Christmas Child: an absolutely heartbreaking and emotional Victorian romance by Carol Rivers (classic english novels txt) 📕

As Ettie climbed up on the dicky seat beside Terence she heard the clock strike nine. Soho would be up and bustling, and doubtlessly, a few customers would have turned up at the salon only to be disappointed.

But this didn’t bother her at all; she was happy to have accomplished the mission that Lucas had set her and a smile played on her lips all the way home.

Her amusement deepened as she thought of the two clerks and the under-manager and the way they had almost bumped into one another to rectify the mistake the first clerk had made.

Ettie decided their change in attitude must have come from Terence informing them in the strongest terms of the business they were about to lose.

The Old Lady of Threadneedle Street with all her airs and graces had been given a severe lecture by an unassuming Soho butcher.

Chapter 36

Summer came into full bloom and the streets of Soho filled with tradesmen and opportunists eager to make a quick penny or two. In the heat of the day, the dust rolled over the cobbles and crept in the salon door, so that Ettie spent hours dusting and cleaning, welcoming her customers with the offer of a shady retreat in the smoking room.

On the occasional evening, she strolled down to the green that Clara loved so much. Here, sitting on the bench, she would imagine how she’d rock the baby in the perambulator, listening to the child’s soft mewing.

Whether boy or girl, it didn’t matter. She would love it with all her heart and take care of it when Clara was resting or needing her quiet.

Ettie knew that her affection for little children was born in the orphanage. Often as she sat in the setting sunlight, her mind went back to those days. But she refused to be maudlin for her own happiness would be complete when the family returned to England.

There would be a larder full of fine food waiting. Every surface would be dusted, every floor swept clean. The house would sparkle for Clara. Already in the nursery stood the perambulator; every spoke of its wheels cleaned and oiled and a little frilly cover laid under its hood.

Over the weeks Ettie had added small personal items to the nursery; a child’s hair brush made of bone and painted with fairy figures, a decent soft flannel that Aggie had sold her on the cheap, and a pair of shoes, each hardly larger than a matchbox, made of soft cloth and little bows. She had knitted bonnets and mittens in some white wool that Mrs Buckle had no use for, and sewn pretty cot blankets from floral material discovered in a cupboard in the kitchen. This, she suspected was a remnant from the curtains hanging in her own room. And the crucifix, all shined and silvery, would protect the baby as it grew into a healthy and happy toddler.

The nursery looked so pretty she knew Clara would approve in every respect.

Ettie’s one disappointment was that no letter of reply had arrived from Lucas. She had written to tell him of her adventure to The Old Lady and of Terence’s help in the matter and the successful conclusion to his request. But the days passed and the end of the month drew near.

‘My guess is,’ said Terence one day as he drank his tea, ‘they’ll turn up on the doorstep. Surprise you. All three of them.’

Ettie hadn’t considered this. ‘But the house might not be ready!’ she exclaimed in panic.

Terence laughed his hearty laugh. ‘Young beauty, there’s not a mote of dust on the shelves or a dull corner. The stove don’t look as if it’s been cooked on. See this table here?’ He gestured to the spotless scrubbed wood. ‘Why, I’m afraid to lean my elbow on it!’

Ettie studied the kitchen. Terence was right. She had cleaned it so many times, there was nothing left to clean. The bedrooms were stocked with fresh linen. She never ate in the dining room, but polished the surfaces weekly. The drawing room was the only space she liked and since the nights were so warm, there had not been a fire in the hearth for months.

‘But the larder, Terence, it’s empty.’

‘Don’t fret, I’ll give you the very best cuts the moment they return. Eggs and butter too.’

‘The journey will be long and arduous,’ Ettie persisted. ‘Perhaps two days, even three or four! Will they bring a maid? Or a nanny for the child?’ This, too, was a new thought. Would Lucas have engaged a person to look after the baby?

‘Now, now,’ said Terence, returning his mug to the table and standing up creakily, ‘all those questions will be answered in good time.’ He slapped on his cap and chuckled. ‘Your employer and his wife will approve of every preparation and the infant will turn everyone’s heads and hearts and poor old Terence will be neglected!’

Ettie jumped to her feet. ‘Terence, I’ll never neglect you.’

‘Nor I you, dear girl.’ Whistling a merry tune, he went off through the backyard.

Ettie watched him go, promising herself that the very first ride she gave to the baby in the perambulator, would be to Terence’s shop, the very best butcher in all of Soho.

The next day, just after she had opened the salon, a carriage arrived outside. Ettie was standing behind the counter when she saw it and reached out to steady herself. For there was Michael, sitting proud on the seat of the damson-red brougham, a crop in one hand and the reins in the other. From the carriage window, the young girl gazed out, prettier than ever, her sweet face framed by pale honey curls and a bonnet of crimson satin.

Michael jumped down and lowered the set of small steps, his smiling, confident face turned towards his passenger.

Here was her Michael, and her heart throbbed at the thought!

What will I do if he comes