A Mother's Promise (11 page)

Hetty had just weighed out two pounds of potatoes for a customer. She had taken the money and given the right change, and was feeling quite proud of herself. She wiped her hands on her apron. ‘I’ve been thinking,’ she said slowly. ‘I’ve been mulling over in me mind the idea of selling hot taters. What do you think to that, George?’

She had spoken tentatively, half expecting him to laugh and tell her that it was a silly idea, but he put his head on one side, considering her words with a serious expression on his sun-tanned face. ‘I should say it’s a possibility. It’s mostly blokes who sell taters, but I don’t see why a girl shouldn’t do it.’

‘Really?’ Hetty could hardly breathe as she served a drayman with two bananas and an apple. She took the money and slipped it in the money bag tied round her waist. ‘Do you really think I could do it?’

‘Why not? Although you’d need money to buy the equipment.’

‘And do you know what that would be?’

‘You’d need a can for the water, and a fire pot to keep the water and the taters hot. You’d have to have charcoal for the fire, and potatoes, of course; butter, salt and pepper, and a sharp knife. Then you’d have to find a baker who would bake the taters for you and a pitch where you could sell them.’

Hetty chuckled. ‘And a reliable vendor of potatoes, such as you?’

‘The most reliable chap in the business.’ George tipped his cap. ‘You’d need a bit of money to start up with, but the tin man in Ratcliff Highway makes up the cans for a couple of quid, so I hear tell.’

‘Two pounds!’ Hetty’s breath hitched in her throat. He might as well have said two hundred.

‘But you could make up to fifteen shillings a week, maybe more, if you was prepared to work into the late evening, standing outside the stations or theatres. You’d soon get your money back.’

‘I couldn’t raise that kind of money, but it was a pleasant thought. I’ll just have to think of something else.’

‘You don’t look like the giving up sort to me, Hetty.’

‘I’d best be going now. If you’ll just point me in the right direction.’

‘Just another half-hour or so, Hetty. We’ve nearly sold the lot, and I promised to walk you back to Totty Street. George Cooper always keeps his promises.’ He gave her a saucy wink. ‘And your granny will forgive you when she sees what you’ve brought for her.’

When the last apple had been sold, George packed up his barrow and trundled it to his
lodgings in Cottage Green, which sounded wonderfully countrified, but in reality was a narrow street off Bow Road lined with smoke-blackened back to back houses, pubs and pie shops. The smell of onions, soot and stale beer was almost overpowering. Hetty said nothing as George parked his barrow at the kerbside, along with several other handcarts. He covered it with a piece of tarpaulin. ‘There, that’ll do. Now I’ll walk you home, Hetty. Luckily we’re only a short way from Grove Road and Totty Street.’ He proffered his arm, and Hetty took it. She might have refused, but she was glad to have someone to lean on at the end of a long hard day. She hoped that the fruit and vegetables wrapped up in a piece of sacking would be enough to placate Granny, but she was not looking forward to explaining her absence. When they reached the end of Totty Street, she stopped. ‘Ta, George. I’m really grateful to you for walking me home, but, if you don’t mind, this is where we say goodbye.’

‘I get it. You don’t want the old dragon to see you out walking with a handsome young fellow like me.’ He grinned, tipped his cap and winked at her. ‘Say no more, Hetty. I’ll stand here until you’re safely indoors, and then I’ll be on me way. Good luck to you, girl.’

Overcome with gratitude and relief that he had understood the position, she reached up
to kiss him on the cheek. ‘You’re a toff, George. A real toff. I won’t forget you.’ She hurried off without waiting for him to reply, but when she reached the house she paused to glance over her shoulder. He gave her a cheery wave, shoved his hands in his pockets and sauntered off, whistling a tune. Hetty took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

Sammy let her in and his eyes looked huge behind the thick lenses of his newly acquired spectacles. ‘Where’ve you been, Hetty? She’s really got the hump.’

Hetty put the sack down on the floor, and she brushed his unruly curls back from his forehead. ‘Never mind her, I’ll sort her out. But just look at you in your new specs. You don’t half look smart.’

He shook his head. ‘I look stupid. Eddie’s been teasing me all day. Jane said I look like an owl. I hates wearing these silly things.’

‘But can you see better? That’s the real point, Sammy.’

‘Yes, but I don’t like being laughed at, Hetty.’

She gave him a hug. ‘Take no notice. I think you look like a proper little gent.’ She took off the borrowed bonnet and hung it on a peg in the hallway. It wouldn’t do to face Granny while she was wearing the evidence. Hetty picked up her peace offering, took a deep breath and went into the parlour, but she
stopped short when she saw two men sitting at the table drinking tea out of Granny’s best cups. One was Mr Shipworthy, but the other man, who had his back to her, was unmistakeably Cyrus Clench. Jane was seated by the fire, pale-faced but defiant, and Granny was standing by the table with the big brown teapot clutched in her hand. She glared at Hetty, nostrils flaring. ‘So, what time of day do you call this? Where have you been since this morning? It’s half past seven. You’ve missed your supper.’

Cyrus turned his head to give Hetty an appraising stare. ‘Is this the way to treat the good woman who has taken you in off the street, Miss Huggins?’ He rose to his feet. ‘And did you think that by running away from your previous abode you would escape paying your debts? I call that shocking behaviour.’

‘And so do I,’ Mr Shipworthy agreed, nodding his head. ‘Shocking. You are a disgrace to the name of Huggins. Your grandmother is a saint to have taken you in.’

Hetty opened her mouth to protest, but Jane shot her a warning glance. ‘You was looking for work, wasn’t you, Hetty? Did you have any luck?’

‘You should have sought my permission before you went gallivanting off for the day,’
Granny Huggins said, slamming the teapot down on the table. ‘I might have had errands for you to run, or chores that your sister could not do in her delicate condition. And did you stop to think about the distress you might cause your young brothers by being absent all day and late into the evening?’

‘It’s not that late, Granny,’ Hetty said, controlling her rising temper with difficulty. ‘And what is he doing here, I’d like to know?’

‘I felt it my duty to inform my good friend Cyrus of your whereabouts,’ Mr Shipworthy said, tugging nervously at his mutton-chop whiskers. ‘Your sudden appearance here smacked of a moonlight flit, and I could not allow you to tarnish this good lady’s name by your nefarious deeds.’

‘Thank you very much, Mr Shipworthy,’ Granny Huggins said tartly. ‘I don’t need you to protect my good name. I am a respected member of the community and I gave shelter to these young people in good faith. If it has been abused, that is my business.’

‘Absolutely, ma’am.’ Mr Shipworthy subsided into his starched white collar, his cheeks flushing brick-red. ‘No offence meant.’

‘I’m sure it was just an oversight, ma’am,’ Cyrus said, rubbing his hands together. ‘I’m certain that Miss Hetty meant to let me know, but what with the strike and everything, it just
slipped her mind.’ He shot a calculating glance at Hetty and waited for her reply.

There was little that she could do other than agree with him. She nodded her head. ‘That’s right. Of course I was going to let you know our whereabouts, as soon as I had found work and could pay what we owe.’

‘Huh! I find that hard to believe,’ Mr Shipworthy snorted. ‘That wasn’t my impression this morning. You went as white as a sheet when I mentioned my friend’s name.’

Hetty struggled to think of a suitable retort, but before she could answer, Granny Huggins had taken a leather purse from her pocket. ‘How much, Mr Clench?’

He rose to his feet, blinking at her like a surprised owl. ‘How much, ma’am?’

‘Yes, you silly man. How much does my granddaughter owe you?’

Cyrus ran his finger round the inside of his collar. ‘Why, that will be sixpence for last Friday and a further sixpence for this coming Friday. I could add on extra interest for non-payment, but I’m a fair man, ma’am.’

‘You’re a leech, Mr Clench. I know your sort.’ Granny thrust two sixpenny bits into his outstretched hand. ‘But never let it be said that a Huggins did not pay his or her debt. Now I’ll thank you to leave my house.’

Cyrus closed his fingers over the coins and
he backed towards the doorway. ‘There’s no need to adopt that attitude. I’m only doing my job, ma’am.’

Mr Shipworthy clambered to his feet, his jowls wobbling as he puffed out his cheeks. ‘I say, Mrs Huggins. This isn’t the sort of treatment I would expect a friend of mine to suffer in my own home.’

Granny bridled, narrowing her eyes. ‘This is my home, Mr Shipworthy. You are just a paying guest, and I can turn you out any time I please. If you don’t like it here, I suggest you find yourself another place. I could fill that room ten times over and still have gentlemen queuing at my door.’

Cyrus hovered in the doorway, as if poised to beat a hasty retreat. ‘I daresay that’s true, ma’am. Especially now you have two young women who are known to be free with their favours. I expect the queue would reach as far as Piccadilly Circus.’

Hetty dropped the sack on the floor and she advanced on him with her hands balled into fists. ‘Say that again and I’ll throw you out meself.’

‘It’s true, Mrs Huggins,’ Cyrus said, backing into the hallway. ‘Ask Miss Jane where she got that wedding band. I think you’ll find it’s made of brass, ma’am. Ask her to show you her marriage licence. Ask . . .’ His words were lost
as Sammy charged with his head down and butted him in the stomach. The air exploded from his lungs and Cyrus staggered against the wall, clutching his belly, temporarily bereft of speech.

‘Are you going to allow that kind of behaviour, ma’am?’ Mr Shipworthy demanded, eyeing Eddie nervously as he pawed the ground with his feet, like a small bull making ready to charge.

Granny laid a restraining hand on Eddie’s shoulder. ‘I didn’t see anything, Mr Shipworthy. I think your friend tripped over his own flat feet. I suggest you see him out.’

Hetty stared at her open-mouthed, and then the comical side of the situation struck her and she burst into laughter. After a moment’s pause, Jane began to giggle. Mr Shipworthy snorted and marched out of the room, narrowly escaping being run into by Sammy as he returned slapping his hands together in triumph. ‘I sorted the old codger out, Hetty. Did you see me?’

‘I saw you,’ Eddie said breathlessly. ‘You went at him like a proper prize fighter.’

Sammy flexed his muscles. ‘So you’d better not go on about me specs now, or I might have to wallop you too.’

Hetty wrapped her arms around him and straightened his crooked spectacles. ‘Don’t
think I ain’t grateful to you for standing up for us, Sammy, but fighting ain’t the right way.’

‘Yes,’ Granny said severely. ‘I’ll let it pass this once, but we do not knock people down because they have offended us. This was an exception. I can’t abide moneylenders, they’re all bloodsucking leeches, and it shouldn’t be allowed.’ She turned to Jane with a stern look on her face. ‘As for you, young woman, I can tell gold from brass, especially when the ring leaves a green stain on your finger. Are you a bad girl? Do you go with men for money or a cheap thrill?’

Jane blushed scarlet and she heaved her body off the chair. ‘No such thing. I was properly engaged to my Nat, but he . . .’ She covered her face with her hands and her shoulders shook.

Hetty shot a darkling glance at Granny. ‘Her fiancé was killed in an accident at the gasworks. They were to have been married as soon as the last of the banns were read, but poor Nat died and Jane is left to bring up her baby single-handed. Not that she’s on her own, Granny. She’ll never want for anything as long as I have a breath left in me body.’

Granny Huggins lowered herself onto her rocking chair. ‘Fine words butter no parsnips, my girl. You have no work, you are not trained
to do anything other than make matchboxes, and I suspect that you have had very little in the way of education. How do you propose to support this family of yours?’

‘I – I dunno really.’

Granny folded her hands in her lap, and her raised eyebrows almost disappeared into her hairline. ‘You’ve been out all day. Did you find work?’

‘Not exactly.’

‘Well, did you, or didn’t you? It’s not a difficult question.’

‘Leave her be, ma’am,’ Jane said hastily. ‘Can’t you see she’s fair wore out with tramping the streets?’

Eddie and Sammy huddled together at the table, their moment of elation chased away by the sound of angry voices. Hetty laid her hands on their thin shoulders, exerting a gentle, reassuring pressure. She met Granny’s eyes with a defiant lift of her chin. ‘No, I didn’t find work, but I helped a bloke on his fruit and vegetable stall and he paid me in kind.’ She bent down to retrieve the sack, and she tipped its contents out on the table. Sammy and Eddie murmured with delight as the apples and oranges rolled towards them. Their small hands reached out to grab the fruit, but they obviously thought better of it as they kept a weather eye on their unpredictable grandmother. ‘Go on, boys,’
Hetty said. ‘I’m sure that Granny won’t mind if you share an orange or an apple. They was honestly come by.’

Granny Huggins waved her hand at them. ‘Go on. I can’t stand to see good food go to waste.’

Jane grabbed an apple, rubbed it on her skirt and sank her teeth into the sweet flesh with a sigh of pleasure, while Sammy and Eddie pounced on the oranges.

‘That’s right,’ Hetty said approvingly. ‘Enjoy the treat.’

‘Aren’t you going to have some, Hetty?’ Jane asked with her mouth full of apple. ‘Aren’t you hungry?’

Hetty’s stomach rumbled. It seemed a very long time since she had eaten George’s ham sandwich. She glanced at Granny Huggins, half expecting to see censure in her eyes, but she was startled to see one of her grandmother’s rare smiles. ‘Oh, go on,’ Granny said. ‘Eat the fruit but don’t complain to me of belly-ache afterwards. And, Hetty, there’s some bread in the crock. Never let it be said that Mattie Huggins allowed her poor relations to starve. And you can pass me an orange, before the greedy boys eat the lot.’