A Mother's Promise

by Dilly Court

  The next morning he joined her on the wet and windy deck where she had gone for her customary walk. The sea and sky were painted in shades of grey and a lowering cumulus cloud formation hovered over the horizon. The deck heaved beneath their feet, but Hetty was untroubled by seasickness and Maynard also appeared to be a good sailor. There were only a few intrepid souls who had ventured out to brave the weather, and as the wind increased and the ship pitched and tossed, Maynard offered Hetty his arm.

  ‘You don’t have to look after me,’ Hetty said, accepting his assistance with a smile. ‘I am not helpless, you know.’

  ‘Of course not. From what you told me last night I know that you are a most redoubtable young woman, which is why you interest me so much.’

  She held on to his arm as the ship plunged into a trough and then took the crest like a racehorse leaping over the sticks. The spume from a huge wave showered them with foam, and Maynard grasped the handrail in order to save them from sliding helplessly towards the stern. Hetty glanced up and laughed at the sight of his dark hair, eyebrows and moustache glistening with tiny bubbles of foam. ‘You look like Father Christmas.’

  ‘I feel more like King Canute,’ he replied, chuckling. ‘But the ocean is not going to pay any more attention to me than it did to that poor fellow. I suggest we go into the saloon before we are washed overboard and drowned.’

  Hetty’s reply was lost in the thunderous sound of the wind, the waves and the ship’s engines as they struggled to maintain speed against the gathering storm. They made their way slowly back to the relative calm of the saloon, which was empty of all but the hardiest passengers. Maynard helped Hetty off with her cape and a steward came hurrying up to relieve them of their damp outer garments. ‘May I bring you anything, sir?’

  Maynard shot an enquiring glance at Hetty. ‘What would you like, my dear?’

  ‘Coffee, please. And some of those little pastries with nuts and cherries on top that we had for dessert last evening.’

  ‘Certainly, madam. And for you, sir?’

  ‘The same for me,’ Maynard said with an easy smile.

  The steward left them, negotiating his way between the chairs and tables with the ease of long practice.

  Hetty sat down rather more quickly than she had meant to as the ship yawed, and Maynard took a seat opposite her. He plucked a red silk handkerchief from his pocket and mopped the salt water from his face. ‘You are truly remarkable, Hetty. I can imagine my daughters being terrified by the storm, but you seem unperturbed. Does nothing frighten you?’

  ‘I’m not a well-brought-up young lady like your girls, Maynard. I was raised in Bow and I’ve had to fight for everything I’ve achieved. I’ve had to deal with chancers, bullies and downright villains. I’m no hothouse flower.’ She met his eyes and she giggled. ‘In fact I’d say I was more a dandelion growing up through the cracks in the pavement than a blooming orchid.’

  He threw back his head and laughed. ‘You are a breath of fresh air, if I may say so, and that young idiot Charles should have his head examined. If I was twenty years younger and had not met my dear Margaret, I wouldn’t allow a pearl like you to get away.’

  ‘You’re very kind, but I’m afraid that I wasn’t good enough for Charles. His mother certainly didn’t think I was.’

  ‘Then she was a fool also. America’s loss is London’s gain, Hetty. I hope that you will be able to put this whole sorry affair behind you.’

  ‘I have already. I’m going home to concentrate on the business. I don’t think that marriage is for me. In fact, I’m off men forever.’

  Maynard’s lips twitched but he said nothing as the steward approached bearing a tray of coffee and pastries, which he set down on the table in front of them. Having poured the steaming liquid into tiny cups with consummate skill, he hurried off to answer the summons of a choleric gentleman who was holding up an empty glass.

  ‘Tell me more about your enterprise,’ Maynard said, leaning back in his seat.

  ‘I’m sure it can’t be very interesting to a bloke like you.’ Hetty bit into a pastry, savouring its sweetness. These would go down well in the City coffee shops, she thought, dabbing her lips with a starched linen napkin. She looked up and realised that he was regarding her thoughtfully. ‘I mean what me and Miss Heathcote are doing is going to seem trivial to a bloke like you.’

  ‘On the contrary, my dear. I know of Miss Heathcote by repute only, but I met her father once at a trade exhibition. He was a formidable character and a brilliant businessman. If his daughter has inherited a fraction of his brains she will be a woman to reckon with, and she obviously thinks very highly of you or she would not have put her trust in one so young.’

  ‘I just came along at the right moment. The poor lady was lonely and desperate to have something to occupy her mind.’

  ‘Then tell me about it from the beginning. I believe you said you started by selling hot potatoes and then graduated to a coffee stall in Spitalfields market. It’s a gallant tale. No wonder Miss Heathcote was impressed by you.’

  Hetty hesitated for a moment, wary of confiding in a man of Maynard’s standing who was old enough to be her father. She could not think why he was interested in such a sordid tale of struggle against the odds, and of treachery from men like Cyrus Clench and Jasper Shipworthy. But Maynard’s dark eyes were intent upon her face and he angled his head with an encouraging smile. ‘Go on, my dear. I can assure you that there is a purpose behind my apparent nosiness.’

  In the encapsulated world of the ship’s lounge, with the storm raging around the vessel and tossing it about like a child’s toy, Hetty began at first haltingly to describe the horrors of life as a matchgirl, and her subsequent struggle to survive in the tough world of the East End streets. She told him about her mother’s painful and tragic death, and how Granny had reluctantly taken them into her home. Hetty talked until her voice was hoarse and her throat sore. She left nothing out. She admitted her mistakes and she was matter-of-fact about her triumphs. Maynard listened in silence until she came to an end, finishing on her painful parting with Charles.

  ‘I’m so sorry, my dear. I know it won’t be of much comfort now, but I think you are well rid of that young man.’

  ‘I know, and George warned me about him, but I wouldn’t listen.’

  ‘It sounds as though you have a very good friend there,’ Maynard said, leaning across the table to pat Hetty’s hand.

  She nodded, blinking back tears. ‘He is the best, but he wants to be more than just a friend.’

  Maynard smiled. ‘I can’t say I blame him, and you obviously care very deeply for him too.’

  ‘I do, but I love Charles. I mean I did love Charles, and look where that got me.’ Hetty rose unsteadily to her feet as the ship pitched on its beam ends. ‘I won’t let that happen to me again, Maynard. I will never allow emotion to cloud my judgement. From now on I am going to concentrate on making my coffee shops a success.’ She righted herself by clutching the back of her chair. ‘One day I am going to be rich, like you and Miss Heathcote.’

  Maynard stood up, swaying slightly on his feet in time with the motion of the vessel. ‘Don’t forget who you are, Hetty. And don’t turn away from those who love you.’

  ‘If by that you are referring to George, then you are sadly mistaken. He might have cared for me once, but I’ve treated him very badly and I doubt if he will forgive me this time.’ Without giving Maynard a chance to argue the point, Hetty made her way back to her state-room and locked the door.

  She was not ill, but her spirit was troubled. Speaking about her past had brought back demons to haunt her. She was still racked with guilt for the way she had treated George since she became involved with Charles and then Miss Heathcote. She remembered how he had joked about being the “and Co.” when they had painted her name on the cart in Granny’s back yard. They were still Huggins and Cooper, as displayed on the signs above the doors of seven coffee shops, but it was only now that Hetty realised just how much she
owed him. He had stood by her throughout and even though they had quarrelled he had still come back to help her open the shop in Artillery Lane. She valued his friendship above all others, and yet she had sent him away because he had tried to make her see sense. It was hard to admit that he had been right all along and that she had been infatuated with Charles, endowing him with virtues that he did not possess. He had toyed with her affections and she doubted whether he had ever seriously intended to return to London or to send for her. He was an idler who was prepared to marry for money, or maybe he really did love his beautiful and extremely wealthy cousin. Hetty did not know, but her bright hopes of love and marriage to Charles had been dashed, and now she must face reality.

  She sat down at the elegant little escritoire and began to list all the things she must do on her return to London. She did not go down to dinner that evening, choosing to eat alone in her cabin. It was not that she was afraid to face Maynard again, but she needed time to think. She had made a complete fool of herself over Charles and now she must go home and pick up the threads of her old life. It was not going to be easy but the thought of seeing her family again cheered her immensely, and at least she would be back in time for Jane and Tom’s wedding. Hetty decided that they would have the biggest and best party that she could afford. She would invite all her old friends from the market – Brush Barber, Joe the butcher, Ginger, Fred, Floppy Flora, and, if he was still speaking to her, George. There was so much she wanted to say to him, and a great many things for which she needed to apologise. If only they could turn the clock back and be as they were when they first met – the best of friends – that would be enough. Wouldn’t it?

  The storm abated during the night and next morning, after breakfasting in her cabin, Hetty donned her bonnet and cape and went out on deck. The sun shone from a cloudless sky, and apart from a slight swell the sea was calm. Resting her arms on the ship’s rail Hetty gazed at the thin purple line where the sea met the sky. In three days’ time she would be back on English soil. She would soon be home.

  ‘Are you avoiding me, Hetty?’

  Maynard’s deep voice startled her out of her reverie. She turned her head and greeted him with a smile. ‘No, of course not.’

  ‘But you didn’t come down to dinner or to breakfast.’

  ‘I needed time on my own. You made me think long and hard about my life and I am grateful to you for that.’

  He stood a little apart from her, staring out to sea. ‘And may I ask what conclusion you came to?’

  ‘From now on I’m just going to be myself – plain Hetty Huggins from Bow. And I’m never going to fall in love again. From now on I’m going to concentrate on my business interests. Miss Heathcote and I will show the world of men exactly what two determined women can accomplish.’

  He frowned. ‘I don’t think I said that exactly, my dear.’

  ‘No, maybe not in those words, but that is my decision, Maynard.’

  ‘Well, in that case perhaps you will join me for dinner this evening and we will toast your epiphany in champagne.’

  Hetty shot him a suspicious glance. ‘What’s an epiphany when it’s at home?’

  ‘A sudden and great revelation or realisation, Hetty.’

  ‘Well, I dunno about that, but I think I’d rather stay in my cabin, if it’s all the same to you.’

  ‘And I thought that you and I were friends. May I ask why you don’t want to dine with me?’

  Hetty bit her lip. ‘If you must know, I can’t face those old tabby-cats staring at me all the time I’m eating. For one thing they seem to think that you and I are . . .’ She hesitated, aware that she was blushing, and she turned her head away. ‘You know what I mean, and anyway I’ve only got one fashionable gown with me. I don’t want them looking down their snooty noses at me. It’s as if they knew I’d travelled out steerage.’

  ‘And I thought you were determined to be yourself!’ Maynard’s serious expression was offset by the twinkle in his eyes. ‘It is a very becoming gown, Hetty. Wear it and be damned to them, I say.’

  This elicited a reluctant gurgle of laughter from her and Hetty laid her hand on his arm. ‘You’re right, of course. I would love to dine with you tonight and let them think what they will.’

  They dined together that evening and the next. Hetty knew that they were the subject of much speculation and that their every move was followed with great interest, but she did not care. In all likelihood she would never set eyes on any of the toffee-nosed ladies and gentlemen again. Let them think what they may; there was nothing untoward going on between her and Maynard. If those censorious snobs had been party to their conversations, they would have known that Maynard spoke fondly of his family and had told her a little of his history. His father was an Armenian Jew, a trader in cloth who had migrated to London half a century ago to set up business in Whitechapel. Over the ensuing years he had risen from poverty to relative wealth, building up a successful importing company, which Maynard had entered as a boy and had eventually taken over on the death of his father. He now owned several warehouses in Wapping as well as a manufactory turning out good quality gentlemen’s clothing. His recent acquisitions were retail outlets in all the major cities in England and Wales, where working men could purchase smart clothing at affordable prices.

  Hetty found herself fascinated by his disclosures and she listened avidly. When he saw that he had roused her interest, Maynard went out of his way to pass on the knowledge that he had gained over the years. In the last few days of their voyage, Hetty learned more about business practice than she would have thought possible. Miss Heathcote’s ideas were based on theory, but Maynard’s knowledge was gained from years of experience in trading. When the ship docked in Liverpool, Hetty was genuinely sad on parting with her new friend. As they prepared to disembark, and regardless of the inquisitive stares of their fellow passengers, she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him. ‘I am so glad we met, and so sorry to say goodbye,’ she told him tearfully. ‘You saved me from wallowing in self-pity and you have restored my will to succeed. I can never thank you enough.’

  Maynard held her at arm’s length, smiling and gently squeezing her hands. ‘No, my dear, I was just the catalyst. You would have come to the same conclusion with or without me.’

  ‘I wish you’d stop using those big words,’ Hetty said, torn between tears and laughter. ‘But I will miss our chats, Maynard.’

  He released her hands to take a small shagreen case from his breast pocket. He took out a gilt-edged calling card and gave it to her. ‘This is the address of my office in Wapping. If you need help or advice in the future you know where to find me.’

  She tucked it safely away in her reticule. ‘It’s such a pity you have business in Liverpool. We could have travelled back to London together. I would have enjoyed that.’

  His reply was lost in the general confusion as passengers eager to disembark surged towards the gangway. Maynard took Hetty by the arm and she couldn’t help noticing how even the most forceful characters moved aside to let them pass. He insisted on seeing her safely to the railway station, and, ignoring her protests, he purchased a first class ticket for her. ‘I wouldn’t have my daughters travel anything other than first class and you must humour an old man’s whim, my dear.’ He summoned a porter to carry Hetty’s suitcase and proffered his arm. ‘Allow me.’

  She smiled as she linked her hand through his arm. ‘Your daughters are very lucky to have you for their father. If mine had lived he would have been as kind, but not so blooming rich.’

  Maynard’s laughter caused heads to turn as people hurried past them on their way to the platforms. Some people smiled and others looked slightly shocked at the sight of a middle-aged man with a young woman who might or might not be his daughter. ‘We seem to attract the attention of others wherever we go,’ he said, coming to a halt at the barrier. ‘But then people are always ready to believe the worst.’

  ‘Let them. I don’t care.’ Hetty stamped her foot, a
nd meeting his amused gaze she giggled. ‘Don’t care was made to care, don’t care was hung, don’t care was put in the pot and boiled till he was done – that’s what Granny would say.’

  ‘I would like to meet that lady one day; she sounds a lot like my own formidable grandmother. You and I have more in common than you know, Hetty. Goodbye, my dear.’

  The porter cleared his throat. ‘Best hurry, ma’am. The London train is due to leave in two minutes.’

  ‘Goodbye, Maynard. Thank you so much for everything.’ She tried to smile but unaccountably there were tears in her eyes and her lips trembled. She had only known him for such a brief time, and yet he seemed to have come to represent the father whom she had loved so dearly and lost. A tactful cough from the porter reminded her that the train was about to depart, and she hurried through the barrier without a backward glance.

  It was early evening when Hetty arrived back in Princelet Street, and it was raining. The wet cobblestones glistened in the lamplight, and the air was heavy with chimney smoke. People were drifting in and out of the pub on the corner, and every time the door opened a waft of beer and spirit fumes belched into the street. Nothing had changed since Hetty’s departure less than a month ago and it seemed as though she had never left Spitalfields. Her time in Philadelphia was rapidly fading from her memory like a bad dream. She paid the cabby and, picking up her case and bandbox, she stood for a moment, looking up at the façade of Nora’s house. It might not be as grand as the Wyndhams’ mansion in Washington Square, or as elegant as Miss Heathcote’s house in Mayfair, but it was her home, and she was glad to be back. She did not have her key and so she knocked on the door. The sharp rat-a-tat echoed throughout the house, followed moments later by the sound of footsteps pitter-pattering on the bare boards. ‘Who’s there?’ Jane’s voice was muffled by the thickness of the oak door but it occurred to Hetty that she sounded nervous.