Christmas Child: an absolutely heartbreaking and emotional Victorian romance

by Carol Rivers

  Ettie did not move. She felt that even a brief glance in Mrs Powell’s direction might be her undoing.

  ‘No foul language,’ continued Mrs Powell. ‘No tobacco or alcohol, or visitors without prior permission from me. You must observe the times of your work punctually and will be given nursery rules by Nanny.’ Mrs Powell closed the thick ledger on her desk. ‘Dismissed!’

  Ettie had heard nothing about the children of the house. What were their names? Ages? When she did not move, Mrs Powell clicked her fingers. The fierce gesture made Ettie jump. She turned away quickly.

  ‘Why are you barefoot?’ Mrs Powell demanded as she reached the door.

  Ettie looked down at her toes turning blue with cold. ‘I have no house shoes. Er … Mrs Powell.’

  The piercing black eyes surveyed her. ‘You will be issued with a pair - don’t let me catch you barefoot again.’

  Ettie scurried out. Her palms were sweating. Her heart was beating so hard she wouldn’t have been surprised if it jumped out of her chest.

  Chapter 55

  Mary was waiting in the corridor.

  ‘Did she ask about your eye?’ the maid asked at once.

  Ettie shook her head.

  ‘Good. You don’t want to be known as a troublemaker,’ Mary huffed with a sneer. ‘Come on, follow me.’

  Ettie was so relieved to be away from the presence of Mrs Powell, she barely noticed the winding route they were taking through the gaslit passages of the house. She did, however, smell the delicious aroma of bread baking. At the end of a corridor she saw many moving figures. These she guessed were the footmen, valets and housemaids. They carried trays and silver tureens and all passed one another silently with only inches to spare.

  ‘Is that the kitchen?’ she asked Mary.

  ‘Yes, and they’re rushed off their feet at this time of day. You’d better hurry up or else Cook will be in a bad mood. She’s only happy if she’s got me to boot up the backside.’

  They ran up the stairs to the next floor. When they reached a solid-looking door with a shining brass handle, Mary stopped.

  ‘This leads to the entrance hall of the house and lowers like us don’t go there. Not unless there’s extra cleaning to be done.’ Mary sped off again. ‘And here are the family bedrooms,’ Mary said on the next landing. ‘Next floor is the guests’ quarters.’

  Ettie felt dizzy. The house seemed to go on forever.

  ‘The nursery,’ explained Mary as they rushed up another flight of stairs. This door had a long crack in the wood.

  But Mary didn’t enter the nursery. Instead she flew up a narrow set of uncarpeted stairs. At the top, Ettie paused, trying to catch her breath as they stood under the low ceilings of the attic.

  ‘This leads to our room,’ said the scullery maid, pushing a squeaky door open. ‘The housemaids and nursery staff are on the other side of the attic. But as you ain’t tried and tested yet, you’re put with me. The men are downstairs. Mr Gane the butler has his pantry and rooms by the main dining room as he’s called on at all times of day and night. As you saw, Mrs Powell’s rooms lead off from her office. Jim’s the only groom here, along with the stable lad. They live in the carriage room outside in the lane.’

  Before Ettie could reply, Mary hurried off along the grubby, cobwebby passage. ‘Not exactly the Ritz,’ she cackled as Ettie stepped into the interior of a small room with a sloping roof. ‘That’s where you’ll sleep.’ She pointed to a truckle bed on the floor. ’Put your clothes on the chair.’

  Ettie gazed around the sparsely furnished attic. An extinguished candle stood on a wooden stool with three legs. The bare window above was splattered with pigeons’ droppings. Ettie remembered with a pang, her bedroom in Silver Street where the flowered curtains had hung so prettily.

  ‘This is my bed,’ said Mary threateningly. An iron bedstead with brass fittings was covered with a crocheted quilt. An ancient marble-top washstand with a pitcher and china bowl stood beside it. ‘You keep to your side of the room and I’ll keep to mine. I hope you ain’t a snorer. If you are, I’ll chuck cold water over you, just like I did to the other girl who slept here. Not that she lasted long.’

  ‘What happened to her?’

  ‘Mrs Powell didn’t like the look of her. Now, I’m off to the kitchen.’

  ‘Where do I find Nanny?’ Ettie was sure she would get lost in this huge house full of dark passages.

  ‘The nursery, you dumb cluck!’

  Left alone, Ettie stood in the silence of the dirty, damp-smelling room where the green mould was eating into the walls. She went to the window and stood on tiptoe. Between the pigeon droppings and smears, she could see all the rear entrances of the elegant houses in Poplar Park Row. All were neatly spaced, with pretty gardens. Ettie wondered if those beautiful homes had rooms of green mould tucked away in their attics, just like this one.

  Ettie remembered the door with the cracked wood that led to the nursery. She tapped several times, but there was no answer. With her heart in her mouth, she entered a kind of vestibule where interior doors led off to the right and left. The polished wooden floor in front of her gleamed. A table with carved legs stood under an ornate oval mirror. One large window let in a shaft of daylight. Its heavy curtains were tied back with cords and the view was breathtaking. In the far distance she could see spires reaching high above Docklands. She pressed her nose against the glass and saw the house fronts, their black-painted railings and flights of steps up to the impressive front doors. A pavement on the other side of the road bordered a green park. Shady trees, which although leafless now, still shielded the neatly trimmed hedges beneath.

  Ettie could see that every house had wide white steps and some even had tall pillars. Just as she managed to locate the shining white steps below, a movement startled her.

  She jumped, spinning round. An older woman addressed her, small in stature but stout. Her thin, greying hair was parted in the middle and drawn back into a severe bun. But her round, puppy-like brown eyes and flawless complexion gave her face a youthful appearance. She wore a shawl of cream lace that fell in a waterfall to her voluminous black dress. In her hand she held a dainty white handkerchief with the tips of her tiny fingers.

  ‘Who might you be?’ she demanded in a high-pitched voice.

  ‘I’m Ettie O’Reilly,’ spluttered Ettie, feeling as though she had been caught doing a mischief.

  ‘Why are you standing there?’

  ‘Mrs Powell sent me.’

  ‘You’re the workhouse girl?’

  Startled, Ettie gave a nod.

  ‘You are to address me as Nanny at all times.’

  ‘Yes, Nanny.’

  ‘A curtsey would not go amiss.’

  Ettie made a curtsey though the only time she had ever done so before was when she genuflected at the chapel altar.

  ‘Ungainly child! You must practice.’

  ‘Yes, Nanny.’

  ‘Another thing. We do not recommend reveries,’ Nanny squeaked, patting her chest as her voice rose. ‘Windows are to be cleaned, not used to daydream.’

  Ettie saw the white handkerchief flick, suggesting she should follow.

  Chapter 56

  Nanny’s quarters, Ettie discovered, were very different to Mrs Powell’s. The framed embroideries hanging on the walls beside the photographs of children gave the atmosphere a warm character. The round dining table was covered in a pure white linen cloth with an embroidered edging. Around the table were arranged four cushioned chairs with oval backs. Thick dark rugs covered the wooden floor right up to the hearth.

  Nanny seated herself in a comfortable chair by a simmering fire and gave a long sigh, sniffing lightly as if chasing off a bad smell.

  ‘Mrs Powell tells me you can read and write.’

  ‘Yes, Nanny,’ Ettie replied. Perhaps her duties would include reading to the children?

  ‘Well, child, it is not reading or writing that I require of you,’ Nanny continued. ‘It is hard work and punctuality.’
>
  Ettie swallowed. ‘Yes, Nanny.’

  ‘You will take one free day every month, and return to the house by seven o’clock at the latest. As the under-maid to the nursemaids, you will wait on the under-nurse, the head nursemaid and her maid and the night nurse who sleeps in the nursery with the children. We do not mix with the lower servants but you will eat supper in the kitchen with the scullery maid. Mrs Powell, I believe, has explained the house rules which correspond with nursery rules.’

  ‘Yes, Nanny.’ Ettie was very disappointed that none of her duties included the children.

  ‘The head of nursery staff will give you your uniform. She will explain your duties fully and the hours you must keep.’ Once again Nanny sniffed and dabbed her nose. ‘My own wishes are to be observed first and foremost. This fire must be lit before I rise at seven o’clock. After I am gone at nine o’clock to the nursery you may clean my quarters. Touch nothing. Dust and sweep with care. My bed requires clean linen every third day.’

  ‘Yes, Nanny.’

  ‘I trust you have no questions?’ The elderly matron asked, but Ettie sensed no answer was required.

  ‘Good. Now off you go and find Head.’

  Head? Ettie wondered. Who or what was Head? Dare she enquire? But before she could ask, Nanny had risen, bustled her way into the next room – which Ettie supposed was the bedroom – and firmly closed the door.

  She waited a few more minutes, then left by the door she had entered. Whilst taking a last look over her shoulder, Ettie almost bumped into a tall figure standing in the vestibule.

  ‘Look where you’re going, girl!’

  Ettie looked up, for the woman was the height and strong stature of a man. Dressed in a light blue uniform, white frilled apron and a lacy white mob cap that covered her dark hair, she considered Ettie carefully.

  ‘O’Reilly is it, the workhouse girl?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’ Ettie hung her head.

  ‘I’m the head of Nursery staff known as Head.’

  ‘Yes, Head,’ Ettie replied quickly.

  ‘This way.’

  Once again, Ettie found herself on the march. The tall woman took very long strides, and pushed open door after door, leaving Ettie to dodge them as they swung closed. Finally, they came to a very abrupt halt.

  ‘What are you to call me?’ The question came sharply.

  Ettie opened her mouth and croaked, ‘Head!’

  ‘Good enough. Where are your shoes?’

  ‘I …I left my clogs in the boot room, Head.’

  Ettie tried not to look down at her dirty feet poking out from under her skirts.

  But Head said no more and they were on the move again. Eventually they entered a room filled with children’s toys. Two desks and a case of books stood beside a beautiful, dappled grey wooden horse. Daylight flowed in through the huge windows and lit up every sparkling corner. Ettie let out a small gasp of delight. The nursery was the most beautiful room she had ever seen.

  Head strode on, leading the way into a passage where she opened a large cupboard. Every shelf was full of crisp, clean clothing and bed linen. She slipped out a pressed uniform of rough grey linen and a white apron. These were followed by a nightgown, pantaloons, girdle and petticoat.

  ‘Thank you, Head,’ Ettie gasped, not expecting to be issued with so much.

  ‘Keep yourself and your clothes clean,’ Head ordered. ‘There is a rota for bathing in the nursery bathroom.’

  Bathing in a bathroom? Ettie thought joyously. She couldn’t imagine such a luxury.

  ‘You’ll need these, too.’ A pair of soft leather house shoes was dropped onto the pile. ‘How old are you?’

  ‘I shall be sixteen on Christmas Day, Head.’

  ‘Sixteen?’ The tall woman pulled her thin shoulders back sharply. ‘My advice to you, is to perform your duties to the letter. There has been a long line of hopefuls before you and none of them has survived.’

  Ettie trembled. Had they died?

  ’Be warned, child.’

  Ettie clutched her small bundle of new possessions close to her chest. Head looked as though she might have done away with them all.

  Chapter 57

  At last it was the end of the day and Ettie, exhausted and footsore, followed Mary to the kitchen.

  ‘Hurry up, or else Cook won’t give us supper.’

  Ettie was still trying to remember all the duties that Head had given her. Cupboard upon cupboard to be cleaned and restocked in the nursery. Lines of shelves to be washed and furniture to be polished. The nursery staff’s quarters to be tidied, the laundry to be parcelled up and sent to an outside firm. Floors and stairs mopped in preparation for the following day. An endless maze of corridors and stairwells to negotiate. Hearths to be swept. Fires to be laid. On and on her duties went …

  A bowl of hot broth and a platter of bread awaited them on the long, scrubbed scullery table. Ettie’s mouth began to water at the sight and her tummy rumbled.

  ‘You sit there,’ Mary ordered and Ettie took her place at the end of the bench.

  Mary pushed a bowl towards her. ‘That’s yours.’ She greedily snatched two large chunks of bread, leaving the smaller piece for Ettie. ‘What do you think of Head then?’ she asked as she stuffed the bread in her mouth.

  ’I hope I can remember all my duties.’

  ‘If you don’t come up to scratch, you’ll be let go immediately.’

  ‘Without a chance to speak up for myself?’ Ettie enquired unadvisedly.

  Mary spluttered, pushing the second crust into her mouth. ‘Ain’t no use arguing either. Skivvies like us keep their traps shut.’

  Ettie shivered, recalling Head’s warning about her many predecessors.

  ‘Just do as you’re told,’ Mary continued letting out a loud burp. ‘That’s my advice.’

  ‘Can I go to church on Sunday?’ Ettie ventured.

  Mary stared at her curiously. ‘You’re one of those Holy Joes, I suppose?’

  ’Not really.’

  ‘Fact is, the lowers couldn’t give a tinker’s cuss about saying prayers. They go to church just to get out of the house. God must have a laugh when he sees them sitting all pious-like in the pews.’

  ‘I’m sure God doesn’t mind.’

  ‘You are, are you?’ Mary sneered, narrowing her eyes. ‘Got your ear, has He?’

  Ettie felt the sting of tears. Why did everyone in this household behave so badly? She stared down at her bowl of broth. She no longer felt hungry. What was happening in this new life of hers? She had been naive to imagine she would work as a nursemaid to the children. Her head was spinning and her empty stomach groaned, yet she could not bring herself to swallow food.

  ‘Look here,’ said Mary, wiping her mouth on the cuff of her sleeve, ‘you are the lowest of the low here. Just look at the colour of your uniform. Grey, ain’t it?’

  Ettie gazed down at the small pile of clothes beside her.

  ‘What colour was Head’s?’

  ‘Blue,’ Ettie replied.

  ‘My point exactly.’ Mary lifted her hands in an impatient gesture. ‘Dogsbodies are grey, rest of the staff blue. Until you change the colour of that uniform, you count for nothing.’

  Ettie thought of the workhouse. These rules were just the same.

  She watched as Mary gulped down her broth. When she’d finished, she licked her lips and burped again.

  ‘Truth is, you are here to wait on the whole bleedin’ household, not be one of them.’

  ‘Will I ever see the children?’ Ettie asked sadly.

  ‘Never,’ Mary snapped. ‘Not with your nose to the grindstone every day.’

  Suddenly a noise made them jump. A woman entered the scullery, wiping her hands on her apron. She had brown curly hair tucked under a cap, and a great bosom. Ettie gauged she was close to sixty; her cheeks were bright pink and her eyes very blue.

  ‘So, you’re the new girl. O’Reilly, is it?’ She padded over to where Ettie was seated.

  ‘Yes, e
r … ma’am,’ Ettie stammered, rising to her feet.

  ‘Sit down, dearie, we don’t stand on ceremony round here. Now, let’s have your first name, shall we.’

  ‘I’m known as Ettie, ma’am.’

  ‘Ettie, eh? I’m Cook, ducks. Pleased to meet you.’ There was a smile forthcoming; the first that Ettie had witnessed all day.

  ‘I’m pleased to meet you, too, Cook.’

  ‘Now finish your broth,’ Cook replied in a firm but affectionate manner. ‘Would you like some apple pie after?’

  ‘If you have any to spare. Thank you.’

  ‘After the day you’ve had, you probably need feeding up.’ The smile was still there and Ettie felt as though a ray of sunshine was bursting its way into the dark and depressed corners of her spirit.

  ‘What about me?’ Mary cried in alarm. ‘I’ve had a hard day, too.’

  ‘Oh, stop your caterwauling, miss,’ Cook chuckled good-naturedly. ‘You won’t be left short. You know that very well.’

  ‘You’ve fallen on your feet there,’ sniped Mary as Cook disappeared. ‘Must be that posh accent of yours.’

  Ettie didn’t know what kind of accent she had, indeed that she had one at all. But it was obviously not to Mary’s liking.

  Just then Cook called and Mary grabbed her bowl and hurried out. This time, Ettie was swift to do the same. On entering the warm scullery, the delicious smell of Cook’s apple pie baking in the black-leaded oven reminded her of the convent kitchens.

  ‘A spoonful of custard won’t go amiss either,’ Cook offered.

  Ettie could hardly hide her delight as Cook spooned the piping hot crusty apple pie into her bowl. At least God had sent one welcoming soul along. If the rest of the day had been a bitter disappointment, then Cook was a gift from Heaven.

  As if Mary was reading her mind, she nudged Ettie's arm. ‘Don’t enjoy yourself too much,’ she whispered. ‘We’ve a mountain of washing up to do yet.’

  ‘That’s all right,’ Ettie told Mary with a shrug. ‘I’ll do it all if you like.’