Emerald Star (Hetty Feather)

by Jacqueline Wilson

  But this was Monksby. It was impossible for anything to go unobserved. When I went back to Father’s house at tea time, Katherine was red in the face with spite and fury.

  ‘There you are, you little harlot!’ she said, seizing me and shaking me.

  ‘Katherine, Katherine, stop it now!’ said Father, rushing to my side. ‘And watch that tongue. Don’t you dare call her names like that!’

  ‘Wait till you hear what she’s been up to! You’re always so quick to defend her, always taking her side against mine. Well, just you listen – and you deny it if you dare, Hetty Feather! You were seen swimming in the sea this afternoon. Look, Bobbie, she can’t deny it. You can smell the salt on her, see the damp stains on her frock!’ said Katherine, poking me.

  ‘Oh come! Can you truly swim, Hetty? How ever in the world did you learn to do that?’ said Father. ‘I’m certain sure they don’t give swimming lessons to the foundlings at the hospital.’

  ‘I learned this summer, Father, and I’m good at it too,’ I said with spirit.

  ‘Good at displaying yourself brazenly!’ said Katherine. ‘She took her dress off and cavorted almost naked!’

  ‘I was in my undergarments – and I didn’t cavort,’ I said indignantly.

  Father looked shocked all the same. ‘Oh, Hetty, you’re too old for such childish larks! Whatever possessed you?’ he said, looking shamed.

  ‘She went in the sea to rescue me!’ said Ezra, peeping round the doorway. ‘I went under and Hetty thought I was a-drowning. I wasn’t, of course, but she thought it, and threw off her dress and came dashing in after me.’

  I felt like hugging him again, though I knew he wouldn’t like that! Father did hug him – and me too.

  ‘I am so sorry, Hetty. I hadn’t realized. You’re my good brave girl and I’m proud of you,’ he said, clapping me on the shoulders.

  ‘Threw off her dress!’ Katherine repeated. ‘And what were you doing, frolicking about in the sea, Ezra? I’ve told you and told you not to go in the water. You could have drowned!’ She clasped him tight, but then gave him a good shaking. ‘Don’t you dare disobey me again. Promise me never ever ever to go in the water again!’

  ‘I promise, Mam!’ Ezra gasped, his head nid-nodding wildly.

  ‘Aren’t you going to thank Hetty for saving her little brother?’ said Father.

  Katherine stiffened. ‘He’s not her brother,’ she said. ‘She might have fooled you, Bobbie, but she’ll never pull the wool over my eyes. She’s nothing to do with this family. She can call you Father this and Father that but she’s not your true blood daughter. Are you blind? She’s a London girl with flighty fancy ways. She’s never a fisher-girl. For pity’s sake, she’s afeared of blooming fish!’

  ‘I’m not afeared of anything, fish or foe,’ I declared, lying a little. ‘And I’ll prove I’m Father’s daughter, just you wait and see.’

  I received a package the very next day! When the post boy knocked to deliver my parcel, there was a great flutter of interest from my kinfolk. Mina snatched the package and shook it curiously, while Ezra clamoured to have a hold of it too.

  ‘It’s mine, it’s mine! It’s my Christmas present come early!’ he shouted.

  ‘Give it here, Ezra. Careful – you’ll drop it between you,’ said Katherine. ‘It’ll be for me or Father, though I’m blessed if I know what it is.’

  I had caught a glimpse of the neat brown copperplate on the label. ‘It’s not for any of you. It’s for me!’ I said, trying to prise the package from Mina’s hands.

  ‘Don’t be so stupid, Hetty Feather, you don’t even live here,’ she said.

  ‘Look at the label. You’re the one who’s stupid. It’s my package, can’t you read?’

  This was a low blow of mine, because I had discovered that Mina could barely spell out the simplest sentence. Katherine herself was scarcely more literate. She set great store by being religious and certainly knew a hundred hymns off by heart – I’d heard her singing them as she toiled about the house – but when she showed me her family Bible, stabbing at the names written on the front page, she had difficulty deciphering them.

  ‘This is our family – and you’re not written down here,’ she said. ‘These are my parents and Bobbie’s parents, and these here are Mina and Ezra . . .’ But I saw she had to squint hard before she could distinguish one from another.

  Fisher-folk here had a casual attitude to schooling. Children attended the little dame school in the village when they had nothing better to do, and drifted away completely when they were old enough to make themselves useful collecting flithers or coiling ropes or mending nets.

  But to my great delight Father was a man of learning. There were several battered volumes in the cabinet in the corner and I’d seen him read a few pages of David Copperfield while puffing away on his clay pipe. He had to point along under the words to keep his place, but he was reading all the same.

  ‘I need Father to be watching when I open this package,’ I declared, and I snatched it back from Mina and nursed it to my bosom until he sailed safely in with the night’s catch.

  I was skittering from one foot to the other – with excitement and fear in equal measure. ‘Father, Father, please hurry!’ I called, the moment he jumped up the harbour steps.

  ‘Not now, Hetty. I’ve still business to attend to,’ he said wearily – but I pestered him until he stepped aside with me.

  Katherine and Mina and Ezra tagged along, lured by the promise of the parcel.

  ‘Right! Please watch, all of you,’ I said, breaking the red seal and sliding the paper open.

  My fingers were trembling. I had no idea what Miss Smith had written. The package was fat but light, as if it contained an immensely long letter. Perhaps she had simply rebuked me at great length and ignored my question altogether. Perhaps she had looked up Mama’s name in the mothers’ register and found a different name entirely. It did not necessarily mean Mama was not Evie Edenshaw of Monksby – she could have used a false name all along. But perhaps – oh, perhaps Miss Smith had sent me written confirmation. If so, it was vital that Father and his disbelieving wife see me open the letter before their eyes so they could see there was no trickery.

  I pulled not just one letter from the package – there were twenty at the very least. The first was from Miss Smith but all the others were in a clear round hand I also knew well. Letters from Jem, my dear foster brother and childhood sweetheart!

  I was so startled I nearly dropped the package. I knew if I loosened my grip for a second the strong wind would make the letters fly far out to sea like gulls. I stuffed all his letters down the neck of my dress for safety and applied myself to Miss Smith’s letter.

  The Foundling Hospital,

  Guilford Street,

  London

  My dear Hetty,

  Oh child, it was such a relief to hear from you! I have been so worried about you. I was shocked to hear you left Mr Buchanan’s establishment. I am disappointed in you, dear. I had hoped you would try hard in your position and gain from living in a house of culture and learning. I am sure you were mistaken in your assumptions. Mr Buchanan can surely not have wished to STEAL your memoirs. I think he wanted to help you develop your writing style. But it’s too late for me to intervene now. I have written to the gentleman and he has assured me in no uncertain terms that he will never take you back.

  I do not know how you have been earning a living since. You know full well you should stay in touch with the hospital and accept guidance from your guardians. However, I will not be too hard on you, because you have clearly suffered sadly, losing your dear mother. I am so very sorry, Hetty. I know just how much she meant to you and it seems cruelly sad to lose her at this stage in your young life.

  You asked me to ascertain Ida’s real name. You must know this is totally against all hospital rules and regulations. Mothers’ names must never ever be disclosed, no matter how pressing the circumstances. No governor could ever abuse his or her position in su
ch a way.

  However, I am not JUST a governor of the hospital, I am also your friend and mentor – and I am fully aware that it’s vitally important to you to prove to your kinfolk that you are your mother’s child. Therefore, simply as your friend, I glanced in the register, found your date of entry, and wrote down the name I found there. It is Evelyn Edenshaw.

  I stopped reading. My eyes filled with tears. ‘Look! Look!’ I said, and I thrust Miss Smith’s letter at Father. I stabbed at Mama’s name. He gave a little gasp.

  ‘See, Katherine!’ I said triumphantly, waving the letter at her too, my finger underlining Mama’s name.

  ‘I see a piece of paper from a friend of yours,’ said Katherine. ‘It proves nothing, Hetty Feather. You’ve asked her to write to you to back up your lies and deception.’

  ‘Oh Lord, how can you continue to be so stupid,’ I said, wanting to scream. ‘Can you not see the heading of this letter? It’s official Foundling Hospital stationery. Miss Smith is a governor there – and she happens to be a very well-respected writer for the Religious Society too. Are you seriously accusing her of lying?’

  ‘Don’t you take that tone with me, missy, or I’ll knock you flying over the harbour wall,’ said Katherine.

  ‘Oh, Mam, are you and Hetty going to have a fight?’ said Ezra, sounding hopeful.

  ‘Stop it, stop it, both of you!’ said Father. He looked from one to the other of us, utterly perplexed. ‘Katherine, you are my wife and I love you dearly. Hetty, you are undoubtedly my daughter, and I am that joyful to have found you. Can you not both make a little effort to get on?’

  We could not. The best we could manage was a surly silence around each other. When Father was out at sea we frequently came to blows. I was scared of Katherine’s burly fists – but I learned to lacerate her with my tongue.

  Ezra was friendly enough out of his mother’s sight. Sometimes we played childish games together, seeing who could skim a stone or spit the furthest. Sometimes I told him stories – gory tales of murder inspired by my long-ago reading of the Police Gazette. These stories made his eyes nearly pop out of his head but he always begged for more and he seemed to sleep sound in his bed at night.

  I was not anywhere near as friendly with my new sister. Father said I had to share a bed with her whether I wanted to or not. We both hated this. Mina kept kicking and elbowing me to the very edge, and moaned and complained if I wanted to read or write by candlelight.

  As she was such a poor reader and my writing was sophisticated copperplate, I had no fears about her reading my memoirs, which I updated nightly – but she was immensely curious when I read and reread Jem’s letters. Oh, those letters! He had carried on writing to me long after I left Mr Buchanan’s in disgrace. When I did not reply, he did not give up. He wrote to me care of the Foundling Hospital, hoping that someone there might know of my whereabouts. Miss Smith had kept each letter safe, and had now sent them on to me in her packet.

  I read each one many times, finding such comfort in his sweet accounts of country life. If I shut my eyes tight I could picture myself back in that tumbledown cottage, tucked up in the feather bed, with the fresh honest smells of lavender and beeswax and bacon in my nostrils. I was not kin there, I was only a foster child, but I was accepted into the very bosom of the family and loved wholeheartedly. Jem himself had cherished me the most. He still seemed to care for me, writing me weekly letters long after I ceased to reply.

  Well, I could reply now, and tell him my new circumstances.

  My dear Jem [I wrote],

  Thank you for all your very special letters. I am so sorry not to have been in touch sooner. You must not worry about me. Oh, Jem, I have found my own true father! I am living here in Monksby with my own kinfolk and I am so . . .

  I paused, trying to think of the right word. I was happy, wasn’t I? I had found Father and he was everything I had hoped for. Why could I not be content at last?

  7

  MINA MIGHT NOT have been able to read Jem’s letters properly, but she seemed to ascertain their content by instinct.

  ‘They’re letters from your sweetheart, aren’t they?’ she said.

  ‘No, no. They’re from my foster brother,’ I said.

  Mina peered at the signature: Ever your loving Jem.

  ‘Brothers don’t write like that,’ she said. ‘He is your sweetheart, Hetty.’

  ‘Perhaps he is – but don’t tell,’ I said.

  I was more anxious about Father knowing than Katherine. I wasn’t quite sure he would approve.

  ‘I won’t tell . . . if you give me the ribbon wrapped round the letters,’ said Mina.

  I gave her the ribbon. I gave her other treats and trinkets too – my own lace handkerchief, a small slither of scented soap, a pocket glass I found on the beach. At last I ran out of bribes, but Mina still didn’t tell. When we were in bed together she begged me to tell her all about Jem and my feelings for him. I told her true tales of our rambles in the woods and wandering in the meadow, but omitted our ages, so she thought I was talking of a recent courtship.

  ‘Did he ever hold your hand, Hetty?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, he did,’ I said, because Jem had always taken hold of my grubby little paw when he took me on walks.

  ‘And – and did he ever kiss you?’ Mina persisted.

  ‘He kissed my cheek,’ I said.

  ‘But did he ever kiss you on the lips?’

  I shook my head virtuously.

  ‘Did you want him to?’ she asked relentlessly.

  ‘Why are you so curious about him?’ I asked. I peered at Mina as best I could in the dark. ‘I think you must have a secret sweetheart, Mina!’

  ‘No, I haven’t, of course I haven’t. Mam would kill me,’ she said, shrieking and giggling – but of course she then declared that actually, she did. I found this funny, as I still thought her a little girl, though she was certainly taller and more developed than me.

  ‘So what’s his name? Which boy is he? Is it Frank – or Peter – or Jonathan?’ I said, naming the lads who manned Father’s fishing boat each night.

  ‘No! No – Jonathan?’ Mina giggled, because Jonathan was particularly solid and slow and had an awful habit of letting his mouth hang open so that he looked truly simple. ‘No, I can’t possibly tell you, Hetty. I haven’t told anyone, not even any of the other girls. I mustn’t tell, no matter how you beg me.’

  But of course she was desperate to tell me, even so. I didn’t have to beg. She whispered his name right in my ear.

  ‘It’s Matthew. He’s my sweetheart,’ she said. ‘Do you know Matthew, Hetty? He’s the dark boy who wears his hat on the back of his head, the one with the wonderful dark eyes. He goes out every night in the Stevens boat.’

  I knew Matthew Stevens – a cocky young lad about my own age, but already as bold and burly as a full-grown man. He winked at me whenever I walked by. The first couple of times I thought he suffered from a surprising nervous tic – but then he started making vulgar kissing noises after me. I tossed my head and walked on with my nose in the air. This made him laugh and call me ‘Hoity-toity Hetty’.

  ‘Matthew Stevens,’ I said slowly. ‘Oh, Mina, maybe he’s not really a very good choice.’

  ‘And why not?’ said Mina, pushing me hard, so that I nearly fell out of bed. ‘Is he not good looking? And he’ll be head of the Stevens boat one day.’

  ‘Yes, but – but he seems a little bold with all the girls,’ I said. And me in particular, I wanted to add, but knew she would not take kindly to learning that.

  ‘Oh yes, I know he has a terrible weakness for the girls,’ she said. ‘But he says he wants me for a sweetheart, truly he does. He said I was the bonniest of all the lasses, and he held my hand and – oh, Hetty, you won’t tell Mam, will you? – then he kissed me right upon the lips!’

  ‘Mina! For goodness’ sake, you’re only a girl. He’s no right to kiss you!’

  ‘He says I’m already a lovely little lass,’ said Mina, saying the
words with sweet emphasis, as if they were poetry.

  ‘Yes, a lovely little lass of twelve,’ I said.

  ‘I’m old for my age, everyone says that. I have a proper womanly shape already,’ Mina said proudly. ‘You should eat more, Hetty. It’s a shame you’re so underdeveloped.’

  I felt it a shame too, and agonized when I peered at my flat chest and skinny hips in private, but I wasn’t going to let Mina patronize me.

  ‘All us London girls like to be slender,’ I declared. ‘And I dare say I’ll fill out a bit later. But listen hard, Mina. If you start frolicking around with bold lads like Matthew Stevens you’ll end up filling out a lot.’

  Mina gasped and giggled. ‘Oh, Hetty, hold your tongue! What a thing to say. I’d never do that, never, not till I was married.’ She paused. ‘Do you know exactly what folk do do?’ she whispered.

  I had only the very vaguest idea. I had been brought up in the hospital after all, but I’d heard a lot of vulgar talk while appearing in Mr Clarendon’s freak show, and that had given me a hazy idea of procreation.

  ‘I know – and it sounds very comical and extremely uncomfortable,’ I said. ‘You stay a good girl, Mina. And stop all the sweetheart talk for now. Keep away from Matthew Stevens!’

  ‘But some other girl will go after him then,’ she said.

  ‘Men don’t like it if you’re too forward,’ I said, as if I had all the experience in the world. ‘I have not written to Jem in many months, but see, it has made him even keener.’

  ‘And are you really sweet on him, Hetty?’ Mina asked.

  I thought about it long after Mina had fallen asleep. Was I still sweet on Jem? I had felt a surge of joy when I saw those letters. I still liked to wear them tucked into my bodice against my heart. I felt comforted by their caring kindness, their strong sweet country air. I’d felt so lonely here in this harsh new Monksby world. Father seemed to love me, but most of the villagers actively disliked me – and Katherine certainly hated me like poison. I had only made one true friend and that was Lizzie.