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

But even if she succumbed, would he show mercy? Or, might she end up in the sewer tunnels, rotting and stinking, a lifeless corpse?

‘I beg you, have mercy,’ she croaked.

Another blow silenced her. Recoiling in agony, Ettie stared into the Master's drunken, gloating face. She could barely see his ugly features, for her eye was almost closed.

She recalled the stories she’d been told of the women who had fought him with bravery. Many had perished from their injuries, no match for such a brutal attack.

Is it my turn now? Ettie wondered as she closed her eyes, the one with sight, the other blind in its swollen socket. She had fought all she could. Now it was up to God to save her.

Suddenly the Master's hands were thrusting apart her legs. His curses were vile as he tore away her underclothes.

‘Whore, slag,’ he growled and her skin became a trembling cloak under his touch. What kind of monster was he?

Ettie was filled with silent loathing. But she could not contain her scream as he arched above her. It was both a sound of horror and yet of defiance.

After that scream followed a strangled gasp that was not hers. It came instead from the Master's throat. His face, so violent and moving, became still. Spittle hung suspended from his lips. His cheeks, half hidden by glistening whiskers, sucked in a gasp.

He stared at her with startled eyes. His fingers stilled around his now limp appendage sagging against the ale-stained cloth of his trousers. Swaying back and forth he gurgled and groaned. In spasms he seemed to be, as she watched his blackened fingers quiver up to his throat.

Ettie dared to move, fearing he would rouse and drag her back again. But he seemed not to notice as the unknown devil writhed inside him.

Once more he tried to recover, but the spasm held fast. It flushed his face to purple, spat white foam from his mouth, bulged his eye sockets venomously, arched his back and contorted his expression. With jerks and starts, he fell on his side. Thrashing and floundering, he squirmed on the mucky floor.

Ettie huddled against the wall as the spectacle transfixed her. Suddenly, as if waking from a nightmare, she clutched her clothes and drew them on. With her back to the wall, she moved slowly, not daring to take her eyes from the fitting man.

Escape was within reach. Would the Matron be waiting outside? With shaking fingers, she opened the door. The gloomily lit passage was empty. There was no movement, though she could hear Matron’s voice drifting from far off.

Standing breathless and trembling, she paused. When all was silent, she ran as fast as her feeble legs would carry her, back to her bed in the dormitory, the only place of safety that was left to her.

Chapter 50

Every bone in her body ached. She lay still in the dawn’s early light, trying to control her fear. She wanted to pull the worn blanket over her head and return to that safe place in sleep.

Now that she was awake, she must face the day. She had temporarily escaped the attentions of the Master. The hand of fate had intervened. But the memory of his hands intruding over her body still haunted her. His evil face appeared in her mind, sweat laden and contorted. Yet the Matron had not come in the night to punish her.

‘Wake up, gel,’ a croaky voice whispered. ‘Wake up!’

Ettie pushed back the blanket and saw the bent figure of on old woman standing over her. Rheumy eyes stared out from under her tangle of snow-white hair and her workhouse smock bore many stains and tears.

‘Time to rouse,’ she croaked. ‘You’ve slept late. Everyone else has gone.’

Ettie sat up, her head banging painfully. She gazed round the dormitory. All the female inmates had left for work. ‘Has Matron done her rounds?’

’No, but she’s likely to any minute. And you’ll get a chewing off if she catches you.’

Ettie felt the chill of the morning as she slipped from her bed. She still wore her torn shift, too frightened to remove it last night. Lifting one end of her straw mattress, she pulled out her shawl; it was more holes than wool, but it would cover the bruises.

‘Better get a move on,’ warned the old woman. Hobbling out of the dormitory, she left Ettie to escape the attentions of Matron.

But was she too late? Ettie froze as she heard heavy footsteps coming along the corridor. They came closer, fast and furious. As though the wearer of the studded boots was determined to issue a punishment.

Instead of the Matron, another figure appeared; a sour-looking woman dressed in severe grey robes.

‘O’Reilly!’ she bellowed. ‘What’s this?’

‘I … I was just leaving,’ Ettie stammered. She had never seen this woman before and did not like the look of her.

‘We’ll have none of this laziness,’ snapped the stranger. ‘I am here to enforce new rules and see they are kept.’ She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. ‘How came you by a blackened eye?’

‘A speck blinded me, ma’am.’ Had she been reported after all? Sweat clung to her spine and her heart raced. Was she about to be carted off?

'Are you unfit for work?'

‘No, ma’am. I can see well enough.’

‘Then you have no reason to dawdle. Idleness will not be tolerated in the workhouse.’

Ettie decided the less she said the better.

The angry woman poked Ettie painfully in the shoulder. ‘Get yourself along to the medical room.’

‘Please no!’ Ettie pleaded, fearing the doctor, reputed to be as fearsome as the Master.

‘Do as I tell you or you will be punished.’

Ettie forced her legs to move. They felt as though they might snap in two with the bruises from last night’s attack. Her eyes briefly met the woman’s hard, resolute stare. Though Ettie was terrified at the thought of being sent to the doctor, she knew this hovering bully was waiting to pounce.

The very last thing that she saw as