‘But doesn’t she realize you’re ill?’
‘No! Well, she must hear me coughing sometimes, but she doesn’t comment. I take a spoonful of linctus every time I have to talk to her, and that helps a little.’
‘But doesn’t she see how pale and thin you’ve got?’
‘She’s an old lady, Hetty. She has cataracts and can barely see her own hand in front of her face.’
Mama looked like an old lady herself as she shuffled around the kitchen preparing a tea tray. She let me make the pot of tea, but she cut waferthin slices of bread and butter and arranged them in tiny triangles on the plate, with a pot of blackberry jam.
‘I gathered the blackberries myself and then made the jam,’ Mama said proudly. ‘You shall have a big slice in a moment, darling. Though I don’t think you deserve it. You’ve clearly been a very bad girl. I thought you were happy working for this Mr Buchanan. You liked it that he was a writer.’
‘I’ve never liked him. He thinks he’s a great writer, but his stories are dull dull dull. And then he took my memoirs, Mama – my story, our story – and was using it to write his own story. So I confronted him.’
‘Hmm! You don’t “confront” your employer, Hetty.’
‘Sapphire! Won’t you call me by my true name, Mama?’
‘Sapphire, Hetty, whichever name. You’re still my dear, headstrong, wilful daughter, and goodness knows what I’m going to do with you!’ said Mama.
A bell on the wall suddenly jangled, making us both jump. Mama started coughing again, holding her handkerchief over her face. ‘She’s … awake! Wants … tea!’ she gasped.
‘Oh, Mama, you poor thing, don’t try to talk. Look, sit down. Can’t I take the old girl her wretched tea? If she’s half blind, maybe she won’t notice it’s me and not you.’
‘Don’t talk … so daft,’ said Mama. She gave one last cough, clutching the handkerchief, then crumpled it up quickly and tucked it in her apron.
‘Mama?’
She ignored me, took the tray, and carried it out of the kitchen, her poor stick arms taut and straining. I couldn’t bear it and tried to take the tray off her, but she glared at me ferociously and I had to give way. I watched her walk slowly up the stairs, her breath rasping, shoulders hunched. Oh dear Lord, this was my lovely young mother, my Ida, who had raced up and down the steep stairs at the hospital and lugged great vats of porridge around.
When she came back, scarcely able to draw breath, I sat her down and poured her a cup of tea. I urged her to eat her own bread and jam, but she said she wasn’t hungry.
‘You must eat, Mama. Look how thin you are,’ I said, taking her poor little hands in mine. They were cold, though when I felt her forehead, it was still burning.
‘Mama, please. I can’t bear to see you looking so frail and exhausted. You’re very ill, no matter what you say. You must go to bed – and I must call a doctor.’
‘I can’t go to bed, Hetty dear. I have to make the supper. And we certainly can’t call the doctor. He charges a fortune! There’s nothing he can do for me anyway. I shall take another dose of my linctus. The only other medicine I need is you, my darling girl. Oh, Hetty, I still can’t believe you’re actually here!’
I stopped trying to press Mama and helped her cook supper. I made an apple pie to show off my pastry skills, and basked in Mama’s praise.
‘Perhaps we might get you a job as a little cook after all!’ she said. ‘Miss Smith might be able to set you up again.’
I kept quiet. I wasn’t going back to Miss Smith. I wasn’t going to be a cook. I wasn’t going anywhere now. I was going to stay right here and look after Mama.
MAMA LET ME stay in her room that night. I crept quietly up the stairs, my shoes in my hand, while Mama gave Miss Roberts her nighttime cup of cocoa and settled her in her bed.
Mama’s room was up in the attic. It made me want to weep, seeing all her modest possessions again: her little violet vase, her brush and comb, her special soap, her bundle of letters from me. She had a narrow iron bed, but I was sure there was just about room for two, especially if we wound our arms around each other. But Mama wouldn’t hear of it.
She fetched fresh linen from the press, a cushion from the sofa in the drawing room, and a thick cashmere shawl belonging to Miss Roberts.
‘Here, Hetty, I’ll make you up a separate little bed fit for a queen,’ she said.
‘It’s lovely, Mama, but I’d sooner sleep with you.’
‘No, darling.’
‘But why? I used to creep into your bed sometimes back at the hospital.’
‘I don’t want you too near me, in case … in case you catch my cough,’ said Mama, and she wouldn’t be swayed.
So I bedded down in my cosy nest on the floor, and Mama lay on her bed. I edged nearer in the night and put my arm up, so that I could just about reach her hand.
‘You’ll give yourself dreadful pins and needles,’ she whispered.
‘I don’t care if I get pins and needles all over. I need to hold onto you. Oh, Mama, I’ve missed you so.’
‘And I have missed you, my Hetty,’ said Mama.
We clung tightly to each other’s hand. I think Mama might have been crying. I know I was.
I woke very early. Mama was coughing, her hands clamped over her mouth to muffle the sounds. I got up and propped her up on my cushion as well as her pillows. It eased her chest slightly and made her cough less.
‘Better now, Mama?’
‘Much better, sweetheart,’ she whispered. ‘Now, I have been trying to work out the best way to get you a new position. I’m wondering whether I should write to Miss Smith to explain the situation, though I know my spelling leaves a lot to be desired. I don’t want to let you down, Hetty.’
‘You could never let me down, Mama! But I don’t see that there’s much point telling Miss Smith. I am sure she will take Mr Buchanan’s side, I just know it. He’ll tell her lies about keeping my memoirs to help improve my grammar and writing style.’
‘But she must be fond of you. She’s taken such an interest in you these last few years, and she’s been so kind forwarding all our letters. I’m sure she might give you a character to help you find another position.’
‘The only position I want is right here, Mama. I want to be with you.’
‘And I want that too, darling, with all my heart, but I’m not sure how we can keep you hidden away day after day. Miss Roberts is infirm, but she still totters from room to room using her walking stick. If she were to come upon you unawares, she’d be very shocked – and then I would lose my position.’
‘But you’ve said she’s a kind old lady. If you told her you’ve been reunited with your long-lost daughter, surely she’d be happy for you and want us to be together? I could work for her too. I would fetch and carry and do her sewing. I could even write her letters for her.’
‘Hetty, Hetty, you still don’t understand the ways of the world. I am her servant. I’m not expected to have a daughter, especially one born out of wedlock. She would think it terribly lax and immoral to condone such a situation.’
‘I think it’s terribly lax and immoral of her to let you wait on her hand and foot. Even if she’s totally blind, she can surely hear how ill you are every time you cough,’ I said hotly.
‘Ssh! She’ll hear you,’ said Mama. She swung her legs out of bed and tried to get up, but the movement made her cough again. Her hand searched all round the bed as she shook and gasped, looking for her handkerchief. She found it at last and held it to her mouth, while I stood beside her helplessly, patting her poor heaving back. She was so thin that her shoulder blades were as sharp as knives.
‘Please, Mama, get back into bed,’ I begged, but she wouldn’t listen. She stood up, still coughing, staggering over to her washstand in her old nightgown. She stood with one hand clutching the tiled top, her knuckles white. She gave one last heave. I saw the handkerchief at her lips suddenly darken with bright blood.
‘Mama!’ I stared i
n terror. She tried to hide the handkerchief, but it was too late.
‘You’re coughing blood!’
‘Only a little, because it’s such a hacking cough. Oh, Hetty, don’t stare like that. See, the cough has stopped. I’m better now.’
I had a pain in my own chest, my heart beating fast. This wasn’t just a troublesome cough. This was far more sinister. I knew what I had to do now. I wouldn’t tell Mama because she’d argue with me and get agitated.
We both washed and dressed, and then I crept downstairs with Mama and helped her light the range and prepare breakfast.
‘You’re such a grand, capable girl now, Hetty. I’m so proud of you,’ said Mama.
Miss Roberts stayed in bed to have her breakfast, and then fell asleep again as she read the morning newspaper. I peeped round her bedroom door to catch a glimpse of her. She was a stout little old lady who looked as if she’d been stuffed with pillows. I couldn’t tell how many chins she had when she was awake, but she had at least four when lying down dozing. Her mouth was open, showing just two teeth at the top and two at the bottom, like a baby. She was wearing a large flounced nightcap, but from the curled grey wig on its stand on her dressing table I guessed she was as bald as a baby too. She was certainly as helpless as an infant. Mama had to help her wash and dress and visit the WC. It seemed so desperately unfair when Mama was the one who was so ill.
I was determined Mama was going to have the best medical treatment, no matter how costly. I tipped out the entire contents of the housekeeping jar and tied all the coins in a handkerchief in my pocket. I was careful not to chink the coins, not wanting Mama to hear.
When Miss Roberts woke for her mid-morning cup of Camp coffee, I knew Mama was going to be busy getting her up and dressed and ready for luncheon.
‘May I go out for a little walk, Mama?’ I asked.
‘Of course you can, Hetty. It will do you good to have some air. Take care to watch where you’re going, though. I don’t want you to get lost,’ said Mama.
As if I would ever lose my dear Mama now! I set off on my search, walking down to the sea front. I was momentarily distracted by the beach. There were children already playing on the pale sands. I had an urge to rip off my shoes and stockings and run around too. There were bathing machines lined up right along the sands, and quite a few folk bobbing up and down in the waves in maroon and navy bathing dresses, their faces red with sunburn. I’d never swum, but it looked splendid fun.
I watched for a minute, and then looked around. I saw an old gentleman laboriously pushing an elderly lady in a bathchair. They looked as if they must visit a doctor regularly.
‘Excuse me, sir, madam,’ I said, bobbing them a polite little curtsy. ‘Might you know where there is a good doctor here in Bignor?’
‘Are you poorly, little lass? You look as fit as a fiddle to me,’ said the old man.
‘It’s my mama. She’s got a very bad cough. She urgently needs a doctor,’ I said.
‘Then our Dr Jenkins is the man for her. I had a terrible throat this winter and he made a new man of me. He stopped me coughing in no time,’ said the old man. ‘Dr Jenkins, twenty-two Magnolia Square.’
‘What’s that you’re telling her?’ said the old lady, rearing up in her bath chair and squinting at me. ‘She’s a little maid, Henry. She’d never be able to afford Dr Jenkins.’
‘Oh yes I can, ma’am,’ I said, and I marched off, jingling the coins in my pocket.
I went back down the promenade to the painted map and found Magnolia Square easily enough. The houses were tall and grand, with beautiful pink flowering trees in their front gardens. I found number twenty-two – and there was a gentleman walking briskly down the steps, carrying a black bag.
I’d seen a black bag like that before, when the doctor was called to the hospital. I’d been very ill, but he had made me better.
‘Oh please, sir, are you Dr Jenkins?’ I asked, rushing up to him.
‘I am indeed, my dear. I’m off on my rounds now.’
‘Oh please, could you call at number eighteen Saltdean Lane? It’s very urgent!’
‘Is your mistress ill?’
‘No, it’s Mama – but don’t worry, I have lots of money and can pay you royally.’
His mouth quivered. ‘What ails your mama, child?’
‘She has a very frightening cough, so much that she spits blood. She’s grown very thin and tired, and has a burning fever,’ I gabbled.
Dr Jenkins looked grave now. ‘I will fit her in at the end of my rounds.’
‘Oh thank you! Number eighteen – you won’t forget? And do you think you will be able to make her better?’
‘I will do what I can to help her,’ he said.
‘Shall I give you the money now?’ I said, fumbling for my handkerchief of coins.
‘No, no, wait until I’ve seen your mama. Number eighteen Saltdean Lane – you see, I haven’t forgotten.’
I ran all the way back to Mama’s house, in spite of the hidden coins jingling in my pocket. I glanced up at the windows of number eighteen and there was Miss Roberts, dressed now, peering down at me. I had to look away quickly and walk on down the road purposefully, then steal back ten minutes later. There was no sign of her now. I nipped round to the back door and tapped softly for Mama.
‘There you are, dearie! My, your walk has done you good. You’ve got lovely pink cheeks! But we’ll have to find you a sunhat. Redheads burn easily – they’ve got such fine white skin.’
‘Have I really got fine skin, Mama? I thought my blue eyes were my only good feature.’
‘You’re fine all over, Hetty – the best girl in the whole world – though you’re not good, you’re very, very bad, cheeking your master so terribly. But I’ve been thinking carefully about your predicament.’
‘Mama, I told you, I’m not contacting Miss Smith. I’m not leaving you now.’
‘Listen to me, Hetty! I’ve been thinking hard while I’ve been fussing round Miss Roberts. She’s got several old lady friends she takes tea with from time to time. I hear them all a-moaning and a-grumbling about their own maids. They’ve all got to the stage where they need nurses as well as maids, but they don’t want to pay a double wage. I’ve heard them say that Miss Roberts is a very lucky lady having me—’
‘And she is!’
‘So I was wondering—’ Mama broke off to cough, her face flushing painfully. ‘Perhaps we could find you a position with one of these old girls – and then we could write to Miss Smith and ask if she could give you a character, like she did me.’
‘Oh, Mama! What would she put? Hetty Feather has a temper to match her red hair. She shrieks like a banshee if thwarted. She attacks her employer if he confiscates her property. These old ladies might be a bit dotty, but surely they’d not be impressed by that.’
‘I agree with you! I know we can’t expect Miss Smith to tell an outright lie, but she could temper her words a little. She could write something like: Hetty Feather is a warm-hearted, willing girl who works well and will be very true and loyal if treated kindly.’
‘You give me a character, Mama!’
‘I wish I could! There’s no better daughter in the whole world,’ said Mama. Then she started coughing again – so badly that she had to sit down at the kitchen table. I ran to get her linctus and poured her two great spoonfuls, but it didn’t seem to have any effect. By the time the paroxysm stopped we were both in tears.
I took Mama in my arms and held her tightly. I could feel all her little sparrow bones. She was trembling, but she relaxed against me for a moment, and then feebly tried to push me away.
‘Don’t get too near, Hetty,’ she whispered. ‘I’d tear my own heart out if I infected you.’
‘It’s all right, Mama. Don’t worry. We’re going to get you well again,’ I said fiercely. ‘Just you wait.’
I was on tenterhooks for the rest of the morning, waiting for Dr Jenkins to come calling. But he didn’t come and didn’t come and didn’t come. Mama
cooked Miss Roberts a mutton chop for her lunch, with a little mashed potato. We had a big plate of mash sprinkled with grated cheese – though Mama barely touched hers.
‘You must eat, Mama. You’ve got so thin,’ I said. I tried holding the fork to her lips, coaxing her like a baby.
When we’d done the washing-up together, Mama set about writing a letter to Miss Smith. I saw how long it took her to spell out the simplest words and my heart ached for her.
‘You must tell me when I make mistakes, Hetty. I know I’m very ignorant,’ she said, blushing.
‘No you’re not! You write a lovely letter,’ I lied firmly.
Then at last I heard a knocking at the front door.
‘I’ll go!’ I said, jumping up.
‘No! No, Hetty, let me—’ said Mama, struggling to her feet, but it made her cough again, and she had to cling to the table to stay upright.
I ran through the kitchen and out into the hallway to the front door. I flung it open, and there was Dr Jenkins, carrying his black bag.
‘You came after all!’ I said.
‘I am a man of my word,’ he said. ‘Now, where is the patient?’
He looked towards the stairs, expecting to be taken up to a bedroom, but I led him down the hallway and through to the kitchen.
‘Hetty!’ Mama gasped. ‘What are you doing, showing the gentleman into the kitchen! I’m so sorry, sir. I’ll take you to the drawing room directly. Have you come to see Miss Roberts?’
‘No, I rather think I’ve come to see you,’ said Dr Jenkins. ‘You don’t look at all well, my dear.’ He put a hand on Mama’s forehead. ‘You have a fever – and I heard you coughing when I was in the hall.’
‘No, sir, not me. I am fine,’ Mama insisted, looked terribly flustered.
‘It’s all right, Mama. Tell the gentleman all your symptoms. I’ve fetched him for you. He’s a doctor so he’ll make you better.’
‘Oh, Hetty, what have you done?’ said Mama, starting to cry.
‘Mama, don’t. You need a doctor. And don’t worry about money – I’m going to pay. Look, I have lots of money hidden in my handkerchief.’
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