A Mother's Promise

by Dilly Court

  She rubbed his hand against her cheek, barely able to speak. She did not know whether to laugh or cry. She was so happy she could burst, but at the same time she was distraught at the thought of being separated from her love. Smiling up at him, she nodded her head. ‘I trust you, Charles.’

  He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it again, and then he frowned. ‘Could you – I mean, would you consider being unofficially engaged to me, honey? Just until I can square things with my father, and propose to you properly with champagne and roses and a symphony orchestra playing in the background?’ His eyes pleaded with her, and, for the first time since she had met him, Hetty saw Charles looking humble and unsure of himself.

  ‘You want a secret engagement?’ Hetty could hardly believe her ears. Such things never happened in Autumn Road or Dye House Lane. This was the stuff of penny novelettes.

  ‘Just for the time being, but, damn it, I can’t afford to buy you a ring.’ His brow lightened and he pulled a heavy gold signet ring from his little finger. ‘This will have to do until I can buy you a diamond as big as a rock. Hold out your hand, honey.’

  In a daze of happiness, Hetty held out her left hand and Charles slipped the ring on her finger. ‘I plight you my troth, or whatever they say on these occasions, Hetty. And I promise to send for you as soon as ever I can. Will you come to me, my love? Will you be mine?’

  ‘I will, Charles,’ Hetty said with feeling. ‘Oh, yes. I will.’

  He slipped her hand through his arm. ‘This calls for a glass of champagne. I think my pocket will run to that, but it’s just as well Papa sent me the ticket home, otherwise I would have been tempted to spend the whole lot on you.’

  The sun had gone behind a large grey cloud, and Hetty’s heart missed a beat. ‘He’s sent you the ticket? When are you leaving?’

  ‘I’m sorry, honey. That is the worst of my bad news. I’m sailing from Liverpool tomorrow. I have to catch the boat train tonight.’

  It had all happened so quickly. One moment she was deliriously happy, secretly engaged and drinking champagne in a private room at the Café Royal, and within hours she was standing alone and totally bereft on Euston Station, watching the last carriage of the train disappearing into the distance. Charles had begged her not to accompany him to the station, but every last second they spent together was precious to her and Hetty had insisted. Now she wished that she had listened to him. She had never felt so alone or so miserable. Until she met Charles, she had been a girl with no heart. Or, at least, that was what she had always thought. She had never been able to empathise with Jane’s emotional involvement with Nat and then Tom, until now. Blinded by tears, Hetty made her way towards the bus stop and the long trek back to Princelet Street. She barely knew what she was doing or where she was going, but somehow she managed to get home. She went straight to her room and locked herself in.

  Next morning, Hetty was up and out of the house before anyone else had risen. She had taken off the ring that Charles had given her and now it hung on a ribbon round her neck. It nestled in the warm valley between her breasts and close to her heart, where it would stay until she was reunited with her love. She set off for the market, walking quickly with a determined out thrust of her chin, and she was one of the first to set up her stall. George arrived a bit later and he came straight over to her, his brow furrowed into lines of concern. ‘What’s up, Hetty? You look as though you lost a tanner and found a farthing.’

  ‘Not now, George.’ Hetty turned away to butter the bread that she had sliced ready to make the sandwiches.

  ‘Have I done something to upset you, ducks?’

  The genuine concern in his voice brought tears to her eyes and Hetty sniffed, shaking her head, quite unable to speak. He hooked his arm around her shoulders. ‘Come on, love. You can tell old George anything, you know that.’

  Suddenly she had to tell someone. She couldn’t talk about it to Jane or Nora, but George was somehow different. She leaned her head against his shoulder, inhaling the familiar smell of leafy green vegetables, apples and damp earth that always hung about him in an aura, bringing a breath of the country to the stinking heat of the city. ‘H-he’s gone, G-George.’

  He did not pretend to misunderstand. ‘I’m sorry, love. That’s a bugger and no mistake. But then it was bound to happen sooner or later. I suppose he’s scarpered back to America?’

  Hetty wiped her eyes on his coarse hessian apron, nodding her head.

  ‘Still, it seems odd him sloping off like that when there’s been another murder,’ George continued thoughtfully. ‘You’d think he’d want to send the story back to his editor in Philadelphia or wherever it was he comes from.’

  ‘He isn’t a reporter, George. Charles said he was writing a book about the Ripper, but now his father has threatened to cut off his allowance if he doesn’t go home straight away.’ It all came out in a rush, followed by a gulping sob.

  ‘His old man must be a wealthy geezer, but Charlie’s a big boy. Surely he could tell his dad where to get off?’

  ‘His pa owns a bank and Charles was raised like a gent. He’s never had to earn his living.’

  George frowned. ‘Well, in my opinion, it’s time he got down to it like the rest of us.’

  ‘That’s just it, though. Charles isn’t like us. He’s sensitive and artistic, and working in his pa’s bank will kill him.’

  ‘I don’t think so, Hetty. Maybe his old man is right and young Charlie needs to buckle down and work. But, if you ask me, I think you’re better off without him. You stick to your own kind.’

  She looked up, seeing him through a mist of tears, and she managed a watery smile. Dear old George, he was always so down to earth, saying just what he thought, and he was usually right. ‘I suppose you mean like you, George?’

  He grinned, pinching her cheek. ‘Of course. You know I love you, Hetty. I’m your most devoted admirer and loyal friend.’

  Despite everything, this blatant lie drew a chuckle from her. ‘Me and a hundred others, tell the truth now.’

  He let her go, clutching his hand to his heart and pulling a mock tragic face. ‘I’m deeply wounded, Miss Huggins. You know my heart belongs to you.’

  ‘You’d better not tell Poppy that.’

  ‘Ah, yes. Poppy got a bit fed up with me and she’s found herself a big, burly meat porter from Smithfield market. Can’t say I admire her taste, but I suppose a free sausage beats a couple of spuds and a cabbage any day.’

  Hetty reached up and kissed his cheek. ‘George, you’re a scoundrel.’

  ‘Will you be all right now? I could mind your stall if you wanted to go home for a while and have a kip. You look like you could do with a rest.’

  ‘I didn’t sleep much last night,’ Hetty admitted, sighing. ‘But I’ll manage. Ta all the same, George. Besides which,’ she added, taking his soil-stained hand and turning it palm upwards, ‘I don’t think my customers would appreciate dirty fingerprints on their sandwiches.’

  ‘Well, the offer’s still there, Hetty. If it gets too much for you, I’m sure I could find one of me old flames to give you a hand.’

  ‘You’d best be careful of old flames,’ Hetty retorted with a hint of her old spirit. ‘They can burn your fingers.’ She picked up the knife and began to scrape butter onto the thinly sliced bread.

  ‘He’s a bloody fool,’ George muttered as he strode back towards his barrow. ‘If it was me I’d sweep horse muck off the streets or pick oakum rather than leave the girl I loved in a foreign country.’

  ‘He’ll send for me,’ Hetty whispered to his retreating back. ‘Charles will send for me soon. He promised.’ She felt the reassuring weight of his gold signet ring nestling between her breasts on its length of satin ribbon. To wear such a valuable article on her finger was asking for trouble. There were muggers who would cut a person’s hand off in order to steal a piece of jewellery such as this. She closed her eyes, conjuring up his face: his laughing, smoky blue eyes and his tender lips. She could still ta
ste his kiss and feel the gentle touch of his hands, which were as smooth-skinned as a lady’s.

  She sighed as she placed a slice of ham on the buttered bread; Charles was a gentleman, unused to hard work, or work of any kind come to that. She knew he would try to make a go of his position in his father’s bank, but she had a nagging suspicion that if she wanted Charles badly enough, it would be up to her to raise the passage money for America. Her beloved was a thinker; a dreamer of grand and impossible dreams. If she married Charles, and she had every intention of doing so, she would either have to win his father round or make enough money herself to set them up in style. Spreading mustard thinly on the ham, Hetty came to a decision. She would not sit back and wait for Charles to send for her. She was doing well with the one stall and she had been thinking about expanding the business. Now was the time to turn her plans into deeds, so that when she went to meet her prospective in-laws in Philadelphia she was not a mere costermonger from Spitalfields, but a successful businesswoman who could hold her head high in any society.

  ‘A ham sandwich, please, love. And a mug of split pea, with plenty of sugar.’ Brush Barber grinned down at her. ‘And a slice of that currant cake would go down well.’

  ‘Certainly,’ Hetty said, giving him her brightest smile. ‘Anything else?’

  ‘That’ll do for now, Hetty. You make the best sandwiches in London, so I reckon.’

  ‘I do, and I’m not going to stop at this one stall, Brush. D’you know anyone who could rent me a permanent one in the market?’

  ‘Well now, I do as it happens. Throw in a couple of hard-boiled eggs and a bunch of cress and I’ll wheel him over to meet you at dinner time.’

  ‘Done,’ Hetty said, handing him his food. ‘I got a feeling this will be the start of the Hetty Huggins string of coffee stalls.’

  ‘Don’t forget the “and Co.”,’ George shouted above the din in the market place. ‘I got a stake in this too, Hetty.’

  ‘Yes, you have, I hadn’t forgotten, George. We’ll talk about it in the pub after we finish up here.’

  In the dark, smoky atmosphere of the Ten Bells, George sat beside Hetty with his pint of ale untouched in front of him. Hetty sipped a glass of port and lemon, feeling more optimistic with every mouthful. ‘I’ve spoken to the market inspector, George, and he’s willing to let me rent the stall that belonged to the old fruit and veg bloke who dropped down dead last week. I’ve got enough saved to start up, but it would mean that I can’t afford to pay you back what I owe for a while yet.’

  ‘But I don’t want you to, Hetty. I’m the “and Co.”, and I want it to stay that way.’

  Hetty laid her hand on his as it rested on the table. ‘Ta, George. You’re a toff.’

  ‘I dunno about that, but I can spot a good business proposition when I see one. You’ve got brains as well as beauty, and now you’re fired up and wanting to follow that fellow of yours, I know you’ll make a go of anything you sets your heart on.’

  ‘Do you? Do you really, George?’

  He lifted his tankard to his lips and swallowed a draught of ale. He did not look at her, and his fingers toyed with the pewter handle. ‘You really love this bloke, don’t you?’

  ‘What’s that got to do with it?’

  He looked up, and for once his expression was serious. ‘Answer me, Hetty. I need to know.’

  ‘Yes, I do. I love everything about him. He’s far above me, but I know I can make him happy, just given the chance.’

  George dropped his gaze. ‘I see. Well, I hope he don’t break your heart, that’s all. I care about you, Hetty. And if anyone plays you false or harms you in any way, he’ll have me to answer to.’

  Taken aback, Hetty stared at him. She had never seen him in this sort of mood before. ‘Ta, George, but I know what I’m doing.’

  He opened his mouth to reply, but before he could utter a word, Jane burst in through the pub door, still wearing her apron and her face streaked with flour as if she had come straight from the kitchen. Her eyes were enormous in her pale face and she uttered a shriek when she spotted them. ‘Thank God I’ve found you.’

  Hetty leapt to her feet and ran to put her arm round her sister, who was trembling and close to hysterics. ‘What’s happened to put you in such a state?’

  ‘I ran all the way to the market,’ Jane paused, struggling for breath. ‘They said you’d packed up early, and then someone told me to try here. You got to come home quick, Hetty.’

  ‘Why? What’s up? What’s got you in this state?’

  ‘It’s him – he’s in the house – he crept up behind me and grabbed me round me waist. I fought and kicked but he was swearing and going on at me, muttering something about getting even with you. He put his filthy hand over me mouth and I bit it. He let me go cussing something horrible and then he snatched Talia from her cradle. Clench has got my baby. Come now, for pity’s sake.’

  Chapter Twelve

  Hetty burst into the kitchen, coming to an abrupt halt when she saw Clench dandling Natalia on his knee. ‘Put her down.’ The words came out in a shriek, and not in the way she had intended. Fear had made her voice shrill and sent diplomacy flying out of the window. Jane was close behind her, leaning on George’s arm and oddly silent now after her hysterical outburst.

  ‘What’s all the fuss about?’ Clench demanded, bouncing Natalia up and down and making her chuckle. ‘I ain’t hurting her. See, she likes it.’ He bounced her higher and higher.

  Hetty struggled to control rising panic and she forced herself to move slowly towards him, holding out her arms. ‘Please give her to me, Mr Clench.’

  Natalia seemed to sense the tension in the room and her chuckles turned into a frightened whimper. She turned her head to gaze appealingly at Hetty, and tears welled up in her blue eyes. Clench rose to his feet, thrusting Natalia into Hetty’s arms. ‘Oh, take the brat. I can’t be doing with all this female fuss and bother.’

  ‘What’s all this about, mate?’ George demanded, helping Jane to a chair. ‘What d’you think you’re doing by scaring the women out of their wits?’

  Clench sidled past him, making for the door. ‘No need to get aggressive, cully. I came to see Miss Hetty on private business.’

  ‘I’ve got nothing to say to you, Mr Clench,’ Hetty said, cuddling Natalia, who had stopped crying and was all smiles again.

  ‘You heard the lady,’ George said, advancing on Clench with his hands fisted. ‘She don’t want nothing to do with you.’

  Clench paused in the doorway. ‘She’ll want to hear what I got to say about her granny and the nippers.’

  Cold fingers of fear gripped Hetty’s heart, and her breathing was suddenly ragged. ‘What have you done to them, you evil man?’

  ‘Sticks and stones, Miss Hetty!’

  There was something both malevolent and triumphant in Clench’s smile, and, despite the heat in the kitchen, Hetty shivered. Setting Natalia down on Jane’s lap, she faced up to Clench. ‘If you’ve harmed my brothers or granny I’ll . . .’

  ‘You’ll what?’

  She recoiled at the all too familiar, foetid smell of his breath, but she did not back away. ‘Never you mind. Just say what you came to say and then leave.’

  He stuck his fingers in his waistcoat pockets, eyeing her with contempt. ‘Put it this way. From first thing tomorrow morning, your granny will be looking for lodgings elsewhere.’

  ‘I don’t believe you. That house in Totty Street is hers for life.’

  ‘Now that is where you’re wrong, missy. After old man Huggins died, his widow was allowed to live there on a peppercorn rent, but, just recently, the governors of the bank discovered that Mrs Huggins has been running a business from the house, which ain’t allowed, according to the terms of the lease. In other words, the old girl forfeits her right to remain in said premises.’ Clench leered into Hetty’s face. ‘Someone must have split on her.’

  ‘You!’

  ‘It weren’t me, as it happens.’

  George
moved to Hetty’s side. ‘D’you want me to throw him out, Hetty?’

  ‘No, not yet, George. I want to know who did this wicked thing to a defenceless old woman, and why.’

  ‘I’m not the only one with a grudge against the Huggins family,’ Clench said with a malicious grin. ‘There was only one person who stuck by me when your granddad had me dismissed from the bank, and that was my friend Jasper Shipworthy.’

  ‘Yes, we know all that,’ Hetty cried impatiently. ‘I don’t see what Mr Shipworthy has to do with this. Get to the point, if you have one.’

  ‘Number ten Totty Street was always kept for the head clerk at Tipton’s. Jasper should have had the house when he received his promotion, but your granny refused to leave, so Jasper took lodgings there while he bided his time. Then he just happened to find a copy of the tenancy agreement filed away in the bank vaults, and he knew he’d found a way to get rid of the old woman. He’ll be moving in as soon as she moves out.’

  ‘Well shame on you,’ Hetty cried. ‘Shame on you both for treating a poor widow woman in such a shabby way. How could you do such a thing?’

  ‘Very easily, my dear, and there’s still a matter of the interest you owe me on your loan. Don’t think I’ve forgotten. I’ll be back to collect it when you’ve got your second stall up and running.’

  Hetty stared at him in disbelief. ‘How did you know about that?’

  Clench tapped the side of his nose with his forefinger. ‘I got spies everywhere. I know what you’re doing, where you’re going and who you’re seeing, like that American reporter fellow, who’s been sticking his beak into things what don’t concern him.’

  Hetty couldn’t speak. She couldn’t find words to express her alarm, disgust and dismay at what she had just heard.

  ‘Get out of here, you villain,’ George roared, grabbing Cyrus by the collar. ‘I’m sorry, Hetty, but I’ve had enough of this snivelling little bastard.’

  ‘That’s right, George,’ Jane cried, clapping her hands. ‘Toss him out in the dirt where he belongs.’