Hetty Feather (14 page)

All the girls looked up expectantly, Sheila clearly
anxious. I wanted to get her into trouble with Nurse
Winterson. But I still did not want it made plain
to all that she had got the better of me. I held my
tongue a second time.

'I tripped and Matron took me off to put this
purple stinging stuff on my chin,' I said.

'It is gentian violet, Hetty. I dare say it hurt a
great deal. You have been very brave, dear.'

I thought the girls might groan to see me singled
out so favourably, but they nodded at me, almost in
a friendly fashion. I did not know then that I had
avoided the worst sin of all at the Foundling Hospital.
No matter how a child is teased or tortured, they
must never ever ever tell a nurse or matron. If they
do, the others will torment them until their last day
at the hospital.

I had unwittingly kept to this rule and won
everyone's respect. I sat and stitched demurely, while
Nurse Winterson read us a story. I loved stories, and
this was a splendid fairy tale – but for once I could
not concentrate.

My mind was whirling. I knew how to reach the
boys' wing, but I would be spotted immediately if I
went back there, unless . . . Unless I could find some
way of disguising myself.

I did not see how this was possible, until later in
the day, when Harriet sought me out.

'Poor Hetty! Look at your sore chin. Oh dear, oh
dear,' she said, making a great fuss of me.

I rather enjoyed this, and even managed to
squeeze out a few tears so she could pet me. She
took me to the big girls' room and sat me close by
her side while she started sewing. She took a pair
of boys' trousers from the big basket and started
patching a knee. I stared at the trousers on her
lap – and smiled. I knew how to obtain the perfect
disguise!

I waited until Harriet had to go to a cupboard
for more thread, peered round quickly, then seized
another pair of trousers from the brimming basket. I
could not be seen carrying them so I thrust them up
my skirts, wedging them in a bunch as best I could.

I positively waddled on my way back to my
dormitory, but I managed to deposit the trousers
safely in my mattress.

The next day I purloined a jacket – and I was
ready! I decided my best chance of reaching the
boys' wing undetected was during the playtime after
dinner. There were fewer nurses on duty, many of
them dining themselves. I stood in the playground
awaiting my opportunity. The other girls took no
notice of me. Sheila seemed disconcerted that I had
not told tales on her, and left me alone.

I hesitated, standing near the girls' entrance,
suddenly in a funk, frightened of being caught and
whipped. I made myself think hard of Gideon. I
pictured him so clearly that he seemed to be standing
before me, white and trembling, tears running
down his face, his mouth opening and shutting
soundlessly. It was such a sad image, it galvanized
me into action.

I gave one last glance to check I was unobserved,
and then I ran into the entrance and up the stairs,
all the way to the dormitory. I tore off my cap and
tippet and apron. I struggled out of my scratchy
brown dress. Then I pulled my stolen jacket and
trousers out of my mattress and put them on. The
trousers were too large and much too long, but I
rolled each leg up at the hem until they rested on
my boots. The jacket was too big too, but it was easy
enough to shrug it up on my shoulders. My shorn
hair suited my purpose well. I had no mirror, but
looking down I could see I appeared a convincing
boy, though I was on the short side. I clenched my
fists and tapped myself on the chest.

'Courage, Hetty,' I whispered.

I hastened out of the dormitory, hating the
heaviness of the jacket on my shoulders, the chafing
of the trousers on my skinny legs. I sped along the
corridor, but then heard the squeak of a nurse's
boots marching along the polished floor.

If she caught me in boys' apparel, all would be
lost. I darted into the girls' washrooms and hid
behind the door, trembling.
Squeak squeak squeak
came the boots, louder now. They paused at the door
of the washrooms. A head poked in and peered, but
I was crammed right back into the corner and she
didn't see me. She went marching on her way, while
I breathed out at last. Once she was out of earshot
I peeped anxiously out of the doorway, and then
resumed my journey.

I turned to the right until I found the boys'
washrooms, and then I carried on down the corridor
until I reached the stairs. I ran down them, but
there at the bottom, right by the door, stood a nurse
watching the boys playing outside. I stopped still,
pressing back into the shadows. I could not bear
to be thwarted now, when I was so nearly there.
I waited, willing her to move, and eventually she
yawned and stretched and sauntered off.

I hurtled out into the playground, blinking at the
sight of so many small boys in brown. They were
so lively too. We girls wandered aimlessly up and
down, or talked in tiny groups, or played decorous
clapping games. These boys were all running and
capering and kicking stones and shouting – all but
one. A spindly boy with a stark haircut stood all
by himself, his head bowed, his hands weirdly splayed as
if he were searching for something that wasn't there.

'Gideon!'
I called.

He looked up and I ran over to him. He cowered
away as if I was going to hit him.

'It's me, Gideon! It's Hetty, your own sister!' I
cried.

He peered at my shorn hair and breeches, looking
doubtful.

'It's really me. Oh, Gideon, I've missed you so!'

I embraced him, my arms tight around his neck.
I felt him crumple, his head on my shoulders, and
then he started sobbing.

'Oh, Gid, it's so hateful hateful hateful, isn't it? If
only we could be together it wouldn't be too bad.'

He straightened up and looked at me imploringly.

'I can't stay, Gideon. The nurses would see I'm
not a real boy – especially when I went to the privy!' I
giggled – and Gideon smiled through his tears. 'How
has it been for you, Gid? Have they been horrid to
you, the other boys?'

Gideon hung his head.

'What about Saul? He's here, isn't he? Does he
look out for you, stand up for you?'

Gideon hunched up further. Saul was clearly not
a protector.

'Well, you must fight back. If you cry, it will only
make them worse. The other girls are hateful to me,
but I punch them and pull their hair and stamp on
their feet until they scream,' I said, exaggerating
fiercely. 'You must do the same.'

Gideon stared at me. We both knew this was a
ridiculous suggestion.

'Try,
Gideon. And you must
say
things. They will
think you are stupid if you won't talk. They will call
you bad names like Idiot Boy.'

Gideon flinched.

'But you're not an idiot, you're clever, just like
me. You can talk perfectly, you just
won't.
Please
say something to me now, Gid.'

Gideon shook his head helplessly.

'For my sake – because you stopped talking when
you got lost in the woods that night I went to the
circus, remember?'

It was clear from Gideon's eyes that he did.

'I've felt so bad since, knowing it was all my fault.
It would make me feel
so
much better if you said
something. Anything. You can call me names if you
like. You can say, "Hetty Feather is a mean, nasty,
pigface, smellybottom sister!" Go on, say it!'

Gideon resisted, but he smiled again.

'Well, say it in your head if you won't say it out
loud. Talk to yourself every day. Talk about
home.
We mustn't forget, Gideon. It's the most important
thing of all. Martha can barely remember anything,
not even me! But if we talk to ourselves and picture
home again and again and again, it will stay true in
our heads. We must picture Mother—'

Gideon moaned softly.

'Yes, remember Mother, her dear red face,
her lovely warm smell, her big chest, our mother.
And great Father, remember him galloping around
with you on his shoulders. And Nat with his jokes
and his whittling. Did they take your wooden
elephant, Gid? They took my dear rag baby. But I've
still got Jem's sixpence safe. Oh, Gideon, picture
Jem, remember our dearest brother, and listen to
me, listen hard: Jem is going to come for me when
I'm older, and he'll come for you too, and we'll
all live together and be happy again – and you
will be free to dance, Gid. You can even wear a silver
suit if you like. Remember the tumbling boys and
their dance?'

Gideon's face suddenly lit up. He pointed his foot
in its clumsy boot and then twirled round, while I
clapped. But the other boys were watching. They
started pointing and jeering.

'See the idiot boy dancing!'

'He is
not
an idiot,' I said, clenching my fists. 'I
will punch any boy who calls him that.'

They laughed harder, because they all towered
over me.

'Who
is
this little red-haired runty lad?'

'Is he new? I've never seen him before.'

They were gathering round us, which made me
nervous.

'He's a rum little fellow! Where's his waistcoat
and cap? He's only half dressed!'

'What's your name, boy?'

'I'll tell you his name – it's Hetty Feather!'
someone said.

I spun round – and there was Saul, grown thinner
and taller, his face pinched. His bad leg bent sideways
and he clutched a cane for support.

The other boys roared at my name. 'The cripple's
talking such rot! Hetty Feather! That's a girl's name.'

'She
is
a girl. She is my foster sister,' said Saul.
He looked at me, his cheeks flushed. 'Remember,
remember, remember, Hetty Feather. You tell Gideon
to remember – but you forgot
me
!'

'He's a
girl
?' said the biggest boy. He seized
hold of me and thrust his hand down my breeches,
though I struggled and shrieked. 'He
is
a girl!' he
yelled triumphantly.

'There's a girl over here!'

'A girl, a girl, a girl in breeches!'

'Come and see the girl, the red-haired girl!'

They were all running towards me. I saw a nurse
in the distance raise her head and stare over at the
hubbub.

'I have to go, Gid, or I shall be in terrible trouble.
But you remember, promise? Remember everyone
at home. Remember
me,
your Hetty.'

I gave him a quick kiss on his cheek. I might have
tried to kiss Saul too, but he spat at me. So I spat
back, then dodged round him and ran.

The boys shouted after me, some of them running
in pursuit. I heard a wail. I turned. Gideon was
waving wildly at me. His mouth was open.

'My Hetty!' he called, his voice cracking.

There was uproar as they all heard him speak,
but I could not stay to congratulate or comfort
him. I shot inside the entrance and ran like a rat,
desperate for cover. I heard bells clanging and knew
it was the end of playtime. I made it undetected all
the way back to the girls' dormitory. I tore off the
jacket and breeches, tugged on my dress and apron
and tippet and thrust my cap upon my head. I was a
girl again. I had got away with it!

Each day was so alike: up in the morning as the
bell rang; dressing, washing, eating, even going
to the lavatory at the allotted hour. We learned the
same lessons every day, reading and writing and
singing and scripture, then the wretched darning
every afternoon. We ate the same meals – porridge
for breakfast, boiled beef or mutton for dinner,
bread and cheese for supper every Monday, Tuesday,
Wednesday, Thursday, Friday and Saturday, all
identical – so
Sundays
came as a total surprise.

We were handed special snowy-white Sunday
tippets and aprons, and given a severe warning by
Matron Pigface Peters to keep them spotless. Woe
betide any girl who dribbled her porridge down her
front at breakfast! Then we all trooped off to chapel,
marching in a crocodile. I still did not have a friend
in my own class so I had to trudge along beside
Matron Pigface herself, while Sheila and Monica
walked directly behind and kept kicking the backs
of my legs and treading on my boot-heels.

I turned to try to kick them back, but Matron
Pigface tugged my arm and glared at me.

'Behave yourself, Hetty Feather! Pray to the Lord
above to make you a good meek little maid, not the
total varmint that you are.'

I wasn't sure what a varmint was, but I decided I
wanted to stay one if I possibly could. I didn't want to
be good or meek. I certainly didn't want to stay little so
that all the others could squash me flat. I didn't much
care to be a maid either. If I had to be a foundling, then
the boys seemed to have far more fun.

The Sunday service in the chapel wasn't fun
for any of us, girls or boys. We had to sit as still as
statues on the hard pews. If we so much as swung
our legs, Matron frowned and tapped us. If any
small foundling fidgeted or fell asleep during the
long, long sermon, a big girl would poke her hard
in the back – and doubtless the little boys over on
the other side of the chapel were being subjected to
similar nips and knocks.

The foundlings who formed the choir were the only
children who could mingle, girls and boys together. I
was surprised to see my own sister, Martha, up there
at the front, the smallest child in the whole choir,
looking especially earnest with her spectacles on the
end of her snub nose. She had a very short solo and
sang like an angel, hands folded, head high, mouth
wide open. I felt true sisterly pride, goose pimples on
my arms at the sweetness of her voice. If only Mother
could have been present to hear her!

I blotted out my pew of foundling girls sitting hip
to hip in their ugly brown frocks. I pictured my entire
family, Jem beside me, whispering loyally that he
was sure I could sing every bit as sweetly as Martha,
Nat surreptitiously whittling a piece of wood, Rosie
and Eliza in their Sunday print frocks with their
hair specially curled, Father large and lumbering,
holding his neck awkwardly because the collar of
his starched Sunday shirt was rubbing, and Mother
rocking the sleeping baby, her eyes shining to see
us all together. Gideon would be with us of course,
sitting bolt upright, dancing his toes in time to the
music. I suppose Saul would have to be here too – but
right at the other end of the pew, away from me.

I peered round to see if I could possibly spot the
real Gideon and Saul in the distant sea of brown boys
– and got poked hard in the back for my trouble. I had
to sit still, and pray and sing and listen while the vicar
preached endlessly about miserable sinners. I was
very
miserable and I knew I was a sinner, so I decided I had
better pray hard inside my head so that I wouldn't
tumble straight down to the fiery flames of Hell.

'Dear Lord, please make me a better girl,' I prayed
earnestly, over and over – but as the sermon droned
on and on, I switched the prayer to 'Please God, let
this service finish
soon.'

When it was finally over, I had pins and needles
from the tips of my toes right up to my bottom and I
stumbled when I stood up. We filed out of the chapel,
row after row, while the rest of the congregation
gawped at us. I wondered who all these strange
ladies and gentlemen were. They certainly weren't
hospital staff. I had a sudden wild fancy that they
were parents come to seek out their lost children.
Perhaps my real mother was there, looking for her
lost babe. Perhaps she really
was
Madame Adeline.
I peered at all the ladies, trying to spot a flame
of red hair under all the Sunday bonnets, a flare
of pink lace at the throat of a stark Sunday dress.

'Stop staring, Hetty Feather!' Matron Pigface
snapped.

'But they're staring at me!' I muttered, but not
quite loudly enough for her to hear.

Harriet was one of the big girls supervising our
privy visit when we got back.

'Who
are
all the ladies and gentlemen?' I asked her.

'They are the Sunday visitors,' said Harriet.

'Why are they here?'

'They like to look at us,' said Harriet. 'They will
watch us at our Sunday dinner too. So mind your
manners, little Hetty!'

I was not sure whether she was serious or not,
but when we marched into the dining room, one
two, one two, there they were, the ladies and
gentlemen all lined up expectantly. We stood behind
our benches while a big girl said grace in a very loud
sing-song, making her voice extra holy because it
was Sunday, and everyone was staring at her. Then
we clambered onto our benches and the kitchen
maids started serving.

It was roast beef, one slice each, with roast potatoes
and carrots and cabbage from the garden. My special
kind maid pushed her way quickly down to my table
and gave me the biggest slice of beef and the largest,
crispiest potato. She winked at me as she did so.

The ladies and gentlemen surrounding us were
making such a noise I dared to speak myself.

'Thank you!' I whispered, smiling at her. 'You're
very kind to me. What is your name?'

'I'm Ida Battersea.'

'Do I call you Matron or Miss?'

'You can call me Ida. What is your name, dear?'

'I'm Hetty Feather.' I wrinkled my nose. 'It's a
silly name.'

'I think it is a very distinctive name,' she said.

'Oh, I do
like
you, Ida!' I said. I forgot to whisper,
and a nurse came bustling up, glaring at me.

'Were you
talking,
child?' she demanded.

'Oh no, ma'am, it was me. I'm very sorry, ma'am,'
said Ida.

'You must learn to hold your tongue,' said the
nurse, as if Ida was one of us girls.

She flushed and bowed her head, but when the
nurse moved away, Ida pulled a comical face at her
back. I laughed and choked on my hot potato.

Ida had to serve the next table, and as soon as
she was gone, three fine ladies stepped right up to
our table and watched us eat.

'My, they're so neat and dainty! See how they
spoon their gravy so carefully!' said one.

Of course we were neat and dainty. We knew that
if we spilled anything down our Sunday tippets we'd
get our knuckles rapped.

'Aren't the little ones sweet! Do you see that
one with the high forehead? That's a clear sign of
intelligence,' said another, singling out Sheila, who
smirked at her in sickening fashion.

'I'm rather taken with the very little one. She's
not much more than a baby,' said the third. 'Poor
little scrap, I doubt she'll survive the winter.'

I scowled at her, which was a mistake.

'Oh dear, look at that expression! She's a surly
little thing. No, no,
my
one's smiling prettily,' said
the second lady, fumbling in her purse. 'Here, my
dear, a little treat for you.'

She put a wrapped sweet beside Sheila's plate.
Sheila popped the sweet down the front of her tippet
before anyone else could see. Aha! So
that
was why
she'd smiled so.

I knew how to play this game now. The three
ladies trotted further down the dining hall, and
their place was taken by a gentleman and a lady,
arm in arm.

'Oh, I do like the little ones,' said the lady.

I sat up, opened my eyes wide, and smiled.

'That's a dear little love, the one at the end. Look,
she's smiling!'

'Bless the child, she's taken a shine to us!'

I grinned and gurned deliberately while they
oohed and cooed – but they sauntered off without
giving me anything. Sheila saw my face and laughed
at me. She patted the tiny bulge in her tippet where
her sweet was and licked her lips.

But then another lady and gentleman came
nearer, both so fat that his waistcoat buttons were
a-popping and her corsets were strained to bursting
point. They were exclaiming over the meagreness of
our portions, though this Sunday fare was practically
a feast to us.

'I'm sure the children are half starving!'

I sucked in my cheeks and looked mournful.

'See the little one at the end! What a shame, she
needs feeding up. Here, my dear, this is for you.'
The gentleman pressed a slab of toffee in my hand.
I gave him the greatest grin of my life and tucked it
into my tippet immediately, with a triumphant little
nod at Sheila.

Dear Ida came back with a second course for us, a
milk pudding with a splash of red jam. Ida served out
the pudding
and
the preserve, so I got a whole spoonful
of raspberry jam. My spirits lifted considerably. I hoped
Gideon was faring equally well in the boys' dining
room. Ladies often made a pet of him so I thought he
might get singled out and given sweetmeats.

I collected four more boiled sweets myself, so
that I was growing quite a chest under my tippet. I
planned to eat my feast in bed, but as soon as we got
outside after our Sunday meal, the big girls pounced
on us little ones.

'Come on, give us your sweets, fair dos!' they
said, feeling up our cuffs and down our tippets,
practically turning us upside down and shaking us
in their search for our sweets.

One girl snatched my precious slab of toffee, another
gathered up my boiled sweets. I cried and tried to fight
them off but there were too many of them.

'Poor little Hetty! Leave her alone, she's my
baby!' Harriet shrieked, rushing to my rescue.

She managed to save one last sweet, a barley
sugar. 'There you are, my pet. Eat it up quickly before
someone grabs it. Shame on you, girls, descending
on the babes like a swarm of locusts!'

She swept me off with her. I cuddled up close and
sucked my barley sugar while she petted me.

I learned to be more wily the next Sunday,
stowing my sweets under my cap. They made
my shorn hair a little sticky but I didn't care. It
had a good scrubbing on bath night. Meanwhile
sucking my sweets helped the long nights seem less
lonely.

I dreamed of home when I eventually fell asleep.
It was so sad to wake and find myself imprisoned in
the bleak hospital dormitory. I wondered how they
were managing at home without me – especially
Jem. I knew he would be fretting, frantic to know
if I was all right. It gave me an added incentive in
my writing class with Miss Newman. As soon as we
could master our pens sufficiently, we were allowed
to write home.

It was a long letter and it made my hand ache
terribly. Miss Newman wrote it on a board and we
copied it out laboriously:

Dear Mother

I now have the greatest pleasure in writing these
few lines to you, hoping to find you quite well and
happy, as it leaves me at present. Please give my
love to all the family.

I remain

Your affectionate girl

Hetty

We were told to copy it exactly, neither adding nor
deleting anything. Older girls who were fluent
enough occasionally tried to add a few more personal
lines, but Miss Newman had to approve them before
they could be sent.

I was exhausted by the time I reached 'affectionate'
and didn't concentrate hard enough. If I didn't
insert enough
f
s and
t
s
,
or got my
i
and
o
the wrong
way round, Miss Newman put a line through it and
I had to start all over again. I longed to add my own
personal message:

I detest it here and I miss you so and Sheila is mean
and I hate Matron Peters and she stole my rag baby
and I don't wear drawers nowadays.

However, I'd seen other girls have their letters
confiscated if they so much as commented on the
monotonous food or complained about being stared
at on Sundays. I simply inserted two words after
Please give my love to all the family – especially Jem.

After I'd signed my name, I filled the rest of the
page with kisses.

Now that I could write, more or less, I tried hard to
copy some of my picturings down on paper so that my
stories were preserved. It was very hard to
find
any
paper. I dared to steal a sheet from Miss Newman's
special supply in the stationery cupboard, but it
was mostly kept under lock and key. Harriet once
obligingly tore a couple of pages from her exercise
book, but my steadiest supplier was dear Ida. She
slipped me paper bags and greaseproof paper from
the kitchen. I stuffed them down my tippet and went
around crackling all day until I could hide them in
my mattress.

It was hard to find a place to write privately.
Sometimes I sat up in the middle of the night and
scribbled in the dark with a stolen stick of charcoal,
though in the morning I saw my lines of writing
wobbled up and down and sometimes crossed right
over each other.

It wasn't enough to write
my
stories. I wanted to
read new stories too. I had the Bible, and some of the
stories were exciting, but the words were very hard
to decipher. Miss Winterson lent me her book of fairy
tales, and I read them over and over again. I went
to the ball with Cinderella in my glass slippers, I let
down my long hair like Rapunzel, I swam in and out
of underwater coral palaces with the little mermaid.