A Mother's Promise (42 page)

He seemed to freeze, turning his head very slowly to stare at her with an incredulous expression. ‘Hetty? Hetty, is it really you?’

She flung herself into his arms, laughing and crying at the same time. ‘It is me. I am here, Charles. I am here.’

‘By God, so you are.’ He held her at arm’s length, staring into her eyes with disbelief. ‘But how? Why didn’t you let me know you were coming? Hetty, what the heck do you think you’re doing here?’

It was not the welcome she had been expecting or the one she had hoped for. In a shattering instant, Hetty’s dream of an ecstatic reunion with hugs, tears and kisses, was smashed into a million tiny shards. She felt her lips trembling as she tried to hold back tears of disappointment. ‘I – I came to see you, Charles. You haven’t written for ages and I came to find out . . .’ She broke off, unable to continue beneath his stern gaze.

‘You came all this way on your own? What were you thinking of, Hetty?’

‘Of you, Charles. I had to know if you still feel the same way about me.’

‘Don’t cry, honey.’ His expression softened and he placed his arm around her shoulders.
‘You caught me by surprise. Of course I’m pleased to see you.’

Hetty fished a rather grubby handkerchief from her reticule and blew her nose. ‘You don’t look very happy.’

He glanced up at the house as if expecting to see a row of faces peering out of the windows. ‘Where are you staying, Hetty? I mean, I assume you have booked into a hotel.’

‘O’Malley’s Hotel in Walnut Street. I didn’t want to impose on your family, Charles. At least, not until you have introduced us.’

‘You’ve changed, Hetty.’ Charles gazed at her as if seeing her for the first time. ‘You’ve lost some of that cute cockney accent and you – you just seem different.’

There was a note of awe in his voice and Hetty took heart. She reached up impulsively and brushed his lips with a kiss. ‘I’ve come up in the world, Charles. I wrote to you about Miss Heathcote and the coffee shops. Didn’t you read my letters?’

‘Of course, honey,’ Charles said absently, but his attention had been diverted by an approaching carriage and he took Hetty by the arm, hurrying her back across the street into the gardens.

‘Charles, what is going on?’ Hetty demanded.

‘Sorry, honey, but that carriage belongs to
my cousin Eugenie and she is the nosiest girl this side of the Mason-Dixon Line.’

‘Don’t you want me to meet your family?’ He stared at her with a perplexed look on his face. ‘Sure I do, but there’s a time and place for everything.’ He took her by the arm and started walking at a brisk pace. ‘I’ll walk you back to your hotel, dear. We’ll have dinner later and then we can talk.’

Hetty jerked her hand free and she stopped dead in the middle of the path. ‘If you’ve changed your mind about us I would rather you told me now, Charles. If I’ve mistaken your feelings for me, I’ll get the next ship home, even if I have to work my passage.’

A reluctant smile chased away his frown. ‘Don’t be so theatrical, honey. Of course I’m pleased to see you – it was just a shock to find you standing on the sidewalk outside my home.’ He slipped her hand through the crook of his arm. ‘We’ll sort it out later, but I’m afraid I’m in a bit of a hurry now. My mother is entertaining this evening and I will be expected to put in an appearance, but I’ll get away as soon as I can and we can talk over dinner.’

There was little that Hetty could say or do other than allow him to escort her back to her hotel, but her heart was heavy and all her instincts were warning her that the signs were not good. It was getting dark now and a chill
wind was making her shiver. Light pooled on the paving stones beneath the gas lamps and the leaves that remained on the branches fluttered in the breeze, making a kaleidoscope of patterns on the path in front of them. Walnut Street was congested with horse-drawn vehicles and pedestrians alike. Charles guided her through the crowds and Hetty was quick to notice that people stepped aside to allow them to pass. She stole a sideways glance at him, realising for the first time that here in his native city Charles Wyndham the third was a man of some standing. It was not just his black silk top hat, or the expensive tailored suit, hand-made shoes and silk cravat which made him stand out amongst the crowd; Charles had an air of authority and confidence born of good breeding and an expensive education. The carefree, easy-going young fellow she had known in London seemed like another person. When he escorted her up the steps into the hotel lobby and gave her a peck on the cheek, she felt cold fingers of fear clutching at her heart. As she watched him leave she had the uncomfortable feeling that he could not get away fast enough. Hetty collected her key from the desk clerk and climbed the stairs to her room on the third floor with a sinking feeling in her stomach.

For a long time, she sat on the edge of her
bed staring into space. This was not how it was meant to be. Charles had been almost like a stranger to her. Had she been imagining their mutual passion all this time? If his feelings had changed, hers had not. The pain in her heart was real and she wrapped her arms around her middle, rocking to and fro in silent agony.

How long she sat like this she could not tell, but when the clock on the mantelshelf struck seven she came to her senses with a start. Charles had not given her a specific time, but she must be ready for him when he called. Tonight would be the most pivotal moment of her life, she knew that very well. They would talk honestly and earnestly over dinner and she would draw the truth out of him even if it hurt. Hetty rose from the bed and went to the washstand where a china pitcher decorated with painted pansies and roses had been left standing in the matching wash basin, ready for her use. The water was cold but refreshing, and she washed her hands and face and dried them on the coarse huckaback towel. Then she stripped off her smart walking dress and changed into her newest and best gown, which Miss Heathcote’s own dressmaker had made for her, copying a fashion plate in
The Young Ladies’ Journal.
It had taken fifteen yards of silk and five yards of skirt lining, all purchased from Debenham’s departmental store at a
prohibitive cost, or so Hetty had thought at the time, but if the shimmering gown in a delicate shade of lavender-blue had the desired effect upon Charles, then it would be worth every penny she had spent. It was still sadly creased but she hoped he would not notice.

She dressed herself with care and put her hair up in sleek coils into which she pinned artificial cream roses. She could only catch glimpses of her attire in the small mirror, but as she pulled on her long cream satin evening gloves she had the satisfaction of knowing that she had done her best. She paced the floor, waiting for the bellboy to announce Charles’ arrival. The minutes ticked on relentlessly and her stomach rumbled with hunger. She had not eaten since a breakfast of rolls and coffee on the ship that morning. Her appetite had deserted her at midday and she had not thought about food until she realised that she felt quite faint from hunger. When eight o’clock came and there was still no sign of Charles, she began to think that he was not coming. She continued to walk up and down the piece of drugget that lay between the bed and the chifforobe, and her heart was racing. Just when she was about to give up, a rap on the door brought her to a sudden halt. ‘Yes, who is it?’

‘Bellboy, ma’am. Mr Wyndham presents his
compliments and he is waiting for you in the lobby.’

‘Th-thank you,’ Hetty murmured, reaching for her cape. ‘I’ll be down directly.’ She waited for a few moments, not wanting to appear too eager, and then she made her way slowly down the three flights of stairs to the lobby.

Charles came towards her, looking resplendent in his white tie and tails. He held an opera hat in his hand and he looked so dashing that it took Hetty’s breath away. She recalled the first time she had seen him coming down the stairs at Nora’s house in Spitalfields. He had made her breath catch then and it was no different now. She extended her hand and he raised it to his lips, brushing it with a kiss. ‘My, Hetty, you look quite breathtaking.’

There was admiration in his eyes and her spirits soared. She felt herself blushing and she lowered her gaze, controlling her voice with difficulty. It was hard to maintain a calm exterior when she wanted to shout for joy, but after his initial cool reception she had no intention of making a fool of herself. ‘So you managed to get away from your mother’s social evening then, Charles?’ she said lightly.

‘Of course, honey. I wouldn’t miss the opportunity to dine with a beautiful woman.’ He proffered his arm and he was smiling, but his flippant words sent a shiver down Hetty’s
spine. She bit back an angry retort and allowed him to lead her out of the hotel. Above their heads the stars were shining and the moon hung over the city like a silver crescent stuck onto black velvet, but there was a chill in the air as they walked the two blocks to a small Italian restaurant which Charles informed her was one of his favourite places to dine. Hetty couldn’t help wondering how many young women he had brought to this place, and her suspicions were intensified by the obsequious manner in which the head waiter treated him. In fact, everyone from the proprietor to the boy who took their coats seemed to know Charles very well indeed. They were shown to a candlelit table set discreetly behind a wrought-iron screen.

Hetty had never tasted Italian food but Charles ordered for both of them. After the waiter had filled their glasses with ruby-red wine, Charles leaned across the table to hold her hand and he was smiling. ‘Now, honey, tell me everything that has been going on in old London town since I left.’

It was not the most flattering start to their evening together, nor the most encouraging. Charles listened intently enough, and his smooth fingers caressed her hand while she talked, but his interest seemed to lie mainly in her business exploits and the building of what
he laughingly called her ‘coffee shop empire’. In between sips of the rich, heady wine and mouthfuls of delicious pasta, Hetty told him about the events that had led up to her meeting with Miss Heathcote and how she had selected the sites for the coffee shops.

‘So,’ Charles said, refilling her glass with wine. ‘You have proved yourself to be clever as well as beautiful, Hetty. I am impressed.’

‘It was luck that brought me into contact with Miss Heathcote. It would have taken me years to get this far without her backing.’

‘And you say that she is colossally wealthy, and a spinster too?’

Hetty was disturbed by the flash of avarice in his eyes. ‘Yes, Charles, and she is likely to remain so. Miss Heathcote hates men.’

‘Perhaps she has not met the right one?’ Charles leaned back in his seat, eyeing Hetty over the rim of his glass.

She forced her lips into a tight little smile. ‘Miss Heathcote was crossed in love and will have nothing to do with men. The poor lady is a hunchback and she is quite old.’

‘You paint a most unattractive picture of your benefactor, honey.’

‘I am just telling you the truth, and she is only backing me so that she can prove her business capabilities to the men who were put in charge of her affairs by her father. She is a
clever woman, Charles, but a sad and lonely one also.’

‘And yet you left her to her own devices while you crossed the Atlantic to find me. I call that . . .’ Charles hesitated, frowning for a moment, and then he threw back his head and laughed. ‘I call that brave, Hetty.’ He raised his glass. ‘Here’s a toast to my courageous Hetty, the woman who risked all for love.’

She did not appreciate the levity in his tone, nor the sentiments that he expressed. He made it sound as though she was chasing after him like a silly, lovelorn girl. She had expected better of him.

‘What’s the matter, honey?’ Charles demanded. ‘Cat got your tongue?’

He was drunk, she decided. His eyes were suspiciously bright, his smile slightly crooked and his words a little slurred. She pulled her hand away as he reached out to grasp it. ‘I’m tired, Charles. I’d like to go back to my hotel.’

‘But the night is still young. I thought we might go dancing.’

‘Dancing?’ Hetty drained her wine glass and set it down on the table. She rose to her feet. ‘I’ve travelled thousands of miles to see you, and you want to take me dancing like a common street girl? This isn’t what I expected of you, Charles. In London you told me that you loved me and wanted me to be your wife.’

Charles stood up a little unsteadily and the jocular expression faded from his eyes. ‘Hetty, for the love of God, don’t make a scene in public.’

She was past caring. She was exhausted both mentally and physically and she was desperate to know his true feelings for her. ‘I am not making a scene, but I want to know – I must know what your intentions are towards me. If you don’t love me any more just say so, Charles, and I’ll leave on the next ship bound for England.’

Charles signalled to the waiter. ‘I’ll have the check now.’

‘I’m waiting,’ Hetty said impatiently. ‘I must know how I stand.’

He came swiftly round the table, placing his hand beneath her arm and guiding her towards the street door. ‘Not here, Hetty.’ He turned to the waiter who had reappeared with the bill, and Charles produced a handful of coins which he dropped onto the silver tray.

The proprietor advanced on them with an anxious look on his face. ‘I trust that everything was satisfactory, Mr Wyndham.’

‘Perfectly, thank you,’ Charles said, snatching his cloak and top hat from the boy who was hovering tactfully in the background.

Hetty smiled her thanks as the proprietor stepped forward to assist her into her cape, but Charles barely waited for her to fasten it before hurrying her out of the restaurant. ‘That was uncalled for,’ he said between clenched teeth. ‘You made a show of yourself in there, Hetty.’

‘No, I won’t have that. You’re drunk and if anyone made a fool of themselves it was you, Charles.’ She marched off in the direction of the hotel, too angry and hurt to continue the conversation. Commonsense was telling her that his actions were not those of a man deeply in love, but part of her still desperately wanted to believe in him. She could hear his footsteps growing closer, and she began to run.