Emerald Star (Hetty Feather)

by Jacqueline Wilson

  ‘Yes, yes, I know – and I’ll do all those things gladly, because she did them all for me when I was a babe. She’s like a mother to me, even if she’s not my own. And I love Jem like a brother, and in future I will get up at dawn to send him on his way with a good breakfast inside him – and whenever you or Bess or Eliza or any others come to visit I will cook and clean for you and make you as welcome as I can because I think of you as sisters, even though you point out so painfully we are nothing of the kind,’ I said, standing facing her with my hands on my hips.

  ‘Oh, Hetty,’ she said. ‘We all know you’re full of fine fancy words – but it’s deeds we’re worried about. But very well, we’ll try it for a little while, for I don’t think we have any alternative just at present.’

  ‘It would not kill you to sound a little grateful,’ I said, and I turned my back on her and climbed the narrow stairs to go and see Mother.

  She was lying looking at the wall, her face screwed up. No doubt she had heard us squabbling downstairs. She must feel such a helpless burden now, this kind, hard-working woman who had reared us all and done her level best for us.

  ‘Oh, Mother, I am so sorry,’ I said, and I curled up beside her on the bed and stroked her hair. Rosie had combed it up into a neat topknot but the sparseness made her look very severe, and I thought the long pins must be digging into her scalp. I pulled them out and let her hair down loose around her shoulders.

  ‘There, that feels better, doesn’t it?’ I said, giving her scalp a massage.

  Mother made a little appreciative murmur.

  ‘Yes, you like that, don’t you? And you like me just a little too? I know I wasn’t your favourite, but you were always so good and fair to me, even though you paddled me royally at times. I’m sure I deserved it, because I could be a very bad little girl, but I’m going to be good from now on, I promise. I shall care for you as if you were the Queen herself.’

  I cuddled into her and stroked her gently. She lay still, and after a short while started snoring. There! I’d comforted her and soothed her to sleep. I could look after Mother as well as any of my foster sisters – probably better. I just wished I’d been able to nurse dear Mama properly. I closed my eyes so I would not start weeping all over again, and hung onto this big helpless hulk of a woman because she was the only mother I had left now.

  When I heard Jem come home, I gave Mother a kiss and then flew downstairs so quickly I lost my footing on the narrow steps, failed to grab the piece of rope that served as a handrail and tumbled into the living room in a heap.

  ‘Oh my Lord, I hope I haven’t bust my other ankle now!’ I gasped – but when Jem helped me up I found I was fine, just a little shaken.

  ‘Poor Hetty! I hope you’re not too bruised in the morning,’ he said.

  ‘Silly Hetty, flinging herself around so wildly,’ Rosie sniffed. ‘You’re worse than Eliza’s boys.’

  ‘I slipped,’ I said indignantly.

  Jem bent down to examine my clumpers. ‘No wonder! The soles are coming away from your boots, and they’re worn so thin there’s hardly any tread,’ he said. ‘I will try to cobble you new soles, Hetty.’

  ‘Hateful things. I’ve had them for years. They were much too big to start with, and rubbed great ridges on my feet,’ I said. ‘They’re still too big, even though I’m fully grown.’

  ‘You’ll never be fully grown, Hetty, you’re just a little pint pot,’ said Jem. He drew in a deep breath. ‘My, something smells good. Have you girls been making me a stew?’

  ‘One of us girls,’ said Rosie. ‘The other lay ailing in her bed with a thick head.’

  ‘Why do you have to tell tales on me?’ I said. ‘You wouldn’t have lasted a week at the hospital, Rosie. If you told tales there, all the other girls would take against you and torment you.’

  ‘Was it really dreadful there, Hetty?’ asked Jem. ‘I used to worry about you so much. It seemed so terrible to send you off so young.’

  I started telling Jem all about my time at the hospital. I described Matron Pigface and Matron Stinking Bottomly with relish, exaggerating their punishments a little for extra effect. Even Rosie listened open-mouthed.

  I broke off to feed Mother her meat broth. She could not seem to chew any more and could only sip pathetically, but her mouth opened like a little bird for every mouthful. Then Rosie and I washed and changed her for the night, tucking her up in a clean nightgown.

  ‘Dear Lord, every day is going to have to be washing day, never mind Mondays,’ said Rosie, sighing. ‘Have you ever tackled a proper wash, Hetty?’

  ‘I’ve taken my turn in the hospital laundry and had to deal with a hundred nightgowns at a time, plus all the sets of caps and cuffs and tippets. Mother’s nightgowns won’t worry me. And I shall make her new gowns so she always has plenty. I shall decorate them specially. I do very fine embroidery.’

  ‘Clearly you were allowed to boast at this hospital, even if you couldn’t tell tales,’ said Rosie, doing her best to squash me.

  But when we’d settled Mother for the night and returned to the warmth of the kitchen downstairs, she was eager enough to hear more tales of the hospital. Jem took his pipe down from the rack on the chimneybreast and puffed away as I spoke. I think he felt his pipe-smoking was a manly occupation, but he wasn’t very practised at it and kept having to relight the tobacco.

  I told how I’d had my hair shorn the day I arrived, and my clothes and my precious rag baby had been taken from me and burned.

  ‘What about the silver sixpence I gave you for luck, Hetty? Did they take that too?’ Jem asked.

  ‘No, I hid it under my tongue – and then for years I kept it inside the knob on the end of my bed. But somebody stole it eventually. It was so hard to hang onto any possessions. We were all so starved of love and punished so hatefully.’

  When I told them that I’d once been locked in the dark garret all night long, Jem reached out for my hand and pulled on it tightly, as if he were trying to rescue me. Even Rosie clucked with her tongue and shook her head. This spurred me on to new and possibly fictional revelations, inventing novel punishments and humiliations for my child self.

  ‘This is so terrible,’ said Jem. ‘And little Eliza is still there! We must rescue her somehow.’

  ‘I wish we could,’ I said. ‘But I don’t see how. We’d never be allowed to adopt her. Even if her own birth mother tried to take her back she’d have to be very rich indeed. The governors would want to be repaid for the entire cost of her board and education. I’ve only known one girl who was adopted. She was my friend Polly. She was bought by a couple who had lost their own little girl. I was so close to Polly. I wrote to her but she only wrote back once.’

  ‘You stopped writing to me,’ said Jem.

  ‘I know. I’m sorry – very, very sorry,’ I said. I felt so bad that I told a little lie. ‘We weren’t allowed to write home after a while. The matrons said it was a waste of good pens and ink and paper.’

  ‘Eliza still writes,’ said Jem gently but reproachfully. ‘And Gideon wrote weekly to Mother.’

  ‘Well, I – I was being punished,’ I said. ‘I wrote to you when I went into service, didn’t I? And I wrote again when Miss Smith forwarded your letters. Oh Lord, Miss Smith . . . I owe her a letter too. And I must write to Father to tell him I’ve arrived here safely and he mustn’t worry about me. And I promised to stay in touch with my dear friend Freda. Oh, let me tell you about Freda, a lovely sweet gentle lady, but a very unusual one . . .’

  We sat up for hours while I told my tales, one of us checking on Mother every half-hour or so.

  ‘Come, we must all go to bed, it’s nearly midnight!’ Rosie said at last.

  ‘Do you think we will all be turned into pumpkins?’ I said.

  ‘Poor Jem has to be up at dawn, Hetty. So do I, to journey back to work. And you will have to get up to tend to Mother,’ she said.

  ‘Yes, yes, I will do that, I promise,’ I said.

  14

  I
KEPT MY promise too, but I had no idea how very hard it was going to be. That first day I was on my own with Mother seemed very long and strange. I did not particularly care for my foster sister Rosie – or Bess or Eliza for that matter – but I would have given anything for them to be with me helping to cope with poor Mother. She was so heavy and so helpless. It was hard work hauling her to one side or another as I changed her bedding. She knew I was trying my best to make her comfortable but she groaned in an alarming fashion or started up her agitated cry of ‘Gi-gi-gi.’

  As soon as I’d fed or changed her and felt I could leave her for ten minutes so I could steep the sheets in the washtub or prepare vegetables for the evening meal or start a little sweeping to make the cottage spick and span, Mother would call out and I’d have to go running to her.

  When eventually she slept after her lunch, I slept too, stretched out on the bed beside her, utterly worn out. I woke with a start because I’d heard knocking. For several moments in that dark room I did not know where I was. Could I be back in the hospital, in the scullery at Mr Buchanan’s, in the boarding house at Bignor, in Father’s Monksby cottage? I’d slept in such a bewildering number of beds over the last six months – but I wasn’t in a strange bed now. This was the very bed I’d often slept in as a little child.

  The knocking carried on – and then I heard the door latch creak downstairs. ‘Hetty? Are you there?’

  It was Janet! She’d come straight from her school-teaching to see how I was coping.

  I called her upstairs and she sat with Mother and me for a little while. She talked so pleasantly and naturally to Mother. I knew my sisters loved Mother dearly, but they raised their voices and talked to her as if she’d turned into a baby. I was sure the real Mother was still there inside her head. She just couldn’t make herself understood. She certainly seemed to enjoy Janet’s talk of the little children at school, and her mother’s planting of bulbs, and her father’s work on twelve fine rush-bottomed chairs for the manor-house kitchen.

  Then I took Janet downstairs and made her a cup of tea and we ate a slice of cake. I had enough food left over from the funeral to feed the whole village.

  Jem found us chatting together by the fireside when he got home. His face brightened as he came in the front door. ‘My two dear girls,’ he said, smiling at us.

  ‘I must go home soon. You’ll be wanting your supper, Jem,’ said Janet. ‘See, Hetty has it all bubbling ready for you.’

  I had only made a simple vegetable stew. I’d thought we could eat it with leftover pie, and I could mash the vegetables and spoon-feed it to Mother. Any fool could toss a few potatoes and carrots and parsnips into a pot with a little seasoning, but Jem acted as if I were Mrs Beeton herself.

  ‘It smells delicious, Hetty – and you made it all yourself! You’re a real little housewife already,’ he said. ‘And how is Mother?’

  ‘Hetty’s looked after her like a good little nurse,’ said Janet.

  ‘I’m so proud of you, Hetty,’ said Jem.

  I felt my cheeks glowing. It felt so good to be praised. We sat together a while, my new good friend Janet and my dearest old friend Jem. I felt content at last, in spite of the sad turmoil of Father’s death and Mother’s illness.

  Jem and I were polite to Janet and insisted she stay a while. She chatted to Jem while I went upstairs and fed Mother her mashed vegetables. Much as I liked Janet, the best time of all was when she’d gone home, and Jem and I were together at last. I served him his supper and he complimented me again, smacking his lips appreciatively. Then he smoked his pipe by the fire while I cleared the table and washed the pots.

  It was so strange to be with him, and yet it seemed familiar too. I found I could chatter on about the first thing that came into my head, while Jem laughed appreciatively and showed interest.

  We went upstairs to check on Mother again. Jem was especially tender with her, giving her all the messages of sympathy from the lads on the farm.

  ‘They all say just how much their John Cotton will be missed. They all remarked on his strength and kindness. A great ox of a man, but as gentle as they come, said one. It made me feel so proud, Mother. He’s set me a great example. I’ll never be able to take Father’s place, but I’ll try hard to be as fine a man as he was,’ he said, taking Mother’s hand.

  Mother murmured softly. It was as clear as day that she was telling him he was already a fine man and she was proud to have him as her son.

  I settled her for the night, then sat downstairs with Jem again while he had another smoke of his pipe.

  ‘This is so strange, Hetty,’ he said. ‘How can I be so sad and yet so happy at one and the same time?’

  ‘It’s more than strange,’ I said. ‘When I was sent to the hospital I’d lie in bed every night picturing myself back here with you. It was so vivid it came as a terrible shock to raise my head and peer around that awful dormitory. I keep feeling that’s what’s going to happen now.’

  ‘No, Hetty, you’re here with me. You can stay here for as long as you want, if you’re quite sure it’s what you do want,’ said Jem.

  ‘I’m quite sure, I said firmly.

  I so hoped it was what Mama would want for me too. I was a little worried on that score. She had never enjoyed hearing tales of my foster family, resenting them bitterly. She had taken a particular dislike to my foster mother, scoffing at the simple food she’d fed me and shaking indignantly when I said I’d frequently been paddled. It would seem especially hard that I was here nursing that mother when I hadn’t been able to nurse my own mama the way I wanted through her last terrible illness.

  When I went out to the privy, I stayed outside for a few minutes, in spite of the cold. I stared up at the huge black sky spangled with stars.

  ‘Are you there, Mama? Do you mind that I am here? I have come home again, where I truly belong. I love my true father, but I don’t think I can ever be happy there. You do understand, don’t you, Mama? Please give me your blessing!’

  I waited, shivering. Mama was silent.

  ‘Mama?’ I whispered aloud.

  ‘You’ll be freezing, Hetty,’ said Jem, coming to stand beside me. He took my shawl and wrapped it tightly round my shoulders. Then he stood beside me, staring up at the stars too.

  ‘There are so many of them shining up there,’ I said. ‘I’d forgotten how beautiful country nights are. When you look up at the sky in London it’s so murky you can’t see the stars properly at all. Look at that huge one right above us!’

  ‘That’s the Pole Star. That’s always the biggest and the brightest. And there’s the Great Bear, see – and the Plough.’

  He pointed and named them while I leaned against him, listening and learning. It was another step straight back into childhood, Jem gently teaching me.

  ‘I know I’m right to come here, Mama,’ I said inside my head.

  ‘Yes, Hetty, of course you’re right, my child,’ I replied, but I was acting like a ventriloquist, saying Mama’s words for her.

  I went to bed happily even so, but I had a very disturbed night. Mother cried out repeatedly, and I had to keep stumbling out of my own little bed to go to her. Eventually I lay down beside her and it seemed to settle her.

  I’d resolved to get up when Jem did and make him a proper breakfast, but I was so exhausted I didn’t hear him stirring. When I opened my eyes, Mother herself was awake and looking at me reproachfully.

  The day slid downhill after that. I scrubbed at the sheets in the old redware tub but could not get them as clean as I wanted. Then it rained so I couldn’t hang them on the rope outside. They dripped dismally downstairs instead, so that I could barely move for the damp dreary things. I started ironing yesterday’s sheets, but first the iron wasn’t hot enough to smooth the wrinkles, and then I heated it too much and scorched a brown triangle on the white linen.

  Then I tried my hand at baking because we’d run out of bread and couldn’t very well eat leftover cake with our broths and stews. I kneaded the flour i
n a satisfactory manner. I rather enjoyed letting off steam by pummelling it, but something upset it in the oven, for it refused to rise and stayed at the bottom of the bread pan in a surly lump.

  Mrs Maple came calling and saw all these failures but tactfully ignored them. She had a cup of tea with me and we ate the excellent fresh muffins she’d brought with her. Then she went upstairs to visit Mother.

  ‘Your Hetty’s doing a grand job, Peg,’ she said, which was a total lie but kindly meant.

  Mrs Maple offered to sit with Mother for an hour or so to give me a little rest. I thanked her very much and set off to buy a few provisions from the general stores with some money Jem had left for me. I walked sedately enough into the village, but it was such a relief to be out of the damp dark cottage that once I’d bought some fresh eggs and sugar and tea I could not help wandering off across the meadows in spite of the rain, exploring my childhood haunts. I was soaked through by this time but I didn’t care. My ankle was completely better now and it felt so good to stride out. In fact when I was out of sight of the last cottage, I actually ran.

  I reached the meadow where Mr Tanglefield’s circus had once performed and pranced crazily round and round in a ring, like one of Madame Adeline’s rosin-backed horses. Then I slipped on an especially muddy patch and my bag went flying and half my precious eggs were broken.

  I sat on the soggy grass in the pouring rain and wept, feeling such a failure, but eventually I trudged back home, hanging my head. Mrs Maple was kind enough not to comment on my muddy skirts and went on her way. Mother seemed to miss her company and did not settle after she went. She kept crying out, and set up her ‘Gi-gi-gi’ call until I felt like screaming.

  I wanted to have the cottage clean and tidy for Jem’s homecoming, but he was early and caught me in a turmoil, with the sheets still flapping, scrubbing my own muddy footsteps off the floor in my petticoat to save dirtying my other dress.

  ‘Oh, Jem, what must you think of me?’ I said miserably.

  ‘I think you’re a sweet, hard-working girl who’s doing her best,’ he said.