A Mother's Promise (27 page)

‘Yes, of course.’ George rose to his feet. ‘As soon as you’re well enough I’ll take you to see the place.’

She raised her hand to pluck at his sleeve. ‘Tomorrow you’re taking me to look at the premises and then if I like it we’ll sign
the lease. We’ll go to the bank if we have to, and ask for a business loan.’

He bent down to kiss her on the forehead. ‘We’ll talk about this some more tomorrow. Now you get a good night’s sleep and I’ll see you in the morning.’

‘I hope you know what you’re doing,’ Granny said gloomily as the door closed on George. ‘If you’re not careful, Hetty, you’ll end up in Queer Street.’

‘Don’t talk like that, Granny,’ Jane protested. ‘Hetty knows what she’s about.’

‘Yes, Mattie, leave the girl be.’ Nora heaved her bulk up from the chair at the table. ‘If anyone can do it, my money is on Hetty. Now let’s have some supper, I’m bleeding starving.’

Jane hefted a black cast-iron saucepan off the range and set it down on the table. ‘Go and wash your hands, boys, while I serve up the mutton stew.’

Sammy and Eddie needed no second bidding, and as they went out into the yard Tom came in through the scullery. He sniffed the air appreciatively. ‘Boiled mutton, my favourite.’

Jane waved the ladle at him. ‘It’s funny how you always turn up just as I’m about to serve supper.’

He grinned ruefully. ‘It’s a happy coincidence, that’s all. Your cooking would tempt
anyone.’ Dragging off his cap, he went over to Hetty. ‘It’s good to see you up and about again, love. How are you?’

‘Well enough, Tom. No, better than that. I’m much better and I got good reason to get well quickly.’

He sent a questioning look to Jane, but she smiled and shook her head. ‘Come and sit down at the table, Tom. There’s plenty to go round.’

‘I will in a minute.’ He perched on the stool recently vacated by George. ‘What’s going on, Hetty?’

Unable to contain her excitement, she told him about her plan to go into business with George, but if she was expecting Tom to be impressed, she was sadly disappointed. He ran his fingers through his hair, causing it to stand on end. ‘It’s a big risk, Hetty. You could lose everything you’ve worked so hard for.’

‘Or I could make our fortunes, given time.’

‘I dunno, ducks. I do me week’s work and I collect me wages at the end of it, but at least I know where I stand. As to going into business with George, I’m sorry, Hetty, but I’ve never trusted that fellow. He’s all talk if you ask me. If I was a bank manager, I don’t think I’d trust him with other people’s money.’

The bank managers were obviously of the same opinion as Tom. A week later, Hetty and
George had been turned down by all the banks in the area; the only one they had not tried so far was the Bishopsgate headquarters of Tipton’s Bank. Hetty had been reluctant to try there, fearing that news of her request might filter back to Jasper Shipworthy at the Bethnal Green branch, or, even worse, that Cyrus Clench might get wind of her plans. She had not seen him since the day he came to tell them that Granny was about to be evicted from her house, but that did not mean that he had given up. He had a habit of melting into the shadows and popping up at unexpected moments. When George suggested that they try Tipton’s, Hetty was doubtful, but also desperate. She had carefully calculated how much they would need to equip their new premises and George’s nest egg, even when combined with her savings, would not cover the initial outlay. Reluctantly she agreed that they ought to make an appointment to see the manager.

Henry Maitland, the manager of Tipton’s Bank in Bishopsgate, took off his spectacles and polished them on a white cotton handkerchief. He replaced them on his nose and shuffled the sheaf of papers on the desk in front of him. Hetty couldn’t help observing that his fat white fingers looked like uncooked veal sausages with smooth, shiny skins. There was something furtive in Maitland’s manner
and from the start he had not looked her directly in the eye. She held her breath. George had put forward their proposals very well, or so she thought, but the sudden silence was unnerving. A glance in George’s direction confirmed that he too was feeling the strain. Beads of perspiration stood out on his top lip and he held his cap in clenched hands, his knuckles showing through the skin like white marbles.

Mr Maitland looked at them over the top of his spectacles. ‘I’ve listened to your business proposition, Mr Cooper, but if I were to consider such a loan I would need some collateral.’

Hetty bit her lip. She had been dreading this and she cast an anxious glance at George. She could tell by the way he ran his finger round the inside of his collar and cleared his throat that he too was nervous. ‘Well, sir, there’s my stall in Spitalfields Market and Miss Huggins has two coffee stalls . . .’

‘That’s not exactly what I had in mind, Mr Cooper. I cannot risk my investors’ money without some form of security, and I’m afraid a couple of handcarts will not be adequate. Have you any property, stocks and shares, or gilt-edged securities?’

‘Well, er, no, sir.’

Mr Maitland turned his attention to Hetty.
‘And you, Miss Huggins. What have you to offer?’

‘Hard work and the will to do well, mister.’ Hetty was trembling with emotion, and she had to clasp her hands together to stop them shaking. ‘My grandfather spent all his working life at your branch in Bethnal Green. He gave his all to Tipton’s Bank and if he was here now he would vouch for me. I’m going to make a success of my coffee shop and I won’t stop with just one. Given time I’ll have a whole string of coffee shops from Bishopsgate to Marble Arch, you see if I don’t.’

George laid his hand on hers, giving her an encouraging smile. ‘Well said, girl.’

Mr Maitland rose to his feet. ‘Your enthusiasm does you credit, Miss Huggins, but it’s hardly a solid financial basis on which I can grant you a loan.’

‘You’re turning us down?’ Hetty leapt to her feet. ‘Oh, please, won’t you give us a chance? We’re not asking for a fortune.’

Maitland reached behind his desk and tugged on a bell pull. ‘I’m sorry, Miss Huggins, but I’ve made my decision. My clerk will show you out.’

‘This is so unfair,’ Hetty protested. ‘You haven’t given us a proper hearing.’

Maitland looked over her shoulder as the door opened and someone entered. ‘Mr Clench,
will you show these young people out, please. Our business is concluded.’

George uttered a muffled oath, and Hetty spun round, coming face to face with Cyrus Clench.

‘Certainly, sir.’ Clench’s features were set in a deadpan expression but his eyes blazed with malice as they met Hetty’s startled gaze. He held the door open. ‘This way, please.’

Hetty hurried past him but she stopped in the corridor outside the manager’s office, her anger inflamed by disappointment. ‘You! What are you doing here?’

‘I work here. As luck would have it, my mate Jasper received his well-deserved promotion and a transfer to this branch of Tipton’s Bank. He is now assistant manager here and he was kind enough to put in a good word for me. I’m a respectable bank clerk again, no thanks to you and yours, Miss Hetty Huggins.’ He leaned closer to her so that his lips were against her ear. ‘You still owe me. I’ll have me twopenn’orth one way or another, dearie.’

‘I dunno what you just said, cully,’ George snarled, grabbing Clench by the collar, ‘but whatever it was, I’m betting that it was no way to speak to a lady.’

Clench made a gobbling sound in his throat like a turkey about to have its neck wrung, but before he could shout for help George had
marched him out through the main concourse of the bank into Bishopsgate. ‘You deserve to be strung up for the way you’ve treated Hetty and her family, and for two pins I’d be the man to do it, but you ain’t worth swinging for, Clench.’

‘Let me go or I’ll call a copper,’ Clench hissed. ‘I’ll have her thrown in jail for debt.’

‘Don’t bother with him, George,’ Hetty said, uncomfortably aware that they were attracting the attention of passers-by and that a policeman was strolling along the street towards them. ‘Let him go. He’s not important.’

Reluctantly, George released Clench. ‘I’m warning you, mate. Keep away from Hetty or it’ll be the worse for you.’

‘Not until I gets me one pound ten shillings,’ Clench muttered. ‘And the interest goes up every week.’

‘You made that up,’ Hetty exclaimed hotly. ‘I don’t owe you anything.’

He curled his lip. ‘Like I said, you can always pay me in kind.’

George flexed his fingers. ‘Shall I kill him now, Hetty?’

‘Leave him, George. He’s a nasty little weasel but he’s all hot air and bluster.’

George thrust his hand in his pocket and pulled out a handful of coins. He selected a sovereign and four half-crowns. ‘Here’s your
blood money, Clench.’ But instead of giving it to him, he caught hold of Clench by the wrist. ‘You’ll have the cash, mate, but not until I get a signed receipt.’ George marched him back into the bank with Hetty following close behind them. She watched in awe as George manhandled Clench to the counter and made him write out the receipt. After checking it, George handed it to Hetty. ‘Keep it safe and if this sewer rat comes near you again, you can have him arrested and thrown in clink.’

At that moment, Mr Maitland came out of his office. He stopped short when he saw them. ‘Mr Clench, I thought I told you to see these people off the premises.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Clench said, fawning and wringing his hands. ‘I tried to make them but they refused to leave.’

Hetty waved the piece of paper in front of his face. ‘Would you care to explain this to your boss, Mr Clench?’

‘It’s nothing, sir,’ Clench said, cringing visibly. ‘Just some street directions I was giving the young person.’

Maitland frowned. ‘Get back to work, Mr Clench. And the next time I give you an order, I expect it to be obeyed instantly and to the letter, or I might reconsider my decision to employ you.’

As soon as they were outside in the street,
Hetty flung her arms around George’s neck and kissed him on the cheek. ‘You were wonderful, George. Thank you so much, but that was your own money you gave to Clench and we need it more than he does. ‘She shivered as large flakes of snow began to tumble from a pewter sky.

George rammed his cap on his head. ‘It’ll be worth every penny if it gets rid of him, and if it doesn’t – let’s just say I’ve got contacts and Clench might meet with a nasty accident if he’s not careful.’

‘No violence, George. Heaven knows I hate the man, but I won’t stoop to his level.’ She huddled against him, squinting as the snowflakes swirled in a merry dance around her head. ‘We’d best get home before we freeze to death.’

‘Another half an hour won’t make any difference. The shop is just round the corner and I’ve got the keys. We can shelter in there until the worst is over.’ Without waiting for an answer, George guided her along the slippery pavements to Artillery Lane. He produced a key from his coat pocket and unlocked the door.

Hetty wrinkled her nose as she entered the dilapidated premises. ‘I didn’t notice it before, but what’s that awful stench, George? It smells as though something died in here.’

Shaking the snow off his cap, George chuckled. ‘I wasn’t going to mention it unless you asked, but the last occupant was a bloke who stuffed dead animals and birds for a living.’ He prodded a pile of suspicious-looking material with the toe of his boot.

‘That’s horrible,’ Hetty said, shuddering. ‘I hope he didn’t leave any dead bodies in the cupboards.’

‘A few feathers and bits of fur maybe.’ George caught her by the hand as she was about to make for the street door. ‘Just joking, Hetty. There’s nothing here that can’t be fixed by soap and water and a bit of elbow grease.’

She glanced around at the cracked and crazed plaster on the walls and the peeling paintwork. ‘It didn’t look so bad when I saw it for the first time, but I wasn’t quite myself then and I didn’t realise just how much needs doing.’ She walked about the room, peering into empty cupboards and brushing aside long trails of spiders’ webs. ‘I hate to say it, but I think we might have to let this place go. Maybe in the spring . . .’

‘That’s not like you, Hetty. Where’s your fighting spirit, girl?’

She smiled, shaking her head. ‘I’m just being sensible, George. If we’d got the money from the bank . . .’

‘We’ve got better than that. We’ve got friends.’
He took her by the shoulders, looking deeply into her eyes. ‘Do you want this coffee shop or not, Hetty?’

‘You know I do, George.’

‘Then leave it to me.’ His eyes darkened and the smile left his face. ‘I know what you think of me, Hetty. Good old George, always acting the clown, carrying on with women and never doing a stroke of work if he can get away with it. But I’ll surprise you one day, and you’ll find out there’s more to George Cooper than you thought.’

‘You’re the best friend a girl could have. Don’t ever change, George. I love you just as you are.’

He released her abruptly, turning away to peer out through the dirt encrusted window-panes. ‘It’s easing up a bit. I’d better get you home before you go down with another chill.’

‘Ta, George, but I’m perfectly capable of going by myself. You’ve lost enough time on your stall because of me.’

He turned to her with a shadow of his old smile. ‘You’re forgetting that we’re partners now, Hetty. I’m not just the “and Co.” any more - it’s Huggins and Cooper now, and I’m going to pull my weight. There’ll be no more larking around with the market girls. From now on I’m going to be a reformed character.’

It was Hetty’s turn to gurgle with laughter. ‘That’ll be the day.’

Hetty went home to Princelet Street determined to sit down and work out a revised budget for her coffee shop. She had no intention of giving up, but she was not going to rely on George. Bless him! He meant well, but he would only have to see a pretty face or spot a well-turned ankle and he would forget all about mundane things like earning a living. He would be off like a shot and everything else would fly out of his mind. If it wasn’t a girl, then it might be a game of cards or a day at the races. Hetty knew that George enjoyed a flutter every now and again, although he was not a serious gambler. He just liked to have a good time, and if he was unreliable he made up for it with his generous heart and kindly nature. No one, she thought, could possibly dislike George.