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

‘I didn’t even get that,’ interrupted Mary in a surly tone as she diced the parsley.

‘You were given a quality piece of cloth,’ Cook argued. ‘But what did you do with it? Stuck it under your bed.’

‘Everyone else got a dress.’ The knife went down with a clatter. ‘Why can’t we all get money like the footmen?’

‘Because you’d only squander it.’

Mary’s cheeks went scarlet. Ettie saw the angry tears glint in her eyes.

‘Are the family away every Christmas?’ Ettie asked Cook quickly.

‘No dear, not when Lord Marsden is busy with his politicking. Easier for him to be here in the house then. They are visited by some bigwigs, you know.’

‘Hoity-toity snobs,’ supplied Mary under her breath.

Cook threw her a reproving glance. ‘Enough now, Mary!’ she exclaimed. ‘Lord Marsden is an aristocrat, very well respected in his circles.’ She gave no chance for Mary to comment as she bellowed, ‘Charles, Arthur, where are you?’

The footmen swiftly appeared, with the housemaids in hot pursuit and the flurry of activity began as Cook oversaw the platters and tureens that were to be moved to the servants’ hall.

Ettie had never seen or smelled such delicious food; two huge, roasted turkeys were carved, together with the mouth-watering addition of a side of beef, boiled and roast potatoes dripping in fat, vegetables of every shape and colour laced with butter and herbs and, a plum pudding that was almost the size of the mixing bowl in which it had been prepared.

Mince pies sprinkled with sugar followed and Mr Gane had the distinction of leading the way to the hall, his proud bearing and formal features beneath his neatly combed dark hair softened by an occasional smile.

Mrs Powell, Head and Nanny and all the upper servants who had remained at the house, were seated at the top of the long, decorated table in the high-ceilinged hall. Jim, the stable boy and the gardener sat with the lowers, while Ettie and Mary joined the staff chosen to serve the vegetables, as the footmen poured the punch and beer. Mary and Ettie’s task was to follow Hilda Rawlins, an older housemaid, helping her to distribute the sauces. When all was ready for Mrs Powell to say grace, Mary and Ettie took their seats at the far end of the table.

All heads bowed and Mrs Powell’s voice intoned a few brief lines of thanksgiving to God and the absent benefactors, the family.

‘A very merry Christmas,’ said Mr Gane, raising his glass. ‘And grateful thanks to Cook for our dinner.’

Cook gave a little choke of appreciation and a cheerful applause was returned from the rest of the company. All except Mary, who whispered, ‘And tomorrow we’ll have to work twice as bloody hard, see if we don’t.’

But as she enjoyed the succulent slices of beef and chicken that filled her plate, together with a generous serving of punch, her gaze slipped to Jim, whom Ettie noted, returned her glance.

‘Have you two made up?’ Ettie asked curiously.

‘Might have.’ Her eyes shifted in Jim’s direction.

‘I’m very glad to hear it.’

‘What’s it to you then?’ Mary snapped.

‘Nothing, but you look prettier when you’re happy.’

To this, Mary opened her mouth and closed it again as if thinking better of making a smart retort. Ettie noticed how Mary’s blush deepened and the corners of her mouth lifted into a trembling smile as her gaze returned to Jim.

Chapter 61

That evening, after Christmas dinner and the giving of gifts was over, Mr Gane returned to his pantry and Mrs Powell to her sitting room, where she invited Cook and the uppers to enjoy a glass of sherry. Meanwhile the other servants dispersed either to their own quarters or to sing carols around the piano in the hall as they enjoyed their gifts.

‘I got mittens,’ complained Mary as she helped Ettie in the scullery to wash, clean and sweep up after the long day’s celebrations. She nodded to their gifts; fingerless woollen gloves and Ettie’s warm scarf, deposited on the chair. ‘What am I supposed to do with them?’

‘We can swap, if you like.’ Ettie hung the very last pan on its hook above the range. It had been a labour-intensive hour of work in the scullery, but Cook had rewarded them with a bag of her homemade toffee. ‘A scarf might look nicer when you go out with Jim.’

‘I don’t know when that will be.’

‘He’s probably waiting to see you in the hall. Let’s go back there after we’re finished.’

Mary grinned. ‘I’ll just do me hair in Cook’s mirror.’

A little later Ettie and Mary walked arm in arm along the passage towards the servants’ hall. The sound of voices singing, God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen took Ettie back to the orphanage and the sweet voices of the orphans as they gathered in the schoolroom, eager to open the small gifts the nuns had wrapped for them. The memory caused a warm feeling inside her and she wondered if, at last, she had found somewhere in this big wide world to belong.

Suddenly Mary stopped. ‘There’s Jim,’ she said excitedly pointing to a figure in the doorway.

‘He’s been waiting for you.’

‘Do you think so?’

‘Of course, Mary.’

But just as Mary moved forward, a voice called out.

‘O’Reilly!’

Both girls turned sharply to see Head.

‘Crikey what does she want you for?’ whispered Mary in alarm.

‘Come this way,’ Head called sternly.

Ettie had no to time to reply and followed, trying hard to keep up with the long strides. As they went, she wondered what could be the matter? Was Mrs Powell dissatisfied with her work? Had she done something wrong? Ettie felt sure this was so. As they rounded the stairwells, she felt her legs weaken.

By the time they reached Head’s room, Ettie could barely contain her fear. Sweeping her long, straight skirt to one side, Head took a seat behind her small desk. The expression on her gaunt face hardened.

Ettie felt about to faint. She stood