Not so Lucas. His bloated features revealed the full ravages of his suffering. Each time Ettie gazed on him, her heart broke again.
It was with Terence’s help that she had dressed him in his best suit before he was removed to the drawing room, where it was said that mourners could visit. Another notice had been hung on the door:
‘Mr Lucas Benjamin has passed away and respects are welcomed. The funeral service is to be at Highgate Chapel, 14th September, at 11 o’clock precisely.’
But there were few visitors. Just Mrs Buckle who dabbed her nose and kissed Ettie’s cheek reverently and Terence, who offered to keep Ettie company throughout. But she had politely refused. Discussing the loss only upset her more.
Her prayers felt repetitive. The habit which had once seemed so essential to her life, now seemed redundant. The God she had begged to spare her family had turned a deaf ear. Even Rose, Lucas’s own mother, had remained aloof.
The great hole that Terence warned her about, had opened up. She fell deep inside and prayers had no power in this endless pit.
The only relief she found was in the nursery. Here she sat in Clara’s chair and recalled the joy that was lost. She saw Clara and the baby boy, his bright blue eyes like his father’s as he snuggled against Clara’s full breasts. She even at times – a little guiltily – imagined holding him in her own arms and soothing him.
Each day she fell into dreaming; this angelic infant became as real to her as the children outside in Silver Street. His features were handsome; a small nose like Clara’s, and Lucas’s toothy smile, an abundance of golden curls and skin as soft and tender as a puppy’s.
She rocked him in her arms, this child of her imagination. Perfectly formed and healthy, with no lesions or scars or deformity, he was perfect in every way.
Perfect …
It was here, the day before the burial service at the Highgate chapel, that Terence discovered her. Having given him a key, he let himself in and out, delivering the choicest cuts and little treats in order to sustain her.
‘My, my, what’s this?’ he asked in surprise as he entered the nursery.
Ettie looked up, disappointed to be disturbed from her reverie. Her hands fell to her lap but she managed a small smile. ‘I didn’t hear you call.’
‘Many times I did,’ he said frowning. ‘Come, young beauty, you shouldn’t be in here all alone.’
‘I like it,’ she replied.
‘You may, but it ain’t healthy. Close this place up now, Ettie.’
‘But the baby …’
‘The baby and its mother and father are not present, my love. This room is as empty as your larder downstairs. Come with Terence now. And let’s fill its shelves.’
Ettie didn’t want to leave. She felt safe, comforted. And that wooden box was downstairs, where a man lay; a man she could not bear to look at, to witness his suffering again.
‘Come now,’ Terence took her arm and hoisted her from the chair. ‘This lamenting will do you no good. Come with old Terence.’
And so Ettie went, though reluctantly.
‘Promise me, that’s the end of that,’ Terence said unusually harshly as he sat her down at the kitchen table. ‘Promise me?’
Ettie bowed her head. She was afraid of the pain that would surely flow into the pit and drown her if she could not sit in the nursery. All the same, she dutifully nodded.
‘We have a matter to discuss,’ said Terence who drew up a chair beside her. ‘I’ve an offer to make you. Though it will take some thinking on from your point of view.’
Ettie did not feel like being made an offer of any sort; her head and heart were still attached to the nursery.
‘You are still very young and have a future ahead of you.’
Ettie looked into the butcher’s steady gaze. ‘I have. Though where it is, I don’t know.’
‘These premises may stay open. They may not. Who do they belong to, I wonder?’
‘I can’t think,’ replied Ettie.
‘I advise you to go through the house, my dear, for there must be papers to alert you as to what might be the outcome.’
‘The outcome of what?’
‘Dare I say it – death. If the business is sold and even if not, you can’t put no reliance on staying here. You do understand my meaning, young beauty?’
Ettie was silent for her mind was clouded.
‘A new home will have to be found; a worthy one that fits your skills, for now, after all this time in business, you have learned many.’
‘As an assistant you mean?’
‘As a livelihood that deserves your attention.’
‘But where will I go, Terence, to find such a home?’
In his usual calm manner, he smiled and raised a finger.
‘Terence has thought it all out. I have a spare room, nothing fancy, nothing frilly. But it’s yours while you decide. There may be a position in the paper. Or a shop in Soho that needs an assistant. You are educated, oh yes! And honest and trustworthy. Why there will be many opportunities I am sure.’
Ettie felt her world slide, as though it was about to topple her yet deeper into the pit. This was where she belonged, the tobacconist’s house on Silver Street.
‘You understand me?’ Terence coaxed gently. ‘A change is in order. And I’ll help you in every way – yes, yes, no need to worry at all.’
But Ettie didn’t feel worried; above all, she felt resentment raise its ugly head and bare its teeth.
‘Good girl,’ Terence praised with fatherly affection. He patted her shoulder as he always did, as if to say there was no problem he couldn’t solve. But Ettie knew deep inside that Terence was part of this new misery. Whenever she looked at him, whenever she thought of the butcher and remembered his kindness, she also thought of her loss.
‘Now,’ he said with a happy finality, ‘I’ve brought some bangers;
