by Maggie Hope
Hetty’s heart plummeted. Friday! That was three nights without pay, what was she going to do? She walked home along the front miserably. She had to find something else, she had to! She thought about going home to Morton Main. The old, aching sense of loss, the terrible homesickness, surged through her. Tears sprang to her eyes, blinding her. But she couldn’t go. How could she explain losing her job? Dad might understand, he would put his trust in her. But Mam … surely after these years since Cissy had died she was getting over the pain, surely she didn’t still blame Hetty for taking the little girl out on the sledge that day? Hetty sighed and wiped her eyes. The wind blew bitterly cold off the North Sea, straight from the Arctic and Russia, Mr Jordan said. If she thought any more about home the tears would freeze her eyelids together. Tucking her head down in her collar, she quickened her steps to Diamond Street.
And then there was the worry about Matthew …
Matthew was sprawled before the fire in the drawing room of Fortune Hall, drinking whisky and soda. Richard sat opposite him, staring into the fire. Their father had retired early, saying he would sit with his wife for a while.
‘Your mother isn’t well this evening, I don’t want you to disturb her.’ Though he didn’t say so, they all knew that Elizabeth had wept when he’d told her Hetty had been dismissed.
Richard was thinking about Hetty and his mother and how she hadn’t been out of her room since the maid went. There was no doubt about it, Hetty had been good for her. Why, they had even been planning a trip to Harrogate when the weather improved. Of course that was all forgotten now. Richard himself had had to make a journey to the chemist’s for his mother’s medicine even though he had serious misgivings about it.
He glanced over at Matthew. His brother’s face was flushed, his mouth slack, he’d dribbled some of his drink down the front of his shirt. All right for him, thought Richard, he hadn’t lost his home and livelihood as Hetty had. What on earth did these girls see in his brother? he wondered. He really had thought Hetty was different but in the end she had been just like all the rest, and the knowledge of it was bitter.
The door opened and Sally Dunn came in. A thin slip of a girl, she reminded Richard of Hetty when she had first come to the Hall, four years ago, or was it five? He sighed. No doubt she was back with her family now, looking for work. Though she would have trouble, not having any references. He wondered what she would do. Truth was he was worried about her. He wished he had spoken to her when she was leaving, made absolutely sure she was all right. He sighed and stretched his legs in front of him, looked at his glass with distaste and put it down on the low table by his side.
Matthew was watching Sally as she bent over the fire, pulling the embers together and adding logs. He was frowning.
‘Not like that, girl, don’t be so bloody useless,’ he snapped, and Sally jumped, the tongs in her hand knocking a log so that it fell to the hearth with a shower of hot ash. He snatched the tongs from her and mended the fire himself. ‘Now clean that mess up. I suppose you’re only used to coal fires, coming from Durham?’ He said ‘Durham’ sneeringly and she flushed and opened her mouth to reply, but instead closed it again and picked up the hearth brush and shovel and swept up the ashes.
‘Mucky, coaly Durham,’ said Matthew, seeing he had upset her, a gleam of interest coming to his eyes as he continued baiting her.
‘Leave her alone, Matthew, she’s just a kid,’ said Richard. ‘Go on, Sally, we won’t want anything else tonight, you can go to bed now.’
She nodded to him and mumbled a goodnight. She left the room with her head held high, though.
‘Well, a girl like that, she’s not worth her keep,’ commented Matthew. He had sunk down into the chair again and held his whisky glass to his chest. ‘There’s nothing else to do in this hole anyway.’
‘You could leave the maids alone at least. Especially a little girl like that.’
‘Yes? And what about you? You’re not exactly blameless in that department, little brother. I could see what was going on between you and Hetty.’
‘There was nothing going on except in your dirty mind!’ snapped Richard. ‘If you had kept your hands off her she would still be here. She was working wonders with Mother, you know how good she was with her.’
‘Good in bed too,’ Matthew said, glancing maliciously at his brother. ‘So you mean to say you really didn’t have a go? Well, you missed a treat, I can tell you—’
Richard started to his feet. ‘Shut your dirty mouth, I don’t believe a word of it!’ He stood over Matthew’s chair, eyes flashing, fists opening and closing.
‘Fisticuffs now, is it?’ Matthew jeered. ‘Don’t be a fool, Richard, I could thrash you with one hand tied behind my back. But I’m not going to fight over a maid. Though I have to admit she’s no ordinary skivvy. Who would have thought that plain, thin little mouse we first saw would grow into a beauty like that? She’s really got under my skin. I’ll have her if it’s the last thing I do …’
Richard forced himself to calm down. He went over to the window and drew the heavy curtain back, staring out over the dark moor. The moon appeared and disappeared between scudding clouds, a ring of frost surrounding it. Then he turned back to his brother.
‘Does that mean you know where she is?’ he asked.
‘Where who is?’ Matthew was being deliberately perverse. ‘Oh, you mean Hetty Pearson? And why are you so interested, little brother? I thought you said there had been nothing between you?’
‘There wasn’t.’ Richard looked impatient. What was the use of talking to Matthew when he was in this sort of mood? ‘I’m thinking of Mother,’ he said wearily. ‘She would like to know Hetty is all right.’
‘Well, I don’t know where she is,’ said Matthew, ‘and I’m altogether sick of the subject.’ He scowled into his glass.
Richard was sure he was lying but knew he was going to get nothing out of him on the subject, not now at least. ‘I’m off to bed,’ he said abruptly and went out of the room.
Matthew sat on, staring into the fire. Even though it was more than a week ago now, he still got furiously angry when he thought of that day in Saltburn, that oaf of a van driver daring to lay hands on him, Matthew Fortune. Oh, but he had made the man pay! He remembered the feel of the stones and sand on the beach, the shock of the freezing cold water, the surprising strength of it. Most of all he remembered the humiliation rather than the pain when that lout had knocked him over the wall. Caught him unawares, of course. For a minute or two he had been dazed and when he came to his senses the man was holding him by his coat front and hauling him over the sea wall. The salt water he had swallowed made him retch but still he had been able to join his hands together and bring them up in a mighty blow, catching his enemy under his chin and sending him over the wall in his turn. And Matthew had climbed over it after him, though he could hardly stand for the sea pounding on his back, and he had battered the man senseless.
Anyway, he reminded himself again, he’d made him pay. Not only for his damned impertinence but for the fact that when Matthew was finished with the fellow, Hetty was disappearing up the cliff path and Matthew was in no state to follow her, drenched as he was and in the teeth of a howling gale off the sea.
‘Go then!’ he had shouted after her, though she was too far away by then to hear anything he said. ‘Go to perdition!’
He sat in his car, banged the door to and managed to start it and back it away from the wall and head back for Fortune Hall, all without a thought for the driver he had knocked over the wall.
‘Hell will freeze over before I’d look at that pitman’s brat again!’ he’d said aloud. Water dripped off his clothes and formed a puddle on the floor. Driving over the moors, he grew colder and colder in spite of the heater in the car.
As he turned into the gateway of Fortune Hall the car stalled and wouldn’t start again so he abandoned it and trudged up to the house, feet squelching all the way, sour bile rising in his gullet, a mixture of salt and whisk
y. He walked into the yard and Richard came out of the stable.
‘What on earth happened to you?’ he asked. ‘You’re like a drowned rat. Where’s the car?’
‘Damn’ thing stalled,’ Matthew answered shortly and strode into the house. But later, soaking in a hot bath, he thought about Richard, how concerned he had been when their father had sent Hetty packing. There had been something between him and Hetty, there surely had. And if Richard had had her, why not Matthew? It was only fair.
Oh yes, Matthew told himself that evening some time after the disastrous trip to Saltburn. It would be sweet to get one over on his brother. He didn’t know where Hetty was; he would find her, though. He’d vowed he would have her and he wasn’t going to be balked. Finding her would be something to do while he was forced to stay in Yorkshire because his father wouldn’t subsidise him any further. His allowance was already overdrawn and the bank manager was threatening to tell the old man about his debts. Then there was that money-lender in Whitby … Matthew dismissed such unpleasant thoughts from his mind. No one was going to say anything to his father; after all, he was the heir to Havelock’s fortune, wasn’t he? The money men always had an eye to the future. Better to think of more pleasant things in any case.
He rose to his feet and stretched, yawning mightily. The wireless had forecast better weather for tomorrow. He might take a drive north. He would play detective, find Hetty Pearson. It was a diversion anyway.
Bishop Auckland, that was where she came from. Or at least, a village near Bishop Auckland. Matthew got the address from Sally Dunn, on the pretext that he had something of Hetty’s he wanted to send on to her. He’d lain awake for most of the night, devising a plan of action, not even wondering to himself why he was so obsessed with finding Hetty.
Luckily, Havelock had gone to London on business and as usual his mother was confined to her room. Ethel had been persuaded to return temporarily to nurse Elizabeth, though she had been married little more than a week.
‘Why don’t you get a proper nurse up from Harrogate, Father?’ Richard had protested when Havelock told them the new arrangement.
‘A waste of money, that’s why,’ he had snapped. ‘Anyway, your mother likes Ethel.’
She’d preferred Hetty, Richard thought. But he knew it was no good arguing with his father. He had looked across the table at Matthew. It was all his fault that their mother was suffering even more misery. But still, she was sleeping most of the time now, hardly had the energy to lift her head from the pillow when he went to see her. Not really suffering then, but it was very worrying; she should not be sleeping her life away.
Havelock had finished his breakfast and gone out into the hall. They could hear him shouting for Bill Oliver who was doing duty as chauffeur and driving him to York for the London train.
‘I’m off too,’ Matthew had said, patting his mouth with his napkin and pushing back his chair. Richard hadn’t asked him where, he wasn’t interested.
It wasn’t until Matthew was well on the road north to Guisborough, which was on the shortest route to Bishop Auckland, that he thought that Hetty might not have gone there after all. Hadn’t she said she was bound for Saltburn when he’d driven her there? She hadn’t mentioned going further, perhaps she had friends there? He might as well try there first, it was closer than going up to Durham. Besides it was a small place: if she was there he would soon find her.
Taking the turn-off right, Matthew drove through Skelton and finally arrived on the road leading down into Saltburn, passing the ha’penny bridge and dropping down to the shore. As he went the smile left his face as he remembered the last time he had come this way, Hetty sitting beside him. He’d been a fool, handled it badly. Why on earth had he bothered to fight with that oaf of a van driver? He glanced over to the side of the road where the van had been parked. It was gone. Well, of course it was. But if it hadn’t been for that van driver …
Forget about it, he told himself, this was another day and the sun was shining, it was warm, there were even people on the beach. The sands gleamed golden in the sunlight and seabirds wheeled around Huntcliff, claiming their nesting sites, no doubt, and their mates. He turned the corner at the bottom of Cat Nab, changing down a gear to drive up the steep hairpin bend.
It was as he turned into Milton Street that he saw her and a surge of triumph went through him. He hadn’t even had to do any searching! She was standing by the newsagent’s shop, reading the cards in the window. He slowed for a moment, almost stopped then changed his mind. Instead he drove along to where he could park his car out of the way and walked back up Pearl Street, approaching her slowly, studying her.
Hetty was hungry. She had eaten at breakfast time certainly, but only a piece of bread spread with dripping. She was hungry and tired and almost ready to give up. There were no jobs available in Saltburn, none at all. For all the fine weather there were few visitors about, and visitors were Saltburn’s livelihood. Already that morning she had trailed round all the hotels, all the shops, desperately seeking something, anything, which might bring in enough money to enable her to keep herself. But there was nothing.
‘Not before Easter, love, maybe not even then,’ people told her, shaking their heads. ‘Whitsuntide more like.’
‘Why don’t you go into Redcar and see if there’s anything going there?’ Mr Jordan had said to her. ‘Have you signed on at the Labour Exchange yet?’
‘I … I might go into Redcar,’ Hetty had answered, backing away. But she knew she wouldn’t, not when she didn’t have a reference to show any prospective employer. She had walked along the beach the few miles to Marske one day and answered an advertisement for a kitchen maid at Marske Hall, and been thoroughly humiliated when she was asked why she had no reference.
She read through the cards in the window yet again, hoping against hope that she had missed something. And as she turned away in despair there was Matthew, leaning against the corner post of the quaint Victorian canopy which ran the length of the street, grinning at her.
‘Hello there, Hetty,’ he said.
She was overcome with relief to find that after all he was not drowned and dead and the feeling of guilt she had carried all week was lifted from her. Radiantly she smiled at him, took a step towards him, held out her hand to him.
‘Matthew!’ she cried.
He could hardly believe his luck. This was a different Hetty, even more beautiful with her eyes sparkling and a touch of delicate pink in her cheeks. The thing was to take it easy, not be too eager, do his utmost to charm her.
‘I was worried about you, Hetty,’ he said. ‘How are you? Come, let’s find a place we can talk. Have you had lunch?’
Drawing her arm through his, he led her away from Milton Street, to a restaurant on Windsor Road. He still had a few sovereigns in his pocket. Not many but enough to dazzle an out-of-work maid.
Chapter 10
They ate crab salad and bread and butter in a small restaurant in Station Square and there was ice cream for pudding.
‘If I’d known we would meet we could have gone to the Queen’s Hotel, but I’m not dressed for it,’ said Matthew, smiling regretfully.
‘Oh, no, I like it here,’ Hetty answered. ‘I’m not dressed up neither.’ She thought of her other dress and one jacket with its patched elbow hanging in her room in Diamond Street and almost laughed aloud, seeing the funny side. She was suddenly ravenous when the crab salad was placed before her but ate slowly, saying little except to offer Matthew the last slice of bread, taking it herself when he refused.
He barely tasted his ice cream while she nibbled away at the edges of hers, making it last, determined to do the meal full justice. He sat back and smoked a cigarette and watched her, a slight smile on his face.
His mouth was shaped like his brother’s, she thought. Funny that Richard’s should seem so much more friendly. But Matthew was being kind to her now, perhaps he had changed?
‘Leopards don’t change their spots,’ Gran used to say. She ha
d a picture of a leopard on the wall of her front room, a great fearsome face with sharp teeth which had frightened Cissy …
Hetty forced her thoughts back to Matthew and the problem at hand. Now she was no longer so hungry, she was well aware that she could be getting herself into a difficult situation.
‘Finished?’ He stubbed out his cigarette in the ash tray and called for the bill. Two shillings and threepence each, it was, Hetty could read the upside-down figures. That was a lot for a crab salad and ice cream, she thought, a little alarmed. Now she had really put herself in his debt.
‘We’ll walk down to the bottom esplanade, shall we?’ he asked as they came out of the restaurant and walked along Dundas Street to the cliff top. He took her arm and she was startled. By, he was treating her as though she were a lady, not a servant, a pitman’s daughter. Why was he so different? The time when she was fourteen and new to Fortune Hall flashed through her mind, the day when he had caught her upstairs by the main bedrooms. ‘A bundle of rags’ he had called her. The memory still burned but she pushed it away; it was different now, she was no longer a servant in his house.
They walked along by the shore to where the path turned for Hazel Grove and Hetty was reminded of the man who had been washed up there and how she had thought it might be Matthew, and shivered.
‘Cold?’ he asked, his tone solicitous. ‘Look, why don’t I hire a beach hut? We can sit out of the wind.’
There was a cold wind blowing from the sea. Families on the beach were sheltering behind brightly striped windbreaks, and white-tops were forming on the waves and running in to break and spread in foamy bubbles on the sand.
Hetty looked at the red wooden huts. Quite a number had their doors open and people were sitting inside in deckchairs. There was nothing wrong in the two of them sitting in a beach hut too, was there?
He left her on a bench where she could watch the cliff lift going up and down, spilling out children with wooden spades and tin buckets and their mothers with laden bags of sandwiches and towels and bathing suits. The children ran down on to the sands, excited, calling to one another. It was the beginning of the season and cold but they didn’t seem to notice.