Christmas Child: an absolutely heartbreaking and emotional Victorian romance by Carol Rivers (i wanna iguana read aloud .txt) 📗

‘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