Sapphire Battersea Read online

  He gestured for me to bob under the counter. I squeezed through and scurried out through a door at the back of the shop. I found myself standing in a bloody battlefield. Dead animals in varying states were strewn over a counter, some with their heads and hides still in place. Bertie was standing there in an apron and trousers, no shirt at all, busy disembowelling these creatures, pulling all kinds of disgusting gleaming things out of their bodies.

  ‘Hetty!’ he said, shocked. He went scarlet. ‘Oh, Hetty, don’t look! I don’t want you to see me doing this! Why did the old man let you through?’

  ‘I begged him. I’ve come to say goodbye.’

  ‘What?’ He saw the suitcase and realized I was serious. ‘Why? What’s happened?’

  ‘Mr Buchanan’s dismissed me.’

  ‘He never! But what did you do?’

  ‘I shouted at him because I found out he’s been copying my memoirs. I broke his watch chain getting the key to his desk, and I said he was a cruel, wicked, hypocritical thief who would end up going to Hell.’

  ‘Well, that’s telling him! So he won’t have given you a character.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Oh, Hetty. What will you do, then?’

  ‘I’m going to see Mama. She lives by the seaside. She might know of a position near her. Then we could see more of each other, which would be wonderful.’

  ‘No! All right, go and see your mother, but then come back! We have to have our Sundays together. You’re still my sweetheart! I’ll keep my eyes and ears open on my rounds – I go all over the town, right? I’ll see if anyone’s wanting a likely girl. I’ll recommend you. You leave it to me, Hetty.’

  ‘Well, it’s very good of you, Bertie, but—’

  ‘No buts! See here, you’re not planning to go back to the country, are you? Are you going to see that foster brother you write to?’

  ‘I don’t see how I can go back. There’s no work for a girl in the village. All my foster sisters went into service.’

  ‘Good! You’re not a country girl. You belong in the city, with me.’

  ‘Come back here now, missy, you’ve had long enough. And you, lad – I hope you’re not slacking!’ Mr Jarvis called.

  ‘I’d better go,’ I said quickly. ‘I don’t want to get you into trouble.’

  ‘Do take care, Hetty. Write as soon as you can to let me know where you are. Oh Lord, I want to take you in my arms, but how can I like this?’ He gestured with his slimy hands, looking at them in disgust. ‘What must you think of me!’

  ‘I think you’re my sweetheart,’ I said. I leaned across the loathsome carcass on the table, and swiftly kissed his flushed cheek.

  Then I rushed out of the room, bobbed a grateful curtsy to Mr Jarvis, and whisked out of the shop, while everyone stared, and a few clapped and cheered.

  I hurried though the town, trying to tell myself that everything was fine. I was simply going to have a little holiday and see Mama at long last. But I couldn’t help feeling very queer and shaky, even so.

  I CHANGED OUT of my grubby work dress and cap and apron while locked inside the ladies’ waiting room at the station. I felt better and braver in my emerald best dress, and my skimpy work clothes were much lighter to carry.

  The third-class rail ticket cost a great deal of money, much more than I’d reckoned. The housekeeping jar was a lot lighter when I put it back in my case. It was very unnerving reaching Waterloo and having to negotiate my way up and down the platforms to find the correct locomotive for Bignor, but I managed it successfully.

  I hadn’t realized that it would be such a long train journey to the coast. I fidgeted a great deal as I gazed out of the window. England was much larger than I’d realized. I stared until my eyes blurred, but I still hadn’t glimpsed any great expanse of water.

  I opened Mrs Briskett’s parcel for some lunch, and then carried on nibbling on and off throughout the journey. A grim-faced lady sitting next to me sniffed in disgust and twitched her skirts away from me, acting as if I were spilling crumbs all over her. It was certainly a temptation.

  A much sweeter family joined the train at Arundel: a jolly father in a straw hat and blazer, a pale mother with a babe in arms, and two girls in sailor suits, one my age, one about eight or nine. They all smiled at me, and the two sailor girls started chatting as if we were old friends, telling me they were having an early seaside holiday and it was going to be great fun.

  I offered the girls a slice of Mrs Briskett’s shortbread and talked to them a little. They were astonished when I said I’d never been to the seaside before.

  ‘We go to Bignor every single year. We think it’s the most splendid tip-top place ever,’ said the older girl. ‘We go bathing every day, and listen to the band and watch the pierrots. Oh, you will love it! Where will you stay? We always go to the same lodgings near the promenade. Maisie and I can see the sea from our bedroom window.’

  ‘Where are your mama and papa?’ asked Maisie. ‘Are you travelling all on your own? How queer!’

  ‘Maisie!’ the mother rebuked her gently. She smiled at me. ‘Are you going on a visit, perhaps?’

  ‘Yes, to see my mama.’

  ‘Oh, that’s lovely, dear.’

  ‘Why don’t you live with your mama, then?’ asked the older girl.

  ‘Charlotte!’ the mother said, shaking her head. ‘You girls! Stop plaguing your new friend with your questions.’

  ‘My mama works in Bignor,’ I said.

  ‘Your mama works! Why’s that?’

  ‘That’s enough, girls!’ said their mother, looking a little uncomfortable.

  They weren’t a very grand family. They were only travelling third class like me, and their clothes were a little shabby. I could see the telltale black line around the skirts of both girls where their hems had been let down, and although their boots were highly polished, they were cracked and down-at-heel. Even so, there was a huge divide between us. That little baby sleeping in the mother’s arms would grow up safe within a family. She would be able to stay a child well into her teens. She would never be told it was her place to be a servant.

  The baby was starting to get fretful, and wouldn’t be soothed, though the mother rocked her tenderly. ‘Hush now,’ she said, over and over, but the baby wouldn’t hush at all.

  The father tried tickling her and then talking to her sternly, which made the baby cry harder. The girls chatted to each other, clearly not expecting to take their turn as nursemaid. ‘

  ‘Let me take her,’ I offered.

  ‘I’m afraid she’s very querulous, poor lamb,’ said the mother. ‘I’m not sure you’ll be able to quieten her. Sometimes she cries for hours. I think it’s the colic.’

  I was used to little babies. In my last year at the hospital I had spent many hours in the nursery, helping care for the newborn foundlings before they were despatched to foster homes in the country.

  ‘Come to Hetty, baby,’ I said, picking her up from her mother’s arms.

  She had a cross red face, her forehead wrinkled as if she had every care in the world. The silly little thing did not know how lucky she was. I held her upright and pressed her against me, patting her back.

  ‘There now. Do you have a sore stomach? This will make it feel better,’ I said.

  I walked up and down the carriage, rocking her against me. She stopped screaming, snuffled several times, and then quietened altogether.

  ‘Oh my! You’ve worked wonders!’ said the papa.

  ‘You’re very good with babies, dear,’ said the mother. ‘There, Charlotte, there, Maisie! See how nicely she’s soothed your little sister!’

  I took a deep breath, aware of a sudden glorious solution to my situation. ‘I would be very happy to be your nursemaid,’ I said.

  I meant it in all seriousness, but the family all laughed merrily, as if I were joking.

  ‘I – I would not cost very much,’ I ventured further, but this made them laugh even harder.

  I felt I could not pursue the point