Christmas Child: an absolutely heartbreaking and emotional Victorian romance

by Carol Rivers

  ‘Three weeks you have lain here,’ the butcher explained. ‘It was Arthur who brought you here in his cart.’

  ‘Arthur, the gardener?’

  ‘Curled up under a bridge, you was. Soaked to the skin. Arthur's two little rascals found you. Imps he calls ‘em. Waifs and strays. Lets ‘em live in the grounds of the convent.’

  ‘Do they have dirty faces?’ Ettie enquired, remembering her visions.

  ‘Dirty ain’t the word. Stunk to high heaven an’ all. But it was them discovered you, all right.’

  ‘They held my hands,’ Ettie murmured. ‘They comforted me.’

  Terence took a great breath. ‘My dear, my dear, where have you been all this while?’

  Ettie forced her eyes to keep open. ‘The workhouse.’

  ‘The workhouse!’ Terence exclaimed in horror.

  ‘The governor sent me … sent me into service, where I was accused of … of thieving …’

  ‘How dare they!’ Terence demanded before she could summon the breath to explain. ‘What an outrage!’

  ‘Terence, don’t be upset.’

  ‘Sorry m’dear,’ he said contritely. ‘Here’s you, just back from the brink. And here’s me, in danger of sending you back there!’

  Ettie smiled.

  ‘I came looking for you, you know,’ he said tenderly. ‘Me and Mrs Buckle. We travelled up to Oxford Street to the milliner’s. I remember you saying you was offered a job. But there’s a new owner. So I tried finding that young man of yours. Went up west to look for him and that damson-red carriage he was driving …’ He paused. ‘But I can see you’re tired now and I’ll save that story for another day.’

  Ettie’s eyes began to close.

  ‘You are in Terence’s care now,’ Terence whispered. ‘Rest assured that not only will you get well, but you’ll be skipping around like a spring lamb very soon.’ He gently stroked the hair from her damp forehead. ‘Mrs Buckle will pay us a visit tonight. She kitted you out in that pretty nightdress, washed you like her own child. Put up them pretty curtains and tidied your room.’

  A tear of gratitude slipped down Ettie’s cheeks. How would she ever be able to repay these kind people?

  ‘Close those little peepers now,’ urged Terence, tugging up the cover to her chin. ‘And sleep well.’

  Very soon, as the snow fell in soft white pearls on the window pane she slipped back into a tranquil sleep. This time, no hellish illusions attacked her. Instead, she dreamt of meeting her mother outside the convent laundry. Arms linked, they walked joyfully under the trees and down the gentle slope to meet Sister Ukunda and Sister Patrick.

  Chapter 71

  Christmas Day

  ‘That’s it, dinner’s cooking!’ Terence clapped his hands in delight as they sat by the fire in the parlour at the back of the butcher shop. The cosy room was decorated with Christmas jugs of winter blooms and even a small green tree. The dwarf fir stood in a pot by the window, between the heavy brown drapes. Little sparkles glimmered from its thickness and a star was pinned to the top branch. Ettie remembered the opulent Christmas tree at Chancery House. It had looked very impressive with all those gifts beneath, waiting to be unwrapped. She had been excited to receive her cap and to know that her future home was secure in service to Lord and Lady Marsden. Or so she had thought. How wrong she had been. And how swift her downfall!

  With a wave of gratitude, she looked at this kind man sitting beside her, a father in all but name.

  ‘We’ll eat like royalty today,’ he continued and leaned forward to lift the poker into the fire. With a friendly whoosh, the flames spat and sparkled in all directions. ‘I’ll slice the beef so thin it will fall from our knives. The spuds will roast so crisp and crunchy, we’ll be elbowing each other for seconds.’

  ‘Terence you are too good to me,’ Ettie said, unable to disguise the hitch in her voice. ‘After leaving you as I did …’

  ‘Now, now. Don’t fret,’ Terence dismissed before she could finish. ‘Is Glad’s shawl to your liking?’

  ‘It’s beautiful, Terence. Very warm. I hope Gladys would approve.’

  ‘She’d be tickled pink to see you wearing it.’ Ettie looked down at Terence’s late wife’s fringed shawl that she had borrowed, with its delicate panels of interwoven laces falling over her nightdress. There was even a jewelled pin attached to the scalloped collar.

  ‘My Glad was lovely; I wish you’d known her,’ Terence reminisced. ‘I’ve kept that shawl ‘cos it was her favourite.’

  ‘Gladys had very good taste.’

  ‘That she did,’ Terence said on a sigh. ‘But so does Mrs Buckle. She’s going to visit in the new year and sew you up some proper clothes. Bit of a dab hand is our Mrs Buckle.’

  Ettie smiled, for she had an inkling that Terence and the dressmaker were forming a close friendship.

  A little uncertainly, Terence asked if she felt well enough to tell him about her life at Chancery House? Though she didn’t want to speak ill of anyone, least of all Mary and Jim, she knew she could confide in Terence.

  ‘They shouldn’t have pushed off to Scotland like that,’ he muttered when he heard the whole story. ‘Leaving you to take the blame.’

  ‘Mary didn’t do it deliberately,’ Ettie said in her friend’s defence.

  ‘Still, m’dear, she was Little Miss Light-fingers, and cleverly escaped her punishment.’

  Ettie wondered if Mary could have left Chancery House for reasons other than Jim? A little fib here and there was understandable. But to steal someone’s property? Had she done it before?

  Terence cocked his head and refrained from asking more. They sat in companionable silence, staring at the flames cascading into the chimney. Ettie remembered the salon’s drawing room and how she had spent many happy hours sitting by the fire with Clara. Would she ever have the courage to walk to Silver Street again and look at the salon?

  ‘Did you find the letter I left?’ she asked Terence.

  ‘I read it a thousand times,’ he said sorrowfully. ‘And grieved for you as I would a daughter. You said you had to find a future without the painful memories. But, dear girl, memories will come heedless; good and bad they are part of our lives.’

  Tears of guilt filled Ettie’s eyes. ‘I know that now. Can you forgive me?’

  ‘There’s nothing to forgive,’ he said mildly. ‘Let’s not dwell on the past, for today is Christmas Day and you are seventeen years old.’ He held out a small parcel. ‘Happy Birthday, my beauty.’

  Ettie felt the tears slip down her cheeks as she unwrapped the ribbon and pretty paper. Inside she found a notebook with a soft leather cover and a quill pen. Its white feathers were silky and the nib finely pointed.

  ‘Terence, these are lovely!’

  ‘A diary for your new life.’

  ‘But it’s Christmas and I’ve nothing to give you.’

  ‘Your word is all I ask. Tell me you won’t go running off again.’

  Ettie looked fondly into his dear face. ‘No, Terence, I shall never run away again.’

  ‘Then I’m a happy man.’

  Ettie watched as he got up and tapped the glass cover of the mantle clock with his knuckle. ‘Almost midday. I’m going to prepare the grub. Meanwhile, m’dear, keep your feet up on that stool and rest.’

  Ettie knew Terence was doing all he could to help. She rested her head and closed her eyes, dozing in the warmth.

  She recalled the Christmas when Gwen and Lily had given her the green fairy. But out of the bad had come the good; her friendship with Terence which now meant the world to her.

  Ettie woke to the sound of carols being sung outside and voices in the passage. The fire had burned low. Terence must have left her to sleep. She could smell the delicious roast cooking, but who did the voices belong to?

  ‘Silent night, holy night …’ the carollers sang. Were they the little band of ragged children who had sung outside the salon that Christmas and to whom she gave the sixpence? But no, it couldn’t be, since th
ey would now be older. She blinked her sleepy eyes and wondered if her weak legs would take her to the passage that led to the side door. She was very unsteady, and dare not chance it alone. Though Terence had said the physician from Soho Square had assured him that rest and time would heal all.

  ‘Round yon virgin, mother and child …’ The words drifted in, clearer now, returning her to the orphanage and the Christmases that she had spent with the orphans before the new bishop arrived. She wondered where those children were now; one in particular. Michael. Had he married the wealthy girl who he’d driven in the damson-red brougham?

  The whispers grew stronger. Ettie wondered who might call on Christmas Day. Could it be Mrs Buckle perhaps?

  She smiled, for more than anything else this Christmas, she wished that Terence might be rewarded for all he had done for her. When she was well, she would try to repay him somehow. Arthur too, and his little imps. And if ever she saw Mary and Jim again, she would hold no bitterness in her heart, but embrace them as old friends.

  Ettie gave a deep sigh, for she knew that she must not dwell on the past. She was trying hard, as Terence had advised her, to start afresh. She knew that was why he had given her the diary, a symbol of the future.

  The voices came closer.

  The air stilled around her.

  Ettie’s heart began to beat hard under her ribs, though she did not know why. A little tremble began in her bandaged fingers. She sat forward, straining her ears to listen.

  The fire seemed to leap into life just as the door opened. Terence stood there, his eyes full of good cheer – and something else. It was as if he had been waiting … and at last he could tell her. But what?

  A tall figure dressed in a dark overcoat, followed. A head taller than Terence, snowflakes has settled on his short dark hair and dotted the length of his broad shoulders. The soft grey pools of his gaze brought a wave of love so intense she could barely breathe. All the pictures of Michael as she had known him, rushed into her head. But she had no need of memories now. For Michael was standing before her, as familiar and handsome in the flesh, as he had been in her dreams.

  Epilogue

  Six days later

  It was Ettie’s first day of walking out since Christmas and she clung tightly to Michael’s arm. Never in her life would she have believed that she might be recovered so fully as to make the short walk to Silver Street. Michael had insisted he bring one of the three carriages he now owned, to make the journey. But she had wanted to use her legs again. With Michael at her side, she had no fear. She glanced up at him now and felt like pinching herself. How had this miracle happened?

  A question that would surely have been answered immediately by Sister Patrick, in her rich Irish brogue. Or Mother Superior, or Sister Ukunda, all giving the holy credit to one saint or another, but Ettie knew who she had to thank for Michael’s return to her life. It was her mother Colleen, she was certain. And it was her mother whom she had to thank for the heavenly help that was now leading her to the doorstep she had so feared to tread over.

  The snow had melted from Soho’s pathways and left the cobbles to shine beneath a watery sun as Michael guided her gently towards the salon. The market traders were replenishing their stalls, obviously hoping to make a great success of the very last day of the old year. Beggar children played in the dirty gutters, searching for scraps and leftovers from the Christmas jollity. The door was open to the small theatre where once a tall man had stood dressed in a black floppy hat pierced by a red feather. Now the space was occupied by a pair of working girls who slouched against the worn paint, smoking and eyeing the passing trade. The poster of ‘Kiss Me, Miss Carter’ had been replaced by a sign announcing the sale of entertainments to discerning gentlemen.

  All this and more reminded Ettie of her life in Soho, but she had never expected to be walking here on Michael’s arm. Dressed warmly in a pretty blue silk bonnet and cape that Mrs Buckle had delighted in making her, Ettie could barely gasp a breath as they turned into Silver Street. For as they drew closer, the sign over the salon no longer announced, ‘Benjamin & Son. Salon of Quality Tobaccos’ but in wide-spaced letters painted in shiny black, ‘Wilson’s Fine Carriages For Hire’.

  ‘Michael – is that you?’

  A grin spread across his face. ’Michael Wilson – of Wilson’s Fine Carriages – that’s me!’

  Since Christmas and their first meeting, he had visited her every day, promising such a surprise. Not only had they talked for hours, but discussed every moment they had been apart, until the day Terence and Mrs Butler had hailed his cab in the city.

  Ettie stared through the window, where the blinds had been removed to allow daylight to flow into the interior that was painted entirely in white. Four sturdy gas lamps reflected their pristine newness.

  ‘What do you think?’ Michael asked. ‘This will be the office where we’ll take the orders. At the back I’ve built a lean-to for the carriages. I bought three of ‘em second-hand, and did them up. Made a few bob so far. I’m gonna buy another one in spring, a Victoria. Popular they are, open traps – all leather, cloth, and sometimes corduroy. I’ve got plans for the future, Ettie, and you are part of them.’

  ‘Do you remember standing there?’ Ettie said, nodding to the very spot outside the salon door. ‘Twice you came to the salon and twice you disappeared. Until I saw you again in Hyde Park when I nearly stepped under your carriage.’

  ‘My cab had been hired for the celebrations by a couple of ladies. I remember having to swerve, but I didn’t know it was you. You couldn’t have thought I did?’

  ‘When I saw your pretty passengers …’

  He tightened his hand around her waist. ‘I told you, you were my girl, Ettie. It’s never been any different.’

  ‘But I waited for you at the orphanage gates that Christmas. You never came.’

  ‘I’m sorry I never showed up,’ he said, his expression remorseful. ‘I got my collar felt for being too cocky, thinking I could nick from the market and not get caught. But I learned my lesson and spent six months in the jug. When I got out, I came looking for you.’

  ‘Did you go to the orphanage?’

  He gently took her hand. ‘Come inside. There’s something I must tell you.’

  Ettie watched him unlock the salon door. She hesitated. Was she ready to confront the ghosts of her past?

  Michael held out his hand. ‘It’s all right. I’m with you now.’

  Ettie grasped his strong fingers and could hardly breathe as she felt a rush of intense emotion. Would a young man with wiry, sandy-coloured hair and very blue eyes suddenly appear before her? And behind him a woman whose flawless pale skin radiated the gentleness of her nature? Lucas and Clara, were they still here?

  She stood, her heart racing as she gazed around the light and airy space that no longer cast shadows in every corner. The glass cabinets and shelves containing Lucas’s precious tobaccos were gone. The smoking room too, had vanished. Now a large map on the wall displayed the city’s many thoroughfares. Beneath it hung a variety of ornamental horse brasses and lanterns, strategically placed to take the client’s eye.

  No, this was not the salon she remembered. Michael’s character was stamped powerfully into every space.

  ‘That girl I brought here,’ Michael hesitated. ‘I never took a real interest in her, Ettie, though you may believe I did. Her family paid well and that was what I wanted. I was a mercenary sod, but the money went straight in the bank to buy my carriages. Meanwhile I had to swallow my pride and work hard.’

  Ettie smiled as a feeling of overwhelming peace flowed through her. Michael had changed his ways, something she had always hoped for him. ‘I thought you might marry her,’ she said softly.

  Michael’s serious features gave way to amusement. ‘Marry? She was engaged to a lord’s son and liked to think she could fool around, making eyes at her lowly driver. I admit I did nothing to discourage her. Why should I? I needed that job to earn a decent crust. As long as my wage p
acket was regular, she could do what she liked.’

  ‘Even kiss you?’ Ettie blushed, her cheeks flushing under her bonnet.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he apologized. ‘That must have been rotten to watch.’

  ‘It was. I was jealous.’

  He gave a cheeky smile. ‘I like that. Means you thought something of me.’

  ‘But jealousy hurts.’

  ‘You won’t ever have cause to be in the future, I swear.’

  Ettie looked into his beautiful grey eyes. ‘Do you mean that?’

  ‘Course I do.’ He bent and lifting her chin, kissed her tenderly on her lips. It was then Ettie knew her life was transforming; separately they had grown from children to adults, yet now they were united as one.

  Hand in hand, they walked along the empty passage to the drawing room. It was completely bare. There was nothing, not even a chair to sit on. The fireplace was sealed up and Michael gave a shrug. ‘The chimney needs sweeping. The floorboards are creaking. The walls need painting. But since I took over this place, most of all, I knew I needed you. Terence told me what happened after your gaffer died here and how he found your letter one morning. You know, don’t you, you nearly broke the old boy’s heart?’

  Ettie felt the tears prick. ‘I know, Michael.’

  ‘He’s a good man; one of the best,’ said Michael fiercely. ‘I reckon it was one of those holy angels of yours that caused him and his lady friend to hail my cab one day. He told me he’d been searching the city for the damson-red brougham.’

  ‘You don’t believe in angels,’ Ettie said and he lifted a lock of chestnut hair from her face, gently tucking it inside her bonnet.

  ‘I do, some of them anyway.’

  ‘Michael Wilson, you’ve changed.’

  ‘Yeah, you could say that.’

  He led her through to the dining room, which was just as bare, but where Rose’s portrait now hung over the fireplace.