' pricked ears twitched and their fat bellies shook and steamed. Their thick manes grew damp and tangled over their nodding heads.
The strong smell of the sweating horses brought back so many memories of Soho. She had often watched the brewery drays plod by the salon, delivering their casks of ale to the taverns. Only the wealthy gentlemen could afford the carriages drawn by fine horses and chauffeured by drivers like Michael, unlike these plodders, whose stained fetlocks and roughly shod hooves grazed the cobbles of London's East End.
Ettie swallowed hard at the thought of the young girl who rode in such a carriage and had visited the salon to purchase a frivolous gift for her twin brother. She had been very beautiful. Ettie had thought long and hard about Michael’s circumstances. It was no surprise perhaps, that a boy from Michael’s background might be impressed by his mistress. Enough to offer her an intimate smile and closeness and perhaps even more as time went by?
Now, as the walls of the docks gave way to the moorings where the boats pulled up from the foreshore, Ettie’s thoughts were interrupted by the sight of the great, flowing River Thames, as slithery as an eel. Weaving under the towering wooden cranes it meandered with quiet grace. Tall ships with their rigging heaved in the wind like beasts of the ancient civilizations she had read of in the convent’s library books. Many vessels lay at anchor, aloof and haughty. Others spewed muck into the flotsam, worn and weary from their travels. Little steamers puffed up stream and others crept between the great ships’ hulls like waterborne ants towards Tower Bridge.
The scene was intoxicating. After her long imprisonment in the tunnels, the wind and the rain seemed to call to her. Up here on dry land, the great river looked magnificent and Ettie yearned to be part of this beautiful world again.
The rain had eased as they entered a long road that turned west and away from the docks. To the east, in a misty haze, stood the ancient dockside cottages of the Isle of Dogs. Ahead she could just see the roofs of the larger, wider-spaced houses belonging to the gentry of Poplar.
Ettie sat quite still, her eyes fixed on the junction in the road that she had last passed when she had taken a carriage from Soho to visit the convent. Now she knew that only charred remains were left. There was something unbelievable about it. All her early life and memories had gone up in smoke.
Ettie shook her head slightly, and was relieved when the young man turned the horse in the other direction. She did not want to be reminded of that barren sight where once the convent and orphanage of the Sisters of Clemency had once stood.
Chapter 54
When the cart pulled up, the young man jumped down and assisted Ettie from her seat.
‘Have we arrived?’ she asked, glancing up at the tall building and the air of affluence that glittered off every clean windowpane.
‘This is Chancery House.’ He nodded to a wooden gate. ‘Follow me.’
Ettie had imagined they would be entering the drive of a large estate, tucked somewhere deep in the heart of the countryside. But Chancery House was a townhouse and at least five floors in height, with attic gables at the very top. The sight was impressive as though the house may have been transported from another era with its Regency styled windows and soft, pale brick.
Ettie gathered her skirts and followed the young man inside. Here a beautiful garden was filled with neatly tended borders, small trees and plants. The winding path led to an extension off the main building and once through its door, Ettie could see many pairs of boots, riding jackets and hats hanging from pegs.
‘All staff use this entrance,’ the driver told her. ‘The family and their carriages pull up at the front of the house on Poplar Park Row. Leave your footwear on the flags and put on your house shoes.’
Ettie stared at him. ‘I haven’t got any.’
‘Then you’ll have to go barefoot.’ He marched off, clucking his tongue. His boots, which he did not remove, snapped on the floor.
Ettie tucked her clogs neatly under the shelves and followed him. At the end of the passage, a young girl stood waiting. Ettie guessed she was about the same age as herself. Her pretty face was spoiled by a rather unfriendly expression. Her frizzy brown hair poked out untidily from her mob cap but her large, dark eyes softened when she saw the driver.
‘I was wondering when you’d turn up,’ she called. ‘Mrs Powell wants to see her right away. Where’s her trunk?’
‘There is none,’ replied the driver, looking a little awkward. ‘See you tonight?’
‘P’raps. If Cook doesn’t want me.’
This conversation took place as though Ettie wasn’t there and the young man hurried off without a word more.
‘Me name’s Mary. I’m the scullery maid,’ announced the girl, ushering Ettie in. ‘Don’t you have no luggage at all?’
Ettie held up her cloth bag. ‘Just this.’
‘Who gave you that shiner?’
‘I tripped,’ Ettie replied, keeping the lie short.
‘Looks like someone walloped you.’
Mary beckoned her towards a pitcher that stood on a table by the door. Taking a rag from her apron pocket, she dipped it into the pitcher. ‘You’d better get clean. Tidy your hair an’ all so you look half decent.’
Ettie pressed the rag against her tender eye as Mary’s footsteps faded away. Dipping the rag into the pitcher, Ettie found that, after several applications of the cool water, she could see clearly. Pressing the loose wisps of her hair into the bun at the back of her neck, she waited for the maid.
’S'pose that will do,’ said Mary on her return. ‘Now follow me and we’ll go by the back stairs to Mrs Powell’s quarters. She’s the housekeeper. But you don’t answer to her. She’ll just give you a lecture and tell you all the things you can’t do. It’s Nanny who’s in charge of the nursery staff.’
Ettie thought there must be a mistake. A nursery meant children and babies! But how could this be, when only today she had stepped from the sewers of a workhouse?
Swiftly they made their way from the lower ground floor and up to the next. Finally, they came to a set of doors. Mary pushed them open, beckoning Ettie after her.
’Sorry we’re late Mrs Powell,’ said Mary curtseying as they entered a large, gloomy office crammed with ledgers. Ettie glimpsed an equally dismal-looking sitting room beyond.
‘Get back to your duties,’ snapped a woman who sat behind a well-used desk. Her dark hair was severely drawn up under a white lace cap. She wore a plain black dress buttoned up to her chin. Her close-set eyes were dark and piercing.
Ettie heard Mary close the door behind her.
‘Henrietta O’Reilly?’
‘Yes … yes that’s me.’ Ettie was startled that Mrs Powell knew her full name.
‘You will answer, “Yes, Mrs Powell”.’
Ettie gulped. ‘Yes, Mrs Powell.’
‘You have arrived at the home of Sir Albert and Lady Edwina Marsde
n. However, Sir Albert and Lady Edwina are not in residence at the moment but at their country estate. Before they return you will have time to familiarize yourself with the nursery and your duties. I understand from the Governor of the workhouse you were educated at a Christian establishment and can read and write.’
So the new Governor had passed on this information! Had he also told Mrs Powell that she had worked as a flusher?
‘You were then sent into service for a Soho tobacconist?’ Mrs Powell’s long nose wrinkled in distaste. ‘How, may I ask, did you end your employment there?’
‘The proprietor,’ Ettie explained simply, ‘died from a fever.’
‘Was this fever contagious?’
‘No, Mrs Powell. It was grief for his dead wife that had struck him.’
‘Grief, indeed!’ Mrs Powell sniffed, frowning at Ettie’s ragged clothes. ‘I paid the Governor handsomely for the hire of an educated young woman for employment in our nursery. But I receive a chit of a girl with limited experience of life.’
‘Ma’am – I –’ Ettie began but was stopped short by the housekeeper.
‘You are not to interrupt,’ Mrs Powell boomed, her beady eyes narrowing. ‘Do you understand, O’Reilly?’
Ettie hung her head. ‘Yes, Mrs Powell.’
‘The position you will fill is for one month only. Should I find you lacking or disobedient, dismissal is immediate.’
Ettie didn’t dare speak.
‘Think yourself lucky to have secured a post with this household,’ Mrs Powell intoned. ‘You will not mix, speak or fraternize with the house staff except Mary and Cook. Your meals will be taken in the nursery. You will avoid contact with the footmen or opposite sex.’
