Sapphire Battersea Read online

  I hesitated, blushing.

  ‘She does, she does – look at her cheeks! She’s gone scarlet! What is his name, Hetty?’ said Maisie.

  ‘Well, I have two sweethearts,’ I said.

  This made them both squeal.

  ‘Who, who? Tell us their names!’ said Charlotte.

  ‘Well, there’s Bertie … and there’s Jem,’ I said.

  ‘And which one do you like the best?’ Maisie asked.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ I said truthfully. ‘I do like them both.’

  ‘So which one will you run off with?’ Maisie demanded.

  ‘I don’t think I’m going to run off with anyone. I shall stay in my coral palace, and Mama shall come and live with me, and I shall nurse her until she’s completely better,’ I said.

  I knelt there on the sand, my head bent so they should not see the tears in my eyes. Charlotte put her arm round me even so, and Maisie nestled close and took my hand.

  ‘Perhaps she really will be a little better today,’ Charlotte said.

  Every evening after supper the whole family walked with me to the infirmary. I was bolder now, but I still couldn’t get into her ward. Every time I tried to sneak in through the entrance and down the long corridor, a nurse caught me and marched me back out again. However, when the nurse in charge of the ward was having her supper in a side room, I could call softly through the open window. Mama would slip out of bed and come right up to the window, her hand clamped over her mouth to stop herself coughing. She’d reach through the gap at the bottom and we’d clasp hands tight. I’d pass her the long loving letters I wrote each night. I’d bring her tiny presents too: an embroidered handkerchief, a pretty shell I’d found on the beach, a plaited lock of my hair.

  Mama was so weak she’d often start crying. I was worried about her getting chilled if she stayed at the window too long, but her eyes shone whenever she saw me. She whispered feverishly that my visits meant the whole world to her. She couldn’t talk to me properly for fear of coughing and alerting the nurse, so I talked to her instead, telling her again and again that I loved her. I promised she was going to get better, and then we would live together. Meanwhile she mustn’t worry about me at all. I said I was very happy with my dear Greenwood family.

  I didn’t tell Mama they were only here for a holiday because I knew she’d fret over what would happen next. I tried to put it out of my mind myself, though I often woke with a start in the middle of the night, terrified.

  During the day I somehow managed to put most of my troubles out of my mind. The evenings were especially sweet. After seeing Mama I’d feel reassured, ready for the rest of our walk. Sometimes we promenaded on the pier, though Maisie was afraid of the gaps in the planks of wood and started whimpering. She worried that they would give way, and she would fall right through into the surging sea. Mr Greenwood had to give her a piggyback to get her to venture right to the end of the pier.

  I loved to go there myself. I’d clutch the railings and stare out to sea and imagine myself sailing away beyond the horizon. There was an advertising poster on a kiosk on the pier for Argosy cigarettes, with a bold woman in a white cap and navy nautical dress sailing her yacht with a triumphant look in her eyes. She wasn’t a woman who knew her place. She didn’t have a place – she was as free as the wind in her hair and the waves beneath her.

  There was a machine that told fortunes on the pier. Mr Greenwood paid a penny each for us all to have a go. Charlotte and Maisie got exactly the same fortunes, printed on little pink cards:

  You are fair of face

  A form full of grace

  Wedding bells chime

  True love divine!

  This made them both squeal and claim Michael Fairhill as their future husband.

  ‘Now it’s your turn, Hetty!’

  My fortune card was bright sapphire-blue and it said:

  You have far to go

  A life of woe

  But your wishes come true

  Happily for you!

  ‘Oh, Hetty, perhaps Bertie or Jem will marry you!’ said Maisie. ‘Then everything will end happily. Which will you choose?’

  ‘Neither! I know what I wish for,’ I said, clutching my little blue card until the edges cut into my hand.

  One evening we went to see the pierrots – a little troupe of performers in white clown outfits. The next day on the sands, Charlotte and Maisie and I gave our own ‘Pierrot’ concert to Mr and Mrs Greenwood. I even fashioned a tiny pierrot costume for little Flora. I held her in my arms and made her bob up and down, performing her own baby song and dance.

  Another evening Mr Greenwood paid for us all to sit before the big octagonal bandstand and listen to the music. I did not know any of the songs, but all the Greenwoods sang along while the band played. They were a military band in smart uniform with gleaming gold epaulettes. I hoped that Gideon might be able to join a similar band.

  We also went to see Mr Clarendon’s Seaside Curiosities. I had noticed a distinctive red-and-white striped tent pitched at the end of the promenade and had very much hoped it might be a circus.

  ‘No, no, Hetty, it’s not a circus, it’s a freak show,’ said Charlotte. ‘Oh, Papa, please may we go and see the curiosities?’

  ‘I’m not sure it’s suitable for young girls,’ Mrs Greenwood said quickly. ‘And please don’t use that word, Charlotte, it sounds unpleasant.’

  ‘What should we call the freaks, then, Mama?’ Maisie asked.

  ‘You shouldn’t call them anything. They’re poor unfortunate people who cannot help the way they look,’ said Mrs Greenwood.

  ‘Now don’t get upset, my dear,’ said Mr Greenwood. ‘I think Mr Clarendon’s folk rely on trickery and make-up. I’m sure there’s not a genuine freak amongst them.’

  ‘Please, what is a freak?’ I asked.

  ‘Perhaps we will have to show you,’ said Mr Greenwood.

  ‘It’s truly not a suitable show for children. I regret that we took Charlotte and Maisie last year. It is sad and tawdry and vulgar,’ said Mrs Greenwood.

  ‘Yes, and we loved it!’ said Charlotte. ‘Please let us take Hetty, Mama!’

  Mrs Greenwood weakened, but she wouldn’t come in with us. She sat on a nearby bench with little Flora, while the girls and I eagerly approached the entrance to the tent. Mr Clarendon himself stood there, bizarrely dressed in a bright scarlet suit with a bowler hat of the same hue tipped sideways on his head. He spoke into a loudhailer, instructing passersby to roll up and see the astonishing sights inside.

  ‘Prepare to be truly amazed,’ he said as Mr Greenwood paid for all of us.

  He tipped his bowler to Mr Greenwood and smiled at us girls. He gave me a particular wink which disconcerted me. I did not know if I would like Mr Clarendon’s freaks or not, but I decided I did not care for him.

  The tent was divided into little rooms, one leading to another. The first was a little disappointing. It consisted of a display of not-very-remarkable seaside objects: a very large preserved fish with doleful eyes; some fancy seashells; a crab with enormous claws; a display of stuffed seagulls suspended precariously on wires; and a moth-eaten stuffed seal with a woebegone expression.

  Charlotte and Maisie circled these exhibits a little impatiently. ‘Wait till you see the next room, Hetty – and the one after that!’ they said, taking my hands and hurrying me along.

  We moved through the flap to the next room. There was a real man sitting on a chair, wearing only his trousers, hoisted up with a pair of black braces. His entire body was covered in detailed blue pictures, as if he were a human comical paper. There were even pictures engraved up his bald head.

  There was a sign above him: HENRY, THE MAN WITH ONE HUNDRED TATTOOS. I stared at him, fascinated. I squinted very carefully at each picture. I tried counting, but there were too many, and perhaps there were more lurking beneath his trousers. I would never know if there truly were one hundred. Were they real?

  ‘Perhaps they are just painted on?’ I whispere