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

‘That certificate is preserved on the back of Mama’s portrait,’ he explained as he read from his precious diary. ‘Hence the painting now hangs in the dining room, and reminds me each day it was Mama who put food on the table, Mama who had courage enough to prosper the business. But I hold out no expectations for Clara in the business for she is in such a delicate condition.’ He paused, his voice containing a soft sigh as he added regretfully, ‘and with no heir to take over the business, I cannot predict the future after I am gone.’

‘Sir, that is a very long time off.’

He looked at her and suddenly laughed. ‘Yes, of course it is Ettie. I’m a chap who enjoys rude health and expect to continue for many years yet.’

It was clear to Ettie that Lucas had been very fond of his Mama and that poor Clara seemed to have paled in her shadow when it came to business matters. But in every other way, Ettie could see that her employer worshipped the ground his wife walked on.

‘I have a suggestion,’ Lucas said suddenly, returning the diary to the shelf. ‘Let us run through a few figures of an evening. I’ll try you on your numbers and see what you come up with.’

‘Sir, I would like that.’

And therefore, in the evenings they would sit with Clara in the cool of the house. Lucas would test Ettie in sums of addition, multiplication, division and subtraction. Her answers were swift and mostly accurate.

‘Heaven’s above!’ Lucas would gasp. ‘Unbelievable.’

Very soon Ettie could list all the income and outgoings of the business. While her head was bent over the ledgers, Lucas walked Clara to the green close by. The short outing seemed to revive Clara’s spirits and Ettie began to enjoy her new role as Lucas’s assistant.

After just one month, Ettie had memorized the many varieties of snuff, pipes, cigars, cigarillos and cigarettes. Each day as Clara rested, she stood behind Lucas, attentively listening to the top-hatted gentlemen who arrived from their clubs.

‘Now, I shall show you a secret,’ Lucas said one morning before business opened. He reached up to pull a tiny lever set below a shelf. A wooden panel in the wall creaked open to reveal a large black, cast-iron chest. He took a heavy key from under a loose floorboard and inserted it into the lock. The lid creaked open. Inside were leather-bound money bags, each stacked neatly in line. ‘Our safe,’ he explained. ‘Feel the weight.’ He dropped a bag into Ettie’s palm.

‘It is heavy, Sir,’ Ettie agreed.

‘Should be. It’s full of silver.’

Ettie quickly returned it.

‘Don’t worry, I trust you, Ettie.’ He closed the chest, locked it and returned the key to its hiding place.

‘The panel won’t open unless it’s operated by the lever.’

‘Yes, Sir.’

‘Each week you will pay yourself wages from here.’

‘But, Sir …’

He held up his hand to silence her. ’It’s true you receive board and keep, Ettie. But now we must make a commercial arrangement. You, as my capable salon assistant – who has passed her test of numbers with flying colours – shall be paid five shillings each month. Are you agreeable?’

Ettie’s mouth fell open.

‘Good. We are agreed.’

Ettie attempted to protest that she would gladly become his assistant for no profit at all. But Lucas ignored this and the contract was made, giving her the responsibility of the salon in his absence and of keeping the chest and its contents safe, in return for the wage she would earn in her new capacity as his assistant.

From that moment on, Ettie took her new role very seriously. She paid attention to every word that Lucas spoke. Before the working day began, he would select a cigar, remove its wrapper and draw it slowly under his nose.

‘Cuban, of superior quality. Strong. Untamed. A hot, sun-bleached landscape. A trek through equatorial hills. Now, you try, Ettie.’

Since she had never visited any equatorial hills, Ettie put her imagination to work. She closed her eyes and breathed in the pungent aroma. ‘The smell reminds me of the market. How on a damp day the rain soaks the vegetables and the earth falls away from their roots.’

Lucas threw back his head and chuckled.

‘Excellent, Ettie. Excellent! But perhaps “market” might be turned to “jungle” where our gentlemen adventurers might bag a lion or elephant, reminding them of their great achievements. Inflate their egos and they’ll grab the cigar right out of your hand!’

Ettie made a mental note to follow Lucas’s instructions although she wasn’t certain what an inflated ego might be.

‘You are a quick learner,’ he encouraged her. ‘But tell me honestly, what is your true opinion of our tobaccos?’

‘I find their aromas quite pleasant,’ Ettie declared.

‘Hah!’ he exclaimed in delight. ‘My gentlemen will wish their wives offered such an opinion! Did you know that some men are exiled to the smoking rooms of their houses? They are looked on as a nuisance and not the great heroes and globetrotters they imagine themselves to be. And so, they smoke at their clubs in the company of friends, who reinforce their confidence. Mind Ettie, our courageous champions must also partake of the finest brandy to keep up the glow of success! Therefore, I shall fill the decanters in our smoking room to the brim!’ He gave her a hearty pat on the shoulder.

‘Yes, Sir. And I shall make certain the decanters are always full.’

‘Well done, Ettie, well done! You so remind me of Mama. She was the only woman I have ever met who shares your appreciation of tobacco. Did I tell you of the day when a royal courtier came into the shop?’

Though Ettie had heard this story before, she always shook her head for Lucas loved to tell it.

‘The courtier smoked at least four of our best cigars,’ he would say proudly. ‘The man created a smog so thick that even a veteran smoker might find it challenging. But Mama