Jealousy was a sin. She remembered the Song of Solomon; ‘love is as strong as death and jealousy as fierce as the grave’. Ettie had never understood this before.
But now she did.
Recalling Michael’s strong spirit, she suspected that nothing would stand in his way if he wanted this beautiful girl. And, Ettie knew the girl wanted him. This was what hurt the most. The gestures and little touches. Unspoken words conveyed with the eyes.
Ettie understood it all now. She wished she could call Michael back and say precious words of her own. If only she had decided to approach him, but her pride had stopped her. She had been ashamed of her own lowly status in comparison to the girl’s!
She had other worries, too, for the wholesalers of Tobacco Dock had made no deliveries since June and her supplies were almost exhausted. Ettie had written to them and also to the wine merchant, but neither consignment had appeared.
It was late on a Saturday evening when Ettie was considering ordering a cab to make a visit to both suppliers when a bedraggled figure appeared in the twilight of Silver Street.
It was not unusual, Ettie supposed, to see such a character for Soho was home to beggars and the down-and-outs of all kinds. But there was something about this man who walked with a slight limp, leaning on a staff to support himself. His collar was turned up to his felt hat, and his shoulders hunched under the weight of a dirty knapsack.
Ettie gazed through the window, her eyes narrowed in order to see through the gloom. A vague unease filled her. She was certain she knew this man. Though it was impossible to tell who he was, a familiarity was there.
Quite suddenly he turned towards the salon, striking the staff in the ground. With some visible effort he placed his booted feet apart as if to steady himself. His free hand went up to his face, half covered by his collar and his eyes met Ettie’s.
A cry left her lips. She felt as if her insides had paralysed with shock.
The young man she had once known, was now an old and haggard shadow of his former self.
She ran to the door and thrust it open. ‘Mr Benjamin, is that you?’
There was barely a nod in answer.
Ettie took his arm for it was now quite plain that her employer was in need of assistance. He was so light that Ettie still had doubts this was the happy, boisterous man who had left Silver Street a year ago. A stranger had replaced him; unkempt, unwashed, neglected, with a straggly beard and eyes robbed of their vibrant blue.
But to Ettie the deepest shock was that he was alone. Yet she feared to ask him more as she helped him inside. Glancing up at the portrait of his mother, he heaved a great gasp. Tears filled the unhappy eyes and a cough trembled on his lips.
‘I hung the portrait there to keep me company. I hope you don’t mind?’ Ettie said although she knew he wasn’t listening. The tobacconist of Silver Street was not his old self and instinct told Ettie to say no more. Instead she guided him along the passage to the drawing room where he looked around him as though viewing a long-lost life.
‘Please sit down,’ Ettie urged as she steered him towards the fireside. ‘Here, let me take your bag and staff.’
He offered no resistance and after putting them to one side, Ettie helped him to the chair. He sank down, his head falling forward.
After some minutes, Ettie lifted away his hat and placed it with the staff and bag. How dull and lifeless his once vibrant wiry hair had become! A few thin streaks of the handsome sandy-gold remained, barely disguising the little round pennies of bare scalp.
What was she to do for the best, she wondered? How dearly she wanted to know about Clara and the baby! And to be reassured they were well. But all her questions must wait.
Leaving the exhausted man, she went to the kitchen to steady her nerves. Putting the kettle on to boil, she prepared a bowl and flannel, with a little lavender oil to refresh the skin. But Lucas was fast asleep when she returned and she hadn’t the heart to wake him.
Carefully she lifted his feet to the stool. Removing his holed boots, she disposed of his socks and replaced them with his slippers. Unbuttoning his coat, a sweet and putrid smell came off his skin. Perhaps he hadn’t washed in days?
The next hour she spent in preparing a broth, boiling lean scraps from the rashers of bacon that Terence had served her last week. Several times she returned to the drawing room. On each visit, she found the slumbering man breathing noisily. She propped his head back but it only fell forward again.
By ten o’clock Ettie decided that nothing would wake him, not even the wholesome aromas of the cooked broth. She brought covers from the bedrooms and curled on the other chair, watching the rise and fall of his chest under the blanket.
Midnight arrived and he had turned restlessly, kicking over the stool. Ettie’s thoughts went to Clara. Why had her husband travelled home without her? Perhaps the journey was too difficult for the baby? Yes, that must be it. Yet why should he arrive in such a state? Had there been an accident? Had the carriage overturned somewhere along the route?
Yes, this must be the reason, Ettie decided as her lids closed. It was an explanation that almost satisfied her as she fell asleep.
Chapter 38
She woke as daylight broke through the curtains and lit the room.
Throwing off her cover, she hurried to her employer who was struggling to ease himself from the chair.
‘Mr Benjamin, let me help you.’
‘Am I home, Ettie?’
‘You are home,
