by Carol Rivers
‘Take care of yourself,’ Michael told her at the convent gates and she watched him walk away with a careless swagger. How long must she wait before they met again?
‘Where have you been, Ettie?’ Sister Patrick was waiting by the chapel when she returned.
‘I went for a walk.’ Ettie hoped that she wouldn’t be questioned but Sister Patrick frowned in a suspicious way.
‘Where did you go?’
‘To Victoria Park.’
‘You’ve never done that alone before, child.’
Ettie felt her skin flush guiltily. Should she reveal her meeting with Michael? But somehow, she just couldn’t.
‘I won’t have Sister Ukunda with me in the city,’ she improvised knowing this explanation would satisfy Sister Patrick.
‘Ah, child, thank God you understand,’ sighed the nun in relief. ‘I feared you’d gone after that naughty boy, Michael Wilson. I know you think highly of him, but sometimes we see only what we want to see. Hear what we want to hear. You are an innocent, Ettie. Remember, put your faith in God not man, as you have been taught.’
Ettie remained silent. Should she admit to the truth? Never before had she told such a lie and the guilt was overwhelming.
‘Your new family is a good one,’ Sister Patrick insisted. ‘You will be happy.’
Ettie wanted to believe her but Michael’s warning was fresh in her mind.
‘Sure, Ettie, the bishop will visit at Christmas to hear the orphans’ confessions. Let’s pray together and ask Our Lord to help us all in the coming days.’
Ettie knelt beside Sister Patrick in the chapel. The smell of incense hung in the air from the benediction that had been performed earlier. A pale mist swirled in the shadows and the candles glowed.
But she felt no magical sense of mystery, or stirring of love for her faith. The gold-framed pictures on the walls and the statue of the Blessed Virgin no longer filled her with enchantment.
What will become of the orphans? Ettie worried silently. The bishop will come to sit inside his confessional box. He will draw aside the curtain to hear each orphan’s confession. But how could the children have sinned? As God’s little ones, they were innocents. They had done no harm. Yet the bishop would bid them say five Hail Marys as penance for the sins they had committed. Was this punishment justified?
Ettie felt as if her head was exploding. Never having questioned her faith before, now she questioned everything.
Chapter 7
The new year began cold and frosty; every day Ettie waited at the convent gates. Had Michael forgotten her? Only the deliveries arrived and they were few and far between. She often thought of that day in Victoria Park. Did she regret not going with him? But the orphans came first.
‘We want to stay together,’ they repeated every day.
‘Have faith,’ Sister Patrick told them. ‘God works in wondrous ways.’
But Johnny Dean wasn’t saved. He was the first to disappear. Early one morning he was taken from the boys’ dormitory. The next day, three of the younger girls went. When Ettie asked what had happened to them, Sister Patrick repeated her mantra. ’Don’t fret. They will be well looked after.’
On a windswept afternoon in early March, a donkey cart pulled up in the drive.
Mother Superior called a meeting. She sent six of the children to wash their faces and comb their hair. They were provided with a fresh change of clothes before being told to wait at the convent doors.
There had been no words of comfort from the bishop. Mother Superior stood with a severe expression, but Ettie saw that her eyes were filled with deep regret.
‘Children, you must obey your new employer. The farmer will look after you if you work hard.’
Sister Patrick’s face was pale; she couldn’t hide her suffering as she whispered, ‘Ettie, bid farewell to the children.’
The parting was heartbreaking. Kathy clung to Ettie who did not know how to comfort her. The farmer pulled her away and pushed them all roughly into his cart like animals. Without a word of reassurance for his tiny passengers he jumped up to his seat and whipped the donkey’s backside.
Ettie watched until the cart moved away. Kathy’s little face was wet with terrified tears.
Ettie could not look at Sister Patrick or Mother Superior. They would see her anger. This heartless employer showed no signs of interest in the children. She knew they would not be happy.
Ettie was unaccustomed to being angry. She ran to the dormitory and sat looking at Kathy’s empty bed. The nuns had already removed the blankets and pillows. Only two bed were left made up, hers and Megan and Amy’s. She knew this was the end of their time at the orphanage. They, too, would soon be disposed of like cattle.
The next day, Sister Patrick woke Ettie at dawn. ‘Child, prepare yourself.’
‘Am I to leave now?’
Sister Patrick nodded. ‘Come to the dining room.’
Ettie obeyed. A desperation filled her as she dressed. When she was ready, she looked one last time around the room she knew she would never see again. Then she went to Megan and Amy whose little faces poked up from the blanket. Bending down, she kissed each forehead tenderly. There was nothing she could do to save them now.
There were only ashes in the hearth and the snow was slipping through the broken windows of the dining room and dotting the stone flags beneath. Sister Patrick looked very old, her shoulders slumped under the folds of her habit which hung from her as if there were no bones left to cover.
‘Sure, this is goodbye my darlin’ girl,’ she said in a broken voice. ‘Remember I love you. Your mother Colleen O’Reilly loves you, and Jesus loves you.’
Ettie choked back her tears.
‘Don’t be going all teary on me, child,’ admonished the nun. ‘We must do as the Good Lord tells us.’
Even if it hurts people? wondered Ettie sadly. Even if it breaks people’s hearts? But these were useless questions for she knew the answer. ‘God asks us for sacrifice and it must be given willingly.’
‘Work hard, be diligent and pray,’ echoed Sister Patrick. ‘Himself will reward you.’
Ettie knew the nun was letting her down gently. For she understood, as the nun also understood, that this was the end of their time together.
Mother Superior and Sister Ukunda came to join them. Ettie saw Mother Superior’s true emotions for the first time. Her tall, upright body was bent. She did not reach out, but kept her hands inside the folds of her sleeves to hide their trembling.
‘God go with you, my child.’ Mother Superior’s eyes were bright with a shine.
‘May He bless you and keep you safe,’ murmured Sister Ukunda, pulling out her hanky and blowing her bulbous red nose.
‘Your ride is waiting, darlin’ girl,’ murmured Sister Patrick as she embraced Ettie. ’Sure, it’s just the gardener’s rickety old cart, but Arthur knows his way to the city.’
Ettie looked one last time at the nuns. They were all the family she had ever had. Now she was losing them as she’d lost the children; all innocent victims of the bishop’s cruel directive.
‘Up you go lass,’ said Arthur as he unlatched the back of his dog cart with gnarled fingers. His silver hair gleamed in the pale sunshine as he pulled his cap on his head. ‘I’m glad to see you dressed warmly. The air is still bitter.’
Ettie sat clutching her cloth bag on the worn wooden seat. Her only possessions were her well-worn bible and rosary beads. After fourteen years of life at the convent she was saying goodbye to her family.
What would she do without the nuns and the orphans?
With a muffled groan, Arthur climbed slowly to the dicky seat and clucked his tongue. ‘Giddy-up gal!’
Ettie hugged her shawl to her as the old nag pulled them through the convent gates. The big wooden wheels of the dog cart ground squeakily along. Ettie was lost in her worries. Her life would seem empty without the children to care for. Would she be a welcome addition to this new household?
The prospect was dau
nting. Tears were still very close. Yet she knew that she was more fortunate than the other children and should be grateful. She couldn’t stop thinking about the farmer who had come for his labourers. The heart-rending sobbing of the orphans still rang in her ears.
Ettie tried to pray. But the hurt was too raw inside her. After a while, her thoughts began to settle. For what was the use of all this worrying? She could do no more for the orphans.
When she looked up, they were passing through a bustling market. Tradesmen and shoppers stood bargaining over their purchases. Flower sellers waited on corners and barrow boys pushed carts piled high with fruit and vegetables. It reminded her of the market she went to with Sister Ukunda. Her eyes searched the crowds in hope. But of course, there was no tiny plump figure wearing a black habit. Those days were over, she reminded herself painfully.
A few minutes later the cart turned into a long street. Tall buildings rose either side of the Commercial Road and men in bowler hats and caps rushed in and out of the establishments. Ettie found herself reading the names above the doors; ‘Taylor and Sons, Accountants. Brenner, Howarth and Brenner, Solicitors. Millers Wholesale, Importers and Exporters. Peak and Dulwich, Surveyors.’ A large black carriage and a pair of fine horses emerged from an alley. On the side of the carriage, was written, ‘Smythe and Enderby, Funeral Directors of the Highest Repute.’ After this came another imposing horse-drawn vehicle. ‘Coaches and Charabancs for Hire.’
Sister Patrick had told her that London boasted a commercial empire. Ettie decided it must certainly be true.
Soon a majestic sight rose in the distance. Its grey walls and turrets loomed powerfully on the horizon. With a rush of heartbeats, Ettie recognized this sight immediately.
They had arrived at the Tower of London! This was the fortress-like prison that she had read about so often in the convent library books. It was here that traitors and prisoners of the realm were incarcerated, waiting for trial or even executed without one. Names such as Sir Thomas Moore sprang to mind; a brave Catholic martyr, tried and put to death for treason. Anne Boleyn, the second wife of Henry Vlll, was beheaded after being found guilty of adultery and witchcraft. And, Guido Fawkes; an adventurous young man who left Britain to fight for Spain. On his return he had hatched a plot to blow up the Houses of Parliament. His plan failed and he was executed for his crime. Ettie shivered, wondering what it could have been like to end your life here?
She had barely caught her breath when London’s cathedral of politics, the Palace of Westminster appeared. Sitting squarely on the banks of the River Thames on the far side of the River Thames, its spires gleamed in the sunshine. Big Ben’s clock face seemed to smile out over the city and welcome all visitors.
The cart clattered along the Embankment, passing a slender obelisk. This monument was, she remembered, a replica of Cleopatra’s Needle, created at the behest of an Egyptian pharaoh and transported all the way from Alexandria to London. It was said that a hidden time capsule had been locked in its pedestal. Sister Patrick had taught the orphans that among other precious relics, Queen Victoria had provided a portrait of herself to be included in the container.
Following the queues of horse-drawn vehicles, they passed the gaily painted steamers docked at the river’s curve. Tourists flocked around them, eager to board. Ettie wondered if she would ever have the opportunity to travel on water. For the first time in her life, she felt part of something very large and important. No longer hidden away in the safe haven of the convent, she was now in the real world where there was energy, life and colour. It was also, she reflected cautiously, the world that Michael had warned her about.
The old man drove them away from the river as the sun burst through the clouds. Its rays melted away the last traces of snow. The streets became polished, as though swept by a giant duster. Windows gleamed. Roofs shone. Ettie marvelled at this historic city. London was full of splendour and majesty; Sister Patrick’s words had come true.
Soon they were passing down a busy main street, where open-top trams and buses mingled with sedate, shiny carriages drawn by teams of powerful but obedient horses. Uniformed men opened the doors for fashionably dressed ladies and gentlemen.
Ettie stared into the array of glass windows of Oxford Street; dozens of select, modern shops displaying their goods. Finally, they arrived at a line of trees stretching as far as she could see. This, she reflected from her studies, must be Hyde Park and the famous monument of Marble Arch. She had read that it was here that wealthy Londoners exercised their dogs and horses. She had read of Rotten Row, of Speakers’ Corner and the rippling waters of the Serpentine. She had imagined them all in her mind. Now she was viewing them in reality.
A few minutes later they drew level to the most magnificent sight of them all. Buckingham Palace lay sparkling in the sunshine, guarded by red-coated sentries wearing tall black hats. Beyond the ornate iron railings stood buildings with graceful balconies, surrounded by wide courtyards. Sleek, groomed horses pranced elegantly along with their uniformed riders. The public queued to peer through the railings; and a kind of hush came over the scene.
Ettie stared, enthralled. Sister Patrick had told the children that by September, Queen Victoria would be the longest-reigning monarch in Britain’s history. Her palace was a sight that Ettie knew she would never forget.
Chapter 8
Soon the grand spectacle was far behind them. Ettie held fast to the sides of the cart as Arthur urged the horse on. Now they were entering the wide streets of London’s stately Georgian houses. What wealth these people must have to live in such luxury; row upon row of luxurious mansions with white stucco exteriors, shallow roofs and sash windows. Front doors boasting fans of coloured glass and below them, black-painted railings standing proudly along the pavements.
Hansom cabs pulled tight to the kerbs, allowing their passengers to exit. Dressed in their silk bonnets and full skirts, the women looked very refined. The men wore top hats and smart overcoats buttoned down to the waist. Some carried gloves and canes. Ettie was transfixed by these wealthy residents of the city. She had never witnessed such opulence before.
After a while the beautiful city faded behind them. The district became shabbier and the pavements filled with traders hawking their wares. The street cleaners and lamplighters trudged wearily along, shouting above the noise of the carts and horse-drawn vehicles. Heavy loaded wagons trundled through the remnants of slush and rubbish that grew into great stinking piles.
Ettie searched for the sunshine that had welcomed her to the city. Now all she could see were shadows masking rows of neglected buildings.
It was not long before she glimpsed the name of Broad Street. Here the lanes were bordered by crumbling terraces and gloomy alleys. Women with painted faces, leaned against the dirty walls, like broken, painted rag dolls.
Ettie recalled reading of the cholera epidemic which had started in Broad Street, Soho. The disease had killed a multitude less than fifty years previously.
The cart swayed and bumped on past the slums, each row so dingy and dilapidated that Ettie couldn’t tell them apart. Over the cobbles and side roads the nag plodded until they entered a narrow lane called Silver Street. Here there were more shabby shops and drinking houses. Ettie shivered again remembering the East End taverns she had passed in the company of Sister Ukunda on the way to the market. The nun always instructed her to avoid the eyes of the drunken men loitering outside. She had done as she was told and thought nothing of it, then. But Sister Ukunda was no longer her companion. Why would they have come to Soho, if it wasn’t to be their destination?
Her suspicions were confirmed as the cart pulled up outside a shop with a weather-board frontage and two large windows beneath, over which a smoke-stained awning hung. The shop’s exterior was faded and scuffed, but a sign announced in bold green and gold letters, ‘Benjamin & Son. Salon of Quality Tobaccos.’
But Ettie thought the premises did not look quality at all, but drab and dreary in comparison to the spl
endid sights she had witnessed today. ‘Benjamin & Son. Salon of Quality Tobaccos’ came as a bitter disappointment.
‘Good afternoon,’ said a man as Ettie climbed down from the cart. ‘You must be Miss Henrietta O’Reilly.’
‘Yes, sir, I am.’
‘I trust your journey was comfortable?’
‘Yes, sir, thank you.’
‘You have no valise, Miss O’Reilly?’
Having turned fourteen at Christmas, Ettie had never been addressed as “Miss” before.
‘No sir. And the nuns called me Ettie.’
‘Then I shall too, Ettie.’
Her cheeks reddened as she looked up at the young man with wiry sandy-coloured hair and very blue eyes. He wore a stiff wing collar and silk cravat with silver pin. Though the shop he had stepped from looked dark and uninviting, his smile was warm and friendly. From under his jacket he took out a silver fob watch attached to a chain on his waistcoat.
‘The cab made good time from Poplar, I see.’
Ettie had no idea of the hour, but she returned his smile.
‘I am Lucas Benjamin and am very pleased to meet you. Welcome to my salon, Ettie; a rather pompous title for a tobacconist, but it was conceived by my father and goes some way to explaining its use. Like the salons of Paris, both tobacco and trivia are enjoyed by our customers during their visit here.’
He indicated the way in and Ettie turned to thank Arthur. But he was already urging the pony onwards as the clink of hooves chimed over the cobbles.
Ettie entered the gas-lit salon, finding it far larger than it looked from outside. Ornate lamps shone down upon the many shelves overflowing with jars of tobacco, pipes and miniatures of snuff. Under the glass cabinets were displays of cigars, cheroots and cigarettes in all shapes and sizes. A heavy, musty aroma hung in the air, but not, Ettie decided, unpleasantly.