Christmas Child by Carol Rivers
Christmas Child
The 2019 Victorian romance from
the Sunday Times bestselling author.
A perfect Dickensian saga for Christmas.
Christmas Day, London 1880.
Snow falls … a dying Irish girl clutching
her new-born baby drags herself to the sanctuary of an East End orphanage and
throws herself on the mercy of the Sisters of Clemency. The nuns raise little
Ettie O’Reilly as their own, but the lives of the nuns and orphans are soon
crushed by an unscrupulous bishop. The heart-breaking outcome turns Ettie’s
life upside down and Christmas will never mean the same again.
Will Ettie ever find her friend Michael Wilson whose secret holds the
key to their past? Will Ettie keep her innocence and survive the traumatic
events that are about to erupt?
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It was a sombre grey day at the end of November and the
temperature in the laundry was almost freezing. Ettie's fingers were numb and
red raw. All the children’s clothes had to be washed in cold water since there
was no soap left to clean them with. This made the
scrubbing twice as hard.
Sister Patrick was
pushing the wet clothes through the wringer with laboured movements
and sighed to herself.
’Sister Patrick?’
‘What is it child?’
‘Has Mother Superior had
news of Michael?’
‘Why should she? The boy
ran off.’
Ettie was surprised that
the nuns hadn’t been more concerned at his disappearance. ‘Shouldn’t we try to
look for him?’
‘He left of his own
accord, there’s nothing we can do.’ Sister Patrick looked up from the ancient
wringer with its huge rollers. She swept the beads of sweat from her cheeks. ‘A
boy like Michael will always find trouble.’
‘He was beginning to
change,’ Ettie insisted.
The nun shook her head
wearily. ‘Then God will look after him,’ she said and walked slowly to the big
basin. ‘Ettie, I have some news for you. Dry your hands and sit on the stool.’
Ettie obeyed. Sister
Patrick’s face was solemn and that could only mean one thing. This news
wouldn’t be welcome. Ettie's heart lurched.
Sister Patrick said
heavily, ‘Mother Superior has found you a position.’
Ettie looked blankly
into the misted spectacles.
‘You are to be placed
with a shopkeeper and his wife near the city. Your duties will be much the same
as they are here. Your board and lodging will cost nothing.’
‘Sister Patrick, I’ve
never been to the city before.’
‘London is full of
splendour and majesty. You’re very fortunate. Mother Superior has provided your
new employers with a good Character. She has written the reference herself.’
‘Thank you,’ Ettie
replied. ‘When
am I to leave?’
‘In the new year. After
your fourteenth birthday. ’
Ettie screwed her hands
into fists, her nails biting painfully into her palms; any distraction to hide
how desperate she felt.
‘Ah, my dear girl, I
know it’s hard.’
Ettie nodded. The news
had come as a dreadful shock.
‘Your new position is an
enviable one.’
‘What will happen to the
orphans?’ Ettie blurted.
‘They will be found
homes soon.’
‘But where?’
A grim expression
crossed the nun’s face. ‘That’s not your business, Ettie.’ A cold finger touched her
cheek. ‘Say your prayers now.’
Ettie hung her head. She
shut her eyes tight and asked Jesus, Mary and Joseph to make her request come
true. For she knew there was no one else to keep up the children’s
spirits.
When she opened her eyes
she was alone. Once more she returned to her bargaining with God. This time she
offered the only thing she had left. ‘I don’t care for myself, dear Lord, but
help the orphans,’ she begged, though after some thought, she added hopefully,
‘Or best of all, send a miracle to change the bishop’s mind.’
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– “Were there’s muck there’s money!” If my family had a royal crest I’m
sure those are the words that would have been hewn into the stone above it.
Mum and Dad were both East Enders who were born on
the famous or should I say the then infamous Isle of Dogs. They were
costermongers selling fruit, veg and anything else that would stand still long
enough!
Their family were immigrants who travelled to the UK
from Ireland and France, while others emigrated to America.
As a child I would listen to the adults spinning
their colourful stories, as my cousins and I drank pop under the table.
I know the seeds of all my stories come from those
far off times that feel like only yesterday. So I would like to say a big
heartfelt thank you to all my family and ancestors wherever you are now … UK,
Ireland, France or America, as you’ve handed down to me the magic and love of
story telling.
Carol xx
Tour organized by @rararesources
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