Christmas Child: an absolutely heartbreaking and emotional Victorian romance

by Carol Rivers

‘Happy birthday, sister,’ sang Lily.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Ettie elatedly. She felt light and floaty. Her legs were tingling and her insides were warm with pleasure.

  ‘If Gino was here, he would recite to you,’ Gwen said, a coy smile in her eyes. ‘He thought you were enchanting, Ettie.’

  ‘Did he?’

  ‘A princess,’ added Lily. ‘He was smitten.’

  Ettie blushed deeply.

  ‘Another toast,’ said Gwen, as she filled the tumblers.

  ‘To Gwen’s little beauty and Gino’s princess,’ Lily cried.

  Ettie drank again and Lily snuggled beside her.

  Gwen leant her blonde head on a cushion and kicked off her boots. She swirled the green fairy in her glass. ‘We love you, Ettie O’Reilly.’

  Lily put her tumbler to Ettie’s lips. ‘Drink from mine and I’ll drink from yours. Then we’ll truly be sisters.’

  Ettie looked into Lily’s dark eyes. They were round, deep and very mysterious. In Gwen and Lily’s company she felt truly alive.

  ‘Our little beauty,’ whispered Lily, licking her lips.

  Chapter 23

  ‘The people of France adore the cirque,’ Gwen reminisced hours later as they lay outstretched beside the fire. ‘They come to watch us! Every night after our dancing we drank champagne.’

  Ettie listened in wonder. To her, the life that Lily, Gino and Gwen had led was a fantasy. Once again, she had that floating, dreamy feeling. All her loneliness had disappeared.

  ‘Look, we shall show you!’ Gwen stood up and pulled Lily to her feet. They pushed back the chairs while Ettie curled up on the couch. Gwen clapped her hands and sung a little melody. Lily snatched the ends of her skirt. Twirling round and round, she bounced up and down kicking her legs high. The higher her legs went, the higher the skirt lifted.

  ‘Bravo,’ cried Gwen turning to Ettie. ‘Sing for us, Ettie.’

  ‘But I don’t know any songs.’

  ‘Let the music come from your heart.’ Gwen grasped a tumbler from the mantle and pushed it into Ettie’s hands. ‘The green fairy will help you.’

  Ettie could only remember the hymns and the carols that had once been so much a part of her life at the orphanage. But she knew they wouldn’t do at all, even if she tried to sing them faster. No, they wouldn’t do at all for Gwen and Lily. She took a small drink and with a deep breath she sang a few notes.

  ‘Keep in time with us,’ cried Lily as she waved her skirts in the air.

  Ettie sipped again and this time a song began to flow. It was wordless and formless, but the joy burst tunefully out of her throat. Lily and Gwen threw themselves around the room. Ettie could see the tops of their stockings. Legs were stretched and raised, half-crossed, then uncrossed. Feet kicked and petticoats flounced. In a flurry of cartwheels, Gwen and Lily sank to the floor, their legs stretched wide.

  ‘Our finale,’ cried Lily triumphantly, ‘le grand écart.’

  Ettie was astonished at their suppleness. She applauded fiercely.

  Some more green fairy was poured. More songs were sung and dances danced. The last of the ham and egg pie was enjoyed.

  ‘Let’s play charades,’ said Gwen when the bottle of absinthe was drained. ‘Ettie, you and Lily go first.’

  But Ettie could barely stand. Her head seemed to be going ‘round on her shoulders. Lily rushed to her side and held her.

  ‘Come into the salon,’ whispered Lily. ‘Where Gwen won’t hear us.’

  Ettie shook her head. ‘Mr Benjamin wouldn’t approve ...’

  ‘Come,’ insisted Lily, tickling her ribs and gently pushing her down the passage. ‘No one’s here. Stand behind the counter. You shall be Mr Benjamin. I shall be your customer.’

  Ettie tried to steady herself. She felt as though the floor was moving.

  ‘Now, I should like to buy a cigar,’ boomed Lily, in a deep, masculine voice.

  Ettie shook her head. ‘No, Lily, we mustn’t. Not here, in Lucas’s salon …’

  ‘This one will do,’ interrupted Lily disdainfully. ‘Don’t worry, we are just pretending!’

  Ettie watched as Lily’s deft fingers wiggled under the glass cabinet. Out came a cigar and she slipped it between her lips.

  ‘Disgusting!’ declared Lily, turning up her nose. She threw the cigar on the floor.

  ‘Lily, don’t!’ Ettie cried.

  But Lily reached into the cabinet again. She pulled out the blue velvet and with it, Ettie’s careful display of tobaccos.

  Ettie felt a frightened sob stick in her throat. What was happening?

  ‘That boss of yours is a swindler!’ shouted Lily, stamping on the cloth and crushing the cigars. ‘His tobacco is inferior. I’ll wager he sits all day long and counts his money. And you are his slave Ettie, his willing slave!’

  Ettie tried to tell Lily that she was wrong. How kind and generous Lucas was, how he would never cheat anyone. But the words that came from her mouth were all muddled.

  Lily banged her fist on the counter. ‘Tell the truth, Ettie! You’re free to say what you like now. Admit to being the puppet of a greedy old miser!’ Lily’s face was changing, spite and bitterness darting out of her eyes.

  Ettie’s stomach lurched. She didn’t feel like playing charades any more. Or hearing lies about Lucas. She just wanted Lily and Gwen to leave. Then she could sit down, or even better, lie down. But Lily was behind her, pushing her forcefully towards the big brass till.

  ‘That’s it, that’s it,’ Lily growled. ‘Now open it!’

  Ettie tried to turn away. ‘Lily, no!’ she cried again.

  But Lily wasn’t listening. The till sprang open. Ettie was surprised to see it so full of money. Why hadn’t she remembered to lock it away?

  Suddenly the room spun violently. Ettie’s legs buckled and she fell.

  ‘Foolish little soeur,’ she heard Lily laugh.

  There was someone in the street making a terrible banging, Ettie thought as she woke. A terrible, terrible banging. The pale light at the window told her it was not yet dawn. She tried to get up but the moment she moved, her stomach heaved. Not only did she feel the impulse to vomit, but a vile pain shot through her head. It was an agony so severe she fell back on the pillow. She was afraid to breathe, lest even the passage of air into her lungs should make it worse.

  The banging, she realized, did not come from Silver Street. The pounding was in her brain, as though some part of it had come loose, tumbling from one side to the other. Coupled with the waves of nausea, Ettie knew there was something very wrong. But what was it?

  She tried to remember as she lay there. Why hadn’t she taken off her clothes? Why did she feel so ill? Had she eaten something rotten? Or had she caught a disease?

  Retching violently, she toppled to the floor. Her trembling fingers grabbed the chamber pot. She began arching and gagging above it. A foul liquid spewed up from her throat. The noises she made were like an animal’s. She choked, breathlessly waiting for the next eruption. A hammer attacked her skull. Yet more revolting fluid cascaded up, a fearful green liquid that soiled the white chamber pot.

  Her body trembled. Her nails dug into the rug. Her forehead dripped sweat. Even her toes curled inside her boots.

  Ettie lay on the floor. Her body felt drained of energy. She climbed on the bed again and pulled the cover over her. It didn’t matter that she still had her clothes on. Or that she couldn’t remember what day it was or barely who she was.

  She fell back again into a dark, disturbed sleep.

  When Ettie woke again it was daylight. A delicate sun’s rays spilled across the floor, encircling the shocking sight of the chamber pot. She must still be dreaming!

  She shook her head, trying to clear it. But as she did so, the hammer returned; a persistent drumming in her brain.

  She lay there, impassive, waiting for relief. But it was only after some while that she felt able to move. Stumbling to the window, she lifted the sash. Soho air was not fresh at the best of times with the
rotting vegetables, horse and cattle dung, and blocked drains. But today, any air was welcome.

  Beneath her window, a ragged boy and girl played. They jumped lines made from sticks and pulled each other’s hair. Their shouts joined the hammering in Ettie’s head.

  She put on her apron to hide her dirty smock and carried the chamber pot downstairs. Disposing of its contents in the outside privy, she recalled Gwen’s words.

  ‘The green fairy will help you …’

  But the green fairy had not helped, Ettie reflected miserably. The absinthe had poisoned her.

  Carefully she picked her way across the splinters of Tobacco Dock crates and held her head under the pump. Ice cold water soaked her hair, ran into her eyes and trickled down her throat. She tried to wash away the terrible feeling.

  After forcing down a bowl of porridge, she sat by the drawing room hearth. Memories tumbled back, clearer now. Gwen and Lily’s tap tap at the window. ‘Joyeux Noël,’ Gwen had cried, after which the merrymaking had followed. The dancing and acrobatics as tumblers of green fairy passed from one to another.

  Then the swirling of skirts and petticoats, laughter and gaiety. Ettie saw it all again, as motes of coal dust spun over the untidy, dishevelled room where the ashes were now spilled across the floorboards and Clara’s lovely cushions thrown carelessly on the rug.

  A wave of emotion shuddered through her. She saw the dirty tumblers on the mantel. And yes, the empty bottle of green fairy.

  How could she have allowed this chaos to happen?

  She rested her head back on the chair trying to remember. A few vague images appeared; Lily’s rough hands pushing her along the passage, greedy fingers snatching the cigars from inside the glass cabinet. Lily’s voice becoming cold and harsh. Her taunting laughter at Lucas’s expense.

  Ettie sat bolt upright. ‘The velvet blue cloths!’ she cried in horror. ‘Our most expensive cigars!’

  In a wave of cold fear, Ettie recalled Lily’s parting words, ‘Foolish little soeur’.

  Hurrying to the salon, Ettie pulled the blinds. As she had feared, daylight revealed the crumpled blue velvet cloths spread over the floor and the trampled remains of Lucas’s cigars.

  Ettie held in a sob. What had happened to make Lily so angry? As if Ettie herself was the cause of Lily’s unhappiness.

  ‘What did I do to make it so?’ Ettie asked Rose, bending down to scoop up the broken fragments. ‘I thought Lily and Gwen were my friends.’

  There was no response, of course. She collapsed on the stool, looking sadly at the empty glass cabinet; Lucas’s pride and joy. Why had Lily behaved so badly? It was as if she had changed into someone else before Ettie’s eyes.

  It was then that another memory came back. And this, the worst of all. She jumped to her feet and ran over to the big brass till. Faintness overcame her as she saw the empty drawer.

  Yesterday the till had been full of coins and notes folded carefully into the till’s compartments. Not a half penny of the thirty-five shillings remained.

  Another, more terrible thought struck her. The chest behind the wooden panel! Had they discovered it? She hurried across to the shelf and pulling the lever, bent down and took the key from under the floorboard. Inside the cast iron chest, she found all the bags of money she had stored since Lucas had gone away.

  Ettie couldn’t cry with relief although she dearly wanted to. What if, in her altered state of mind, she had given away her secret to Gwen and Lily? The consequences were too terrible to think about. Lily and Gwen had not come to celebrate her birthday. Or to bring her good things to eat, or to dance and sing with her as though they were true friends.

  They had used the green fairy against her.

  A painful sob lodged in her chest. Not only had Gwen and Lily betrayed her trust, but thieved from Lucas, too.

  Chapter 24

  Part Two

  Reunited

  March 1896

  Davos, February 19th

  ‘My dear Ettie, thank you for your letter of the 27th January. To hear that all is well at the salon is a great relief. I congratulate and applaud you. Though perhaps you could have told me a little more, a few details to relish? However, this is just a minor point. Especially in the light of what has transpired in Switzerland. Wonderful news! The medical test has been passed! Clara’s blood is now healthy, rid of the opium and running through her veins without hinder. The substitute medicine has ceased. The kind nurses have ministered to Clara in every good way possible. Hence, she has put on a little weight and the milk diet has achieved a good, clear pallor. But before today, I could not have told you she had wholly improved in mind. I feared that despite the positive physical result she might remain depressed. The sanatoria physician, Professor Ruegg, assured me he would do his utmost to resolve her condition. But I saw that he, too, was a little dismayed. Clara’s moods had settled, but in a low way. Her counselling was tricky, to say the least. I have spent many hours with my dear wife under the shadow of the truly magnificent mountains. We have watched the sporting types in their gay attire and the climbing types, full of bravado. The rich and famous who arrive incognito, only to tire of not being recognized and adored and so reveal themselves on the slopes, with champagne and strawberries aplenty.

  Davos has truly been an eye-opener. But my thoughts are mainly on my darling wife. I have come to investigate every sigh, every little nuance as I study her, hoping for improvement. So dear Ettie, can you imagine this scene just a few days ago? I was reading the English column of the Swiss paper, in particular, an article detailing our sovereign Queen’s Diamond Jubilee next year, when lo and behold, Professor Ruegg, a moustachioed man in his late fifties, and of a sombre bearing, appeared at Clara’s bedside after breakfast. “Good day to you, sir,” he says to me in his impeccable English! To Clara, he is almost exuberant! The man paces a few steps, then lets off the firework. And, the expression on Clara’s face is so totally unfamiliar that I hardly recognize her! For the rest of the day, Clara and I are dumfounded, overjoyed, elated, ecstatic, there’s no words to describe! For Ettie, my dear, dear Ettie, we are to have a child! After our years of disappointment, your benevolent God, the God you have such faith in, has blessed us. Dr Ruegg has agreed that Clara’s confinement will be conducted, as an exception, here at the sanatoria. An arduous journey back to England would not be advisable. Naturally, we shall extend our stay. Ettie, my pen trembles as I write … in the hopes that you will see your way to remaining my salon assistant until then? As faithfully and hopefully as ever, Lucas Benjamin.’

  Ettie gulped a deep breath. She glanced up from the letter – which she knew almost by heart since it had arrived two days ago – and into the cheerful, bewhiskered face of Terence the butcher. What would she have done without his presence in her life since Christmas, Ettie wondered?

  Terence sat in the kitchen in his usual chair by the stove. Here, during a half hour’s break from his butchery, he enjoyed Ettie’s freshly baked fruit cake and warmed his hands by the stove. She filled their cups with a rich, dark brew and added a little milk.

  This was the highlight of her week, when Terence brought her a small, lean chop or leg of fowl or even a little stewing beef. It was Terence who had called at the salon two days after Christmas and discovered Ettie in a severely distressed state. It was Terence who had promised her that life would eventually return to normal.

  ‘Good news indeed, m’dear, wouldn’t you say?’ the butcher observed.

  Although Ettie was cheered by Lucas’s announcement, the shadow of Christmas still hung heavily over her.

  ‘You brought the couple good luck, m’dear.’

  ‘And lost them almost a fortune,’ declared Ettie woefully. ‘I was ashamed to write to Mr Benjamin. I couldn’t say what happened in a letter. I’ve decided to wait until the family comes home. I might even be dismissed.’

  ‘Come now, dear girl,’ objected Terence, ‘the world’s not at an end. You won’t be the first to be twisted, nor will you be the last
. Just imagine if they’d pinched something you couldn’t replace? Like a personal treasure. Or maybe a silver hairbrush or box of jewellery.’

  ‘I packed Mrs Benjamin’s personal belongings in her trunk. There was nothing left here of value.’ Ettie didn’t mention the heavy chest behind the wood panel. Though Terence was a kind and considerate man, she now realized it was dangerous to trust anyone.

  ‘Good, good,’ nodded Terence approvingly. ‘Grateful for small mercies, eh what?’

  ‘If only I hadn’t drunk the green fairy.’

  ‘I’d agree your first testing lesson has come early in life. But it’s one you won’t easily repeat.’

  ‘I’ll never drink again, Terence.’

  ‘Aye, aye, nor will you.’

  ‘And I’ll repay every penny of the debt.’ Ettie was determined to forego her wage in order to replace what had been stolen.

  ‘Good going m’dear. Though the crime should have been reported to the coppers.’

  Ettie had considered this course of action. But Gwen and Lily had disappeared into thin air. She had no evidence at all of the crime. And suppose the police called Lucas back from Switzerland? What would happen then?

  She had been done over good and proper – in Terence’s words. For he too, had been done over.

  ‘They ran up a chit as long as me arm,’ he confessed. ‘Only the best meats, the freshest dairy, the tenderest of cuts. All on the slate. Wolves in sheep’s clothing, young Ettie,’ he said, eyeing her closely. ‘We was fooled. They took advantage, the buggers. Like that young fella who tried it on, sniffing around the salon and making up to you.’

  ‘I should have known,’ Ettie fretted. ‘Why would strangers be so nice to me?’

  ‘Cos you are nice,’ Terence answered heartily. ‘Genuinely, honest. You deserve good friends, course you do. But those two, well they had me fooled. And, a lot of others, I’m betting.’