A Mother's Promise (4 page)

‘Clench fancies anything in a skirt. Just keep quiet and I’ll get rid of him.’ Hetty opened the door and held it, blocking his way as he was about to step inside. ‘Good morning, Mr Clench.’

Cyrus Clench rubbed his mittened hands together and his knuckles made a sickly cracking sound. ‘I wouldn’t call it a good morning exactly, my duck. It’s bleeding freezing out here. Ain’t you going to invite me in?’

Hetty took a silver sixpence from her purse and held it out to him. ‘Here’s your money, Mr Clench.’

He snatched the coin and put it in his pocket, eyeing her up and down with a lascivious gleam in his pale eyes. ‘Just a few minutes inside to get warm.’

Hetty held on to the door. Clench’s gaze seemed to rip right through her shabby garments to the warm flesh beneath her shift. It was all she could do to remain civil. ‘I’m sure you’ve got other business to do, Mr Clench. As we have. The matchboxes won’t make themselves, and at twopence farthing a gross, we can’t afford to waste time socialising.’

‘But I was a good friend of your grandpa’s when we worked at Tipton’s Bank all those years ago, Miss Hetty. I remember the day he brought you there, sitting on his shoulders as bright as button. Who’d have thought you would grow up to be such a tasty morsel.’

‘Please, Mr Clench. This ain’t the time or place.’ Hetty pushed at the door, but his hand shot out to hold it open. ‘Five minutes inside
to warm myself, or a big sloppy kiss. I’ll settle for either.’

Hetty swallowed the bitter taste that flooded into her mouth at the thought of kissing him. She shook her head, forcing her lips into a smile. It wouldn’t do to get on the wrong side of Clench; he could put up the interest if he chose to and they would be in debt to him for the rest of their lives. ‘Maybe another day, Mr Clench.’

He put his foot over the sill. ‘Just a little kiss, for old times’ sake. It’s not too much to ask when I’m letting you off paying at a higher rate out of the goodness of me heart.’

He was pushing so hard that Hetty knew she could not hold on much longer, but, just as her strength was giving out, a snowball caught Clench on the side of his head, sending his greasy bowler hat spinning to the ground. Sammy stuck his face through the area railings, poking out his tongue. ‘Gotcha, you old bloodsucker!’

Uttering a loud roar, Clench snatched up his hat and raced up the steps after Sammy and Eddie, receiving a snowball in the face as he reached the top. Hetty closed the door and leaned against it laughing out loud. It almost would be worth paying an extra farthing a week for the sight of Clench staggering backwards wiping snow from his eyes and spluttering with rage.

‘He might catch them,’ Jane said, running to the window and peering out.

‘Not a chance. Let’s hope he gets some other poor soul to let him fumble her, the dirty old bugger. I swear I’ll take the bread knife to him if he tries that one on either of us again.’

‘We will do it though, won’t we? Pay off what we owe him, and be free of the horrible brute.’ Jane slumped down on a stool and began automatically sorting out the materials for making up the matchboxes. In less than a heartbeat she seemed to have forgotten Clench, and she looked up with a dreamy smile transforming her features. ‘I’d like a new frock for me wedding, or at least a good second-hand one from the dolly shop. Maybe a straw bonnet too, with pink ribbons and silk flowers under the brim.’

Hetty bit back a sharp retort. Sometimes she thought that Jane lived in a different world from the bleak place that the rest of the people in Autumn Road inhabited. But perhaps it was better to be like that than to face the reality of their grinding poverty. As she moved to take her place at the table beside Jane, Hetty glanced upwards at the sound of footsteps pounding on the floorboards in the room above them. A shower of dust rained down on the table through the gaps in the ceiling plaster as one of the Brinkman children ran across the room
upstairs. The family were immigrants from Russia, or maybe it was Germany, Hetty wasn’t quite sure. When they first came to Autumn Road they had spoken very little English and any communication with them had to be accompanied by gestures, but Mr Brinkman had found a job on the docks and fourteen-year-old Sonia worked at Bryant and May, as did her younger sister, Anna. As their fluency in the language improved, Hetty had become quite friendly with Mrs Brinkman and the girls, or at least they passed the time of day and shared complaints about the state of the building and the inevitable problems with overflowing privies and vermin. There were several other families who rented rooms in the house: Irish on the top floor, French Huguenot and a Polish family on the first floor; and across the hallway in the back room on the ground floor were two spinster sisters who took in washing and kept cats. The pungent smell of feline urine seeped through the floorboards and their fleas rampaged throughout the building, but at least they kept the rat and mouse population down.

Hetty sighed. Maybe it was a good thing to have dreams like Jane, but she was of a more practical mind, and Jane’s slip from grace had made her even more determined to get them out of this miserable place. If she did nothing,
the boys would grow up stunted from lack of proper food, and half blind from working long hours in a poor light; they would end up labouring in the gasworks, the carbolic acid factory, or on the docks. She was determined to do something to get them away from here, although as yet she did not quite know what it would be. Hetty rolled up her frayed sleeves and started work.

‘I don’t believe you heard a word I said,’ Jane said, frowning. ‘You might pretend to be a bit pleased for me, Hetty.’

‘I am, of course, but maybe you shouldn’t get your hopes up too high. Nat may not get that promotion for a very long time, and you might change your mind, or he might . . .’

Jane thumped her hand down on the tabletop. ‘Don’t keep on about Nat letting me down. I know he’s had other girlfriends, but it’s different with me, he said so. He wouldn’t have bought this ring for me if he hadn’t been serious, now would he?’

‘No, I don’t suppose he would.’ Hetty rose to her feet with a sigh of relief as Sammy and Eddie came clattering down the area steps. ‘Thank God. I was beginning to think that Clench might have caught up with them.’

They burst into the room chattering and giggling, their thin cheeks tinged pink by the cold air and their eyes shining with mischief.
‘We led him a real dance,’ Sammy said, grinning from ear to ear. ‘But he never caught us.’

‘He fell over in a pile of horse dung,’ Eddie chortled. ‘Got it all over his trousers he did and he danced about shaking his fist and calling us names.’

‘Fair turned the air blue,’ Sammy added, handing the loaf of bread to Hetty.

She cuffed him gently round the ear.

‘That’s for knowing they was bad words. If I hear either of you repeating them, you really will get your mouths washed out with soap. D’you understand me?’ Seeing their crestfallen faces, she relented and gave them both a hug. ‘But you was brave boys taking on old Clench. It saved me from having to fight him off, so you shall have bread and dripping for break-fast and dinner. And if you work hard, you shall have bread and jam for tea, and a mug of cocoa.’

Jane snatched the loaf and began slicing it. ‘Never mind the lecture, Hetty. I’m starving.’

‘Take them jackets off,’ Hetty said, eyeing her brothers’ wet garments. ‘Hang them on the clothes horse by the fire. We don’t want you catching cold or lung fever. We’ve got work to do and we’ve lost enough time already.’

They munched their slices of bread and dripping while they worked, wiping their greasy fingers on the tablecloth that had once been
Ma’s pride and joy, but was now threadbare and frayed at the edges. Hetty kept the fire going, but it only emitted a feeble heat, barely taking the chill off the room. They toiled in the dim light of a single candle until Eddie fell asleep and his dark curly head slumped down on the table, crushing a dozen or so matchboxes. Sammy rubbed his hand across his eyes, complaining that his head ached, and Jane got up stiffly to make a brew of tea. Only Hetty kept working, her deft fingers assembling the boxes at an amazing rate, but, with a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, she knew that they were not going to match their best effort of four gross in one day. They would be lucky to get as much as they had yesterday when she returned the finished work to the factory. The rent collector would call in the morning. She had one shilling and sixpence put by in a pot on the mantelshelf for that purpose, but once the rent was paid there would be little left for food, coal and candles. It was a never-ending struggle just to exist.

‘Can we have our dinner now, Hetty?’ Sammy tugged at her sleeve. ‘I’ll eat Eddie’s if he don’t wake up.’

She managed a weary smile. ‘You can have yours, ducks. But we’ll keep Eddie’s for him, poor mite.’

Jane poured boiling water from the kettle
into the teapot. ‘When I’m married to Nat we’ll have a proper house and three meals a day. You’ll see, Hetty. It will be all right when I’ve married my man.’

‘Maybe we could pawn that ring of yours,’ Sammy suggested, angling his head with a cheeky grin. ‘We could have pie and pease pudding for supper every evening for a week if you did that.’

‘Get away with you, you little monkey,’ Jane said, cuffing him gently round the ear. ‘It’ll all be different when I’m Mrs Nat Smith. You’ll see.’

That evening, after delivering two gross of matchboxes and collecting just fourpence, having had a halfpenny fine deducted for the materials damaged when Eddie fell asleep over his work, Hetty was in no mood to bandy words. Nat was waiting outside the factory gates and he lifted Jane off her feet, kissing her with undisguised ardour. Hetty marched up to him and tapped him on the shoulder. ‘I wants a word with you, Nat Smith.’

He released Jane with a smacking kiss on the lips. ‘What can I do for you, love?’ With his arm still firmly clasped around Jane’s tiny waist, there was a mocking twinkle in his green eyes, one of which wandered in to meet his nose, giving him a slightly comical
expression which marred an otherwise hand-some countenance.

Hetty glared at him, unimpressed. ‘I’d like a word in private.’

‘Don’t, Hetty. Please,’ Jane pleaded.

‘Just a quick word,’ Hetty insisted. ‘In private.’ She moved away to stand beneath the street light, and Nat released Jane with a lingering kiss on the lips before strolling over to join her.

‘I can guess what this is all about, but I mean to do the right thing by her, you know.’

The snow on the ground was frozen solid and Hetty could feel it cutting through the thin soles of her boots. She was cold and hungry and in no mood for small talk. ‘I know what went on last night and it’s got to stop, engagement ring or no engagement ring. Jane is only sixteen and you’re her first, as I’m sure you know. Do you understand what I’m saying, Nat Smith?’

He nodded his head and his grin widened. ‘My intentions is honourable, Hetty. I’ll marry her when I’ve got me promotion.’

‘That’s not what I said and you know it,’ Hetty hissed, well aware that Jane was straining her ears in an attempt to overhear their conversation. ‘You treat her like a lady, or you’ll have me to answer to.’

He tipped his cloth cap to the back of his
head. ‘I wouldn’t treat a duchess no different, Hetty. I swear it.’

Hetty eyed him suspiciously. ‘Well, you’d better treat her right. If she’s in the family way you’ll have to marry her sooner rather than later, or I’ll want to know the reason why.’

‘Shut up, Hetty.’ Jane pushed her aside. ‘You’re embarrassing both of us with that sort of talk. Leave us alone.’

Nat hooked his arm around her shoulders. ‘Come on, love. Let’s go to the Four Feathers. It’s warmer in there and the company is better.’

With a sinking feeling in her stomach, Hetty watched them disappear into the gloom beyond the street lamp. She knew Jane only too well: affectionate, impulsive and head-strong. Her heart would always rule her head. It was not a combination that would easily withstand the persuasive tongue of a man like Nat Smith. She turned in the direction of home, clutching their hard-earned coppers in her hand. She had just reached Old Ford Road when the sound of heavy footsteps made her glance anxiously over her shoulder. She was not normally nervous, but she was afraid that Clench might have decided to come after her in reprisal for his loss of dignity that morning. Anyone could hide in the deep doorways or down the narrow alleys between the factory
buildings. The pavements were as slippery as a skating rink, making running virtually impossible. She could stand it no longer and she stopped, turning round to see who was following her, but she let out a sigh of relief as she recognised Tom’s substantial outline against the snow. She waited for him to catch up with her. ‘You gave me quite a turn, Tom. I thought it was old Cyrus after me.’

‘You shouldn’t be out alone at this time of night,’ Tom said breathlessly. ‘I’ll walk you home.’

She did not want to admit it, but it was a relief to have a big man who could use his fists if needs be walking by her side. ‘Suit yourself,’ she said, trying to sound casual.

‘Why are you afraid of Clench? What’s he done to scare you?’

‘Nothing more than the usual. He got a bit too familiar with me this morning. Sammy and Eddie threw snowballs at him and knocked his hat off. Clench went chasing after them but he couldn’t catch them.’

Tom gave a throaty chuckle. ‘Little monkeys! But it serves the old dog right. It’s a crying shame you had to borrow money off him.’

‘I know, but it was for Ma’s funeral. I couldn’t let them treat her like a pauper. It wouldn’t have been right.’

Tom took her hand and squeezed it. ‘No, it
wouldn’t. The poor woman had enough to bear in life. She deserved a bit of dignity in death.’

‘I knew you’d understand.’ Hetty flashed him a grateful smile and she curled her fingers around his large hand. They walked on in silence until they reached the top of Dye House Lane. She slipped on the ice and would have fallen if Tom had not caught her. He held on to her longer than was strictly necessary, and for a moment Hetty allowed herself to lean against him. His jacket was rough against her cheek and the smell of the gasworks lingered in the coarse woollen fibres. His arms tightened around her but she drew away from him. ‘You go on home, Tom. There’s no need for you to be late for your supper. I can go the rest of the way on me own.’