A Mother's Promise

by Dilly Court

  Taken aback and breathless at the rapid turn of events, Hetty did a quick calculation. She would have to get the barrow fixed up; a sign painted, and buy in the foodstuffs she needed to set up business. ‘In a week’s time.’

  Nora shook her head. ‘Can’t have an empty space for a whole week. I’ll give you two days, and if you can’t set up first thing on Monday morning, the spot will go to someone who can. Good luck, dearie.’ Nora winked at George and walked back to her own stall, swaying like a tea clipper under full sail with her corsets creaking at every move.

  George tossed his cap up in the air with a loud whoop of glee. ‘She likes you, Hetty. You’re in, girl. Now all you got to do is push the barrow home, get it done up a bit and you’re in business.’

  As Hetty struggled to push the barrow homeward, she was beginning to wonder if she had taken on too much. It was both cumbersome and heavy. Easy enough for a strong fellow like George, but extremely hard work for a slender girl who only came up to his shoulder. By the time they reached Bethnal Green Road, Hetty was panting and ready to drop, but she would not admit it to anyone, least of all George. She came to a halt outside the empty shop where she had left her cart, but to her dismay there was no sign of it.

  ‘Maybe this isn’t the place,’ George said, pulling his barrow into the kerbside. ‘Perhaps it was further on?’

  ‘No, it was here. I know it was, opposite the pawnbroker’s. It’s gone, George. Someone has pinched it and me can too. I can’t afford another two quid for a new one and I was banking on that for hot water for making tea and coffee.’

  George scratched his head. ‘Maybe it was kids, Hetty. You know what young limbs boy are. Perhaps they’ve taken it for a lark.’

  ‘Some lark. That’s my living they’re playing with.’ Hetty fought back tears of desperation. Everything had been going so well and now she was facing disaster. Even if she could afford to buy a new can and fire pot, it would take at least a week for the tin man to make one, and then she would have lost her site in the market place.

  ‘Cheer up, love,’ George said gently. ‘You go on home. I’ll get me barrow back to Cottage Green and then I’ll go out looking for your cart. Ten to one it’s down by the canal. That’s where things usually end up.’

  Hetty nodded her head. ‘Ta, George, but it’s my problem, not yours.’

  He brushed a strand of hair back from her forehead. ‘Well, now, I’m the “and Co” so I’ve got to do me bit. You go home and cuddle that little baby you’re so fond of and leave the rest to me.’

  It was a struggle to get the barrow through the gate into the yard of number ten Totty Street, and at one point the canopy became tangled in the washing line, but Hetty finally managed it with a good deal of shoving and pushing. She took the dry clothes off the line and carried them into the house. In the parlour she was surprised to see Tom sitting in a chair by the fire, bouncing Natalia on his knee. The baby gave a squeal of delight on seeing Hetty and held out her chubby arms.

  Jane was standing by the range pouring boiling water into the teapot. She looked up and frowned. ‘Baby likes you better than me,’ she grumbled. ‘You should be the one to stay here all day and see to her, Hetty.’

  Hetty’s heart gave a leap inside her chest as she took Natalia from Tom, and she kissed her downy head. ‘If she was mine I’d be more than happy to look after her. She’s a little pearl, aren’t you, my poppet?’

  Tom stood up, stretching his limbs. ‘Why don’t I get a greeting like that, Hetty? I’ve been sitting here for a good hour, waiting for you to come home.’

  ‘With only me for company,’ Jane said, slamming the lid on the teapot. ‘However, I never heard him complaining about it.’

  ‘No, of course not,’ Tom said hastily. ‘We had a good chat, didn’t we, Janey? At least someone finds me interesting.’

  Hetty tickled Natalia’s tummy, smiling as the baby gurgled with laughter. ‘Don’t be such an old misery-martin, Tom. I suppose you’d like me to tickle you too?’

  His frown dissolved into a grin. ‘Well, I wouldn’t mind, if you’re offering.’

  ‘Don’t mind me, you two.’ Jane put the teapot on the trivet. ‘That needs to brew for a while.’ She bustled over to Hetty, taking the baby from her arms. ‘It’s time I changed her, she smells something awful. Anyway, I daresay you two want to be alone for a while.’ She cast an arch glance at Tom. ‘I’ll knock on the door before I come back, shall I?’

  ‘No need, Jane. I got a bone to pick with Hetty.’

  Jane flashed him a brilliant smile. ‘Well best get it over afore Granny and the boys get back from delivering her latest creations. She’ll be complaining about her bunions and gasping for a cup of tea, so you’d better keep out of her way.’

  ‘It won’t take long,’ Tom said, glowering at Hetty. ‘You go and see to the baby, Jane. And ta for the tea.’

  ‘My pleasure,’ Jane said archly as she left the room carrying a howling Natalia, who had objected to being snatched from Hetty’s tender embrace.

  ‘What’s up?’ Hetty demanded as the door closed on Jane and the baby. ‘Why the long face? It’s me who should be looking like I lost sixpence and found a farthing.’

  ‘Where’ve you been? Why are you so late, and why didn’t you tell me that costermonger fellow sees you home every day?’

  Hetty poured the tea. ‘Because I knew you’d make a fuss and turn it into something it ain’t. George is just a friend, that’s all.’

  ‘If that’s so, then why keep it secret? I’ll bet he don’t think of himself as just a friend. What’s going on between you two?’

  ‘Nothing.’ Hetty handed him a cup of tea. She wanted to tell Tom everything, but when he was in this sort of mood there was no sense talking to him. He was so stubborn sometimes. Once he had an idea stuck in his head, there was no shifting it. She decided to change the subject. ‘Anyway, why are you here so early? I thought you was doing overtime.’

  ‘I’ve worked every night except Sundays for the past month, and I reckon I’m due a bit of time off. I come round early to see if you wanted to go to the music hall tonight. It’s not too late. Will you, Hetty?’

  She hesitated. She had never been to a music hall, or any kind of theatre come to that; it would be a rare treat indeed. But there was the missing cart and her precious can, and she ought to be here in case George found them. If she told Tom about the theft she would have to explain why she had abandoned her cart in an unsafe place, and then it would all come out. She would have to admit that she had gone against his advice and worked nights in order to save enough to start her coffee stall. He would be hurt and he would be angry. He was staring at her with a puzzled expression on his face, waiting for her answer. She managed a wobbly smile. ‘Ta, Tom. I’d like that very much.’

  They were about to leave the house when the sound of cartwheels rumbling down the street made Hetty pause and turn her head. In the flickering glow of the gas lamps, she saw George pushing the battered cart towards them. It was dripping muddy water and festooned in green slime. She bit back a cry of horror at the sight of the once gleaming tin can, which was now battered and dented. She snatched her hand from Tom’s arm and ran to meet George.

  ‘I found it in the canal,’ George said breathlessly. ‘Some bugger had tried to sink it with bricks, but the can floated and I waded in to get it.’

  Hetty’s voice caught on a sob. ‘Oh, George, it’s ruined. Now I’ll never be ready to open up my coffee stall by Monday.’

  Chapter Eight

  ‘What’s going on?’ Tom demanded. ‘Have you been pulling the wool over my eyes, Hetty?’

  ‘Steady on, mate,’ George said, frowning. ‘There’s no need to take that tone with her.’

  Tom pushed Hetty aside, squaring up to George with an aggressive out-thrust of his chin. ‘And who are you to tell me how I should treat my girl? I’ll not stand for you sniffing round her like she was a bitch on heat.’

  ‘Tom!’ Hetty slapped him on the arm. ‘You
’ve no right to speak to George like that. He was just doing me a favour.’

  Tom turned on her, white-lipped and eyes blazing. ‘Yes, and I know the kind of favour he’d like to do for you. I’ve met his type afore, Hetty.’

  ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Hetty cried angrily. ‘George has done nothing but try to help me. He believes in me and encourages me, which is more than I can say for you.’

  ‘Now, now,’ George said pleasantly. ‘Don’t you two fall out on my account. Hetty and me are just friends, mate. There’s no call to get yourself in a stew.’

  ‘Hetty is my girl, d’you understand me, mate?’ Tom clenched his fists, stressing the term mate with heavy sarcasm.

  ‘Shut up,’ Hetty hissed. ‘I won’t have this sort of behaviour, Tom. George is my friend and a sort of business partner. Yes, you can scowl at me all you like, but I am, or rather I was, going to start up a coffee stall on Monday. But now, thanks to some bugger who threw me cart and can into the canal, it looks like everything is ruined. So if you can’t do something useful, then just sling your hook.’

  Tom stared at her for a long moment. The silence between them seemed to stretch into infinity, and then, with a casual shrug of his shoulders, he strode off down the street.

  ‘I’m sorry, Hetty,’ George said softly. ‘I never meant to come between you and your fellow.’

  Hetty brushed the back of her hand across her eyes, flicking away tears of anger and frustration. ‘You didn’t. He takes too much for granted. We aren’t engaged or nothing.’

  ‘Didn’t seem like that to me, girl.’

  Hetty waved her left hand in front of his face. ‘Do you see a ring on me finger? No, you don’t, because there ain’t one. Tom can think what he likes, but I’ve never promised him nothing, and right now I got more urgent things to sort out.’ She stared down at the battered can, polluted by the filthy water of the Regent’s Canal.

  George angled his head, following her gaze. ‘It needs a good scrub, but we can probably knock out the dents and it’ll do until you can get a new one.’

  ‘Even if that was true, I’ll never be ready to take up me pitch on Monday.’

  His serious expression melted into a grin. ‘Who says?’

  ‘I can’t see how.’

  ‘Leave it to me, girl.’ George hefted the can onto his shoulder. ‘I’ll take this back to Cottage Green and see what I can do. Tomorrow’s Saturday, so I’ll be working late, but I’ll be round on Sunday. You see to the vittles and leave the rest to good old George.’

  Next day, enlisting Sammy and Eddie’s help, Hetty went to the grocer’s shop to buy butter, sugar, eggs, ham, mustard, tea and coffee. She ordered bread from the baker, and a large currant cake. She agonised over a seed cake and some sticky buns, but she had set a budget and she knew she must not overspend. When they arrived back in Totty Street, she put all her purchases on a marble slab in the tiny washhouse, wrapping everything carefully in butter muslin and covering the ham with an upturned pudding basin in case there were any flies about this early in the year. A fitful sun had pushed aside the rain clouds, but as Hetty examined the barrow she had to admit that it looked a sad sight, and she felt her heart sink as she inspected it more fully. Flakes of peeling paint had fallen off and were scattered on the concrete like blossom from the flowering cherry trees in Victoria Park. Sammy kicked at the broken spokes of one of the wheels and it snapped right off. His small features puckered as if he were about to cry. ‘I’m sorry, Hetty. I never meant to break it.’

  She patted him on the shoulder. ‘Don’t worry, Sammy. I don’t think you can do much harm to this poor old barrow.’

  ‘It’s broke, Hetty,’ Eddie said, shaking his head. ‘And it stinks.’

  At that moment, Granny came bustling into the yard carrying a bowl of slops, which she threw down the drain. ‘A pig in a poke, that’s what you bought, Hetty. That thing will fall to pieces before you get to the corner of Grove Road.’

  ‘I pushed it here from Spitalfields market, Granny. And George has promised to come tomorrow to fix it up.’

  Granny sniffed. ‘It would take a small army to make that contraption look respectable. You’ve wasted your money, girl. You might as well have gambled it away on the horses.’

  Hetty had a nasty feeling that this was true, but as she glanced through the parlour window she saw Jane sitting by the fireside, feeding Natalia bread and milk. She had a faraway look on her face, as if she was dreaming of better days. Hetty hardened her resolve. Their whole future depended upon this and she was not going to give in so easily. She picked up a bucket and went to fill it at the pump. ‘It will work, Granny. I ain’t going to be beaten. I’ll get this barrow fixed up to start trading on Monday if it’s the last thing I do.’

  ‘Better be careful that it isn’t,’ Granny said tersely. ‘That cart is only fit for matchwood or a bonfire.’ She stalked back inside the house and the brass doorknob rattled as she shut the door with a bang.

  Hetty turned to her brothers. ‘All right, there’s a penny each if you help me scrub this barrow clean, and scrape off all the old paint. And a pie and mash supper with pease pudding if we get it done by the end of the day.’

  It was hard work, hindered by intermittent showers of rain. By mid-afternoon they were still scrubbing and scraping with little visible sign of improvement. The groaning of the back gate on its hinges made Hetty look up, and she stiffened as she saw Tom walk into the yard. He came to stand beside her, pushing his cap back and scratching his head. ‘You’ll never manage it on your own,’ he said, taking the rusty kitchen knife from her hands.

  Hetty stood aside, rubbing her sore fingers as she watched his deft movements. The paint peeled off as easily as butter beneath his firm strokes. Sammy and Eddie stopped to stare in awe as Tom worked steadily and in silence. Hetty knew that this was his way of apologising, and, anyway, she could never be angry with Tom for long. ‘I think a cup of tea would go down nicely,’ she murmured, heading for the house.

  ‘We will get our pie and mash supper, won’t we, Hetty?’ Sammy called out anxiously. ‘I mean it ain’t fair if Tom does us out of it.’

  Tom looked up at Hetty and smiled. ‘I wouldn’t want to do anyone out of their supper.’

  She felt her heart lighten; she hated not being friends with Tom. ‘You won’t, and I might even include you in the treat.’

  Next morning, Hetty was up at dawn. She went out into the yard to inspect the barrow. It had not rained in the night, and, in the pale spring sunshine, the wood gleamed as white as bleached bones, but there was still a long way to go before the barrow was fit for use. There was little she could do, since she had no tools, and even if she had, she would not have known where to begin. She went indoors to get the fire going and put the kettle on. She was just making the tea when she heard the sound of voices outside in the yard. She ran to the window and looked out. There seemed to be a small army of men clustered round the barrow. George was at the front, pointing out the defects. She hurried outside to join them. ‘George?’

  He turned to her and smiled. ‘These are my mates,’ he said, encompassing them with a sweep of his hand. ‘And this, boys, is our newest costermonger, Miss Hetty Huggins.’

  Hetty bobbed a curtsey, suddenly feeling shy. ‘Pleased to meet you all.’

  The tallest and brawniest man in the group stepped forward, taking off his cap and holding out his hand. ‘Pleased to meet you, miss. I’m Brush Barber. As you might guess, I sell brushes for sweeping, scrubbing and painting; mops, buckets, pails – anything in that line.’

  ‘How do, Mr Brush.’ Hetty shook his hand.

  ‘Just Brush, miss. That’s what they calls me.’ He backed away, replacing his cap on his bald head.

  George pointed to a short, fat man who was busy measuring up the spokes on the broken wheel. ‘This here is Joe Jenkins; he’s a butcher by trade, but a carpenter by nature. Ain’t that true, Joe?’

  ‘True as you’re standing there, George.
How do, miss?’

  Hetty nodded and smiled, but before she could reply George had thrust her towards a thickset man with a shock of ginger hair. ‘This is Ginger Turner. He sells haberdashery and he’s a demon with a needle. He was apprenticed to a sailmaker, but he didn’t have a liking for the trade, so now he sells pins, needles, thread and materials. He’s going to fix the canvas canopy for you. And lastly, here’s Fred Dixon. He sells paint and wallpaper and everything anyone might need to decorate their home. He’s going to paint the barrow and write Hetty Huggins on the side, not forgetting the “and Co.”’

  Fred waved a paintbrush at Hetty. ‘Pleased to meet you, miss. I couldn’t half do with a cup of tea right now, if it ain’t asking too much.’

  ‘Yes,’ Hetty murmured, quite at a loss for words to thank them all. ‘Of course.’ She hurried back into the house. In the parlour, she took cups from the dresser and set them on a wooden tray with the best silver-plated teaspoons. Granny was very particular about doing things properly. Hetty hoped that she would not be too put out when she saw her yard filled with a raggle-taggle assortment of men working on the barrow.

  George stuck his head round the door. ‘Can I give you a hand?’

  Hetty poured the tea. ‘I’m truly grateful for everything, George, but I can’t do nothing without me can.’

  He pushed the door open and set the slightly dented but brightly polished can on the floor. ‘There, it’s as good as new. Well, almost. Anyway, it’ll have to do for now. I’ve scoured it inside and out. You’ll not find any tadpoles floating in your coffee, Hetty.’

  ‘Oh, George!’ Hetty rushed over to him and flung her arms around his neck, giving him a hug. ‘I’ll never be able to thank you enough.’

  He extricated himself from her clasp with a rueful smile. ‘Now, if another pretty young lady had said that, I would have known exactly what to do. But being as how you’re my partner in this business, I think a hug will do nicely. For now, anyway.’