Hetty Feather

by Jacqueline Wilson

  Your very affectionate friend,

  Polly

  I reread her letter many times, but then one Sunday, in a fit of despair, I tore it into tiny shreds. I felt Polly might have tried just a little harder to persuade her new parents to visit the hospital. Could they not take pity on me? It was so dreadful having to live my life without Polly when she had been my dearest friend and constant companion for years.

  'You must try to make a new friend, Hetty,' Ida said, patting my shoulder sympathetically as she served our dinner.

  She was trying to be kind, but her advice was useless. How could I make a new friend? All the girls in my year were comfortably settled in their friendships. I could trail round after this group or that group but no one really wanted me.

  Now that I was on my own, Sheila and Monica were especially tormenting. They mocked and mimicked me a dozen times a day. I affected a lofty indifference to their silliness – but I often cried bitterly into my pillow at night.

  It did not help that I was at such an in-between age. I was not yet one of the big girls, with their new chests and their secrets and their infectious giggles. I was not old enough to be a maid to any of the mistresses or nurses, or given any extra responsibilities about the hospital. My life was a dreary routine of the schoolroom and repetitive domestic chores, day after day after day.

  I did take my turn caring for the newly arrived foundlings, washing the hands and faces of all the little five-year-olds bawling for their mothers. You would think I would try to be a little mother to them, maybe making one my special baby the way Harriet had long ago cared for me. But I was in such low spirits I couldn't really feel a fig for any of these puny little girls. I washed them and carted them to the privy and lined them up two by two to walk to the infants playground without even bothering to learn their names . . . until one day a brand- new foundling girl arrived. She wasn't particularly distinguishable from any of the other girls: brown eyes, shorn head, scrawny body, with a lamentable habit of bursting into floods of tears whenever she thought of home.

  'Do stop crying so, Alicia,' I said, wiping her running nose.

  'I cannot help it. And I'm Eliza, not Alicia,' she said.

  I didn't react at all. My brain was sleeping. Her name meant nothing to me. But she was much more alert.

  'Haven't you got those infants ready for bed yet, Hetty Feather?' Matron Pigface Peters snapped as she bustled past.

  Eliza blinked. She rubbed her eyes and then stared at me, suddenly smiling, though her face was still damp with tears and snot. 'It is you, Hetty! I have found you!'

  I stared at her blankly.

  'You are my sister!' she declared.

  The hospital suddenly vanished. I was back in the cottage with Jem, and Mother was there in the corner, nursing a baby in her arms – baby Eliza!

  I clasped her fiercely, and she smiled and squirmed within my embrace.

  'Oh, Eliza, it's so wonderful to find you!'

  'Jem said I had brothers and sisters already here, but I was to look most particularly for you, Hetty,' said Eliza.

  'Yes, yes, dearest Jem! We have a sister Martha – you will be so proud of her when you hear her sing in chapel, but she does not quite remember home the way we do. And we have one lovely brother here, Gideon, but sadly we will not see him often as the boys are so separate from us.'

  'And Saul?' Eliza said. 'Jem taught me: Martha who has poorly eyes, Saul who has a poorly leg, Gideon who cannot talk – and Hetty who isn't one bit poorly and talks all the time!'

  'Oh, Jem is so wonderful,' I declared fervently. 'Eliza, you must tell me every single thing you can about home, especially everything about Jem.'

  'Jem is wonderful,' said Eliza. 'He knows everything.'

  'Yes, he does – but he doesn't yet know about Saul. I'm afraid he died several years ago, Eliza. He caught the influenza.'

  'Will I catch it?' Eliza asked, looking alarmed.

  'Oh no, no, you seem a very strong, healthy little girl – and it's summer now, anyway.'

  'Hetty Feather, get that child into bed this instant!' Matron Pigface bellowed.

  Eliza whimpered at her harsh tone.

  'Don't let her bother you – she's silly old meanie matron,' I whispered into Eliza's ear as I hurried her into bed. 'Don't cry! I'll come and find you later. I shall creep back after lights out.'

  I tucked her up carefully and gave her a quick kiss on her sad little wisps of hair. The other infant foundlings stared, and Matron Peters tutted and tossed her head. I went back to my own dormitory feeling light-headed with sudden joy. I whirled round and round, dancing a little jig, flinging out my arms and stamping my boots.

  'Look at Hetty Feather, she's gone totally loopy,' said Sheila, tapping her forehead significantly.

  'She's always been loopy,' said Monica. 'My Lord, Hetty, I hope you don't fancy you're dancing.'

  She started up a stupid imitation. Another time I'd have slapped her, but now I couldn't be bothered. I undressed quickly and got into bed, pulling the covers over my head.

  I lay in the dark, thinking of my newly-found sister. I remembered how scared and lonely I had been when I came to the hospital at her age – and how baffled to find that Martha scarcely remembered me. I would be such a different sister to little Eliza. I would watch out for her every day, and woe betide anyone who taunted her or stole her Sunday sweets. I would help her with her reading and writing until she was the star of the infants class. I could even help her with her darning because endless practice over the last five years had made me an accomplished needlewoman.

  I would tell Ida that Eliza was my sister. I was sure Ida would give her little treats of butter and sugar too. I would make up stories to entertain her – not lurid adaptations from the Police Gazette! No, I'd tell beautiful stories of princes and palaces, tales where good fairies waved their magic wands and little foundling girls wore white silk gowns and silver slippers, and went to the ball, and lived happily ever after.

  I would tell Eliza such a story tonight, I decided. I would be her good fairy sister, waving my wand to make her warm and happy. Perhaps Eliza and I could even run away back home together? Jem had clearly remained constant. He had told Eliza to look out particularly for me. He was still my own dear Jem and I loved him with all my heart.

  I had so many questions for Eliza. How tall was Jem now? How broad were his shoulders? Had his voice broken? Did he still whistle while doing his chores? Did he speak of me often? Had he told Eliza of our plans? I rather wanted him to have kept them secret, but I decided I would not mind too much if he had confided in Eliza. She was such a sweet child she could come and live with us eventually. I would be like a second mother to her.

  I waited in a happy fever until all the girls in my dormitory were asleep and then crept out of bed and tiptoed along to the door. It was so black and eerie out in the corridor that I almost lost heart and scampered back to bed, but I felt ashamed of myself. Great girls of nearly eleven should not be scared of the dark.

  I forced myself to picture little Eliza sobbing piteously in her infant cot, waiting in vain for me. I could not let her down. I took a deep breath, clenched my fists and stumbled on in the darkness until I reached the infant dormitory at last. I held my breath as I passed Matron Pigface Peters's room, but I could hear her ugly snorting snores through the door. I pictured her flat on her back, snout quivering, big mouth pursed, and had to clamp my hand over my mouth to stop myself laughing.

  I crept past her door, down into the infants dormitory. It was still so dark I could scarcely make out the little iron beds, let alone their occupants, but I knew the newest foundlings slept nearest the door. I listened – and heard muffled sobbing.

  'Eliza?' I whispered.

  'Oh, Hetty, you've come at last! I'm over here!'

  I felt my way towards her and then hugged her tight. 'There now! I told you I would come. Budge over and make room for me. I am freezing to death!'

  I clambered in beside her. She was very cold her
self, but I put my arms right round her and rubbed her little shivery shoulders and arms, and after a minute or so we both started to warm up.

  'There now, is that better?' I whispered.

  'Oh yes, Hetty, much!'

  'Do you know something, Eliza? When I was even smaller than you, I used to jump into our brother Jem's bed and cuddle up close to get warm,' I said.

  'Oh, I did too!'

  I paused. I was astonished, to be truthful. Jem had never cuddled Martha or Saul or Gideon – only me.

  'Well, Jem is very kindly,' I said, a little stiffly. 'And I'm sure he wanted to take care of you, Eliza. You must miss him dreadfully. I know I still do. Please tell me all about him, and Mother and Father, and Rosie and big Eliza and Nat.'

  'Oh, they are all very well,' said Eliza. 'Mother's hands are sore with the rheumatics, and Father gets fierce sometimes, and my big sister Eliza stays at home to help Mother, and my brother Nat is courting and very silly. I saw him kissing Sally from the village and she's horrid, with a big fat floppy chest.'

  'Ssh! Whisper, Eliza – we don't want the others to hear us. Now, tell about Jem.' I swallowed. 'Is he courting?'

  'Oh no, not Jem,' said Eliza. 'He says he's waiting.'

  'He's waiting, is he?' I whispered, my heart pounding under my nightgown. Oh, dear, sweet, faithful Jem, I thought. 'I wonder who he's waiting for?' I asked.

  'Oh, I know!' said Eliza.

  'Tell me then,' I said, scarcely able to speak for excitement.

  Eliza took a deep breath. 'Me!' she said, and collapsed into further giggles.

  'Hush!' I said fiercely. 'Don't be so silly, Eliza. Tell me who Jem is really waiting for.'

  'Me, me, me, me!' Eliza chanted.

  'Yes, but you are only a little girl and Jem is nearly a man,' I said, trying to put her in her place.

  'I am still his sweetheart,' Eliza declared. 'Jem says when I am quite grown up and can leave this horrid hospital, he will come and marry me.'

  'What?'

  'Yes, and I am to wear a long dress and Jem will wear a fancy gentleman's suit – and guess where we will live, Hetty!'

  I did not answer her. I could not speak. I felt as if my heart was being torn in two.

  'We will live in our squirrel house!' Eliza said triumphantly.

  'No!' I mumbled.

  'Yes yes yes! We have this squirrel house, Jem and me. It is deep in the woods. It's our secret place and we have such lovely games there.'

  Eliza prattled on and on. I could scarcely bear it. I put my hands up and covered my ears, but her little mouse squeak echoed inside my head.

  Jem had shared all our most secret special plans with this silly little child. He had repeated all his promises to her. He had duplicated everything. He had not even bothered to invent new games for her.

  I bit my lip hard, but I could not stop myself sobbing.

  'Are you crying, Hetty?' Eliza asked. 'Don't be sad. We have each other now. And when we leave here I will ask Jem if he would mind very much you coming to live with us too, as you are family.'

  She was doing her best to comfort me – but I had to fight hard not to push the poor little thing out of her own bed. I could not endure it. My dear Jem had betrayed me utterly. No, he wasn't my Jem. He had parroted all his special promises to Eliza – and she innocently triumphed in his attention. He clearly had no intention of keeping his word to her any more than he had to me. He'd just been playing with us, saying sweet things to keep us little girls happy. Oh, how it hurt now to find out he'd been mouthing meaningless nonsense.

  I crept back to my own bed as soon as Eliza started dozing, but I couldn't sleep. I lay there, crying, my fists clenched. I felt so stupid. I'd believed every word Jem had said. I'd loved him with all my heart. I'd trusted him. I'd been so sure that he really would wait for me.

  'Oh, Jem, how could you repeat everything to her?' I whispered into my pillow. 'You're wicked, wicked, wicked.'

  But as the night wore on, I started to feel I was being ridiculous. Jem hadn't been deliberately unkind. I knew he wasn't really a wicked boy. He was a sweet, kindly soul who simply wanted to comfort his silly little sisters. I could see it was ludicrous for my five-year-old sister Eliza to talk of Jem as her sweetheart and future husband. It was equally ludicrous for me to think Jem truly wanted to marry me. We'd both been little children. Jem was telling us a fairy story to try to kid us we'd live happily ever after. Of course he wouldn't marry either of us.

  He'd remember us both fondly, if a little sadly. Then, in the fullness of time, he'd fall in love with some village lass like Nat's Sally and marry her. His future was plain to me now. And my future was plain too. I was Hetty Feather, a foundling, imprisoned in the hospital. When I was fourteen, I'd leave to be a servant. That was all I had to look forward to. I would be a drudge for the rest of my days.

  17

  The hospital cook scalded her hands badly with boiling water, and could not work for weeks. Ida was asked to take over her duties until Cook recovered. She was allowed to choose one of us girls to help her in the kitchen. Ida selected the great fourteen-year-old girls at first, as expected – but then announced she'd like to give some of the younger girls a chance.

  'I'd like to try out Hetty Feather for a day,' she said.

  Matron Bottomly snorted derisively. 'You'll regret that decision,' she said, but she let Ida have her way.

  All the other girls moaned and grumbled and said it wasn't the slightest bit fair. I said nothing at all. I stayed silent when Ida set me to peeling the vegetables, freshly picked from the hospital garden. She told me to have a little nibble at the carrots and pod a few peas for myself, but I didn't bother. I even shook my head listlessly when she offered me a spoonful of syrup from her larder.

  'You're always hungry, Hetty! Aren't you feeling well?' Ida said, putting her hand to my forehead.

  'I'm all right. Leave me alone,' I said, shrugging her hand away.

  'Oh, Hetty, please, dear, tell me what's wrong,' said Ida.

  'Nothing!' I snapped. 'Stop pestering me.'

  If I'd spoken like that to Miss Morley or Matron Bottomly, they'd have slapped me for impertinence, but Ida just looked wounded. Her big blue eyes blinked at me reproachfully. I felt bad because she had always been so very kind to me – but I was tired of being kind back. I'd spent weeks making a fuss of Eliza and listening to her endless prattle about Jem when every word was a torment. I couldn't tell her to shut up and keep out of my way. She was my little sister after all. I knew just how sad and lonely she was feeling, how very bleak the hospital seemed after our cosy cottage.

  When I'd first come here, it had meant so much to me that Harriet had made a special pet of me. I felt duty bound to do the same for Eliza, even though the sound of her squeaky little voice made me wince, and her habit of quoting Jem in each and every sentence drove me to distraction.

  I had to stop myself hurting her – but I didn't see why I had to take such care with silly old Ida. I wished she wasn't so stupidly sensitive. She had spirit enough with the others. I'd seen her put Sheila in her place often enough, and she was wonderfully sharp with the nurses, even though forced to toady to Matron Stinking Bottomly. Why did she have to care what I said?

  I sighed at her set shoulders and wounded expression. She was making pastry, thumping her rolling pin with unnecessary pressure. Ida had introduced pies into our diet while Cook recovered, and they were much appreciated by everyone. I idly picked up all the cut-off ribbons of pastry. I started to fashion them into a big fat dough lady. I turned her into a matron with a silly cap and a grim expression.

  Ida stopped making her endless huge pies and stared at my creation. She smiled, forgetting she was offended. 'That's so good, Hetty!'

  'No, it's not,' I said, and I suddenly squashed the figure flat.

  'Oh, look what you've done! I wanted to bake it to keep her. My, you're in a bad mood today, aren't you?'

  I shrugged and made patterns in the spilled flour on the kitchen flags
with the toe of my boot.

  'Don't do that, you're just treading it in,' said Ida. She took a deep breath, still unaccountably intent on humouring me. 'How about your taking a turn with the pastry rolling?'

  'I don't want to.'

  'It's a skill to be proud of, making good pastry. I've picked up a lot of knowledge working in the kitchen. I could teach you all sorts, Hetty. Maybe you could eventually get a position as a cook-general if you learned a few recipes.'

  'I don't want to be a cook-general,' I declared.

  'It's far better than being a kitchen maid or a tweeny.'

  'I don't want to be any kind of stupid servant,' I said. 'Especially in a kitchen.'

  This time I'd really gone too far. Ida flushed. She thumped the pastry with her rolling pin. She looked as if she'd like to give me a good thumping too.

  'Oh, I'm all too well aware that you look down your nose at servants,' said Ida. 'So pray tell me, Hetty, what exactly are you going to do with your life?'

  I could not answer her. I had clung to the idea of marrying Jem for so long. Now I could see how painfully silly I had been.

  'What was it again?' said Ida angrily, putting her floury hand to her ear as if I'd spoken. 'Run away to the circus to join your real mother?'

  It was my turn to flush. I'd forgotten I'd once told Ida about Madame Adeline. She was another childish dream. I remembered the roar of the crowd as we cantered around the ring, the sound of all those many pairs of hands clapping me . . .

  I stuck my head in the air. 'I might just do that very thing,' I said.

  'Oh, Hetty, as if that circus lady could possibly be your mother!'

  'She could be. She practically said so,' I said fiercely. I did not really believe it now, but I could not bear to let my last dream fade away.

  'You're getting a big girl now,' said Ida, shaking her head. She'd rubbed a floury sprinkle over her cheeks and her cap was awry, making her look foolish. 'You're far too old for these silly daydreams. You've got to be practical, know your place, work hard, make something of yourself.'