A Mother's Promise (20 page)

Hetty stood up slowly and was relieved to find that everything around her stayed in its rightful place. ‘I can’t thank you enough, Nora.’

‘Nonsense, ducks. Us costers stick together, and I can see that you’re a good girl, Hetty. You’ll go far.’

Nora turned away to serve a customer and Hetty went back to her stall, thanking the girls who had helped her and giving them each a penny by way of payment. She was busily slicing the seed cake when George came striding up to her, his brow creased in worried lines. ‘Are you sick or something, Hetty?’

‘No, George. I cut me hand on a piece of broken china. Nora saw to it for me, but I’m fine now, ta.’

‘Nora blooming Nightingale! Who’d have thought it? She must have taken to you, girl. Old Nora can be a bit of a one if she takes a dislike to a body.’

‘Hey, George,’ Ginger shouted from his stall
across the way. ‘Stop spooning with Hetty. You got a customer waiting.’

‘Take no notice of him, Hetty,’ George said, chuckling. ‘I’m just glad you ain’t sick. Your face was the colour of skimmed milk when I first saw you. Are you sure there wasn’t something else? Because if anyone upsets you, just tell me and I’ll sort them out good and proper.’

Hetty laughed in spite of herself. ‘Ta, George. I’ll remember that.’

Business was booming and Hetty had no time to worry about her meeting with Clench, but as six o’clock approached she started to feel apprehensive. George was still busy selling, but Hetty could see that Nora had already packed up her stall and was ready to leave. They exchanged meaningful glances and Hetty pointed mutely to George. Nora nodded her head in response and Hetty went to his stall to tell him that she was leaving early and wouldn’t be walking home with him. As luck would have it, he was too busy to question her motives. ‘All right then, ducks. I’ll see you in the morning. Mind how you go.’

Hetty pushed her barrow out of the market hall, and waited for a gap between the drays, carts and hansom cabs with Nora at her side.

‘You can leave your barrow at my drum in Princelet Street,’ Nora said as Hetty seized her
chance to get into the flow of traffic. ‘If you leave it outside the Ten Bells it’ll be stripped of everything before you can blink.’

‘Ta, Nora. I’d be finished if it happened again.’

‘Again?’ Nora cocked an eyebrow at her. ‘Was it that Clench bloke?’

Hetty sighed. ‘Yes. Like I said, he’s had it in for me for ages. If he has his way we’ll end up begging on the streets.’

‘We’ll see about that,’ Nora said, bristling like a turkeycock. ‘Turn right here, dearie.’

It was not far to walk and soon they were in the narrow street lined with late-seventeenth-century terraced houses. Hetty stared up at the three- and four-storey brick-fronted houses, which must have been the height of fashion when they were built for the wealthy French Huguenot silk weavers and mercers, but times had changed and they now housed a different class of tenant. Nora’s house was unremarkable from the rest, but it boasted a large back yard reached by an alleyway at the rear of the terrace. It was here that Hetty left her barrow, and Nora took her into the scullery and out through a large kitchen into a long and narrow passageway. Hetty’s first impression was of a once elegant townhouse that had fallen into a sad state of decay. The wallpaper was peeling off like blistered skin, the skirting boards were
cracked, and the paintwork badly chipped. The pervading smell was of mouse droppings, dry rot and burnt sugar, but there was no time to loiter as Nora hurried her out through the front door.

‘Do you own this house?’ Hetty asked breathlessly.

‘For me sins,’ Nora wheezed. ‘My old man and me bought it thirty years ago from a cove who was going bankrupt. We planned to fill it with nippers but we wasn’t blessed in that way, and then my Eric ups and dies of a fever so I was left on me own.’ Her eyes filled with tears which she brushed away with the back of her hand.

‘I’m sorry,’ Hetty murmured.

Nora stopped for a moment, leaning against the wall of a second-hand furniture shop in order to catch her breath. ‘It’s all right, ducks. It was a long time ago, but I can never think of my poor Eric without becoming a bit sentimental. Anyway, the old house is a bit of a white elephant really. I can’t sell it and I doubt if I could give it away, so I lets out rooms, but business has been bad since the Ripper started his evil doings. They say the first two women were seen close to the Ten Bells pub just afore he killed them. Makes your hair stand on end, don’t it? Anyway, it’s a good few months since he got the Kelly woman, so hopefully he’s gone
far away from here.’ She straightened up, took a deep breath and resumed a brisk pace. ‘Come on, ducks. Don’t loiter, or he’ll think you’re not coming. Just wait until I gets me hands on him, the old bastard.’

Even though Nora was built like a galleon in full sail, Hetty had quite a job to keep up with her and she was out of breath by the time they reached the corner of Church Street and the Ten Bells pub. Nora stopped and clutched her hands to her heaving bosom while she struggled to breathe. ‘Well, ducks, this is it. You go in first. It won’t do no good if he sees you’re not alone. I’ll be right behind you.’

The smell of tobacco smoke mixed with the fumes of alcohol assailed Hetty’s nostrils as she entered the taproom. Nora was just a step or two behind her and it was obvious from the cheery greetings she received that she was a regular customer and well liked. Hetty blinked as her eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, and a shiver ran down her spine as she saw Cyrus emerging from the shadows. He seized her by the arm and drew her into a corner. He pushed her down onto a high-backed oak settle. ‘Let’s talk business, girlie.’ He was about to sit beside her when Nora grabbed him by the scruff of his neck. He struggled, but she caught him by the seat of his trousers and he dangled helplessly like a marionette in the hands of an expert puppeteer. Hetty clamped her hand over her mouth to stifle a hysterical giggle.

‘What’s all this?’ Cyrus demanded, choking. ‘P-put me down.’

Nora yanked his collar until his face turned purple. She leaned closer to him, placing her
lips to his ear. ‘Now see here, little man. I know your game, and you won’t get away with it. Hetty’s got friends and if you don’t want to have your legs bent the wrong way, I suggest you leave her be.’ Nora gave him a shake like a terrier with a dead rat and then she dropped him.

Cyrus collapsed on the settle, holding his throat and gasping for breath. ‘Who d’you think you are, you ugly old bladder of lard?’ Hetty slithered away from him and went to stand behind Nora. ‘You act respectful to Mrs Jackson,’ she cried angrily. ‘She’s an important lady.’

‘Lady!’ Cyrus spat on the sawdust-covered floor. ‘If she’s a lady, then I’m a Chinaman.’

‘Ching chong,’ Nora said with a loud guffaw. She snatched a tankard of ale from the table in front of Cyrus and tipped its contents over his head. ‘Now you’re a drownded Chinaman. You don’t frighten me, cully. And if I catches you anywhere near my friend Hetty, you’ll wish you was in China or even further away.’

A loud burst of applause followed this, and Nora bowed to her appreciative audience. ‘Keep your eyes on this one, boys. He’s an evil bastard and no mistake.’ She turned to Hetty with a triumphant smile. ‘Come on, ducks. I don’t think this vermin will bother you again.’

‘Just you wait,’ Clench hissed, as Hetty was about to follow Nora out of the taproom. ‘You’ll pay for this, Miss Hetty.’

The malevolent look in his eyes sent shivers down her spine. She might be safe for the moment, but she knew that Nora’s well-meaning intervention had only made Clench even more determined to get even. Outside in the street, Nora paused to wipe the perspiration from her brow with a grubby hanky. ‘He’s a mean bastard, Hetty. I’d keep well out of his way if I was you.’

‘I’ll try, but he’s not going to give up so easily.’

‘Tell you what, young Hetty. Why don’t you leave your barrow at my place tonight? You’d be quicker on your feet if you didn’t have to lug that thing around, and you could pick it up in the morning.’

Hetty fell into step beside her as Nora headed off towards Princelet Street. It was a tempting proposition, but, having given it due consideration, she realised that it was not very practical. ‘Ta, Nora. I appreciate the offer, but if I did that, I’d have to carry me sandwich makings all the way from Totty Street.’

‘You live too far away from the market,’ Nora said, gasping for every breath as she waddled along the pavement. When they reached her house, she took a large iron key
from her pocket and unlocked the front door. ‘Come in, Hetty. I’ve just had another idea.’

As Hetty followed her into the entrance hall, she paused to admire the fine, if slightly worm-eaten, wooden wall panelling and the elaborate joinery of the staircase that rose majestically to the upper floors. It must, she thought, have been a really grand house in its heyday. It had fallen into a sad state of disrepair, but even so it was like a palace compared to number one Autumn Road. Until now, she had always thought Granny’s house in Totty Street was a desirable residence, but in her mind’s eye she could see this old silk weaver’s house restored to its former glory. One day she would own a house like this, only in a better part of London, away from the slums and industrial filth of the East End. She was so deep in thought that she was barely conscious of the sound of footsteps on the staircase.

‘Well now, what have we here?’

Hetty looked up with a start. A nattily dressed young gentleman was strolling down the stairs. His well-cut jacket was unbuttoned, revealing a mustard-yellow waistcoat and matching check trousers. In his hand he carried a bowler hat and his blond hair flopped in an artistic manner over a high forehead. He smiled, revealing a row of perfect white teeth.

Hetty stared up at him transfixed. As he
paused, leaning against the dark and battered wooden panelling, he seemed to shine like a golden god of youth and vitality. For once in her life, Hetty was speechless.

He ran lightly down the remaining stairs. ‘Hello there,’ he said, with a friendly smile. ‘Who are you? I don’t believe we’ve met.’

‘H-hello,’ Hetty murmured, suddenly acutely conscious of her own shabby apparel.

At the sound of his voice, Nora stopped halfway down the passage and turned her head to give him a cursory glance. ‘I don’t usually see you at this time of day, Mr Wyndham.’

He flashed a charming smile in her direction. ‘No ma’am, I guess not.’

Hetty swallowed hard, trying to think of something to say to this handsome gentleman who spoke with a strange accent, but whose good opinion she was suddenly quite desperate to obtain. Lost for words, she bobbed a curtsey.

‘May I introduce myself, ma’am? Charles Wyndham the third, from Philadelphia, gentleman of the press, at your service.’ He took her hand and raised it to his lips.

Hetty found herself looking into a pair of smoky blue eyes set slightly aslant. As his lips brushed the back of her hand she felt her skin tingle and her heart did a wild leap inside her
chest. ‘Hester,’ she murmured shyly. ‘Hester Huggins, but everyone calls me Hetty.’

‘What a delightful name. I’m charmed to meet you, Miss Hetty Huggins.’

Nora bustled up to them. ‘That’s enough of your soft sawder, Mr Wyndham. Miss Hetty ain’t used to your Yankee ways. She’s a good East End girl, so don’t go getting no ideas.’

‘Nora!’ Hetty said, feeling the ready blush rise to her cheeks. ‘I’m sure Mr Wyndham never meant no such thing.’

‘Certainly not,’ Charles said amicably. ‘Where I come from, Miss Hetty, we know how to treat a lady.’

She could not decide if he was serious or merely teasing her, and she snatched her hand away. ‘I’m glad to hear it, sir. It was a pleasure meeting you.’ Holding her head high, she left him standing at the foot of the stairs. Suppressing the urge to glance over her shoulder to see if he was watching her, Hetty followed Nora into the kitchen.

Nora went over to the huge cast-iron range and began to riddle the glowing embers of the fire. ‘Don’t get no fancy notions about him, ducks. He’s just here for a short time. He’s a reporter writing a story about the Ripper. Seems they got a notion in America that the killer could be one of them. Anyway, he’s just lodging here to get the feeling of the place and
he’ll be up and gone afore you can say Leather Apron.’

Hetty felt quite weak at the knees. She had never met a toff before, let alone one from the United States of America. With his shining blond hair and expensive clothes, he might have stepped straight out of the pages of a magazine or even a story book. It was true that he didn’t wear armour, but he could easily have been the Sir Galahad of the stories that Ma used to read them about the Knights of the Round Table. Ma had been fond of books, and occasionally, as a special treat, she had taken Hetty and Jane to the public library in London Street. These brief forays into the world of art and literature had been like journeying into a foreign land.

‘Forget him,’ Nora said, pointing the poker at Hetty. ‘He’s a real charmer is that one, but take my advice and stick to your own kind.’

‘I dunno what you’re talking about,’ Hetty said, tossing her head. ‘I only exchanged a couple of words with the bloke.’

‘And if you’ve got any sense you’ll keep it that way. Now then.’ Nora suddenly became business-like, and she put the poker down with a clang. ‘Let’s be sensible, Hetty. You’ve got a problem with that worm Clench, and you can’t keep pushing that heavy barrow all the way from Totty Street to Spitalfields and back again.
You say the old bugger has threatened to have your family thrown out of your granny’s house.’

Hetty came back to earth with a bump. Reluctantly, she pushed the dashing image of Mr Charles Wyndham from Philadelphia out of her mind. ‘Yes, that’s true.’

‘Well, I’ve been thinking. I got plenty of room here and I need a girl to help me keep the place clean and tidy, maybe to do a bit of cooking for me as well.’

‘I don’t see how I could help you out there, Nora. The coffee stall takes up all me time.’

Nora moved her bulk to a chair at the scrubbed deal table and she pushed a pile of dirty crockery aside to lean her elbows on its surface. ‘I weren’t thinking of you, silly girl. You got a future with your coffee stall. I meant that young sister of yours, the one you told me about that had the baby out of wedlock, after her man got killed.’