Emerald Star (Hetty Feather) Read online

  There did not seem to be any maid attached to this place. No one brought me any fresh hot water, so I washed quickly in the cold suds from last night and pulled on my clothes. My dress was crumpled from the journey, the little white collar stained with smuts from the train. I looked a sorry sight to be meeting my father – if, of course, I could track him down.

  I brushed my hair vigorously and tied it up in as neat a topknot as I could manage, pinning it into place. It seemed to have a will of its own and was forever trying to shake itself loose. Already little strands were curling down and gathering about my ears.

  You have your father’s hair, Mama whispered to me.

  Perhaps it was going to be simple. I just had to take a quick turn about the village, see a red-haired man, and approach him. But then what? How was I to announce myself? Hello, dear Father, I am your long-lost daughter. I am Hetty. No, Sapphire. Emerald? Perhaps I wouldn’t need to say a word. He would just catch a glimpse of me, stop short – and then open his arms. I would go running and he would hug me close, his red head bent to mine, holding me as if he could never bear to let me go.

  I pictured it so vividly I had to wipe my eyes, overcome with emotion. Then I stepped out of my room and trod cautiously along the landing. Perhaps Tobias was snoring behind one of those closed doors? I hurried past and down the wooden staircase, carrying my clumpy boots in my hand so as not to waken him.

  It was dark and still downstairs, the blinds drawn. I breathed shallowly, disliking the rich smell of beer and the stale reek of smoke. I picked my skirts up as I wandered around. I’d seen some of the old men spitting into the sawdust and was mindful of my hem. I went into the kitchen and found it empty. I peeped into the cupboard but it was bare, like Old Mother Hubbard’s. I’d eaten the last of the bread and cheese. There was a jar of pickles, a tin of treacle, and pepper and salt – they would make a very sour breakfast. Still, at least I could make myself some tea, if I could get the ancient range working.

  I went out to the privy – an even worse experience in daylight – and then started battling with the range. It was a complicated brute of a machine, but similar to the one in Mr Buchanan’s kitchen, where I’d worked as a maid. Mrs Briskett the cook had taught me to master it – and with a little huff and puff I managed this one too. As the kettle slowly boiled, out of habit I seized a cloth and wiped down the greasy surfaces, and then took a broom and swept the floor.

  I heard footsteps outside, and then Lizzie came in, her cheeks red from the wind, a basket hanging from her arm.

  ‘My, my, you’re up early!’ She cast an eye around the room. ‘And you might have spun Tobias a tale of being a theatrical, but it seems to me you’ve had a maid’s training, judging by the state of this room. Thank you, dear. Now, let’s get you breakfast – and I’ll share some with you.’

  ‘It’s very kind of you, but I can’t find anything to eat in the cupboard,’ I said.

  ‘See what I’ve brought in the basket!’ said Lizzie, delving into it cheerfully. She unwrapped two strange orange fish and set them sizzling in the pan.

  ‘What are they?’ I asked.

  She stared at me in surprise. ‘Great Heavens, girl, haven’t you ever tasted kippers? My family’s smoked herrings for three generations. My, you’re in for a treat. And I’ve a freshly baked loaf, a crock of best butter, a pot of my own raspberry jam, and a jug of full-cream milk.’

  ‘You’re giving me a breakfast fit for a queen!’ I said.

  ‘Well, you look as if you need feeding up. Look at you, thin as a pin!’ said Lizzie, picking up my arm and circling my wrist with her large hand. ‘You’re not ill, are you, child?’

  ‘No, I am naturally thin,’ I said. The frying kippers were starting to smell wonderful. ‘You will see I have an excellent appetite!’

  ‘You need one. You’re light as a little feather,’ said Lizzie.

  I gave a start, but it was clear she’d hit on my name inadvertently. I made the pot of tea, Lizzie buttered the bread, and we ate our kippers.

  ‘They are delicious!’ I said, taking a huge mouthful to show Lizzie that my appetite was healthy.

  ‘Careful now! Eat cautiously, or you’ll munch on a mouthful of bones.’ She shook her head at me in fond exasperation. ‘Fancy you never trying a kipper till now. What did you have for Sunday breakfast at home?’

  ‘Mostly porridge,’ I said, truthfully enough. Then I thought of my fastidious employer Mr Buchanan, and his silver tureens of eggs and sausages and bacon. I could always count on scoffing a full plateful of his leavings. ‘But sometimes a grand fry-up, if it was available.’

  ‘Your mother never tried you with kippers even though she came from these parts?’

  I swallowed. ‘Mama and I could not always be together,’ I said delicately.

  ‘And what about your pa?’ said Lizzie, wiping up kipper juice with a crust of bread.

  I hesitated again. ‘My father was away a lot,’ I said. I took a deep breath. ‘He came from these parts too, but he went away to sea.’

  ‘Did he?’ said Lizzie. ‘My grandpa was away at sea when he was a lad, on the whaling ships. Most of our menfolk used to be whalers. My grandpa told me the stink was so bad when the ships came back you couldn’t go near the harbour – running in blood and guts and blubber, it was. Sorry, dear.’ She saw I’d stopped eating. ‘I didn’t mean to put you off your breakfast.’

  ‘Perhaps – perhaps my father was a whaler too?’ I said.

  ‘No, no, there’s no whaling nowadays, more’s the pity. There’s no steady job for any of the men round here. They fish with the tide and clutter up their houses during the day and drink themselves stupid here at the Fisherman’s and are no real use to man nor beast – especially their womenfolk.’

  ‘Do you have a husband, Lizzie?’

  ‘More’s the pity. I married him when I was a little lass not much older than yourself. Well, I was never as little as you, I was always a big strong girl even in my teens – but not strong enough. Before six months were gone he was beating me black and blue – for naught, just because he was in the mood. I should have left him then and there, but I was weak and there was already a baby on the way, so what could I do? If I ran away, folk would think I was having a child out of wedlock and shun me.’

  I swallowed. ‘I’m sure it’s not always the woman’s fault if she has a baby out of wedlock,’ I said.

  ‘I know that, dearie, but there’s the shame of it all the same,’ she said. ‘And what would I have done once the child was born? How could I get work with a babbie at my breast?’

  ‘Perhaps – perhaps you would have given the baby to a foundling hospital?’ I said, my voice wobbling.

  ‘I couldn’t have borne being separated from my firstborn,’ said Lizzie, sipping her tea and sighing. ‘I don’t see how any woman could ever give away her own child.’

  ‘Perhaps you’d have had no choice,’ I said fiercely.

  Lizzie looked at me. ‘All these perhapses! Is this what happened to you, little Missy Emerald Star?’

  I felt myself flushing as red as my hair. ‘Perhaps it did – but I know my mama loved me with all her heart and soul,’ I said, my eyes filling with tears.

  ‘Oh dear, don’t start crying now. I didn’t mean to cause offence. Come on, finish up your kipper, don’t let it go cold. Of course your mother loved you. Who am I to judge any different? And I might as well have given my Henry away, and Stewart and Andy, for all the good they do me now. They’re all rough lads, the spit of their father, and they lead me a merry dance. I wash and clean and cook and care for them all, with never a word of thanks, and then I come here to earn an honest penny and I never get thanked for that either. That’s men for you – especially Monksby men.’

  I stared at Lizzie, perplexed. I had had little experience of family life. My foster parents had not been the sort of couple for open affection, but they had seemed very cosily settled together. During those long lonely years growing up in the Foundling Hospital I had