Ettie removed the dropper and sniffed the contents. She turned up her nose. The same odour exactly! Was this what Clara was looking for? Did she take this preparation in addition to the contents of the bottle downstairs?
Ettie place it on top of the dressing table. Then, on second thoughts, pushed it out of sight, into a recess of the ornate wood. Was Clara’s dependence on the remedy the cause of her poor health and erratic moods?
It was at the end of the month when Ettie was given her first taste of freedom.
‘Off you go,’ Lucas instructed Ettie one morning. ‘Put on your new cape and bonnet. It’s high time you got out and about.’
‘But Mrs Benjamin isn’t well today, Sir.’ Ettie was worried, for Clara had taken yet another dose of her remedy.
‘Titch! Titch!’ Lucas dismissed. ‘We have visitors arriving. I mean it to be a surprise for Clara. Florence and Thomas are good friends. But they are often abroad and are only home for a month.’
Ettie wanted to say that Clara was too distressed to greet visitors, but her master was eager to have his own way.
‘Shall I leave some refreshment?’ she asked.
‘Yes – yes! A good idea. Cold meat if we have any. And pickles. I do remember that Thomas is partial to pickles. I’ll open a bottle of wine to celebrate.’
Ettie added her own suggestions; cheese and biscuits that she had bought from the market only yesterday and a punnet of strawberries and fresh cream. Preparing the light lunch, she left the table set in the dining room.
‘Wonderful!’ exclaimed Lucas. ‘Now put on your bonnet and cape and enjoy the fresh air. Here is a shilling to buy any items we may need.’
‘Thank you, Sir. What time shall I return?’
‘Oh – seven I think,’ Lucas answered distractedly.
‘Will your friends be dining with you?’
Lucas drew his hand uncertainly through his mop of red hair. ‘I suppose they might.’
‘I’ll be back in time to prepare supper.’ Ettie didn’t want to leave Clara but Lucas gave her little choice.
A short while later, she stepped into Silver Street. Lucas had still not roused his wife. What mood would Clara be in when Florence and Thomas arrived?
Ettie tried to push this from her mind and tucked her purse deep in the folds of her cape. She had witnessed the light fingers of the Soho pickpockets - not that she condemned them. For the children had mostly been guilty of such misdeeds before entering the orphanage. Instead she simply said a prayer to Saint Jude, the saint of impossible cases, asking him to convert all thieves.
As she made her way through the thronging Soho lanes she thought about Michael. What was he doing now? Did he miss her? When she thought of Michael, the pain deepened. Would she ever see him again?
Feeling a need for company, Ettie recalled Gwen’s invitation. So, she hurried on, past the shops and the shadowy doorway where Gino usually stood. He was not there today. Although she no longer feared him, she felt a little relieved he wasn’t there to stop her. Sometimes she smiled politely when she passed him. At other times, he was playing his violin and didn’t even notice her.
Entering the narrow alley beside the theatre she felt the coldness of its shadows. Ettie pulled her cloak close and hurried her pace. Thank goodness she passed no one. For she doubted that two people could squeeze in such a small space. When she stepped into the light, she met a familiar figure.
‘Well, if it isn’t Gwen’s little beauty!’ exclaimed Terence the butcher. He stood in the courtyard that led from the alley, swaying slightly. Though he was dressed in a long coat and top hat, both had seen better days.
Ettie had grown to like Terence. For whenever she bought meat from his shop, he knocked a penny or two off. He always addressed her as ‘Gwen’s little beauty’ and added a friendly wink. ‘So where are you off to?’ he asked congenially.
‘I’m looking for Gwen’s rooms,’ Ettie replied, assuming Terence had just enjoyed his tea with her.
The butcher waved a pudgy finger at one of the terraced houses in the courtyard. ‘Just there m’dear. But – well, perhaps she’s a little busy right now.’
‘Oh, Gwen said I could wait,’ Ettie declared confidently.
Terence puffed out his red cheeks and blew through his lips. ‘In that case, who am I to detain you?’ He gave Ettie a little bow and doffed his hat. ‘I’ll have some nice scrag end on Friday if you pop by, m’dear!’ he called as he entered the alley. ‘Enjoy your tea!’
Ettie watched as he battled his way through the narrow space. Once or twice he got stuck. With a great deal of snorting and pushing, he found his way through.
Ettie walked up to the small, shabby front door the butcher had indicated. The lace curtains in the window were not particularly clean. And the step needed a good whitening. But the door was open a few inches.
Voices drifted from inside. She gave a rap on the brass knocker. The door squeaked open wide. And there stood Gwen. Or rather, there lay Gwen, on a battered looking brown settee, her bare legs dangling over the side. In the middle of them sprawled Gino. Naked as a baby, except for his hat with the red feather, that was dancing in time with his jerky movements.
Chapter 13
Ettie stared at the vision of male nakedness. She had seen the orphanage boys running around in their pants, but never naked. And Gino was certainly not a boy. His lean body and round buttocks rolled from side to side until he sat upright on the rug. Ettie gawped at the inked drawings on his chest; a pair of cherubs riding the back of an elephant whose long trunk curled downwards to his navel.
‘Cover yourself,’ Gwen commanded, drawing on a thin robe that moulded softly to her curves. ‘You will embarrass the poor
