Hetty Feather

by Jacqueline Wilson

  'There, dearie,' she said, and went on her way.

  She thought I was a beggar child! My face flamed red – but my hand grasped the penny.

  'Thank you so much, ma'am,' I called after her.

  Perhaps her gesture inspired the other passers- by. Maybe they hadn't even noticed me before. But now my tear-stained face attracted attention, and another penny soon landed in my lap, a farthing, and then a halfpenny, soon a whole jingle of copper coins.

  Oh my Lord, this was easy! I could sit here at my leisure and look mournful and folk would pay me! But then I saw a dark-uniformed man in the distance, a helmet on his head. I was pretty sure he was a policeman. I was also pretty sure that begging was against the law.

  I gathered my coins into my fist, scrambled up and ran off as fast as I could. I careered down long, long roads of houses, my throat aching, my heart jumping in my chest, not even daring to look round in case he caught me. I feared the police had prisons and I did not want to end up in a cell.

  Then I came to a parade of shops and dared to pause at last. The policeman was nowhere in sight. I loitered in front of every shop window, and then came to a stop outside a baker's shop. The smell of freshly baked bread brought a flood of water to my mouth and I felt faint.

  I stared at the cakes and buns on display in the window. There were slabs of the pink and yellow cake, Madame Adeline's favourite, and white-iced fancy cakes, and red and green and yellow jam tarts, and all manner of golden latticed pies and glazed buns, shiny and soft and curranty.

  I had no idea how much such wonders would cost. They could be sixpence each, even a sovereign for all I knew. Perhaps the woman in the white apron inside the shop would scoff at my impertinence if I proffered my small handful of coins. But I was so hungry I decided to risk it.

  I opened the door and stepped inside. 'If you please, ma'am . . .' I started shyly.

  'Yes?'

  'I – I'd like to purchase a little cake – or maybe a bun?'

  'Well, make your mind up, dear,' she said, but she didn't sound too impatient.

  'Perhaps a cake, the pink and yellow one – and a bun?' I suggested, and then I anxiously showed her my coins. 'Do I have enough money?'

  'More than enough, dear.'

  She put my cake and bun into a white paper bag, twirled it round so that the corners were twisted fast, took twopence halfpenny from my hand, and gave the bag to me.

  'Thank you kindly, ma'am,' I said.

  She laughed a little then. 'You've got the best manners of any street child I've ever come across before!' she said. 'Goodbye, dear. Take care of yourself.'

  I could take care of myself! I had found a place to sleep, a place to wash, I had earned lots of money, and now I could breakfast like a queen! I ate my cake and bun, and when I came to a tea stall I bought myself a large mugful for another penny. Then I went marching on, refreshed and renewed, peering all about me.

  I found myself wandering in more huge parkland. For a moment I thought I was back in Hyde Park because I heard an elephant trumpeting – but I discovered I was near the Zoological Gardens. I peered through the railings and saw an elephant even larger than Elijah with a curved seat on his back. Ten or twelve children were strapped onto the seat, while another boy rode bareback on his neck, his boots nudging the beast's great ears.

  I had a desperate desire to ride an elephant too! I paid sixpence to get into the zoo, and another twopence for a ride. This was the last of my money so I very much hoped the ride would be worth it. I queued impatiently at the landing stage amongst a great crowd of girls and boys, waiting until at last it was my turn to be hoisted onto the great grey creature.

  'I am very good at riding. Please may I sit on the elephant's neck?' I begged the keeper.

  'Don't be silly, missy – you're a young lady,' said the keeper, and he put one of the boys on the elephant's neck.

  The boy nodded at me triumphantly, pulling a silly face. Other boys shrieked and squirmed beside me, jostling for the best position on the seat – but I was adept at elbowing my way when I wanted. One of the other girls was hopelessly squashed, however, with two rude boys practically sitting on top of her.

  'Move next to me,' I said.

  She smiled at me timidly. She was beautiful, just like a fairy-tale princess, with big blue eyes, rosy cheeks and long golden curls. She wore a cream silk hat and a matching silk dress, with white stockings and white kid boots with tiny blue buttons.

  'Come on, wriggle past those silly boys,' I said, reaching out and grabbing her.

  She squeezed past them and I pulled her safely down next to me. I could feel her trembling violently.

  'What's the matter?' I asked in astonishment.

  'I'm frightened!' she said.

  I didn't know if she was frightened of the elephant, frightened of heights, frightened of the rude boys, or simply frightened of getting her pretty pale clothes dirty. I reached out and held her hand.

  'There now, no need to be frightened. I will look after you,' I said. 'My name's Hetty. What's yours?'

  'I'm Rosabel,' she said.

  I sighed. Trust her to have a beautiful name too!

  The elephant was fully loaded now, so the keeper gave him a little tap and we set off, plodding down the path. The boys shrieked loudly and Rosabel clutched me as if she would never let me go.

  'Oh dear, it's so scary! I wish the beast wouldn't roll so,' she gasped. She peered down desperately. 'I've lost sight of my mama and papa. Can you see yours?'

  I would have a hard job seeing either!

  'I am here on my own,' I said proudly.

  'Without even your nurse?' said Rosabel.

  'I don't have a nurse any more,' I said. 'I am too big.'

  'No you're not, you're little, much smaller than me,' said Rosabel. 'Oh, there is Mama. I see her lilac parasol!' She risked letting go for a second, attempting a little wave.

  I stared at her mother. 'She is very young and beautiful,' I said wistfully.

  Her papa was waving too. He looked a kindly, jolly man, with a pink face.

  'Papa is pleased with me for taking the elephant ride. He feels I am too timid,' said Rosabel. 'But Mama says all girls are naturally timid.'

  'I'm a girl and I'm not the slightest bit timid,' I said.

  'Perhaps we could be friends and then you could teach me how to be bold and independent,' said Rosabel.

  My heart leaped. Maybe Rosabel's family would take me under their wing? I could be a devoted companion to their little daughter! They might even adopt me like Polly. I wasn't sure I should be happy wearing cream silk dresses and fancy hats and white boots. I knew how dirty they would be by the end of the day. Maybe they would let me choose a darker colour for my clothes, red or blue or purple – any colour so long as it wasn't sludge-brown. I didn't hunger after dolls and toys but I was sure a cosseted child like Rosabel would have a whole shelf of storybooks – and I could share them.

  I was still eagerly picturing my future with Rosabel as the elephant plodded back up the path to the landing stage. I kept hold of Rosabel's hand and helped her down carefully.

  'Rosabel! Over here, my dear!' both parents called.

  I trotted over with her, but the mama suddenly looked horrified and even the papa appeared grave.

  'Say goodbye to the little girl, dearest,' said the mama, very firmly.

  'She is my new friend Hetty,' said Rosabel.

  'Don't be ridiculous, Rosabel. She is just a dirty street child. Leave go of her hand. You should never have let her get so near to you!' said the mama.

  The papa turned on me. 'Be off with you,' he said, swotting at me.

  If they thought I was a street child, I would act like one. I stuck out my tongue and waggled it hard before running away. My feelings were hurt nevertheless, but I diverted myself by inspecting all the creatures in their cages: the scampering monkeys, the pacing lions, the savage bear in his pit. I felt sorry for all these poor caged animals. I wanted to set them free so that the monkeys cou
ld snatch up all the flimsy parasols, the lions could leap at all the scornful parents and the bear maul them to pieces.

  I was starting to feel sorry for myself too, walking around alone in my hideous brown frock and boots, while all the well-dressed families stared and sniggered at me. Even the rude boys were here with mamas and papas, big happy families, many of them picnicking on the grass. I stared at their checked tablecloths spread with pork pies and whole chickens and egg-and-bacon tarts, and wondered about darting in like a dog and snatching something. But then what would the woman in the baker's shop say about my manners! I might be a beggar now but I was not going to be a thief.

  I sat myself down on the grass and looked mournful, hoping that strangers would start flinging pennies at me again, but it seemed to be the wrong sort of place. People had come to the Zoological Gardens to observe the animals, not a small stray child. Folk passed me by without giving me a second glance.

  I decided I'd have to move further afield if I wanted to earn enough for my supper. Most of my generous donors had been gentlemen. I needed to get away from this family environment. I figured that there would be more gentlemen in the centre of town, so I left the gardens, walked out of the park and continued on my way.

  I wandered back towards Oxford Street and Regent Street, my empty stomach clamouring now, and both boots rubbing my feet sore and bloody. Finally I had to stop and take my boots off altogether. I was sitting on the kerb airing my dirty toes, my boots neatly beside me, stockings tucked inside, when two boys came dashing up. One hollered something unintelligible right in my face. I shouted back furiously. He punched me in the chest and I aimed a kick at him with my bare foot. He pushed me hard so that I fell – and he and his friend scurried off. I sat up gingerly, cursing them. I cursed even more when I went to put on my boots again. They had vanished, stolen by the two scheming boys!

  I cried a little then, because I knew how much I needed those boots even though they hurt me. My genuine tears brought me a little consolation – two more gentlemen gave me pennies – but when I got to my feet to look for another baker's shop I realized I was in trouble. The pavements were hard, with sharp stones, whereas my feet were soft and blistered raw. I could not walk far now.

  I bought myself a meat pie from a street stall and wolfed it down, though the meat was all fat and gristle and the pastry limp. I thought of Ida and her delicious pies. She had been such a true friend to me yet I'd been so very unkind to her. She would hate me now – if she ever thought of me. She'd have Sheila for her pet. She'd give her tiny culinary treats and save up to buy her a special Christmas present . . .

  I felt miserably sick at the thought (or perhaps it was the meat pie). My bladder was also bursting. I wandered up a dark alley off Regent Street to find somewhere private so I could relieve myself. I found myself in a wide square with a garden full of city men, smoking and larking and taking the air. There were girls too, some ragged and barefoot like me, offering posies to the gentlemen, begging them to buy their flowers. There were a couple of older girls too, their lips painted carmine like Madame Adeline's, wearing lurid dresses and showing a lot of petticoat. They kept approaching the gentlemen, seeming to be begging too.

  I hesitated, wondering if I should try too.

  'Clear off, you, ginger nob. This is our patch!' one girl yelled at me.

  Another girl gave me a hard push. 'You're too young! Give way for your elders and betters!' she said, cackling with laughter.

  These weren't girls I dared tangle with. They were bigger and rougher than the street boys who had stolen my boots. There was a sharpness about their pinched, painted faces that frightened me. I ran away, up another darker alley, then lifted my skirts and used the gutter, jumping when a rat leaped out at me.

  A girl and a gentleman came blundering down the alleyway, arm in arm, whispering together. Their words made me feel sicker than ever. I dodged round them and scurried back to the square, desperate to reach the wide public street once more.

  'Are you all right, little 'un?' said one of the flower-sellers, a softer-looking girl in a shabby blue print dress, carrying a big basket of flowers.

  'Yes, thank you, I am perfectly fine,' I said, though I knew I must look wretched and tear-stained.

  'You don't look fine. I wouldn't stay round here. It's not a good place for a little girl like you,' she said. 'Here, do you want a posy?'

  She picked out a tiny bunch of three rosebuds, their stems carefully wrapped round with ribbon so that their thorns were covered.

  'It's beautiful, but I'm afraid I have no pennies,' I said.

  'I don't want no pennies! It's a gift to cheer you up,' she said.

  'Thank you very much! You're very kind,' I said, sniffing the sweet roses.

  'Off you hop,' she said. 'I wouldn't even loiter round here. Go straight home. You're too little to be out on the streets.'

  I nodded and smiled at her and turned on my way, comforted. I went back down the alley towards Regent Street, but a gentleman stepped out of the shadows right in front of me, making me jump. He was a very grand gentleman, with a fine hat and coat and a fancy silver brocade waistcoat. He could surely mean me no harm . . .

  'Hello, my dear,' he said softly. 'What a lovely nosegay! May I buy it?'

  'If you please, sir, it's not really for sale,' I said.

  'No? But I will pay you a lot of money. A shilling? Two? Maybe half a crown?'

  I stared at him. He did not seem a foolish man at all, quite the opposite, so why was he willing to pay a fortune for three little wilting roses? I wanted to keep them for myself because the flower-seller was so kind to me – but I could feed myself for days and days on half a crown.

  He saw me hesitating. 'You're clearly very fond of your flowers, child. Never mind, you keep them. I'll tell you what. I have a house nearby with a very pretty garden. I will take you there and you can pick a whole armful of roses.'

  'It's very kind of you, sir, but—'

  'No buts, my dear. You must come with me. You're trembling! I had better find you a soft shawl to keep you warm – and stockings and shoes for those poor little bare feet. Oh dear, they do look sore.'

  He bent down and stroked my feet, fondling my toes. I did not like this one jot and stepped backwards, but he had hold of my ankle. I stumbled and he caught me, lifting me right up in his arms.

  'No, please! Put me down, sir!' I said, struggling, but his arms were strong and his hand clamped over my mouth.

  'Ssh now, little girl. No crying. You will be fine with me,' he said, walking rapidly.

  I tried to bite the hand over my mouth but he held me so tight I couldn't move my teeth, I couldn't even draw breath to scream. But then something went bang right on his head, someone kicked him hard between his legs, and he groaned and dropped me. A hand snatched mine.

  'Quick, run!'

  I ran for my life, hanging onto her hand. It was my kind flower-seller! She had hammered the man with her basket and then kicked him with swift expertise. She tugged me up even darker alleys, and then pushed me into a shadowy doorway. We flattened ourselves in the recess, listening hard – but could hear no footsteps.

  'There! I didn't think he'd follow us, but you never know,' she said. 'What was you doing, going off with the likes of him? Couldn't you tell he was up to no good?'

  'Yes, but I didn't know how to get away.'

  'Yell out and give them a good kicking, that's what you do. You don't want to go near gentlemen like that.'

  'It was so kind of you to rescue me – and you've dropped half your flowers!'

  'We'll retrace our steps in a little while and see if we can find any. Don't you worry. What's your name, little 'un?'

  'Hetty Feather.'

  'I'm Sissy, dear. I'm fourteen.' She said it as if she was quite grown up. She did indeed look years older than the big girls at the hospital, with their prim frocks and plaits. 'How old are you, Hetty?'

  'Ten, nearly eleven.'

  She didn't seem surprised. 'Our Lil's t
en too. She's about your size, bless her. She usually sells flowers along with me, but she's poorly just now. She's got a way of looking all big-eyed so that the gentlemen melt.'

  'Can I help you sell flowers today?'

  Sissy looked me up and down. 'I don't see why not. You need someone to look after you. There's gentlemen and gentlemen. You need to work out which is which. Not that I can always tell.' She sniffed. 'Still, I might work on the street, but I like to think me and Lil keep ourselves respectable. If ever I'm tempted otherwise, I just think of Mother.'

  'Is your mother . . .?' I hesitated delicately.

  'She died two years ago, and the last baby died with her. She were wore out, poor love.'

  'Do you have a father?'

  'Yes, we do, but we'd be better off without him,' Sissy said bitterly. 'What about you, Hetty?'

  I shook my head. 'I haven't got a father or a mother,' I said.

  Sissy plucked at the stuff of my dress. 'So is this some kind of orphan uniform?'

  I felt I could trust her. 'I used to live at the Foundling Hospital, but I've run away.'

  'Ah!' said Sissy, nodding. 'Were they cruel to you there?'

  'Ever so cruel,' I said firmly.

  'Well, you stick with me, girl, and I'll learn you some tricks. Let's have a look at you now.' She scrutinized me carefully, then wet her finger, rubbed it across the grimy wall, and marked under my eyes with soot. 'That's better. If you look really ill, the gentlemen will feel sorry for you. Can you look really sad, Hetty?'

  'I'm brilliant at it,' I said, lowering my head and letting my mouth droop.

  'Yes, you're a natural, almost as good as our Lil.'

  'I can cry too if you like.'

  'No, no, you'll smudge the soot and end up looking like a chimney sweep. Right, my dear, let us see if we can gather up those posies.' She held my hand tight. 'Don't worry about that gentleman, Hetty, or any others of that ilk. I'll be looking out for you now.'