Ettie glanced at the poorly-dressed and starving men, women and children who stood shivering beneath the workhouse walls. Most were sick. Some like her, had received severe beatings. What kind of productive work had this Governor planned for them?
‘Obey your new employers. Disobey and you will find yourselves punished.’
Ettie choked down a sob. Not for herself, but the unfortunate souls in the workhouse who had done nothing to deserve such injustice.
Very soon they were sent through the workhouse gates to the street outside. Here a line of horse-drawn vehicles were waiting. Ettie’s heart raced with fear – or joy – she did not know which. For she had not been outside the gates since entering the workhouse.
She watched in dismay as the red-headed man and the boy were roughly pushed aboard a brewery cart. The mother and her two children were dealt with as unkindly, sent off in the rear of a horse-drawn vehicle. A young, dark-skinned woman and an aged cripple were loaded like sacks upon the back of a refuse wagon. One by one, the others were dispatched in the same fashion.
Ettie was the last to go. Would the work she was to do prove any better than the tunnels? She stood watching the line of carts trundle off. The look on the faces of their passengers made Ettie sad. Each man, woman and child, had been sold into slavery by the new Governor.
A youth jumped down from the remaining wagon. He was dressed in a black, woollen duffle coat and patched working trousers. He tugged his waterman's cap into place over his thick, dark hair.
‘Mistress O’Reilly?’ he demanded as he approached.
‘Yes?’
‘I have orders to collect a full-grown woman, not a child.’
Ettie lifted her chin. ‘I assure you sir, I am sixteen years this Christmas Day.’
He jerked his head towards her swollen eye. ‘And your injury?’
‘I slipped,’ Ettie replied shortly. ‘But I am fit to work and can see perfectly well.’
‘I suppose you will do,' he returned with a shrug, ‘though what my employer will say I don’t know.’
‘Sir, who is your employer?’ Ettie asked boldly.
‘You haven’t been told?’ The young man crooked an eyebrow and answered in a pompous voice. ‘An agreement has been made on your behalf to work as a trial for Sir Albert and Lady Edwina Marsden, of Chancery House, Poplar.’
‘If the work is honest,’ Ettie replied with dignity, ‘then I am pleased to do it.’ It made little difference to her what she did; to be free of the workhouse was a blessing.
Tugging on his cap as if giving himself time to think, he took a deep breath. ‘Well, Mistress O’Reilly, before you accompany me, you should know Lord Marsden’s artisans labour in all weathers, be it sunshine or frost, or downright damnable. Should you be allocated to domestic service in the house, you will find the same exacting standard. In return you shall have three meals each day, clean water to drink and accommodation. Should you disagree with this contract or are displeased in any way, then please say now and I will return you from whence you came.’
Ettie thought these terms very generous and the offer of three meals a day quite unbelievable! ‘How long is this contract for, sir?’
‘I was told for one month. With an amendment. If you are found to be satisfactory, an extension may be granted.’
Ettie’s hesitation was brief. ‘Then I agree to work for your employer.'
‘Good enough,’ he replied sharply.
Ettie had not considered refusal, for what was her alternative? If she returned to the workhouse, she may face investigation over the late Master's demise. A month of freedom would be preferable to the purgatory of the sewers.
He gestured towards the cart. ‘Let us be going, then.’
Ettie walked to the rear in order to climb aboard.
‘You will ride more comfortable alongside me.’ He pointed to the high seat above the shiny rumps of the two black horses.
‘I shall travel quite safely in the back,’ she objected.
‘You may ride there safely perhaps,’ he agreed, ‘but not comfortably. I don't wish to add to your injuries.’
Reluctantly she did as she was told, surprised at the gentle hand he put under her arm.
‘Take this,’ he said as he jumped up beside her and tossed her a blanket. ’Put this about you. A storm is brewing.’
‘I'll do quite well without it,’ Ettie refused proudly.
‘Mistress O’Reilly, I find you quite vexing,’ he grumbled. ‘Are we always to argue about such small matters?’
‘That would depend on the matter.’
A wry smile lifted his lips. ‘Do as I say or I shall get a lecture.’
‘From whom, sir?’
‘Wait until you meet Mrs Powell,’ he said, even more amused. ‘You’ll soon understand my meaning. Now cover yourself or else you will soon be soaked.’
Ettie lay the blanket over her knees. This youth was not entirely displeasing. He was certainly a marked improvement to the staff of the institution from where she had just come.
Chapter 53
Not a word passed between them as they travelled the narrow lanes of Docklands. Sharp darts of rain fell from the sky and blew against her face. Thunder boomed overhead. The wagon splashed through filthy brown puddles and clumps of horse dung. It veered so close to the green, mossy wharf walls of the river that Ettie could've reached out to touch them.
She was full of wonder at the bustling and chaotic world she had not seen for three long months. Even the grime-ridden two-up, two-down dockers' houses bordering the narrow streets looked pleasant. Here, where people lived and walked freely, she breathed the river air, filling her lungs with the salty brine.
She marvelled at the street buskers and the musical language of the shouting costermongers.
‘A penny a pound pears!’
‘Taters for a tanner, Mrs!’
‘Get your Uncle Reg here!’
With dustcart workers and lamplighters, organ grinders and cheeky newsboys, the crowds were lit up starkly by a bolt of lightning. A man with plump, flushed cheeks sold hot chestnuts from his brazier. A fish stall appeared
