A Mother's Promise
Read A Mother's Promise Online
Authors: Dilly Court
Contents
Chapter One: Bow, East London, January 1888
When Hetty Huggins made a promise to her dying mother that she would look after her younger sister and brothers, little did she know how difficult this would be. But despite the threat of being turned out onto the streets by the unscrupulous tallyman and the never-ending struggle just to exist, Hetty is determined her family will never starve or want for a roof over their heads.
Longing for something better out of life than the daily grind of making matchboxes for a pittance, she dreams of setting up her own business. With the help of friends she sells hot potatoes on the streets and things begin to look up for them all. But when the tallyman comes calling, they are faced once more with a future full of hardship and despair …
Dilly Court grew up in North-east London and began her career in television, writing scripts for commercials. She is married with two grown-up children and four grandchildren, and now lives in Dorset on the beautiful Jurassic Coast with her husband and a large, yellow Labrador called Archie. She is also the author of
Mermaids Singing
,
The Dollmaker’s Daughters
,
Tilly True
,
The Best of Sisters, The Cockney Sparrow
,
A Mother’s Courage
and
The Constant Heart
.
Mermaids Singing
The Dollmaker’s Daughters
Tilly True
The Best of Sisters
The Cockney Sparrow
A Mother’s Courage
The Constant Heart
Chapter One
Bow, East London, January 1888
Hetty stamped her feet in an attempt to bring them back to life. It was five o’clock on a bitterly cold winter’s morning, and the queue of outworkers stretched from the gates of the match factory to the end of the street and far beyond. Women and girls, many of whom were little more than children, waited to collect the materials that they needed to take home in order to make matchboxes. The sleet-spiked torrential rain had eased to a fine drizzle, but the gutters were clogged with rotting straw and overflowing with evil-smelling water contaminated by horse dung. The feeble glow of the gaslights created monstrous shadows from the huddled shapes of the women as they crowded together in an effort to keep warm.
Hetty shivered convulsively, cupping her hands over her mouth and blowing on them in a vain attempt to bring some feeling back to her frozen fingers. Her teeth were chattering like a pair of magpies, and she wrapped her sodden woollen shawl a little tighter around
her thin shoulders; but for all the good it did her, she might as well not have bothered. A quick glance at her younger sister’s pinched features and miserable expression made Hetty forget her own woes for a moment. She gave Jane’s hand a squeeze. ‘It shouldn’t be long now before they let us in, love.’
Jane hunched her shoulders and shuffled her feet; her blue lips moved but her answer was drowned by a fit of coughing from the woman standing behind her. The harsh, hacking sound echoed down the street, generating a chain reaction of coughs and sneezes amongst the previously silent queue. Hetty could feel the icy water seeping through the thin soles of her second-hand, down-at-heel boots, but at least she had footwear. Others, less fortunate, had to watch their bare feet turning blue and then corpse-white as they waited for the factory gates to open.
‘Ouch.’ Hetty let out a yelp, spinning round to see who had tugged at her hair, which she wore in a thick plait that reached down to her waist. ‘Oh! So it’s you, Tom Crewe. I might have known it.’
Grinning mischievously, he dragged off his cloth cap, revealing a mop of curls, flattened and darkened by sweat but glistening guinea-gold in the gaslight. ‘Morning, Hetty.’
She scowled at him, but her lips twitched
as she suppressed the desire to giggle. ‘Do that again, and I’ll have you.’
‘Is that a promise, sweetheart?’ Tom’s teeth gleamed white in a face blackened with soot.
His companion, also covered in grime, chuckled and nudged him in the ribs. ‘I’d have her sister, given half a chance.’
Hetty’s protective instincts were instantly roused and she turned on him angrily. ‘You don’t half fancy yourself, Nat. My sister ain’t interested in the likes of you.’
‘Shut up, Hetty. I don’t need you to speak for me.’ Jane’s pale cheeks flamed coral-pink. ‘And there’s no need to be crude, Nat,’ she added, slanting a coquettish look at him beneath her long dark eyelashes.
‘You wasn’t so coy the last time we met,’ Nat said softly.
Hetty opened her mouth to remind him that Jane was only just sixteen, but Tom was still fingering her braid and he brushed it against his cheek. ‘Your hair’s like black silk, Hetty, and your eyes are the colour of violets – I could eat you for me dinner.’
‘Give over, Tom. You’re embarrassing me.’ Hetty forgot about Nat as she tugged her hair free from Tom’s grasp. ‘Get on home. You stink of the gasworks and you look like a sweep’s boy.’
‘Don’t lower yourself to their level,’ Jane whispered. ‘It ain’t seemly.’
Nat doffed his cap and bowed from the waist. ‘Hoity-toity, Miss Jane Huggins.’
‘I don’t like a public show,’ Jane said primly.
‘You’re a real lady, Janey.’ Nat leaned towards her with a boss-eyed but charming smile. ‘Will I see you tonight afore I goes on me shift at the gasworks?’
‘Maybe. Maybe not.’
The woman standing directly in front of them turned her head and scowled at Jane. ‘Fine goings-on, I must say. I’ve a good mind to tell your gran that you’re carrying on with Nathaniel Smith. I seen you two canoodling beneath the gas lamps.’ She jerked her head in Nat’s direction, curling her lip in disapproval. ‘His mother was a didicoi and his dad ended up in the clink. He’ll go the same way, if you ask me.’
Hetty spun round to face her. ‘That weren’t called for, Mrs Briggs. I’ll thank you to mind your own business.’
‘Don’t get into a fight,’ Jane hissed.
‘I’m not one for brawling in the street, as you well know, but I won’t have my sister’s name dragged through the dirt,’ Hetty said, casting a withering glance at Mrs Briggs.
‘Don’t take that tone with me, young woman.’
‘I won’t let you or anyone else go round insulting my family, Eva Briggs. Your lot ain’t so lily-white if it comes to that. I hear that Pearl
is in the family way again and still no ring on her finger.’
‘You little bitch!’ Mrs Briggs rolled up her sleeves and fisted her hands.
‘Hetty ain’t had breakfast yet,’ Jane said hastily, stepping in between them. ‘She’s always like this before she’s had a cup of tea.’
Mrs Briggs smiled triumphantly. ‘Your own sister agrees that you’re a mouthy cow. What have you got to say to that, Hetty Huggins?’
‘Apologise,’ Jane hissed. ‘We can’t afford to lose money just because of her.’
‘Sorry, Mrs Briggs,’ Hetty muttered, staring down at her boots. She knew that Jane was right. Any disturbance would invoke the wrath of the foreman and a hefty fine. Even so, it was common knowledge that Pearl Briggs was notoriously free with her favours and had three illegitimate offspring to prove the point. Hetty could feel Tom standing close by her side ready to leap to her defence and that was the last thing she wanted. She laid her hand on his arm. ‘It’s all right, Tom. I spoke out of turn and I’m sorry for it.’
Mrs Briggs snorted and opened her mouth as if to retort but the sound of the factory gates grinding on their hinges caused the queue to surge forward.
‘Will I see you tonight then, Janey?’ Nat asked urgently.
‘I dunno. I’ll think about it.’
‘Maybe I’ll see you too, Hetty,’ Tom said, striding along by her side as the crowd moved as one towards the open maw of the match factory.
‘I wouldn’t count on it if I was you.’ Hetty fluttered her eyelashes in an attempt to ape Jane’s flirtatious manner but she couldn’t quite suppress a giggle, which spoiled the whole thing. ‘You’re nothing but trouble.’
Responding with a chuckle, he rammed his cap back on his head. ‘Meet me outside the gasworks and I’ll prove you wrong.’
‘Meet him outside the gasworks and he’ll prove you’re right,’ Mrs Briggs called over her shoulder, emphasising her words with a suggestive wink.
‘Ta, ever so!’ Hetty retorted, refusing to rise to the bait. ‘I’ll bear that in mind, Mrs Briggs.’ Swept onwards by the crowd, she turned her head and saw Tom waving to her. In spite of everything, she felt her spirits lift and she waved back. She could never be cross with him for long. He was a good friend; her best friend, if it came to that. She had known Tom for most of her nineteen years. He lived with his widowed mother and youngest sister in Dye House Lane, the next street to Autumn Road where the Huggins family dwelt in a single basement room. They had played
together as children and had earned money as mudlarks, grubbing beneath the filthy waters of the River Lea for pieces of coal, copper or anything that might sell for a few farthings. Hetty had always thought of Tom as a big brother, although recently things had begun to change subtly. But there was no time to dwell on personal feelings now. ‘No need to push,’ she cried as she was shoved from behind, almost losing her footing on the wet and slippery paving stones. A fall could prove fatal as the desperate women and girls pushed forward to get a day’s work for just a few pence pay.
Half an hour later, having stopped off at the bakery on the way, Hetty and Jane were back in Autumn Road, carrying their bundles of cardboard, paper and glue and a loaf of bread that was still hot from the baker’s oven. It was not yet light and a grey mist floated just above the cocoa-coloured waters of the River Lea. The muddy foreshore was thick with pollution from the factories and the stench of coal gas and chemicals and the reek of the tanning works filled the air. Number one Autumn Road leaned precariously towards the river, as if the old building with its soot-blackened bricks was about to throw itself into the creek out of sheer desperation. Half the windows were boarded up and the rest were cracked
or broken, with bits of rag and newspaper stuffed in the holes to keep out the bitter easterly wind that rampaged across the Essex marshes. Jane hurried down the area steps to the damp basement room they called home. Inside was barely warmer than outside, and the only light came from a single stub of a candle guttering in the middle of the table where their two younger brothers were perched on wooden stools.
‘You’ve been ages,’ Sammy complained. ‘I’m hungry.’
‘Me too,’ Eddie said, banging his empty bowl with a wooden spoon. ‘Where’s our breakfast, Hetty?’
Hetty dumped her parcel of work on the table. ‘Give us a minute, greedy boy.’ She smiled at his downcast face and ruffled his hair. ‘I stopped at the bakery and bought a loaf. It’s in with the cardboard and glue.’
‘I wants porridge.’ Eddie’s blue eyes filled with tears and his bottom lip trembled. ‘I’m cold, Hetty. I want something hot to eat.’
‘Well, you’ll just have to make do this morning, Ed,’ Hetty said, rummaging in the parcel for the loaf. Her heart was wrung with pity at the sight of her two small brothers’ pinched faces and stick-like limbs, but she must not let them see how much it distressed her. She had to keep up the appearance of being
calm and in control, even if she was as cold and hungry as they were.
Sammy jumped off his stool, making a grab for the bundle, but Hetty slapped his wrist; not too hard, just enough to make the seven-year-old think twice before he tore into the brown paper package. ‘Hands off, you. I thought I told you to get the fire going while we was out.’
‘The kindling’s damp. It wouldn’t light. I tried, Hetty. I really tried.’
‘He did,’ Eddie said, giggling. ‘And when it went out he swore. Shall I tell you what he said?’
Sammy lunged at his younger brother, grabbing him round the throat. ‘Shut up, big mouth.’
Jane took off her shawl and hung it over the back of the only chair in the room. She rolled up her damp sleeves. ‘I’ll get the fire going. You feed the little beasts, Hetty.’
‘I’m not sure that Sammy deserves any breakfast,’ Hetty said, winking at him. ‘I should wash his mouth out with soap by rights.’
‘Yes,’ Jane said with feeling. ‘That’s what Ma would have done.’
