Christmas Child: an absolutely heartbreaking and emotional Victorian romance Carol Rivers (great books for teens .TXT) 📖

in? She considered. Do I smile and greet him? Or do I pretend not to know him? No, I can never do that, she answered herself, not even if he is ashamed to acknowledge me. But why should he be ashamed? another voice demanded. Only the years separate you, not the affection that surely must still be in his heart.

The young girl, all dressed in silks of lilac and deeper purples that swirled in full skirts around her dainty feet, held out her hand to be assisted into the salon.

Her hand was taken – and firmly. Arms brushed, a coy smile here, another there and mischievous eyes yet again held her driver’s gaze in an intimate connection.

Ettie forced her attention away, turning to the shelves and pretended to be busy rearranging the tobaccos. Would he come inside this time? If so, should she acknowledge him and how would she do it? Her, a mere shop assistant, brazenly announcing herself as a friend?

‘Good day,’ interrupted the sweet, articulated voice that Ettie recalled so well. ‘I’ve come to buy your silver snuff miniature with the mother-of-pearl inlay. I hope you have it still?’

Ettie turned, her heart jumping into her throat, or at least, it felt that way as her gaze fell on the young woman whose soft greeting had felt as forceful as the tide of the river rushing in to break over its banks.

‘Yes … yes,’ Ettie heard herself reply, though her voice seemed faint. ‘The snuff miniatures are still for sale.’

‘May I inspect them? Be as quick as you can. I have just a few minutes to spare.’

This new piece of information collided with the movement of the tall figure standing outside on the cobbles. Michael was positioned where he had waited before, his broad shoulders towards her, a perfect line of dark hair just visible under his flat cap. A leather belt was wrapped around his slim waist and the jacket smoothed over his hips to meet his trousers in such a way that he might have pressed his own clothes with a hot iron not two minutes before! But it was his figure beneath, she realized with sudden shock, that caused the uniform to appear so grand, for he had grown in both height and stature it seemed, even from when she had last seen him.

‘I say, did you hear me?’ The girl’s voice, harder now, with a touch of irritation, broke into Ettie’s thoughts and she reached quickly for the box that contained the snuffs.

‘Let me see them open,’ the girl said as Ettie, with trembling fingers, placed them on the counter, slipped the little catches and allowed the lids of each miniature to spring up.

‘Delightful,’ said the girl, removing her gloves and taking one. Ettie thought for a moment she might dip her finger into the perfect oval of powder. But instead she nodded and handed the box to Ettie. ‘Is it the same price as the pipe?’

Ettie nodded.

‘Wrap it as you did before. My brother was pleasantly surprised with his smokes and Mama completely distressed when she discovered my pipe. I argued of course that it couldn’t be smoked and was merely a decoration. But I could see I had aroused her suspicions, which gave me a great fillip.’

Ettie carried the box to a corner of the shop, hardly aware of what she was doing. Out of sight of her customer, she took a sheet of brown paper and ball of string. But her movements were clumsy and she almost cut herself with the scissors.

‘Hurry please,’ called the girl and Ettie glanced back to see a dainty bare knuckle rapping on the window. The sound alerted the driver who turned on his booted heel and gazed in.

‘Michael,’ Ettie whispered as though her lips spoke of their own will. ‘Michael ?’

But his attention was fully on the girl as she pressed her face, smiling, close to the glass. The moment seemed to linger and grow like an invisible thread between them and it took all of Ettie’s willpower not to cry aloud from the pain that seared into her chest. It clamped around her breastbone like a vice and penetrated to the core of her being.

‘Michael …’ she half called, unable to restrain herself. ‘It’s me, Ettie …’

The girl turned in alarm as though she herself had been summoned. ‘What was that?’

‘Nothing. I … I am just coming,’ Ettie blurted, fumbling to tie the ends of the string.

‘I can wait no longer,’ decided the girl, plainly annoyed, and she sped across the floor to where Ettie stood. ‘Here is your money.’ She pushed the coins into Ettie’s hand, snatching the box with the other.

Before Ettie could reply, her customer had whisked away, opening the door of the salon and departing under the protective gaze of her driver.

By the time Ettie reached the window, Michael was swinging himself high onto the seat of the damson-red brougham and settled there, lifting the reins.

The carriage was already moving away when Ettie’s palm reached the same inch on the window that the girl’s knuckle had touched. Her cry, though, was more pitiful than her own ears could possibly bear for it was of anguish, and desperation, and regret she had not been quicker, all mixed.

‘Michael! Michael, it’s me, Ettie!’

But even when she called again, this time from the street outside, the carriage was almost out of sight. Only the tip of the crop was visible as Michael drove away.

Chapter 37

It was the last day of August and much to her dismay, Ettie still found herself thinking of Michael. It was clear he had done well for himself, although his beginnings were as humble as her own. Yet the young woman in whose service he now found himself, must come from an aristocratic family, most likely owners of vast estates. Did they approve of their daughter’s friendship with a commoner?

Instantly Ettie berated herself for this unjust thought. The nuns had taught her to believe that love and affection