Sapphire Battersea

by Jacqueline Wilson

  ‘Hush, child,’ said Dr Jenkins. ‘Perhaps you can make us a cup of tea while I examine your mother.’

  I did as I was told. Mama continued weeping while he listened to her chest and asked her many questions. She answered in a monotone, barely polite, but the doctor treated her gently, with respect.

  ‘I think you know my diagnosis, don’t you?’ he said eventually, sitting down beside Mama and sipping his tea.

  Mama nodded.

  ‘You have an advanced case of phthisis,’ Dr Jenkins said quietly.

  ‘What’s that? Please, is it serious, Doctor?’ I asked fearfully, hating the hissing sound of the sinister little word.

  ‘I’m afraid it is, Hetty. Your mother is consumptive, and has been for some while. It’s a wonder she has been able to keep her position,’ he said.

  ‘But I’m going to lose it now, aren’t I?’ Mama said, and started coughing again.

  He waited until the paroxysms stopped. ‘My dear, how can you carry on in this state? And you know and I know that I have to tell your mistress.’

  ‘And you know and I know that she will cast me out, and I will have nowhere to go. I doubt even the workhouse will take me in this state,’ said Mama.

  ‘I am going to see if I can admit you to the local infirmary,’ said Dr Jenkins. ‘There is a special ward for consumptive patients.’

  ‘And will they make Mama better there?’ I asked.

  ‘They will give her every care,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, but can they cure her?’ I said desperately.

  ‘I think you are going to have to be a good brave girl, Hetty, and learn one of life’s saddest lessons. We often lose the people we love the most.’

  I WOULDN’T BELIEVE it. I tried not to let Mama believe it either.

  ‘You’re not going to die, Mama. I won’t let you! I will care for you and feed you and nurse you, and do every single thing for you so that you never have to move, and then you won’t cough, and then you will get better, just you wait and see,’ I declared.

  But Mama just shook her head very sadly, without even enough spirit to argue with me. She was proved horribly right about Miss Roberts. Mama had cared for her so devotedly – but as soon as the doctor broke the news to her that Mama had consumption, she panicked.

  ‘She must leave this house immediately!’ she screamed, so loudly that Mama and I could hear her downstairs. ‘I can’t have any sickness here! She might infect me! I will have to have the whole house thoroughly cleansed and disinfected. I will have to go to the trouble of training a new maid in my ways, and I’m a sick old woman myself. Oh, why did she have to do this to me? How will I ever get a maid to replace Ida?’

  ‘What a selfish, wicked woman!’ I exclaimed. ‘She doesn’t give a thought for you, Mama.’

  ‘She’s simply frightened,’ said Mama. ‘Go to her, Hetty. Here’s your chance. Tell her that you will care for her.’

  ‘I’m not working for her!’ I cried.

  ‘Hetty, please, will you try? One of us has to work – and it looks as if I am finished.’

  ‘Don’t! All right, Mama, I will go and talk to her.’

  I’d sooner have worked for Matron Stinking Bottomly than for this self-centred, wretched woman who didn’t have a word of compassion for my dear sick mama – but I could not deny her anything now.

  ‘Try to be very polite!’ said Mama.

  I went up the stairs and knocked on her door.

  ‘Who’s that? If it’s you, Ida, you can’t come in! I daren’t risk the infection – and I mustn’t upset myself. I am a sick woman, aren’t I, Doctor?’

  I swallowed hard while he murmured to her. I wanted to burst in and boot her right out of bed, but I entered her room quietly, and bobbed her a deferential curtsy.

  ‘Ah, the little daughter,’ said Dr Jenkins.

  ‘Whose daughter? Ida’s?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am – and I can take over Mama’s duties while she’s in the infirmary,’ I said meekly. ‘I have been trained as a servant and can cook and clean. Please let me assist you, ma’am. I am quick to learn.’

  ‘There now, Miss Roberts!’ said Dr Jenkins. ‘Here is the answer to your prayers.’

  ‘No, no, absolutely not! Don’t let that girl come near me! She might have the infection too. And I can’t have a child born out of wedlock in my house. I’m sorry, but I have my Christian principles.’

  ‘And I have my principles, ma’am,’ I shouted, unable to help myself now. ‘I am glad you will not take me on. You pretend to be a good woman, but you haven’t got an ounce of compassion in your withered heart. You are so taken up with your own trivial concerns that you didn’t even notice that Mama was coughing herself to death. She’s cared so dutifully for you, and yet you just want to turn her out onto the streets. You talk of Christian principles! I think you’re going to get a horrible surprise when you go knocking on St Peter’s gate in Heaven. He’ll shake his head at you and turn you away, just you wait and see!’

  I stamped out of the room, down the stairs, back to Mama in the kitchen.

  ‘I couldn’t quite hear – but that didn’t sound very polite,’ Mama said weakly.

  ‘Oh, Mama, I did try, truly, but she didn’t want me,’ I said.

  ‘Then we’re done for,’ Mama said weakly. ‘We’re both homeless.’

  ‘No, we’re not. That Dr Jenkins seems a kind gentleman. I’m sure he’ll do his best to get you into the infirmary,’ I said.

  ‘I try to be kind – and I’m going to take your mama directly to the infirmary in my carriage,’ Dr Jenkins said, following me into the kitchen. ‘Why don’t you get your mother’s things packed up, my dear?’

  It took only a few minutes to pack Mama’s possessions into a box. She had just two changes of clothes, her nightgown, her washing things, her brush and comb, her little violet vase, and a satin pouch embroidered with one word: HETTY. I found all the letters I’d ever written to her inside, tied up in neat bundles with ribbon, plus all the childish presents I’d made for her, right back to a little ill-sewn heart. I wept then to see that she’d treasured them so carefully.

  I carried Mama’s box and my own suitcase, and we left Miss Roberts’s house with the doctor. Mama tried to go to Miss Roberts to say goodbye, but she would not let her over her bedroom threshold and screamed at her to go away. Even so, Mama insisted on going to the neighbouring cottage, asking for the mistress there and begging her to send her maid to assist Miss Roberts.

  The doctor took us to the infirmary in his carriage.

  ‘I really can’t go to this infirmary,’ Mama protested weakly. ‘I must try to find some kind of shelter for Hetty and me. I can still work if I put my mind to it.’ But she started coughing again, that harsh hacking cough she couldn’t control. Then she choked, and the terrifying bright blood stained her handkerchief.

  ‘You cannot possibly work, my dear,’ said Dr Jenkins. ‘All you can do is rest now.’

  The carriage drew up outside a large grey building that reminded me uncomfortably of my own hospital.

  ‘Wait here, both of you,’ said the doctor, and he hurried inside.

  ‘I’m so, so sorry, Mama,’ I said tearfully. ‘I thought the doctor might be able to make you better. I didn’t dream that dreadful woman would throw you out. I didn’t realize.’

  ‘I know, Hetty, I know,’ Mama said, resting her poor burning head on my shoulder. ‘Oh, darling, what use am I to you as a mother? Perhaps I should have given you up for good when you were a baby and never tried to be near you. I’ve just brought you heartache and grief.’

  ‘You’ve given me great love. You’re the best mother in the whole world. You mustn’t worry about a thing now. You’re going to get better, I promise you are. I’m going to visit you every day, and buy you little treats and care for you – just the way you did for me when I was little. But I’m big now, Mama, and can look out for myself, so you mustn’t worry.’

  ‘You, big? You’ll always be my light-as-a-feather Hetty,�
� said Mama.

  ‘Sapphire,’ I said.

  ‘Sapphire,’ said Mama, very gently touching my eyelids with her fingertips. ‘When you were born, I wrapped you in a shawl and held you in my arms. You didn’t cry or sleep like most babies. You just lay there, a tiny little thing, and looked up solemnly with your big blue eyes. You didn’t seem like a stranger at all – it was as if I’d known you for ever.’

  We clung to each other. Then Dr Jenkins came back, accompanied by a nurse in a high white hat and a starched apron. Her uniform reminded me of the matrons at the hospital and I was scared, but she helped Mama out of the carriage gently enough.

  ‘Come along, you poor dear. Let us get you comfortable in bed,’ she said.

  ‘There now, young woman,’ said Dr Jenkins to me. ‘They will take care of your mother. They have put aside a bed for her, and she can stay there until – until she needs it no longer.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’ I fumbled for my handkerchief. ‘Exactly how much do I owe you, Dr Jenkins?’

  He looked down at me, hesitating.

  ‘It’s all right, I have a great deal of money here. I can pay you the full amount, I’m sure,’ I said.

  ‘You keep your money, my dear,’ said Dr Jenkins. ‘I think you’re going to need every penny.’

  ‘That’s – that’s exceptionally kind of you, sir. I am deeply indebted to you,’ I said. I was trying to sound very grown up and business-like, but he shook his head sorrowfully, and patted me on the head as if I were a little child.

  I scurried after Mama and the nurse. When I caught them up at the infirmary entrance, the nurse looked shocked to see me.

  ‘No, no, dear. You’re not allowed in here,’ she said.

  ‘But I have to go with Mama!’

  ‘I’m taking her to the fever ward. Our patients are kept in complete isolation,’ said the nurse.

  ‘But you can go with her!’

  ‘Yes, but I am a nurse!’ she said.

  ‘Then let me be a nurse too!’ I said.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, child!’

  ‘Please, please, please, can I just see where Mama’s bed will be, and help her into it?’ I said. I dropped to my knees. ‘Look, I am begging you. Please.’

  ‘Oh, very well, you can come in for five minutes, but then you must go. If Sister catches you there, I shall get into serious trouble,’ she said.

  So I walked with the nurse and Mama down long corridors smelling strongly of iodoform. Then, at last, at the very end of the building, we went through a door into a long room with beds lined up on either side.

  ‘It’s just like the dormitory at the hospital, Mama!’ I said.

  I peered fearfully at the folk in the beds. They were mostly lying neat and still beneath their grey blankets, as if their limbs had been as firmly tucked in as their sheets. The few sitting propped up on pillows were all wearing bright red bed jackets. Perhaps they were provided to make the patients look bright and cheerful, but the colour only emphasized their sallow faces.

  ‘You will have this bed here. It’s in the best place of all, by the window. There, you have a sea view!’ said the nurse, as if this were a special seaside hotel.

  The window was opened a few inches, rattling a little in the strong breeze blowing from the sea.

  ‘Won’t Mama be in a draught?’ I asked anxiously.

  ‘She will get lots of sea air, and that will be very good for her lungs,’ said the nurse. ‘Now, go behind that curtain and take off your clothes. I’ll provide you with infirmary linen. You won’t need your own nightgown. In fact you won’t need any of your things here. Your daughter can take them away.’

  ‘I’ll keep my letters,’ Mama said firmly.

  When I’d helped her into the plain white nightgown and garish bed jacket, she clutched the satin pouch to her chest.

  I helped her gently into bed, smoothing her hair and pulling the bed jacket up around her thin neck. The nurse provided her with a little china spittoon and a large handkerchief.

  Mama and I stared at each other. Tears spilled down our cheeks.

  ‘Oh, Hetty,’ Mama whispered.

  ‘There now, time to rest,’ said the nurse, trying to straighten Mama’s clenched fists. ‘Say goodbye now.’

  ‘This isn’t goodbye for ever, Mama,’ I said fiercely. ‘You’re going to get better, do you hear me? And I’m going to find a place for us to live and we’ll be together at last, you and me. That’s the way it’s going to be, I promise.’

  ‘But … now … I think you will have to … go to Miss Smith,’ Mama gasped, starting to cough.

  ‘No, I’m going to stay here. Don’t worry, Mama, I have a plan. I will find a position here, and every day I will come to the infirmary before it gets dark. If I can’t creep in somehow, I will stand in the grounds and I will wave to you at your window to show you that I’m fine. And you will wave back to me. Will you do that, Mama?’

  ‘I will, darling,’ Mama said between coughs.

  I wiped her brow for her, kissed her hot forehead, and then ran out of the ward. I ran down the grim corridors, out of the infirmary, down the road, right onto the sands. I laid my head on my suitcase, clutched Mama’s box, and cried my heart out.

  ‘HETTY? HETTY, IS that you?’

  I sat up, dazed, squinting in the sunlight. I didn’t have any idea how long I’d been lying there on the sands. I’d cried for so long, but then I must have fallen asleep. Perhaps I was still dreaming now, because a strangely familiar child was squatting beside me, calling my name and looking at me with concern – and yet I felt sure I didn’t have a friend in the world.

  ‘Hetty, don’t you remember me? I’m Maisie. We met on the train,’ she said, tucking her hair behind her ears.

  I stared at her. I’d only met her a day ago, and yet it seemed like months and months. I’d been travelling with such joy and optimism, so happy at the thought of seeing Mama. Yet now she was incarcerated in the infirmary, and though I hoped otherwise, I wasn’t sure she would ever walk out. I had been trying so hard to do the best thing by calling the doctor, but maybe it would have been better to do nothing. Then Mama would at least have had her position and we could have been together. Miss Roberts might never have noticed I was there.

  I started crying so bitterly that Maisie looked frightened.

  ‘Don’t cry so, Hetty, please! What’s the matter? Are you lost? I am lost, but I don’t mind a bit. I went for a paddle in the sea and I wandered in the water a little because it was so delightful, but when I went back up the beach, I couldn’t find Mama and the others. I’ve been walking along the sands looking and looking for them, but I’m not crying one bit, see. I’m trying to be a big brave girl.’

  ‘You are a big brave girl,’ I said, wiping my eyes. I took several deep breaths, trying hard to calm myself. ‘There now, I’m not crying either, not any more. Let me gather up my things and we’ll walk along the sands together and I’m sure we’ll find your family soon.’

  I stood up, grasped my suitcase and Mama’s box, and we started trudging along the beach together. Maisie set off to the right, but I felt sure she was going the wrong way.

  ‘No, Maisie, I think your family will be this way, near the pier. I think you’ve been walking away from them all this time.’

  ‘I’m not always very good at knowing which way to go,’ Maisie admitted. ‘Will you stay with me until we find them again, Hetty?’

  ‘Of course I will.’

  ‘Shall I carry that box for you, as you have your suitcase?’

  ‘No, I can manage it perfectly myself,’ I said. My arms were aching, but I could not bear to relinquish Mama’s box.

  We travelled further along the beach. I had sand in my boots now, chafing my feet uncomfortably. Maisie had the advantage, running along in bare feet, her sailor dress tucked up comfortably in her drawers.

  ‘This is such an adventure, isn’t it, Hetty?’ she said, giving a little skip.

  I tried to smile at her. I wished with al
l my heart I could be a blessed child like Maisie, when the worst thing that could happen to her was getting lost on a beach. And she wasn’t even lost any more, because I suddenly spotted a familiar little family. The mama was calling anxiously, clutching the baby, the papa was striding up and down, his head turning this way and that, and the big sister was running to the sea and back, gazing wildly about her.

  ‘See, Maisie? There’s your family,’ I said.

  ‘Oh! Yes, so it is! And see how they are searching for me!’ said Maisie. She started running. ‘Mama! Papa! Charlotte! Here I am! Don’t worry, I’m not a bit lost now.’

  I watched her run over to them, and saw how her papa picked her up and whirled her round and round, her mama gave her a big kiss, and her sister Charlotte hugged her hard.

  I felt tears pricking my eyes all over again. I turned my head and started walking quickly away – but I heard the family calling my name, and then thudding footsteps across the sand. It was Charlotte. She gave me a hug too, as if I were part of the family.

  ‘Dear Hetty! Maisie says you found her. We’re so grateful. We were all going frantic. Won’t you come and let Mama and Papa thank you properly?’

  She took my hand in hers and led me back to the little group.

  ‘Well done, Hetty! We were looking everywhere for our silly little girl,’ said the papa. ‘How can we reward you?’

  ‘Yes, we are considerably in your debt,’ said the mama. ‘I was nearly going out of my mind with worry. But what about your mother, Hetty? Have you not found her yet, dear?’

  ‘Oh yes, I have, but – but she is very ill, and now she is in the infirmary and – and I don’t know what to do,’ I said, sobbing.

  ‘My poor child!’ She gave the baby to Charlotte and put her arms round me. I laid my head on her soft muslin blouse and wept, while she patted me gently on the back.

  ‘There, now,’ she said softly.

  ‘I’m so sorry! It’s just – I don’t know what to do!’

  ‘I know what you’re going to do. You’re going to come back to our lodgings and have supper with us,’ said Papa.

  ‘Yes, yes, yes!’ said Charlotte and Maisie.