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
