A Mother's Promise (30 page)

Trade was slow at first and by midday Hetty was beginning to panic. What if no one came? What if they came and did not approve of her efforts? What if— The door opened and a group of young women entered the shop, bringing with them a gust of cold air and the sound of cheerful chatter. Soon all the tables were filled with office workers, male and female, eating sandwiches, drinking coffee, and above all they seemed to be enjoying the experience. A warm fuggy atmosphere had developed and the windows were steamed up on the inside. Hetty was rushed off her feet, serving customers, making fresh sandwiches to order and pouring countless cups of tea and coffee. Trade slackened off a little after the lunchtime rush ended, giving her time to have a well-earned cup of tea and a slice of currant cake. With renewed energy, she cleared the tables and washed the dishes in the tiny scullery. Having substituted clean cloths for those which were stained, she was ready to begin again. She started to get busy at about four o’clock and kept up a steady trade until six-thirty, when the workers hurried
homewards. She was just putting the
CLOSED
sign on the door when Sammy and Eddie came bursting in demanding food. ‘We come to eat up the leftovers,’ Sammy said, rushing to the counter. ‘There’s nothing here, Hetty. It’s all gone.’

Eddie’s mouth turned down at the corners. ‘I’m starving, Hetty.’

Hetty sat down on the nearest chair and she pulled him onto her lap. ‘D’you know, Eddie, I think I must have sold out, but I’ve been so busy that I haven’t had time to take stock.’

Sammy dived round the counter and came back with a single crust of bread which he broke in two, handing one piece to Eddie and sinking his teeth into what Hetty noticed was the slightly larger portion. ‘Looks like we’re back to bread and scrape.’

Sliding Eddie off her lap, Hetty chuckled. ‘I think we can run to a better supper than that tonight, boys. What’ll it be, fish and chips or pie and mash?’

‘Pie, mash and pease pudding,’ Sammy said, swallowing a mouthful of dry crust.

‘Fish and chips, please.’ Eddie rammed his cap back on his head. ‘Can we go now?’

Rising to her feet, Hetty went to the till behind the counter and she took out a handful of small change. ‘Here, you two go and get the supper while I tidy everything away and
lock up. Then I’ll come straight home. Best get some pie and mash for George and Tom too; I expect they’ll drop in after work.’ As usual, she thought smiling, as the boys let themselves out into the dark and snowy street. George and Tom spent so much time at Nora’s house that they might as well rent rooms there. Hetty emptied the till and put the money in a leather pouch, intending to count her takings later, but now she must make sure that the fire pots were all extinguished, the last crumb swept away and the door to the back yard firmly locked. She did not want intruders, the two-legged human kind or four-legged vermin, invading her shop during the night.

When she was satisfied that everything was safe and secure, she put on her bonnet and shawl and went out into Artillery Lane, locking the door behind her. The moon had emerged from the clouds and its silvery beams turned the snowy streets into a white fairyland, far removed from sordid reality. The yellow and blue flames of the gaslights flickered in their glass prisons, and in the distance, floating on the still night air, Hetty could hear children’s voices singing a Christmas carol. She was tired to the point of exhaustion as she trudged through the snow, but she was also elated by the success of her first day’s trading. She couldn’t wait to tell George how well it had
gone, and, more important, she would have a lot to write about when she reached the peace and quiet of her attic room. She always told Charles everything – well, almost everything.

That evening, after supper when Natalia had been put to bed and Tom and George had left for their respective homes, Hetty and Jane had to roll up their sleeves and start the baking process all over again. Their homemade cakes had been such a success that they had sold out in the shop and the two coffee stalls. Even with Granny and Nora helping with the preparation they did not finish baking until well after midnight, and by that time Hetty was too tired to do anything but lie down on her bed and fall fast asleep.

On Christmas Eve Hetty was at the coffee shop even earlier than usual. She had added mince pies to her menu and these were flying off the counter almost as fast as she could put them out. Trade had continued to be brisk and she knew that if things went on like this she would have to take on help. Tom had said that his youngest sister, Sally, was still working at Bryant and May and she would be the ideal person to help in the coffee shop. Hetty promised that Sally would be the first to know if she decided to go ahead and hire someone, but she was reluctant to do anything until after
Christmas as the brisk trade might just be seasonal.

In the middle of the lunchtime rush, Hetty was taken by surprise when Tom’s sister walked into the shop. Hetty had always thought of Sally as a small, skinny child with burnished brown hair scraped into pigtails and a scattering of freckles over her snub nose. Of the three Crewe sisters, Sally was the one who most resembled Tom, and in spite of having worked at the match factory since she was ten, she did not seem to have suffered any of the ailments and diseases that went hand in hand with the work. Her grin was so reminiscent of Tom’s that Hetty had to smile, even though she was in the middle of serving several customers.

‘Tom said I should come,’ Sally said, leaning against the counter. ‘He said you needed help and I’ve had enough of that bloody factory.’

‘Hush,’ Hetty said, glancing nervously at a rather prim-looking lady clerk who was trying to decide which type of cake to choose. ‘Come back later, Sally. I’m busy.’

Sally took off her bonnet and shawl and skittered round behind the counter. ‘Here, let me take those to the customer. Who ordered ham sandwiches and watercress?’

‘I’m not sure about that,’ Hetty began, but a meaningful cough from a man sitting at a
table near the window changed her mind. ‘All right, Sally. Take that to the man over there, the one with leather patches on the sleeves of his jacket.’ Hetty went back to serving the indecisive lady, who opted in the end for a mince pie. Sally returned with an empty tray and a big smile on her face, and it seemed foolish not to use a willing helper.

By mid-afternoon, things had quietened down and Sally was in the scullery washing dishes while Hetty cleared the tables and set them up for the next wave of customers, when she saw a carriage drawn by a magnificent pair of matched bay horses pull up in the street outside. At first Hetty thought that there must be some mistake. It was obviously a private carriage and not a mere hackney. In fact it looked so out of place in this part of London that a small crowd had already gathered to stare at the coachman who leapt from the driver’s seat and came striding into the coffee shop.

He tipped his top hat. ‘Good afternoon, ma’am. Am I addressing Miss Huggins?’

‘Yes, that’s me.’

‘Miss Heathcote requests the pleasure of your company, Miss Huggins.’

Hetty stared at him dumbfounded. ‘She wants to see me?’

‘Yes, miss. I’m to take you to her now.’

‘I’m very sorry, but that’s impossible. I can’t
close up just like that. I’ve got a business to run.’

‘Miss Heathcote expects you, miss.’

‘Well, you’ll just have to tell her that I’ll come another day. I am truly sorry, but that’s how it is.’

‘I – I can’t tell her that, miss. I’ll lose my job.’

He looked so downcast that Hetty felt sorry for him. ‘What is your name?’

‘Milton, miss.’

‘Well, Mr Milton, I dunno what Miss Heathcote wants with me, but I ain’t in business for the fun of it, and she should understand that since this shop belongs to her. If I don’t sell coffee and sandwiches I won’t be able to pay my rent, and she’ll be the loser.’

‘I don’t think losing the rent from one shop would worry Miss Heathcote unduly. She owns this whole street and more besides.

Please, miss, come with me now, just for half an hour or so. I promise to get you back as quickly as possible.’

Hetty shook her head. ‘I’m really, really sorry, Mr Milton, and I hope the old lady don’t sack you, although I’m sure she wouldn’t be so unreasonable, but I can’t and won’t shut up shop just because she’s got a bee in her bonnet about wanting to see me. You go back to Berkeley Square, and tell her that I’d be more
than pleased to come and call on a Sunday, which is me only day free, if she still wants to see me.’

‘I’ll pass the message on, but I don’t know how she’ll take it. You don’t know her, miss. If she gets into one of her states, she’ll scream and shout and cry like one of them wailing banshees that Irish Paddy the boot boy is always going on about. Fair turns your stomach it does, and the doctor has to be sent for to calm her down. I’ll tell her, but she won’t like it. No one goes against Miss Tryphena Heathcote.’

‘Well,’ Hetty said, folding her arms across her chest, ‘then it’s time someone stood up to her, that’s all I can say. I wouldn’t even let little Talia get away with that sort of behaviour and she’s just a baby.’

Milton acknowledged this with a nod of his head and he stomped out of the coffee shop with a dispirited hunch of his shoulders.

‘What was all that about?’ Sally demanded, coming out of the scullery and wiping her hands on her apron.

‘Nothing to worry about,’ Hetty said, shaking her head. ‘There’s some folks in this world who have got so much money they think they can make others dance to their tune just by snapping their fingers. Miss Tryphena Heathcote may be rich and she might own this whole row of shops, but she don’t own me.’

It was almost seven o’clock by the time Hetty put the
CLOSED
sign on the door. She had sent Sally home earlier, with the promise of a job starting straight after Christmas. Hetty emptied the till and was delighted to see that her takings were up on the previous day. It would be wonderful if they could continue like this after Christmas, but she knew that nothing was certain. The worst of the winter was to come and money was short when people had to buy extra food and fuel to keep out the cold. She checked that the back door was locked, blew out the candles and the oil lamp behind the counter and was just putting on her coat when she heard the sound of horses’ hooves on the cobblestones and the rumble of carriage wheels, which came to a grinding halt outside her shop. Hetty let herself out of the premises, locking the door behind her. She was so keen to get home that she had paid little or no attention to the carriage, but as she was about to walk past it the door opened and a shrill voice pierced the night like a scream.

‘Get in the carriage; I want to speak to you.’ A pale face peered at her from the dark depths of the landau. ‘If you won’t come to me then I have no alternative but to come to you.’ Miss Heathcote’s voice sounded petulant and tremulous, as if she were about to cry.

‘I told your man that I couldn’t come today,’ Hetty said, torn between anger and pity. ‘It’s Christmas Eve and I want to go home to my family.’

‘You at least have a family. I have no one.’

‘No one?’

‘All dead.’ Miss Heathcote shuffled along the seat, making room for Hetty. She patted the luxurious leather squabs. ‘Come. I’m sure you can spare me a half-hour of your valuable time, and I don’t have to remind you who it is who owns your shop.’

‘Are you threatening me, miss?’

‘I am used to getting my own way, Miss Huggins. Now get inside, please. I am unused to being out in the cold night air and I have a
delicate constitution. Do you want to be responsible for my early demise?’

‘That’s not fair, miss.’

‘Life isn’t fair, Hetty. Look at me. Do you think I wanted to come into the world half formed? Now do as I say or I will have one of my turns, which I can assure you are not pleasant to behold. Get in the carriage now and I promise to send you home in it when I have done with you.’

With the utmost reluctance, Hetty climbed into the landau and Miss Heathcote ordered the coachman to drive on. Hetty leaned back against the soft, padded leather squabs but she was far from relaxed.

Miss Heathcote subsided beneath a fur travelling rug and lapsed into silence. The roads were remarkably clear of traffic and it seemed to Hetty that everyone in London had hurried home to be with their families, except perhaps for those unfortunates who huddled in shop doorways sheltering against the bitter cold. These destitute souls might slip away from this world painlessly in their sleep. Those who awakened next morning would begin yet another day in their battle of survival against the twin ogres of disease and poverty. She experienced a wave of pity as she saw three children, clad in rags, huddled together in a shop doorway and clinging to each other like the survivors of a shipwreck.

Hetty could stand it no longer and she rapped on the roof of the carriage. ‘Stop. Oh, stop please, coachman.’

Miss Heathcote’s head popped up from her furs, looking like a startled owlet. ‘What are you doing?’

Hetty opened the door and beckoned. ‘You, child, come here.’

The eldest of the three, a girl who could have been no older than eleven or twelve, scrambled to her feet and approached the carriage, her pinched features assuming a smile that was so eager to please that it cut Hetty to the heart. She loosened the strings of her reticule and took out a shilling. ‘Here, this will pay for a night or two in a lodging house for you and the nippers. Spend the rest on food.’

A small hand shot out to snatch the coin and the girl backed away as if expecting someone to take the money from her. ‘Ta, miss.’

‘What is your name, child?’

‘Dorrie, miss, and these are me brothers, Wilfred and Stanley.’

‘Isn’t there anyone who would take care of you, Dorrie?’

‘Close the carriage door,’ Miss Heathcote snapped. ‘I’m freezing to death.’

Hetty turned on her angrily. ‘These poor children are more likely to suffer that fate. Have you no pity?’ She leaned out of the door,
addressing herself to Dorrie. ‘Come to the back of number three Artillery Lane on Thursday, Dorrie. Bring your brothers and you will be given a meal.’