A Mother's Promise (31 page)

‘Ta, miss. Merry Christmas.’ Dorrie limped back to her small brothers and dragged them to their feet.

‘She’ll probably spend it on gin,’ Miss Heathcote said, scowling ominously. ‘There are plenty of institutions for children like those.’

Hetty waved to the coachman. ‘Drive on, please, Mr Milton.’ She closed the carriage door and leaned back against the squabs, shivering.

She could see that Miss Heathcote was angry but she was not going to apologise.

‘I am sure I have caught a chill,’ Miss Heathcote said, making a big show of wrapping her furs closer around her body. ‘And you had no right to give orders to my coachman.’

‘I’m sorry, miss. I thought you wanted to get home quick.’

Miss Heathcote eyed her speculatively. ‘What extraordinary behaviour, to be sure. You are a strange girl, Hetty. Why do you care what happens to those filthy little children? There are urchins and beggars all over London; it’s an undeniable fact of life.’

‘And now there are three who will survive this night,’ Hetty replied calmly. ‘I have
brothers who are similar in age, and I wouldn’t want to see them in such dire circumstances.’

Miss Heathcote’s mouth turned down at the corners. ‘You are wasting your time and money. Their sort are all alike: idle, shiftless and ignorant. You may help them today but tomorrow they will be in just the same state. You merely protract their miserable existence.’

‘What would a lady like you know about how the poor struggle to exist?’ Hetty demanded angrily. ‘You live in your ice palace, pampered and cosseted, with servants running round after you. You wouldn’t be able to imagine what it’s like to be so hungry that you faint from lack of vittles, or so cold that you lose the feeling in your limbs.’

‘Stop, stop.’ Miss Heathcote held up a tiny, gloved hand. ‘If I want a lecture on social reform I’ll join the Fabian Society.’ She peered out of the window. ‘Thank heavens for that. We’re almost there.’

‘I think I should go straight home,’ Hetty said nervously. ‘I don’t think there’s much for us to talk about, miss.’

‘Nonsense, girl. I’ll tell you when I’ve done with you, and for heaven’s sake stop calling me miss. You address me as ma’am or Miss Heathcote.’

‘Yes, m-ma’am.’ Hetty subsided into silence as the coach drew to a halt and the groom
opened the carriage door to let the steps down. He leaned in and lifted Miss Heathcote in his arms as easily as if she had weighed no more than a child, and he carried her up the steps to the house. Hetty had little choice but to follow them but she was still uneasy, and she knew that her family would be worried if she did not return home soon.

As they entered the mansion, a liveried footman hurried on ahead of them to throw open double doors that led into an anteroom off the main entrance hall. With a flick of a switch the room was ablaze with light and Hetty gasped out loud. She stood in the doorway marvelling at the miracle of electricity that turned night into day. She had heard of it, of course, but only very wealthy toffs could afford such a luxury. The groom carried Miss Heathcote over to a chair by the fire, where he set her gently down amongst a pile of velvet cushions. Hetty could only gaze in awe at the hand-painted wallpaper, ornately carved rosewood furniture and gilded light fittings sparkling with new-fangled light bulbs. The footman placed a stool beneath Miss Heathcote’s feet, and a maidservant bustled into the room with a cashmere shawl draped over her arm. ‘That will be all, Henry,’ Miss Heathcote said, dismissing him with an imperious gesture. She beckoned to the maid.
‘Minnie! Help me off with my mantle, and take Miss Hetty’s shawl. She will be staying for supper. Tell Cook.’

‘Yes’m.’ Minnie bobbed a curtsey, and, having helped Miss Heathcote to take off her fur-lined mantle, she wrapped the shawl around her thin shoulders. She turned to Hetty holding out her hand. Somewhat reluctantly, Hetty took off her bonnet and shawl and handed them over. Even though the maid’s face remained a mask of polite indifference, Hetty was certain that she saw a flicker of disdain in her eyes as she took the shabby garments.

‘Don’t hover in the doorway, girl,’ Miss Heathcote said, beckoning to Hetty. ‘Come over here and sit down.’

Hetty was in no position to argue. She crossed the floor to perch on the edge of a chair opposite Miss Heathcote. ‘Why was it necessary to bring me here, ma’am?’

‘You’re direct. I like that in a person, Hetty. And you aren’t afraid of me as are the fools who are in my employ.’

‘I am not, ma’am. But you still haven’t told me why you wanted to see me so urgently.’

‘I don’t socialise, and I have very few friends. When you have nothing but money it is almost impossible to distinguish between those who want you for yourself and those who are
merely using you to further their own selfish cause.’

Hetty did not know how to respond to this, and she remained silent.

‘You are so young and full of vitality,’ Miss Heathcote continued, not seeming to require a response to her previous remarks. ‘You had the courage to come here and demand to see me, which I admire. Had I been born with a body like yours, I might have been just such a bold young woman. Had I looked like you, my father might have paid more attention to me, instead of shutting me out of his life with a succession of governesses and paid companions. I was a huge disappointment to him. He wanted a son to carry on his business empire, and all he got was me. My poor mother died giving birth to me, and my father held me responsible for that also. I hated him and I did not mourn him when he died.’

‘That is so sad, ma’am,’ Hetty murmured. ‘I am sorry.’

‘No you are not. Why would you be sorry? You think I am a spoilt creature who deserves to be all alone at Christmas. Isn’t that so?’ Miss Heathcote leaned towards Hetty, her pale grey eyes reflecting the orange flames of the fire, which gave her a strange, unearthly appearance.

‘Yes,’ Hetty said truthfully. ‘It is so, and I don’t think my being here is going to help you.
I’m a poor girl from a humble background. I can’t talk the same as what you do.’

‘No, but you have ambition, Hetty. I admire that, even if you are a little bit too honest for your own good. You have the will to succeed but neither the experience nor the wherewithal. I have both and I think I could mould you into a successful businesswoman. I may have a crippled body, but there is nothing wrong with my mind. The management of my business interests was never given to me. My father put men in charge of every aspect of my inheritance and I am never consulted. You and I have to struggle in a world dominated by men, Hetty. You have the youth, health and burning ambition, I can see that. I think, with my help, you will go far.’

‘But what would you get out of it, miss?’

‘Satisfaction and a purpose in life, that’s what I would achieve. My father’s contemporaries have never taken me seriously. They only see a frail cripple and a woman at that – they have never given me credit for having a brain or a mind of my own. If I am to help you it would have to be our secret. If my part was known you would attract opposition from male competitors. I doubt if they would pay much attention to a girl from Spitalfields opening up a few coffee shops with no one to back her.’

Hetty was still struggling to come to terms with this unexpected proposition, but she could see a flaw in Miss Heathcote’s plan. ‘George,’ she murmured. ‘George is me partner, ma’am. He wouldn’t take kindly to the idea.’

‘George is my partner,’ Miss Heathcote corrected with a humourless smile. ‘You see, Hetty, you will need to polish up your grammar if you are to succeed in the world of business. You will need to know how to behave in public and how to deal with men who think themselves superior in every way. As to your friend George, I’m certain he will see sense when he knows that there is money involved.’

Hetty rose to her feet. ‘I should be getting home now, ma’am. I need a bit of time to think this over, and to speak to George about it too.’

‘Absolute nonsense! You’ve got a mind of your own, haven’t you?’

Hetty hesitated, torn between wanting to escape from the oppressive splendour of Miss Heathcote’s mansion and the temptation to hear more. She nodded silently.

Miss Heathcote pointed a bony finger at her. ‘Do you want to spend the rest of your days grubbing around in Artillery Lane, serving behind the counter of a poky little coffee shop?’ She shook her head vehemently. ‘No, of course you do not. The answer lies in expansion, and
business acumen, my girl. Hard work is all very well, but it is something one makes other people do. You will have to learn to delegate and give orders.’ She reached out to tug on a bell pull. ‘We will have supper now, and Milton will drive you back to the East End when we have eaten.’

‘But, ma’am . . .’

‘Perhaps you would rather set off now and walk through the snow? I can assure you that it would take longer than if you obliged me by staying for supper.’

Before Hetty could say anything, Hicks entered the room to announce that dinner was served. He picked up a pair of crutches and helped Miss Heathcote to her feet, steadying her until she had gained her balance and was able to walk.

‘Thank you, Hicks.’ Leaning heavily on her crutches, Miss Heathcote limped past Hetty. ‘I only have a light repast at this time in the evening. As with everything else, my digestion is delicate. Follow me, Hetty, and do stop worrying about your wretched family. I’m sure they can manage without you for another hour.’

Hicks held the door for them and Hetty followed Miss Heathcote’s slow progress to the dining room, where once again she had to bite back a gasp of awe. Silver candelabra marched
down the vast expanse of the mahogany dining table. In the middle was an epergne overflowing with hothouse fruit and scented flowers, the like of which Hetty had never seen in all her life. There must have been at least twenty chairs set around this magnificent table. Hetty felt very small and insignificant as she took her place beside Miss Heathcote. When Hicks approached them holding a tureen of soup, Hetty watched carefully as Miss Heathcote took the ladle and helped herself to a small portion. Hetty dutifully copied her, but she had no idea which of the cutlery to use. Again she watched Miss Heathcote, who picked up a spoon from the right hand side of the place setting. Hetty did the same.

‘Very good, my dear,’ Miss Heathcote said, smiling. ‘You learn quickly. That is excellent. You will have to learn how to mix with all types of people, and nothing betrays a person’s background as much as their table manners. Take this as your first lesson in etiquette.’

Hetty might have walked out there and then, but she had missed breakfast and had been too busy to eat at midday and she was starving. The soup proved to be delicious and she was not going to allow good food to go to waste. She decided that she would finish it and then take her leave, but she was soon to discover that Miss Heathcote’s idea of a light repast featured several
courses. A fish dish in a delicate dill sauce was followed by medallions of lamb served with vegetables that Hetty had never seen before, let alone tasted. She wondered what George would make of this exotic fare, and she was assailed with feelings of guilt. Here she was eating like a queen and the family at home would be making do with boiled beef and carrots. She was about to ask if the carriage could be sent for when a footman placed a dessert on the table made out of ice cream and meringue drizzled with chocolate sauce and studded with brandied cherries. Hetty decided that another few minutes would make no difference now. She might as well make a complete pig of herself. After all, it was Christmas.

When the meal was over and Miss Heathcote rang the bell for Hicks, Hetty rose to her feet. ‘Ta for the dinner, ma’am. But I really must be going now.’

Miss Heathcote frowned. ‘It’s thank you, not ta. Only babies say ta.’

Hetty bobbed a curtsey. ‘Yes, Miss Heathcote.’

‘That’s better. Sit down and wait for Hicks to send for the carriage. I want to see you again tomorrow. We have a lot to discuss.’

‘Not tomorrow. It’s Christmas Day.’

‘Christmas Day! It’s just another day on the calendar. I don’t know why people make such a fuss about it.’

Hetty was determined not to give in. This Christmas was going to be special. In fact, it was going to be the first proper Christmas that the boys and Talia had ever enjoyed, and she was not going to spoil it for anyone. She clenched her jaw, ready to argue the point, but then her throat contracted with emotion as a sudden vivid memory of her mother flashed into her mind’s eye. She could see Ma’s smiling face and hear her soft voice teasing her when she had rebelled against something that she had considered to be unjust. Ma had called it ‘Hetty’s stubborn mule face’, and had joked about her wayward streak, telling her that she was just like her father and Granny Huggins once they had made their minds up to something, there was no shifting them. Well, she thought, I am not going to be shifted now. She met Miss Heathcote’s gaze and saw it waver.

‘Maybe not tomorrow,’ Miss Heathcote conceded. ‘But I will expect you the next day, and don’t tell me that it’s Boxing Day, for I’m very well aware of it. You won’t be opening your coffee shop, so there is no excuse for your not attending here at ten o’clock sharp.’

Hetty nodded her head. ‘Very well, miss – I mean, Miss Heathcote. Can I go now?’

When the coachman assisted Hetty to alight from the carriage outside the house in Princelet
Street, she was even more aware of the contrast between Spitalfields and the elegant mansion in Berkeley Square. For the first time in her life she felt embarrassed to admit that this was home. Despite the frosting of snow, the pavements were littered with rubbish, and the cobblestones carpeted in horse dung and excrement, both animal and human, she suspected. The cold night air was crisp but it could not disguise the odour rising from the drains and the choking fumes of burning soot. Hetty glanced nervously at Milton but his face was a mask of well-schooled indifference, and whatever thoughts he might have about this part of London, he kept them to himself.

She had her own key now and Hetty let herself into the house. She hesitated for a moment in the dimly lit entrance hall. When Nora had first taken them in, this once fine house had seemed like a palace to her. It might be sadly in need of repair and refurbishment but it had given them shelter in their time of need. Even so, she could not help making an unfavourable comparison between this place and the magnificent dwelling in Berkeley Square. She took a deep breath, forcing the image of Miss Heathcote’s grand mansion out of her mind; after all, living like a queen had not brought that lady much happiness.