Emerald Star (Hetty Feather) Read online

  The crowd laughed again – but the mother got out her purse. By the time the stallholder came back from the alehouse I’d shifted practically a mile of material and created such a buzz around his stall that the other end of the market was empty.

  ‘Have I earned my bolt of linen, sir?’ I sang out loudly, giving him handfuls of coins so that everyone could see. I didn’t want him to cheat me out of it, pretending he’d never struck a bargain.

  He handed over the material happily, with a flourish – and he let me have the blue velvet remnant too. ‘You’re a funny little lass, but you’re brilliant for trade. I’ve never seen anyone drum up a crowd like that. Do you want a job, by any chance?’

  I wasn’t sure if he was joking or not, but I took him seriously. ‘I wish I could work with you, sir, but I’m needed at home,’ I said. ‘I can’t travel around with the market, much as I’d like to. But could we strike another bargain? Every time the market comes here, could I come and sell from your stall while you have your lunch break, in exchange for more material?’

  ‘You sell like you did today and you can have the pick of my stall,’ he said, doffing his cap to me.

  I swaggered off with my bolt of material, happy as a lark. I didn’t have any money left for my lunch but it was easy enough to find good food in the market. I searched the gutter and found an apple and a pear that had rolled off a fruit stall, and someone else had dropped a big penny bun with only one bite taken out of it. I wiped them all carefully with my skirts and then had an excellent lunch.

  I was a little hampered by my large bolt of material, but I cradled it like a baby and took a turn around the town. It was still an enormous thrill to wander up and down the shopping streets. I spent a very long time at the window of the draper’s shop. I was pleased to see that my market stall purchase really was a bargain. I took note of the fashion patterns for future reference, and sighed wistfully at the satin ribbons and flower trimmings – but I had enough sense to know that the dour-looking assistants inside would not be prepared to barter them for my selling spiel.

  I ran in and out of the grocery store, delighting in the fact that I was no longer in service, sent by the cook Mrs Briskett to buy half a pound of raisins or a sugar loaf. I was almost mistress of my own house now.

  I went past a butcher’s shop too, its doors decked with hanging chickens, its windows a rosy pattern of joints and chops coiled round with sausages. I was reminded painfully of Bertie. I’d promised I would keep in touch with him and let him know if I found my father, but I’d been so bowled over by doing just that I’d somehow had no time or inclination to write about it, not even to my dearest friends. Perhaps it wasn’t simple laziness. I’d been reluctant to write down my feelings about my father, even for myself in my own memoirs. I loved him dearly. He was a fine upstanding man. In many ways he was everything I could wish for, and yet somehow . . . he didn’t feel like a parent. I’d loved Mama with my whole heart and soul, but it was too strange meeting up with Father after such a long time. It was almost as if I’d pictured him out of my imagination. He didn’t seem real.

  I still cared about him though. I would write to him, maybe visit again when I’d saved up enough money, but I didn’t think I could ever feel part of his home – especially not with Katherine there too!

  My home was with Jem and Mother now. I could not wait to tell them of my triumph at the market.

  Mother seemed pleased enough when I told her. She nodded, her eyes bright, though she could no longer smile.

  Molly roared with laughter and clapped me on the back. ‘You’re a character, you are, young Hetty. Good for you! Well, you feel free to go off and strike similar bargains any market day you like. I’m happy to sit with Mother Cotton here. We get along fine and dandy, don’t we, Peg?’ she said, and Mother gargled agreement.

  But Jem seemed curiously disappointed when I thrust my bolt of material at him and told him the tale of my triumph all over again. ‘I wanted you to spend those shillings on something you really wanted, Hetty,’ he said.

  ‘I did! Lord knows I wanted those extra yards or I’d never have risked making such a fool of myself.’

  ‘But it’s plain linen.’

  ‘It might look plain, but you wait till I’ve embroidered a yoke and cuffs. Mother will look as grand as a bride, I promise you. And with the extra yards I shall make you the finest shirt you’ve ever worn. You’ll be quite the dandy, you’ll see. All the village girls will be dancing round you,’ I said, reaching up and ruffling his hair to try to make him smile.

  ‘I wanted you to buy something pretty for yourself. Why didn’t you buy something fine and frilly to be made into a dress? Or ribbons for your hair, or glass beads, or a little toy or trinket? I wanted you to have a special treat, because you’ve worked so hard and been so good to Mother and me. The shillings were for you, Hetty.’

  ‘Then when you’ve saved up two more I shall gladly spend them for you, Jem! But meanwhile, Mother will have a new nightgown and Janet will have an embroidered pocket handkerchief because she’s been so good to me. You’ve been best of all, so you will get a shirt, and I promise I won’t get too carried away. I know how much you’d hate frills or fancy collars – but inside, where no one can see, I’ll find space to embroider love from Hetty. Whenever you wear your shirt you’ll see it and remember just how much I love my dear brother.’

  I thought at first he might cry. His face crumpled the way it had done at Father’s funeral. But then he smiled and hugged me hard.

  ‘And I love you too, my dear little Hetty,’ he said. ‘Oh, I do so hope you are happy here.’

  ‘Of course I am,’ I said. ‘I have come home.’

  15

  I TRIED SO hard to be happy. I settled into a routine.

  I couldn’t help it. I rose early, I lit the fire, I made Jem porridge for his breakfast to warm him before he spent his day toiling on the farm. I washed and changed Mother and fed her too, then tackled the washing, the ironing, the sweeping, the baking, the stewing. I had to make the same simple meals day after day with the same ingredients – pork, rabbit, cabbage, carrots, turnip, onions, and endless bread and dripping, bread and cheese, bread and blackberry jam.

  Long ago Mr Maple had carved a wooden toy for Janet. She still kept it on the windowsill in her bedroom. It was a little wooden girl in a cap and clogs alongside a line of tiny wooden chickens. When you turned a wheel, she threw out her wooden arm as if feeding them, and every chicken opened its beak wide. It was a clever toy, and when you saw it you simply had to pick it up and turn that wheel, so the little wooden girl fed her chickens again and again.

  I couldn’t help feeling like that wooden girl, repeating my daily tasks again and again until sometimes I felt I could scream. I did not know what was the matter with me. I was surely used to routine. I’d had nine years at the Foundling Hospital when we did exactly the same things every single weekday, with chapel and public dinner on Sundays.

  I tried my hardest to vary things a little, especially for Mother. Her life was far more restricted than mine, confined to her bed in that stuffy little room. I asked Molly if we might take Mother for a little trip out in her donkey cart, but it was a very cold winter and Jem worried that she might get a chill.

  He tried lifting her up in his arms in the early morning and carrying her down the stairs so that she could sit in her old chair for a change of scenery. She seemed to like that a lot, especially when I chatted to her as I did my household tasks. It was impossible for me to move her from the kitchen to the living room and back because I simply could not carry her, try as I might. I stared at the legs of her chair, wishing they could walk for her. Then I thought of the wheels on Molly’s cart!

  I went to have a word with Mr Maple the joiner. He came along and fixed four wheels to Mother’s chair, one on each leg. What a difference it made! I could lean on the stout back and bowl Mother along, choosing a different spot for her each day. She liked to look out of the window most, though it often sta