Emerald Star (Hetty Feather) Read online

  ‘Yes, yes, I know – and I’ll do all those things gladly, because she did them all for me when I was a babe. She’s like a mother to me, even if she’s not my own. And I love Jem like a brother, and in future I will get up at dawn to send him on his way with a good breakfast inside him – and whenever you or Bess or Eliza or any others come to visit I will cook and clean for you and make you as welcome as I can because I think of you as sisters, even though you point out so painfully we are nothing of the kind,’ I said, standing facing her with my hands on my hips.

  ‘Oh, Hetty,’ she said. ‘We all know you’re full of fine fancy words – but it’s deeds we’re worried about. But very well, we’ll try it for a little while, for I don’t think we have any alternative just at present.’

  ‘It would not kill you to sound a little grateful,’ I said, and I turned my back on her and climbed the narrow stairs to go and see Mother.

  She was lying looking at the wall, her face screwed up. No doubt she had heard us squabbling downstairs. She must feel such a helpless burden now, this kind, hard-working woman who had reared us all and done her level best for us.

  ‘Oh, Mother, I am so sorry,’ I said, and I curled up beside her on the bed and stroked her hair. Rosie had combed it up into a neat topknot but the sparseness made her look very severe, and I thought the long pins must be digging into her scalp. I pulled them out and let her hair down loose around her shoulders.

  ‘There, that feels better, doesn’t it?’ I said, giving her scalp a massage.

  Mother made a little appreciative murmur.

  ‘Yes, you like that, don’t you? And you like me just a little too? I know I wasn’t your favourite, but you were always so good and fair to me, even though you paddled me royally at times. I’m sure I deserved it, because I could be a very bad little girl, but I’m going to be good from now on, I promise. I shall care for you as if you were the Queen herself.’

  I cuddled into her and stroked her gently. She lay still, and after a short while started snoring. There! I’d comforted her and soothed her to sleep. I could look after Mother as well as any of my foster sisters – probably better. I just wished I’d been able to nurse dear Mama properly. I closed my eyes so I would not start weeping all over again, and hung onto this big helpless hulk of a woman because she was the only mother I had left now.

  When I heard Jem come home, I gave Mother a kiss and then flew downstairs so quickly I lost my footing on the narrow steps, failed to grab the piece of rope that served as a handrail and tumbled into the living room in a heap.

  ‘Oh my Lord, I hope I haven’t bust my other ankle now!’ I gasped – but when Jem helped me up I found I was fine, just a little shaken.

  ‘Poor Hetty! I hope you’re not too bruised in the morning,’ he said.

  ‘Silly Hetty, flinging herself around so wildly,’ Rosie sniffed. ‘You’re worse than Eliza’s boys.’

  ‘I slipped,’ I said indignantly.

  Jem bent down to examine my clumpers. ‘No wonder! The soles are coming away from your boots, and they’re worn so thin there’s hardly any tread,’ he said. ‘I will try to cobble you new soles, Hetty.’

  ‘Hateful things. I’ve had them for years. They were much too big to start with, and rubbed great ridges on my feet,’ I said. ‘They’re still too big, even though I’m fully grown.’

  ‘You’ll never be fully grown, Hetty, you’re just a little pint pot,’ said Jem. He drew in a deep breath. ‘My, something smells good. Have you girls been making me a stew?’

  ‘One of us girls,’ said Rosie. ‘The other lay ailing in her bed with a thick head.’

  ‘Why do you have to tell tales on me?’ I said. ‘You wouldn’t have lasted a week at the hospital, Rosie. If you told tales there, all the other girls would take against you and torment you.’

  ‘Was it really dreadful there, Hetty?’ asked Jem. ‘I used to worry about you so much. It seemed so terrible to send you off so young.’

  I started telling Jem all about my time at the hospital. I described Matron Pigface and Matron Stinking Bottomly with relish, exaggerating their punishments a little for extra effect. Even Rosie listened open-mouthed.

  I broke off to feed Mother her meat broth. She could not seem to chew any more and could only sip pathetically, but her mouth opened like a little bird for every mouthful. Then Rosie and I washed and changed her for the night, tucking her up in a clean nightgown.

  ‘Dear Lord, every day is going to have to be washing day, never mind Mondays,’ said Rosie, sighing. ‘Have you ever tackled a proper wash, Hetty?’

  ‘I’ve taken my turn in the hospital laundry and had to deal with a hundred nightgowns at a time, plus all the sets of caps and cuffs and tippets. Mother’s nightgowns won’t worry me. And I shall make her new gowns so she always has plenty. I shall decorate them specially. I do very fine embroidery.’

  ‘Clearly you were allowed to boast at this hospital, even if you couldn’t tell tales,’ said Rosie, doing her best to squash me.

  But when we’d settled Mother for the night and returned to the warmth of the kitchen downstairs, she was eager enough to hear more tales of the hospital. Jem took his pipe down from the rack on the chimneybreast and puffed away as I spoke. I think he felt his pipe-smoking was a manly occupation, but he wasn’t very practised at it and kept having to relight the tobacco.

  I told how I’d had my hair shorn the day I arrived, and my clothes and my precious rag baby had been taken from me and burned.

  ‘What about the silver sixpence I gave you for luck, Hetty? Did they take that too?’ Jem asked.

  ‘No, I hid it under my tongue – and then for years I kept it inside the knob on the end of my bed. But somebody stole it eventually. It was so hard to hang onto any possessions. We were all so starved of love and punished so hatefully.’

  When I told them that I’d once been locked in the dark garret all night long, Jem reached out for my hand and pulled on it tightly, as if he were trying to rescue me. Even Rosie clucked with her tongue and shook her head. This spurred me on to new and possibly fictional revelations, inventing novel punishments and humiliations for my child self.

  ‘This is so terrible,’ said Jem. ‘And little Eliza is still there! We must rescue her somehow.’

  ‘I wish we could,’ I said. ‘But I don’t see how. We’d never be allowed to adopt her. Even if her own birth mother tried to take her back she’d have to be very rich indeed. The governors would want to be repaid for the entire cost of her board and education. I’ve only known one girl who was adopted. She was my friend Polly. She was bought by a couple who had lost their own little girl. I was so close to Polly. I wrote to her but she only wrote back once.’

  ‘You stopped writing to me,’ said Jem.

  ‘I know. I’m sorry – very, very sorry,’ I said. I felt so bad that I told a little lie. ‘We weren’t allowed to write home after a while. The matrons said it was a waste of good pens and ink and paper.’

  ‘Eliza still writes,’ said Jem gently but reproachfully. ‘And Gideon wrote weekly to Mother.’

  ‘Well, I – I was being punished,’ I said. ‘I wrote to you when I went into service, didn’t I? And I wrote again when Miss Smith forwarded your letters. Oh Lord, Miss Smith . . . I owe her a letter too. And I must write to Father to tell him I’ve arrived here safely and he mustn’t worry about me. And I promised to stay in touch with my dear friend Freda. Oh, let me tell you about Freda, a lovely sweet gentle lady, but a very unusual one . . .’

  We sat up for hours while I told my tales, one of us checking on Mother every half-hour or so.

  ‘Come, we must all go to bed, it’s nearly midnight!’ Rosie said at last.

  ‘Do you think we will all be turned into pumpkins?’ I said.

  ‘Poor Jem has to be up at dawn, Hetty. So do I, to journey back to work. And you will have to get up to tend to Mother,’ she said.

  ‘Yes, yes, I will do that, I promise,’ I said.

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