A Mother's Promise (14 page)

Granny hurled a handful of coins at their feet. ‘There’s your blood money, Clench. Take it, and go. If you ever come near my granddaughter again, I’ll have the law on you.’

‘He is the injured party here, ma’am,’ Jasper protested, grovelling on the ground as he helped Cyrus to pick up the money. ‘You are in the wrong.’

Granny stormed into the front parlour and reappeared seconds later with an armful of clothes, shoes and a china shaving mug which she tossed onto the pavement at Jasper’s feet. The mug broke into shards and he let out a loud groan. ‘Madam, you can’t treat me like this.’

‘Ho! Can’t I? You can sling your hook too, Mr Shipworthy. If that creature is an example of the company you keep, then I don’t want either of you in my house.’ Granny slammed the door in their faces, slapping her hands together with a triumphant smile. ‘That told them, Hetty. I think that’s the last you’ll see of Cyrus Clench. Let’s put the kettle on and have a nice hot cup of tea before you go out to business.’

Hetty continued to go out on her rounds daily, with the exception of Sundays. After her clash
with the huckster outside Bethnal Green station, she was very careful where she set up her can, but even so she still came up against serious opposition from some of the other hot potato vendors. It was heavy work, too, but gradually she became used to heaving about hundredweight sacks of potatoes and carrying wicker baskets to and from the bakery. Trade was reasonable considering the hot weather, and she continued to make at least a shilling a day profit, but she was determined to make even more.

Although Cyrus had been paid off Hetty was not convinced that he would fade into the background. She could still feel his malignant presence hovering over her like a great thunder-cloud, but she dared not voice her worries to Tom, who had always been unhappy about her plying her trade in the streets. He still called at Totty Street almost every evening, and they had resumed their Sunday outings to Victoria Park, much to the delight of Sammy and Eddie. Jane had accompanied them once or twice, but she was getting near her time. She found the heat exhausting and she spent most afternoons resting on the bed in the front parlour. After Mr Shipworthy’s undignified departure, Granny had seen fit to allow Jane and Hetty to share his room, and she went so far as to purchase a cradle from the
second-hand furniture dealer in Grove Road. Hetty wondered if this generous act indicated a change of heart, but she could not quite summon the courage to put the question into words. Granny had made it perfectly clear that she could not abide babies, but she had not repeated her threat to turn them out as soon as it arrived. Hetty now lived from day to day; hoping for the best, but prepared for the worst.

Towards the end of August, Jane began to get restless. Casting her mind back more than forty years, to the birth of her beloved Samuel, Granny concluded that Jane’s time must be near, and she announced that arrangements had been made for the midwife to attend the birth. Hetty knew that all this was going to cost money and she still owed Granny a considerable sum. She had tried to save but with the boys attending school, and Jane unable to work outside the home, her profits were soon eaten away. She had tried to keep her worries to herself, but Jane had sensed that something was wrong and in the middle of a hot August night when sleep was virtually impossible, she demanded to be told the truth. ‘You should have told me before,’ she said, pacing the floor of their room with her bare feet padding softly on the floorboards. She stopped for a moment to support her bulging belly and took a deep breath.

‘Are you all right?’ Hetty asked anxiously. ‘It’s not the baby coming, is it?’

Jane shook her head. ‘I wish it was, but I don’t think so. I’m so sick of being like this. I don’t think I’ll ever see me toes again and I hate being fat.’

Hetty scrambled off the bed and rearranged the tumbled sheets. ‘Lie down and rest.’

‘It’s too bloody hot to sleep. Anyway, now I’m just as worried as you are, and it’s all my fault. If I could earn some money we wouldn’t be in such a fix. What if Granny throws us out because we can’t pay the rent?’

Hetty put her arm around Jane’s shoulders and guided her over to the bed. ‘She wouldn’t do that. She’s not as hard as she makes out. You mustn’t worry; it’s bad for the baby. I’ll see us right, Janey.’

‘I’m sick of helping her make bloody bonnets. If she paid me it wouldn’t be so bad.’ Jane slumped down on the bed. She frowned thoughtfully. ‘I could make matchboxes though. Even if I only earned a couple of pennies a day it would help to pay for the midwife.’

‘I won’t hear of it. I’ve already decided to go out in the evenings to sell hot taters outside the theatres and music halls. There’s good profit there, so I hear. You’ve got to look after yourself and little Nat. Leave the rest to me.’

The following afternoon, after a long day of
trading in the blistering heat, Hetty had just wheeled the cart into the back yard when Tom burst through the gate, red in the face and panting. He clutched his side, struggling to catch his breath. ‘Come quick, Hetty. It’s Jane.’

‘What? Where is she? Is it the baby?’

He nodded. ‘God knows why, but she went to the match factory. Mrs Brinkman found her collapsed outside on the pavement. She managed to get her back to Autumn Road.’ He took a deep breath. ‘She sent her Sonia round to our place to find me.’

‘Oh, my Lord.’ Hetty clutched her brow. She knew exactly why Jane had gone to the match factory, and it was all her fault. She should have kept her money worries to herself and not burdened Jane with them. ‘I must go to her right away, Tom.’

Sammy had wandered out into the yard. ‘What’s going on, Hetty?’

She took him by the shoulders. ‘I think that Jane’s baby is coming too soon. She’s over at our old place in Autumn Road, but Mrs Brinkman’s taken her in, so she’ll be fine. I just want you to go in and tell Granny that Tom and me have gone there to make sure she’s all right.’

Sammy’s face paled and his eyes were huge behind the thick lenses of his spectacles. ‘Is she going to die like Ma did?’

‘No, of course not. You’re not to worry,
Sammy. Babies come every day. Now you go indoors and don’t frighten Eddie.’

Sammy did not look convinced. ‘Granny says that lots of women die birthing babies.’

‘Well Jane won’t die. I promise you that.’ Hetty watched him run into the house with a lump in her throat. ‘I pray to God that I’m right.’

Sonia Brinkman met them at the door of the old house in Autumn Road. Her small features were puckered with concern, and the scarf that she wore to conceal her bald patch had slipped to one side, revealing an expanse of white scalp. ‘Thank goodness you’ve come, Hetty. Your sister very bad, very bad indeed.’ As if to emphasise the point, an animal-like howl emanated from the depths of the house. Sonia held the door open. ‘You come in,’ she said, dragging Hetty over the threshold, ‘but he stay outside,’ she added, jerking her head in Tom’s direction, which caused her scarf to slip off completely, and she righted it with a self-conscious giggle. ‘Mama says birthing babies is not a man’s business. She sent Papa to the pub.’

‘Not to worry,’ Tom said, backing away into the street. ‘I’ll go to the pub and keep Mr Brinkman company.’

Hetty followed Sonia down the dark passageway. As she entered the darkened room, she almost choked on the nauseous
stench of cess filtering through a broken windowpane. The heat was almost unbearable and flies buzzed in angry circles above their heads. Jane lay on a blanket spread on the bare floorboards. She was naked from the waist down and her face was contorted with pain as a contraction racked her body. Mrs Brinkman knelt beside her, holding her hand and murmuring words of encouragement. She looked up as Hetty entered the room, and she managed a tired smile. ‘Hetty, thank God you come. Jane, your sister is here. Baby come early, she say.’

Jane’s cracked lips formed a word but then another scream was wrenched from her lips. ‘Oh, God,’ she murmured as the pain ebbed away. ‘I’m dying, Hetty.’

Hetty threw herself down on her knees by her side. ‘No, you’re not, dear. It will all be over soon.’ She cast an anxious glance at Mrs Brinkman. ‘How far along is she?’

‘Baby come when he is ready.’ Mrs Brinkman turned to Sonia, who was hovering anxiously in the doorway. ‘Fetch clean water, Sonia. And bring something to wrap baby in.’

Sonia needed no second bidding and she ran from the room.

Mrs Brinkman patted Jane’s hand. ‘Soon you will hold baby in your arms. Not long now.’

‘It’s all bloody right for you,’ Jane gasped. ‘You’re not the one trying to shit a football.’

‘Jane!’ Hetty gasped, shocked to hear such words coming from Jane’s prim lips. ‘Watch your language.’

Mrs Brinkman chuckled. ‘I been through this ten times. I know how it is.’

‘Never again,’ Jane moaned. ‘I’ll never let another man near me, ever again.’

‘Yes, yes. So you say now,’ Mrs Brinkman said, mopping Jane’s forehead with a piece of damp rag. ‘Haven’t I said the same thing myself, and look where it got me.’

Sonia scuttled back into the room slopping water from a chipped enamel bowl. ‘I couldn’t find nothing clean to wrap the baby in, Mama.’

Hetty scrambled to her feet and stepped out of her calico petticoat. She folded the warm material and laid it aside in readiness to swaddle the newborn baby.

‘Go, make us tea, Sonia,’ Mrs Brinkman said as Jane uttered another loud groan.

Sonia backed towards the doorway, pale-faced and staring at Jane in alarm. ‘I don’t think she wants tea, Ma.’

‘Not for her, silly girl,’ Mrs Brinkman said impatiently. ‘Tea for me and Hetty. Go!’ Shooing Sonia from the room, she turned back to Jane. ‘Brave girl. Baby come soon.’

‘Hetty!’ Jane gasped. ‘Hold my hand.’

Kneeling beside her, Hetty had to bite her lip to stop herself from crying out as Jane, with seemingly superhuman strength, almost crushed the bones in her fingers as she rode the next wave of pain. Surely this could not go on much longer, she thought dazedly. How much pain could one slip of a girl bear?

Hetty lost all sense of time as the labour went on and on. Sometimes Jane was quiet, but then the contractions started up again and heart-wrenching screams were torn from her throat. It seemed to Hetty that no human being should go through this much agony in order to produce a child, and at times she thought that Jane really was going to die, but Mrs Brinkman simply smiled and murmured words of reassurance. After what seemed like an eternity, Mrs Brinkman exhorted Jane to give a final push, and Hetty choked back tears as she watched her sister being delivered of a squalling, red-faced infant.

‘It’s a girl,’ Mrs Brinkman said with a triumphant smile. ‘A beautiful baby girl.’

Jane raised her head and peered at the squalling baby. ‘She’s ugly. I wanted a boy, not a monkey-faced girl.’

Mrs Brinkman wrapped the baby in Hetty’s shift. ‘She’ll grow into her looks, Jane. You hold her?’

Jane shook her head wearily. ‘I just want to sleep.’

‘I’ll hold her while you do what you need to,’ Hetty said, taking the baby from Mrs Brinkman.

‘Take baby into parlour,’ Mrs Brinkman said. ‘I look after little mama.’

Hetty rose to her feet, cradling the baby in her arms. The fierce squalling ceased abruptly and Hetty found herself looking into a pair of violet-blue eyes. It was as though she and Jane’s child already knew one another, and something almost mystical seemed to pass between them. At that moment, Hetty fell in love with the tiny, red-faced infant. She kissed the top of her fuzzy dark head. ‘Hello, baby.’

Mrs Brinkman nodded with approval. ‘She’s a little flower, that one.’

‘She should have been a boy,’ Jane murmured drowsily. ‘She was going to be my little Nat. I don’t want a blooming girl.’

Sonia had crept back into the room unnoticed. She sidled up to Hetty and peered at the baby. ‘If it hadn’t been for Mama, Jane would have had baby on the pavement outside the factory. Baby should be named for my mama.’

Mrs Brinkman shook her head. ‘Hush, Sonia. Jane don’t want to name baby after old Russian woman who don’t have no education.’

A flicker of interest momentarily lit Jane’s eyes. ‘What is your name, Mrs Brinkman?’

‘Well, it ain’t Brinkman for a start. My Colya changed name to sound more English; he say we get on better in this country if we sound less foreign.’

‘But your first name, Mama,’ Sonia said eagerly. ‘Tell them what it is.’

‘Natalia. My name is Natalia.’

‘Natalia,’ Hetty repeated, staring down at the baby. ‘She can still be your little Nat after all.’

‘I really don’t care . . .’ Jane closed her eyes and turned her head away.

Hetty was almost overcome by a wave of protective love for the helpless infant in her arms. She struggled to understand Jane’s indifference to her own child, and failed.

‘She is so beautiful, Jane. Why don’t you hold her for a moment?’

Mrs Brinkman laid her hand on Hetty’s arm. ‘She don’t know what she say. You take baby and leave Jane to me.’

Hetty carried Natalia into the Brinkmans’ living room where she found Tom making an effort at conversation with Mr Brinkman who, judging by the smell of alcohol, had spent most of the day in the pub. The surviving Brinkman children ranged from a ten-month-old baby to Sonia, who was the eldest. Her
younger sister Anna was busy slicing up a loaf for their supper, and seven-year-old Larissa was scraping the bread with margarine. The younger ones waited eagerly, but silently, for their food.

‘So it’s over,’ Mr Brinkman said thickly. ‘Another mouth to feed.’

‘She’s a beautiful baby girl,’ Hetty said proudly. ‘Jane is going to name her for your wife, Mr Brinkman. I’m ever so grateful to her for what she did today.’

Tom moved to Hetty’s side. He lifted his hand as if he wanted to touch the baby’s cheek and then he dropped it to his side. ‘She’s so tiny.’

‘She’s called Natalia. And you can touch her, Tom. She ain’t made of glass.’

He shook his head. ‘Not with my big mitts. I might accidentally hurt the little mite.’

Hetty frowned. ‘How are we going to get them home, Tom?’