A Mother's Promise (6 page)

‘I told you, Tom, I got plans and they don’t include getting hitched to you, or anyone else for that matter.’

‘We was meant for each other, Hetty.’

‘Is he going to kiss her?’ Eddie asked in a stage whisper.

Sammy dug him in the ribs. ‘Shut up, stupid.’

‘No, he ain’t,’ Hetty said, hoping that the dim light hid her blushes.

Tom tightened his grasp on her shoulders. ‘Yes, he is.’ He drew her to him and kissed her full on the lips.

She pushed him away, covering her hot cheeks with her hands. ‘Stop it, you silly thing. In front of the nippers too.’

‘Go on,’ Sammy cried, clapping his hands. ‘Kiss her again.’

Tom held up his hands, grinning. ‘I will, but next time she’ll want me to do it.’

‘Get on with you, you soft thing,’ Hetty said, covering her embarrassment with a nervous giggle. ‘Stop larking about and I’ll make you a cup of tea.’

He shook his head. ‘Ta, but I think I’d best make me way home. Will you come to the park with me again next Sunday?’

‘I might, but only for a walk. You can’t afford to keep treating us.’

‘Don’t be mean,’ Sammy grumbled. ‘I look
forward to a sticky bun on a Sunday afternoon.’

Tom chuckled and ruffled his hair. ‘We’ll see, nipper.’ He moved towards the door, pausing with his hand on the latch. ‘I shan’t see you in the week, Hetty. I’ve got overtime.’

‘All right then, Tom.’ Hetty managed a smile, but she could still feel the pressure of his lips on hers. It was not at all unpleasant, but it wouldn’t do to lead him on.

She turned away to make the tea.

The bitterly cold January weather gave way to a wet and chilly February. The whole family suffered from coughs and colds, chilblains and low grade fevers, but somehow they managed to continue working. Every Sunday without fail, Tom called for Hetty and the boys, and took them to Victoria Park. Jane always seemed to be out somewhere with Nat, and Hetty suspected that their relationship did not stop at a chaste kiss, but Jane was convinced that she would soon be married and refused to listen to her warnings.

At the end of a particularly wild and blustery March, Hetty’s worst fears were realised when she went outside to use the privy in the back yard and found Jane whey-faced and trembling, having been violently sick. ‘It must’ve been the stewed eels I had for supper
at the pub,’ Jane said, leaning against the brick wall. ‘I don’t feel too clever, Hetty.’

Hetty laid her hand on Jane’s clammy fore-head. ‘You haven’t got a fever. Has this happened before?’

‘I been feeling a bit poorly in the mornings, but it passes off after a while.’

Hetty took her by the shoulders and shook her. ‘You silly little cow. What did I tell you about going with Nat?’

Jane’s amber eyes filled with tears. ‘It was something I ate.’

‘When did you have your last monthly? Come to think of it, I ain’t seen you washing out your rags lately.’

‘I dunno. I forget.’

‘You’re lying, Jane. You know very well what’s wrong with you. You’ve let that bloke have his way with you once too often, my girl.’

‘I – I can’t be. I mean, he said he’d take care of me.’

‘Well, he has. Good and proper. You’re in the family way, unless I’m very much mistaken. Now what are we going to do?’

Jane dashed her hand across her eyes. ‘Don’t speak to me like that. My Nat will do the right thing. He’ll marry me now. You just wait and see.’

‘He’d better, or I’ll want to know the reason why.’ Hetty turned on her heel and strode back
into the house, passing Mrs Brinkman and four of her younger children in the narrow passageway. ‘Morning, Mrs B.’

Mrs Brinkman managed a faint smile and a nod as she shooed the chattering youngsters out into the yard. Hetty leaned her head against the wall and closed her eyes. ‘Please, God,’ she whispered. ‘Make Nat Smith do the right thing by my sister.’

That evening, when all the work was done and their meagre supper cleared from the table, Jane arrived home with a slightly shame-faced Nat. Hetty stood with her arms folded across her chest, waiting for him to speak. He dragged his cloth cap off his head and grinned sheepishly. ‘Hello, Hetty.’

Jane guided him to the chair by the fire. ‘Sit down, Nat. We’ll all sit down, shall we, Hetty? Let’s be comfortable and friendly-like.’

Hetty perched on one of the stools at the table, casting a fierce glance at Sammy and Eddie who were lying down on the straw palliasse that they shared in the far corner of the room. They were supposed to be asleep, but she could hear their muffled giggles and whispers. ‘Well,’ she said coldly. ‘What have you got to say for yourself, Nat?’

He reached out to clutch Jane’s hand. ‘It were a bit of a shock, Hetty, I can’t say it wasn’t,
but I’ll do the right thing by my Janey. I swear I will.’

‘He will, Hetty.’ Jane knelt on the floor by his side, smiling up at Nat with such a loving expression in her eyes that Hetty felt herself weakening.

‘So I should hope,’ she said. ‘Have you set a date yet?’

Nat’s smile faded. ‘It’s a question of finding the money. I’ll put in as much overtime as I can, and we’ll have to find somewhere to live.’

‘We could live here,’ Jane said, beaming. ‘At first, anyway. Until we gets our proper little house, maybe somewhere nice like near the park, so that we can look out of our window at trees and grass and imagine that we’re in the country.’

‘Hold on, ducks,’ Nat said, patting her hand. ‘That sort of place costs money. We might well have to stay here for a while, since my lodgings is for gents only. My landlady wouldn’t stretch a point, not even for a charmer like me.’

Jane slapped him on the wrist. ‘There’ll be less of that talk, Nat. You’re going to be a married man soon.’

Hetty swallowed hard. They seemed to both inhabit the same dream world. If push came to shove, she supposed that Jane and Nat could have the bed that Ma and Pa had shared, and she could revert to sleeping on the floor. Plenty
lived in even worse conditions, but it would be far from ideal. ‘We’ll just have to work something out,’ she said slowly. ‘As far as I can tell, the baby will come some time in September. That gives you a bit of time to find suitable lodgings and to save up some money. Until then, we’ll just have to manage the best way we can.’

‘You’re a sport, Hetty,’ Nat said, smiling. ‘A real diamond.’ He rose to his feet. ‘I’d best be off, ducks. I’ll have an early night and see the foreman first thing in the morning about getting more overtime.’

‘You’re going back to your lodgings already?’ Jane sat back on her haunches, staring up at him in disbelief. ‘I thought we was going to the pub.’

Nat ruffled her hair. ‘We got to save money, Janey. From now on we’ll have to make do with walks in the park on a Sunday like Tom and Hetty.’ He bent down to drop a kiss on her forehead, and, with a cheery wave to Hetty, he left them staring after him.

Jane turned a tragic face to Hetty. ‘He promised me a pie and pease pudding supper.’ Her lips trembled and she burst into tears, rocking backwards and forwards with her arms wrapped around her thin body. ‘It weren’t meant to be like this, Hetty.’

Hetty shook her head, biting back a sharp
retort. It was no use saying I told you so; the damage was done. She got up to put the kettle on the hook over what was left of the fire. ‘There’s no use crying, Jane. We’ve just got to make the best of it.’

‘But I’m hungry,’ Jane wailed. ‘I got to eat for two now.’

Hetty went to the dresser and peeled the brown paper off what was left of the loaf. She had been saving the stale crust for breakfast, but Jane needed some food now. She cut a thin slice and scraped the bottom of the dripping pot, spreading the dark brown meaty jelly onto the bread. ‘Here, eat this and you’ll feel better.’

Jane wiped her eyes on her sleeve and she took the slice of bread, cramming it into her mouth and barely chewing it before she swallowed. ‘Is it always going to be like this, Hetty?’

‘Here, that’s not fair,’ Sammy cried, snapping upright in his bed. ‘Why has Jane got something to eat and we ain’t?’

‘I’m hungry too,’ Eddie whimpered. ‘She’s eating our breakfast, Hetty.’

‘Be quiet, the pair of you.’ Hetty turned on them, covering her distress with an angry frown. ‘You’ve had your supper and you should be asleep.’

They subsided instantly, but she could hear them grumbling as they huddled together for warmth. She glanced at Jane who was licking
her fingers one by one and looking longingly at the remains of the crust. Hetty’s stomach rumbled; she was hungry too, but that bit of bread would be the boys’ breakfast. She and Jane would have to go without until dinner time. It was nothing unusual.

Later that evening when she lay on the lumpy, flock-filled mattress that her parents had once shared, so many years ago it seemed, Hetty was exhausted but she could not sleep. She could hear Jane’s soft, rhythmic breathing by her side and the occasional snuffling sound from either Sammy or Eddie as they turned over in their sleep. Otherwise everything was quiet in the house. There was no sound from the room above, where in daytime the Brinkmans seemed to be constantly on the move, their combined footsteps resonating like an army on the march, or a troupe of clog dancers. In the early hours of the morning, Hetty had made her decision. She prayed that Ma would forgive her for going back on her promise, but she had made up her mind. They needed money desperately and they needed it now. There was only one way she could earn more than sixpence a day and that was to work in the match factory where she could almost double their combined income. It would only be a temporary measure until Jane was settled with Nat and the boys were big enough to go
out and earn their own living. Just a temporary measure.

Next morning, when she told Jane what she planned to do, Hetty was taken aback by her sister’s angry reaction. White-faced and trembling, Jane stamped her foot. ‘If you do that, you’re no sister of mine. What would Ma say? She’ll be turning over in her grave if you break your promise to her, Hetty. You can’t work in that place. I won’t let you.’

Sammy and Eddie, awakened from their sleep and frightened by the sound of raised voices, flung themselves at Hetty, clinging to her and sobbing, even though they had no idea what the argument was about. In the end, Hetty gave in. She sank down onto the chair by the empty grate, holding her head in her hands. ‘All right, I won’t do it, Jane. Although, as far as I can see, it’s the only way we can keep clear of the workhouse.’

‘No!’ Jane stormed, her eyes snapping angrily. ‘My Nat will look after us all. Haven’t I told you that again and again? He’ll find us rooms in a better house, away from this slum. We’ll have a fresh start and the boys can go to school, like they should. We’ll be a proper family again. Don’t you ever let me hear you talking about working in that blooming factory. D’you hear me, Hetty Huggins?’

Faced with this kind of resistance, Hetty
reluctantly gave up the idea, at least for the time being. She knew that she must not upset Jane in her delicate condition and they must continue the struggle from day to day.

The passing of spring into summer hardly made any difference in the brick and concrete canyons of Bow. The River Lea still oozed with foul-smelling muck and effluent from the factories, and the stench from the tannery hung in a miasma over the rooftops. The daily routine at the match factory was unchanging, but even the outworkers sensed a spirit of unrest amongst the twelve hundred or so women and girls who were employed by Bryant and May. Mutterings against the unhealthy working conditions, the poor pay and the fines imposed on the workers for the slightest infringement of the strict rules rumbled like an approaching storm.

On a fine June morning when the sun managed to force its way through the pall of smoke and industrial pollution, Mrs Briggs was in one of her rare conversational moods as they waited outside the factory gates. She told Hetty that the current unrest was coming to a head, and she wouldn’t be at all surprised if they didn’t just down tools and go out on strike. The matchgirls had done just this two years previously, but had been forced back to
work by poverty and lack of support from outside. Now, she whispered, there was a lady, a Mrs Annie Besant, who kept coming to the factory and asking a lot of questions. The women were only too pleased to tell someone about their wretched working conditions, and the fines for talking, dropping matches or going to the privy without first asking permission. The lady was, they said, shocked to the core by their revelations and she was encouraging the women to take action against their employers. Mrs Besant was a good ‘un, and she was on their side.

Hetty listened, but although she knew what Mrs Briggs said was true, she was not particularly interested in factory politics. She had enough on her hands coping at home. Jane was now a good five months gone, growing visibly larger and always hungry. She tired easily, and, although she still put in a twelve hour day, she often had to stop and rest, or simply get up from the table and walk about to ease her aching back. They did not see much of Nat who was working hard, putting in as much overtime as he could, saving his money. He was looking for suitable lodgings and when he had found them, Jane said, smiling proudly, they would be married. It shouldn’t be long now.

Every Sunday afternoon without fail, Tom
came to call for Hetty and the boys. The walk in Victoria Park was now an established routine. It was the highlight of Hetty’s week, and she sometimes thought that it was the only thing that had kept her going. Now that summer was well and truly here, the park was burgeoning with flowers and fresh green foliage. The scent of roses filled the air and the sound of birdsong was even sweeter than the music played by the band. Sometimes, if he had an extra penny in his pocket, Tom hired a rowing boat and took them on the lake and this day was no exception. Hetty sat back and trailed her fingers in the cool water while she watched the mallards and moorhens dabbling amongst the reeds. Some of them were diving beneath the surface with their tails and feet waggling in the air. Sammy and Eddie hooted with laughter, which in turn made Tom grin as he worked the oars. Hetty tried not to stare, but she couldn’t help noticing and secretly admiring the way his muscles rippled with each powerful stroke. His shirtsleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and his bare forearms moved with a sinuous strength as his workmanlike fingers curled round the wooden oars. Those large hands, she thought dreamily, could stoke a boiler at the gasworks with coal in the making of coke, lay a man out flat on his back in a fight, or
be so gentle that his touch was as soft as a moth’s wings.