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

‘Let’s play charades,’ said Gwen when the bottle of absinthe was drained. ‘Ettie, you and Lily go first.’

But Ettie could barely stand. Her head seemed to be going ‘round on her shoulders. Lily rushed to her side and held her.

‘Come into the salon,’ whispered Lily. ‘Where Gwen won’t hear us.’

Ettie shook her head. ‘Mr Benjamin wouldn’t approve ...’

‘Come,’ insisted Lily, tickling her ribs and gently pushing her down the passage. ‘No one’s here. Stand behind the counter. You shall be Mr Benjamin. I shall be your customer.’

Ettie tried to steady herself. She felt as though the floor was moving.

‘Now, I should like to buy a cigar,’ boomed Lily, in a deep, masculine voice.

Ettie shook her head. ‘No, Lily, we mustn’t. Not here, in Lucas’s salon …’

‘This one will do,’ interrupted Lily disdainfully. ‘Don’t worry, we are just pretending!’

Ettie watched as Lily’s deft fingers wiggled under the glass cabinet. Out came a cigar and she slipped it between her lips.

‘Disgusting!’ declared Lily, turning up her nose. She threw the cigar on the floor.

‘Lily, don’t!’ Ettie cried.

But Lily reached into the cabinet again. She pulled out the blue velvet and with it, Ettie’s careful display of tobaccos.

Ettie felt a frightened sob stick in her throat. What was happening?

‘That boss of yours is a swindler!’ shouted Lily, stamping on the cloth and crushing the cigars. ‘His tobacco is inferior. I’ll wager he sits all day long and counts his money. And you are his slave Ettie, his willing slave!’

Ettie tried to tell Lily that she was wrong. How kind and generous Lucas was, how he would never cheat anyone. But the words that came from her mouth were all muddled.

Lily banged her fist on the counter. ‘Tell the truth, Ettie! You’re free to say what you like now. Admit to being the puppet of a greedy old miser!’ Lily’s face was changing, spite and bitterness darting out of her eyes.

Ettie’s stomach lurched. She didn’t feel like playing charades any more. Or hearing lies about Lucas. She just wanted Lily and Gwen to leave. Then she could sit down, or even better, lie down. But Lily was behind her, pushing her forcefully towards the big brass till.

‘That’s it, that’s it,’ Lily growled. ‘Now open it!’

Ettie tried to turn away. ‘Lily, no!’ she cried again.

But Lily wasn’t listening. The till sprang open. Ettie was surprised to see it so full of money. Why hadn’t she remembered to lock it away?

Suddenly the room spun violently. Ettie’s legs buckled and she fell.

‘Foolish little soeur,’ she heard Lily laugh.

There was someone in the street making a terrible banging, Ettie thought as she woke. A terrible, terrible banging. The pale light at the window told her it was not yet dawn. She tried to get up but the moment she moved, her stomach heaved. Not only did she feel the impulse to vomit, but a vile pain shot through her head. It was an agony so severe she fell back on the pillow. She was afraid to breathe, lest even the passage of air into her lungs should make it worse.

The banging, she realized, did not come from Silver Street. The pounding was in her brain, as though some part of it had come loose, tumbling from one side to the other. Coupled with the waves of nausea, Ettie knew there was something very wrong. But what was it?

She tried to remember as she lay there. Why hadn’t she taken off her clothes? Why did she feel so ill? Had she eaten something rotten? Or had she caught a disease?

Retching violently, she toppled to the floor. Her trembling fingers grabbed the chamber pot. She began arching and gagging above it. A foul liquid spewed up from her throat. The noises she made were like an animal’s. She choked, breathlessly waiting for the next eruption. A hammer attacked her skull. Yet more revolting fluid cascaded up, a fearful green liquid that soiled the white chamber pot.

Her body trembled. Her nails dug into the rug. Her forehead dripped sweat. Even her toes curled inside her boots.

Ettie lay on the floor. Her body felt drained of energy. She climbed on the bed again and pulled the cover over her. It didn’t matter that she still had her clothes on. Or that she couldn’t remember what day it was or barely who she was.

She fell back again into a dark, disturbed sleep.

When Ettie woke again it was daylight. A delicate sun’s rays spilled across the floor, encircling the shocking sight of the chamber pot. She must still be dreaming!

She shook her head, trying to clear it. But as she did so, the hammer returned; a persistent drumming in her brain.

She lay there, impassive, waiting for relief. But it was only after some while that she felt able to move. Stumbling to the window, she lifted the sash. Soho air was not fresh at the best of times with the rotting vegetables, horse and cattle dung, and blocked drains. But today, any air was welcome.

Beneath her window, a ragged boy and girl played. They jumped lines made from sticks and pulled each other’s hair. Their shouts joined the hammering in Ettie’s head.

She put on her apron to hide her dirty smock and carried the chamber pot downstairs. Disposing of its contents in the outside privy, she recalled Gwen’s words.

‘The green fairy will help you …’

But the green fairy had not helped, Ettie reflected miserably. The absinthe had poisoned her.

Carefully she picked her way across the splinters of Tobacco Dock crates and held her head under the pump. Ice cold water soaked her hair, ran into her eyes and trickled down her throat. She tried to wash away the terrible feeling.

After forcing down a bowl of porridge, she sat by the drawing room hearth. Memories tumbled back, clearer now. Gwen and Lily’s tap tap at the window. ‘Joyeux Noël,’ Gwen had cried, after which the merrymaking had followed. The dancing and