A Mother's Promise (34 page)

‘Let’s put it another way, Hetty. How do you see the future of your coffee shop? Are you content to slave away in Artillery Lane, making cups of tea and coffee for penny-pinching clerks and type-writers? Or do you have more ambition?’

‘I’ve got this far and I want to make money. I’ve had enough of being poor and watching my family suffer. I want to be a successful businesswoman with a whole string of coffee shops.’

Miss Heathcote clapped her hands like an excited child. ‘Exactly so. I visited your little shop yesterday. I had the spare set of keys from Maitland, although he wasn’t very happy about being disturbed on Christmas Day, but I always get what I want. Anyway, I had a look inside your premises and I liked what I saw. With very little outlay, you have created a warm and welcoming atmosphere aimed at an up and coming middle-class clientele.’

‘I never thought about it like that. All I wanted was somewhere clean and decent where women wouldn’t feel out of place if they was on their own.’

‘And you have done just that. You have a talent for design and an eye for the small details that transform a simple café into a smart venue. I would want you to choose suitable locations, design the interiors, set the menus and the standard for the catering. I saw from your bill of fare at the coffee shop that everything is homemade, and that is a good selling point. Our motto should be honest homemade food at affordable prices. What do you think?’

‘I think you’re going too fast for me, miss – I
mean, Miss Heathcote. I’ve only just got me shop up and running. I haven’t got the experience to handle more just yet.’

Miss Heathcote threw up her hands. ‘You wouldn’t have to work in them, you silly girl. No one makes money by slaving away in a kitchen or waiting on tables. You pay other people to do that. You would delegate, my dear.’

‘I ain’t sure what that means, and anyway, without George . . .’

‘Stop! Don’t mention that fellow’s name again in my presence. We will do this together, Hetty. We will find suppliers of everything from tables and chairs to currant buns. You will tell me what we need, based on your experience in Artillery Lane, and we will start from there.’

Hetty was still unsure. ‘But . . .’

‘No buts, Hetty. You want to be a success, don’t you?’

‘Of course.’

‘Then put yourself in my hands. You cannot lose. I will put up the money and find the properties through one of my agents, incognito of course. It will be so exciting to pit my wits against men. I want to prove that I can beat them at their own game.’

‘The business wouldn’t be mine, though,’ Hetty said slowly. ‘It would be your success and your money, not mine.’

‘Nonsense. I’m not interested in the money. I have more than I could ever spend in one lifetime. I need to prove that I am not a useless cripple. You can repay the capital expenditure if you must, but you can have the profits for yourself. Share them with your gentleman friend if you like, but allow me the thrill of being involved in a project where I can use the intelligence that God gave me. I cannot do it without you, and you need my money in order to start your catering empire.’

‘Put like that, it don’t sound half bad,’ Hetty said slowly.

‘Wonderful. You’ve seen sense at last.’

‘There’s just one question I have to ask you.’

‘What is that, Hetty?’

‘Why pick on me? With your money you could get someone far more experienced and clever than me.’

Miss Heathcote laid her hand on Hetty’s sleeve. ‘I hadn’t even thought of doing something like this until you came barging into my life. You started with nothing and you now own a coffee shop, which has been an initial success solely due to the ambience which you created and the good food you provide. If you can do all this in such a short space of time, then I know I have the right person to further my interests and your own. Does that satisfy you, Hetty?’

Rising slowly from the stool, Hetty nodded. ‘Yes, ma’am. If you put it like that then let’s have a go. I can do it, I know I can.’

‘I knew that you would see sense.’ Miss Heathcote suddenly became businesslike, folding her hands in her lap and looking Hetty in the eye with a determined expression on her thin features. ‘Now, I want you to come here tomorrow morning at the same time. I will give the matter a great deal of thought and tomorrow I will tell you my plans and how you are to set about them. Do you understand me, Hetty?’

‘I do, but I have to open up my coffee shop first thing in the morning. I can’t afford to lose a day’s trading.’

Miss Heathcote frowned and then a slow smile curved her thin lips. ‘Good. I see that you are a true businesswoman at heart. Very well, then, you will come here when you close down for the day. I will send my carriage to collect you. Now you must leave me. I’m tired and I must rest.’ She leaned back against the cushions and closed her eyes.

Summarily dismissed, Hetty left the room and went running down the great staircase to tell George her news. He came to meet her with a worried puckering of his brow. ‘What’s been going on? You’ve been ages.’

She linked her hand through his arm. ‘I
know I have, George. I wanted you to be there but she wouldn’t have it. She don’t like men very much and I can’t say I blame her.’ Seeing the downturn of his mouth, Hetty chuckled. ‘I don’t mean you, silly. But she’s had bad luck with men and it’s made her bitter.’

‘Ahem.’

A polite cough from Hicks made them both turn to look at him.

‘Excuse me, miss, but will you be leaving now?’

‘Yes, Mr Hicks,’ Hetty said, smiling. ‘We’re going right away.’

‘It’s just Hicks, ma’am.’

Hetty angled her head, eyeing him doubtfully. ‘It seems a bit disrespectful to a bloke of your age, but I suppose you know what you’re talking about.’

‘Yes, miss.’ Hicks bit his lip as if he was suppressing a grin, and he signalled to the footman. ‘Miss Heathcote’s guests will be leaving now, Henry.’

‘Come on, Hetty,’ George said, taking her by the arm. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

The footman stood to attention by the open door and Hetty paused as they were about to walk past him. ‘Ta-ta, Henry. I expect I shall be seeing you again soon.’

‘Good day, miss. Good day, sir.’ A crimson
flush rose from above Henry’s collar to stain his cheeks, but he maintained a stony expression.

Hetty was certain that he winked at her, or perhaps he had something in his eye. She could not be sure, but she decided that they were a rum lot in Berkeley Square. She was glad to be going home, even if the roads were ankle deep in slush and she could tell by his set expression that George was far from happy. She shot him a glance beneath her eyelashes. ‘Shall we take a cab, and hang the expense?’

He looked down at her and his expression softened. ‘Yes. It’s too far to walk on a day like this. We’ll stand a better chance of getting one in Piccadilly.’ He patted her hand as it lay in the crook of his arm. ‘You can tell me what the old dragon said to you on the way.’

As they set off at a brisk pace down Berkeley Street, Hetty recounted the details of her conversation with Miss Heathcote. George listened in silence but she could feel the muscles in his arm contract when she mentioned Miss Heathcote’s intransigent attitude towards him and men in general. ‘She can’t help it, George,’ Hetty said hastily. ‘It’s nothing personal.’

‘If you ask me, it’s very personal. She hasn’t given me a chance to speak for myself and I resent that. You and me are partners, Hetty,
and the sooner she gets that into her head the better.’

‘There’s a cab, George,’ Hetty cried, pointing at a hansom cab that had just dropped off a fare. She hurried across the street, waving frantically to attract the cabby’s attention, leaving George little alternative but to follow her.

‘Where to, mister?’

‘Princelet Street, Spitalfields, please, mate.’ George held out his hand to help Hetty up the high step, but she hesitated.

‘No, George. First I want to check on the coffee shop, just in case Miss Heathcote forgot to lock the door or something dreadful.’ She raised her voice, addressing the cabby. ‘Artillery Lane first, and then Princelet Street.’

‘Right you are, lady.’

‘What’s the matter, Hetty? Are you afraid the old girl’s a bit doolally and can’t be trusted to do a simple thing like locking a door?’ George said, handing her into the cab and climbing in to sit beside her.

‘Don’t be horrible. She’s a cripple and she’s not used to doing things for herself. For all I know she might have walked out and left the place wide open, or knocked over a candle and set the building on fire.’

‘If that’s so then I don’t think you should be going into business with her.’ He moderated his tone. ‘Come on, Hetty. Think about it,
girl. It’s a harsh world out there. How can two women manage without a bloke to stand up for them?’

‘You’d be surprised.’

‘If I could just get in to speak to the old girl, I know I could make her see sense.’

Hetty smiled. ‘I think you would have met your match with Miss Tryphena Heathcote.’

‘Rubbish. There ain’t a woman in London who wouldn’t succumb to my charms, if I was so inclined.’

‘Well, there’s one here who has your measure.’ Hetty took his hand and she smiled. ‘You’re one of the best, George. I couldn’t wish for a better friend.’

‘One of the best?’ He squeezed her fingers with a reluctant grin. ‘I am the best, Hetty, and don’t you forget it.’

‘I won’t, but you must let me do this my way.’

‘I know, but I still think you’re making a big mistake.’

Hetty subsided into silence, huddling in the corner of the cab. She was not going to argue. George would come round. He always did.

They continued their journey in silence, and when they arrived in Artillery Lane it seemed unnaturally quiet with all the business premises closed for the day. As the cab drew to a halt Hetty leaned out to gaze anxiously at the
shop front and to her relief the door was firmly closed, but huddled together on the doorstep she saw three small bodies. She leapt out of the cab, barely waiting for it to come to a halt, and she raced across the pavement. Her breath caught in her throat when she saw their bare, blue feet sticking out from beneath their ragged clothes, and for a dreadful moment she thought that they were all dead. ‘Dorrie,’ Hetty whispered, giving her a gentle shake.

Dorrie opened her eyes and they were blurry with sleep. ‘Is that you, miss?’

‘Yes, and it’s lucky for you that I happened along. I told you to come tomorrow, not today.’ Hetty stared anxiously at the two boys, who had not stirred. ‘Are they . . .’

Dorrie nudged each of them in the ribs and received a grunt in reply. ‘They ain’t dead, they’re just worn out.’

‘What’s going on?’ George called impatiently. ‘Check the door, Hetty, and let’s be on our way.’

She glanced over her shoulder and saw him standing by the cab, stamping his feet and blowing on his hands. She beckoned to him. ‘Come and help me. These poor children are half frozen to death.’

He strode over to her. ‘Please don’t tell me that you want to take them home with you.’ Hetty helped Dorrie to her feet. ‘Of course
I’m taking them home. Would you have me leave them here to freeze to death? No, of course you wouldn’t. You’ll have to carry the little ones, George. I’ll get Dorrie into the cab.’

‘What about the coffee shop? Have you forgotten about that already?’

Hetty laid her hand on the doorknob and gave it a twist. She peered through the window. ‘It’s locked and everything looks just as we left it. The children are more important now. They need food and warmth.’

‘I hope you know what you’re doing, Hetty,’ George said, scooping the sleeping boys into his arms.

Hetty climbed into the cab. ‘Pass the little ones to me, George,’ she said, holding out her hand to help Dorrie scramble onto the seat beside her.

Shaking his head, he lifted them into her arms. ‘For all we know they’ve got a father and a mother out looking for them, or, worse still, hiding round the corner waiting to accuse us of stealing their nippers.’

‘I doubt it very much. Get in the cab, George, and stop grumbling. I know what I’m doing.’

‘Do you? I’m beginning to wonder, Hetty.’ He leapt nimbly into the cab, taking care not to squash Dorrie. ‘Drive on, cabby.’

It was past midday by the time they arrived back in Princelet Street. With Stanley hooked
over his shoulder, still fast asleep, George paid off the cabby and followed Hetty as she led Dorrie and Wilfred into the house. The familiar homely smell of baking bread and soup simmering on the hob assailed Hetty’s nostrils and she realised that she was hungry, but that only served to remind her that her little strays had eaten very little in the past twenty-four hours, if at all. From outside the kitchen door she could hear the cheerful babble of voices, but as she opened it and led Dorrie and Wilfred into the room there was a sudden silence. Hetty had been so intent on rescuing them that she had given little thought to the reception they might receive.

Granny was the first to recover. She came towards them wiping her hands on her apron. ‘What the devil is this, Hetty? What have you been and gone and done now?’ Her expression hardened when George came into the room with Stanley in his arms. ‘I hope you don’t expect us to take them street kids in. Haven’t we got enough mouths to feed already?’

‘It’s just temporary,’ Hetty explained hastily. ‘I found them in the shop doorway. I couldn’t leave them to perish from cold and hunger, now could I?’

Nora raised herself from her chair by the fire. ‘We can spare them a bite to eat, dearie,
but Mattie is right, we can’t take in every waif that lands on our doorstep.’

Sammy and Eddie had been building a tower of wooden bricks but they abandoned it, scrambling to their feet and advancing warily on Wilfred as if they expected him to growl and bite. Natalia knocked the bricks flying with a gleeful gurgle and that seemed to break the tension. Everyone started talking at once. Jane dropped the wooden spoon into the cake mixture and swooped on Natalia, picking her up and scolding her. Nora bustled over to the table and began cutting slices off a loaf and buttering them. Granny took Wilfred by the ear and peered down at his matted hair. ‘This one is running with head lice and fleas. Take them all out into the scullery, Hetty, until we’ve filled the bathtub with hot water. I ain’t having parasites brought into the house. Next thing you know we’ll all be itching and scratching.’