A Mother's Promise (22 page)

‘But do you know him, mister?’

‘Hush, Sammy,’ Jane said, frowning. ‘I’m sure that Mr Wyndham has more important things to do than to answer your questions.’

‘Not at all, ma’am. I have four young cousins at home in Philadelphia, and two sisters.’ Charles beamed at her. ‘We haven’t been introduced, but I guess you must be Miss Hetty’s sister, and this little beauty must be your daughter.’ He tickled Natalia under her chin and she chuckled, holding out her arms to him.

‘Well, you certainly have a way with the women,’ Tom said as he finally managed to manoeuvre the barrow into the yard. He held
out his right hand. ‘Tom Crewe, close friend of the family.’

‘Pleased to make your acquaintance, Tom.’ Charles shook his hand. ‘Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d better make myself presentable.’ He strode over to where he had left his shirt and he shrugged it on, fastening the buttons and turning away from his fascinated audience to tuck the tail ends into his trousers.

To hide her embarrassment, Hetty made a pretence of checking the items on the barrow. The sight of a well-muscled male torso wet and glistening in the sunshine had unnerved her to the extent that the blood was pounding in her eardrums, and she felt quite dizzy as a hot wave of desire ripped through her whole being. She had never experienced anything like this before in her entire life. It was as thrilling as it was shocking. If she had believed in such things, she would have thought she had fallen head over heels in love with Charles. Seeing him like this had sent her all of a flutter like some silly schoolgirl. She managed to regain control of her wildly fluctuating emotions and she turned to Tom. ‘I’d be ever so grateful if you’d carry the cradle into the house.’

He moved swiftly to heft the heavy wooden crib in his arms. ‘Of course. Lead on, Hetty.’

‘And you’d better bring Talia in out of the
sun, Jane,’ Hetty said, tugging at her sister’s arm. She could see that Jane was also falling under Charles Wyndham’s spell, and that wouldn’t do at all. Jane was too susceptible to men with looks and charm, and, if anything, Hetty felt a little jealous at the thought that Charles might prefer her sister. She adopted a brisk manner. ‘Sammy, Eddie, you can carry things indoors too. Make yourselves useful.’ She picked up her can and was about to take it into the house when Charles took it from her hands.

‘Allow me, ma’am.’

She gazed up into his eyes. In this light they were the colour of woodsmoke drifting in a summer sky, and his smile was just a little crooked, which was endearing rather than detracting from his otherwise flawless good looks. ‘Th-thank you, sir.’

‘Charles,’ he corrected, holding the can in one hand, as if it weighed no more than a pennyweight.

‘Charles,’ Hetty repeated, savouring the name as if it were one of Grandpa’s pepper-mint creams. ‘But I don’t want to hold you up, if you’ve more important business to attend to.’

‘Not at all. I am a lazy fellow really, and I never go out before midday. As this is Sunday, I will probably just write up my notes
to telegraph to my editor in Philadelphia in the morning.’

Tom came striding out of the scullery door and he stopped, scowling, as he saw Charles and Hetty standing by the barrow. ‘There’s no need to trouble yourself, mate,’ he growled. ‘I’ll help the girls with their things. You can get off and do your prying into matters what don’t really concern you Yankees.’

‘Tom!’ Hetty said in a low voice. ‘For goodness’ sake, stop being so – so petty.’

‘I know his game, Hetty. What I want to know is, why is a gent like him stooping so low as to doss down in a house like this?’

Hetty drew him aside, speaking in a low voice. ‘Stop embarrassing me, Tom. Mr Wyndham is a newsman and he’s writing an article on the Ripper.’

Charles cleared his throat. ‘What Miss Hetty says is true, Tom. I am here purely on business, and you insult me, sir, if you think I would not treat either of the young ladies with the greatest respect.’

‘Well, I should hope so.’ Tom had the grace to look slightly abashed. ‘But Hetty and her sister are very important to me. If I hears of anything untoward I shall be back, fists flying, if you gets my meaning, cully?’

‘Tom!’ Hetty tugged at his arm. She could feel his muscles tensed as though he would
like to land a punch there and then. ‘Stop behaving like a playground bully. I won’t have it, I tell you. You’ve humiliated me and I just won’t have it.’

‘Fine!’ Tom said through clenched teeth. ‘Suit yourself, Hetty. I know where I’m not wanted, but you watch out for him and his kind.’ He strode towards the gate, but the barrow blocked his path and he had to squeeze past it. At that moment, Jane came running out into the yard. Hetty could tell by her face that she had heard Tom’s last impassioned words.

‘Tom!’ Jane shrieked, hurrying to his side. ‘Don’t go like this. Please don’t abandon us.’

Tom hesitated for a moment and then he shrugged his shoulders. ‘Don’t worry, Janey. You won’t get rid of me so easily. I’ll be back.’ He strode out through the gate and left it swinging and groaning on its rusty hinges.

‘Gee! I’m sorry if I upset your friend,’ Charles said apologetically. ‘It was not my intention.’

Hetty shot a warning glance at Jane. ‘Of course not, Mr Wyndham – I mean, Charles. You’ll have to excuse Tom, he’s a bit quick-tempered, but he’ll come round.’

‘You’ll say that once too often, Hetty,’ Jane said, turning on her heel and stamping back into the scullery.

Hetty covered her embarrassment by rearranging things on her stall and Charles wandered over to observe her efforts. ‘This looks fascinating, Miss Hetty. You must tell me all about your work. Maybe I can include it in one of my articles.’

She looked up at him and she knew she was lost. The unthinkable really had happened – she had fallen in love.

In the days that followed Hetty’s time was fully occupied with running her coffee stall and settling into the house in Princelet Street, but her thoughts turned constantly to Charles and their deepening friendship. Her life seemed to have taken on a new meaning, and nothing could mar the joy she felt when she was in his company. They were rarely alone together, and Charles never betrayed his innermost feelings, but Hetty was certain that he was not indifferent to her. She set about her daily routine with renewed hope and enthusiasm.

Nora had put the large attic room at her disposal and had given them two smaller rooms on the floor below. Jane and Natalia took the larger of the two, and Hetty, for the first time in her life, had a room all to herself. It was simply furnished with a cast-iron bedstead, a deal washstand and a chest of drawers, but it was spotlessly clean and free from bugs. Having use of the attic enabled Hetty to store greater quantities of tea, coffee, sugar and flour. With her eye on a second stall, she picked up oddments of china and cutlery in the market, and stored them in a tea chest under the eaves.

As the weeks went by, although she was careful to keep her expenditure down to the minimum, she added her own personal touches to her room with a patchwork coverlet and a
multicoloured rag rug purchased from Petticoat Lane market. Her window overlooked Princelet Street, and, when she had time, she loved to look down on the bustling, polyglot crowds as they went about their daily business. At night, when the lamplighter had done his rounds, a totally different class of person sidled out of the shadows to be caught momentarily in the pools of yellow gaslight. Opium addicts sought oblivion in foul-smelling dens hidden away in narrow alleys and courts, and prostitutes still traded their favours, despite the lurking threat of the Ripper. Early in December, Rose Mylett’s body had been found in Clarke’s Yard and now neither Hetty nor Jane ever ventured out alone at night. They knew that they were safe enough in Nora’s house, but in the hours of darkness this part of London belonged to the denizens of the criminal underworld.

Nora seemed to enjoy having young people living with her, and she taught Jane the rudiments of cooking. A surprisingly apt pupil, Jane showed unexpected enthusiasm for leaning the new skill. Hetty thought privately that this was largely because the gentlemen lodgers, who took meals in their rooms, were always very generous in their compliments when Jane managed to produce a roast that was not burnt beyond recognition, or a pie that
did not require the use of an axe to break through its crust.

Nora allowed Hetty unlimited use of the kitchen, and it was a relief to be able to boil eggs and ham without anyone complaining about the smell. The black-leaded range was enormous compared to the small hob in Granny’s parlour, and Hetty managed to persuade Jane to try her hand at baking currant cake for the stall. Her first efforts were a complete disaster and even the sparrows and pigeons could not dig their beaks into the brick-hard end product, but Jane persevered, with much encouragement from Charles, who took to sitting at the kitchen table to write up his notes in the evenings, watching them while they worked.

Natalia had taken an instant liking to him, and he would dandle her on his knee or rock her to sleep in her cradle while he edited his copious output. Hetty grew to love this part of the day, when she escaped from the hurly-burly of the marketplace to the relative peace and quiet of the old house. She and Jane worked in more or less perfect harmony, apart from the odd sisterly skirmish when things went wrong. In the glow of paraffin lamps which cast smoky shadows on the kitchen walls, and with Charles scribbling away at the table, Hetty felt almost absurdly
content. Her coffee stall was prospering. If trade improved still further she would soon have saved enough money to rent a permanent stall in the market place, and this would enable her to find another pitch for her barrow. She would not stop there, since she intended to expand further and eventually to rent premises in a better location and open up her own coffee shop.

When work was done for the day, she would sit and discuss the seemingly endless possibilities with Charles, who was as enthusiastic about her prospects as if he were actively involved in her business. Even though he had never spoken to her of romance, she was convinced that he returned her love. Whether it was a shared moment of laughter, a meeting of eyes or the touch of a hand, she sensed that his feelings for her were growing deeper with every passing day. She knew that George suspected that she harboured a passion for Charles, and he often teased her mercilessly but without any hint of jealousy. Hetty was secure in the knowledge that she and George were the best of friends, with no shadow of physical desire to complicate matters.

Tom still called in to see them at least twice a week and sometimes more, if he was not doing overtime at the gasworks. Friendly relations were restored although Hetty realised that
things would never be quite the same between them. It seemed that the silken thread which had bound them since childhood had been stretched to breaking point. She knew now that she had never felt anything other than sisterly affection for Tom. She had given her heart to Charles and if she could not have him, then she wanted no other. One day, in the foreseeable future, Charles would have to return to America, but somehow she managed to push that inescapable fact to the back of her mind. She lived in the here and now. The future was a distant place, and Hetty lived for the moment, savouring every minute she spent with Charles.

The months flew by, but in her blissful state of newly-found love Hetty barely noticed the passing of the seasons. Suddenly it was summer and the weather grew hot and humid with flies tormenting the working horses and pedestrians alike. The stench of putrefaction hung heavy in the still air, but Hetty was still living in paradise. She sang as she worked on her stall, and she was oblivious to the pain of sore feet or the burns on her fingers. Clench was a dim and distant memory and she knew she was safe in the market with George and the other costermongers watching over her like guard dogs. George had started walking out with Poppy, a girl who sold jellied eels, winkles
and cockles. She was pretty, in a flamboyant way, but rather loud and vulgar. Her laugh was like the cackle of a goose, and she did not seem to know the meaning of the word modesty, but she kept George happy, or so it seemed.

Charles was still gathering material for his newspaper, although Hetty wondered sometimes at the generosity of his editor, who allowed him to stay on in London when danger from the Ripper appeared to be a thing of the past. Then, on 17 July, another body of a young woman was found in Castle Alley, Whitechapel, and it appeared that the Ripper was up to his old tricks again. Hetty was terribly sorry for Alice McKenzie, or Clay Pipe Alice as the victim was commonly known, but she was secretly overjoyed that another Whitechapel murder would make it necessary for Charles to extend his stay.

The following Sunday, Hetty was packing up a picnic luncheon to take to Victoria Park when Charles came into the kitchen. He was not normally an early riser and she stared at him in surprise.

‘Hetty.’ He paused in the doorway, clutching a straw boater in his hand and looking unusually serious. ‘May I ask you something?’

She smiled as she wrapped up a parcel of ham sandwiches. ‘Of course, Charles. What is it?’

‘I know you and Jane take the children to Victoria Park every Sunday, but do you think you could make an exception just this once?’

Her heart made a strange movement inside her chest, as if it had flipped over and then stood still for a moment. Hetty was suddenly breathless. ‘I might,’ she said cautiously. ‘What is it, Charles? Is there anything wrong?’

‘I thought we might take an omnibus to Hyde Park and go for a stroll by the Serpentine. I believe it will be much cooler there, by the water . . .’ He broke off, seeming to struggle for words.

A shaft of fear stabbed through Hetty’s whole body and her hands were shaking as she automatically packed the sandwiches in her wicker basket. ‘There’s something wrong, I can tell. You don’t have to take me all the way to Hyde Park to tell me that you’re leaving.’ The words tumbled from her lips before she could stop them, and when he did not correct her, her knees gave way beneath her and she sank down on the nearest chair. She had known that this moment would come, but not like this. She closed her eyes, gripping her hands to her breast. ‘Say something, Charles.’