Hetty Feather (18 page)

It wasn't cake. It wasn't anything to eat at all. It
was a tiny book, bound in red, with gilt lettering:
The
Story of Thumbelina.
I opened it up with trembling
fingers. The story was about a very, very small
girl called Thumbelina, and there were
coloured
illustrations
! I saw Thumbelina with pink cheeks
and very yellow hair, tucked up neatly in a brown
walnut-shell bed. I stroked her hair and patted her
tiny quilt and then read the first few pages, though I
had to squint in the candlelight and it was fearfully
cold in the dank washroom.

Dear Ida! She had chosen the smallest book she
could find so I could hide it easily about my person.
Thumbelina was even smaller than me, yet she was
the heroine of her fairy tale, and when I peeked at
the ending I saw she lived happily ever after.

I was frozen solid when I eventually stole back
to bed, but glowing inside, warmed by Ida's loving
generosity. At breakfast I waited until she came to
serve us our porridge and then I grabbed hold of her
hand tightly.

'Thank you, Ida!' I said passionately. 'I do love
you so.'

The other girls giggled, thinking I was simply
thanking Ida for my porridge. But Ida understood.
She gave my bowlful an extra sprinkling of brown
sugar and patted my shoulder, smiling all the
while.

I marched off to chapel feeling very happy. For
once I sat through the long, long service without
fidgeting, because I had the wondrous Nativity
tableau vivant
to gaze at. The participating children
kept still as statues. Even the newborn babe in the
cardboard manger slept peacefully throughout.
Mary was one of the big girls in Harriet's class, thin
and dark and a little gawky, but strangely graceful
now. She knelt before the baby, hands clasped in awe,
her beautiful bright-blue dress draped decorously
about her.

Joseph was one of the big lads, tall as a man,
splendid in his orange striped robe. The shepherds
were arranged artistically on the left, some standing,
some kneeling. There was even a stuffed sheep,
and the smallest shepherd clutched a toy lamb.
The three wise men paraded on the right, wearing
large gold crowns studded with glass jewels. Each
boy sported a long false beard to show they were
very old and very wise. Oh, how I longed to have a
beard too!

Best of all, there were the angels, an entire flock
of them, standing aloft upon the stable roof, in gauzy
white with great feathery wings, Monica amongst
them, pink and pious, her eyes raised upwards.
There was one angel who seemed to be truly
flying, dangling on a rope from the chapel rafters,
his bare feet on the points of a silver star; the
most wondrous angel, with a halo illuminating his
dark curls. You will never guess who it was! My
own little brother, suspended in mid-air, his arms
gesturing gracefully, his toes pointed, dancing down
from Heaven.

'It's Gideon!' I whispered proudly to Polly. 'My
brother Gideon.'

I felt I could sit there in the chapel for ever. I
was so happy for Gideon, and so relieved that he
was well and making such a grand job of this angel
acting. I glowed with pride when I heard the ladies
and gentlemen talking as we ate our Christmas
dinner afterwards.

'Bless the children, they looked so splendid in
the
tableau vivant
.'

'They kept so still, even the tiny ones.'

'The little boy angel was by far the best.'

'Oh, I agree! A true little angel up there
in mid-air!'

I nudged Polly, and happily munched my way
through my roast goose and my plum pudding. We
each had an orange too. Some of us little ones were
inexperienced orange eaters and tried to bite into
the bright dimpled skin. I might have done the same
because we never had oranges at the cottage, but I
watched Polly and copied her as she peeled the skin
away and divided her orange into segments.

We had no official presents as such, but when
we lifted our mugs to take a drink, we discovered
a brand-new polished penny. I hid mine later on top
of Jem's silver sixpence. I went to sleep that night
with Polly's pen under my pillow, Harriet's doll
tucked in beside me, and my tiny book clutched to
my chest.

We were given an orange and a new penny the
next Christmas – and the next and the next
and the next. That was the worst thing of all about
the hospital: the sheer sameness of every single day.

If things
did
change, it always seemed to be
for the worse. Harriet left the hospital to go into
service as a nursery maid. She cried when she said
goodbye, telling me she'd never care for any of her
new nursery charges the way she cared for me. I
missed her dreadfully. She had been so kind to me,
and I'd loved sitting on her lap and being babied.
Thank goodness I still had Polly!

We moved into the upper school, into a different
dormitory. Of course I remembered to transfer Jem's
sixpence to my new bedpost. I had to say farewell
to dear Nurse Winnie and Miss Newman. Thank
goodness Ida could still serve me every day in the
dining room, giving me illicit gifts of raisins and jam
and knobs of butter when no one was watching.

'How are you doing, Hetty?' she'd always ask.

'I'm doing very well, Ida,' I mostly said.

I wasn't doing well, I was doing very badly. I
didn't care for my new teacher, Miss Morley, and she
certainly didn't care for me – or Polly either. Miss
Newman had been strict but she liked both of us.
When we answered correctly or asked an interesting
question, her eyes lit up behind her spectacles and
she seemed delighted to teach us.

Miss Morley stopped asking us to answer
questions, because she knew we'd get them right,
and this seemed to irritate her.

'Don't sit there with that smug expression on
your face, Hetty Feather. We all know
you
know the
answer,' she'd say, and she'd give a false yawn and
encourage all the others to laugh at me.

I couldn't
help
knowing the answers because our
lessons didn't progress. We could mostly all read
and write by now, and do the simplest sums – and
there we stuck, not working our way forward at all,
going over the same dull facts again and again.

There were maps all round our classroom wall
and I'd stare at all the different countries and picture
a flea-sized Hetty sailing across the blue sea and
landing on each pink and yellow and green land.

'Stop daydreaming, Hetty Feather, and attend to
your dictation,' Miss Morley snapped.

'Can't you tell us a little about the countries on
the map, Miss Morley? I wonder what it is like in
great big Africa or India or Japan? Do the children
do dictation there? Do they wear long dresses and
caps, or do they wear short clothes – or maybe if it's
very very hot, no clothes at all?'

The others sniggered and Miss Morley flushed,
though I hadn't meant to be impertinent.

'Stop these ridiculous questions, Hetty Feather.
You don't need to know the answers. It's not as if
you're
ever going to voyage to foreign parts. You're
going to be a servant like all the other girls. You
only need to write a decent hand, read a recipe and
add up your groceries correctly.'

I felt I needed to do so much more! I still hated
the idea of being a servant. I feared I would be a very
bad one. We were taught how to wash clothes and
scrub floors now, helping out with all the household
chores in the hospital. I hated getting hot and
wet. I was so bored I distracted myself by telling
stories in my head, not concentrating on the tedious
housework.

'Use some more elbow-grease, Hetty Feather!'
they'd scream at me. 'Watch what you're doing!'
they'd yell when I started and knocked over my pail
of water.

Polly was as bored as I was, particularly in
lessons. She could not bear our arithmetic sessions
because Miss Morley frequently made mistakes.
Polly pointed out a simple subtraction error on
the blackboard early on, waving her arm earnestly.

'What
is
it, Polly Renfrew? I haven't finished the
sum yet.'

'I know, Miss Morley, and I'm sorry to interrupt,
but I don't think you've noticed that you've
subtracted an eight from a three and put the
answer as five, and yet you haven't borrowed
ten from the next line so that nine is incorrect,' she
said helpfully.

She wasn't being impertinent. At this stage she
didn't realize that Miss Morley's grasp of arithmetic
was extremely shaky. She thought she'd simply made
a silly slip and would be grateful for her intervention.

Grateful! Miss Morley flushed an ugly scarlet
and rubbed the entire sum from the blackboard.
'How
dare
you admonish me, Polly Renfrew! Come
out here.'

Polly stepped forward uncertainly.

'Hold out your hand.'

Polly held it out politely, as if Miss Morley was
going to shake it. But she seized her long ruler
instead and went
whack whack whack
across Polly's
soft white hands.

We all jumped. Our eyes stung. We'd been
threatened with whippings and beatings many
times in the infant school, but the only actual
physical punishment any of us had received was an
impatient tug on the ear or a light tap on the backs
of our legs. This was a cruel assault. We could see
the painful red weals on Polly's palms. Polly's face
crumpled and she started crying.

I was beside myself. 'How dare you hit her when
she's done nothing wrong at all, you cruel, wicked
woman!' I cried, and I seized her ruler and hurled
it into a corner of the classroom. The whole class
gasped. I was a little shocked myself. I hadn't quite
meant to say those words, they just spurted out of
my mouth in a torrent.

'Come here, Hetty Feather!' Miss Morley said. 'I
will not stand for this behaviour!'

I thought she would retrieve her ruler and beat
me to within an inch of my life. I decided I would
not cry like poor Polly. I would hold my head up high
and be a brave, unflinching martyr. She could beat
me three times, six times, even a dozen; she could
beat my hands into a bloody pulp but I would not
murmur or shed a tear. I would stare back at her
like a basilisk, wishing her dead.

But she didn't beat me even once. She seized hold
of me by the wrist, digging her nails in hard, and
tugged me right out of the classroom. I thought she
was simply standing me in the corridor and decided
I didn't mind in the least. I could just stand and
picture the past in my own private daydream. But
Miss Morley marched me right along the corridor. I
realized she was taking me to Matron.

My heart started thudding then. The senior
school matron made Pigface Peters seem sweet as
sugar. Matron Bottomly was thin and pinched, with
a permanent pucker in her forehead. She had a big
hooked nose like a beak and always looked as if
she'd like to peck you very hard. Matron Bottomly
had already told me off several times for talking
in corridors, she had chastised me for tearing my
dress when I fell over playing tag, she had made me
scrub a whole floor twice over because I'd left one or
two slimy soap smears. (Oh, how I wished Matron
Bottomly had slipped on them and landed on her
bony stinking bottom!) What might she do when
she knew I'd shouted at a teacher, taken her ruler
and thrown it away?

I felt I
might
cry now, but I stared hard, scarcely
daring to blink in case the tears started spilling. I was
pushed unceremoniously into Matron Bottomly's
room and forced to stand there in front of her while
Miss Morley gave a highly exaggerated account of
my rebellion.

'It was total insubordination, actual physical
violence!' Miss Morley declared dramatically, drops
of spittle on her chapped lips.

Matron Bottomly rose from her desk and looked
me up and down. I started trembling but I
looked her up and down back, my fists clenched.

I
will not cry,
I said inside my head.
I will not cry,
no matter what they do to me. I can bear it, whatever
it is. They cannot
kill
me. I will be brave.

'You are a child of Satan, Hetty Feather,' said
Matron Bottomly. 'You have his Hell-red hair and
his flaming temper. We must quench this devilish
fire. You must be taught a severe lesson.'

I was so crazed with fear I thought she meant a
literal lesson. I dared to breathe out, because I knew
I was always quick to learn. But this punishment
had nothing to do with books.

'Take hold of her, Miss Morley,' said Matron
Bottomly.

They each seized a wrist and pulled me to the door.
They dragged me down the corridor. I thought they
were taking me to the boys' wing. We'd heard fearful
rumours that the baddest big boys were beaten with
a cat-o'-nine-tails. Perhaps they were now going to
whip me with this dreadful instrument! I gritted my
teeth, though they were chattering now.

But when we reached the grand staircase, they
dragged me up one flight of stairs and then another,
right to the very top of the building, to a little attic
room in the tower.

They opened a door at the end. It was empty
apart from an old blanket and a chamber pot.

'No!' I cried. 'No, please – you can't put me
in there!'

'Oh yes we can, Hetty Feather. You stay here and
pray to be a better girl,' said Matron, and she thrust
me inside. The door slammed shut and I heard the
sound of a key turning. I was locked in! I heard their
footsteps retreating. Perhaps they were simply
trying to frighten me. They would come back any
minute. They couldn't leave me locked in here!

There was only one very small window, set high
up in the wall. It had bars across, as if this was truly
a prison. I tried jumping up but could only catch a
glimpse of sky. I was very small, but there was no
way I could ever wriggle through those bars – and it
was a sheer drop anyway.

I tried hurling myself against the door, knocking
all the breath out of my body. It held fast. I was truly
a prisoner.

'Well, what do I care?' I said aloud. 'I will show
them. It is not so very dreadful to be locked in for
an hour or two. They will have to come back soon
because it is nearly dinner time. Meanwhile I shall
amuse myself. I shall pretend I am a princess locked
up by two evil wicked witches in a tall tower.'

I pictured this determinedly, inventing a
magnificent Prince Jem who climbed the tower
and rescued me. We lived happily ever after in his
wondrous kingdom – while the two witches were
locked up in their own tower for ever.

I amused myself with this story for quite a while,
but my stomach started rumbling. I could not hear
the clock chiming from my isolated prison but I was
certain it was long past dinner time now. So they
intended to starve me, did they? Were they going to
keep me locked up right until supper time?

I kept staring at the chamber pot. It was clearly
there to be used, so perhaps I truly was to be left
for hours yet. I decided I would not sit on the
pot, no matter what. It would be too humiliating
for the contents to be inspected by Matron and
Miss Morley.

The hours went by, and I fidgeted on my blanket,
trying to divert myself. In the end I simply had to
squat on the pot in an undignified fashion or have
an accident. I waited further hours, and after a
long, long while all my picturing skills faded. I could
think of nothing to divert myself. Surely it would be
supper time soon?

They
had
to let me out for supper. They couldn't
leave me locked up in this tiny room until I starved
to death. I listened desperately for the sound of
approaching footsteps, but there was just endless
silence. I tried singing to make a sound in the room,
but my voice sounded too high, too weird, as if I was
a crazy girl.

I tried to lie down on the blanket, but the
floorboards were hard and the blanket smelled
stale and musty when I nuzzled into it for comfort.
I remembered my long-ago rag baby, and started
weeping. Once I'd started I couldn't stop. I sobbed
frantically, but still no one came.

'I'm sorry!' I shouted. 'Please come back, Matron!
I've learned my lesson now!'

But she didn't come. It seemed to be getting darker
in the small room. Oh my Lord, was it evening now?
Were they going to keep me locked up all night long?

I shouted until my voice cracked, but still nobody
came. I threw myself about the attic, kicking and
screaming. I tore off my stupid cap and pulled my
own hair. It was long again now, in two tight plaits,
but I undid them and shook my head in despair, my
hair wild about my shoulders.

I was so thirsty from crying I could barely
swallow. How could they leave me without even
a few sips of water? They
had
to come back soon
or I would surely die. Was that what they really
wanted
? Oh dear Lord, what if they never came
back? What if I mouldered up here in my dark prison
for ever? What if they waited until I was a grisly
skeleton in scraps of brown, crumbling to dust?

Then, at long, long last, when it was getting really
dark, I heard footsteps coming along the corridor,
and the sound of a key in the lock.

'Oh, at last!' I said. 'I'm so sorry. You will let me
out now, won't you?'

It was Nurse Macclesfield, one of the senior
school staff. She was carrying a bucket and a plate
and a mug. 'Of course you are sorry, Hetty Feather
– and you'll be sorrier still by morning!'

'What! You're not going to keep me locked up
here all night!' I said in horror.

'You must learn the error of your ways, you
wicked girl.' She seized my pot, pulling a face of
disgust, and emptied it into her bucket. Then she
put the plate and mug down on the floor and went
to close the door on me again.

'No! Oh, Nurse Macclesfield, have pity on me!
Let me out!'

I tried to cling to her, but she pushed me away.

'Don't you dare try to attack me the way you
attacked poor Miss Morley. She said you were like a
wild beast. It's time you were tamed!'