‘What are you doing sitting here, making my steps look untidy, boy?’ said Mrs Briskett.
‘Ain’t it obvious, Mrs B? I’ve been waiting to see you three lovely ladies come home from church,’ said Bertie. He blinked his eyes in an exaggerated fashion. ‘My, you’re a dazzling sight – enough to unsettle a simple lad like me.’
‘You’re simple, all right,’ said Sarah, swatting at him with her hymn book.
‘Why weren’t you in church too, you bad boy?’ said Mrs Briskett.
‘Is the church a place for miserable sinners, Mrs B?’
‘Of course it is!’
‘Ah, but you see, I’m not a miserable sinner. I’m a very cheerful little saint, so I don’t need no churching, do I?’
‘You need a good hiding, that’s what you need,’ said Sarah, untying her bonnet strings. ‘Don’t you let our Hetty go walking with that boy, Mrs B – or he’ll lead her astray.’
‘I don’t have any evil intentions!’ said Bertie indignantly. ‘I just want to show her around a little, her being brought up in that queer hospital. She needs to see a bit more of the world than your kitchen and scullery, Mrs B, excellent and immaculate though they are.’
‘Listen to him!’ said Mrs Briskett. ‘He’s got such a way with words he sets your head spinning. Well, take young Hetty off for a nice little walk, then. Just for an hour or two, mind. We have early supper now, seeing as one of us chooses to go out gallivanting of a Sunday evening, meddling with all sorts.’
‘I’ll thank you to hold your tongue and mind your own business, Mrs B,’ said Sarah haughtily, and flounced indoors.
‘That gullible girl,’ said Mrs Briskett, sighing and sucking her teeth. ‘Now, you behave yourself, young Hetty, and be back here by half past five – well, six at the latest. And you behave yourself too, boy, or I’ll be after you and I’ll box your ears good and proper.’ She bustled through the back door, still issuing dire warnings.
Bertie rolled his eyes at me. ‘Them two old birds, fuss fuss fuss! How do you stand it, Hetty?’
‘They’re all right. They mean well,’ I said awkwardly. I didn’t like them fussing either, but I found I didn’t care to hear Bertie criticizing them. In a short space of time they’d become almost like family.
‘Come on, then,’ said he, stepping out jauntily.
He was wearing his Sunday best – a brown suit, a little tight, and shiny in the seat, with such a stiff starched collar he had to hold his head up high the whole time. His unruly hair was slicked down flat, perhaps with perfume, because he smelled powerfully sweet.
Two smirking young girls from church walked past arm in arm, tossing their heads in their dainty bonnets and swishing their fine velvet skirts. They obviously knew Bertie, because they nudged each other and grinned and giggled – and then turned their noses up at me. I pulled a ferocious face again, but I didn’t smooth it out quickly enough. Bertie saw and stared at me.
‘Well, that’s a happy face! What are you looking like that for?’
‘I’m not pulling a face at you. I’m pulling a face at them,’ I said, nodding over my shoulder at the girls.
‘Why’s that, then?’ said Bertie, swaggering. ‘Did you see them making those sheep’s eyes at me? Don’t take it to heart, Hetty. I can’t help if they’re a little bit sweet on me. They work in the draper’s over the road from us, so we’re on nodding terms, but there’s nothing serious between us, I swear.’
‘Don’t be so full of yourself, it’s very annoying. I didn’t give a hoot about the way they were looking at you. I minded the way they looked at me.’
‘What way was that, Hetty?’ He sounded puzzled, as if he truly didn’t have any idea.
‘They looked down their pretty little noses because I’m small and plain and haven’t got any bright fancy Sunday clothes. I just have to go out in my drab daily work dress.’
‘What?’ said Bertie. ‘Look, I like you being so small. It makes me feel almost big, see. And you’ve got a dear little face, with the biggest blue eyes.’
‘Yes, they are my best feature. Sapphire blue.’
‘There you are, then. And you don’t need any bright fancy clothes, not with your flaming hair. It’s all the colour you need.’
‘Do you really think so?’ I said.
‘Course I do. Now come on, step lively, we’ve a long way to go, and if I don’t get you back by six o’clock, old Mother Briskett will chop the rest of my fingers off and serve them up in a fricassé on toast.’
I walked beside him, almost running to keep up with his brisk step.
‘So do you think my blue eyes make up for my being plain?’ I asked, after a minute.
Bertie burst out laughing. ‘My, for a little orphan girl you act like a princess at times, wanting all the compliments,’ he said.
‘I’m not an orphan.’
‘All right, all right – you’re not an orphan. And you’re not plain neither. You’re pretty as a picture. Happy now?’
I found I was happy as I stepped out beside him. I peered around at all the people on the pavement: girls walking with linked arms, boys in small clusters, couples walking along sedately, with little children running ahead bowling hoops. It still seemed so extraordinary that people were free to wander where they wanted, while all the foundlings were locked up in the hospital month after month, year after year.
‘What’s up now?’ said Bertie, seeing my expression change.
‘Nothing. I was just thinking back—’
‘No, you don’t want to do that. The trick is to think forward, see. Come on, Hetty, step out.’
‘Where are we going, then?’
‘You’ll see when we get there – but you’ll like it, I promise.’
‘Is it … the country?’
‘What? No, don’t be silly, I’m a city lad. I don’t want to take you where it’s all messy and muddy, and the folk are a bit backward and suck straws, and all the men lumber about in them frocks.’
‘Smocks.’
‘Well, they look ridiculous on a gent, whatever you call them. Great lummocks, they look.’
‘No they don’t!’ I said fiercely. I remembered my foster father’s smock – the warm earthy smell of it, the tickle of the stitching against my cheek when I cuddled up close. It had seemed the most manly of garments then. I wondered if Jem wore a smock nowadays.
‘You know nothing about the country and country ways,’ I said to Bertie. ‘It’s beautiful in the country.’ I thought of the cottage where I’d lived for five happy years. It shimmered in my mind – the cosy thatch, the roses and hollyhocks, the open fire, the inglenook, the little bedrooms under the eaves. I had to sniff to stop myself bursting into tears.
‘Hey now, don’t upset yourself! I didn’t mean to cause any offence. Heaven save us if we’re arguing already!’
‘I lived in the country when I was a little girl,’ I said.
‘Well, that’s fine and dandy, then. You can be my little Hetty Hayseed. Just blink those sapphire-blue eyes and look happy again, eh?’
‘My mother was going to call me Sapphire,’ I said proudly. ‘That was her secret name for me.’
‘Really? Gawd knows what my mother’s name for me was. Trouble, most likely – or Mr-Bawl-his-head-off,’ said Bertie.
We walked past the park where I’d met Tommy, the huge hound. I looked for him hopefully, wanting to show off that I knew such a fierce animal, but he wasn’t bounding around today. There was a cricket match taking place, so we peered through the railings to watch for a minute or two.
‘Seems like it’s the slowest game on the planet,’ said Bertie. ‘Still, the chaps look good in their fancy whites. Are you a sporty girl, Hetty? You look like a whippy little thing. Good at running, are you?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘The girls at the hospital didn’t do sports, only the boys. I think perhaps I’d like to run.’
‘Well, when we get out of town you’ll get a chance to run, I promise.’
W
e went along the main shopping street.
‘There’s Dedman’s the grocer. I’ve shopped there,’ I said proudly.
‘I’ll show you my shop, shall I – though it don’t look right all shut up on a Sunday, without all the meat hanging outside.’ Bertie pointed out Jarvis the master butcher’s, and showed me all the other shops too, telling me tales of all the folk who worked there. I yawned ostentatiously when he spoke about the draper’s shop, and silly simpering Kitty and Ivy who worked there.
‘You seem to know everyone, Bertie,’ I said.
‘That’s right, I do. But they don’t know me. They just think I’m Jarvis’s boy, the cheeky lad who gives them lip. They don’t even know my name, most of them.’
‘You told me your name straight off.’
‘Yes, because I knew you were different. I sensed it as soon as I saw you. We’re children of circumstance, you and me, Hetty. We’re going to have to make our own way in the world.’
‘That’s right,’ I said, smiling at him.
‘Come on, then – not too far to go now.’
The shops petered out. We went down shabby alleyways, past warehouses and a reeking fishery.
‘Is this your favourite place?’ I asked, wrinkling my nose.
‘Patience, Miss Sarcastic. You’ll like it, you really will,’ said Bertie.
He led me onwards, down further alleyways, and then under the bridge by the railway. It was very dark.
‘Bertie?’ I said nervously.
‘It’s fine,’ he said, taking my hand. ‘It echoes – listen: Hello, Hetty Feather!’
Ten Bertie voices shouted hello from every angle. I laughed, and ten Hettys laughed too.
‘I’m not Hetty, I’m Sapphire Battersea!’ I shouted at the top of my lungs – and the darkness sang out my special name in a magnificent chorus.
Then we were out on the other side of the bridge, and it was as if we’d stepped into another world entirely. We were down by the river. I’d seen the Thames before, but only in the middle of London, slick with grease and stinking to high heaven. The river here was fresh and sparkling, and little rowing boats and canoes bobbed up and down on the waves.
We were in a long green park by the riverside, crowded with Sunday-afternoon revellers enjoying the sunshine.
‘Take a little run, Hetty!’ said Bertie.
I hitched up my skirt and charged ahead. I thought I was running fast, but Bertie easily overtook me. We stopped to catch our breath, both of us laughing. There was a little stand in the middle of the grass with a brass band playing, the men in stripped blazers and straw hats. Couples sat on little white chairs, and children ran about, whirling round and round to the music.
Bertie and I sat and listened too. He sang along with the music – saucy words to jolly tunes.
‘Don’t you know this one too, Hetty?’
‘I’ve only ever heard hymns or harvest songs,’ I said.
‘I’ll take you to the music hall one day,’ Bertie promised. ‘Fancy a boat ride now?’
‘Can we really?’
‘You bet we can!’
He paid for the hire of a rowing boat for half an hour. It was great fun getting into the boat, because it tipped like crazy and we wobbled about. Bertie very nearly tumbled in headfirst, clearly not quite as experienced a boatman as he was making out.
I seized the oars excitedly.
‘That’s my job!’ said Bertie.
‘Oh, let me try, please!’ I begged.
It wasn’t as simple as I’d thought. It proved really hard work just pulling the oars together through the water. My arms couldn’t pull with equal strength, and the boat started spinning in a circle.
‘You’re making me dizzy,’ Bertie laughed. ‘Come on, let me show you.’
He took the oars and rowed us swiftly along beside the river bank. ‘You just sit back and enjoy yourself,’ he said.
I was a little irritated, but I sat back obediently, trailing my hand in the water. There were so many boats bobbing about us that I kept calling out, worried we’d crash, but Bertie steered us in and out and round about, and soon we were gliding along in deeper waters.
‘Can’t I have another go now, please, Bertie?’ I begged.
He let me try again, and I started to get the hang of it at last, though every now and then my oar missed the water altogether or I ‘caught a crab’.
‘You’re doing very well, Hetty, but it looks bad, a puny little girl rowing a strong lad like me. Let me take charge to save my blushes,’ said Bertie, removing his jacket and rolling up his sleeves.
‘You just want to show off those muscles,’ I said, but I let him have his way.
He rowed us swiftly to a little island in the middle of the river, where he moored the boat. ‘There, let’s have a bit of rest here. You could have a little paddle if you wanted, Hetty.’
‘I think I’ll do just that! Turn your back while I take off my stockings, then.’
I kicked off my ugly boots, rolled down my itchy woollen stockings and stepped into the water. It came up to my knees, so I had to hold my dress up to stop the hem getting soaked.
‘You’d better keep your back turned, Bertie,’ I said, capering about.
He peeked at me, of course, but I didn’t get cross. I didn’t really care. It just felt so delicious to have my hot sore feet in the cold water. I remembered paddling in the stream with Jem years back, and felt a fierce pang for him now. I wished I was with him – and yet Bertie was fun too, far better company than I’d thought he’d be.
He smiled at me from the grassy bank, waving his arms about to ease them. He was barely an inch taller than me, but he really did have great strong muscles – which of course he flexed ostentatiously when he saw me watching.
‘You’re like a little water baby,’ he said as I splashed about. ‘Why don’t you go right in swimming?’
‘For two pins I would,’ I said, wishing I was young enough to tumble in nearly naked like some little children further up the bank.
‘You’re a girl and a half, you are, Hetty. So, you like my special place, yes?’
‘I like it very much,’ I said, coming to sit beside him.
‘And do you like me?’ he asked, looking me straight in the eye.
‘I reckon I do like you, Bertie,’ I said, but when he tried to take my hand, I swatted his away. ‘None of that now! No romancing!’
‘Go on, Hetty, just let me put my arm round you – to keep you from falling in.’
‘You’re the one in danger of falling in if you don’t watch out,’ I said, giving him a little poke. The sweet smell of his perfume was overpowering in the heat.
‘What’s up? Why are you wrinkling that little nose of yours?’ he asked.
‘I thought it was ladies who were meant to wear the perfume,’ I said.
He wriggled, looking uncomfortable. ‘Sorry. I do stink a bit, I know. I just poured Jarvis’s pomade all over me because I didn’t want to smell of meat, see.’
‘Oh, Bertie.’ I took his hand voluntarily now. ‘You smell fine. Thank you for bringing me here. It’s truly lovely.’
‘I’d like a little house here, right on the island. Wouldn’t it be grand to wake up to the sound of water lapping all around? I’ve often toyed with the idea of throwing in my job with old Jarvis and running off to sea,’ he said dreamily.
‘My father was a sailor,’ I said. ‘Well, so I’ve been told. I’ve never met him. He ran off before I was born.’
‘My pa did likewise. I don’t even know who he was. Could have been Old Nick for all I know or care. Well, lovely as it is, I’d better get you back. We’ll have to hurry to get you home by six or Mrs B will have my guts for garters.’
‘Do you care what she says, then?’
‘Course I don’t – but I want her to let you out next Sunday – and the Sunday after that, and all the Sundays following. I’ve taken a fancy to you, Hetty Feather. You’re my girl now.’
I wasn’t sure I should go along w
ith this. Wasn’t I Jem’s girl?
‘You know I’m only just fourteen,’ I said.
‘And I’m fifteen, and so we’re just the right ages for each other,’ said Bertie. ‘Don’t worry, Hetty, I promise I won’t lead you astray.’
‘I’d like to see you try!’ I said, jumping back into the boat.
It rocked violently, so that I had to sit down abruptly and cling to the sides.
‘Whoops! You nearly went for a swim after all!’ said Bertie.
He rowed us back to the boathouse and then brought us both a hokey-pokey to eat on our way home. I bit into my iced cream, and shuddered as the cold ran up my teeth and all round my gums.
‘Don’t bite it, girl – lick it!’ said Bertie, showing me how.
I licked and licked and licked.
‘What do you think of it?’ he asked.
‘It’s heavenly!’ I said, grinning all over my face.
An old couple passing by laughed at me. ‘She looks as if she’s never tasted iced cream before!’ said the old woman, chuckling.
‘Well, she hasn’t. She’s a poor little orphan girl only just out of the Foundling Hospital,’ said Bertie.
‘Oh, bless her,’ said the old man, fumbling in his waistcoat pocket. ‘Here’s a threepenny, dearie. Treat yourself to another.’
I was shocked speechless, staring at the silver threepenny bit in the palm of my hand.
‘Well, there’s a turn-up!’ said Bertie.
‘I’m not an orphan! How many times do I have to tell you?’ I said.
‘Go and give him his threepence back, then,’ said Bertie.
‘No fear! It’s mine,’ I said, popping it into my pocket.
‘Oh well, you can buy the lollipops next week,’ said Bertie.
When we got back to Mr Buchanan’s home, he squeezed my hand. ‘There will be a next week, won’t there, Hetty?’ he said.
‘Yes … please!’
‘I’ll deliver you back, then,’ said Bertie.
Sarah was in her purple bonnet, all ready for her mysterious assignation.
‘You can take off that bonnet and have a spot of supper before you go, or you’ll be coming over poorly,’ said Mrs Briskett, consulting her pocket watch. ‘And what time do you call this, then?’ she said, frowning at us.
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