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

descended. Should her employer recover from his fever, his grief would not allow a swift recovery. For his life without Clara and his son would indeed be empty. His suffering would continue, as would hers as she nursed him. The prospect of this huge eruption in their lives, did not bring tears to Ettie’s eyes. For she must keep her senses about her. Even if it was possible to restock the shop and invite the gentlemen again, she could not care for an invalid and conduct a business single-handedly.

There was no doubt in her mind as to her priority and she looked up at Rose whispering a sincere request. ‘Won’t you help your son in his distress?’ she begged of the silent image. ‘He loves you dearly and regrets the terrible injustice you might have encountered in this earthly life. But cruelty has visited him too and I fear for his sanity.’

A few seconds passed and Ettie gathered herself, returning to the bedroom with supper. She tried a few spoonfuls of oatmeal, but his lips compressed as though, even in his derangement, he had no need for nourishment.

She took her position in the chair and kept watch all night, reassuring him when he shouted out and in the early hours of the morning, when the fever intensified.

When the physician called in the afternoon, he had no answer for her questions. The fever was unstoppable, the fires of grief and distress burning through every inch of skin.

The days slipped by and were only relieved by the visits of the physician, who could add little to his diagnosis of ‘brain fever’. This condition, he said, was caused by the shock of his recent bereavements.

In rare moments Ettie found Lucas calmer, but then an explosion of emotion would drive him to sit bolt upright. His stare would fix on the invisible creature that haunted him. ‘Waster! Scoundrel! Gambler!’ This was repeated time and time again.

Ettie pressed him back with as much force as she could but her consoling murmurs offered no solace. He seemed possessed and she feared a calamity. Either he would leap out of bed and injure himself. Or, she would fail to dodge the unnatural strength of his arms.

The bouts of delirium persisted against his father, whom he accused of the most heinous deeds. Lucas’s skin grew flushed and swollen with agitation. By night, he slept in a trembling stupor from which one morning, he did not rouse. Ettie leaned close to listen for his breath, but it came only shallowly. This turn of events frightened her the most and she could barely wait for the physician’s visit.

‘The crisis is coming,’ he warned. ‘I can do no more. Have you a neighbour to call on?’

‘No, sir.’

‘My dear, you cannot stay alone.’

She felt a coldness seep into her. ‘I’ll manage.’

‘How long is it since you’ve slept?’

She gave a disinterested shrug. ‘I can’t remember, sir.’

The physician grasped her shoulder. ‘Does the tobacconist have family or friends?’

She thought of Florence and Thomas, who had not appeared since Clara’s peculiar behaviour. But she neither knew where the couple lived or if they would come, if summoned. She thought, too, of Clara’s admission that she had no brothers or sisters. Ettie knew for certain Lucas had no one. Her employer and his wife had been each other’s only friends and soulmates. ‘No, sir. Just his gentlemen customers.’

‘You must call on someone,’ the physician insisted.

As she sat there, it came to her. ’The butcher, Terence,’ she answered. ‘He takes tea with me each week.’

‘Then I shall leave the rear door unlocked and alert him of your circumstances,’ said the physician kindly.

After he had gone, Ettie pulled the chair close to the bed, for she had no strength in her legs. Reaching for her employer’s hand, she held it tenderly. He was calm now. So calm and quiet that Ettie believed the physician’s diagnosis was wrong.

‘Can you hear me, Sir?’ she whispered, watching intently for a sign. But the swollen lids of his closed eyes did not move. Nor did his lips, so cracked and puffed that she took the wet flannel and bathed them repeatedly.

‘I am here, Sir, beside you,’ she said as she slipped her small fingers around his again. ‘I will not leave you. But I beg you to wake. For life is worth living. Your wife and son are in God’s hands. They are safe and happy at last and would only want the best for you, a dear husband and father, who cared for them with all of his heart …’

Ettie could speak no more for the sadness welling up inside her was too much. With every word she felt bereft as she reached out to comfort her dear friend.

Chapter 41

At half past six that evening, Ettie said her last goodbyes. In the company of Terence, who had not left her side since he had arrived an hour after the physician had called, Ettie regained the use of her legs in order to kiss the fevered cheek that in death, was finally chilled.

‘God rest the poor man and his family,’ Terence said softly, as he slipped the sheet lightly over the tobacconist and took his little friend gently to one side. ‘He’ll meet his maker with dignity,’ he assured Ettie. ‘Imagine his joy when he sees his darlings.’

But even the kind ministrations of the butcher did not help as she tried to picture the little family reunited. She tried very hard. And she knew, that it should be she, not Terence, who possessed the strongest faith. But her feelings were instead an unpleasant anger, just as she had felt at the bishop’s cruel directive. This germ had not gone away after all. Instead, it had festered; the injustice of tragedy! The unreasonable twist of fate! The taking of people she loved. An innocent child she had imagined so often, cooing and smiling in her arms. A family’s future denied. How could this be?

‘Come and sit downstairs,’ Terence urged her,