This news came as another thunderbolt. For new clothes were never issued to inmates. What could the Master want of her so urgently she wondered again?
‘Hurry, don’t dawdle!’ the Matron ordered and marched off.
Ettie hauled herself to her feet and sucked in as much oxygen in as she could.
Padding over to the pails, she hauled them one by one into the wash house. The stink from here was almost as stifling as the sewers. Removing her boots, tunic and underclothes, she scrubbed at her skin but the sewer smell was ingrained in her flesh. With the aid of a threadbare cloth, she dried herself.
The shift was rough and heavy and the new clogs a size too small. At least they were clean. Yet why had she been issued with fresh clothing?
December’s nip was icy in the air as she stepped into the yard. Ettie’s throat tightened. What was about to happen? She had always done her best to avoid the Master. Many times Ettie had considered running away. Other inmates had done so, only to return, half-starved, broken and more desperate than ever.
Common sense prevailed and Ettie made her way to the Master’s office. Only last week she had asked Matron to be transferred to the kitchens. Her request had promptly been denied. But had a vacancy occurred? If only that were so!
Standing outside the Master’s office, her nerve almost failed. She tapped lightly on the door. When no answer came, she tried again.
There was a crash and an angry groan. The door flew open and the swaying figure of the Master appeared. ‘Get in here,’ he slurred.
She stepped warily inside. ‘Yes, Sir?’ she said in a timid voice.
‘You took your time.’ He pushed his hands over his drink-stained waistcoat. A drooling smile flickered across his lips. He was not a tall man but was broad-shouldered and weighty. A hard leather belt encircled his ample girth.
‘I heard you want to work in the kitchens,’ he said in a threatening growl.
Ettie was too frightened to answer. Her mouth opened but the words stuck in her throat.
‘Well, girl? Answer me!’
Ettie nodded. ‘Y … yes, Sir. I do.’
The sweat poured out from under his lank hair and onto his forehead. His thick lips curled as he lifted a fat finger to scratch his stubbled chin.
Ettie was so nervous she could hardly draw breath. Was he going to grant her request?
‘I have been very generous to you,’ he muttered. ‘Do you like your new clothes?’
‘Yes … yes. Thank you.’
‘Our supplies for our inmates are very low.’ He looked over her slowly. ‘Very low indeed. You have been favoured.’
Ettie knew this was untrue. She had seen the well-stocked shelves in the Matron’s cupboards. Still, it would not be wise to disagree.
‘I’ve decided to grant your request, Mistress O’Reilly,’ he said, stepping closer so that she could smell his sour breath. ‘You’ll be a flusher no longer. Instead you will be a workhouse skivvy. You’ll be scrubbing the floors and washing the walls, disinfecting the lavatories, and sweeping the dormitories and passages. And, when you’ve finished that, you’ll help with the potato? peeling, skewering, and cutting and stringing up of the meats.’
Ettie could not believe her good fortune. She was to leave the malodorous underground tunnels and tide of excretion that poured ceaselessly into the River Thames. Any work would be better than that!
‘I am very grateful - ’
‘You are, are you?’
Ettie lowered her eyes, for suddenly she suspected what was in this drunken man’s mind and it terrified her.
‘Did I not put a roof over your head and provide decent employment? Have I not fed and clothed you and given you a comfortable bed to sleep in, where no danger may befall you?’
Ettie forced herself to nod. But how could he imagine that she enjoyed being imprisoned in those stinking tunnels? A decent roof, he said! Had he not witnessed the dormitories in which the inmates lived, running alive with bugs? The rooms were so cold in winter that death came as a relief to the frail and elderly.
‘Then show me your gratitude!’ he shouted.
Ettie shrank back as he reached out. ‘Please, Sir, no!’
‘Slut! Whore! Am I not as deserving as your Soho types?’
‘I am not a …’ Ettie stammered in panic. ‘I ... I was raised by nuns who taught me it was a sin to …’
‘Liar!’ the Master exclaimed, giving her a rough push. ‘You ungrateful wench! If not for me you would have rotted on the streets. Yet you deny me a little cuddle?’
Ettie wanted to be sick at the thought. All that the other women had told her was true. She tried to move away from his grasp but he barred her path.
‘Stay still,’ he growled, grabbing hold of her arm. She resisted and with a bellow of annoyance he threw her against the wall. The blow sent her flying. ‘Give in to me, slut, or you’ll pay!' He pulled at her clothes, ripping the cheap material until her breasts were exposed.
Ettie fought as hard and long as she could. But even in drink, his strength was overpowering. When she continued to resist, he balled his fist and struck her hard in the belly.
Ettie keeled over, the air forced from her body. Again he struck her and again until, dizzy with pain, she fell to her knees.
‘I’ll teach you a lesson you’ll never forget.’ He was breathless now from the exertion of the blows he had delivered and collapsed on top of her, straddling her between his knees, fumbling to unbutton his trousers.
Chapter 49
‘Give way or you’ll perish,’ he threatened and Ettie’s heart froze. This man was a heartless thug. Fight as she may, with teeth and nails and whatever strength was left to her, he'd do as
