Emerald Star (Hetty Feather) Read online

  ‘Gideon! Oh, brother, it’s so good to see you!’ said Jem, giving him a huge bear hug. ‘Welcome home!’

  Gideon stiffened when he said this, and then burst out crying. It seemed somehow to release his voice too. ‘Oh please . . . can I . . . really stay?’ he sobbed.

  ‘Of course you can, for as long as you want. For ever, if you like!’ said Jem.

  Mother was making sad crooning noises, trying to hold out her arms.

  ‘There now,’ said Jem, patting Gideon on the back and then gently propelling him towards Mother, so that they could comfort each other.

  I pulled Jem into the kitchen. ‘He hasn’t spoken a word up till now, though I’ve asked him all sorts,’ I whispered. ‘His face is so badly hurt. Janet thinks he’s still in shock, as well as wounded. She came by and was such a help.’

  ‘Dear Janet,’ said Jem. ‘And dear, dear Hetty too.’

  ‘He hasn’t answered a single one of my questions!’ I said.

  ‘He doesn’t need to, does he? Perhaps he truly can’t talk about it. We don’t want to upset him further, do we?’

  ‘I – I suppose not,’ I said, though I was burning with curiosity. I knew Jem was right though. For once it felt good for him to be putting me gently in my place and telling me what to do.

  It wasn’t long before Gideon told us of his own accord. We had supper together, and then he spent ten minutes upstairs alone with Mother after I’d put her to bed. We wondered if he was going to bed himself. I’d put an extra pillow on Jem’s bed, as they would have to share again, just as they had done as children – but he came back down the stairs.

  ‘Mother’s asleep,’ he said.

  ‘You’ve made her so happy,’ said Jem.

  ‘I wanted to come when you wrote to me about Father dying,’ said Gideon. ‘But . . . I couldn’t.’

  ‘They wouldn’t give Nat leave either. The army won’t bend its rules,’ said Jem. ‘But I don’t suppose I need to tell you that, Gideon. Would you care for a glass of ale, lad? Or there’s a bottle of cowslip wine, though we won’t let Hetty get her hands on it or she’ll be drunk as a skunk in no time.’

  ‘I will not! Don’t tease, Jem,’ I said, though I knew he was only joshing me to make it easier for all of us.

  We all had a small glass of wine sitting by the fire. Jem offered Gideon his pipe too, treating him like a man. Gideon was still very tense and hesitant in his speech, and he often held his hand protectively in front of his face.

  The sips of wine loosened my tongue again. ‘Does it still hurt, Gideon?’ I asked.

  He ducked his head. ‘Yes, it does,’ he mumbled.

  ‘How . . . how did it happen?’

  ‘Hetty,’ said Jem warningly. ‘I don’t think Gideon wants to talk about it.’

  He sat between us, opening and closing his mouth, clearly not able to find the words.

  ‘You were in a battle?’ I asked again, though Jem nudged me.

  ‘No. No, I was still a cadet. We don’t go to war, we just . . . train,’ said Gideon. ‘Oh, I hated it so much there.’ A tear fell from his good eye.

  ‘Was it as bad as the Foundling Hospital?’ I asked softly.

  ‘It was much, much worse. Oh, Hetty, why didn’t I ever listen to you? I had my chances to escape. I could have run off with you that day in Hyde Park, when we were ten. I could have run away when you left the hospital to go into service. But I never had your spirit. I was too scared, and so I let them parcel me off to the barracks and . . . it was so dreadful.’

  ‘Did the sergeants treat you badly, Gideon?’ said Jem, taking his hand and squeezing it.

  ‘They weren’t the worst. It was the other boys. There’s something about me. I’m always the one that gets picked on. I’m so different. I knew nothing because of being in the hospital, so they teased and tormented me. I was their sport, night after night.’

  ‘You have to learn to fight back, Gideon,’ I said, my own fists clenched.

  ‘How can I, when it’s not in my nature?’ he said. ‘But I don’t have to fight any more. I have been discharged because of my . . . my injuries.’

  ‘Was it a gunshot wound? Oh, Gid, those boys didn’t shoot you, did they?’ I asked, starting to cry myself.

  ‘All the cadets were sent off with the proper soldiers one night. There was an emergency – there’d been a breakout at a prison. We were sent to round up the escaped convicts. We were told they were dangerous – robbers, murderers – and we had to protect the public. We were each given guns, though we’d barely handled them before. It was a terrible night, very stormy, and the men had got out on the commons, where it was so dark you couldn’t see anything, only hear the rustling of bushes in the wind. One of the escaped convicts crept up on a lad and tried to strangle him to get his gun – and after that we were told to fire on sight.

  ‘We were all spread out in the dark. I somehow lost the others, and I didn’t dare call out. I was stumbling around, half mad with fear, scarcely able to keep hold of my rifle because my hands were so slippery with sweat – and then I suddenly walked straight into someone. It was one of the convicts, right in front of me. He was just standing there, breathing hard. I knew what I had to do. Without really thinking, I just lifted my rifle and aimed and fired—’

  Gideon broke down altogether, sobbing. ‘I hit him, I know I did, but he didn’t go down. He tried to run, though his legs were shackled. He hobbled, and he called out, “Don’t shoot again, sir, please don’t shoot.” Perhaps I would have let him go, but then the others came running at the sound of my shot and they all rounded on him, and fired. He didn’t have a chance. He wouldn’t die straight away though, no matter how they fired. He writhed and screamed.’ Gideon put his hands over his ears as if he could still hear the screaming now. The cottage was very still as we waited for him to continue.

  ‘And after that night . . .’ He couldn’t manage to go on.

  ‘Don’t, Gid. Please. It’s so awful for you,’ I said, wishing now I hadn’t asked him any questions at all.

  Jem poured Gideon another drink and quietly passed him his handkerchief.

  Gideon struggled to compose himself. ‘After that night I kept seeing the convict. No matter how I rubbed my eyes he was still there in front of me – even when my eyes were shut. He was there all the time, standing before me, breathing hard, while I stared down the barrel of my gun with my right eye. I shot him, over and over again, while he begged for his life. I thought I was going mad. No, I knew I was mad – or else I was the only sane one in the barracks. It was so bizarre. I’d suddenly turned into a queer sort of hero overnight, because I’d shot the convict first. I was congratulated, told I was starting to shape up, patted on the back. The other boys stopped tormenting me. But I was in a worse torment, seeing the convict there all the time, right before my eye. One day, out on a run on those commons, I couldn’t bear seeing him any more. I took my rifle and tried to put my eye out.’

  ‘Oh, Gideon,’ I said, standing up and throwing my arms around him. ‘Oh, Gideon!’

  ‘I thought I would die. To be truthful I hoped to die – but a few days after my accident the letter came from Jem to tell me that Father had died and Mother was taken ill. A nurse read it out to me. Somehow that gave me a little strength. I was anxious about Mother. I decided to try to live for her sake. I developed a very bad infection around the wound and was in a fever for weeks. My mind was still in a torment. I found it hard to speak. I couldn’t explain to anyone. There was talk of my being charged with attempted suicide, but the doctor argued that I was in a state of nervous prostration, prone to fits of lunacy – and who was I to argue with that?

  ‘So here I am, a free man, but I’m no use to anyone. I cannot think what job I can do now. They’ve warned me I might well lose the sight of my good eye too. But don’t worry, Jem, I’m not going to be a burden on you. If I can stay for a week or so and see Mother, then that is all I ask.’

  ‘You must stay for ever, Gideon. This is your home, and we