Hetty Feather

by Wilson, Jacqueline

  Dear Ida! She had chosen the smallest book she could find so I could hide it easily about my person. Thumbelina was even smaller than me, yet she was the heroine of her fairy tale, and when I peeked at the ending I saw she lived happily ever after.

  I was frozen solid when I eventually stole back to bed, but glowing inside, warmed by Ida's loving generosity. At breakfast I waited until she came to serve us our porridge and then I grabbed hold of her hand tightly.

  'Thank you, Ida!' I said passionately. 'I do love you so.'

  The other girls giggled, thinking I was simply thanking Ida for my porridge. But Ida understood. She gave my bowlful an extra sprinkling of brown sugar and patted my shoulder, smiling all the while.

  I marched off to chapel feeling very happy. For once I sat through the long, long service without fidgeting, because I had the wondrous Nativity tableau vivant to gaze at. The participating children kept still as statues. Even the newborn babe in the cardboard manger slept peacefully throughout. Mary was one of the big girls in Harriet's class, thin and dark and a little gawky, but strangely graceful now. She knelt before the baby, hands clasped in awe, her beautiful bright-blue dress draped decorously about her.

  Joseph was one of the big lads, tall as a man, splendid in his orange striped robe. The shepherds were arranged artistically on the left, some standing, some kneeling. There was even a stuffed sheep, and the smallest shepherd clutched a toy lamb. The three wise men paraded on the right, wearing large gold crowns studded with glass jewels. Each boy sported a long false beard to show they were very old and very wise. Oh, how I longed to have a beard too!

  Best of all, there were the angels, an entire flock of them, standing aloft upon the stable roof, in gauzy white with great feathery wings, Monica amongst them, pink and pious, her eyes raised upwards. There was one angel who seemed to be truly flying, dangling on a rope from the chapel rafters, his bare feet on the points of a silver star; the most wondrous angel, with a halo illuminating his dark curls. You will never guess who it was! My own little brother, suspended in mid-air, his arms gesturing gracefully, his toes pointed, dancing down from Heaven.

  'It's Gideon!' I whispered proudly to Polly. 'My brother Gideon.'

  I felt I could sit there in the chapel for ever. I was so happy for Gideon, and so relieved that he was well and making such a grand job of this angel acting. I glowed with pride when I heard the ladies and gentlemen talking as we ate our Christmas dinner afterwards.

  'Bless the children, they looked so splendid in the tableau vivant.'

  'They kept so still, even the tiny ones.'

  'The little boy angel was by far the best.'

  'Oh, I agree! A true little angel up there in mid-air!'

  I nudged Polly, and happily munched my way through my roast goose and my plum pudding. We each had an orange too. Some of us little ones were inexperienced orange eaters and tried to bite into the bright dimpled skin. I might have done the same because we never had oranges at the cottage, but I watched Polly and copied her as she peeled the skin away and divided her orange into segments.

  We had no official presents as such, but when we lifted our mugs to take a drink, we discovered a brand-new polished penny. I hid mine later on top of Jem's silver sixpence. I went to sleep that night with Polly's pen under my pillow, Harriet's doll tucked in beside me, and my tiny book clutched to my chest.

  15

  We were given an orange and a new penny the next Christmas – and the next and the next and the next. That was the worst thing of all about the hospital: the sheer sameness of every single day.

  If things did change, it always seemed to be for the worse. Harriet left the hospital to go into service as a nursery maid. She cried when she said goodbye, telling me she'd never care for any of her new nursery charges the way she cared for me. I missed her dreadfully. She had been so kind to me, and I'd loved sitting on her lap and being babied. Thank goodness I still had Polly!

  We moved into the upper school, into a different dormitory. Of course I remembered to transfer Jem's sixpence to my new bedpost. I had to say farewell to dear Nurse Winnie and Miss Newman. Thank goodness Ida could still serve me every day in the dining room, giving me illicit gifts of raisins and jam and knobs of butter when no one was watching.

  'How are you doing, Hetty?' she'd always ask.

  'I'm doing very well, Ida,' I mostly said.

  I wasn't doing well, I was doing very badly. I didn't care for my new teacher, Miss Morley, and she certainly didn't care for me – or Polly either. Miss Newman had been strict but she liked both of us. When we answered correctly or asked an interesting question, her eyes lit up behind her spectacles and she seemed delighted to teach us.

  Miss Morley stopped asking us to answer questions, because she knew we'd get them right, and this seemed to irritate her.

  'Don't sit there with that smug expression on your face, Hetty Feather. We all know you know the answer,' she'd say, and she'd give a false yawn and encourage all the others to laugh at me.

  I couldn't help knowing the answers because our lessons didn't progress. We could mostly all read and write by now, and do the simplest sums – and there we stuck, not working our way forward at all, going over the same dull facts again and again.

  There were maps all round our classroom wall and I'd stare at all the different countries and picture a flea-sized Hetty sailing across the blue sea and landing on each pink and yellow and green land.

  'Stop daydreaming, Hetty Feather, and attend to your dictation,' Miss Morley snapped.

  'Can't you tell us a little about the countries on the map, Miss Morley? I wonder what it is like in great big Africa or India or Japan? Do the children do dictation there? Do they wear long dresses and caps, or do they wear short clothes – or maybe if it's very very hot, no clothes at all?'

  The others sniggered and Miss Morley flushed, though I hadn't meant to be impertinent.

  'Stop these ridiculous questions, Hetty Feather. You don't need to know the answers. It's not as if you're ever going to voyage to foreign parts. You're going to be a servant like all the other girls. You only need to write a decent hand, read a recipe and add up your groceries correctly.'

  I felt I needed to do so much more! I still hated the idea of being a servant. I feared I would be a very bad one. We were taught how to wash clothes and scrub floors now, helping out with all the household chores in the hospital. I hated getting hot and wet. I was so bored I distracted myself by telling stories in my head, not concentrating on the tedious housework.

  'Use some more elbow-grease, Hetty Feather!' they'd scream at me. 'Watch what you're doing!' they'd yell when I started and knocked over my pail of water.

  Polly was as bored as I was, particularly in lessons. She could not bear our arithmetic sessions because Miss Morley frequently made mistakes. Polly pointed out a simple subtraction error on the blackboard early on, waving her arm earnestly.

  'What is it, Polly Renfrew? I haven't finished the sum yet.'

  'I know, Miss Morley, and I'm sorry to interrupt, but I don't think you've noticed that you've subtracted an eight from a three and put the answer as five, and yet you haven't borrowed ten from the next line so that nine is incorrect,' she said helpfully.

  She wasn't being impertinent. At this stage she didn't realize that Miss Morley's grasp of arithmetic was extremely shaky. She thought she'd simply made a silly slip and would be grateful for her intervention.

  Grateful! Miss Morley flushed an ugly scarlet and rubbed the entire sum from the blackboard. 'How dare you admonish me, Polly Renfrew! Come out here.'

  Polly stepped forward uncertainly.

  'Hold out your hand.'

  Polly held it out politely, as if Miss Morley was going to shake it. But she seized her long ruler instead and went whack whack whack across Polly's soft white hands.

  We all jumped. Our eyes stung. We'd been threatened with whippings and beatings many times in the infant school, but the only actual physical punishment any of u
s had received was an impatient tug on the ear or a light tap on the backs of our legs. This was a cruel assault. We could see the painful red weals on Polly's palms. Polly's face crumpled and she started crying.

  I was beside myself. 'How dare you hit her when she's done nothing wrong at all, you cruel, wicked woman!' I cried, and I seized her ruler and hurled it into a corner of the classroom. The whole class gasped. I was a little shocked myself. I hadn't quite meant to say those words, they just spurted out of my mouth in a torrent.

  'Come here, Hetty Feather!' Miss Morley said. 'I will not stand for this behaviour!'

  I thought she would retrieve her ruler and beat me to within an inch of my life. I decided I would not cry like poor Polly. I would hold my head up high and be a brave, unflinching martyr. She could beat me three times, six times, even a dozen; she could beat my hands into a bloody pulp but I would not murmur or shed a tear. I would stare back at her like a basilisk, wishing her dead.

  But she didn't beat me even once. She seized hold of me by the wrist, digging her nails in hard, and tugged me right out of the classroom. I thought she was simply standing me in the corridor and decided I didn't mind in the least. I could just stand and picture the past in my own private daydream. But Miss Morley marched me right along the corridor. I realized she was taking me to Matron.

  My heart started thudding then. The senior school matron made Pigface Peters seem sweet as sugar. Matron Bottomly was thin and pinched, with a permanent pucker in her forehead. She had a big hooked nose like a beak and always looked as if she'd like to peck you very hard. Matron Bottomly had already told me off several times for talking in corridors, she had chastised me for tearing my dress when I fell over playing tag, she had made me scrub a whole floor twice over because I'd left one or two slimy soap smears. (Oh, how I wished Matron Bottomly had slipped on them and landed on her bony stinking bottom!) What might she do when she knew I'd shouted at a teacher, taken her ruler and thrown it away?

  I felt I might cry now, but I stared hard, scarcely daring to blink in case the tears started spilling. I was pushed unceremoniously into Matron Bottomly's room and forced to stand there in front of her while Miss Morley gave a highly exaggerated account of my rebellion.

  'It was total insubordination, actual physical violence!' Miss Morley declared dramatically, drops of spittle on her chapped lips.

  Matron Bottomly rose from her desk and looked me up and down. I started trembling but I looked her up and down back, my fists clenched.

  I will not cry, I said inside my head. I will not cry, no matter what they do to me. I can bear it, whatever it is. They cannot kill me. I will be brave.

  'You are a child of Satan, Hetty Feather,' said Matron Bottomly. 'You have his Hell-red hair and his flaming temper. We must quench this devilish fire. You must be taught a severe lesson.'

  I was so crazed with fear I thought she meant a literal lesson. I dared to breathe out, because I knew I was always quick to learn. But this punishment had nothing to do with books.

  'Take hold of her, Miss Morley,' said Matron Bottomly.

  They each seized a wrist and pulled me to the door. They dragged me down the corridor. I thought they were taking me to the boys' wing. We'd heard fearful rumours that the baddest big boys were beaten with a cat-o'-nine-tails. Perhaps they were now going to whip me with this dreadful instrument! I gritted my teeth, though they were chattering now.

  But when we reached the grand staircase, they dragged me up one flight of stairs and then another, right to the very top of the building, to a little attic room in the tower.

  They opened a door at the end. It was empty apart from an old blanket and a chamber pot.

  'No!' I cried. 'No, please – you can't put me in there!'

  'Oh yes we can, Hetty Feather. You stay here and pray to be a better girl,' said Matron, and she thrust me inside. The door slammed shut and I heard the sound of a key turning. I was locked in! I heard their footsteps retreating. Perhaps they were simply trying to frighten me. They would come back any minute. They couldn't leave me locked in here!

  There was only one very small window, set high up in the wall. It had bars across, as if this was truly a prison. I tried jumping up but could only catch a glimpse of sky. I was very small, but there was no way I could ever wriggle through those bars – and it was a sheer drop anyway.

  I tried hurling myself against the door, knocking all the breath out of my body. It held fast. I was truly a prisoner.

  'Well, what do I care?' I said aloud. 'I will show them. It is not so very dreadful to be locked in for an hour or two. They will have to come back soon because it is nearly dinner time. Meanwhile I shall amuse myself. I shall pretend I am a princess locked up by two evil wicked witches in a tall tower.'

  I pictured this determinedly, inventing a magnificent Prince Jem who climbed the tower and rescued me. We lived happily ever after in his wondrous kingdom – while the two witches were locked up in their own tower for ever.

  I amused myself with this story for quite a while, but my stomach started rumbling. I could not hear the clock chiming from my isolated prison but I was certain it was long past dinner time now. So they intended to starve me, did they? Were they going to keep me locked up right until supper time?

  I kept staring at the chamber pot. It was clearly there to be used, so perhaps I truly was to be left for hours yet. I decided I would not sit on the pot, no matter what. It would be too humiliating for the contents to be inspected by Matron and Miss Morley.

  The hours went by, and I fidgeted on my blanket, trying to divert myself. In the end I simply had to squat on the pot in an undignified fashion or have an accident. I waited further hours, and after a long, long while all my picturing skills faded. I could think of nothing to divert myself. Surely it would be supper time soon?

  They had to let me out for supper. They couldn't leave me locked up in this tiny room until I starved to death. I listened desperately for the sound of approaching footsteps, but there was just endless silence. I tried singing to make a sound in the room, but my voice sounded too high, too weird, as if I was a crazy girl.

  I tried to lie down on the blanket, but the floorboards were hard and the blanket smelled stale and musty when I nuzzled into it for comfort. I remembered my long-ago rag baby, and started weeping. Once I'd started I couldn't stop. I sobbed frantically, but still no one came.

  'I'm sorry!' I shouted. 'Please come back, Matron! I've learned my lesson now!'

  But she didn't come. It seemed to be getting darker in the small room. Oh my Lord, was it evening now? Were they going to keep me locked up all night long?

  I shouted until my voice cracked, but still nobody came. I threw myself about the attic, kicking and screaming. I tore off my stupid cap and pulled my own hair. It was long again now, in two tight plaits, but I undid them and shook my head in despair, my hair wild about my shoulders.

  I was so thirsty from crying I could barely swallow. How could they leave me without even a few sips of water? They had to come back soon or I would surely die. Was that what they really wanted? Oh dear Lord, what if they never came back? What if I mouldered up here in my dark prison for ever? What if they waited until I was a grisly skeleton in scraps of brown, crumbling to dust?

  Then, at long, long last, when it was getting really dark, I heard footsteps coming along the corridor, and the sound of a key in the lock.

  'Oh, at last!' I said. 'I'm so sorry. You will let me out now, won't you?'

  It was Nurse Macclesfield, one of the senior school staff. She was carrying a bucket and a plate and a mug. 'Of course you are sorry, Hetty Feather – and you'll be sorrier still by morning!'

  'What! You're not going to keep me locked up here all night!' I said in horror.

  'You must learn the error of your ways, you wicked girl.' She seized my pot, pulling a face of disgust, and emptied it into her bucket. Then she put the plate and mug down on the floor and went to close the door on me again.

  'No! Oh, Nurse M
acclesfield, have pity on me! Let me out!'

  I tried to cling to her, but she pushed me away.

  'Don't you dare try to attack me the way you attacked poor Miss Morley. She said you were like a wild beast. It's time you were tamed!'

  She slammed the door shut on me, rattled the key in the lock and marched off.

  'Please come back, please, please!' I screamed, though I knew she would not relent.

  At last I drank the water down in three great gulps, and ate the single slice of dry bread. It was almost pitch dark now, and I hunched up on my blanket. I could not think up a single new story, but old tales from the Police Gazette started swirling in my mind. Mad Flora crouched beside me, knife clutched at the ready. The Meat-axe Murderer slavered at the door, dripping with blood.

  I pulled the blanket right over my head, but they crept underneath too. I put my hands over my ears because they were whispering menacingly, threatening me.

  'Oh, Hetty, are you in there?'

  Wait! Was this a real voice, outside my attic prison? I heard knocking at my door.

  'Hetty? Have they locked you in there?'

  I knew that husky voice.

  'Is it really you, Ida?'

  'Oh dear God, they've really locked you up inside.'

  'Ida, please, turn the key and let me out!'

  'I can't, my love, those witches have taken away the key,' she said. She sounded as if she was crying herself.

  'How long are they going to keep me here?' I asked desperately.

  'I don't know. I think maybe all night long. I'm so very sorry, Hetty. I only just found out. I didn't see you at dinner but I thought I'd simply missed you. When I did not see you at supper either, I asked Polly and she said they'd taken you away to punish you. She was in tears too, poor girl, saying it was all her fault, that you were trying to protect her from Miss Morley. What did you do to her, Hetty?'