Hetty Feather

by Jacqueline Wilson

  We stood staring at each other, equally taken back.

  'What are you doing in the boys' wing, little girl?'

  'I – I got lost,' I said honestly, then sighed in irritation. Why, oh, why could he not be Gideon?

  'You will get whipped if they find you,' he said.

  'I know. I don't care. I'll go in a minute, but please could you tell me first, do you know my brother Gideon? Is he all right?'

  'Gideon?' said the little boy, sneering. 'You mean the idiot boy?'

  'He is not an idiot!' I shouted fiercely. 'I shall hit you if you say he is!'

  His hands went to his mouth, smearing ink all over his face.

  'Now you're all black and it serves you right,' I said.

  I ran out of the washroom, right along the corridor until I saw a whole troop of boys bustling out of a big room. I peered hard at this army of brown, but I couldn't spot Gideon at all. However, all the boys could see me. They let up a whoop and a shout.

  'Girl! Girl! Girl!'

  A nurse came running, shouting at me furiously. I knew I had to make a quick escape. I flew back back back along the corridors, back to the safety of the girls' wing, where I slowed down and walked sedately, trying to look innocent. I joined my class at their darning.

  'Where have you been, Hetty Feather?' asked Nurse Winterson. 'Oh dear, your poor chin! What happened to you?'

  All the girls looked up expectantly, Sheila clearly anxious. I wanted to get her into trouble with Nurse Winterson. But I still did not want it made plain to all that she had got the better of me. I held my tongue a second time.

  'I tripped and Matron took me off to put this purple stinging stuff on my chin,' I said.

  'It is gentian violet, Hetty. I dare say it hurt a great deal. You have been very brave, dear.'

  I thought the girls might groan to see me singled out so favourably, but they nodded at me, almost in a friendly fashion. I did not know then that I had avoided the worst sin of all at the Foundling Hospital. No matter how a child is teased or tortured, they must never ever ever tell a nurse or matron. If they do, the others will torment them until their last day at the hospital.

  I had unwittingly kept to this rule and won everyone's respect. I sat and stitched demurely, while Nurse Winterson read us a story. I loved stories, and this was a splendid fairy tale – but for once I could not concentrate.

  My mind was whirling. I knew how to reach the boys' wing, but I would be spotted immediately if I went back there, unless . . . Unless I could find some way of disguising myself.

  I did not see how this was possible, until later in the day, when Harriet sought me out.

  'Poor Hetty! Look at your sore chin. Oh dear, oh dear,' she said, making a great fuss of me.

  I rather enjoyed this, and even managed to squeeze out a few tears so she could pet me. She took me to the big girls' room and sat me close by her side while she started sewing. She took a pair of boys' trousers from the big basket and started patching a knee. I stared at the trousers on her lap – and smiled. I knew how to obtain the perfect disguise!

  I waited until Harriet had to go to a cupboard for more thread, peered round quickly, then seized another pair of trousers from the brimming basket. I could not be seen carrying them so I thrust them up my skirts, wedging them in a bunch as best I could.

  I positively waddled on my way back to my dormitory, but I managed to deposit the trousers safely in my mattress.

  The next day I purloined a jacket – and I was ready! I decided my best chance of reaching the boys' wing undetected was during the playtime after dinner. There were fewer nurses on duty, many of them dining themselves. I stood in the playground awaiting my opportunity. The other girls took no notice of me. Sheila seemed disconcerted that I had not told tales on her, and left me alone.

  I hesitated, standing near the girls' entrance, suddenly in a funk, frightened of being caught and whipped. I made myself think hard of Gideon. I pictured him so clearly that he seemed to be standing before me, white and trembling, tears running down his face, his mouth opening and shutting soundlessly. It was such a sad image, it galvanized me into action.

  I gave one last glance to check I was unobserved, and then I ran into the entrance and up the stairs, all the way to the dormitory. I tore off my cap and tippet and apron. I struggled out of my scratchy brown dress. Then I pulled my stolen jacket and trousers out of my mattress and put them on. The trousers were too large and much too long, but I rolled each leg up at the hem until they rested on my boots. The jacket was too big too, but it was easy enough to shrug it up on my shoulders. My shorn hair suited my purpose well. I had no mirror, but looking down I could see I appeared a convincing boy, though I was on the short side. I clenched my fists and tapped myself on the chest.

  'Courage, Hetty,' I whispered.

  I hastened out of the dormitory, hating the heaviness of the jacket on my shoulders, the chafing of the trousers on my skinny legs. I sped along the corridor, but then heard the squeak of a nurse's boots marching along the polished floor.

  If she caught me in boys' apparel, all would be lost. I darted into the girls' washrooms and hid behind the door, trembling. Squeak squeak squeak came the boots, louder now. They paused at the door of the washrooms. A head poked in and peered, but I was crammed right back into the corner and she didn't see me. She went marching on her way, while I breathed out at last. Once she was out of earshot I peeped anxiously out of the doorway, and then resumed my journey.

  I turned to the right until I found the boys' washrooms, and then I carried on down the corridor until I reached the stairs. I ran down them, but there at the bottom, right by the door, stood a nurse watching the boys playing outside. I stopped still, pressing back into the shadows. I could not bear to be thwarted now, when I was so nearly there. I waited, willing her to move, and eventually she yawned and stretched and sauntered off.

  I hurtled out into the playground, blinking at the sight of so many small boys in brown. They were so lively too. We girls wandered aimlessly up and down, or talked in tiny groups, or played decorous clapping games. These boys were all running and capering and kicking stones and shouting – all but one. A spindly boy with a stark haircut stood all by himself, his head bowed, his hands weirdly splayed as if he were searching for something that wasn't there.

  'Gideon!' I called.

  He looked up and I ran over to him. He cowered away as if I was going to hit him.

  'It's me, Gideon! It's Hetty, your own sister!' I cried.

  He peered at my shorn hair and breeches, looking doubtful.

  'It's really me. Oh, Gideon, I've missed you so!'

  I embraced him, my arms tight around his neck. I felt him crumple, his head on my shoulders, and then he started sobbing.

  'Oh, Gid, it's so hateful hateful hateful, isn't it? If only we could be together it wouldn't be too bad.'

  He straightened up and looked at me imploringly.

  'I can't stay, Gideon. The nurses would see I'm not a real boy – especially when I went to the privy!' I giggled – and Gideon smiled through his tears. 'How has it been for you, Gid? Have they been horrid to you, the other boys?'

  Gideon hung his head.

  'What about Saul? He's here, isn't he? Does he look out for you, stand up for you?'

  Gideon hunched up further. Saul was clearly not a protector.

  'Well, you must fight back. If you cry, it will only make them worse. The other girls are hateful to me, but I punch them and pull their hair and stamp on their feet until they scream,' I said, exaggerating fiercely. 'You must do the same.'

  Gideon stared at me. We both knew this was a ridiculous suggestion.

  'Try, Gideon. And you must say things. They will think you are stupid if you won't talk. They will call you bad names like Idiot Boy.'

  Gideon flinched.

  'But you're not an idiot, you're clever, just like me. You can talk perfectly, you just won't. Please say something to me now, Gid.'

  Gideon shook his he
ad helplessly.

  'For my sake – because you stopped talking when you got lost in the woods that night I went to the circus, remember?'

  It was clear from Gideon's eyes that he did.

  'I've felt so bad since, knowing it was all my fault. It would make me feel so much better if you said something. Anything. You can call me names if you like. You can say, "Hetty Feather is a mean, nasty, pigface, smellybottom sister!" Go on, say it!'

  Gideon resisted, but he smiled again.

  'Well, say it in your head if you won't say it out loud. Talk to yourself every day. Talk about home. We mustn't forget, Gideon. It's the most important thing of all. Martha can barely remember anything, not even me! But if we talk to ourselves and picture home again and again and again, it will stay true in our heads. We must picture Mother—'

  Gideon moaned softly.

  'Yes, remember Mother, her dear red face, her lovely warm smell, her big chest, our mother. And great Father, remember him galloping around with you on his shoulders. And Nat with his jokes and his whittling. Did they take your wooden elephant, Gid? They took my dear rag baby. But I've still got Jem's sixpence safe. Oh, Gideon, picture Jem, remember our dearest brother, and listen to me, listen hard: Jem is going to come for me when I'm older, and he'll come for you too, and we'll all live together and be happy again – and you will be free to dance, Gid. You can even wear a silver suit if you like. Remember the tumbling boys and their dance?'

  Gideon's face suddenly lit up. He pointed his foot in its clumsy boot and then twirled round, while I clapped. But the other boys were watching. They started pointing and jeering.

  'See the idiot boy dancing!'

  'He is not an idiot,' I said, clenching my fists. 'I will punch any boy who calls him that.'

  They laughed harder, because they all towered over me.

  'Who is this little red-haired runty lad?'

  'Is he new? I've never seen him before.'

  They were gathering round us, which made me nervous.

  'He's a rum little fellow! Where's his waistcoat and cap? He's only half dressed!'

  'What's your name, boy?'

  'I'll tell you his name – it's Hetty Feather!' someone said.

  I spun round – and there was Saul, grown thinner and taller, his face pinched. His bad leg bent sideways and he clutched a cane for support.

  The other boys roared at my name. 'The cripple's talking such rot! Hetty Feather! That's a girl's name.'

  'She is a girl. She is my foster sister,' said Saul. He looked at me, his cheeks flushed. 'Remember, remember, remember, Hetty Feather. You tell Gideon to remember – but you forgot me!'

  'He's a girl?' said the biggest boy. He seized hold of me and thrust his hand down my breeches, though I struggled and shrieked. 'He is a girl!' he yelled triumphantly.

  'There's a girl over here!'

  'A girl, a girl, a girl in breeches!'

  'Come and see the girl, the red-haired girl!'

  They were all running towards me. I saw a nurse in the distance raise her head and stare over at the hubbub.

  'I have to go, Gid, or I shall be in terrible trouble. But you remember, promise? Remember everyone at home. Remember me, your Hetty.'

  I gave him a quick kiss on his cheek. I might have tried to kiss Saul too, but he spat at me. So I spat back, then dodged round him and ran.

  The boys shouted after me, some of them running in pursuit. I heard a wail. I turned. Gideon was waving wildly at me. His mouth was open.

  'My Hetty!' he called, his voice cracking.

  There was uproar as they all heard him speak, but I could not stay to congratulate or comfort him. I shot inside the entrance and ran like a rat, desperate for cover. I heard bells clanging and knew it was the end of playtime. I made it undetected all the way back to the girls' dormitory. I tore off the jacket and breeches, tugged on my dress and apron and tippet and thrust my cap upon my head. I was a girl again. I had got away with it!

  12

  Each day was so alike: up in the morning as the bell rang; dressing, washing, eating, even going to the lavatory at the allotted hour. We learned the same lessons every day, reading and writing and singing and scripture, then the wretched darning every afternoon. We ate the same meals – porridge for breakfast, boiled beef or mutton for dinner, bread and cheese for supper every Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday and Saturday, all identical – so Sundays came as a total surprise.

  We were handed special snowy-white Sunday tippets and aprons, and given a severe warning by Matron Pigface Peters to keep them spotless. Woe betide any girl who dribbled her porridge down her front at breakfast! Then we all trooped off to chapel, marching in a crocodile. I still did not have a friend in my own class so I had to trudge along beside Matron Pigface herself, while Sheila and Monica walked directly behind and kept kicking the backs of my legs and treading on my boot-heels.

  I turned to try to kick them back, but Matron Pigface tugged my arm and glared at me.

  'Behave yourself, Hetty Feather! Pray to the Lord above to make you a good meek little maid, not the total varmint that you are.'

  I wasn't sure what a varmint was, but I decided I wanted to stay one if I possibly could. I didn't want to be good or meek. I certainly didn't want to stay little so that all the others could squash me flat. I didn't much care to be a maid either. If I had to be a foundling, then the boys seemed to have far more fun.

  The Sunday service in the chapel wasn't fun for any of us, girls or boys. We had to sit as still as statues on the hard pews. If we so much as swung our legs, Matron frowned and tapped us. If any small foundling fidgeted or fell asleep during the long, long sermon, a big girl would poke her hard in the back – and doubtless the little boys over on the other side of the chapel were being subjected to similar nips and knocks.

  The foundlings who formed the choir were the only children who could mingle, girls and boys together. I was surprised to see my own sister, Martha, up there at the front, the smallest child in the whole choir, looking especially earnest with her spectacles on the end of her snub nose. She had a very short solo and sang like an angel, hands folded, head high, mouth wide open. I felt true sisterly pride, goose pimples on my arms at the sweetness of her voice. If only Mother could have been present to hear her!

  I blotted out my pew of foundling girls sitting hip to hip in their ugly brown frocks. I pictured my entire family, Jem beside me, whispering loyally that he was sure I could sing every bit as sweetly as Martha, Nat surreptitiously whittling a piece of wood, Rosie and Eliza in their Sunday print frocks with their hair specially curled, Father large and lumbering, holding his neck awkwardly because the collar of his starched Sunday shirt was rubbing, and Mother rocking the sleeping baby, her eyes shining to see us all together. Gideon would be with us of course, sitting bolt upright, dancing his toes in time to the music. I suppose Saul would have to be here too – but right at the other end of the pew, away from me.

  I peered round to see if I could possibly spot the real Gideon and Saul in the distant sea of brown boys – and got poked hard in the back for my trouble. I had to sit still, and pray and sing and listen while the vicar preached endlessly about miserable sinners. I was very miserable and I knew I was a sinner, so I decided I had better pray hard inside my head so that I wouldn't tumble straight down to the fiery flames of Hell.

  'Dear Lord, please make me a better girl,' I prayed earnestly, over and over – but as the sermon droned on and on, I switched the prayer to 'Please God, let this service finish soon.'

  When it was finally over, I had pins and needles from the tips of my toes right up to my bottom and I stumbled when I stood up. We filed out of the chapel, row after row, while the rest of the congregation gawped at us. I wondered who all these strange ladies and gentlemen were. They certainly weren't hospital staff. I had a sudden wild fancy that they were parents come to seek out their lost children. Perhaps my real mother was there, looking for her lost babe. Perhaps she really was Madame Adeline.
I peered at all the ladies, trying to spot a flame of red hair under all the Sunday bonnets, a flare of pink lace at the throat of a stark Sunday dress.

  'Stop staring, Hetty Feather!' Matron Pigface snapped.

  'But they're staring at me!' I muttered, but not quite loudly enough for her to hear.

  Harriet was one of the big girls supervising our privy visit when we got back.

  'Who are all the ladies and gentlemen?' I asked her.

  'They are the Sunday visitors,' said Harriet.

  'Why are they here?'

  'They like to look at us,' said Harriet. 'They will watch us at our Sunday dinner too. So mind your manners, little Hetty!'

  I was not sure whether she was serious or not, but when we marched into the dining room, one two, one two, there they were, the ladies and gentlemen all lined up expectantly. We stood behind our benches while a big girl said grace in a very loud sing-song, making her voice extra holy because it was Sunday, and everyone was staring at her. Then we clambered onto our benches and the kitchen maids started serving.

  It was roast beef, one slice each, with roast potatoes and carrots and cabbage from the garden. My special kind maid pushed her way quickly down to my table and gave me the biggest slice of beef and the largest, crispiest potato. She winked at me as she did so.

  The ladies and gentlemen surrounding us were making such a noise I dared to speak myself.

  'Thank you!' I whispered, smiling at her. 'You're very kind to me. What is your name?'

  'I'm Ida Battersea.'

  'Do I call you Matron or Miss?'

  'You can call me Ida. What is your name, dear?'

  'I'm Hetty Feather.' I wrinkled my nose. 'It's a silly name.'

  'I think it is a very distinctive name,' she said.

  'Oh, I do like you, Ida!' I said. I forgot to whisper, and a nurse came bustling up, glaring at me.

  'Were you talking, child?' she demanded.

  'Oh no, ma'am, it was me. I'm very sorry, ma'am,' said Ida.

  'You must learn to hold your tongue,' said the nurse, as if Ida was one of us girls.

  She flushed and bowed her head, but when the nurse moved away, Ida pulled a comical face at her back. I laughed and choked on my hot potato.