Hetty Feather (25 page)

I was starting to feel sorry for myself too,
walking around alone in my hideous brown frock
and boots, while all the well-dressed families stared
and sniggered at me. Even the rude boys were here
with mamas and papas, big happy families, many
of them picnicking on the grass. I stared at their
checked tablecloths spread with pork pies and whole
chickens and egg-and-bacon tarts, and wondered
about darting in like a dog and snatching something.
But then what would the woman in the baker's shop
say about my manners! I might be a beggar now but
I was
not
going to be a thief.

I sat myself down on the grass and looked mournful,
hoping that strangers would start flinging pennies
at me again, but it seemed to be the wrong sort
of place. People had come to the Zoological Gardens
to observe the animals, not a small stray child. Folk
passed me by without giving me a second glance.

I decided I'd have to move further afield if I
wanted to earn enough for my supper. Most of my
generous donors had been gentlemen. I needed to
get away from this family environment. I figured
that there would be more gentlemen in the centre
of town, so I left the gardens, walked out of the park
and continued on my way.

I wandered back towards Oxford Street and
Regent Street, my empty stomach clamouring now,
and both boots rubbing my feet sore and bloody.
Finally I had to stop and take my boots off altogether.
I was sitting on the kerb airing my dirty toes, my
boots neatly beside me, stockings tucked inside,
when two boys came dashing up. One hollered
something unintelligible right in my face. I shouted
back furiously. He punched me in the chest and I
aimed a kick at him with my bare foot. He pushed
me hard so that I fell – and he and his friend scurried
off. I sat up gingerly, cursing them. I cursed even
more when I went to put on my boots again. They
had vanished, stolen by the two scheming boys!

I cried a little then, because I knew how much
I needed those boots even though they hurt me.
My genuine tears brought me a little consolation
– two more gentlemen gave me pennies – but when
I got to my feet to look for another baker's shop I
realized I was in trouble. The pavements were hard,
with sharp stones, whereas my feet were soft and
blistered raw. I could not walk far now.

I bought myself a meat pie from a street stall
and wolfed it down, though the meat was all fat and
gristle and the pastry limp. I thought of Ida and her
delicious pies. She had been such a true friend to me
yet I'd been so very unkind to her. She would hate me
now – if she ever thought of me. She'd have Sheila
for her pet. She'd give her tiny culinary treats and
save up to buy her a special Christmas present . . .

I felt miserably sick at the thought (or perhaps
it was the meat pie). My bladder was also bursting.
I wandered up a dark alley off Regent Street to
find somewhere private so I could relieve myself.
I found myself in a wide square with a garden full
of city men, smoking and larking and taking the air.
There were girls too, some ragged and barefoot like
me, offering posies to the gentlemen, begging them
to buy their flowers. There were a couple of older
girls too, their lips painted carmine like Madame
Adeline's, wearing lurid dresses and showing a lot
of petticoat. They kept approaching the gentlemen,
seeming to be begging too.

I hesitated, wondering if I should try too.

'Clear off, you, ginger nob. This is
our
patch!' one
girl yelled at me.

Another girl gave me a hard push. 'You're too
young! Give way for your elders and betters!' she
said, cackling with laughter.

These weren't girls I dared tangle with. They
were bigger and rougher than the street boys who
had stolen my boots. There was a sharpness about
their pinched, painted faces that frightened me. I
ran away, up another darker alley, then lifted my
skirts and used the gutter, jumping when a rat
leaped out at me.

A girl and a gentleman came blundering down
the alleyway, arm in arm, whispering together. Their
words made me feel sicker than ever. I dodged round
them and scurried back to the square, desperate to
reach the wide public street once more.

'Are you all right, little 'un?' said one of the
flower-sellers, a softer-looking girl in a shabby blue
print dress, carrying a big basket of flowers.

'Yes, thank you, I am perfectly fine,' I said, though
I knew I must look wretched and tear-stained.

'You don't
look
fine. I wouldn't stay round here.
It's not a good place for a little girl like you,' she
said. 'Here, do you want a posy?'

She picked out a tiny bunch of three rosebuds,
their stems carefully wrapped round with ribbon so
that their thorns were covered.

'It's beautiful, but I'm afraid I have no pennies,'
I said.

'I don't want no pennies! It's a gift to cheer you
up,' she said.

'Thank you very much! You're very kind,' I said,
sniffing the sweet roses.

'Off you hop,' she said. 'I wouldn't even loiter
round here. Go straight home. You're too little to be
out on the streets.'

I nodded and smiled at her and turned on my
way, comforted. I went back down the alley towards
Regent Street, but a gentleman stepped out of the
shadows right in front of me, making me jump. He
was a very grand gentleman, with a fine hat and
coat and a fancy silver brocade waistcoat. He could
surely mean me no harm . . .

'Hello, my dear,' he said softly. 'What a lovely
nosegay! May I buy it?'

'If you please, sir, it's not really for sale,' I said.

'No? But I will pay you a lot of money. A shilling?
Two? Maybe half a crown?'

I stared at him. He did not seem a foolish man at
all, quite the opposite, so why was he willing to pay
a fortune for three little wilting roses? I wanted to
keep them for myself because the flower-seller was
so kind to me – but I could feed myself for days and
days on half a crown.

He saw me hesitating. 'You're clearly very fond
of your flowers, child. Never mind, you keep them.
I'll tell you what. I have a house nearby with a very
pretty garden. I will take you there and you can pick
a whole armful of roses.'

'It's very kind of you, sir, but—'

'No buts, my dear. You must come with me. You're
trembling! I had better find you a soft shawl to keep
you warm – and stockings and shoes for those poor
little bare feet. Oh dear, they do look sore.'

He bent down and stroked my feet, fondling
my toes. I did not like this one jot and stepped
backwards, but he had hold of my ankle. I stumbled
and he caught me, lifting me right up in his arms.

'No, please! Put me down, sir!' I said, struggling,
but his arms were strong and his hand clamped over
my mouth.

'Ssh now, little girl. No crying. You will be fine
with me,' he said, walking rapidly.

I tried to bite the hand over my mouth but he
held me so tight I couldn't move my teeth, I couldn't
even draw breath to scream. But then something
went
bang
right on his head, someone kicked him
hard between his legs, and he groaned and dropped
me. A hand snatched mine.

'Quick, run!'

I ran for my life, hanging onto her hand. It was
my kind flower-seller! She had hammered the man
with her basket and then kicked him with swift
expertise. She tugged me up even darker alleys,
and then pushed me into a shadowy doorway. We
flattened ourselves in the recess, listening hard –
but could hear no footsteps.

'There! I didn't think he'd follow us, but you
never know,' she said. 'What was you
doing,
going
off with the likes of him? Couldn't you tell he was
up to no good?'

'Yes, but I didn't know how to get away.'

'Yell out and give them a good kicking, that's
what you do. You don't want to go
near
gentlemen
like that.'

'It was so kind of you to rescue me – and you've
dropped half your flowers!'

'We'll retrace our steps in a little while and see
if we can find any. Don't you worry. What's your
name, little 'un?'

'Hetty Feather.'

'I'm Sissy, dear. I'm fourteen.' She said it as if
she was quite grown up. She did indeed look years
older than the big girls at the hospital, with their
prim frocks and plaits. 'How old are you, Hetty?'

'Ten, nearly eleven.'

She didn't seem surprised. 'Our Lil's ten too.
She's about your size, bless her. She usually sells
flowers along with me, but she's poorly just now.
She's got a way of looking all big-eyed so that the
gentlemen melt.'

'Can
I
help you sell flowers today?'

Sissy looked me up and down. 'I don't see why
not. You need someone to look after you. There's
gentlemen and gentlemen. You need to work out
which is which. Not that
I
can always tell.' She
sniffed. 'Still, I might work on the street, but I like to
think me and Lil keep ourselves respectable. If ever
I'm tempted otherwise, I just think of Mother.'

'Is your mother . . .?' I hesitated delicately.

'She died two years ago, and the last baby died
with her. She were wore out, poor love.'

'Do you have a father?'

'Yes, we do, but we'd be better off without him,'
Sissy said bitterly. 'What about you, Hetty?'

I shook my head. 'I haven't got a father or a
mother,' I said.

Sissy plucked at the stuff of my dress. 'So is this
some kind of orphan uniform?'

I felt I could trust her. 'I used to live at the
Foundling Hospital, but I've run away.'

'Ah!' said Sissy, nodding. 'Were they cruel to you
there?'

'Ever so cruel,' I said firmly.

'Well, you stick with me, girl, and I'll learn
you some tricks. Let's have a look at you now.'
She scrutinized me carefully, then wet her finger,
rubbed it across the grimy wall, and marked under
my eyes with soot. 'That's better. If you look really
ill, the gentlemen will feel sorry for you. Can you
look really sad, Hetty?'

'I'm brilliant at it,' I said, lowering my head and
letting my mouth droop.

'Yes, you're a natural, almost as good as our Lil.'

'I can cry too if you like.'

'No, no, you'll smudge the soot and end up looking
like a chimney sweep. Right, my dear, let us see if we
can gather up those posies.' She held my hand tight.
'Don't worry about that gentleman, Hetty, or any
others of that ilk. I'll be looking out for you now.'

We found the spot where Sissy had valiantly
attacked the vile foot-stroker, and gathered up as
many fallen flowers as we could, though some had
already been trampled underfoot.

'We'll soon sort them out,' said Sissy, kneeling
down and arranging them deftly. 'Lovely moss roses,
these are, and gentlemen will pay a penny for a little
posy. They make a sweet little surprise for a lady, my
posies do. That's how me and our Lil do better than
most of the other girls. We don't just sell flowers,
we make 'em look special. When we sell our violets
in the spring, we bind them with green leaves and a
tiny piece of lace or ribbon. We beg them from this
milliner who used to know our mother. Then we
make such a pretty nosegay, some gentlemen might
even pay threepence to show their ladies it's spring
at last.'

'How pretty,' I said, trying to copy Sissy, prinking
the drooping little roses and arranging them just
so.

'That's right, Hetty, you're getting the hang of it
already. Come with me then, girl. We'll go down St
Martin's way. The gentlemen won't pay so much but
it's safer there. Don't want no nasty men making
off with you again, do we, Hetty?'

I trotted along beside Sissy and sat with her on
the steps of a great church by a huge square with
fountains and vast lion statues. It was so crowded
I wondered if the Queen was returning on another
Jubilee procession, but Sissy said it was simply folk
coming out to go to the theatre and the halls. Most
of them ignored us, though I looked extra mournful
and Sissy accosted them energetically.

'Come on, sir, buy a lovely posy for the missus.
Beautiful moss roses freshly picked! Make a girl
happy, sir. Only tuppence – what a bargain!'

It was a novelty at first and I enjoyed myself,
but then it started raining and everyone hurried by
under umbrellas, not even glancing in our direction.
I hoped Sissy might give up, but she sorted the few
coins in her pocket anxiously and said we had to
stay.

'We need at least another shilling, Hetty, hopefully
twice that,' she said worriedly.

'But you could buy a big meat pie and buns for
you and your Lil with the money you've got,' I said,
hoping she'd share a few pennies with me too.

'Bless you, Hetty, it's not just a question of
money for our food. I have to make the wherewithal
tonight to buy fresh flowers from the market in the
morning – these will all be withered by then. And
then there's Father to consider. He'll start fretting
for his drinking money. If I don't get home with
enough for his beer, he'll take it out on me
and
our
Lil.' She took a deep breath. 'Maybe I'd be better
going back to where I was. I reckon I could earn a
couple of quick sixpences there. You could stay here,
Hetty, and I'll come and collect you, I promise.'

I wasn't quite sure what she meant, but I clung
to her nevertheless. 'No, Sissy, stay. We'll get the
money here.' I cast my eyes around. I was used
to weighing up the hospital visitors on Sunday,
working out who might be generous with sweets. I
saw a portly middle-aged couple and took a chance.

I snatched a posy and ran up to them in the
pouring rain. 'Oh please, ma'am, sir, would you care
to buy one of my pretty posies?'

They seemed taken aback.

'What are you doing in the rain, child? And
barefoot too! Why don't you run along home?' said
the lady.