A Mistletoe Kiss (2 page)

So now here was Hetty, walking back and forth outside the library and wishing that she had had the forethought to ask Lucy to accompany her, because
she knew she would have been a lot bolder with her friend beside her. But Lucy had gone shopping with her mother, so Hetty would have to brave the fierce and terrible librarian alone.

And then, whilst she was still trying to pluck up courage, something occurred which made her bolt like a rabbit into its burrow at the approach of a dog. Coming up the street, clouting one another and shouting, came her cousins Bill and Tom with their neighbour, Gareth Evans. Gareth was a freckled, red-headed lad, three years older than Hetty. He was at the stage when he disliked all girls, and teased Hetty unmercifully, making fun of her mousy hair, her skinny legs and the fact that she was a dreamer who seemed to have her head in the clouds most of the time. Hetty knew from past experience that if Gareth spotted her he would begin to jeer and make rude remarks, and naturally Bill and Tom would join in, though they were friendly enough as a rule. Her cousins looked up to Gareth, who had stayed on an extra year at school and hoped to become an engineer one day. And since Hetty was not in the mood for teasing, she looked wildly round her, then dived for the nearest refuge, which was, of course, the library. Neither Bill, Tom nor Gareth would dream of entering its portals, so she would be safe from them once she was through the big glass doors. And even facing the cross librarian would be better than having either her cousins or her next-door neighbour scoffing, tugging at her untidy hair, trying to trip her up …

Once inside the doors, Hetty looked round for
somewhere to hide, then chided herself for cowardice. The teacher said she had the right to visit the library and she was doing just that. It was a piece of luck that the librarian had a short queue of elderly ladies who had chosen their books and were waiting to check them out at the long wooden counter. Hetty noticed that the woman at the front had opened her books at the first page, and even as she watched the librarian picked up a rubber stamp, clicked it down on both books and smiled at her customer. ‘You've got three weeks to read them in, Mrs Burrell,' she said. ‘But I know you; you'll be back here in a week looking for two more.'

Hetty, listening avidly, thought how lovely it would be to have two books for three whole weeks. And the choice was enormous! Books of every shape, colour and size jostled each other on the shelves, and seeing that the librarian had not even noticed her as yet and would probably be busy stamping books for some time, she set off to explore her surroundings. To her left, in one corner of the large room, was a notice reading
Children's Books
, but though there were a number of adults browsing at the shelves there was only one child beside herself in the place and she must, Hetty assumed, be simply accompanying her mother since she was paying no attention at all to the books.

Hetty sidled past the counter and made for the children's section. She began to examine the books, then reminded herself that this was not wholly a pleasure trip. She was supposed to be finding books about children in other lands; best get that over with first, then later she would pick something she really wanted to
read. Goodness knows, there was enough choice. Presently, she found what she was looking for. She selected a book about Eskimos, then one about Red Indians.

Tucking them under her arm, she suddenly saw a title with which she was familiar:
Treasure Island
, by Robert Louis Stevenson. She knew the book well, for Miss Marks was reading it to the class, or rather sharing the reading with the class. The teacher would read a few pages, then hand the book to one of her pupils. It wasn't too bad when Hetty or Lucy or one of the other brighter children had to read a few pages aloud, but it was misery when it went to someone who found reading a chore, and prolonged the agony by mispronouncing all the longer words and making a nonsense of half the sentences. Hetty had got over the suspense of not knowing what came next by closing her ears to the dreadful, painful renderings of the slower readers and racing ahead, so that by the time the class were about a third of the way through the book Hetty had already finished it. She suspected that Miss Marks knew what she had done, but the teacher must have understood the temptation, for she had neither commented on Hetty's knowledge of the story, nor upbraided her pupil for reading ahead.

Right next to
Treasure Island
, however, was another book by the same author, entitled
The Black Arrow
. Hetty slid it off the shelf, retreated to the very back of the children's section, sat down cross-legged on the hard wooden floor and began to read. She was well into the second chapter when a shadow fell across the
page and looking up she saw the librarian glaring down at her. ‘Just what do you think you are doing, child?' the woman said, her voice cold as ice. ‘I recognise you! I've turned you out of my library twice already; have you no respect for your elders? This library is a place for those who wish to borrow books. Children have other places of amusement.'

‘If children aren't allowed in here, why do you have so many books especially for us?' Hetty asked boldly, but she scrambled to her feet as she spoke. ‘And anyway, my teacher told me to come here so that I could get information for my holiday task.' Highly daring, she added: ‘She's called Miss Marks and she said that you had to let me into your library and let me borrow books as well.'

The librarian glared, put out a hand as though to seize Hetty's shoulder, then seemed to change her mind. ‘Yes, we do let children borrow books occasionally,' she admitted grudgingly. ‘But not scruffy little girls with grubby paws, and toes sticking out of ragged plimsolls. I am responsible for keeping all the books in good order, and I don't want the covers ruined by dirty fingerprints.'

Hetty drew an outraged breath, pushed
The Black Arrow
back on to the shelf, and held out her hands, palms uppermost. ‘I scrubbed my hands before I came out this morning, Miss,' she said indignantly. ‘If they're dirty, which they aren't, it'll be dirt off your books. And if they're dusty, which they are, it's because the books don't get handled enough. As for my plimsolls, I've never heard of anybody reading books with their feet.'

For the first time, the librarian looked flustered. ‘Very well, as your hands are clean you may choose two books,' she said, after a short pause. ‘But first, of course, you must fill in a membership form. I take it you can write, and know your name and address?'

Hetty could think of a number of cutting replies to this nasty question, but knew it would not be wise to utter any of them. Instead she said, quite meekly: ‘I live with my aunt, except for when I stay with my grandparents. Will my aunt's address do?'

The librarian sighed and cast her eyes up to the ceiling, reminding Hetty momentarily of Miss Marks, though no two women could have been less alike. Miss Marks was stout and rosy, the librarian thin and pale, with black hair pulled back into a tight little knob at the nape of her neck, soulful black eyes and a slight but definite black moustache. ‘Your aunt's address? You don't live with your parents then?' she said, leading the way across to a large mahogany desk behind the counter.

Hetty, following her, the books on Eskimos and Red Indians tucked once more under her arm, said briefly: ‘My mum and dad died when I was two. I live with my Aunt Phoebe and Uncle Alf.'

‘I see,' the librarian said. She sat down in a chair, pulled open a drawer and selected a form from within. She thrust it across the desk at Hetty, added a pencil and said impatiently: ‘Fill in the form – read it carefully first, mind – and then bring it to me. I've some ladies wanting their books stamped, so I must get on.'

She arose from the chair and went across to the
counter. For the first time, Hetty noticed that she had a very bad limp. Her skirt was so long that it brushed her ankles, but even so Hetty could see that she wore a great ugly boot on her right foot, though she had a perfectly normal low-heeled shoe on her left. Odd, Hetty thought, but then dismissed the matter and began to read the form carefully, sucking the end of her pencil as she did so.

The form seemed straightforward until one reached the very end, and then it said that if the would-be library member were under twenty-one years of age, he or she would have to provide the name of a guarantor willing to take responsibility for the library books they had borrowed. Here, Hetty's pencil remained poised. What on earth should she do? She was fond of Aunt Phoebe, but she could not imagine that hard-pressed person agreeing to pay for a lost or ruined library book. Why, some of them must be worth several shillings, possibly even several pounds! She could ask Gramps or Gran of course, but they wouldn't be calling for her in the
Water Sprite
for at least two weeks and she wanted to borrow the books now so that she might get her holiday task completed before she set off for a whole glorious month on her grandparents' canal barge.

Chewing the end of her pencil and praying for inspiration, Hetty looked around her. She had seen a flight of stairs leading up to a sort of gallery overhead, and a sign saying
Reference
, but since she did not understand the meaning of the phrase she did not glance up again but looked hopefully across the room to where
the librarian was just finishing with her customers and coming back towards the big mahogany desk. ‘All done?' she said briskly, holding out her hand for the form. ‘I'll just check your answers and then you'd best run home and get your mother – I mean your aunt – to sign at the bottom here.'

Hetty sighed. ‘My aunt isn't too flush right now,' she said apologetically. ‘I don't know that she'll sign. My grandpa would, but he won't be in Liverpool for another two weeks and I need the books to get my holiday task written so's I can help out when I go aboard the
Water Sprite
. That's the name of Grandpa's canal barge,' she finished.

She handed the almost completed form to the librarian and was horrified when she saw that lady begin to scrumple it into a ball. Hetty had been sitting on a hard wooden chair, facing the librarian, but now she stood up and shot out a hand to grab back the form. ‘Oh, Miss, suppose I read the books in the library?' she said desperately. ‘I'd be ever so careful, and you could see no harm came to them. I wouldn't try and take them out, honest to God I wouldn't.'

The librarian sighed and began to shake her head, but she must have read the despair in Hetty's eyes and suddenly seemed to change her mind. She smoothed out the form and bent a piercing gaze upon Hetty. ‘Do you see that door over there? It leads to what we call the Reading Room. There are a great many people who come here to read newspapers and periodicals – that's another name for magazines – and some who merely want to look up some reference or other in one of our
books without wishing to become members of the library. I don't believe I've ever seen a child go into the Reading Room, probably because there are strict rules governing it, the main one of which is silence. Whilst you are in there you may not talk or laugh, or hum a tune beneath your breath, because that would disturb others. But if you promise me you'll abide by the rules, I see no reason why you shouldn't use it.'

Hetty was so excited that she gave a little hop and clasped her hands before her. ‘Oh, Miss, what are the other rules? Do I have to take the books into the Reading Room one at a time, or can I take a pile? Can I take notes? Can I write my whole essay in there, come to that? It would be a lot easier than trying to do it at home, because the boys are awful noisy …'

‘You may take two books at a time into the Reading Room, and you may make pencilled notes,' the librarian told her. ‘The other rules are written up on a placard by the door and I'm sure you'll find them both sensible and easy to follow. You may not take any of the newspapers and periodicals out with you, for instance, nor turn down the corner of a page to mark your place …'

‘Oh, I wouldn't do that – turn down the corner of a page, I mean – because that would spoil the book for someone else,' Hetty said righteously. ‘But suppose someone speaks to
me
, Miss? It would be rude not to answer.'

‘Rude or not, it's one of the rules. You'll find the word
Silence
on several boards suspended from the ceiling, and all you have to do is point to one of them and
make your way out of the Reading Room. Once the door has closed behind you, you can speak, but please keep your conversation as brief as you can, and if possible any such talk should be conducted in whispers. And, of course, you must obey any command given to you by a member of staff.'

‘Who are they? You don't wear uniform, so how am I to tell a member of staff from anyone else?' Hetty asked timidly. So far, she had only seen the librarian herself.

‘At present, there are only two of us: Mr Gower, who runs the reference section in the gallery, and myself. But we shall have an assistant librarian quite soon, and on a Saturday we have a young lady from college; you will be able to recognise her because she'll be on this side of the counter.'

‘Right. And as for the silence rule, I shall be quiet as a mouse, because I like quiet when I'm reading,' Hetty promised eagerly. ‘Oh, Miss, you are good! I do think my grandfather would sign the form – he loves books so he does – but I'd much rather go to your Reading Room and take notes and study in the quiet there.'

‘Very well then, for the time being at least that is what you may do. And my name is Miss Preece; I very much dislike being called “Miss” all the time.'

‘I'll remember, Miss Preece,' Hetty said fervently. ‘It's very kind of you to let me use the Reading Room; thank you.'

‘Well, abide by the rules and I'll be satisfied,' Miss Preece said. ‘I must ask Mr Gower whether he agrees,
but I'm sure he will, if I vouch for you.' She glanced at her watch. ‘We close the library at four on a Saturday, though it's open until later on weekdays. It's only three o'clock now, however, so if you'd like to spend an hour in the Reading Room, you may choose yourself a couple of books.' Hetty displayed the books she had selected, and Miss Preece approved her choice with a nod before leading her towards the door of the Reading Room. ‘You may pick a desk – there's bound to be one vacant this late in the afternoon – and start reading. Will you be returning on Monday?'