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

Carefully folding a cloth over the pot, Ettie took the lit candle in her other hand and made her way carefully to the back stairwell. On each floor she hesitated, trying to remember the route Mary had taken. Finally, she came to the basement and a long, dark passage. Would the slops room be here? The candle flame flickered, caught in a cold breeze from the far door.

‘Slops room’s along on your right,’ said a voice and Ettie jumped, nearly dropping the po. A tall figure loomed over her.

‘It’s me,’ said Jim, dressed in his breeches and vest with his braces looped over his shoulders. A towel hung around his neck and his dark hair was wet. ‘There’s a pump in the courtyard outside if you need it.’

‘Thank you,’ said Ettie, suddenly embarrassed.

‘Is Mary up?’ He glanced over Ettie’s shoulder.

‘Not yet.’

‘You’ll have to kick her out of bed. Tell her I said so.’

Ettie was mystified as he hurried off, letting in a shaft of moonlight as he went out to the courtyard. What kind of message was that?

Remembering that she had many duties to perform, Ettie quickly followed his instructions. Two great sinks dominated the slops room. A line of chamber pots stood on the opposite wall and next to these a large wooden contraption. Ettie despatched the contents of the pot into the hole and used the water from a pail to clean the white china. Returning to the passage, she found her way back upstairs to the attics.

Reluctantly, she shook Mary’s shoulder.

‘Go away!’ came the angry retort from under the bedclothes.

‘I saw Jim downstairs, Mary.’

A pale face appeared. ‘What?’

‘He gave me a message.’

Mary immediately came to life. ‘What did he say?’

‘Just that I should wake you.’

‘Did he indeed?’ She gave a humourless smile as she stretched her skinny arms. Blinking in the candlelight, she muttered, ‘I hope you ain’t going to disturb me again at four o’clock.’

‘No, I’m sorry.’

‘What time is it now?’

‘Close to five I should think.’

‘Why are you up so early?’

‘I’m going to Nanny’s quarters first.’

Mary gave a groan and flopped back on her pillow.

Ettie tiptoed out, the thought occurring to her that Jim might have been waiting to meet Mary. The young man had sounded quite put out when Ettie had said that she was still sleeping. But Mary hadn’t seemed to care at all.

Chapter 59

It was almost Christmas and Ettie’s routine was the same every day. She attended to Nanny’s quarters first, before a housemaid arrived with Nanny’s tea and breakfast. She was then free to perform all her duties including the cleaning and polishing of every room on the nursery floor and stairwell.

Her own meals were eaten in the nursery hall, except for supper, when she joined Mary in the house kitchen. In the absence of Lord and Lady Marsden and their two children, Amelia aged three and George four, Mary complained at being at the mercy all day of Mrs Powell and the butler, Mr Gane. ‘I’m given all the jobs no one wants. I hate Christmas. I hate everything to do with it.’

‘You won’t say that when you’re sinking your teeth into my roast drumsticks,’ Cook reproved. ‘Be grateful for small mercies, that’s what I say.’

‘Why should I be grateful?’ was Mary’s regular reply. ‘I’m working me fingers to the bone.’

Ettie had become used to Mary’s moods and her habit of sleeping late. It was as if she did it deliberately, hoping to blame Ettie for not waking her. But Ettie was always up bright and early. Since the house was being scrubbed from top to bottom in the absence of the family, every nook and cranny was to be investigated and cleaned.

Very soon she knew most of the lowers and they knew her. She was always quick to smile and to offer her help when it was needed.

One evening, as Cook served Ettie and Mary their suppers, Jim walked into the kitchen. Mary blushed deeply as Cook pointed a wooden spoon in Jim’s direction. ‘You’ve had your supper young man.’

Jim’s usually surly face bore a smile as he glanced in Mary’s direction.

‘So that’s the way of it, is it?’ Cook said ruefully. ‘Come, Ettie, if you’re finished, bring your plate to the scullery.’

Ettie joined Cook at the big china sinks; this was the place she liked most in the whole house, surrounded by pots, pans and the pleasant warmth of the cooking ranges reminding her of the convent.

‘Give those two a moment, shall we?’ said Cook in a low voice as she plunged the plates into the washing water.

‘Jim seems very fond of Mary,’ Ettie observed as she began to dry the dishes.

‘He is that. But Mary – well, you know Mary by now.’ Cook gave a sigh and her bosoms heaved under her apron. ‘Not an easy child.’

‘How long has she worked here?’ Ettie asked softly.

‘Must be five years now. The mistress, on one of her charity missions, found her on the streets. Couldn’t have been more than ten – didn’t even know her own age. The kitchens are where she’s been ever since. As you’ve discovered, she don’t get on with people. That’s why the others left. The girls before you.’

‘Because of Mary?’

‘Didn’t give ‘em a moment’s peace.’

‘I thought it was because Mrs Powell didn’t like them?’

‘Mrs Powell?’ Cook looked surprised. ‘On the contrary. The housekeeper came to the end of her tether hiring decent lasses, only to have them leave. She knows it’s our Mary who was the thorn in their sides, but sacking Mary wouldn’t please Lady Marsden. That’s why Mrs Powell went to the workhouse governor …’ Cook stopped and clapped a wet hand over her mouth.

‘And paid for me,’ Ettie said, without taking offence.

‘Me and my quick tongue,’ Cook apologized. ‘But it’s the truth. And you was worth every penny. All the staff have taken to you. All except for our Mary. I hope you don’t disappear too.’

‘I don’t