Sapphire Battersea (26 page)

‘Of course I’ll worry! You’re like a little sister to me now,’ said Sarah, and she gave me a hug.

‘A very
bad
little sister,’ said Mrs Briskett, but she came and hugged me too.

I felt like a very small slice of ham in the midst of a very large sandwich, but I was so touched by their concern and kindness that I had to fight not to cry.

I went to the scullery to pack my box – my retrieved memoirs, my books, my little fairground china dog, my letters from Mama and Jem, my writing paper and envelopes, my brushes, my spare maid’s dress, my nightgown. They all fitted neatly inside. But what about my green Sunday outfit? I tried folding it this way and that, but it was heavy velvet and I could not make it small enough.

‘Wait, Hetty!’ said Sarah. She ran all the way upstairs and came panting back with her own leather suitcase with a strap. ‘You may have this. Mother gave it to me when I first went into service.’

‘But I can’t take it, Sarah – not if it was a present from your mother.’

‘I have no need of it now. I’ve nowhere to go. Mother would want you to have it, I am sure,
especially
now, when … when the two of you have met,’ said Sarah shyly.

I gave her another hug, feeling dreadful that I had never quite appreciated her properly. I was surprised by Mrs Briskett too, because when I went back into the kitchen with the packed suitcase, I found she’d made me up a veritable picnic in a big paper bag.

‘It’s so kind of you, Mrs Briskett! It will keep me going all day long.’

‘You’ll also need this.’ She went to the larder and took down her jar of housekeeping money. I thought she’d count me out a few shillings – but she gave me the whole jarful.

‘I can’t take it!’

‘Of course you can. You’ll likely need every penny. You’ll be able to stay somewhere small but decent for a few days until this Miss Smith can find you work.’

‘Oh, Mrs B!’

‘Mrs Briskett to you, missy! Now, mind you write and let us know how you’re getting on. We’ll worry ourselves sick about you till we hear, won’t we, Sarah?’

‘Oh, we will, we will,’ said Sarah, giving me another hug.

‘You’re sure you know the way to the station? You must ask for a ticket to Waterloo – that’s the
London
station. When you arrive there, use some of your money on a hansom cab, do you hear, Hetty? And if you get lost up in town, then look for a policeman and ask him the way. Take care now!’

‘Oh don’t! She looks so little. We can’t let her go!’ said Sarah. She stared around wildly. ‘Can’t we hide her somewhere, here in the house? Just for a day or two, while we sort things out for her?’

Mrs Briskett frowned, clearly wavering. But then the bell from Mr Buchanan’s study started jingling fiercely.

‘Oh! Oh, maybe master’s changed his mind! You be ready to say you’re very very sorry, Hetty,’ said Sarah, straightening her cap and gown and rushing out of the kitchen to the stairs.

‘I’m
not
sorry. It’s the master who did something wrong, not me!’ I said – but I was wavering too. Now that my temper was ebbing away I was starting to feel very, very scared. Perhaps I
would
apologize. I didn’t need to mean the words. Inside my head I could scream that Mr Buchanan was a dishonest, hypocritical thief, just so long as I didn’t say it out loud. Then I could stay in my position with Mrs Briskett and Sarah, where I felt so safe and cared for.

But it was no use. Sarah came back, chalk-faced and tearful. ‘Oh, he won’t relent!’ she said. ‘He
asked
if Hetty had gone, and when I said she was still doing her packing, he said he would have her physically thrown out on the street if she wasn’t gone in the next five minutes!’

‘I’d like to see him try! He’s just a withered little monkey man! He couldn’t lift me, for I’d scream and kick and hit him,’ I declared.

‘Hush, Hetty. Stop that silly talk! The master will fetch someone to do it. You might get hurt. You’d best go straight away,’ said Mrs Briskett.

‘He says he’ll be watching from his window to make sure he’s seen the back of you,’ said Sarah.

‘Then I’ll show him my blooming back,’ I said. I had one last hug with Sarah and gave Mrs Briskett a shy kiss. ‘Thank you so much for looking after me,’ I said.

Mrs Briskett’s face started wobbling. Great tears rolled down her cheeks. ‘Oh my,
now
look! You’ve set me off – and I can’t abide crying!’ she sobbed.

‘Then don’t cry, Mrs Briskett, please. I shall be fine. Goodbye, my dear friends.’

I took Sarah’s mother’s suitcase and my bag of goodies, and walked swiftly out of the kitchen, through the scullery and down the back passage. I opened the door to the area steps and climbed up onto the pavement. There was Mr Buchanan peering down at me, still looking outraged. He actually shook his monkey fist at me.

Well, I’d show him. I pulled the most ferocious face up at him, and made a strange gesture with my fingers – I’d seen the boys do this at the hospital. I hoped it was rude. Certainly, judging by the expression on his face, it had considerable effect. Then I sauntered down the road, my head in the air, as if I was simply out for a Sunday stroll.

Oh, my Lord – what was I going to do about Bertie? As soon as I was out of sight of the house, I slowed down and started shivering. It seemed as if I would never see Bertie again. I thought of our happy Sunday jaunts, and I had to squeeze my eyes shut to stop myself crying on the street.

Then something large and warm and boisterous bounced straight into me. It knocked the suitcase and paper bag out of my arms, and licked my face with a very big wet tongue.

‘Tommy! Down, boy!
Down
, I say. I know you like the little missy, but you’ll frighten her!’

It was Tommy the black Labrador, with his kindly old gentleman owner.

‘Are you all right, little missy? Tommy doesn’t mean any harm. He’s just pleased to see you and desperate to get to his lovely park.’

‘I’m fine,’ I said, stroking Tommy’s soft head.

‘But, oh dear, he’s made you drop all your belongings. Here, let me help.’ The old man bent down and picked up my bag of goodies, luckily so
tightly
folded over by Mrs Briskett that none had spilled. He handed me the suitcase. ‘Going off on a journey, are you, little missy?’ he said. ‘Going home to visit your mother, is that it?’

I started at him. Of course! I was sure I had more than enough money for a train trip to the coast and one night’s board and lodging. I would go to see Mama!

‘Yes, you’re right,’ I said. ‘You’re absolutely right. I’m going to visit Mama.’

‘She’ll be so pleased to see you,’ he said sweetly.

I wasn’t quite so sure. She’d be pretty horrified if she knew I’d broken Mr Buchanan’s watch chain and stuck my tongue out at him. I wouldn’t necessarily tell her the whole story. But before I set off on my journey I had to find someone else.

I said goodbye to the old man, gave Tommy another stroke, and set off for the town, stopping to wipe my face thoroughly with my handkerchief once I was out of sight.

I went past the draper’s shop, pausing momentarily to glare at Ivy and Kitty behind the counter. Then I walked up to the butcher’s shop. I knew it was very foolish of me, but I was a little scared to go inside. The front of the shop was hung with poultry, their yellow claws dangling purposefully, as if ready to scratch the customers’ heads. The sides of the shop were draped with a furry
frond
of hares and rabbits, their eyes staring mournfully, their little mouths dripping blood.

I wasn’t used to such an alarmingly close encounter with so many dead animals. In fact, the more I stared, the more certain I was that I could never enjoy a rabbit pie or a chicken stew ever again. I ran past the poor dead creatures into the shop, to face further scenes of carnage. Great sides of beef and lamb hung from steel hooks, and a huge pig’s head leered at me from the table, an apple in its mouth. Parts of its body were arranged in a grisly pattern all around it: belly and chops and kidneys, and a very long string of sausages.

The smell of meat was unpleasantly over-powering. I breathed shallowly, feeling so sorry for Bertie. I could see no sign of him, and hoped he wasn’t out delivering.

I tried to avert my eyes, and joined the queue of folk waiting to give their orders. My arms ached holding my food package and the suitcase, but I didn’t want to set them down on the floor. I couldn’t sully Sarah’s mother’s suitcase with bloodstained sawdust.

I waited as seemingly half of Kingtown deliberated over their mince and mutton, while Jarvis the butcher and his two bigger lads listened and gave advice. They barely had a full set of
fingers
between them, but they still chopped chunks of meat with alarming speed and gusto. I found I was clenching my own fists anxiously on their behalf.

At last I was at the front of the queue, facing Mr Jarvis himself, a man as large and fat and red as his own sides of beef.

‘How can I help you, little missy? Who’s the cook in your household?’

‘Well, it’s Mrs Briskett, but I’m not—’

‘Oh, Mrs Briskett! Lovely lady, but particular, and that suits me fine because I am too. So how can I help you? The meat the boy delivered yesterday was up to scratch, was it not? Is there company coming? Does she need a capon or a crown of lamb?’

‘No, no, sir, it’s – it’s your boy I want. Bertie. Is he here? May I have a quick word with him?’ I whispered.

Mr Jarvis stood stock-still. He cupped his hand to his ear in a pantomime gesture. ‘Say that again!’ he said. He nudged the other two lads. They stopped chopping. ‘Listen to this!’

I took a deep breath. ‘Please may I talk to Bertie?’ I repeated.

The lads nudged each other and sniggered.

‘What do you think this is, girl? A parlour where young lovers can do their courting?’ Mr Jarvis
bellowed
, for the benefit of the entire queue behind me.

‘I’m sorry, sir, of course not, sir, but it is a matter of urgency,’ I said.

‘A matter of
urgency
?’ Mr Jarvis boomed. The whole street must be hearing him now – even Ivy and Kitty in their draper’s shop. ‘This
must
be young love. You want to see our Bertie
urgently
, do you?’

The lads burst out laughing. I started crying, in rage and humiliation.

‘I only wanted to say goodbye,’ I sobbed. ‘I can’t see that’s so outrageous. Please tell him I came calling. My name is Hetty Feather.’ I turned on my heel and tried to push past all the customers.

‘Hey! Wait, missy. Don’t cry now,’ said Mr Jarvis, relenting. ‘He’s in the back, doing the offal. Go and say your goodbyes then, but be quick about it.’

He gestured for me to bob under the counter. I squeezed through and scurried out through a door at the back of the shop. I found myself standing in a bloody battlefield. Dead animals in varying states were strewn over a counter, some with their heads and hides still in place. Bertie was standing there in an apron and trousers, no shirt at all, busy disembowelling these creatures, pulling all kinds of disgusting gleaming things out of their bodies.

‘Hetty!’ he said, shocked. He went scarlet. ‘Oh, Hetty, don’t look! I don’t want you to see me doing this! Why did the old man let you through?’

‘I begged him. I’ve come to say goodbye.’

‘What?’ He saw the suitcase and realized I was serious. ‘Why? What’s happened?’

‘Mr Buchanan’s dismissed me.’

‘He never! But what did you
do
?’

‘I shouted at him because I found out he’s been copying my memoirs. I broke his watch chain getting the key to his desk, and I said he was a cruel, wicked, hypocritical thief who would end up going to Hell.’

‘Well, that’s telling him! So he won’t have given you a character.’

‘No.’

‘Oh, Hetty. What will you do, then?’

‘I’m going to see Mama. She lives by the seaside. She might know of a position near her. Then we could see more of each other, which would be wonderful.’

‘No! All right, go and see your mother, but then come back! We have to have our Sundays together. You’re still my sweetheart! I’ll keep my eyes and ears open on my rounds – I go all over the town, right? I’ll see if anyone’s wanting a likely girl. I’ll recommend you. You leave it to me, Hetty.’

‘Well, it’s very good of you, Bertie, but—’

‘No buts! See here, you’re not planning to go back to the country, are you? Are you going to see that foster brother you write to?’

‘I don’t see how I can go back. There’s no work for a girl in the village. All my foster sisters went into service.’

‘Good! You’re not a country girl. You belong in the city, with me.’

‘Come back here now, missy, you’ve had long enough. And you, lad – I hope you’re not slacking!’ Mr Jarvis called.

‘I’d better go,’ I said quickly. ‘I don’t want to get you into trouble.’

‘Do take care, Hetty. Write as soon as you can to let me know where you are. Oh Lord, I want to take you in my arms, but how can I like this?’ He gestured with his slimy hands, looking at them in disgust. ‘What must you think of me!’

‘I think you’re my sweetheart,’ I said. I leaned across the loathsome carcass on the table, and swiftly kissed his flushed cheek.