by Dilly Court
Sonia had crept back into the room unnoticed. She sidled up to Hetty and peered at the baby. ‘If it hadn’t been for Mama, Jane would have had baby on the pavement outside the factory. Baby should be named for my mama.’
Mrs Brinkman shook her head. ‘Hush, Sonia. Jane don’t want to name baby after old Russian woman who don’t have no education.’
A flicker of interest momentarily lit Jane’s eyes. ‘What is your name, Mrs Brinkman?’
‘Well, it ain’t Brinkman for a start. My Colya changed name to sound more English; he say we get on better in this country if we sound less foreign.’
‘But your first name, Mama,’ Sonia said eagerly. ‘Tell them what it is.’
‘Natalia. My name is Natalia.’
‘Natalia,’ Hetty repeated, staring down at the baby. ‘She can still be your little Nat after all.’
‘I really don’t care . . .’ Jane closed her eyes and turned her head away.
Hetty was almost overcome by a wave of protective love for the helpless infant in her arms. She struggled to understand Jane’s indifference to her own child, and failed.
‘She is so beautiful, Jane. Why don’t you hold her for a moment?’
Mrs Brinkman laid her hand on Hetty’s arm. ‘She don’t know what she say. You take baby and leave Jane to me.’
Hetty carried Natalia into the Brinkmans’ living room where she found Tom making an effort at conversation with Mr Brinkman who, judging by the smell of alcohol, had spent most of the day in the pub. The surviving Brinkman children ranged from a ten-month-old baby to Sonia, who was the eldest. Her younger sister Anna was busy slicing up a loaf for their supper, and seven-year-old Larissa was scraping the bread with margarine. The younger ones waited eagerly, but silently, for their food.
‘So it’s over,’ Mr Brinkman said thickly. ‘Another mouth to feed.’
‘She’s a beautiful baby girl,’ Hetty said proudly. ‘Jane is going to name her for your wife, Mr Brinkman. I’m ever so grateful to her for what she did today.’
Tom moved to Hetty’s side. He lifted his hand as if he wanted to touch the baby’s cheek and then he dropped it to his side. ‘She’s so tiny.’
‘She’s called Natalia. And you can touch her, Tom. She ain’t made of glass.’
He shook his head. ‘Not with my big mitts. I might accidentally hurt the little mite.’
Hetty frowned. ‘How are we going to get them home, Tom?’
Mr Brinkman raised himself from his seat by the fireplace. ‘I got friend with cart. He do it cheap.’
It was midnight when Tom lifted Jane off the rag and bone man’s cart, and Hetty carried Natalia into the house in Totty Street. ‘This is your home, Natalia Huggins,’ she said softly.
‘What sort of heathen name is that?’ Granny emerged from the parlour holding up an oil lamp. She stared at the baby with unconcealed distaste. ‘Put it in the cradle in the front room, Hetty.’
Sammy and Eddie appeared at the top of the stairs and came running down to peer at the baby. ‘What’s it called?’ demanded Eddie.
‘Natalia,’ Hetty said, smiling. ‘You and Sammy are her uncles. You must look after little Talia.’
‘She should have been a boy,’ Jane murmured, leaning her head against Tom’s shoulder. ‘Girls are nothing but trouble.’
‘You’re just worn out, Jane,’ Hetty said as she opened the door to the front room. ‘You’ll see things differently when you’ve had a rest.’
Tom carried Jane over to her bed, setting her down gently. ‘Anything else I can do for you, ducks?’
Jane turned her head away. ‘No. Go away.’
‘That’s no way to speak to Tom,’ Hetty said angrily. ‘Where’s your manners, Jane?’
‘I’d best be off then,’ Tom said, backing away from the bed as if he expected Jane to rise up and slap him.
‘Thanks for everything, Tom.’ Hetty flashed him a grateful smile as she laid the sleeping baby down in the cradle. She couldn’t resist stroking Natalia’s downy head. She was so perfect, even down to her tiny fingernails. How could Jane not love such a precious little girl? She looked up and found that Tom was watching her closely, and she smiled. ‘Have you ever seen such a beautiful little thing?’
‘She’s a proper little peach, all right. I’m glad I was there to give a hand, but anyone would have done the same.’
‘No, that’s just not true.’ Moved by his modesty and with her heart bursting with gratitude for his unwavering support, Hetty threw her arms around his neck and kissed him on the cheek. ‘A brother couldn’t have done more than you did today, and I’ll always be grateful, Tom.’
‘A brother! I should hope I’m more than that to you, Hetty.’
‘Oh, don’t mind me,’ Jane cried angrily. ‘I’ve just been through hell and you two are spooning.’
‘We was not. I was just showing a bit of gratitude to Tom for standing by us today. It wouldn’t hurt you to do the same.’ Hetty went over to the bed and pulled the coverlet up to Jane’s chin. ‘Now you get some sleep while I see Tom out.’
‘You’re too late, Hetty. He’s gone.’
Hetty heard the front door open and then close. She had not meant to bruise Tom’s tender feelings. It had been a manner of speaking when she likened him to a brother, but he had taken it completely the wrong way. She bit back the angry words that rose to her lips. After all, Jane had just been through a long and painful labour; she must make allowances for her. She brushed a lock of damp hair back from Jane’s forehead. ‘Best get some sleep. When the baby wakes up she’ll be hungry.’
‘I don’t want her,’ Jane said tearfully. ‘She’s not my little Nat. She’s just a girl.’ She buried her face in the pillow and wept.
There was nothing that Hetty could do or say that would comfort her, and she sighed. Perhaps Jane would see things differently when she had rested. Hetty left the room to find Granny and Sammy waiting outside the door. ‘So, she’s not best pleased,’ Granny said, curling her lip. ‘Well, she had the kid and now she’s got to look after it. I can’t abide babies, never could. I don’t want to hear it caterwauling in the night, so you’d better see to that, Hetty. I’ve got to get my beauty sleep.’
Sammy and Eddie sniggered at this and Granny dealt out clouts round their heads. ‘Get back to bed, boys. You’ve got school in the morning.’ She stalked off into the parlour and slammed the door.
Worried that the noise might have awakened the baby, Hetty tiptoed back into the room to check on her. She stared down at Natalia with an almost suffocating rush of emotion. ‘I love you, little Talia,’ she whispered. ‘I’ll never let no one hurt you, my pet.’
The baby’s eyelids fluttered, half opened and then closed as she gave Hetty a gummy smile. Hetty knew that it must just be wind, but it was still a smile for all that. She left the room, closing the door softly behind her. Jane would change her mind when she had rested. She would learn to love her little daughter.
Jane did not change her mind. She was as reluctant a mother as anyone could be and sometimes Hetty despaired of her. Jane could not seem to overcome her disappointment on giving birth to a girl. Hetty struggled to understand how a mother could turn away from her own child. She could only think that her sister had so desperately wanted a small replica of her lost love that she could not forgive Natalia for being born female. After a good telling-off from Granny, Jane made an effort to feed the baby, and she did everything necessary to nurture her daughter, but it seemed that she did it without any joy.
Hetty worked even harder now that there was another mouth to feed, and, as a warm September gave way to a chilly October, she started going out at night to sell hot potatoes outside Coborn Road railway station. On Friday and Saturday evenings she took a stand outside the People’s Palace in the Mile End Road, which had been built to provide recreational activities for the poor. It was hard work and tiring, but doing the night shift was very profitable and Hetty was able to start repaying Granny, and even managed to save a lit
tle each week. Her customers ranged from housewives who wanted to take home a quick and easy supper, to weary workers who needed the hot murphy to warm their cold hands on their journey homewards.
Working at night was not without its dangers, but Hetty soon learned which areas were safer than others, and if she spotted trouble she would pack up her cart and head for home. She avoided the streets where drunks lurched out of public houses, and prostitutes touted for business. It was plain commonsense, she told herself, and there was no need for either Tom or George to know what she was doing. Matters were made easier for her as Tom was putting in as much over-time at the Gas Light and Coke Company as he could get. He told her proudly that he was saving for their future, and he was so convinced that they would one day be married that Hetty almost came to believe it herself. She was fond of Tom, and she doubted whether she would ever fall head over heels in love, as Jane had fallen for her Nat. Tom was safe and solid, and, Hetty thought vaguely, she could do a lot worse.
George, on the other hand, was a good friend. He could make her laugh even when she felt sad and low, and she enjoyed walking home with him every day, when he would tell her about the goings-on in the market in such a way that she was often breathless from laughing. He had never been remotely lover-like in his behaviour towards her; in fact he told her in great detail about his most recent conquests and she commiserated with him when his love affairs ended badly, as they almost inevitably did. George had a roving eye and a tender heart, but Hetty compared him to the colourful bird of paradise that she had once seen illustrated in a picture book. If George was a bird of paradise, then she likened Tom to the pigeons which were to be seen everywhere, working hard to fill their bellies and to raise their young in the harsh environs of the East End streets. She loved them both, in her way, and if she were to lose either of them, Hetty knew that she would be quite heartbroken.
She had not seen either Cyrus Clench or Jasper Shipworthy since Granny had thrown them out of the house, and for that she was extremely grateful. Sometimes, when she was trundling her cart home late at night, she had the feeling she was being followed, but it had always turned out to be either her imagination or some quite innocent pedestrian who happened to be going her way. Once, it was a feral dog, whose panting had made her hair stand on end, but when she spun round to face her fear, she had laughed out loud to see the cur slink away in the darkness with a crust of bread in its mouth.
The days grew shorter, the nights longer and the weather colder. Hetty continued to work and her savings grew. She was out in the foulest of the winter weather, except the pea-soupers that wrapped a blanket of yellowish-green fog around the city. The choking smell of coal tar and smoke clogged the nostrils of those caught in its clutches, and, with the exception of the trains, everything ground to a halt. On one occasion, Hetty had braved the fog to stand outside Bethnal Green station at the time when the workers were hurrying home; she had done a brisk trade, but she had caught a chill and had to spend the next couple of days confined to her bed.
When spring came with lighter evenings and milder weather, the potato season had just about ended, but Hetty had been planning for this all winter. She had asked George to keep an eye out for a two-wheeled spring barrow, such as the coffee-stallholders used in the market places. She had been watching them trade, and now she was ready to branch out, selling not only ham sandwiches, but boiled eggs, watercress, currant cake, coffee and tea. She had done her sums, saved her pennies and she was eager to start.
Late one Friday afternoon at the end of April, George met her as usual, and he was grinning from ear to ear. ‘Hello, my lovely. Guess what clever George has done?’
Hetty stopped to rest for a moment; it had been a long, hard day, and, with the warmer weather, her takings had been down. ‘What have you done, George? Who is the lucky lady this time?’
His eyes turned the colour of warm amber and he clutched his hands to his heart with a pained expression on his face. ‘You ain’t being fair, girl. You make me sound like a ladykiller.’
Chuckling at the thought, Hetty patted him on the cheek. ‘You’ve left a string of broken hearts from Bow to Bishopsgate, don’t deny it.’
His eyes twinkled with golden lights. ‘Haven’t I just? But that’s another matter, Hetty. I’ve found your barrow. Old Skaggs the pie man dropped dead all of a sudden. They say as how he was poisoned by one of his own pork pies, but I say it was his heart what give out sudden-like. Anyway, I know his old lady, so I jumped in quick, made her an offer she couldn’t refuse, and you’ve got your barrow.’
Hetty flung her arms around his neck and hugged him. ‘George, I love you. You’re wonderful.’
His cheeky grin faded and a dull flush spread upwards from his neck. ‘Give over, girl. You’re making me blush.’
‘You’re a toff, George.’ She stood on tiptoe to kiss him on the cheek. ‘Where is this barrow? When can I see it?’
‘It’s alongside mine in Spitalfields market. We can fetch it now, only you’ll have to take your cart home first.’
‘That would take too much time.’ Hetty dragged the cart off the pavement into the doorway of an empty shop. ‘It’ll be safe enough here for a while.’
George shook his head. ‘I dunno, Hetty. There are some light-fingered geezers around.’
‘I doubt if anyone would bother with a can at the end of the season, and we’ll only be gone half an hour at most.’
‘All right, if you say so.’
‘Lead on,’ Hetty cried excitedly, falling into step beside him. ‘This means so much to me, George. I was thinking I’d have to start my next venture selling ham sandwiches from a basket, but now I can start off proper.’
‘Tomorrow a coffee stall - next year a coffee shop.’
‘That’s right. And I won’t stop at one coffee shop. I mean to have a whole string of them circling the city like pearls round a rich lady’s throat.’
George took her by the hand. ‘Come on then, girl. There’s no time to lose if you want to be a pearly princess. Best foot forward, Hetty.’
She was breathless from exertion and excitement by the time they reached Spitalfields market where the stallholders were packing up for the day. The ground was strewn with broken flowers, leaves and squashed vegetable matter, and everything was sparkling as the sun emerged from the clouds after a sudden shower of rain. Hetty gasped with pleasure as George pointed out her barrow. Raindrops hung from the striped canopy, shimmering like diamonds in the sunshine. She barely noticed the peeling paint or the broken spokes on one of the wheels; to Hetty it was a gleaming miracle, as smart as any of the carriages that the toffs might ride in with their noses stuck in the air. And it was hers. She covered her mouth with her hands, unable to speak.
George slipped his arm around her shoulders and gave her a hug. ‘It’ll clean up nicely. It just needs a few minor repairs and the old barrow will be good as new.’
‘It’s wonderful,’ Hetty breathed. ‘Oh, George, I can’t thank you enough for getting this for me. How much do I owe you?’
He pushed his cap to the back of his head. ‘Well, now. I got it at a knockdown price, Hetty. I ain’t sure that I could rightly claim anything back in terms of hard cash. But I tell you what. How about me being what they call a sleeping partner in your business? I could be the “and Co.” on the side of your barrow. Hetty Huggins and Co. That has a good sound to it, don’t you think?’
‘I don’t know what to say, George.’ Hetty traced the wooden surface of the barrow with her fingertip. ‘I must pay you back what I owe.’
‘I’ll be more than satisfied with a free cup of tea every now and again, and you can buy your watercress and cucumbers off me. I can see you going far, Hetty. I’ll be proud to be the one who gave you a start, and if you’re that particular about paying me back, we’ll talk about it when you’re running at a profit. What could be fairer than that?’
Hetty grabbed him by the hands and danced him round in a circle, her skirts flying and her hair co
ming loose from the tight knot at the back of her head. ‘Business partners it is then, George. Huggins and Co. I like the sound of that.’
‘Oy, George, me old cock.’ A large woman with red-veined cheeks and a pendulous bosom waddled over to them and slapped him on the back. ‘What’s all this, then?’
George doffed his cap with a flourish, bowing low to the woman. ‘Nora, me love. You’re a sight for sore eyes, and that’s a fact.’ He turned to Hetty. ‘Hetty, this is Nora Jackson, the pearly queen of Spitalfields market. What she says goes, doesn’t it, my duck?’
He pinched Nora’s chubby cheek, and she uttered a great wheezing laugh. ‘You and your soft soap, George,’ she said, slapping him on the shoulder. ‘I hope you don’t let this man lead you astray, dearie.’
‘No, ma’am,’ Hetty said, bobbing a curtsey. It seemed fitting in the presence of royalty. She had seen pearly kings and queens all dressed up in their finery when the occasion called for it, but she had never actually met one before.
‘No need to be formal,’ Nora said, puffing out her chest. ‘But I am the one you need to see before you starts up on the market. What’s your trade, dearie?’
‘A coffee stall, Nora,’ George said, hooking his arm around Hetty’s shoulders.
‘Let the girl speak for herself, George.’
Hetty cleared her throat. ‘If you please, ma’am – I mean, your highness – I want to run a coffee stall and sell ham sandwiches, cake and stuff like that.’
‘Your highness, eh?’ Nora let out a throaty cackle of laughter. ‘I can see we’re going to get on well, Hetty. But just Nora will do. I don’t wear me pearly finery to work. I saves it for high days and holidays.’
‘And very fine you look, my dear,’ George said with his irrepressible good humour. ‘A real duchess among women is Nora.’
Nora cuffed him round the ear but without any force behind the blow, and she was still smiling. ‘Cheeky boy.’ She turned to Hetty, nodding her head. ‘Well, I don’t see any problem. There are two coffee stalls, but they are on the far side of the market, one at the west entrance and one at the south. I see no reason why you can’t set up over there.’ She pointed to a space not far from where they were standing. ‘When can you start?’
