A Mistletoe Kiss (3 page)

‘Oh yes, Miss Preece, as soon as I can after school,' Hetty said eagerly. Then they entered the Reading Room, and Hetty was unable to repress a gasp. It was huge, and contained a number of polished wooden tables, and stands with newspapers and periodicals spread out upon them, but what caused Hetty to gasp was the room itself, with its vast domed glass ceiling. Wordlessly, for she remembered the silence rule, she gestured around her and raised her eyebrows, and Miss Preece, mindful of her own previous remarks no doubt, led her outside again before she spoke.

She smiled at Hetty, and for the first time Hetty thought that Miss Preece was regarding her with kindness. ‘What do you think of our Reading Room?'

‘It's wonderful,' Hetty breathed. ‘May I really come here on Monday afternoon?'

‘If you are free after school on Monday, and if Mr Gower agrees of course, you can come in then,' Miss Preece said, and this time Hetty thought she could
read approval in the eyes that met her own. ‘I know this will sound foolish to you, but we have to keep a watch on some of the people who use the Reading Room in case they have brought in scissors or penknives hidden upon their persons, to enable them to cut out a particular paragraph or item of news and save them the trouble and expense of buying a newspaper. So if you see anyone with such items, you would be doing us a great service if you came quietly out and told whoever was manning the desk.' She smiled suddenly and delightfully, and Hetty wished she would smile more often for she thought it improved her no end; made her seem, for a moment, almost pretty. ‘If you can watch out for suspicious behaviour, you would be repaying the trust I'm placing in you.'

‘Oh yes, I'll certainly warn you if I see someone misbehaving,' Hetty said eagerly. ‘And I'll come back on Monday, after school, with my exercise book, and write my essay when I've read the books. It'll be a deal quieter than at home,'cos me Aunt Phoebe's two big sons, Tom and Bill, what I told you about, are never what you might call quiet.'

‘Very well; and I don't need details of your home life,' Miss Preece said loftily, making Hetty give an inward gurgle of amusement. If only the librarian knew! Aunt Phoebe worked as a home laundress, and in that capacity was meticulous and highly regarded by her employers. But apart from her work she was easy-going, almost slapdash, whilst Uncle Alf was the exact opposite. He expected his wife to keep her sons in order, a task Aunt Phoebe thought unnecessary, so
that quite frequently chaos reigned at No. 7 Salisbury Street, with Uncle Alf bawling that he wanted his meals regular and was that too much to ask, Aunt Phoebe saying plaintively that she would see what she could do, and the boys grabbing any food that was going or taking money from the housekeeping purse on the mantelpiece to buy themselves two penn'orth of chips or a shop-made meat and potato pie.

Now the librarian limped back to her counter and Hetty returned to the Reading Room and settled down with her books. She was alone in the huge room, and soon became so absorbed that Miss Preece actually had to come into the room and give her shoulder a shake to get her attention. ‘You've had your hour,' she said, but to Hetty's surprise she did not speak unkindly. ‘Time you were off; Mr Gower and I are about to clear away and close up. Give me your books, and I'll return them to their places on the shelves.'

‘It's all right, I'll do it,' Hetty said at once, not wanting to be a burden to the librarian, for now that the day was drawing to a close she could see lines of pain etching themselves on Miss Preece's face whenever she had to take a step.

The woman, however, shook her head. ‘I'll put them back myself all the same,' she said. ‘Fiction is in alphabetical order according to author, but nonfiction is catalogued differently: under subject matter.' She raised her eyebrows as Hetty stood up. ‘How's the essay coming along?'

This seemed like an attempt at friendship, so Hetty gave the librarian her sweetest smile and explained
that she had just been taking notes in her head, since she had not brought her exercise book with her.

Miss Preece began to answer, then stopped short with an exclamation of dismay. ‘My dear child, whatever have you been doing? Oh, don't say you've been
eating
… but no, I'm sure you've read the signs forbidding anyone to eat or drink on the premises. Only – only your tongue is bright purple, and so is your lower lip; you look quite dreadful.'

Hetty glanced round, then giggled. ‘You must have give me an indelible pencil to fill in that form,' she said. ‘I reckon I always suck my pencil when I'm thinking, but don't worry, I haven't licked none of the books.'

The librarian, who had been bending over her, straightened, a hand going to the small of her back even as she took the books Hetty was offering. She sighed, then gave what might have almost been a smile, though all she said was: ‘Bring your own pencil on Monday,' before turning away and taking hold of a large trolley piled with books.

Hetty realised that these were some of the volumes the library borrowers had returned, and hurried over to where the librarian stood. ‘You tell me where they's to go and I'll put'em up, then you'll be through a whole lot quicker,' she observed. ‘I'd like to do it, honest to God I would.'

She expected to be turned down and was genuinely delighted when Miss Preece handed her a book and told her that it had come off the top shelf and should be placed amongst other works by the same author.
Very soon they were working in harmony, and when Mr Gower came down the stairs he said ‘Good night' to Miss Preece in a very formal manner, but raised his eyebrows at the sight of Hetty replacing the books on the shelves.

Miss Preece answered his unasked question. ‘We had a great many readers bringing their books back today, Mr Gower; if it hadn't been for my little helper, I'd not have been able to close at four,' she explained.

Mr Gower nodded. ‘Very well, Miss Preece. Is this the young person who wanted to become a member but …'

‘Yes, that's right, but we've sorted the matter out,' Miss Preece said rather hurriedly. She handed Hetty a large and imposing tome. ‘Bottom shelf, next to the red book with gold lettering,' she said briskly.

It was a good walk from the library to Salisbury Street, but Hetty was used to walking. Grandpa's barge was still pulled by Guinness, the big piebald cob, so when she was living on the canal she walked long distances leading him, and of course lacking a penny for trams she walked a good deal in Liverpool as well.

She had emerged from the library with considerable caution, just in case the boys might still be hanging about, but there was no one she knew on the crowded pavement and presently she forgot all about her cousins and the telling-off she would probably get for not offering to do her aunt's messages before she had set out for the library.

All Hetty could think about as she trudged along
were the wonderful books she had read and handled. She was sure her essay would win her a star, possibly even a gold one, and really and truly if her work was commended, it would be thanks to Miss Preece. Hetty thought about the older woman's strange boot and heavy limp, and now that she seriously considered it she realised that this might be the cause of Miss Preece's bad temper. She herself had been caned several times at school for inattention and knew how difficult it was to concentrate when your palm was red raw and stinging whenever you moved your fingers.

Hetty glanced at her school as she walked along William Henry Street, but of course on a Saturday the only people in the building would be the cleaners and the caretaker. She headed for the jigger that ran between the houses on Salisbury Street and those on Stitt Street. She reached the back gate of No. 7, hurried across the tiny paved yard, ducked under her aunt's washing hanging on the line and went through the back door and into the kitchen. Her aunt was ironing and the room smelt pleasantly of starched linen. Hetty smiled at her aunt. ‘Sorry I slipped out early this morning, Aunt Phoebe, but me teacher told me to go to the library so's I could get my holiday task written up before I join Grandma and Gramps on the
Water Sprite
. I thought Bill and Tom would probably get your messages for once, if I weren't about to do it.'

Her aunt looked up and gave Hetty an absentminded smile. Her face was very red and her light brown hair hung over her damp forehead, for it was a hot day and though Aunt Phoebe was always saying
how much she would like one of the new-fangled electric irons she was still using the old-fashioned flats. You needed to be ‘on the electric' as they put it before you could use an electric iron, so Aunt Phoebe would have to wait until the happy day arrived when electricity came to their part of the city.

In the meantime, she had to do her work the hard way. Two or three times a week she did the rounds of small cafés and restaurants collecting tablecloths, napkins and tea towels, which she then bundled up and took along to the washhouse on Netherfield Road. There she would wash all the linen she had collected, using starch when necessary, and hang it to dry on the indoor lines which criss-crossed the large space. Later she would bring everything back to her own home when it was still just damp enough to iron. She was always careful to see that all the linen, right down to the tea towels, was marked with the owner's initials so that her customers knew she could be trusted to return exactly what she had taken.

But how much quicker and easier the task of ironing such large quantities of linen would have been had she owned an electric iron, Hetty thought now, eyeing her aunt's red and sweaty face with real sympathy. Once, when her aunt had been ill, Hetty had undertaken the ironing herself sooner than risk losing customers, so she knew from personal experience what very hard work ironing starched tablecloths could be. However, at present the wonderful electric iron was out of the question, so her aunt laboured on and all
Hetty could do was help by delivering her work and collecting the money due.

Now, Aunt Phoebe changed irons, but did not put the cooling one back in front of the fire, so Hetty deduced that her aunt had almost finished her day's work and would presently pack the laundry up into two or three bundles and suggest that her niece should deliver them before the restaurants and cafés closed. Hetty, anxious to please, went over to the sink and filled the kettle, then put it over the fire. ‘You look as though you could do with a cuppa, Auntie,' she said cheerfully. ‘When you've finished I'll deliver the stuff for you, and if there's any messages I'll do them then. Or did Bill and Tom do everything this morning?'

Aunt Phoebe stood back from the ironing board for a moment, then wiped the back of her hand across her forehead. ‘Oh aye, the boys did their share,' she said tiredly. ‘There's no more messages, but I don't deny I'd be glad of that cuppa, and it'ud be a help if you'd deliver me work.'

Aunt Phoebe was a plump and pretty woman, usually cheerful and chatty, but right now her niece could see that she was too tired to do anything more than fold the last tablecloth, stand the second iron back in the hearth and slump into a chair. Hetty bustled about, making the tea and handing her aunt a cup. Sadly, this was not simply from a wish to ease the older woman's burden, but because Hetty wanted to tell her all about the librarian, and the fact that she was to be allowed to use the Reading Room to study
the books she needed, and realised that her aunt was more likely to show interest with a nice cup of tea inside her. She still had the form Miss Preece had given her and meant to show it to her aunt, but had no expectation that the older woman would sign it for her. And if she were honest, she much preferred using the Reading Room.

Hetty sorted the linen and bagged it up, carefully checking the initials to ensure that the linen went to the correct owners, then poured herself a cup of tea, sat down opposite her aunt and began to tell her where she had been all day, explaining that she had to have a responsible adult's signature before she could borrow books from the Everton library.

‘Oh aye?' Aunt Phoebe said. ‘I seem to remember something o' the sort were the rule in my young day. Of course, I never joined the library meself, but Sukey, your mam, was a great one for books. She and her pals were forever in and out, borrowin' books on all sorts. She had to get special permission, mind,'cos she couldn't always get what she borrowed back in time because of being aboard the
Water Sprite
.

Aunt Phoebe rarely talked about Hetty's mother, who had died ten years earlier. Now, Hetty pricked up her ears and smiled hopefully across at her aunt. ‘Oh, so my mam was like me, and enjoyed reading? Did she go to the Everton library then, or was there another one nearer the canal?'

Aunt Phoebe, who was beginning to recover from her exhaustion, tutted. ‘Remember, queen, our pa were
your grandpa, and thought education important. Like yourself, we lived ashore wi' an old aunt from the time we were ten until we were old enough to earn. Well, that were me; your mam was clever – she and her pal Agatha were the brightest in the class, though they were almost two years younger than the rest of us – and they both went on to what they called further education. Your mam were all set to be a teacher, only then along came James Gilbert … and that were the end of her wantin' to teach and the beginning of her talkin' of nothin' but marriage.' She chuckled. ‘It comes to us all, queen; you'll be just the same, see if you ain't.'

Hetty compressed her lips; she had no intention of getting involved, even in friendship, with any boy, but knew she could scarcely admit to it. Bill and Tom were her cousins, and when they weren't teasing her she liked them well enough, but she could not imagine wanting either of them to take Lucy's place as her bezzie. However, it would never do to say so; instead she smiled sweetly and began to probe for more information. ‘I knew Mam and Dad died of the flu when I was only two, but you don't often talk about them, Aunt Phoebe, and nor do Gran and Grandpa. I used to try to get them remembering, but it made Gran cry, so I had to stop. All I know about my father is his name, and the fact that he was a seaman.'