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

to Mrs Powell’s quarters. She’s the housekeeper. But you don’t answer to her. She’ll just give you a lecture and tell you all the things you can’t do. It’s Nanny who’s in charge of the nursery staff.’

Ettie thought there must be a mistake. A nursery meant children and babies! But how could this be, when only today she had stepped from the sewers of a workhouse?

Swiftly they made their way from the lower ground floor and up to the next. Finally, they came to a set of doors. Mary pushed them open, beckoning Ettie after her.

’Sorry we’re late Mrs Powell,’ said Mary curtseying as they entered a large, gloomy office crammed with ledgers. Ettie glimpsed an equally dismal-looking sitting room beyond.

‘Get back to your duties,’ snapped a woman who sat behind a well-used desk. Her dark hair was severely drawn up under a white lace cap. She wore a plain black dress buttoned up to her chin. Her close-set eyes were dark and piercing.

Ettie heard Mary close the door behind her.

‘Henrietta O’Reilly?’

‘Yes … yes that’s me.’ Ettie was startled that Mrs Powell knew her full name.

‘You will answer, “Yes, Mrs Powell”.’

Ettie gulped. ‘Yes, Mrs Powell.’

‘You have arrived at the home of Sir Albert and Lady Edwina Marsden. However, Sir Albert and Lady Edwina are not in residence at the moment but at their country estate. Before they return you will have time to familiarize yourself with the nursery and your duties. I understand from the Governor of the workhouse you were educated at a Christian establishment and can read and write.’

So the new Governor had passed on this information! Had he also told Mrs Powell that she had worked as a flusher?

‘You were then sent into service for a Soho tobacconist?’ Mrs Powell’s long nose wrinkled in distaste. ‘How, may I ask, did you end your employment there?’

‘The proprietor,’ Ettie explained simply, ‘died from a fever.’

‘Was this fever contagious?’

‘No, Mrs Powell. It was grief for his dead wife that had struck him.’

‘Grief, indeed!’ Mrs Powell sniffed, frowning at Ettie’s ragged clothes. ‘I paid the Governor handsomely for the hire of an educated young woman for employment in our nursery. But I receive a chit of a girl with limited experience of life.’

‘Ma’am – I –’ Ettie began but was stopped short by the housekeeper.

‘You are not to interrupt,’ Mrs Powell boomed, her beady eyes narrowing. ‘Do you understand, O’Reilly?’

Ettie hung her head. ‘Yes, Mrs Powell.’

‘The position you will fill is for one month only. Should I find you lacking or disobedient, dismissal is immediate.’

Ettie didn’t dare speak.

‘Think yourself lucky to have secured a post with this household,’ Mrs Powell intoned. ‘You will not mix, speak or fraternize with the house staff except Mary and Cook. Your meals will be taken in the nursery. You will avoid contact with the footmen or opposite sex.’

Ettie did not move. She felt that even a brief glance in Mrs Powell’s direction might be her undoing.

‘No foul language,’ continued Mrs Powell. ‘No tobacco or alcohol, or visitors without prior permission from me. You must observe the times of your work punctually and will be given nursery rules by Nanny.’ Mrs Powell closed the thick ledger on her desk. ‘Dismissed!’

Ettie had heard nothing about the children of the house. What were their names? Ages? When she did not move, Mrs Powell clicked her fingers. The fierce gesture made Ettie jump. She turned away quickly.

‘Why are you barefoot?’ Mrs Powell demanded as she reached the door.

Ettie looked down at her toes turning blue with cold. ‘I have no house shoes. Er … Mrs Powell.’

The piercing black eyes surveyed her. ‘You will be issued with a pair - don’t let me catch you barefoot again.’

Ettie scurried out. Her palms were sweating. Her heart was beating so hard she wouldn’t have been surprised if it jumped out of her chest.

Chapter 55

Mary was waiting in the corridor.

‘Did she ask about your eye?’ the maid asked at once.

Ettie shook her head.

‘Good. You don’t want to be known as a troublemaker,’ Mary huffed with a sneer. ‘Come on, follow me.’

Ettie was so relieved to be away from the presence of Mrs Powell, she barely noticed the winding route they were taking through the gaslit passages of the house. She did, however, smell the delicious aroma of bread baking. At the end of a corridor she saw many moving figures. These she guessed were the footmen, valets and housemaids. They carried trays and silver tureens and all passed one another silently with only inches to spare.

‘Is that the kitchen?’ she asked Mary.

‘Yes, and they’re rushed off their feet at this time of day. You’d better hurry up or else Cook will be in a bad mood. She’s only happy if she’s got me to boot up the backside.’

They ran up the stairs to the next floor. When they reached a solid-looking door with a shining brass handle, Mary stopped.

‘This leads to the entrance hall of the house and lowers like us don’t go there. Not unless there’s extra cleaning to be done.’ Mary sped off again. ‘And here are the family bedrooms,’ Mary said on the next landing. ‘Next floor is the guests’ quarters.’

Ettie felt dizzy. The house seemed to go on forever.

‘The nursery,’ explained Mary as they rushed up another flight of stairs. This door had a long crack in the wood.

But Mary didn’t enter the nursery. Instead she flew up a narrow set of uncarpeted stairs. At the top, Ettie paused, trying to catch her breath as they stood under the low ceilings of the attic.

‘This leads to our room,’ said the scullery maid, pushing a squeaky door open. ‘The housemaids and nursery staff are on the other side of the attic. But as you ain’t tried and tested yet, you’re put with me. The men are downstairs. Mr Gane the butler has his pantry and rooms by the main dining room as he’s called on at all times of day and night. As you saw, Mrs Powell’s rooms lead