by Maggie Hope
Hetty was a week late in returning to Fortune Hall. She was dreading going into the kitchen and having to face curious questions for the accident had been in the papers and the results of the inquest too. ‘Death by misadventure’ the coroner in Bishop Auckland had said. Had the whole story been in the Whitby Gazette as it had been in the Northern Echo?
‘Come in and sit down, lass,’ Mr Jones, who was sitting at the table, said. ‘I’m sure we’re all very sorry for your trouble. There, we’ll say no more than that, we know how you must feel.’
Mrs Peel put a large cup of hot, sweet tea in front of Hetty and pushed the plate of buttered teacake closer to her.
‘Thank you, Mrs Peel,’ said Hetty, though she wasn’t hungry in spite of the walk over the moor.
Sam and Bob came in, Sam full of the bicycle he’d got for Christmas and how he’d cycled over to Whitby on New Year’s Eve to a big dance and the girls that were there and how he’d kissed one or two to let in the New Year. Bob laughed and said he didn’t believe any of it, and Mr Jones stood up and ordered them to be quiet. Could they not see who was there? Bob and Sam had looked over at Hetty and Sam muttered an apology before sliding into his chair.
‘That’s all right,’ she said. She hated the unnatural hush which usually greeted her since that day. She longed for things to be back to normal. Let them laugh and talk. Why, they hadn’t even known Cissy, it had nothing to do with them.
It was different with Ethel; Ethel she could talk to. She hugged Hetty and kissed her on the cheek and after that acted as she always had. She talked about her boy in the village and how they were saving up to get married, and after a while Hetty found herself responding naturally. As week followed week and the year turned to the spring, the two girls grew closer until Hetty was dreading the day Ethel would get married and leave Fortune Hall.
‘Why, there’ll be a new maid and then you’ll be the senior and be able to boss her about like I do you,’ laughed Ethel when Hetty tried to tell her how she would miss her. A lot of rubbish, of course, she was the least bossy girl Hetty had ever met.
The two sons of the house had gone back to school or college or whatever. Richard came home for weekends but he didn’t mention Hetty’s tragedy; perhaps he knew nothing about it. So she lived and worked in Fortune Hall and it was becoming almost like home to her. Not real home, not Morton, but home nevertheless.
‘Why don’t you come downstairs today, Mrs Fortune?’ asked Hetty. ‘It’s a lovely day, you could sit in the garden, the fresh air would do you good.’
‘Oh, Hetty, you’re always trying to get me out of this room, aren’t you?’ Elizabeth Fortune smiled at the girl; sometimes she thought Hetty was the only friend she had in the world. How long was it since she had come to Fortune Hall? Why, it must be almost two years now. ‘Do you know, Hetty, you are turning into a very pretty girl,’ she said, and Hetty went pink.
‘You are, though,’ insisted Elizabeth. Hetty had grown at least three inches in the last four years and her figure, though still slight, was a woman’s figure, slim-waisted and round-hipped, her breasts swelling against the black dress of her uniform. Her hair was a little longer than it had been when she first came – the fashions of 1933, Elizabeth supposed. But it seemed to curve in naturally to the nape of her neck and soft curls peeped from under her cap and around her ears.
‘You’re just trying to change the subject,’ said Hetty, and Elizabeth smiled; they were so easy with each other now. Suddenly she made up her mind.
‘I’ll come downstairs,’ she said, and Hetty beamed. She had suggested it every morning for ages. Mrs Fortune had always refused but now she had decided on it even before Hetty asked her. ‘I’m fed up with you asking, Hetty, you never give up, so I might as well get it over with.’
‘There now, I’ll have you ready in no time. Oh, won’t everyone be surprised when they see you?’
‘Do you think I can make the stairs?’ Doubt assailed Elizabeth, and Hetty, rather than blithely reassuring her, put her head on one side and considered.
‘You are a lot stronger now, Mrs Fortune,’ she said. Indeed, Elizabeth had put on a little weight and had been walking up and down the room on Hetty’s arm every day for weeks now. Moreover, the mysterious bottle had disappeared from the bedside cabinet; when the last one was empty she had not asked Hetty to get her another from the chemist’s in the village. The bottle had worried Hetty. After all, she never saw a doctor at Fortune Hall yet the master always had a prescription for the draught ready. Once she had asked Mrs Fortune what it was but the reply had been evasive. And Ethel said she didn’t know either.
Mrs Fortune was still pale and easily tired, Hetty’s thoughts ran on, but how could she ever get properly well unless she had some fresh air? Fresh air was the best medicine, hadn’t Mam said that often? And her gran too. Hetty felt the familiar ache when she thought of her mother. Letters from her had been so few since that day, the day when Cissy … she pushed the thought to the back of her mind.
‘I think you can manage it,’ she said to Mrs Fortune. ‘Though I tell you what, I could ask Master Richard to help, just to see you downstairs and into the garden.’
Elizabeth smiled. ‘Richard, yes,’ she said. He was a good boy, had already been in to see his mother this morning, which was more than Matthew had done. Or had Matthew gone away again? He sometimes did without bothering to say goodbye, to her at least.
‘I’ll see if I can find him,’ said Hetty.
She ran down the stairs, her heart light. Richard, she was sure, would be in the stables. It was a beautiful autumn day, the dahlias and chrysanthemums were out in the flower garden: wine-coloured dahlias, stately and impressive, contrasting with the pale lemon buttons of the spray type. And behind, the great tawny chrysanthemums and beyond them the wall. The heather was just turning but still showing swathes of purple sweeping across the moor. A few leaves lay on the ground under the apple trees but even they were hanging on to summer as long as they could. Hetty surveyed the scene. Yes, she decided, Mrs Fortune could sit just on the edge of the porch, sheltered from any breeze but able to see all the beauty for herself. She turned the corner of the house and made for the stables.
Richard was there, as she had thought he would be. He was saddling Tansy, his grey mare. He had his back to the door and Hetty watched him for a moment. He was in riding breeches and a blue shirt with wide braces over it, and the light from the open door fell on his light brown hair as he swung the saddle over the horse, murmuring to her, ‘Steady now, lass.’ He patted her neck and Tansy whinnied and turned her head to him.
Hetty liked Richard. He had left school now and was at the university in York. He managed to be home quite a lot and Hetty was glad it was him and not Matthew. When Matthew was home he had taken to looking at her in a way which made her uncomfortable but Richard was always nice to her. He lifted his head now and caught sight of her and smiled.
‘Morning, Hetty,’ he said over his shoulder. ‘What can I do for you?’ He finished tightening the girth before giving her his full attention.
‘It’s your mother, Master Richard.’ Hetty stepped forward and smiled, pleased to be giving him such good news. ‘She’s decided to try sitting in the garden for a while and we wondered if you would come and help her down the stairs?’
‘Gosh, that’s grand, Hetty,’ cried Richard. He looked so pleased that she laughed in delight and suddenly he picked her up and swung her round and lifted her easily into the saddle on Tansy’s back, not astride but across so that her feet dangled just below the horse’s belly.
‘Let me down, do, Master Richard! What will your father say if he sees me?’
‘He’ll say “Well done, Hetty”, of course he will. We none of us know how you’ve managed it. We’ve been trying for ages, ever since she began to improve. And that was your doing too, Hetty. You’re a witch, I think.’ He laughed up at her and Tansy snorted and danced a few steps and Hetty hung on to the saddle nervously.
‘Let me down, do, Master
Richard.’
‘Oh, all right.’ For a moment he was irritated. Why did she have to call him Master Richard? It was silly in this day and age, for goodness’ sake. He raised his arms and took hold of her by the waist and lifted her easily to the ground. ‘Come on, we’ll go now before she changes her mind. Hang on a minute, I’ll get Sam to see to Tansy for me.’ He walked further into the stable and for the first time Hetty noticed that Sam was there. He had a pitchfork in his hand but he had been so quiet she hardly thought he could have been doing much. Watching her with Richard, she thought, and blushed as though she had been doing something wrong. When Sam put down the fork and came forward he gave her a funny look, knowing somehow, and that upset her even more. But she forgot about him as she walked over to the house with Richard.
He strode through the kitchen and Mrs Peel called after him, ‘Take off your boots, Master Richard,’ as she did so often. This time he heard and sat down on a hard kitchen chair to remove his boots. Hetty brought him his soft indoor shoes and they went upstairs to where his mother was waiting.
‘Oh, Richard, I hope I can manage it,’ Elizabeth said tremulously. Evidently she was beginning to have second thoughts.
‘Of course you can,’ he answered. ‘Now, are we ready? Come along, let’s not waste any of this lovely sunshine. Besides, I have work to do.’ His brisk manner had the desired effect and, with Hetty and him on either side of her, Elizabeth made her first foray down the stairs and out of the front door to where Hetty had already placed a comfortable basket chair piled with cushions beside the mock Grecian pillars of the porch.
They settled her in the chair and Hetty went back for an extra shawl, just in case it was needed. Richard kissed his mother.
‘There now,’ he said. ‘What do you think of the garden? Bill Oliver certainly can grow dahlias, can’t he? Aren’t the colours wonderful? Welcome back, Mother.’
Elizabeth settled herself in the chair, sighing. ‘It’s so lovely,’ she said. ‘I’m so glad to be back.’
Richard nodded in perfect understanding. Hetty heard the last remark and wondered for a minute and then she realised what Elizabeth meant. It was as though she had been on a long journey.
‘Go along then, Richard, back to your horse. And you too, Hetty, I know you have work to do.’ Elizabeth picked up the novel Hetty had brought down with the shawl and opened it. ‘Go on, then, I shall be quite all right here on my own without either of you fussing over me.’
‘I suppose I can leave the door open,’ Hetty said doubtfully. ‘Then someone will hear if you call out for anything.
And I can check on you every now and again.’
‘Don’t fuss so, it’s time I learned to be more independent,’ said Elizabeth. ‘Go on, both of you.’
Richard raised his eyebrows at Hetty and backed away into the doorway. ‘I’m going, I’m going,’ he said, laughing. But when they were out of earshot he turned to her. ‘I’ll stick close by in case you need me,’ he said. ‘She’ll probably tire quite soon as this is her first day and then I’ll carry her upstairs.’ He took hold of Hetty’s arm and drew her to the side of the hall, into the shadow cast by the great staircase.
She looked up at him, her eyes large and questioning, and he bent his head and kissed her gently on the mouth. His lips were warm and firm yet soft on hers at the same time.
‘Oh!’
‘Dear Hetty,’ he whispered. ‘I’m so grateful for what you are doing for my mother.’ He walked away quickly and she gazed after him, still feeling his lips on hers. She put a hand up to her mouth and felt the place with her fingertips, sure it would feel different, but apart from a slight tremble it was the same. Fleetingly she remembered the night Matthew had kissed a girl in that self-same spot; his kiss had been so different though. She wasn’t sure whether she wished Richard’s kiss had been – not like Matthew’s exactly but not quite so brotherly. Shaking her head, she went into the kitchen for the floor polish and cloths. She would clean the hall now rather than later so that she could keep an ear open for Mrs Fortune.
‘The mistress came down, then,’ said Mrs Peel. ‘Do you know, I’m not sure you should have encouraged her. Not when the master’s out.’
Hetty considered this. Surely the master would be pleased? She was assailed with doubt, though. Perhaps he wouldn’t be. She remembered the last time she had had to go into the village to get Mrs Fortune’s prescription filled. It had been just after Havelock Fortune had been closeted with his wife for a whole morning. Hetty had taken a tray up to the bedroom at lunchtime and hesitated for she could hear the murmur of his voice behind the closed door, rising once until she could hear the actual words.
‘You’re such a bloody fool, Elizabeth!’ he had shouted. Hetty had retreated, not wanting them to think she had been eavesdropping, but then she went forward again and knocked loudly on the door and opened it.
‘I’ve brought you some lunch,’ she had said brightly, advancing into the room. Havelock was standing by the window, red-faced with anger, and Elizabeth too was flushed, her eyes sparkling with tears.
‘Put it down, girl, and get out. Don’t you know enough not to interrupt when I’m talking to my wife?’
‘I … didn’t know …’ Hetty had faltered before concern for Elizabeth emboldened her. ‘Are you all right, Mrs Fortune?’ she had asked.
‘Get out!’ Havelock Fortune had shouted, making her jump.
‘I’m fine, Hetty, thank you,’ Elizabeth had said. ‘Just go, my dear.’ So Hetty went. That afternoon she had had to make a trip to the chemist’s in the village and bring back the bottle of medicine for Elizabeth.
‘I wish I knew what it was,’ she had said to Ethel. But Ethel was getting married in October and could think of nothing else.
‘Don’t worry,’ she had said. ‘It’s only a mixture for her nerves.’
‘Well, I know, you’ve said that before. But really, I think she would be better without it. Look how much stronger she’s been since she stopped taking it. I’m sorry she’s started again.’
Ethel smiled. ‘Nay, Hetty, you can’t take everybody’s worries on your shoulders. Let it be, lass, let it be.’ She had started to hum a jazzy tune, bright and fast, as she attacked the dust on the banister rails, rubbing vigorously. ‘Did I tell you I’m going in to Harrogate for my wedding dress?’
‘Yes, you told me.’ Hetty grinned. ‘Once or twice you told me.’
Now, though, Mrs Fortune had stopped using the bottle. Why, it must be almost a month ago that it had gone from the bedside cabinet. And she was so much better. Hetty couldn’t believe her husband would not be pleased.
‘I don’t think he’ll mind … Anyway, Master Richard helped me get her down and she wanted to come herself. In fact, it was her suggestion. Surely she can decide for herself, Mrs Peel?’
‘Hmm.’ It was all the housekeeper answered but it was enough to give Hetty a niggle of apprehension. She polished the floor in the hall, getting up from her knees every few minutes to check on Mrs Fortune. The last time she saw that Elizabeth had fallen asleep, her head on a cushion to one side. A little colour tinged her cheeks and she looked younger somehow, the book fallen to the ground, her hands laid palm upwards in her lap, delicate and white. Hetty glanced ruefully at her own hands, red and roughened through being too often immersed in hot water, the nails cut short because they broke so often through contact with harsh cleaners. Oh well, she thought, she would rub in some olive oil and sugar tonight if she could beg the oil from Mrs Peel.
Hetty turned from the door and picked up her polish and polishing cloths. She would just have time to wash the cloths before helping Mrs Peel with the lunch. She was opening the door to the kitchen when she heard Havelock’s voice, roaring from the garden.
‘Elizabeth! What the hell do you think you’re doing?’
Hetty dropped the polish and turned and through the open door saw Elizabeth, startled from sleep, rise from her chair and stumble forward, toppling down the steps into the garden.
Then it was all confusion, Hetty and Mrs Peel running to pick her up, Havelock Fortune standing, arms akimbo, shouting and swearing but making no attempt to help. Then Richard was there, taking his mother in his arms and carrying her into the house to place her on the couch in the hall.
‘Shut up, Father,’ he said, and amazingly Havelock Fortune stopped shouting though he went on muttering that it was all Hetty’s fault, she was as big a fool as her mistress.
‘Shut up, Father,’ Richard said again. ‘If it’s anyone’s fault it is mine. I helped Mother down the stairs. Now don’t you think we should be attending to her rather than shouting at each other?’
‘I’m all right, son,’ said Elizabeth shakily. She sat up and leaned against the arm of the couch, holding her head. ‘I just got a bit of a shock. I was asleep, you see. The fresh air, I think. But I’m all right, no harm done, not to me anyway. Though one or two of the dahlias are looking a bit forlorn. You may as well pick them, Hetty, the stems are broken. Bring them up to my room, they’re such a lovely colour. Richard, I think I’ll go up now.’
Chapter 6
‘It’s a lovely day for the wedding,’ commented Mrs Peel, and the group sitting round the table in the kitchen at Fortune Hall nodded and murmured agreement – all except Sam whose mouth was too full of fried bread for him to murmur anything. Ethel was to marry her Bert at two o’clock in the afternoon and all the staff had the afternoon off to go to the wedding, which was to be held in the stone church on the edge of the village.
Hetty looked at Ethel’s empty chair. By, she thought, Ethel’s going to be missed round here even though she’s going no further than a mile or so. Havelock Fortune had surprised them all by letting one of his tied cottages to the young couple. Hetty remembered the morning Mrs Fortune had been downstairs; Mr Fortune had called Hetty in to the study shortly afterwards. She had thought she was for it that day all right. But the master seemed to have forgotten all about the incident, he wanted to discuss something else altogether.