Chapter 11
Ettie had left for the market, making her way through the crowded lanes of Soho, when she came across a small theatre where a tall man dressed all in black stepped in her path. He wore a floppy velvet hat complete with red feather that danced in time with the music he played on his violin. A performance of Kiss Me, Miss Carter was advertised as being shown that night. The poster on the wall showed a woman dressed in her underwear peering from behind a screen. The top-hatted man in front of it had a leer on his face that brought Ettie up short. She had never seen such a thing before.
‘Enchanting girl,’ invited the violinist, ‘are you interested?’
Ettie clutched her basket tightly. ‘No sir, thank you.’
‘Tell me your wish, then,’ came the answer. ‘And I shall grant it.’
Ettie shook her head and tried to dodge him. But he blocked her path.
‘Or perhaps you would like a serenade?’ he persisted, drawing the bow across the strings of the violin. ‘Music is the food of love, is it not?’
Ettie felt a wave of panic. The people going by glanced at her with curiosity. Her cheeks went scarlet. She wished she hadn’t stopped to gawk at the poster. She was just deciding which way to run when a voice called out, ‘Allez nous en, Gino!’
A young woman put an arm around her shoulders. She was dressed in an embroidered shawl and a low-cut blouse over her skirt that showed her brightly coloured petticoats. ‘Forgive my friend. He means no harm. I’m Gwendoline. But everyone in Soho calls me Gwen.’
Ettie was grateful for being steered safely away from Gino. ‘I’m Ettie O’Reilly.’
‘Well, Ettie O’Reilly, pay no attention to Gino. He’s not used to nice girls like you.’ She paused, frowning. ‘And you are a nice girl, aren’t you?’
Ettie had no idea how to answer. She said meekly, ‘I hope so.’
Gwen gave her a curious smile. ‘How old are you?’
‘I shall be fifteen at Christmas.’
‘I would not have put you past twelve. Those innocent brown eyes had me fooled.’ She heaved in a breath, causing her breasts to rise almost to their extreme out of her blouse. ‘A word of warning, Ettie. If you have never been to Soho before, be careful. The men will try to relieve you either of your money or your knickers.’
Embarrassed, Ettie gazed down at her boots.
‘Ah, don’t be shy, little one. Gwen will look after you. Where are you from?’
‘Poplar,’ Ettie explained hesitantly. ‘I’m an orphan and lived with the Sisters of Clemency.’
‘A convent?’ Gwen asked in surprise.
Ettie nodded. ‘But now I work for the tobacconist of Silver Street.’
’Mon dieu!’ Gwen exclaimed. ‘A baby like you in Soho. Those nuns are mad!’
Ettie shook her head firmly. ’My new family is a good one.’
‘Perhaps,’ Gwen shrugged. ‘But Soho can be a dangerous place. Where are you off to?’
‘My employer has an empty larder and I hope to fill it.’
‘Have you any money?’
Ettie was reluctant to open her purse. After all, she didn’t really know this stranger.
‘Don’t worry, I’m not going to rob you,’ laughed Gwen, ‘Keep your money hidden. But you need an honest trader to deal with. Fortunately, I know one. A butcher. I’ll take you to him and see he doesn’t cheat you.’
Ettie was warming to this young woman. Something about her felt safe.
Soon they arrived at a shop where rows of dead rabbits and assorted fowl hung upside down from the blind. The smell of blood-soaked sawdust greeted Ettie's nose. A stout, red-cheeked man in a greasy apron and flat cloth cap put down the cleaver in his hand.
‘What can I do you for, this morning, my lovely?’ he boomed.
‘Terence, this is my friend Ettie O’Reilly,’ said Gwen. ‘Give her the best and cheapest cuts you have.’
‘Oh!’ said the butcher, frowning at Ettie. ‘And why should I do that?’
‘You know very well,’ snapped Gwen. ‘If you want tea with me on Friday then you’ll see she is satisfied.’
’Tea is it now?’ guffawed Terence, patting his fat belly. ’Two sugars will I get?’
’Two or three if you so wish,’ answered Gwen flirtatiously.
‘All the trimmings?’
‘Every one,’ agreed Gwen.
’What can I serve you, young lady?’ Terence addressed Ettie. She was so fascinated by this exchange that she almost forgot what she wanted to buy.
By the time they left the shop Ettie had bought four large brown hens’ eggs, two ounces of lard and six lean rashers of bacon.
‘Terence is trustworthy,’ Gwen advised on the way to Berwick Street. ‘But beware of the traders who give you the biggest smiles.’
Ettie kept close to Gwen as they mingled with the crowds. The market seemed to be much like the one she visited with Sister Ukunda. But Ettie was careful to compare the prices before she purchased the rosy apples and shiny pears, adding a selection of vegetables to the meat in her basket.
The stalls sheltered beneath roofs of canvas stretching across the narrow lane. Marketeers yelled out, offering to knock a penny off here, a half-penny off there. But Ettie was careful. She recalled how Sister Ukunda had bargained with the traders. Eventually she paid a farthing for a sprig of lavender.
‘So you will smell nice for your sweetheart?’ Gwen asked curiously.
Ettie smiled shyly. ‘I don’t have a sweetheart, but Michael is my best friend. We grew up together at the orphanage.’
Gwen seemed eager to know more but Ettie didn’t want to talk about Michael. She pointed to the clothes stall.
‘I wonder if there are any boots for sale?’ There was such a crowd that she couldn’t quite see.
‘Aggie will sell you the services of her husband for a price.’
‘Does he work at the market, too?’ Ettie asked innocently.
Gwen laughed. ‘Didn’t the nuns teach you about the birds and bees?’
‘Sister Patrick taught us about nature,’ Ettie said eagerly. ‘How to tend a garden. And how to scare the crows away.’
‘Crows?’ Gwen said bewilderedly. ‘Non! Les garçons et filles!’
Ettie knew what this meant. ‘Boys and
