A Mistletoe Kiss (15 page)

Hetty turned and addressed the old woman directly for the first time. ‘Don't you have neighbours you can call on?' she asked bluntly. ‘What about this Mrs Simpson, the one who made the shepherd's pie? Surely she'd give Miss Preece a hand if she were asked. And to be honest,
I think a nurse, or even a doctor, ought to take a look at Miss Preece's knee. Probably all it needs is strapping up, but I can't do that and neither can you.'

The old lady sniffed once more. ‘You may be right,' she said grudgingly. ‘But who do you think is going to fetch Mrs Simpson?
I
certainly cannot do so, and I don't suppose Agatha – Miss Preece, I mean – will put herself out in the matter.'

‘Put herself out?' Hetty cried, her voice vibrating with indignation. ‘What a nasty old woman you are! If she can't climb the stairs to her bedroom, how do you expect her to get to a neighbour?' She pointed an accusing finger. ‘You managed to walk when you wanted your supper cooked; what's to stop you fetching Mrs Simpson? Or telephoning from the box at the end of the road for a doctor or a nurse?'

Mrs Preece was so astonished that her mouth simply dropped open, though no words came out. But Miss Preece began to try to get out of her chair, saying as she did so that she could probably crawl up the stairs and that her knee, though painful, would be better in a trice.

This, however, was more than Hetty could stand. ‘I'll go for Mrs Simpson if you'll tell me where she lives,' she said. ‘And then I'll go home.' She turned to glare at old Mrs Preece. ‘But I shall come back tomorrow, early, to get Miss Preece tea and toast and see if she's fit to go into work. If she is, I'll fetch a taxi, because I don't think that she should try to walk until her knee is better. And I dare say Mrs Simpson will give an eye to you.

To Hetty's surprise and relief, Mrs Preece gave a short bark of laughter. ‘You've got spunk, I'll give you that; a deal more than my daughter has,' she said. ‘If you'll share our supper and then help us up to our rooms, I dare say we'll manage without calling on Mrs Simpson. I won't fetch her round now because she's paid to come in at ten o'clock each weekday morning to help me dress and get me downstairs; I don't want her thinking she's indispensable.'

‘Right. But I'll just nip out and get one of the local street urchins to take a note to my aunt, explaining that I'll be late home and won't want feeding,' Hetty said, very tongue in cheek. She saw Miss Preece smile guiltily, and grinned back. The old harridan shouldn't have things all her own way, she decided. ‘Oh, and incidentally, Mrs Preece, your daughter has plenty of spunk, she's just too kind and polite to use it against you!'

After that, surprisingly Hetty thought, things went pretty smoothly. She poured the Preeces another cup of tea, handed round the biscuits again, scribbled a few words on a half-sheet of paper, accepted Miss Preece's offer of a sixpence to pay the deliverer of this missive, and left the two women sipping their tea, the tin of biscuits between them, whilst she found a young lad in Abbey Street who was willing to take her note to Aunt Phoebe. Then she returned to the house, checked that the shepherd's pie was beginning to brown nicely and laid the table for three, chatting inconsequentially of her holiday on the canal as she did so. She half expected old Mrs Preece to cut her
chatter short, but to her pleasure both women listened eagerly.

‘And what about the engine?' Miss Preece asked as the three of them settled themselves at the kitchen table. ‘Can your grandfather work it alone now, or does he still need young whatsisname – Harry, didn't you say?'

‘No, he does still need help, but Harry's left and Gareth Evans has taken his place,' Hetty said. ‘And I'm afraid Gramps and I are in the same boat …'

Miss Preece laughed. ‘So you are. In the same boat, I mean,' she said gaily and Hetty saw old Mrs Preece shoot her daughter an astonished look. What a shame it was, Hetty thought, that a mother and daughter should not be able to appreciate each other's good points, let alone share a joke, though she realised that the fault lay in the older woman rather than in her friend.

Miss Preece smiled at Hetty. ‘I'm sorry, I interrupted; you were about to tell us how you and your grandfather view the new engine,' she said. ‘Fire ahead. I find the whole business fascinating.'

Thus encouraged, Hetty took a mouthful of shepherd's pie and thought hard. ‘I think Gramps and I – and Gran of course – really do appreciate that the engine has made our lives easier,' she said at last. ‘But we miss Guinness – he was our horse – and despite not being a living thing the engine seems to need an awful lot of attention. It's water cooled, whatever that may mean, and has to be cleaned and oiled at regular intervals. Harry truly understood it, but Gareth does know
quite a lot about engines too and I think he and Gramps together will be able to cope.'

‘And is Gareth happy to remain on the
Water Sprite?
' Miss Preece asked curiously. ‘If he's keen on engines, which he obviously is, I should have thought he'd want wider experience than he could get aboard the barge.'

‘You're right, of course,' Hetty said. ‘But jobs are hard to find, Miss Preece, and Gramps is going to pay Gareth a proper wage, though not a very large one. But between ourselves, I wouldn't be surprised if Gramps isn't looking to retire some time in the next two or three years. If he does that, and sells the barge, then Gareth may have no choice but to move on.'

‘I don't see why your grandfather can't insist that whoever buys the barge should employ the lad,' Mrs Preece said suddenly and Hetty was amused to realise that the old lady had cleared her plate whilst she and Miss Preece had scarcely disposed of half their own portions. ‘Isn't that the sort of thing he's likelier to do?'

Hetty considered this, then nodded slowly. ‘You're right, of course; I'm sure Gramps would try to keep Gareth in work. Normally, however, the barge would go to a son or grandson, maybe even to a nephew, but neither Bill nor Tom has the slightest interest in working the canal. If a relative took it on, it would be on the understanding that he paid the rent of the house into which Gramps and Gran would move, but that doesn't apply to a stranger, of course.'

Miss Preece leaned forward. ‘But suppose Gareth
took over the
Water Sprite?
If your grandfather trusted him, he could pay for the barge by instalments, which is just another way of saying he would pay the rent,' she suggested.

Hetty shrugged. ‘It's an idea,' she acknowledged. ‘But anyway, that's all for the future. I don't know why I mentioned it at all, because Gramps never actually said he was going to retire. It was just a feeling I had that things were going to change.'

Miss Preece finished her meal and stood up, though shakily, and limped across to the stove. ‘Never meet troubles halfway,' she said briskly. ‘That's our motto, isn't it, Mother? And now I'll put the kettle on and we'll have another cup of tea to give Hetty strength to help us up to our rooms!'

She was smiling as she spoke, and to her relief Hetty saw that the old lady was actually smiling as well. So perhaps she really is fond of her daughter but doesn't like showing it, she thought hopefully, getting up and beginning to clear the table. ‘I'll just wash up the crocks and put them away and then I'll give you both a hand up the stairs.'

As she made her way home that night, Hetty reflected that it had certainly been an interesting day. She had learned more about Miss Preece than she had ever expected to know, and of course she had met the dragon, though in fact old Mrs Preece was not as fierce as she tried to make out. Hetty had helped her up the stairs at nine o'clock, her usual bedtime, for the old woman was not only light but also a good deal more
agile than she cared to admit. She occupied a large and luxuriously appointed bedroom overlooking Everton Terrace, and though she had not let Hetty help her to undress, she would not be left whilst she changed into her night things, but had sat Hetty on a comfortable chair in the bay window, bid her severely to keep her eyes on the passing scene and not to look round until ordered to do so, and then kept up a constant stream of chat whilst she shed her purple wool dress and various undergarments and donned a long-sleeved, high-necked winceyette nightdress.

‘Now you may help me into bed and drape a shawl round my shoulders,' she had said. ‘Well, well, you're not a bad child after all. In fact you may come and call upon me whenever you're in the neighbourhood and we'll share a cup of tea and some biscuits.'

‘That would be very nice, but when I'm in this area I'm usually heading for the library,' Hetty had pointed out. ‘But of course I only go to the library when I know your daughter is there, so at weekends I'd be happy to pop in. If you were needing someone to do your messages, then I'd be glad to help out.'

She got up from her seat to help the old lady into bed and to drape her shawl round her thin old shoulders, and had been about to head for the door when old Mrs Preece grabbed her arm. ‘Not so fast, young lady! Pass me my hairbrush and the ebony mirror lying on the dressing table. Ever since I was a little girl I've brushed my hair a hundred times before putting it into its bedtime plait, and I certainly don't mean to give up my beauty treatment just because my
daughter was clumsy enough to slip on the steps. Do you see that little blue glass dish by the mirror? Pass it to me and I'll put my hairpins in it.' She glanced up at Hetty, an almost puckish smile curving her lips. ‘Sit yourself down, my girl; this won't take above ten minutes and I'm sure you can spare an old lady that much of your time. I take it you're not in a hurry to get off?'

Hetty snorted but sat down again. ‘A fat lot you'd care if I was desperate to get back to my aunt,' she declared roundly. ‘Is there anything else your majesty would like before I go to help your daughter?'

The old lady cackled. She had already unpinned her bun and brushed her hair so vigorously that it had formed an aureole around her head. ‘My daughter always brings me a cup of hot milk and a piece of shortbread when she comes up to bed herself, so you might as well do the same,' she said. ‘Ninety seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred.' She brandished the hairbrush. ‘Put it back on the dressing table, there's a good girl, and don't forget my shortbread when you bring me the hot milk.'

‘I won't forget,' Hetty promised. Then she left the room at speed, for she had a sneaking suspicion that the old lady liked company, particularly the sort of company to whom she could give orders, and she did not intend to abandon her friend.

Downstairs, she and the librarian had exchanged speaking looks. ‘I'm sorry,' Miss Preece said apologetically, ‘but my mother sees so few people, apart from myself and Mrs Simpson. And though you might
not think it, she's taken to you. I'd not be surprised if she asked you to call again.'

‘She's already asked me,' Hetty admitted. ‘She's not as nasty as she pretends, is she, Miss Preece? Oh, and I'm to make her a glass of hot milk and take it with me when I help you up to bed … with a piece of shortbread. She's got a good appetite, hasn't she?'

Miss Preece laughed. ‘Excellent,' she admitted. ‘She's small and skinny, but I used to tell her she packed away enough food at mealtimes to make a navvy envious.'

‘I bet she didn't like that,' Hetty said, fetching the milk saucepan from the rack on the wall and carrying it through to the pantry. She realised she felt quite a member of the family and smiled to herself. Old Mrs Preece little knew how she and her daughter had already enriched Hetty's life; what a lot she would have to tell Gran and Gramps the next time the
Water Sprite
moored up in Liverpool!

When she emerged from the pantry, Hetty had suddenly remembered her aunt's bad news regarding the paper tablecloths. The smile must have faded from her face, for Miss Preece said anxiously: ‘What's the matter, my dear? I'm sure the milk must still be fresh; it was only delivered yesterday.'

‘The milk's fine,' Hetty said, pouring some into the saucepan and setting it on the stove. ‘Only I've just remembered …'

At the end of her recital, she looked hopefully at Miss Preece. ‘Will all the other cafés follow suit, do you suppose?'

Miss Preece thought for a moment, then shook her head. ‘No, I'm sure they won't; most of them will see it for the false economy it is, because paperware will be thrown away, not reused,' she said. ‘But it doesn't really matter, because from what you've told me your aunt is a resourceful woman. She'll find other work, perhaps more congenial work too, and will soon wonder why she had ever needed to take in such quantities of laundry.'

Hetty thought Miss Preece was probably right, and her anxiety had disappeared like frost in June by the time she reached Salisbury Street. She pushed open the kitchen door to find her aunt sitting at the table eating a large slice of fruit cake, with one hand resting possessively on an enamel mug of strong tea. ‘I've gorra job, chuck,' Aunt Phoebe said as soon as her niece entered the room. ‘I'm to be an assistant baker at Rudham's on Heyworth Street. Me chief job will be cake decoration, a thing I've always loved doin', and the money's pretty good. Oh, I'm that pleased!'

Hetty darted across the room and gave her aunt a hug. ‘Miss Preece said it would be all right,' she said exultantly. ‘Did you get my note?'

‘I did,' her aunt said, lumbering to her feet and fetching another mug from the dresser. She poured tea into it, added a generous spoonful of condensed milk and pushed it towards her niece. ‘The lad delivered it just as I arrived home after me interview. I were that pleased with meself that I give him sixpence for his trouble.' She chuckled. ‘I gather this Miss Preece of yours had a fall; all right now, is she?'