by Dilly Court
Contents
About the Book
About the Author
Also by Dilly Court
Title Page
Dedication
Chapter One: Bow, East London, January 1888
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Copyright
About the Book
When Hetty Huggins made a promise to her dying mother that she would look after her younger sister and brothers, little did she know how difficult this would be. But despite the threat of being turned out onto the streets by the unscrupulous tallyman and the never-ending struggle just to exist, Hetty is determined her family will never starve or want for a roof over their heads.
Longing for something better out of life than the daily grind of making matchboxes for a pittance, she dreams of setting up her own business. With the help of friends she sells hot potatoes on the streets and things begin to look up for them all. But when the tallyman comes calling, they are faced once more with a future full of hardship and despair …
About the Author
Dilly Court grew up in North-east London and began her career in television, writing scripts for commercials. She is married with two grown-up children and four grandchildren, and now lives in Dorset on the beautiful Jurassic Coast with her husband and a large, yellow Labrador called Archie. She is also the author of Mermaids Singing, The Dollmaker’s Daughters, Tilly True, The Best of Sisters, The Cockney Sparrow, A Mother’s Courage and The Constant Heart.
Also by Dilly Court
Mermaids Singing
The Dollmaker’s Daughters
Tilly True
The Best of Sisters
The Cockney Sparrow
A Mother’s Courage
The Constant Heart
For Jennifer, Maureen and Margaret
Chapter One
Bow, East London, January 1888
Hetty stamped her feet in an attempt to bring them back to life. It was five o’clock on a bitterly cold winter’s morning, and the queue of outworkers stretched from the gates of the match factory to the end of the street and far beyond. Women and girls, many of whom were little more than children, waited to collect the materials that they needed to take home in order to make matchboxes. The sleet-spiked torrential rain had eased to a fine drizzle, but the gutters were clogged with rotting straw and overflowing with evil-smelling water contaminated by horse dung. The feeble glow of the gaslights created monstrous shadows from the huddled shapes of the women as they crowded together in an effort to keep warm.
Hetty shivered convulsively, cupping her hands over her mouth and blowing on them in a vain attempt to bring some feeling back to her frozen fingers. Her teeth were chattering like a pair of magpies, and she wrapped her sodden woollen shawl a little tighter around her thin shoulders; but for all the good it did her, she might as well not have bothered. A quick glance at her younger sister’s pinched features and miserable expression made Hetty forget her own woes for a moment. She gave Jane’s hand a squeeze. ‘It shouldn’t be long now before they let us in, love.’
Jane hunched her shoulders and shuffled her feet; her blue lips moved but her answer was drowned by a fit of coughing from the woman standing behind her. The harsh, hacking sound echoed down the street, generating a chain reaction of coughs and sneezes amongst the previously silent queue. Hetty could feel the icy water seeping through the thin soles of her second-hand, down-at-heel boots, but at least she had footwear. Others, less fortunate, had to watch their bare feet turning blue and then corpse-white as they waited for the factory gates to open.
‘Ouch.’ Hetty let out a yelp, spinning round to see who had tugged at her hair, which she wore in a thick plait that reached down to her waist. ‘Oh! So it’s you, Tom Crewe. I might have known it.’
Grinning mischievously, he dragged off his cloth cap, revealing a mop of curls, flattened and darkened by sweat but glistening guinea-gold in the gaslight. ‘Morning, Hetty.’
She scowled at him, but her lips twitched as she suppressed the desire to giggle. ‘Do that again, and I’ll have you.’
‘Is that a promise, sweetheart?’ Tom’s teeth gleamed white in a face blackened with soot.
His companion, also covered in grime, chuckled and nudged him in the ribs. ‘I’d have her sister, given half a chance.’
Hetty’s protective instincts were instantly roused and she turned on him angrily. ‘You don’t half fancy yourself, Nat. My sister ain’t interested in the likes of you.’
‘Shut up, Hetty. I don’t need you to speak for me.’ Jane’s pale cheeks flamed coral-pink. ‘And there’s no need to be crude, Nat,’ she added, slanting a coquettish look at him beneath her long dark eyelashes.
‘You wasn’t so coy the last time we met,’ Nat said softly.
Hetty opened her mouth to remind him that Jane was only just sixteen, but Tom was still fingering her braid and he brushed it against his cheek. ‘Your hair’s like black silk, Hetty, and your eyes are the colour of violets – I could eat you for me dinner.’
‘Give over, Tom. You’re embarrassing me.’ Hetty forgot about Nat as she tugged her hair free from Tom’s grasp. ‘Get on home. You stink of the gasworks and you look like a sweep’s boy.’
‘Don’t lower yourself to their level,’ Jane whispered. ‘It ain’t seemly.’
Nat doffed his cap and bowed from the waist. ‘Hoity-toity, Miss Jane Huggins.’
‘I don’t like a public show,’ Jane said primly.
‘You’re a real lady, Janey.’ Nat leaned towards her with a boss-eyed but charming smile. ‘Will I see you tonight afore I goes on me shift at the gasworks?’
‘Maybe. Maybe not.’
The woman standing directly in front of them turned her head and scowled at Jane. ‘Fine goings-on, I must say. I’ve a good mind to tell your gran that you’re carrying on with Nathaniel Smith. I seen you two canoodling beneath the gas lamps.’ She jerked her head in Nat’s direction, curling her lip in disapproval. ‘His mother was a didicoi and his dad ended up in the clink. He’ll go the same way, if you ask me.’
Hetty spun round to face her. ‘That weren’t called for, Mrs Briggs. I’ll thank you to mind your own business.’
‘Don’t get into a fight,’ Jane hissed.
‘I’m not one for brawling in the street, as you well know, but I won’t have my sister’s name dragged through the dirt,’ Hetty said, casting a withering glance at Mrs Briggs.
‘Don’t take that tone with me, young woman.’
‘I won’t let you or anyone else go round insulting my family, Eva Briggs. Your lot ain’t so lily-white if it comes to that. I hear that Pearl is in the family way again and still no ring on her finger.’
‘You little bitch!’ Mrs Briggs rolled up her sleeves and fisted her hands.
‘Hetty ain’t had breakfast yet,’ Jane said hastily, stepping in between them. ‘She’s always like this before she’s had a cup of tea.’
Mrs Briggs smiled triumphantly. ‘Your own sister agrees that you’re a mouthy cow. What have you got to say to that, Hetty Huggins?’
‘Apologise,’ Jane hissed. ‘We can’t a
fford to lose money just because of her.’
‘Sorry, Mrs Briggs,’ Hetty muttered, staring down at her boots. She knew that Jane was right. Any disturbance would invoke the wrath of the foreman and a hefty fine. Even so, it was common knowledge that Pearl Briggs was notoriously free with her favours and had three illegitimate offspring to prove the point. Hetty could feel Tom standing close by her side ready to leap to her defence and that was the last thing she wanted. She laid her hand on his arm. ‘It’s all right, Tom. I spoke out of turn and I’m sorry for it.’
Mrs Briggs snorted and opened her mouth as if to retort but the sound of the factory gates grinding on their hinges caused the queue to surge forward.
‘Will I see you tonight then, Janey?’ Nat asked urgently.
‘I dunno. I’ll think about it.’
‘Maybe I’ll see you too, Hetty,’ Tom said, striding along by her side as the crowd moved as one towards the open maw of the match factory.
‘I wouldn’t count on it if I was you.’ Hetty fluttered her eyelashes in an attempt to ape Jane’s flirtatious manner but she couldn’t quite suppress a giggle, which spoiled the whole thing. ‘You’re nothing but trouble.’
Responding with a chuckle, he rammed his cap back on his head. ‘Meet me outside the gasworks and I’ll prove you wrong.’
‘Meet him outside the gasworks and he’ll prove you’re right,’ Mrs Briggs called over her shoulder, emphasising her words with a suggestive wink.
‘Ta, ever so!’ Hetty retorted, refusing to rise to the bait. ‘I’ll bear that in mind, Mrs Briggs.’ Swept onwards by the crowd, she turned her head and saw Tom waving to her. In spite of everything, she felt her spirits lift and she waved back. She could never be cross with him for long. He was a good friend; her best friend, if it came to that. She had known Tom for most of her nineteen years. He lived with his widowed mother and youngest sister in Dye House Lane, the next street to Autumn Road where the Huggins family dwelt in a single basement room. They had played together as children and had earned money as mudlarks, grubbing beneath the filthy waters of the River Lea for pieces of coal, copper or anything that might sell for a few farthings. Hetty had always thought of Tom as a big brother, although recently things had begun to change subtly. But there was no time to dwell on personal feelings now. ‘No need to push,’ she cried as she was shoved from behind, almost losing her footing on the wet and slippery paving stones. A fall could prove fatal as the desperate women and girls pushed forward to get a day’s work for just a few pence pay.
Half an hour later, having stopped off at the bakery on the way, Hetty and Jane were back in Autumn Road, carrying their bundles of cardboard, paper and glue and a loaf of bread that was still hot from the baker’s oven. It was not yet light and a grey mist floated just above the cocoa-coloured waters of the River Lea. The muddy foreshore was thick with pollution from the factories and the stench of coal gas and chemicals and the reek of the tanning works filled the air. Number one Autumn Road leaned precariously towards the river, as if the old building with its soot-blackened bricks was about to throw itself into the creek out of sheer desperation. Half the windows were boarded up and the rest were cracked or broken, with bits of rag and newspaper stuffed in the holes to keep out the bitter easterly wind that rampaged across the Essex marshes. Jane hurried down the area steps to the damp basement room they called home. Inside was barely warmer than outside, and the only light came from a single stub of a candle guttering in the middle of the table where their two younger brothers were perched on wooden stools.
‘You’ve been ages,’ Sammy complained. ‘I’m hungry.’
‘Me too,’ Eddie said, banging his empty bowl with a wooden spoon. ‘Where’s our breakfast, Hetty?’
Hetty dumped her parcel of work on the table. ‘Give us a minute, greedy boy.’ She smiled at his downcast face and ruffled his hair. ‘I stopped at the bakery and bought a loaf. It’s in with the cardboard and glue.’
‘I wants porridge.’ Eddie’s blue eyes filled with tears and his bottom lip trembled. ‘I’m cold, Hetty. I want something hot to eat.’
‘Well, you’ll just have to make do this morning, Ed,’ Hetty said, rummaging in the parcel for the loaf. Her heart was wrung with pity at the sight of her two small brothers’ pinched faces and stick-like limbs, but she must not let them see how much it distressed her. She had to keep up the appearance of being calm and in control, even if she was as cold and hungry as they were.
Sammy jumped off his stool, making a grab for the bundle, but Hetty slapped his wrist; not too hard, just enough to make the seven-year-old think twice before he tore into the brown paper package. ‘Hands off, you. I thought I told you to get the fire going while we was out.’
‘The kindling’s damp. It wouldn’t light. I tried, Hetty. I really tried.’
‘He did,’ Eddie said, giggling. ‘And when it went out he swore. Shall I tell you what he said?’
Sammy lunged at his younger brother, grabbing him round the throat. ‘Shut up, big mouth.’
Jane took off her shawl and hung it over the back of the only chair in the room. She rolled up her damp sleeves. ‘I’ll get the fire going. You feed the little beasts, Hetty.’
‘I’m not sure that Sammy deserves any breakfast,’ Hetty said, winking at him. ‘I should wash his mouth out with soap by rights.’
‘Yes,’ Jane said with feeling. ‘That’s what Ma would have done.’
‘I wish she was here now.’ Sammy threw himself down on his seat and laid his head on his arms. His thin shoulders heaved.
Eddie climbed up on his stool and began to snivel. ‘M-me t-too.’ Strings of mucus dribbled from his nose.
‘Now look what you’ve done, Jane. You should have known better than to mention Ma.’ Hetty wiped Eddie’s nose on the corner of her apron, and she gave Sammy a sympathetic hug. ‘Ma’s in heaven now, boys. Up with the angels, and in a far better place than Autumn Road.’
Sammy wiped his eyes on his sleeve, suddenly curious. ‘D’you think they mended her face – the angels?’
Hetty opened the drawer in the kitchen table and took out the bread knife, nodding emphatically. ‘Of course they did. That would have been the first thing the angels did when Ma entered the pearly gates. I’ll bet St Peter took one look at her and said “Hello, my dear. Don’t worry; we’ll fix you up good and proper now that you’re in heaven. Just go over to the Angel Gabriel and he’ll put your face back just as it was afore you got the phossy jaw in that damn match factory.”’
Jane sat back on her haunches as flames licked round the kindling and twists of newspaper. She gave Hetty a withering look. ‘How can you tell him off for swearing when you’ve just done the same thing?’
Hetty pulled a face which made Sammy and Eddie giggle. ‘Oops! Sorry.’
Sammy rested his chin on his cupped hands, staring hard at her. ‘Does that mean you won’t go to heaven, Hetty?’
She cut the crust off the loaf and scraped it with margarine. ‘Here, shove this in your gob and don’t ask awkward questions.’
‘I can’t eat crust, Hetty,’ Sammy said with fresh tears spilling from his eyes. He pointed to the gap where he had lost his top two baby teeth.
‘I can.’ Eddie snatched it from his hand, and took a bite as if to prove his point.
Hetty hacked off another slice and gave it to Sammy. ‘Don’t be a crybaby. Eat this and then we’ve got work to do.’ She modified her words with a smile. ‘There’s a good boy.’
Jane had succeeded in getting the fire to light and she put the kettle on the hook over the feeble flame. ‘I could murder a cup of tea.’ She rose to her feet, and peering in the shard of broken mirror on the mantelshelf she patted her luxuriant chestnut locks in place. ‘Just look at my hair – it’s gone all frizzy with the damp.’
‘Here’s a slice of bread and scrape for you, you vain hussy,’ Hetty said, chuckling. ‘You’re very pretty, Jane. But since it’s only me and the boys will see you for the next twelve hours, it don�
��t matter what you look like.’
Jane snatched the bread and bit into it hungrily. ‘You’re just as bad,’ she said, swallowing a mouthful and licking her lips. ‘I wasn’t the one who almost started a fight because someone messed up her hair.’
‘That was different. Anyway, you’ve no need to worry about your looks. You’ve got the face of an angel, didn’t Ma always say so?’
Jane’s sulky lips curved into a smile. ‘I might be what they call pretty, but Ma always said you’d be a handsome woman when you was grown up. I’d kill for a straight nose like yours, and not one that turns up at the tip like mine. I’ve always wanted blue eyes like you and Sammy, instead of brown ones that look like puddles of muddy rainwater.’
‘Never mind all that. We’ve got work to do, and you don’t have time to go primping in the mirror every five minutes.’
‘It’s called keeping up appearances,’ Jane retorted, smiling serenely. ‘Ma would have approved. She always liked to look nice, no matter what she was doing or who she was seeing.’
‘She was beautiful inside and out. Nothing could take that away from her.’ Hetty slumped down on a stool at the table. ‘Eddie, don’t gobble your food, you’ll make yourself sick.’ She raised the slice of bread to her lips but her appetite left her as she remembered Ma’s last days with the dreadful disease that had eaten half her face away. Phossy jaw was an occupational hazard amongst the girls and women who worked with the white or yellow phosphorus used in the manufacture of matches. On her deathbed, Ma had made Hetty and Jane promise that they would work from home, partly so that they could keep an eye on their younger brothers, but mainly so that they would steer clear of the hazards of working in the factory itself. Girls as young as fifteen often went completely bald from carrying heavy boxes on their heads. There were accidents with machinery and a high risk of burns from the matches themselves. The matchgirls’ wages were scandalously low and outworkers were paid even less, but working from home had enabled Hetty to keep the family together. She had vowed to look after the little ones as though they were her own and she had kept that promise. Her eyes filled with tears as she thought of her mother, who had worked so hard to raise her seven children after their father had been killed in an accident at the gasworks. Betty, Ida and Fred had all succumbed to childhood diseases, diphtheria, measles and whooping cough, which had broken Ma’s heart, but had made her even more protective of her surviving children.
