A Mother's Promise (28 page)

She sat up late into the night with a pencil and a sheet of paper, only this time she was not writing a love letter to Charles, she was making lists of the most basic needs for starting up her new business. Perhaps the awful weather was a godsend in disguise as people were more intent on staying indoors and keeping warm than on standing around the freezing street corners while they ate their
food or drank rapidly cooling coffee, tea or cocoa. There were three weeks left before Christmas, and Hetty made up her mind to enlist Jane’s help next day. Working together with mops, brooms and scrubbing brushes, they would make a start on clearing up the shop premises. She might even be able to persuade Fred Dixon to sell her some distemper at a cut price, and Brush Barber might have a couple of paintbrushes that he wanted to sell off cheap. Hetty had never painted anything in her life, but surely it couldn’t be too difficult? Sammy and Eddie might lend a hand too – it would be a real family effort.

She huddled beneath her shawl. It was too cold in the attic to even consider taking off her top clothes and she slipped under the covers fully dressed. She lay down on her bed and blew out the candle. Surprisingly, even with all her plans buzzing round inside her head, Hetty fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

When she awakened next morning, the sound of distant church bells made Hetty snap upright in her bed. She had forgotten that today was Sunday and the market would be closed. This sent all her plans awry, but at least it seemed to have stopped snowing. The roof window was covered in a thick white blanket of snow but pale strands of sunlight filtered
through it, sending coloured prisms dancing on the bare floorboards. Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she pulled on her boots and gathered up the scattered scraps of paper on which she had written her lists. She was almost overwhelmed by a sudden surge of optimism and enthusiasm for her new venture, and she made her way downstairs with a feeling that today was going to be special.

As she entered the kitchen Hetty could smell porridge simmering away on the range. Nora and Granny were nowhere to be seen but Jane was cutting slices off a loaf of bread, while Natalia sat at the table attempting to spoon bread and milk into her mouth. Most of it seemed to have found its way down her front, but what she could not get into her mouth with the spoon she ate using her fingers. She managed a sticky smile of pleasure when she saw Hetty, but she continued eating as though her life depended on it.

Hetty went over to her and dropped a kiss on Natalia’s dark curls. She glanced at Jane and was quick to note the dark smudges beneath her eyes. ‘You’re up early. Couldn’t you sleep?’

‘Don’t think I wouldn’t give my right arm for an hour longer in bed,’ Jane replied, sighing. ‘But young missy here was up with the lark and so were Sammy and Eddie.
They’re outside now, supposed to be fetching water, but I expect they’re messing around in the snow.’

‘They’re just nippers. At least they can play like normal kids now, and they don’t have to spend twelve hours a day making matchboxes.’

‘That seems like a lifetime ago,’ Jane said, scraping butter on a slice of bread. ‘It’s still hard work, but we’ve got a decent enough life here, even if it ain’t exactly living in the height of luxury.’

‘And it’ll get better, Jane. When I’ve got my coffee shop up and running there’ll be no more standing around in the cold selling sandwiches in the street. There’s just one thing, though . . .’

Jane sighed. ‘All right, out with it, Hetty. What do you want me to do?’

An hour later, they set off for Artillery Lane armed with mops, buckets and a couple of sweeping brushes. Sammy and Eddie had been bribed with the promise of earning a penny each if they helped to clear the rubbish from the shop, and Natalia was wrapped warmly against the cold, sitting in her perambulator surrounded by cleaning cloths and scrubbing brushes. The snow had settled several inches deep on the pavements and cobblestones, but the thaw was beginning to set in and they had to trudge ankle deep through slush.

‘This ain’t exactly my idea of a splendid Sunday morning,’ Jane grumbled.

‘Nor mine, but at least we can make a start,’ Hetty said, hoping that she sounded more positive than she was feeling.

Sammy and Eddie had gone on ahead, running and then sliding on the slippery surface with loud shrieks of glee. They reached the shop first, and disappeared through the open door. ‘Oh, my God!’ Hetty cried. ‘I know George locked up when we left yesterday.’

‘Perhaps it’s burglars,’ Jane whispered. ‘We’d better find a constable, Hetty.’

‘The boys might be in danger.’ Hetty dropped the mops and brooms she had been carrying and she ran. She slid to a halt in the doorway, and she leaned against the doorpost in stunned amazement. Inside was a hive of activity. The floor had been swept and Floppy Flora, the flower lady, was on her hands and knees scrubbing the boards until they gleamed palely in the dim light. Brush was slapping distemper on the walls and Fred was sanding down the woodwork. There was a great deal of chatter as people raised their voices to make themselves heard over the sound of Joe Jenkins sawing up lengths of wood. The air was redolent with the mixed smells of sawdust, carbolic soap and wet paint.

George was standing in the middle of the
room with a pencil held between his teeth as he studied some kind of plan drawn on a sheet of paper. They were all so fully occupied that no one seemed to notice Hetty’s presence. Sammy bounded up to George and tugged at his sleeve. ‘May I help you?’

‘Me too,’ Eddie said, jumping up and down and receiving a slap round the legs with a wet floor cloth from Flora.

‘Keep off me clean floor, you young scoundrel.’ Hetty hurried over to George. ‘How – I mean why?’

He turned to look at her and a grin split his face from ear to ear. ‘Great, isn’t it, Hetty? I told you, ducks. We’ve got something far more precious than money.’ With an expansive sweep of his hand, he encompassed everyone in the room. ‘I told you they would rally round in our time of need, and they have.’

Joe stopped sawing the wood for a moment to wipe the sweat from his eyes. ‘Where d’you want your counter exactly, Hetty? I need to know before I start putting this lot together.’

Jane pushed the perambulator into the shop, and she uttered a strangled cry of surprise. ‘Oh, my Lord. What’s going on here?’

Hetty clutched George’s arm, and she reached up to kiss him on the cheek. ‘It’s a miracle, that’s what it is. I can’t thank you all enough. I just don’t know what to say.’

There was a sudden silence and everyone stopped what they were doing. Hetty turned her head to follow their gaze and saw two police constables standing in the doorway. She walked towards them, angling her head. ‘Good morning, officers. Can I help you?’

The more senior of the two cleared his throat. ‘Yes, ma’am. You can tell me what you and all these people are doing here. This is private property.’

George stepped forward. ‘Excuse me, officer, but we’ve rented this shop. I’ve got the papers all legal and above board.’

‘That may be, sir, but have you got the owner’s permission to make alterations to the said premises?’

Hetty’s heart hitched in her throat as she turned to George. ‘Have we, George?’

A dull flush rose from his open shirt collar to his cheeks. ‘I – er – well, not exactly, but I understood . . .’

‘I don’t think you did, sir.’ The constable took a notebook from his pocket and flipped it open. ‘At least, according to my information, the owner made it clear that no alterations were to be made to the premises without their permission.’

‘But the agent never mentioned anything of the sort,’ George protested.

‘Who told you all this?’ Hetty demanded.

‘Apparently the said party was driving past in his carriage this morning, on his way to church, when he saw unlawful activity being carried out on the premises. I must ask you to accompany me to the station, sir and madam. In the meantime, all work must cease.’

An angry murmur greeted this but George held up his hand for silence. ‘Just a minute, constable. Who is this person? I’d like to see him so that we can sort it out between us.’

‘You’ll find out soon enough, sir. The gentleman in question is waiting at the police station, where he will decide whether or not to make formal charges against you and the young woman. Now, I hope you will come quietly. We don’t want to make a fuss on the Lord’s Day, now do we, sir?’

Hetty remained tight-lipped on the way to the police station. Everything had been going so well and now it seemed that there was something badly amiss. Why was nothing ever simple? She stole a glance at George’s profile and she could tell by his clenched jaw and lowered brows that he was simmering with rage. There must have been a mistake, or at least that was what she kept telling herself, but she had a nagging suspicion that there were outside forces at work here. It seemed that Clench’s shadow was still hanging over them, and her worst fears were confirmed as they entered the police station and she came face to face with Henry Maitland. She would not have been surprised to see Clench and Shipworthy lurking in the shadows, but it was just Maitland who paced the floor, wearing an angry expression that did not sit well with his Sunday best clothes, and the white carnation which he sported in his button-hole. ‘So, I might have guessed that you would be involved in this heinous act,’ Maitland said,
emphasising his words by slapping his silver-headed cane on the palm of his gloved hand. ‘Arrest these people, officer. They are nothing better than common vandals.’

‘Now hold on a moment, mate,’ George said, taking a step towards him. ‘I’ve got a legal document to prove that Miss Huggins and me are the lessees of the premises in Artillery Lane.’

Maitland glowered at him. ‘I think you’ll find, if you take the trouble to read the small print, that no alterations are to be made to the internal structure of the building without the consent of the owner.’

Hetty pushed past George; she could see that anger and outraged innocence were not going to get them very far. She managed a tight little smile. ‘Mr Maitland, I intend to turn the premises into a coffee shop, and this means that I need a counter, but that is all. We wasn’t knocking holes in the walls or anything.’

The senior constable cleared his throat. ‘Do you wish to make formal charges, sir? If not, I suggest you continue this discussion elsewhere.’

For a moment Maitland looked unsure of himself. ‘I – well, I need to consult the owner of the premises.’

‘Did you plan all this with that snivelling
little bastard Clench?’ George demanded in a voice that throbbed with suppressed anger.

Maitland backed away from him. ‘Certainly not! Mr Clench is a junior member of staff, although he did impart some interesting information which convinced me that my decision to reject your request for a bank loan was the correct one.’

‘You might have said that you knew about the shop in Artillery Lane,’ Hetty protested. ‘I call that underhand, mister.’

The constable cleared his throat noisily. ‘Now then, that’s enough of that talk, miss.’

‘I am acting on behalf of a client.’ Maitland said stiffly. ‘You will hear from their solicitors, but in the meantime you must cease work on the premises.’ He made for the door, but George was quicker on his feet and he barred the way.

‘Then tell us who that person is and we’ll go and speak to him direct. We’ve invested time and money in this project, Mr Maitland, and Miss Huggins and me ain’t going to give up so easily.’

The constable stepped in between them. ‘If I may make a suggestion, Mr Maitland? Perhaps it would serve best if you were to allow the owner of the premises to speak for himself?’

‘Yes,’ Hetty said eagerly. ‘You’ve been fed a lot of lies about me and George, mister. Let
me speak to the cove who owns the shop. I’m sure I can talk him round.’

Maitland frowned. ‘Very well then. I’m late for church as it is, but if you want to waste your time you are welcome to try to see the owner, although I must warn you that it is highly unlikely. Miss Tryphena Heathcote is a recluse, and she does not welcome visitors.’ Maitland took a silver case from his pocket, and taking out a calling card he scribbled something on the back and gave it to Hetty. ‘The matter is out of my hands now. I want nothing more to do with either of you.’ He stalked out of the police station, and stepped into his waiting carriage. Through its window, Hetty caught sight of a pale-faced woman wearing a feathered hat and an angry expression. That must be Maitland’s wife; no doubt she would make his life a misery for keeping her waiting. Serve the old bugger right!

‘There, now I hope that’s the last we’ll see of you too,’ the constable said, holding the door open. ‘But you’d best see the owner of the shop and get her permission to continue, or I’ll be forced to arrest you both.’

Outside on the pavement, standing ankle deep in mud and slush, Hetty stared at Maitland’s spidery scrawl. ‘Berkeley Square, George. That’s up West where the toffs live, isn’t it?’

George hailed a passing hansom cab. ‘Berkeley Square, please, cabby.’

‘We can’t afford this,’ Hetty whispered as George helped her into the cab.

‘We can’t afford not to, ducks. Just you watch the old charmer at work. I’ll soon have the lady in question eating out of my hand.’

‘I’m sorry, sir, but Miss Heathcote is not at home to anyone today.’ The butler looked down his long pointed nose at George and Hetty as they stood on the steps beneath the portico of Miss Heathcote’s impressive mansion in Berkeley Square. He was about to close the door, but Hetty moved quickly to put her foot over the doorsill.

‘Please, mister. This is a matter of life and death. Mr Maitland, the manager of Tipton’s Bank, sent us. He said that the lady was very gracious and if we asked nicely she might give us a couple of minutes of her time.’

A flicker of something akin to amusement crossed the butler’s well-schooled features. ‘Miss Heathcote sees no one, miss.’

Hetty was not going to give in so easily. ‘Be so good as to tell Miss Heathcote that Miss Hester Huggins of Princelet Street, Spitalfields, begs a few minutes of her time. Tell the lady that it will be very much to her advantage. And I ain’t budging from this doorway until you let me in, so there.’