Ettie’s mouth watered. The streets were full of tempting food.
The driver drove onwards along the dock roads. The horses' pricked ears twitched and their fat bellies shook and steamed. Their thick manes grew damp and tangled over their nodding heads.
The strong smell of the sweating horses brought back so many memories of Soho. She had often watched the brewery drays plod by the salon, delivering their casks of ale to the taverns. Only the wealthy gentlemen could afford the carriages drawn by fine horses and chauffeured by drivers like Michael, unlike these plodders, whose stained fetlocks and roughly shod hooves grazed the cobbles of London's East End.
Ettie swallowed hard at the thought of the young girl who rode in such a carriage and had visited the salon to purchase a frivolous gift for her twin brother. She had been very beautiful. Ettie had thought long and hard about Michael’s circumstances. It was no surprise perhaps, that a boy from Michael’s background might be impressed by his mistress. Enough to offer her an intimate smile and closeness and perhaps even more as time went by?
Now, as the walls of the docks gave way to the moorings where the boats pulled up from the foreshore, Ettie’s thoughts were interrupted by the sight of the great, flowing River Thames, as slithery as an eel. Weaving under the towering wooden cranes it meandered with quiet grace. Tall ships with their rigging heaved in the wind like beasts of the ancient civilizations she had read of in the convent’s library books. Many vessels lay at anchor, aloof and haughty. Others spewed muck into the flotsam, worn and weary from their travels. Little steamers puffed up stream and others crept between the great ships’ hulls like waterborne ants towards Tower Bridge.
The scene was intoxicating. After her long imprisonment in the tunnels, the wind and the rain seemed to call to her. Up here on dry land, the great river looked magnificent and Ettie yearned to be part of this beautiful world again.
The rain had eased as they entered a long road that turned west and away from the docks. To the east, in a misty haze, stood the ancient dockside cottages of the Isle of Dogs. Ahead she could just see the roofs of the larger, wider-spaced houses belonging to the gentry of Poplar.
Ettie sat quite still, her eyes fixed on the junction in the road that she had last passed when she had taken a carriage from Soho to visit the convent. Now she knew that only charred remains were left. There was something unbelievable about it. All her early life and memories had gone up in smoke.
Ettie shook her head slightly, and was relieved when the young man turned the horse in the other direction. She did not want to be reminded of that barren sight where once the convent and orphanage of the Sisters of Clemency had once stood.
Chapter 54
When the cart pulled up, the young man jumped down and assisted Ettie from her seat.
‘Have we arrived?’ she asked, glancing up at the tall building and the air of affluence that glittered off every clean windowpane.
‘This is Chancery House.’ He nodded to a wooden gate. ‘Follow me.’
Ettie had imagined they would be entering the drive of a large estate, tucked somewhere deep in the heart of the countryside. But Chancery House was a townhouse and at least five floors in height, with attic gables at the very top. The sight was impressive as though the house may have been transported from another era with its Regency styled windows and soft, pale brick.
Ettie gathered her skirts and followed the young man inside. Here a beautiful garden was filled with neatly tended borders, small trees and plants. The winding path led to an extension off the main building and once through its door, Ettie could see many pairs of boots, riding jackets and hats hanging from pegs.
‘All staff use this entrance,’ the driver told her. ‘The family and their carriages pull up at the front of the house on Poplar Park Row. Leave your footwear on the flags and put on your house shoes.’
Ettie stared at him. ‘I haven’t got any.’
‘Then you’ll have to go barefoot.’ He marched off, clucking his tongue. His boots, which he did not remove, snapped on the floor.
Ettie tucked her clogs neatly under the shelves and followed him. At the end of the passage, a young girl stood waiting. Ettie guessed she was about the same age as herself. Her pretty face was spoiled by a rather unfriendly expression. Her frizzy brown hair poked out untidily from her mob cap but her large, dark eyes softened when she saw the driver.
‘I was wondering when you’d turn up,’ she called. ‘Mrs Powell wants to see her right away. Where’s her trunk?’
‘There is none,’ replied the driver, looking a little awkward. ‘See you tonight?’
‘P’raps. If Cook doesn’t want me.’
This conversation took place as though Ettie wasn’t there and the young man hurried off without a word more.
‘Me name’s Mary. I’m the scullery maid,’ announced the girl, ushering Ettie in. ‘Don’t you have no luggage at all?’
Ettie held up her cloth bag. ‘Just this.’
‘Who gave you that shiner?’
‘I tripped,’ Ettie replied, keeping the lie short.
‘Looks like someone walloped you.’
Mary beckoned her towards a pitcher that stood on a table by the door. Taking a rag from her apron pocket, she dipped it into the pitcher. ‘You’d better get clean. Tidy your hair an’ all so you look half decent.’
Ettie pressed the rag against her tender eye as Mary’s footsteps faded away. Dipping the rag into the pitcher, Ettie found that, after several applications of the cool water, she could see clearly. Pressing the loose wisps of her hair into the bun at the back of her neck, she waited for the maid.
’S'pose that will do,’ said Mary on her return. ‘Now follow me and we’ll go by the back stairs
