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

repay him somehow. Arthur too, and his little imps. And if ever she saw Mary and Jim again, she would hold no bitterness in her heart, but embrace them as old friends.

Ettie gave a deep sigh, for she knew that she must not dwell on the past. She was trying hard, as Terence had advised her, to start afresh. She knew that was why he had given her the diary, a symbol of the future.

The voices came closer.

The air stilled around her.

Ettie’s heart began to beat hard under her ribs, though she did not know why. A little tremble began in her bandaged fingers. She sat forward, straining her ears to listen.

The fire seemed to leap into life just as the door opened. Terence stood there, his eyes full of good cheer – and something else. It was as if he had been waiting … and at last he could tell her. But what?

A tall figure dressed in a dark overcoat, followed. A head taller than Terence, snowflakes has settled on his short dark hair and dotted the length of his broad shoulders. The soft grey pools of his gaze brought a wave of love so intense she could barely breathe. All the pictures of Michael as she had known him, rushed into her head. But she had no need of memories now. For Michael was standing before her, as familiar and handsome in the flesh, as he had been in her dreams.

Epilogue

Six days later

It was Ettie’s first day of walking out since Christmas and she clung tightly to Michael’s arm. Never in her life would she have believed that she might be recovered so fully as to make the short walk to Silver Street. Michael had insisted he bring one of the three carriages he now owned, to make the journey. But she had wanted to use her legs again. With Michael at her side, she had no fear. She glanced up at him now and felt like pinching herself. How had this miracle happened?

A question that would surely have been answered immediately by Sister Patrick, in her rich Irish brogue. Or Mother Superior, or Sister Ukunda, all giving the holy credit to one saint or another, but Ettie knew who she had to thank for Michael’s return to her life. It was her mother Colleen, she was certain. And it was her mother whom she had to thank for the heavenly help that was now leading her to the doorstep she had so feared to tread over.

The snow had melted from Soho’s pathways and left the cobbles to shine beneath a watery sun as Michael guided her gently towards the salon. The market traders were replenishing their stalls, obviously hoping to make a great success of the very last day of the old year. Beggar children played in the dirty gutters, searching for scraps and leftovers from the Christmas jollity. The door was open to the small theatre where once a tall man had stood dressed in a black floppy hat pierced by a red feather. Now the space was occupied by a pair of working girls who slouched against the worn paint, smoking and eyeing the passing trade. The poster of ‘Kiss Me, Miss Carter’ had been replaced by a sign announcing the sale of entertainments to discerning gentlemen.

All this and more reminded Ettie of her life in Soho, but she had never expected to be walking here on Michael’s arm. Dressed warmly in a pretty blue silk bonnet and cape that Mrs Buckle had delighted in making her, Ettie could barely gasp a breath as they turned into Silver Street. For as they drew closer, the sign over the salon no longer announced, ‘Benjamin & Son. Salon of Quality Tobaccos’ but in wide-spaced letters painted in shiny black, ‘Wilson’s Fine Carriages For Hire’.

‘Michael – is that you?’

A grin spread across his face. ’Michael Wilson – of Wilson’s Fine Carriages – that’s me!’

Since Christmas and their first meeting, he had visited her every day, promising such a surprise. Not only had they talked for hours, but discussed every moment they had been apart, until the day Terence and Mrs Butler had hailed his cab in the city.

Ettie stared through the window, where the blinds had been removed to allow daylight to flow into the interior that was painted entirely in white. Four sturdy gas lamps reflected their pristine newness.

‘What do you think?’ Michael asked. ‘This will be the office where we’ll take the orders. At the back I’ve built a lean-to for the carriages. I bought three of ‘em second-hand, and did them up. Made a few bob so far. I’m gonna buy another one in spring, a Victoria. Popular they are, open traps – all leather, cloth, and sometimes corduroy. I’ve got plans for the future, Ettie, and you are part of them.’

‘Do you remember standing there?’ Ettie said, nodding to the very spot outside the salon door. ‘Twice you came to the salon and twice you disappeared. Until I saw you again in Hyde Park when I nearly stepped under your carriage.’

‘My cab had been hired for the celebrations by a couple of ladies. I remember having to swerve, but I didn’t know it was you. You couldn’t have thought I did?’

‘When I saw your pretty passengers …’

He tightened his hand around her waist. ‘I told you, you were my girl, Ettie. It’s never been any different.’

‘But I waited for you at the orphanage gates that Christmas. You never came.’

‘I’m sorry I never showed up,’ he said, his expression remorseful. ‘I got my collar felt for being too cocky, thinking I could nick from the market and not get caught. But I learned my lesson and spent six months in the jug. When I got out, I came looking for you.’

‘Did you go to the orphanage?’

He gently took her hand. ‘Come inside. There’s something I must tell you.’

Ettie watched him unlock the salon door. She hesitated. Was she ready to confront the ghosts