The Servant Girl

by Maggie Hope

  Customers came in and Alice was soon busy serving them. The cafe tables began to fill up and Hetty took Penny into Alice’s front room and fed and changed her. This was the time she loved, a time of communion between her and her daughter. She spent at least an hour with her, rocking Penny to sleep when she had finished. Then she took her back into the cafe and put her down in the pram. By, it was going to come in handy, that pram.

  When Alice turned to her, Hetty was putting on her coat. ‘You’re off again?’ Alice asked, surprised.

  ‘Do you mind? I’ll take Penny. I thought I’d go to see Mr Jordan. You know, the chef at the George.’

  Alice helped her out with the old deep-bottomed pram she had picked up at the salerooms the day before and watched her walk down Milton Street until she turned the corner. Then she went back behind her counter, shaking her head.

  How she had worried about the girl when Mr Hutchins had told her Hetty had been turned off because he had married. She had wondered why Hetty hadn’t come back to Saltburn, though she had heard a nasty rumour put about by that woman from Diamond Street who had been her landlady. Alice didn’t believe the story anyway. She felt guilty that she hadn’t made more of an effort to find out where her friend had gone. It was obvious she had been taken down and the baby was the result. But the lass deserved a chance, she really did. Alice wished her all the luck in the world. And if Hetty didn’t want to talk about what had happened to her, then she for one wasn’t going to ask.

  Hetty took the pram round to the back of the George Hotel and parked it outside the kitchen door. Penny was fast asleep so she went in and found Mr Jordan, there by the stove as she had expected.

  ‘Now then, lass, it’s a while since we saw you,’ he greeted her. ‘Have you come looking for a job?’

  ‘Not exactly, Mr Jordan,’ she answered, ridiculously grateful that he had remembered her from the short time she had worked for him. ‘I’ve come to ask for your advice on a matter of business, but I see you’re busy. I can come back another time.’

  ‘Business advice? What about?’ He was intrigued and showed it.

  ‘I’m thinking of starting a small hotel.’

  ‘Go on! You’re pulling my leg.’

  ‘No, I’ve come into a bit of money and that’s what I want to do.’

  Mr Jordan studied her thoughtfully and made up his mind that she was serious. ‘Well, I don’t rightly know as I’m the one to advise you, lass,’ he said. ‘But never mind, come on, we’ll find a quiet corner and you can tell me all about it.’

  They walked along Marine Parade with Hetty wheeling the pram. He never asked about the baby’s father, though his eyes had widened for a moment when he saw the pram.

  He had peeped inside. ‘A little lass, is it?’ And as Hetty nodded, ‘A bonny one too.’ They walked as far as the Italian gardens.

  ‘I could do with the fresh air after being in the kitchen all morning,’ he said. ‘I usually take a bit of air in the afternoons.’ They sat on a bench in the gardens and Hetty told him her idea.

  ‘I thought just a small hotel, mebbe in one of the jewel streets. Do you think it’s daft? I was looking in the window of that estate agent’s in the square. There’s one in Ruby Street for £750. I haven’t got that but I could raise £600. Do you think I could get a mortgage for the rest?’

  Mr Jordan looked out over the rose beds where a gardener was busy clipping the last of the year’s flowers. £600! It was a fortune. He had been saving all his life yet he hadn’t £600. But still, it was maybe not quite enough for what she wanted. And looking at her, she seemed no more than sixteen, her cheeks flushed with the sea air, her dark hair framing her face. ‘I don’t know, lass, I think you might be too young. But I can make enquiries for you, if you like? I tell you what, I’ll do that.’

  Hetty was filled with a terrible disappointment as she walked back to Alice’s house with Penny, for Alice had said she could stay with her at least for a short while.

  ‘It’ll be grand having a baby in the house again,’ she had said. Her own two boys had emigrated to New Zealand and she heard very little of them. Lately the loneliness had grown worse, especially since Tom, her husband, had died last year.

  Next morning, before the cafe opened at eleven o’clock, there was a knock on the door. Hetty had been bathing Penny before the fire when Alice showed in Mr Jordan then tactfully left them alone.

  ‘I’ve been thinking, Hetty,’ he said. ‘And I have a proposition for you.’

  She laid Penny to sleep in the pram which took up one side of Alice’s small living room, thinking she would have to find somewhere else to live, it just wasn’t fair on her friend. Now she gave Mr Jordan the whole of her attention.

  ‘A proposition?’

  ‘Yes. Why ask for a mortgage? As I said, you aren’t likely to qualify, being under twenty-one. But I have a bit of a nest egg put by for when I retire and I’ve been thinking more and more of doing that lately.’

  ‘You mean, you would lend me the money?’ Hetty showed her surprise. Why, Mr Jordan didn’t know her that well. But he was shaking his head.

  ‘No, not exactly. But why can’t we be partners? I wouldn’t be putting as much in as you – say the £150 you’re short of the purchase price, plus another £200 to start us off.’

  ‘Eeh, I don’t know,’ said Hetty. ‘I hadn’t thought of taking a partner.’

  ‘No, but I’ve always dreamed of having my own little restaurant. You know I’ve a reputation in these parts for my cooking. You could run the hotel and I could run the restaurant. I know that place in Ruby Street, there’s ample room, and being a boarding house already, it must have the proper licences.’

  Hetty watched his face. It was animated, full of enthusiasm. And there was no doubt he was a good chef. People came from Middlesbrough and Stockton to eat at the George. But still, to have a partner? Even Mr Jordan. Yet there were advantages to having an older man as partner …

  ‘What does your wife say?’

  ‘I’m a widower. I’m on my own completely. Look, you would be the senior partner, we could get an agreement drawn up. After all, you would be putting more money towards it.’

  ‘Well, I don’t know …’

  Mr Jordan rose to his feet; ‘I have to go to work now. But promise me you’ll think about it at least?’

  ‘Oh yes, I will.’

  After he had gone, Hetty took Penny out for an airing, walking down Ruby Street and looking closely at the boarding house from the outside at least. It was double-fronted, three storeys high and with imposing bay windows angled to look over the sea, though they could do with a coat of paint. Oh yes, it could be upgraded to the status of a small hotel, it could indeed. But she would need to find more extra money than she was likely to get from the sale of the coins. Thoughtfully she carried on walking, going up to Station Square and pausing outside the estate agent’s. There in the window was the notice about the house. Ten bedrooms, one bathroom, large reception rooms and kitchens.

  It was the place for her, she knew it. Turning the pram round, she walked down to Marine Parade and the George Hotel. As she went, her imagination streaked ahead of her.

  She was already planning what she would do with the place, how she would make it more attractive than any other small hotel. She would put in another bathroom as a priority, maybe handbasins in the rooms if the budget would run to it. Pearson’s, she would call it. Just that, no fancy names. And Mr Jordan would make the restaurant famous too. And who knows? Pearson’s might be just the first of many such hotels, maybe a hotel in each of the jewel streets, and Penny would never, never have to go to place in some strange house where she was treated worse than dirt. Her daughter would have the best of everything.

  Hetty laughed at herself as she turned into the side of the George Hotel. By, it was good to have a dream but it was even better to have the means to make that dream come true! Or at least to make it take shape.

  Mr Jordan was working hard, putting the finishing touches
to plates of hor d’oeuvres. He looked up and his hand, holding a piece of lettuce, stayed in the air.

  ‘Well, lass?’

  ‘It’s a deal,’ said Hetty.

  PART TWO

  Chapter 29

  Penny stared out of her window, high up in Pearson’s Hotel in Ruby Street. From her vantage point she could see part of Marine Parade, and the sea to her left, and the junction of Ruby Street and Milton Street to her right – but either way, there was no sign of her mam yet.

  ‘I promise I’ll be back on Saturday morning,’ Mam had said before she went away on Thursday.

  ‘Let me come,’ Penny had begged. ‘I don’t like it here on my own.’

  ‘You’re not on your own,’ Mam had pointed out. ‘You’ll be at school tomorrow, and over the weekend there’s Nanny, and you’ll have Alice and Mr Jordan. But promise me you won’t bother him when he’s busy in the restaurant?’

  ‘I won’t,’ Penny had said, but she put her hand behind her back and crossed her fingers. ’Cause sometimes, if he wasn’t too busy, Mr Jordan would allow her to eat in the restaurant. She would sit at a special table by the window and the waiters would ask what madam would like and she would read from the menu backed in red leather with gold lettering on it. She could read everything on the menu, even though she was only five.

  Penny looked down the street and up the street, searching for Mam’s red car turning the corner. It was an Alvis. ‘A sports saloon,’ Steve had told her. Steve was one of the waiters and he loved cars, talked about them all the time. Penny liked Steve. Sometimes he was the one who walked her to school when everyone else was busy.

  Mam was always busy, she thought as she leaned forward for yet another look out of the window. Her thick dark hair fell forward, the slide holding it unequal to its task. She pushed it behind her ear impatiently. There was the car, just turning in from Marine Parade! Penny jumped down from the window seat.

  ‘Mammy’s here! Mammy’s here!’ she cried, and rushed to the door.

  ‘Be careful on the stairs, Penny,’ called Nanny, putting down the school dress she had been shortening and starting after her. ‘Penny! Not so fast.’

  But she was already on to the next landing, racing down the stairs, and when Hetty picked her weekend case out of the car and started up the steps to the hotel, Penny was there on the top step waiting for her. Hetty dropped the case and opened her arms wide and Penny jumped into them, almost knocking her mother over with the momentum.

  ‘Mam, where’ve you been? I’ve been waiting for ages and ages,’ she shouted as she wrapped her thin legs round her mother’s waist and buried her face in Hetty’s neck, breathing in the perfume which was her mother’s alone.

  ‘I came as soon as I could, pet,’ Hetty said and kissed the top of Penny’s head. ‘Come on now, let’s go inside, I’m famished. I set off before breakfast so I could have it with you.’

  Penny jumped down and picked up the weekend case, holding it with both hands, heaving it up the steps. Steve came out into the hall and took it from her.

  ‘Good morning, Mrs Pearson,’ he said. ‘Did you have a pleasant trip?’ He smiled at Hetty and then looked beyond her to the Alvis parked at the roadside, his glance anxious. But as far as he could see there were no bumps or dents in the gleaming bodywork. Hetty smiled. She knew well enough that Steve didn’t trust women drivers to treat cars with respect.

  ‘Morning, Steve. Yes, thank you, a very pleasant and successful trip. Will you bring breakfast up for us now, please?’

  Penny grinned at him as he nodded assent, and, still grasping her mother’s hand, she led the way up the stairs to their private rooms. Hetty allowed herself to be practically pulled up the staircase, listening as Penny told her all about what had happened at school the day before and how she had to read her composition aloud before the whole class.

  ‘It was supposed to be about our house, Mam, but I had to say we didn’t have a house, just rooms in the hotel, and Gladys Poole said everybody had a house unless they were very poor.’ She stopped her progress up the stairs and turned her clear grey gaze on her mother, and once again Hetty was struck by how like Richard’s her eyes were, and the way she tilted her head to one side when she was talking. Somehow Penny seemed to have nothing of Matthew in her yet it was strange how like she was to Richard. Hetty shook her head. It was ages since she had seen him, not since that day before Penny was born. Six years, in fact.

  ‘Mam? We’re not poor, are we, Mam?’

  Hetty laughed. ‘No, pet, we’re not poor. Come on, I’m starving.’

  Penny danced away into the flat where the table was already laid for breakfast. It wasn’t really a flat, their rooms were on two floors now. Two years ago Hetty had bought the George Hotel on Marine Parade and turned it into Pearson’s Marine Hotel. Pearson’s Ruby had been altered to turn the rooms into more spacious accommodation for the family. Now the restaurant occupied all of the ground floor and Mr Jordan reigned supreme over it.

  A wave of love washed over Hetty as she watched and listened to her daughter as she chatted on as though her mother had been gone for a month. She was so pretty, Hetty thought. Even though she was her mother and could be expected to think that, it was true. Penny was going to be a beauty, she knew it. But she was going to have the best education there was. She would never have to rely on men for her living. Never, never, never. No, Penny would go to university, she was clever. Why, she could even go to Oxford or Cambridge, why not?

  Steve came in with a tray of crisp bacon and scrambled eggs, light and fluffy and with just that extra something which Mr Jordan gave to them and which he vowed was a secret he would tell no one until Penny was old enough to be told. Nanny served the food and poured tea for Hetty and herself and milk for Penny. Nanny always ate with them. She had been with them practically from the beginning. In fact, it was only six months after Pearson’s was opened that Hetty had sent for her, for Nanny was Sylvia, the girl from the miners’ cottages near the house where Penny had been born, the girl who had helped Hetty as she’d recovered from Penny’s birth. She had fallen in love with the baby and though she was now nineteen years old, a plain girl with a motherly figure in spite of her youth, she still doted on Penny.

  ‘Eat your eggs, Penny,’ Sylvia was saying now. ‘Stop talking and eat your breakfast or you’ll be hungry again before dinner.’

  Hetty’s thoughts wandered, rambling over the last couple of days. Her trip had been successful, very successful. She had been after a hotel in Whitby, a modest place, little more than a boarding house but in a good position overlooking the harbour and with potential for improvement, just as Pearson’s Ruby had when she’d acquired it. But she had other things to think about this weekend, unconnected with business. She picked up the letter which lay beside her plate, the only letter in a cheap, handwritten envelope. There were several others but they were businesslike missives, buff envelopes typewritten.

  Hetty knew who it was from, of course, but she had put off opening it, terrified that it might be the final rejection. For never in all these six long years had she been back to Durham to see her family. The longer she had put it off, the harder it had seemed to her, actually to get into the car and go. But Penny had been asking about her family lately.

  ‘All the other girls have grans and granddads, Mam,’ she had said only last Wednesday evening. ‘But I told them, I’ve got Mr Jordan, haven’t I? He’s as good, isn’t he, Mam?’ Penny had looked up at her with those clear grey eyes and Hetty had been smitten with guilt.

  She had no right to deprive her daughter of her grandparents, no right at all, Hetty told herself. And after Penny had gone to bed she had written a letter to her parents. She had sat up long into the night with it, rejecting draft after draft until at last, in desperation, she didn’t even read the last one through but had thrust it into an envelope, stamped it and had gone out there and then and slipped it into the postbox in Milton Street. And immediately wished it back. Here was the answer, her mother
’s handwriting on the envelope and a Bishop Auckland postmark. The last time she had seen that was when she had sent a five-pound note in a Christmas card and Da had sent it back on Boxing Day with a curt note saying they didn’t need it. It had hurt, oh yes, it had hurt. And now she had to open the letter and read it. Hetty put down her knife and fork and picked up the letter, hurrying to get it open now and the rejection over with.

  Dear Hetty,

  I was so pleased to get your letter, I thought you had forgotten all about us. You will be very welcome to come home, you always have been, I thought you knew that? Sunday is a good day. We will be looking forward to seeing Penny.

  Yours faithfully,

  Mam

  Hetty carefully put the letter in its envelope and placed it beside her plate. She picked up her cup and drank some tea. Then she looked across at her daughter and said, ‘Penny, we’re going on an outing tomorrow. You needn’t go to Sunday School, we’ll be setting off at ten o’clock.’

  Penny beamed. ‘Where? Where to, Mam?’ She jumped up and down in her seat until Nanny had to put a restraining hand on her arm.

  ‘Wait and see, it’s a surprise,’ said Hetty.

  A knock on the door heralded Mr Jordan. Penny jumped down from her chair and ran to him and he swung her up in his arms and she giggled in delight. He looks younger now than he did when we started, thought Hetty. How old is he? Over seventy at the very least.

  ‘Well, sparrow,’ he said as he put the girl down. ‘Happy now you have your mother back home?’

  ‘Oh yes. Yes, I am, Mr Jordan,’ Penny said breathlessly. ‘And guess what? We’re going on an outing tomorrow. A surprise outing!’