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

‘O’Reilly, you have been with us over a month.’

‘Yes, Head.’

‘Did you understand Mrs Powell when she explained your position in this household was to be reviewed?’

Ettie swallowed. ‘Yes, Head.’ Was she to be sent back to the workhouse? Had they found a decent girl to replace her?

‘Mrs Powell finds you satisfactory – for the moment.’

Ettie’s heart galloped. What did this mean?

‘You are to be employed here until further notice.’

Ettie didn’t hear what was said next. Her body filled with joy. Her knees went weak with relief.

‘Did you hear me?’

‘Yes, Head. Thank you, Head.’

‘Observe the rules and you won’t go far wrong.’ Head’s voice softened a little. ‘One thing more.’

Ettie blinked. ‘Yes, Head?’

‘You are sixteen years today, are you not?’

Held-back tears felt like grit in Ettie’s eyes. Head had remembered her birthday! ‘Y … yes, Head,’ she stammered.

‘This is yours. Happy Birthday.’ Head placed a small cloth on her desk.

Hesitantly Ettie picked it up.

‘You are not singled out from the others. All the lower staff are given a new cap to wear on commencement of a position.’

Ettie held the cap against her chest. ‘Thank you – thank you, Head.’

A small smile flickered on the compressed lips. ‘You may go.’

Ettie left the room on wings. She could not believe what had just happened. Had she dreamed it? Standing outside the nursery, she felt the tears finally release. Slowly she went up the stairs to the attic room. A Christmas moon sent slats of welcome light across her bed.

She was not to return to the workhouse!

Was this the place she might finally call home?

Chapter 62

Part Four

A New Era

June 1897

Ettie stood for the very first time under the vaulted ceilings of Chancery House’s drawing room. She had never been inside the main house before and could not believe she was enjoying such a privilege.

All the staff were gathered, lined up beneath the collections of magnificent paintings hung on every wall, studded by smaller gilt-framed artworks. Ettie had never imagined such beauty could be contained in one house. Cook had informed her there were many more rooms where the mahogany woodwork and antique furnishings had been restored to modern-day style by Lord Marsden himself.

The sitting room, she explained, and its inlaid-marble chimney-pieces dated back to the late seventeenth century. But Cook had forgotten to describe the breathtaking hall through which all the servants had just entered. Waxed, stone flags and painted panels gleamed under the light of a chandelier. Great ceramic pots that were taller even than Ettie herself took her breath away.

The wide, red-carpeted regal stairs were embellished with brass fittings. The staircase flowed upwards to the first floor and wound higher. Every wall boasted a work of art or a sculpture. Light beamed from the beautiful recessed windows and a banister of ornate polished wood coiled into the centre of the house.

Ettie had almost missed her footing as she gazed up at the ceilings and their frescos; with figures of plump cherubs and reclining maidens attended by creatures of the forest and little imps. But, with no time to appreciate the marvels, and pushed forward by the retinue, she now found herself in the stately drawing room, crammed with cushioned sofas and chairs that gleamed green, gold and ruby in the morning shafts of sunlight from the long windows.

A sudden clap of hands from Mr Gane, who had positioned himself by the great fireplace, brought everyone’s attention to the moment.

‘You are all to greet Lord and Lady Marsden and the family. So straight backs, please. Hands to your sides and chins up. And, of course, silence as the announcement is made on this auspicious occasion.’

Ettie felt the assembly, including Mary to her left, stand to attention. A few moment’s silence reigned until a door opened at the far end of the room. Lord Marsden entered, a tall man, whom Ettie had glimpsed before from the windows of the nursery. In his early fifties, he was dark-haired with no hint of grey and clean shaven. Below his stiff collar and tie he wore a sporty silk waistcoat and a shorter jacket of striped greys.

Lady Marsden followed, her coiffured golden hair and fresh, youthful skin accentuated by the deep blue of her long gown. Holding the hand of a small boy with a tangle of blond curls, Ettie recognized four-year-old George. Nanny brought up the rear, with three-year-old Amelia, and the children’s governess, a short, fidgety little woman of middle age. Behind her filed Head and Mrs Powell.

Much to Mary’s disapproval, Ettie had become acquainted with George and Amelia. One of the nursemaids had once asked her to hold Amelia as she sat on the rocking horse. With her arms around the cuddly little body, Ettie had laughed and giggled with the child. Brushing the infant’s silky corn-coloured hair from her blue eyes, she had returned to the happy days in the orphanage schoolroom. George, she had found quick to learn. The little boy’s attention rarely strayed from the stories Ettie offered to read to him in between her duties. These stolen moments with the children were the times Ettie loved best of all.

‘Good day,’ said Lord Marsden in a deep and official voice. ‘Thank you for joining Lady Marsden and I this morning.’ He turned to give a polite nod to his wife. ‘I am sure you are all aware of the tremendous importance of the impending celebration.’

The room stirred a little but soon returned to silence as Lord Marsden continued.

‘You may know that Her Majesty, Queen Victoria, has worn the crown longer than any other sovereign in our history. She has made Great Britain the most powerful country on this earth. The British Empire has dominion over more than a quarter of the world’s population.’

Another little ripple went through the room and Ettie strained to hear every word.

‘Our Queen’s Diamond Jubilee will be celebrated on Sunday June 20th. We shall consider this day the beginning of the Festival of the British Empire!’

To