by Dilly Court
Sleep evaded Hetty that night. In the wakeful small hours she went over her plan of action again and again. She was excited, nervous and frankly scared that her big scheme would prove to be a failure, and that no one would want her ham sandwiches, or the eggs that she had spent all evening boiling in batches on top of the range. Granny had complained bitterly about the steam ruining her half-finished creations on the shelves, and Jane had said the smell was making her feel sick. Despite their grumbling, Hetty had filled a basket with four dozen hard-boiled eggs, and had put them with the rest of her stock on the marble slab in the outhouse. She had made up her mind to leave home at first light and get the stall set up in order to catch people on their way to work.
She lay on the lumpy mattress listening to Jane’s rhythmic breathing, which was interrupted occasionally by a muffled snort as she turned over in her sleep. Natalia slept in her cradle, making no sound at all. Hetty made a silent vow - little Talia would not grow up in poverty as they had done. She would not have to spend twelve hours a day making matchboxes at the age of five. Talia would go to a good school and learn to be a proper young lady.
Hetty awakened with a start, her heart beating a tattoo inside her ribcage. She must have dozed off without realising it and the first light of dawn was filtering through the partially drawn curtains. She sat bolt upright in bed, gathering her wits. She was going to be late and now she would have to hurry. She slipped out of bed, dressed hastily, and went outside to the yard to make everything ready. An hour later, as the sun rose in a misty pearl sky, she was trundling her barrow along Commercial Street towards Spitalfields market. It was chilly, but her hands were sweating as she clutched the freshly painted handles of the barrow, although it was excitement rather than nerves that was making the blood pulse through her veins. Today was a new beginning. The tin can might be dented but it would do its job, and the sound of the china cups rattling together in their cardboard box was music to her ears. The bright yellow paint, so carefully applied by Fred, had dried to a satin sheen, and her name stood out in bold black lettering on both sides of the cart – HETTY HUGGINS AND CO. As she pushed the barrow into the market hall, Hetty was met with a hive of activity. It seemed as though she was not the only early bird in Spitalfields.
‘Hello, love,’ Nora called in her wheezy foghorn of a voice. ‘You can bring me over a cup of tea when you’re ready. Two sugars and a dollop of milk.’
Her first order – Hetty’s heart swelled with pride. She began setting up her stall, lighting the charcoal in the fire pot and filling the can with water from the pump close by. She received cheery greetings from the costers who were busy setting out their stalls. Brush waved to her from his pitch, and a woman who introduced herself as Floppy Flora, the flower lady, came over to pin a daffodil on Hetty’s straw bonnet.
By the time George arrived, Hetty had the water boiling and had served her first dozen customers, mostly the other costermongers who had arrived early and were now break-fasting off coffee and ham sandwiches. Hetty cut and buttered bread, sliced cooked gammon and spread mustard in response to the increasing demand.
‘How’s it going then, Hetty?’ George asked, helping himself to a slice of currant cake. He tossed a halfpenny into Hetty’s money bag. ‘Looks like you’re off to a good start.’
‘I can’t believe it, George. I never expected to be this busy so early in the morning. I’ve almost run out of bread.’
‘I’m not surprised. Your sandwiches look good enough to eat, not like the stale old doorsteps that Biggins sells over the way.’ George jerked his head in the direction of the coffee stall by the south entrance. ‘Besides which, you’re much prettier than he is. You’ll do well, Hetty. I know you will.’ He tipped his cap to her and sauntered off to set up his stall.
Things quietened down a little after the early morning rush, and Hetty was able to leave her pitch in order to get fresh supplies from the bakery in Spital Square. She bargained hard with the baker and left his shop with a tray of freshly baked loaves, cake and buns, and she gave him a repeat order for the following day, obtaining a most satisfactory discount. Feeling extremely pleased with herself, she returned to her stall and made sandwiches ready for the midday rush.
By teatime, she had sold everything, even the large bunches of watercress supplied by George. Nora left her barrow and came over to give Hetty a hug, and to present her with a bag of cinder toffee from her own stall. ‘Well done, ducks. You’re a natural, I’d say. I’ve been keeping an eye on you and I can see that you’ve got your head screwed on right. We’ll make a proper coster of you yet. You’ll be sewing pearl buttons on your clothes afore the year is out.’
‘Ta, Nora,’ Hetty murmured, feeling the ready blush rising to her cheeks at such fulsome praise. ‘And ta for the toffee. Me little brothers will go mad for it.’
‘So they should. Nora Jackson is famous for her cinder toffee and raisin fudge.’ She took a square of fudge from the capacious pocket of her apron and popped it into her mouth as if to prove her words. She returned to her barrow, chewing and chuckling.
Hetty began packing everything away, still elated by her success and by the friendliness of the other costermongers. She felt as though she had just joined a large and happy family, but then a shadow fell over her stall, and a shiver ran down her spine. Slowly, she turned her head.
‘So here you are.’ Cyrus Clench was standing so close to her that his rank odour of sweat and stale tobacco made her feel physically sick.
‘I’m closed for the day,’ Hetty said sharply.
‘I see you got the can back from the canal,’ Cyrus said, curling his lip in a snarl. ‘I should have weighted it down with bigger bricks.’
‘It was you,’ Hetty gasped. ‘Why? Why did you do that to me?’
‘Because Cyrus Clench never forgets or forgives a wrong done to him in the past.’ He leaned closer to her, baring his teeth. ‘When your sainted grandpa caught me with me fingers in the till so to speak, and had me dismissed from my position at the bank without a character, he ruined my life.’
Hetty tried to back away from him but he had her pressed up against her stall. ‘But it wasn’t my fault,’ she protested. ‘It has nothing to do with me.’
‘I vowed then to get even with your family, but it’s taken me all these years to get a hold over you. I’ve watched and waited for me chance, and I’ve seen you grow into a tasty bit of skirt. Then you and your old hag of a grandmother humiliated me in front of me friend Jasper. And that bloke over there,’ he jerked his head in George’s direction, ‘pitched me into the canal. I’ll get him one of these days, and I’ll get you too, lady. We’ve got unfinished business, you and me.’
Hetty opened her mouth to cry for help, but Cyrus skittered off, walking sideways like a malevolent crab as he left the market hall. Hetty leaned against her stall, clasping her hands to her chest in an effort to still her erratic heartbeats. She looked across at George, but he had his back to her and was busy serving a customer. She had only to call out and he would come running, but she did not want to draw him any further into her troubles. Gradually, and with a supreme effort, she regained her composure. Cyrus Clench was all hot air, like one of the big balloons she had once seen floating above Victoria Park. She would take great care never again to put herself in a position where he could attack or terrorise her. Dismissing his threats with a defiant shrug of her shoulders, Hetty turned away to resume packing the clean cups back in their box. She had done well today, and if her stall continued to prosper she would get another stall in a different site, and then another. She would rent a larger house where they could all be comfortable. The possibilities were endless.
‘Daydreaming again, Hetty?’
George’s voice broke into her reverie and she almost dropped a cup. ‘You made me jump, George.’
‘You done well today, girl. You couldn’t have had a better start.’ He kissed her on the cheek. ‘I’ll just pack up and then we’ll wander off home together, if that’s all r
ight with you?’
She smiled and nodded. ‘Ta, George. I’d like that.’ Hetty stifled a sigh of relief as she watched him stroll back to his barrow. She would be more than glad to have his company on the way home. She had toyed with the idea of telling him what Clench had said, but then she decided that it would serve no useful purpose. She did not want him to go rushing off to fight her battles. Violence was not the answer, although for the life of her, Hetty couldn’t think what to do about her tormentor. She finished packing up her stall, and she tried to put Clench and his threats out of her mind as she counted her takings. When she had counted the last farthing, she was feeling much more cheerful. She did a quick sum in her head and smiled. If she continued like this, by the end of the week she would have cleared a whole pound. It seemed like riches beyond her wildest dreams. She was now on her way up and no one, not even a brute like Clench, was going to stop her.
When she arrived home, hot and tired, but triumphant, Hetty found Tom sitting in the parlour with Granny and Jane. Sammy and Eddie were outside in the back yard, making a great deal of noise as they washed themselves at the pump, although from where Hetty was standing she could see through the window that they were having a water fight instead of doing their ablutions. She turned her back on them, hoping that Granny would not realise what was going on and put an end to what was just a harmless bit of fun. Hetty bent down to pick up Natalia and she kissed her chubby cheek. Talia was going to have time to play and enjoy her childhood. With a pound a week profit, there was no telling where they would end up.
‘You look pleased with yourself,’ Granny said, frowning as if this was a crime in itself.
‘Did you have a good day, Hetty?’ Jane said quickly. ‘You’d gone by the time I woke up.’
‘I done well,’ Hetty acknowledged, smiling. ‘If trade keeps going like it did today, I shan’t complain.’
Tom rose to his feet. ‘It’s not what I want for you, ducks. Working long hours and out in all weathers. It ain’t right.’
‘She’s got to earn money, young man,’ Granny snapped. ‘If you can keep her in comfort, and take care of her brothers, not to mention Jane and her nipper, then you’re welcome to take over. If not, then I’ll thank you to hold your tongue.’ She raised herself stiffly from her seat, scowling at Tom, who opened his mouth as if to retort, but Granny’s attention had been deflected by the sounds emanating from the yard. Plumes of water were shooting skywards and hitting the windows like a sudden cloudburst. ‘The little devils.’ She rolled up her sleeves and hurried from the room.
Through the window, Hetty saw Granny erupting into the yard, which made Sammy drop the pump handle in fright. Even with the window closed, she could hear Granny’s strident tones telling them to clean up the yard and then go to bed without any supper. Hetty sighed. She couldn’t really blame Granny for being short-tempered sometimes. There were just too many of them cramped together in a small space with no indoor facilities, not even a stone sink. She had seen magazine illustrations of houses that boasted sculleries, kitchens and even bathrooms. One day, she thought dreamily, we’ll have the lot.
‘I kept your tea warm,’ Jane said, getting up from her chair and taking a plate from beneath a saucepan lid on the top of the range. ‘It’s pie and mash. I thought you could do with something a bit more filling than bread and cheese.’
‘When you’ve eaten, we could go for a walk,’ Tom suggested tentatively. ‘I know you must be tired, but I wanted to apologise for me behaviour the other day, and there’s something I want to ask you.’
One look at Tom’s eager face confirmed Hetty’s worst suspicions and her appetite deserted her. ‘I’ve been picking all day, so I’m not hungry, but ta for the thought, Jane.’
‘Then you’ll come for a walk with me?’
Tom held his hand out to her and Hetty saw that it trembled slightly. She could not bear the thought of hurting him, but she was tired to the point of exhaustion. She shook her head. ‘Not now, Tom. I’ve got to boil eggs for the morning. Perhaps we could leave it until Sunday?’
‘I don’t want to wait, girl. I’d rather say what I got to say now.’
‘I can take a hint,’ Jane said, taking Natalia from Hetty. ‘I’d best put baby to bed.’
Natalia began to howl dismally, holding her arms out to Hetty, but Jane ignored her small daughter’s protests and carried her from the room.
‘You ought to eat something,’ Tom said anxiously. ‘You’re doing too much, Hetty. It’s a man’s work pushing a barrow all the way to Spitalfields, not the sort of thing for a girl to do on her own.’
‘I can manage perfectly well. I know you mean it kindly, but really what I do is my business, not yours. I don’t come round to the Gas Light and Coke Company and tell you what to do.’
His tense expression melted into a smile. ‘I should think not. I can’t imagine what the foreman would say if you did.’
‘No, well, it’s the same with me. I can make this work, I know I can.’
‘You’re always so busy that we never get a moment alone, Hetty. I can’t go on without knowing your mind on a certain subject.’
She looked into his earnest eyes, and she knew she must be straight with him. Tom was her oldest and dearest friend, and she could not allow him to harbour false hopes. ‘If it’s what I think it is, then my answer must be no, Tom.’
He did not pretend to misunderstand her. ‘But why? I love you, Hetty.’
‘And I’m very fond of you too, but it’s not the right time.’
He grasped both her hands, holding them close to his chest. ‘That’s just an excuse. If you go on like that it’ll never be the right time. Please hear me out.’
She shook her head. ‘Don’t do this to me, Tom. Not now. I’m tired and I’ve got a lot to do before I go to bed.’
‘And it kills me to see you working like a slave, Hetty. It was bad enough when you were spending twelve hours a day making matchboxes, but at least you were safe at home. Street trading is dangerous, especially for a girl. They’ve never caught the Ripper and those poor women were found not a stone’s throw away from where you’re trading.’
Hetty squeezed his fingers and she smiled. ‘You mustn’t worry about me. My pitch is in the market place alongside a hundred or more costermongers. Some of them are already like a family to me. George sees me home . . .’
He drew his hands away, scowling. ‘Yes, and I know what his game is, Hetty. His sort preys on innocent girls. He’s waiting his chance and you’ll be just another of his conquests.’
‘Stop it, Tom. Don’t talk like that. You’ve got it all wrong.’
‘Have I? I don’t think so. Marry me, Hetty. I love you and I think I’ve always loved you. Marry me and I’ll take care of you for the rest of me life.’
‘It wouldn’t work, Tom. I do love you, in me own way, but I can’t imagine belonging to any man, not even you. I got to prove meself and find me place in the world. Can’t you understand that? Maybe one day . . .’
If she had slapped his face he could not have looked more stricken. ‘One day ain’t good enough, Hetty.’
‘Tom, please.’ Hetty reached out to touch his hand, but he drew away from her.
‘I’m sick of being second best. I want a straight yes or no.’
A pain shafted through her heart, but she could not lie to him. ‘Then it must be no. I’m sorry.’
‘Goodbye then, Hetty. I won’t trouble you no more.’ Tom slammed out of the room and his booted footsteps echoed down the narrow passageway. Hetty heard the front door open and then close with a loud bang that rattled the windowpanes.
Jane stormed into the parlour. ‘Hetty, you bloody fool. What have you done?’
Tiredly, Hetty picked up her teacup and sipped the rapidly cooling brew. ‘I had to refuse him, Jane. It wouldn’t have been fair to keep him dangling after me. We’d just end up fighting.’
‘You are so selfish,’ Jane cried, wringing her hands. ‘How could you send him away? Are you m
ad? He would have taken care of all of us. How can you not love a man like Tom?’
Hetty stared at her in a moment of stunned silence. The truth had hit her like a punch in the stomach.
Chapter Nine
Hetty stared at Jane in disbelief. ‘You and Tom? You can’t be – I mean, why didn’t you tell me that you were in love with him?’
Jane rounded on her. ‘He don’t know how I feel, and now he never will, because you sent him away and I’ll never see him again. You’ve done a bad thing today; a bad, wicked thing and I hate you for it.’
Dazed and feeling numb with shock, Hetty was lost for words. She could hear Granny berating the boys in the room overhead, followed by their loud protests that she was scraping all the skin off their backs with the towel. Jane was weeping openly now and pacing up and down like a caged tigress.
‘I didn’t know,’ Hetty murmured. ‘I thought you was still grieving for Nat.’
‘I am. I mean, I was at the beginning. But it’s well over a year since he died and I’m young. I’ve got a life ahead of me and I ain’t a nun, Hetty. I always had a soft spot for Tom, but he was your fellow, so I never allowed meself to think about him in that way. But since you’ve been tied up with your hot taters and then your blooming coffee stall, Tom and me have spent a lot of time together and . . .’ Jane’s voice trailed off and she buried her face in her hands.
‘Oh, Jane, I had no idea.’
‘No, you wouldn’t have,’ Jane said bitterly, raising her head to glare at Hetty. ‘You just go pushing ahead and never mind the rest of us what can’t keep up with you. You are so single-minded that you didn’t stop to think how poor Tom might feel. You didn’t even care that he was jealous of George. You just took it all for granted and you led him on.’
‘No!’ Hetty cried, stung by this injustice. ‘I never did that. I was always straight with him, and if I’d known that you cared for him, I would have finished with Tom long since.’
