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

oh no. A little one, coming soon from elsewhere. So, Aggie says, Terence my boy, she can have it. And she can have these thingies, too. Dress it all cosy. And so forth.’ He picked up a bundle of clothes tied in string. ‘No cost to Aggie. They arrived by the back door, if you see what I mean.’ He gave a sly wink.

Ettie smiled up at her old friend. ‘Aggie’s very kind.’

‘When she knew it was for the poor innocent victim of them circus charlatans – she coughed up.’

Ettie was embarrassed. ‘Does everyone know about what happened at Christmas?’

‘Didn’t need to tell ‘em. Look at this.’ He pulled a rolled newspaper from his apron pocket. Stretching it out over the cradle, he jabbed a finger. ‘See here. The London Daily. Told you we wasn’t the only ones to be rooked.’

‘Two women and a man were apprehended in Winchester yesterday, formerly of Soho, London. Suspected to be members of a band of dangerous vagrants and thieves touring the country, they were found in possession of jewels and silverware stolen from the country seat of Lord Grosvenor. The opportunists were caught in the act. Thought to have duped their victims by portraying themselves as French artistes, these Whitechapel born and bred criminals resisted arrest to their cost. The male was shot in the foot. Unfortunately, a policeman was severely injured during the fracas. Charged with resisting arrest, burglary and grievous bodily harm to an officer of the law, this vicious gang will stand trial for its crimes at the Old Bailey.’

Ettie took in a sharp breath. She felt slightly faint. ‘Do you think this could be Gwen, Lily and Gino?’

‘Certainly m’dear.’

‘A vicious gang?’

‘Dangerous thieves, vagrants, the newspaper says. Lived in Soho. Not French at all. Jewels and silverware. Just think yourself lucky m’dear. They could have done you in.’

‘I’m sure they wouldn’t.’ Yet Ettie couldn’t help thinking of Lily and her menacing change in character.

‘I can hardly believe it meself,’ sighed Terence, shaking his head. ‘Wouldn’t have thought butter’d melt in Gwen’s mouth.’

’So they didn’t belong to the circus?’

‘Doubt it, m’dear.’

Ettie held fast to the perambulator. Her knees felt weak. She had taken a gang of thieves to be her true friends.

‘And there was me,’ muttered Terence, interrupting her thoughts, ‘cutting up my best meat for free, serving it to – well, they wasn’t ladies, no no! And there was you, an innocent. Could’ve been so much worse, far worse.’ He raised his hairy eyebrows. ‘The law has ‘em now. They’ll not be out thieving and deceiving again. Strikes me you could bring a charge, m’dear. The coppers might get your takings back.’

‘But what could I hope to gain in accusing them?’ Ettie replied. ‘Lucas’s money will surely be spent.’

‘True. But you would have reprisal.’

Ettie shook her head. ‘I should never have drunk the green fairy.’

‘They fixed you, child.’

‘I learned a lesson.’

Terence gave her a sound pat on the back. ‘That’s it. That’s it. Look to the future, that’s right. Now, what say we take this vehicle out for a walkies? Up to the green and back. ‘See what needs oiling and repairing.’

Ettie smiled. She now had a perambulator to wheel the baby in and some clothes to wash and darn. And on Sunday after Mass, she would set about clearing the small spare room next to hers. It was full of tobacco boxes and other unwanted salon items. The room was small, but large enough to accommodate a baby, with curtains put up at the window, a set of drawers and a pretty picture for Clara’s little girl or boy. For Ettie, there would be a tiny person to love and take care of for Clara.

Ettie felt a flicker of her old happy self; the Ettie before Gwen, Lily and Gino. The Ettie before losing Michael.

Chapter 27

A soft June breeze lifted Ettie’s newly hung curtains in the nursery. It was here in this small room that Ettie had spent many hours preparing for the baby’s homecoming.

Whenever the salon doors closed, it was in the nursery she could be found; cleaning, polishing and dreaming of the family’s return.

Her greatest achievement so far, was her trade with the rag and bone man. He had, with some persuasion, exchanged a crib and nursing chair for the collection of battered Tobacco Dock crates that had accumulated since Christmas in the salon’s backyard. Ettie was delighted. For though the crib was old, it swung to and fro on a squeaky iron mechanism. She had made a liner for its interior and a frill of white cotton for its sides. As for the nursing chair, it had needed a good wax but was perfect for Clara’s petite form.

A tobacco box, covered in brown paper now stood in the corner on the thick rug that Ettie had carried in from the floor of her own room. This box would contain all the toys that would doubtless appear. Perhaps there would be a pretty porcelain or wax doll if the baby was a Charlotte or Emily or even a Clara. Or a tiny wooden dog with a real horsehair tail for a John, James or Lucas.

Then there were the silks that Clara would buy for her daughter as she grew and learned to embroider. Or the wooden frame and its many coloured beads a little lad might enjoy to learn his numbers.

Ettie had all this planned, and though the room looked a little sparse with only the crib and chair, it was clean as a new pin. The next time Terence called she would ask him to help her remove an elderly chest from the attic. Though threaded with cobwebs and needing a good dust, it was free of worm and would fit snugly under the window.

Into its deep drawers she would lay the baby’s clothes. Aggie’s bundle had been washed, ironed and darned. Ettie loved to hold close the long white dress, somewhat faded but still entirely practical. The fragrant smell of the newly laundered article