With a wave of gratitude, she looked at this kind man sitting beside her, a father in all but name.
‘We’ll eat like royalty today,’ he continued and leaned forward to lift the poker into the fire. With a friendly whoosh, the flames spat and sparkled in all directions. ‘I’ll slice the beef so thin it will fall from our knives. The spuds will roast so crisp and crunchy, we’ll be elbowing each other for seconds.’
‘Terence you are too good to me,’ Ettie said, unable to disguise the hitch in her voice. ‘After leaving you as I did …’
‘Now, now. Don’t fret,’ Terence dismissed before she could finish. ‘Is Glad’s shawl to your liking?’
‘It’s beautiful, Terence. Very warm. I hope Gladys would approve.’
‘She’d be tickled pink to see you wearing it.’ Ettie looked down at Terence’s late wife’s fringed shawl that she had borrowed, with its delicate panels of interwoven laces falling over her nightdress. There was even a jewelled pin attached to the scalloped collar.
‘My Glad was lovely; I wish you’d known her,’ Terence reminisced. ‘I’ve kept that shawl ‘cos it was her favourite.’
‘Gladys had very good taste.’
‘That she did,’ Terence said on a sigh. ‘But so does Mrs Buckle. She’s going to visit in the new year and sew you up some proper clothes. Bit of a dab hand is our Mrs Buckle.’
Ettie smiled, for she had an inkling that Terence and the dressmaker were forming a close friendship.
A little uncertainly, Terence asked if she felt well enough to tell him about her life at Chancery House? Though she didn’t want to speak ill of anyone, least of all Mary and Jim, she knew she could confide in Terence.
‘They shouldn’t have pushed off to Scotland like that,’ he muttered when he heard the whole story. ‘Leaving you to take the blame.’
‘Mary didn’t do it deliberately,’ Ettie said in her friend’s defence.
‘Still, m’dear, she was Little Miss Light-fingers, and cleverly escaped her punishment.’
Ettie wondered if Mary could have left Chancery House for reasons other than Jim? A little fib here and there was understandable. But to steal someone’s property? Had she done it before?
Terence cocked his head and refrained from asking more. They sat in companionable silence, staring at the flames cascading into the chimney. Ettie remembered the salon’s drawing room and how she had spent many happy hours sitting by the fire with Clara. Would she ever have the courage to walk to Silver Street again and look at the salon?
‘Did you find the letter I left?’ she asked Terence.
‘I read it a thousand times,’ he said sorrowfully. ‘And grieved for you as I would a daughter. You said you had to find a future without the painful memories. But, dear girl, memories will come heedless; good and bad they are part of our lives.’
Tears of guilt filled Ettie’s eyes. ‘I know that now. Can you forgive me?’
‘There’s nothing to forgive,’ he said mildly. ‘Let’s not dwell on the past, for today is Christmas Day and you are seventeen years old.’ He held out a small parcel. ‘Happy Birthday, my beauty.’
Ettie felt the tears slip down her cheeks as she unwrapped the ribbon and pretty paper. Inside she found a notebook with a soft leather cover and a quill pen. Its white feathers were silky and the nib finely pointed.
‘Terence, these are lovely!’
‘A diary for your new life.’
‘But it’s Christmas and I’ve nothing to give you.’
‘Your word is all I ask. Tell me you won’t go running off again.’
Ettie looked fondly into his dear face. ‘No, Terence, I shall never run away again.’
‘Then I’m a happy man.’
Ettie watched as he got up and tapped the glass cover of the mantle clock with his knuckle. ‘Almost midday. I’m going to prepare the grub. Meanwhile, m’dear, keep your feet up on that stool and rest.’
Ettie knew Terence was doing all he could to help. She rested her head and closed her eyes, dozing in the warmth.
She recalled the Christmas when Gwen and Lily had given her the green fairy. But out of the bad had come the good; her friendship with Terence which now meant the world to her.
Ettie woke to the sound of carols being sung outside and voices in the passage. The fire had burned low. Terence must have left her to sleep. She could smell the delicious roast cooking, but who did the voices belong to?
‘Silent night, holy night …’ the carollers sang. Were they the little band of ragged children who had sung outside the salon that Christmas and to whom she gave the sixpence? But no, it couldn’t be, since they would now be older. She blinked her sleepy eyes and wondered if her weak legs would take her to the passage that led to the side door. She was very unsteady, and dare not chance it alone. Though Terence had said the physician from Soho Square had assured him that rest and time would heal all.
‘Round yon virgin, mother and child …’ The words drifted in, clearer now, returning her to the orphanage and the Christmases that she had spent with the orphans before the new bishop arrived. She wondered where those children were now; one in particular. Michael. Had he married the wealthy girl who he’d driven in the damson-red brougham?
The whispers grew stronger. Ettie wondered who might call on Christmas Day. Could it be Mrs Buckle perhaps?
She smiled, for more than anything else this Christmas, she wished that Terence might be rewarded for all he had done for her. When she was well, she would try to
