by Carol Rivers
From the day Ettie had arrived, she had fallen foul of the Matron, who had been only too eager to make her life impossible. The very next morning, Matron had marched her into the yard.
‘Your work is down there,’ she had instructed, pointing to a wooden grate in the cobbles. ‘Don’t come up until I call you!’
The stench that had issued from the hole as she lifted the heavy covering almost made Ettie faint. After climbing down the rickety ladder into the underground tunnels, Ettie had discovered how treacherous a flusher’s work could be. Her job was to break up the piles of London’s sewage as it flowed towards the river. Clogging the main arteries were rats, mice, corpses of dogs, cats and even cattle. But it was the remains of tiny babies and children that were the most distressing. Sometimes it was only a pathetic limb or tiny fingers that made them recognizable.
At first, Ettie had retched and gagged as she pushed the spade to clear the congestion. Her stomach had turned. Her skin had crawled, but over the weeks she resolved to survive all that befell her. She refused to die in this loathsome place.
And therefore, she continued each day, leaving the dormitory in the morning where the women and children slept. She returned at night to eat a paltry supper and join the army of roaches that infested their quarters.
‘Keep yer head down,’ the women always advised her. ‘Make sure you keep out of that bugger’s way,’ they warned. ‘The Master’s a devil that escaped hell. And even Satan himself don’t want him back.’
And so Ettie had avoided the attention of the Master. But at times like this with the smell of death all around her in the tunnels, she almost wished that death would take her, too.
’You’re wanted,’ Matron’s voice suddenly bellowed from above.
Startled, Ettie gazed up. The small ring of daylight from where the summons had come almost blinded her.
‘I’m not finished,’ Ettie called back nervously.
‘The Master wants you. Them’s your orders,’ returned the Matron who unhelpfully dropped the drain’s cover. The light vanished and gloom returned.
Ettie knew she was left with little choice and hung her spade to the ladder’s hook by the Tilley lamp. She grasped the damp rungs, each one more slippery than the last. At the end of the day her fingers were sore and each movement was hazardous. Below her, the giant lumps of fat and excrement floated, grotesque islands of filth bobbing along on a putrid sea. Even a brief dip into the rotting tide would soak her tunic.
Carefully she ascended, leaving behind her prison. What could the Master want? All the women scattered when they saw him and Ettie was no exception.
She paused unsteadily on the top rung. Raising one hand, she pushed on the heavy grate. It refused to give way. Why hadn’t Matron left it open? She knew the answer, though. Nowhere in the workhouse rules did it say that inmates must be treated with care and consideration. Instead, they were thought of as vermin; less than the rats that ran freely in their millions in the tunnels below the streets of the East End.
‘One more push,’ Ettie encouraged herself. Finally, the cover gave way. A world of daylight engulfed her and she gasped in the fresh air. Pulling herself up, she sat on the ledge for a few minutes to recover. She was back in the world of the living.
Across the workhouse yard stood Matron. Her sleeves were rolled up to her nobbly elbows and her fists curled impatiently on her hips. ’Think yourself lucky I filled them pails with water. I only done it as the Master wants you quick. There’s a clean shift on the peg and a pair of drawers. Put ‘em on as fast as you like.’
This news came as another thunderbolt. For new clothes were never issued to inmates. What could the Master want of her so urgently she wondered again?
‘Hurry, don’t dawdle!’ the Matron ordered and marched off.
Ettie hauled herself to her feet and sucked in as much oxygen in as she could.
Padding over to the pails, she hauled them one by one into the wash house. The stink from here was almost as stifling as the sewers. Removing her boots, tunic and underclothes, she scrubbed at her skin but the sewer smell was ingrained in her flesh. With the aid of a threadbare cloth, she dried herself.
The shift was rough and heavy and the new clogs a size too small. At least they were clean. Yet why had she been issued with fresh clothing?
December’s nip was icy in the air as she stepped into the yard. Ettie’s throat tightened. What was about to happen? She had always done her best to avoid the Master. Many times Ettie had considered running away. Other inmates had done so, only to return, half-starved, broken and more desperate than ever.
Common sense prevailed and Ettie made her way to the Master’s office. Only last week she had asked Matron to be transferred to the kitchens. Her request had promptly been denied. But had a vacancy occurred? If only that were so!
Standing outside the Master’s office, her nerve almost failed. She tapped lightly on the door. When no answer came, she tried again.
There was a crash and an angry groan. The door flew open and the swaying figure of the Master appeared. ‘Get in here,’ he slurred.
She stepped warily inside. ‘Yes, Sir?’ she said in a timid voice.
‘You took your time.’ He pushed his hands over his drink-stained waistcoat. A drooling smile flickered across his lips. He was not a tall man but was broad-shouldered and weighty. A hard leather belt encircled his ample girth.
‘I heard you want to work in the kitchens,’ he said in a threatening growl.
Ettie was too frightened to answer. Her mouth opened but the words stuck in her throat.
‘Well, girl? Answer me!’
Ettie nodded. ‘Y … yes, Sir. I do.’
The sweat poured out from under his lank hair and onto his forehead. His thick lips curled as he lifted a fat finger to scratch his stubbled chin.
Ettie was so nervous she could hardly draw breath. Was he going to grant her request?
‘I have been very generous to you,’ he muttered. ‘Do you like your new clothes?’
‘Yes … yes. Thank you.’
‘Our supplies for our inmates are very low.’ He looked over her slowly. ‘Very low indeed. You have been favoured.’
Ettie knew this was untrue. She had seen the well-stocked shelves in the Matron’s cupboards. Still, it would not be wise to disagree.
‘I’ve decided to grant your request, Mistress O’Reilly,’ he said, stepping closer so that she could smell his sour breath. ‘You’ll be a flusher no longer. Instead you will be a workhouse skivvy. You’ll be scrubbing the floors and washing the walls, disinfecting the lavatories, and sweeping the dormitories and passages. And, when you’ve finished that, you’ll help with the potato? peeling, skewering, and cutting and stringing up of the meats.’
Ettie could not believe her good fortune. She was to leave the malodorous underground tunnels and tide of excretion that poured ceaselessly into the River Thames. Any work would be better than that!
‘I am very grateful - ’
‘You are, are you?’
Ettie lowered her eyes, for suddenly she suspected what was in this drunken man’s mind and it terrified her.
‘Did I not put a roof over your head and provide decent employment? Have I not fed and clothed you and given you a comfortable bed to sleep in, where no danger may befall you?’
Ettie forced herself to nod. But how could he imagine that she enjoyed being imprisoned in those stinking tunnels? A decent roof, he said! Had he not witnessed the dormitories in which the inmates lived, running alive with bugs? The rooms were so cold in winter that death came as a relief to the frail and elderly.
‘Then show me your gratitude!’ he shouted.
Ettie shrank back as he reached out. ‘Please, Sir, no!’
‘Slut! Whore! Am I not as deserving as your Soho types?’
‘I am not a …’ Ettie stammered in panic. ‘I ... I was raised by nuns who taught me it was a sin to …’
‘Liar!’ the Master exclaimed, giving her a rough
push. ‘You ungrateful wench! If not for me you would have rotted on the streets. Yet you deny me a little cuddle?’
Ettie wanted to be sick at the thought. All that the other women had told her was true. She tried to move away from his grasp but he barred her path.
‘Stay still,’ he growled, grabbing hold of her arm. She resisted and with a bellow of annoyance he threw her against the wall. The blow sent her flying. ‘Give in to me, slut, or you’ll pay!' He pulled at her clothes, ripping the cheap material until her breasts were exposed.
Ettie fought as hard and long as she could. But even in drink, his strength was overpowering. When she continued to resist, he balled his fist and struck her hard in the belly.
Ettie keeled over, the air forced from her body. Again he struck her and again until, dizzy with pain, she fell to her knees.
‘I’ll teach you a lesson you’ll never forget.’ He was breathless now from the exertion of the blows he had delivered and collapsed on top of her, straddling her between his knees, fumbling to unbutton his trousers.
Chapter 49
‘Give way or you’ll perish,’ he threatened and Ettie’s heart froze. This man was a heartless thug. Fight as she may, with teeth and nails and whatever strength was left to her, he'd do as he promised. Of this she was certain.
But even if she succumbed, would he show mercy? Or, might she end up in the sewer tunnels, rotting and stinking, a lifeless corpse?
‘I beg you, have mercy,’ she croaked.
Another blow silenced her. Recoiling in agony, Ettie stared into the Master's drunken, gloating face. She could barely see his ugly features, for her eye was almost closed.
She recalled the stories she’d been told of the women who had fought him with bravery. Many had perished from their injuries, no match for such a brutal attack.
Is it my turn now? Ettie wondered as she closed her eyes, the one with sight, the other blind in its swollen socket. She had fought all she could. Now it was up to God to save her.
Suddenly the Master's hands were thrusting apart her legs. His curses were vile as he tore away her underclothes.
‘Whore, slag,’ he growled and her skin became a trembling cloak under his touch. What kind of monster was he?
Ettie was filled with silent loathing. But she could not contain her scream as he arched above her. It was both a sound of horror and yet of defiance.
After that scream followed a strangled gasp that was not hers. It came instead from the Master's throat. His face, so violent and moving, became still. Spittle hung suspended from his lips. His cheeks, half hidden by glistening whiskers, sucked in a gasp.
He stared at her with startled eyes. His fingers stilled around his now limp appendage sagging against the ale-stained cloth of his trousers. Swaying back and forth he gurgled and groaned. In spasms he seemed to be, as she watched his blackened fingers quiver up to his throat.
Ettie dared to move, fearing he would rouse and drag her back again. But he seemed not to notice as the unknown devil writhed inside him.
Once more he tried to recover, but the spasm held fast. It flushed his face to purple, spat white foam from his mouth, bulged his eye sockets venomously, arched his back and contorted his expression. With jerks and starts, he fell on his side. Thrashing and floundering, he squirmed on the mucky floor.
Ettie huddled against the wall as the spectacle transfixed her. Suddenly, as if waking from a nightmare, she clutched her clothes and drew them on. With her back to the wall, she moved slowly, not daring to take her eyes from the fitting man.
Escape was within reach. Would the Matron be waiting outside? With shaking fingers, she opened the door. The gloomily lit passage was empty. There was no movement, though she could hear Matron’s voice drifting from far off.
Standing breathless and trembling, she paused. When all was silent, she ran as fast as her feeble legs would carry her, back to her bed in the dormitory, the only place of safety that was left to her.
Chapter 50
Every bone in her body ached. She lay still in the dawn’s early light, trying to control her fear. She wanted to pull the worn blanket over her head and return to that safe place in sleep.
Now that she was awake, she must face the day. She had temporarily escaped the attentions of the Master. The hand of fate had intervened. But the memory of his hands intruding over her body still haunted her. His evil face appeared in her mind, sweat laden and contorted. Yet the Matron had not come in the night to punish her.
‘Wake up, gel,’ a croaky voice whispered. ‘Wake up!’
Ettie pushed back the blanket and saw the bent figure of on old woman standing over her. Rheumy eyes stared out from under her tangle of snow-white hair and her workhouse smock bore many stains and tears.
‘Time to rouse,’ she croaked. ‘You’ve slept late. Everyone else has gone.’
Ettie sat up, her head banging painfully. She gazed round the dormitory. All the female inmates had left for work. ‘Has Matron done her rounds?’
’No, but she’s likely to any minute. And you’ll get a chewing off if she catches you.’
Ettie felt the chill of the morning as she slipped from her bed. She still wore her torn shift, too frightened to remove it last night. Lifting one end of her straw mattress, she pulled out her shawl; it was more holes than wool, but it would cover the bruises.
‘Better get a move on,’ warned the old woman. Hobbling out of the dormitory, she left Ettie to escape the attentions of Matron.
But was she too late? Ettie froze as she heard heavy footsteps coming along the corridor. They came closer, fast and furious. As though the wearer of the studded boots was determined to issue a punishment.
Instead of the Matron, another figure appeared; a sour-looking woman dressed in severe grey robes.
‘O’Reilly!’ she bellowed. ‘What’s this?’
‘I … I was just leaving,’ Ettie stammered. She had never seen this woman before and did not like the look of her.
‘We’ll have none of this laziness,’ snapped the stranger. ‘I am here to enforce new rules and see they are kept.’ She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. ‘How came you by a blackened eye?’
‘A speck blinded me, ma’am.’ Had she been reported after all? Sweat clung to her spine and her heart raced. Was she about to be carted off?
'Are you unfit for work?'
‘No, ma’am. I can see well enough.’
‘Then you have no reason to dawdle. Idleness will not be tolerated in the workhouse.’
Ettie decided the less she said the better.
The angry woman poked Ettie painfully in the shoulder. ‘Get yourself along to the medical room.’
‘Please no!’ Ettie pleaded, fearing the doctor, reputed to be as fearsome as the Master.
‘Do as I tell you or you will be punished.’
Ettie forced her legs to move. They felt as though they might snap in two with the bruises from last night’s attack. Her eyes briefly met the woman’s hard, resolute stare. Though Ettie was terrified at the thought of being sent to the doctor, she knew this hovering bully was waiting to pounce.
The very last thing that she saw as she stumbled away was the smile of satisfaction on the woman’s cruel mouth.
Chapter 51
Ettie stood shivering, expecting the worst. But today the doctor was absent, replaced by a young female orderly.
‘Who give you them bruises?’ the girl demanded.
‘I fell in the tunnels.’
‘Don't look like a fall to me.’
‘I’m fit to work,’ Ettie insisted. ‘The sewers are slippery and I hit my head on the side.’
The orderly pushed a stray lock of dowdy brown hair under her mob cap. ‘I ain’t here to listen to your complaints. Get down on yer knees and stick yer head over that pail. I'm using the carbolic to kill those buggers in yer hair.’
Before Ettie could protest, she was pushed down on the wet floor. The strong smell of the lice-killing disinfectant washed into her nost
rils. The girl's needle-like fingers probed into her scalp.
‘Now finish yerself off,’ panted the girl after her exertions. ‘My back is breaking.’
Ettie raised her arms painfully, trying not to reveal the agony each movement caused. Her thoughts returned to the salon and the pump in the backyard where she had washed her hair, enjoying its gentle flow. On a fine morning, the sun would dip in between the roofs and dry it. She had never thought then that her life with the Benjamins was to end.
‘Hurry!’ the orderly commanded. ‘I ain’t got all day. Dry yerself off and make yerself presentable. There’s others to come after you.’
Ettie wondered who the others were? But before she could ask, the girl pushed a coarse towel into her hands.
Ettie drew her hair over her shoulder and plaited it, relieved at least to have a little more sight in her eye. When she had finished, the girl wore an expression of disapproval.
‘You’re as ready as you’ll ever be, s’pose,’ she huffed.
‘Am I to go before the Master?’
‘The Master?’ the girl repeated in surprise. ‘Ain’t you heard? Early this morning they dragged him 'orf on the back of a cart. Him trussed up like a stuck pig ready for the knacker’s yard and Matron bawlin’ her eyes out beside him. Good riddance to the pair of ‘em, I say.’
Ettie stared in disbelief at the orderly. ‘You mean he was …’
‘Dead as a doornail.’ She stuck her hands on her hips, eyeing Ettie spitefully. ‘But don't get yer hopes up, dearie. A new Master might be twice as bad as the old. And where you’re going might be even worse than here.’
Chapter 52
Ettie stood huddled against the wall of the exercise yard. The news of the Master’s demise had come as a shock. Had he died as a result of the fit after she left his room?
Standing beside her was a thin man with red, bushy hair. He was so thin that his bones stuck out from under his ragged coat. Next to him a young boy scratched at the pus-filled blisters on his face. A hunched and bedraggled woman stood with two little children; their starved features almost skeletal. Beyond this were the lame and aged who shivered violently in the cold December wind.