by Dilly Court
George laid his hand on hers, giving her an encouraging smile. ‘Well said, girl.’
Mr Maitland rose to his feet. ‘Your enthusiasm does you credit, Miss Huggins, but it’s hardly a solid financial basis on which I can grant you a loan.’
‘You’re turning us down?’ Hetty leapt to her feet. ‘Oh, please, won’t you give us a chance? We’re not asking for a fortune.’
Maitland reached behind his desk and tugged on a bell pull. ‘I’m sorry, Miss Huggins, but I’ve made my decision. My clerk will show you out.’
‘This is so unfair,’ Hetty protested. ‘You haven’t given us a proper hearing.’
Maitland looked over her shoulder as the door opened and someone entered. ‘Mr Clench, will you show these young people out, please. Our business is concluded.’
George uttered a muffled oath, and Hetty spun round, coming face to face with Cyrus Clench.
‘Certainly, sir.’ Clench’s features were set in a deadpan expression but his eyes blazed with malice as they met Hetty’s startled gaze. He held the door open. ‘This way, please.’
Hetty hurried past him but she stopped in the corridor outside the manager’s office, her anger inflamed by disappointment. ‘You! What are you doing here?’
‘I work here. As luck would have it, my mate Jasper received his well-deserved promotion and a transfer to this branch of Tipton’s Bank. He is now assistant manager here and he was kind enough to put in a good word for me. I’m a respectable bank clerk again, no thanks to you and yours, Miss Hetty Huggins.’ He leaned closer to her so that his lips were against her ear. ‘You still owe me. I’ll have me twopenn’orth one way or another, dearie.’
‘I dunno what you just said, cully,’ George snarled, grabbing Clench by the collar, ‘but whatever it was, I’m betting that it was no way to speak to a lady.’
Clench made a gobbling sound in his throat like a turkey about to have its neck wrung, but before he could shout for help George had marched him out through the main concourse of the bank into Bishopsgate. ‘You deserve to be strung up for the way you’ve treated Hetty and her family, and for two pins I’d be the man to do it, but you ain’t worth swinging for, Clench.’
‘Let me go or I’ll call a copper,’ Clench hissed. ‘I’ll have her thrown in jail for debt.’
‘Don’t bother with him, George,’ Hetty said, uncomfortably aware that they were attracting the attention of passers-by and that a policeman was strolling along the street towards them. ‘Let him go. He’s not important.’
Reluctantly, George released Clench. ‘I’m warning you, mate. Keep away from Hetty or it’ll be the worse for you.’
‘Not until I gets me one pound ten shillings,’ Clench muttered. ‘And the interest goes up every week.’
‘You made that up,’ Hetty exclaimed hotly. ‘I don’t owe you anything.’
He curled his lip. ‘Like I said, you can always pay me in kind.’
George flexed his fingers. ‘Shall I kill him now, Hetty?’
‘Leave him, George. He’s a nasty little weasel but he’s all hot air and bluster.’
George thrust his hand in his pocket and pulled out a handful of coins. He selected a sovereign and four half-crowns. ‘Here’s your blood money, Clench.’ But instead of giving it to him, he caught hold of Clench by the wrist. ‘You’ll have the cash, mate, but not until I get a signed receipt.’ George marched him back into the bank with Hetty following close behind them. She watched in awe as George manhandled Clench to the counter and made him write out the receipt. After checking it, George handed it to Hetty. ‘Keep it safe and if this sewer rat comes near you again, you can have him arrested and thrown in clink.’
At that moment, Mr Maitland came out of his office. He stopped short when he saw them. ‘Mr Clench, I thought I told you to see these people off the premises.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Clench said, fawning and wringing his hands. ‘I tried to make them but they refused to leave.’
Hetty waved the piece of paper in front of his face. ‘Would you care to explain this to your boss, Mr Clench?’
‘It’s nothing, sir,’ Clench said, cringing visibly. ‘Just some street directions I was giving the young person.’
Maitland frowned. ‘Get back to work, Mr Clench. And the next time I give you an order, I expect it to be obeyed instantly and to the letter, or I might reconsider my decision to employ you.’
As soon as they were outside in the street, Hetty flung her arms around George’s neck and kissed him on the cheek. ‘You were wonderful, George. Thank you so much, but that was your own money you gave to Clench and we need it more than he does. ‘She shivered as large flakes of snow began to tumble from a pewter sky.
George rammed his cap on his head. ‘It’ll be worth every penny if it gets rid of him, and if it doesn’t – let’s just say I’ve got contacts and Clench might meet with a nasty accident if he’s not careful.’
‘No violence, George. Heaven knows I hate the man, but I won’t stoop to his level.’ She huddled against him, squinting as the snowflakes swirled in a merry dance around her head. ‘We’d best get home before we freeze to death.’
‘Another half an hour won’t make any difference. The shop is just round the corner and I’ve got the keys. We can shelter in there until the worst is over.’ Without waiting for an answer, George guided her along the slippery pavements to Artillery Lane. He produced a key from his coat pocket and unlocked the door.
Hetty wrinkled her nose as she entered the dilapidated premises. ‘I didn’t notice it before, but what’s that awful stench, George? It smells as though something died in here.’
Shaking the snow off his cap, George chuckled. ‘I wasn’t going to mention it unless you asked, but the last occupant was a bloke who stuffed dead animals and birds for a living.’ He prodded a pile of suspicious-looking material with the toe of his boot.
‘That’s horrible,’ Hetty said, shuddering. ‘I hope he didn’t leave any dead bodies in the cupboards.’
‘A few feathers and bits of fur maybe.’ George caught her by the hand as she was about to make for the street door. ‘Just joking, Hetty. There’s nothing here that can’t be fixed by soap and water and a bit of elbow grease.’
She glanced around at the cracked and crazed plaster on the walls and the peeling paintwork. ‘It didn’t look so bad when I saw it for the first time, but I wasn’t quite myself then and I didn’t realise just how much needs doing.’ She walked about the room, peering into empty cupboards and brushing aside long trails of spiders’ webs. ‘I hate to say it, but I think we might have to let this place go. Maybe in the spring . . .’
‘That’s not like you, Hetty. Where’s your fighting spirit, girl?’
She smiled, shaking her head. ‘I’m just being sensible, George. If we’d got the money from the bank . . .’
‘We’ve got better than that. We’ve got friends.’ He took her by the shoulders, looking deeply into her eyes. ‘Do you want this coffee shop or not, Hetty?’
‘You know I do, George.’
‘Then leave it to me.’ His eyes darkened and the smile left his face. ‘I know what you think of me, Hetty. Good old George, always acting the clown, carrying on with women and never doing a stroke of work if he can get away with it. But I’ll surprise you one day, and you’ll find out there’s more to George Cooper than you thought.’
‘You’re the best friend a girl could have. Don’t ever change, George. I love you just as you are.’
He released her abruptly, turning away to peer out through the dirt encrusted window-panes. ‘It’s easing up a bit. I’d better get you home before you go down with another chill.’
‘Ta, George, but I’m perfectly capable of going by myself. You’ve lost enough time on your stall because of me.’
He turned to her with a shadow of his old smile. ‘You’re forgetting that we’re partners now, Hetty. I’m not just the “and Co.” any more - it’s Huggins and Cooper now, and I’m going to pull my weight.
There’ll be no more larking around with the market girls. From now on I’m going to be a reformed character.’
It was Hetty’s turn to gurgle with laughter. ‘That’ll be the day.’
Hetty went home to Princelet Street determined to sit down and work out a revised budget for her coffee shop. She had no intention of giving up, but she was not going to rely on George. Bless him! He meant well, but he would only have to see a pretty face or spot a well-turned ankle and he would forget all about mundane things like earning a living. He would be off like a shot and everything else would fly out of his mind. If it wasn’t a girl, then it might be a game of cards or a day at the races. Hetty knew that George enjoyed a flutter every now and again, although he was not a serious gambler. He just liked to have a good time, and if he was unreliable he made up for it with his generous heart and kindly nature. No one, she thought, could possibly dislike George.
She sat up late into the night with a pencil and a sheet of paper, only this time she was not writing a love letter to Charles, she was making lists of the most basic needs for starting up her new business. Perhaps the awful weather was a godsend in disguise as people were more intent on staying indoors and keeping warm than on standing around the freezing street corners while they ate their food or drank rapidly cooling coffee, tea or cocoa. There were three weeks left before Christmas, and Hetty made up her mind to enlist Jane’s help next day. Working together with mops, brooms and scrubbing brushes, they would make a start on clearing up the shop premises. She might even be able to persuade Fred Dixon to sell her some distemper at a cut price, and Brush Barber might have a couple of paintbrushes that he wanted to sell off cheap. Hetty had never painted anything in her life, but surely it couldn’t be too difficult? Sammy and Eddie might lend a hand too – it would be a real family effort.
She huddled beneath her shawl. It was too cold in the attic to even consider taking off her top clothes and she slipped under the covers fully dressed. She lay down on her bed and blew out the candle. Surprisingly, even with all her plans buzzing round inside her head, Hetty fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.
When she awakened next morning, the sound of distant church bells made Hetty snap upright in her bed. She had forgotten that today was Sunday and the market would be closed. This sent all her plans awry, but at least it seemed to have stopped snowing. The roof window was covered in a thick white blanket of snow but pale strands of sunlight filtered through it, sending coloured prisms dancing on the bare floorboards. Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she pulled on her boots and gathered up the scattered scraps of paper on which she had written her lists. She was almost overwhelmed by a sudden surge of optimism and enthusiasm for her new venture, and she made her way downstairs with a feeling that today was going to be special.
As she entered the kitchen Hetty could smell porridge simmering away on the range. Nora and Granny were nowhere to be seen but Jane was cutting slices off a loaf of bread, while Natalia sat at the table attempting to spoon bread and milk into her mouth. Most of it seemed to have found its way down her front, but what she could not get into her mouth with the spoon she ate using her fingers. She managed a sticky smile of pleasure when she saw Hetty, but she continued eating as though her life depended on it.
Hetty went over to her and dropped a kiss on Natalia’s dark curls. She glanced at Jane and was quick to note the dark smudges beneath her eyes. ‘You’re up early. Couldn’t you sleep?’
‘Don’t think I wouldn’t give my right arm for an hour longer in bed,’ Jane replied, sighing. ‘But young missy here was up with the lark and so were Sammy and Eddie. They’re outside now, supposed to be fetching water, but I expect they’re messing around in the snow.’
‘They’re just nippers. At least they can play like normal kids now, and they don’t have to spend twelve hours a day making matchboxes.’
‘That seems like a lifetime ago,’ Jane said, scraping butter on a slice of bread. ‘It’s still hard work, but we’ve got a decent enough life here, even if it ain’t exactly living in the height of luxury.’
‘And it’ll get better, Jane. When I’ve got my coffee shop up and running there’ll be no more standing around in the cold selling sandwiches in the street. There’s just one thing, though . . .’
Jane sighed. ‘All right, out with it, Hetty. What do you want me to do?’
An hour later, they set off for Artillery Lane armed with mops, buckets and a couple of sweeping brushes. Sammy and Eddie had been bribed with the promise of earning a penny each if they helped to clear the rubbish from the shop, and Natalia was wrapped warmly against the cold, sitting in her perambulator surrounded by cleaning cloths and scrubbing brushes. The snow had settled several inches deep on the pavements and cobblestones, but the thaw was beginning to set in and they had to trudge ankle deep through slush.
‘This ain’t exactly my idea of a splendid Sunday morning,’ Jane grumbled.
‘Nor mine, but at least we can make a start,’ Hetty said, hoping that she sounded more positive than she was feeling.
Sammy and Eddie had gone on ahead, running and then sliding on the slippery surface with loud shrieks of glee. They reached the shop first, and disappeared through the open door. ‘Oh, my God!’ Hetty cried. ‘I know George locked up when we left yesterday.’
‘Perhaps it’s burglars,’ Jane whispered. ‘We’d better find a constable, Hetty.’
‘The boys might be in danger.’ Hetty dropped the mops and brooms she had been carrying and she ran. She slid to a halt in the doorway, and she leaned against the doorpost in stunned amazement. Inside was a hive of activity. The floor had been swept and Floppy Flora, the flower lady, was on her hands and knees scrubbing the boards until they gleamed palely in the dim light. Brush was slapping distemper on the walls and Fred was sanding down the woodwork. There was a great deal of chatter as people raised their voices to make themselves heard over the sound of Joe Jenkins sawing up lengths of wood. The air was redolent with the mixed smells of sawdust, carbolic soap and wet paint.
George was standing in the middle of the room with a pencil held between his teeth as he studied some kind of plan drawn on a sheet of paper. They were all so fully occupied that no one seemed to notice Hetty’s presence. Sammy bounded up to George and tugged at his sleeve. ‘May I help you?’
‘Me too,’ Eddie said, jumping up and down and receiving a slap round the legs with a wet floor cloth from Flora.
‘Keep off me clean floor, you young scoundrel.’ Hetty hurried over to George. ‘How – I mean why?’
He turned to look at her and a grin split his face from ear to ear. ‘Great, isn’t it, Hetty? I told you, ducks. We’ve got something far more precious than money.’ With an expansive sweep of his hand, he encompassed everyone in the room. ‘I told you they would rally round in our time of need, and they have.’
Joe stopped sawing the wood for a moment to wipe the sweat from his eyes. ‘Where d’you want your counter exactly, Hetty? I need to know before I start putting this lot together.’
Jane pushed the perambulator into the shop, and she uttered a strangled cry of surprise. ‘Oh, my Lord. What’s going on here?’
Hetty clutched George’s arm, and she reached up to kiss him on the cheek. ‘It’s a miracle, that’s what it is. I can’t thank you all enough. I just don’t know what to say.’
There was a sudden silence and everyone stopped what they were doing. Hetty turned her head to follow their gaze and saw two police constables standing in the doorway. She walked towards them, angling her head. ‘Good morning, officers. Can I help you?’
The more senior of the two cleared his throat. ‘Yes, ma’am. You can tell me what you and all these people are doing here. This is private property.’
George stepped forward. ‘Excuse me, officer, but we’ve rented this shop. I’ve got the papers all legal and above board.’
‘That may be, sir, but have you got the owner’s permission to make alterations to the said premises?’
A dull flush rose from his open shirt collar to his cheeks. ‘I – er – well, not exactly, but I understood . . .’
‘I don’t think you did, sir.’ The constable took a notebook from his pocket and flipped it open. ‘At least, according to my information, the owner made it clear that no alterations were to be made to the premises without their permission.’
‘But the agent never mentioned anything of the sort,’ George protested.
‘Who told you all this?’ Hetty demanded.
‘Apparently the said party was driving past in his carriage this morning, on his way to church, when he saw unlawful activity being carried out on the premises. I must ask you to accompany me to the station, sir and madam. In the meantime, all work must cease.’
An angry murmur greeted this but George held up his hand for silence. ‘Just a minute, constable. Who is this person? I’d like to see him so that we can sort it out between us.’
‘You’ll find out soon enough, sir. The gentleman in question is waiting at the police station, where he will decide whether or not to make formal charges against you and the young woman. Now, I hope you will come quietly. We don’t want to make a fuss on the Lord’s Day, now do we, sir?’
Chapter Fourteen
Hetty remained tight-lipped on the way to the police station. Everything had been going so well and now it seemed that there was something badly amiss. Why was nothing ever simple? She stole a glance at George’s profile and she could tell by his clenched jaw and lowered brows that he was simmering with rage. There must have been a mistake, or at least that was what she kept telling herself, but she had a nagging suspicion that there were outside forces at work here. It seemed that Clench’s shadow was still hanging over them, and her worst fears were confirmed as they entered the police station and she came face to face with Henry Maitland. She would not have been surprised to see Clench and Shipworthy lurking in the shadows, but it was just Maitland who paced the floor, wearing an angry expression that did not sit well with his Sunday best clothes, and the white carnation which he sported in his button-hole. ‘So, I might have guessed that you would be involved in this heinous act,’ Maitland said, emphasising his words by slapping his silver-headed cane on the palm of his gloved hand. ‘Arrest these people, officer. They are nothing better than common vandals.’
