'I snatched her ruler away when she'd struck Polly. Oh, how I wish I'd struck her with it. I hate her. I hate them all.'
'I hate them too. You must try to be brave, dear Hetty. They will have to let you out tomorrow. If they don't, I will go to a governor's house and report them for wicked cruelty,' Ida said wildly.
'I'm not sure I can manage a whole night,' I wept. 'It's so dreadfully dark and I'm so scared all by myself.'
I thought of little Gideon then, all by himself in the squirrel house the night we went to the circus. No wonder he'd been so traumatized. Was I going to be shocked senseless too?
'You're not alone, Hetty,' said Ida. 'I will stay. I cannot get in, but I am only the other side of your door. I will wait until you go to sleep.'
'But you will get into trouble if they catch you.'
'They won't catch me. If I hear anyone coming, I'll run along the corridor and hide, and then creep back afterwards. I'm not leaving you here so frightened.'
'You're so good to me, Ida.'
'I'd give anything to look after you properly, Hetty. For two pins I'd slap those evil witches until they gave me the key, and then I'd let you out and have you sleep in my own bed – but I have to keep my position. I'd never get any other work without a good reference, and I'm not going to end up in the workhouse. I'll tell you a secret, Hetty. I spent three years there, and it was a dreadful, dreadful place. No, I'm doing well for myself now and saving up my wages. I've the future to think of.' She paused for a long moment. 'Shall I tell you . . .?'
'Tell me what, Ida?'
'No, no, maybe not now, not yet.' She was silent.
'Are you still there, Ida?' I asked anxiously.
'Yes, of course I am. You curl up, my dear, and try to go to sleep. Did they give you a mattress?'
'I've got a blanket, but it smells so horrid.'
'Put your cap over your nose – that will smell of fresh laundering and hair oil, good smells. Now, you're the girl for picturing. Picture you're lying on a soft scented pillow, so fresh and dainty, and you have a feather mattress and a beautiful warm quilt. Oh, you are getting so cosy now, aren't you, dear?'
'I didn't think you could picture, Ida!'
'I can do lots of things, Hetty. Now nestle under your splendid quilt. Shut your eyes, dear. You're getting very sleepy. You're going to go fast asleep and have happy dreams, such happy dreams. One day all your dreams will come true, Hetty. All my dreams too . . .' Ida's voice murmured on and on, and somehow the stout door splintered away and we were together, both of us in our soft feather bed, lying on fresh pillows . . .
Then I woke up with a start, my neck twisted, my whole body aching, locked in the dark all alone. But somehow it wasn't quite as bad as before because Ida's voice echoed in my head, helping me picture the bed, and after a long time I fell asleep again.
Then I heard the key in the lock. The door opened and I was blinking in daylight.
'Well, well, well, Hetty Feather!' Matron Bottomly peered in at me, a look of triumph on her ugly face. 'You look suitably chastened, child. Are you truly sorry, or do you need another twenty-four hours to teach you your lesson?'
'I am very sorry, Matron,' I said meekly, my head bowed, because I could not stand the thought of further imprisonment.
'I am glad to see you truly penitent at last,' said Matron Bottomly, smiling grimly. 'I'm pleased that vicious spirit of yours is broken at last. Now perhaps you will show suitable respect to your elders and betters.'
Oh, how I hated her, talking about me as if I was a tamed wild beast. Of course I wasn't the slightest bit sorry I'd stuck up for poor Polly. I had no respect whatsoever for Matron Bottomly or Miss Morley. They were undisputedly my elders but they certainly weren't my betters. They were cruel, wicked women, not fit to look after children. How dare they beat us and lock us up like criminals and act as if it was for our benefit!
16
I resolved to run away.
'Oh, Hetty, I will run away too,' Polly said, hugging me.
Her hands were still scored with red weals from Miss Morley's ruler, and her eyes were red too, because she'd cried bitterly the entire time I'd been incarcerated.
We tried to concoct a sensible plan of action. We fancied ourselves the cleverest girls but we lacked inventive ideas. We knew so little of the world outside the hospital. We only knew our foster homes – and so we thought of our lost foster mothers.
'If Miss Morrison knew the way we are treated here, I'm sure she'd take me back into her care. She'd take you too, Hetty, because you are so bright and clever.'
'If Mother knew they'd kept me locked up in an attic all night, she'd definitely take me back – and my goodness, Jem would rise up and seize Matron Bottomly and kick her up her stinking bottom,' I declared. 'And of course you could stay with us, Polly. You might care for my brother Nat, who is almost as dear as Jem, and then you can marry him when we are older and we can live in adjoining cottages.'
We alternated futures, flying between one household and another, the way we'd pictured our pretend visits as little children. It had been so easy when we were small girls, but now it seemed incredibly difficult. We could fly there in an instant in our imagination, but it was a far harder task working out each step in reality. We had no clear idea how to get to our foster homes. I knew we had to go on a long journey by train, but I did not even know the names of the stations – and though I had a little money (Jem's sixpence and my Christmas pennies), I knew they would not be nearly enough to pay the fare.
'How will we actually get out of the hospital?' said Polly.
We rarely set foot outside the grounds. We had been taken to tea at a governor's house several times, and once some girls had been picked to go on an outing to Hampton Court – but not us. We were always carefully guarded, and the grounds were regularly patrolled by staff. Surely if we simply started running, they would seize us and bring us back? I could not stand the thought of further incarceration in the attic room.
'We have to make firm plans,' I said, though I did not have any idea how to do this. I'd lived in the hospital so long that the outside world had faded like a dream. I had pictured home often enough, but I'd added so many details that now I wasn't sure what was real.
The mother and father in my mind were now like good guardian angels. Yet contrarywise I could also remember Mother paddling me, Father shouting angrily. My brothers and sisters seemed like siblings in a storybook, not really connected to me. Martha was now simply the girl in spectacles who sang sweetly in the chapel on Sundays.
I even felt I'd lost contact with Gideon. I'd dared my dressing-as-a-boy trick twice more in the infants school, and last year at the boys' sports day I'd looked hard for him. He eventually spotted me and risked edging close to say hello. I did not recognize him till he did so. He was so tall now, and had filled out a little, seeming less sad and spindly.
'Hello, Hetty,' he said softly.
'Oh, Gideon, it's really you!' I said.
I did not care about hospital rules. I threw my arms around him. However, it felt odd, as if I was embracing a stranger. We asked each other politely if we were all right, but then stood smiling shyly, at a loss for further conversation. I was so glad he was still talking properly, but I did not like to point this out in case it embarrassed him. Eventually I asked him if he ever thought of Mother and home. I wished I'd held my tongue because his brown eyes grew misty. He shook his head, though I was sure he was lying. Then one of the boys' teachers looked our way and Gideon ran off hastily.
I had glimpsed him since, going in and out of the chapel, but was not even sure it was really him – there were so many tall thin boys with brown eyes.
I decided I could not include him in my escape plans. We had been parted too long. It was almost as if he wasn't my brother any more. There was only one brother I was sure of. My vision of Jem shone like a lantern in my head. I was sure I still knew every freckle on his dear face, every curl of his hair, every curve of his ear. I knew the soun
d of his sneeze, his yawn, his merry laughter. I felt I could instantly pick him out from fifty thousand other boys. He would be almost a man now, able to find work. He could look after me – and Polly too. She was dearer to me now than any of my sisters.
She did not give answers now in Miss Morley's class. She wrote down her sums silently from the board, and if Miss Morley made mistakes, she copied them without comment – though she bit her lip. Alone with me, she talked as usual, but she was quiet with everyone else, her head bent as if to escape notice.
But someone was quite definitely noticing her. A large woman dressed all in black, with a very pale face and dark shadows under her eyes, started coming regularly on Sundays, leaning heavily on the arm of her husband. She wore an enamelled hair locket around her neck and had a habit of rubbing it with her plump white fingers, as if it was a tiny lamp and she was trying to summon a genie.
She didn't seem interested in the tiny girls who usually attracted the most attention. She didn't glance at the capable big girls, almost ready for work. We were used to strange women eyeing them up and down, on the lookout for a useful servant. No, this large lady in black always paused at our table of ten-year-olds and hovered there, blinking her shadowed eyes and fingering her locket. She watched our every mouthful, she strained to hear our whispered remarks, she peered with her large head at an angle, as if she was Matron checking the neatness of our plaits and the cleanliness of our necks.
The large lady kept looking in our direction. Not at me, but at Polly.
'That lady in black is really starting to annoy me,' I grumbled. 'She will not stop staring. Poke your tongue out at her, Polly!'
'Don't be unkind about her, Hetty. She looks so sad,' said Polly. 'Who do you think she can be?'
'Maybe she's your long-lost mother, come back to claim you after all this time. She's rich and respectable now and can afford to buy you back from the governors,' I said.
'I think her husband is a governor,' said Polly. 'I saw him on Friday when the mothers were petitioning. I remember his whiskers and his fat watch-chain.'
'Look at the buttons on his waistcoat, all set to pop off! Have you ever seen such a stomach!' I said.
'But he looks a kindly man,' said Polly.
Perhaps he read her lips, because just then he nodded at her and smiled. Polly smiled back demurely. The lady in black gripped her husband's arm and swayed a little, as if she felt faint.
'There! She's recognizing you, her little lost Polly,' I said, carried away with my story.
I started elaborating on my romance, but Polly wasn't listening. She was looking at the couple and they were looking at her. It was almost as if they were alone in the vast dining room. The hundreds of other foundling girls did not seem to exist – even me.
I felt my stomach tighten, so much so that I could not finish my Sunday dinner. I was immensely relieved when the table was tapped and it was time to file out. I hurried Polly away from the couple, suggesting we find a quiet corner to read – but Matron Bottomly stood in the doorway.
'There you are, Polly Renfrew! Come with me to my room, child.'
Polly gasped. There was only one reason for going to Matron Bottomly's room. It meant that you were going to be severely punished.
'But Polly hasn't done anything,' I said, taking her hand.
'Did I ask for your comments, Hetty Feather?' said Matron. 'Hurry along now, if you please.'
I had to slink away while Polly marched off after Matron Bottomly. She peered back at me anxiously and I gave her a cheery wave of encouragement, though inside I was in turmoil.
I went off to the dormitory and waited by her bed. I waited and waited and waited. Normally Matron Bottomly was brisk with her punishments. She'd give you a severe talking to. If you had been exceptionally bad, you were whacked with a stick. I was the only girl so far who'd been locked up in the attic. She surely wouldn't dream of shutting Polly up there. Polly was so scared of the dark. If she woke in the night, she always needed to wake me up too so I could hold her hand. If she was shut up alone in the attic all night, she'd go demented. I was sure she hadn't done anything wrong at all – though we were all used to being seized indiscriminately and punished for some insignificant or imagined offence.
I cast myself down on Polly's bed, beating it with my fist in my frustration. 'I hate it here, I hate it here, I hate it here,' I muttered into Polly's pillow.
I shut my eyes tight, picturing myself marching to Matron Bottomly's room and rescuing Polly – but I so dreaded the punishment attic myself, I didn't quite have the courage. I lay there, hating myself as well as the hospital.
At long last I heard Polly's footsteps. I sat up and stared at her. She wasn't flushed and tear-stained. There were no cruel red marks on her hands. Yet she looked immeasurably different. She was walking slowly, as if treading water, and her eyes were dazed. She blinked when she saw me.
'Oh, Hetty,' she said, and her hand went to her mouth. 'Oh, Hetty, I hardly know how to tell you.'
I stood up and faced her. 'What is it, Polly?'
'I – I am leaving the hospital,' Polly whispered.
'What?' I said, shaking my head.
'I know. I can scarcely take it in myself, but it's true. I've to gather up my things and go now. I am to live with Mr and Mrs McCartney – she is the lady in black.'
'Oh my Lord! Is she really your mother?' I said.
'No, no. She had a daughter our age, Lucy, but she died of the influenza last winter and now she wants to adopt me to take Lucy's place.'
'But people aren't allowed to adopt us! We belong to the hospital.'
'I know, but Mr McCartney is a governor and a very generous benefactor. They will do whatever he wants,' said Polly.
'And – and is it what you want?' I asked hoarsely.
'Oh, Hetty, I don't know!' said Polly, tears suddenly rolling down her cheeks. 'I can't bear the thought of not seeing you any more – but of course I want to leave the hospital.'
'Do you like them, the McCartneys?'
'I think so. They seem very kind, though still very sad. I am to have Lucy's room and all her clothes and even all her toys. She has five large china dolls, and a doll's house with an entire family of very little dolls – a mother, a father, a grandmother with little spectacles, a grandfather with a grey beard, and five children, one a tiny baby doll in a crocheted shawl. It was Mrs McCartney's when she was a child and she described it very carefully. She gave it to Lucy and now it is to be mine.'
'You are too old for dolls and doll's houses,' I said sourly.
'I know, but I don't mind,' Polly said.
'I mind,' I cried. 'I mind it all. Oh, Polly, don't go and be their child. Please stay here with me. You are my only friend. I can't bear it at the hospital without you.'
'I'm so sorry,' said Polly, hugging me. 'I haven't any choice. Matron Bottomly says I have to go now. But I will beg my new mama and papa to bring me back here to visit you – and I will write to you lots and lots. Then, when we are fourteen, we can meet up properly because you will be out of the hospital too.'
'Yes, but I will be a servant then,' I said. 'You will be a lady.'
'We will still be us, Hetty,' said Polly.
But we knew there was already a divide between us. I could not be mean enough to rebuke Polly further. I knew I would have jumped at the chance of escaping the hospital. I would not have sacrificed that chance for anyone, not even my dearest friend. But the McCartneys had not chosen me as their new daughter. They had chosen Polly, and I could understand why.
She was fair and neat and placid, while I was small and fiery with flame-red hair. She had the table manners of her spinster schoolteacher foster mother: she cut up her food daintily, nibbled slowly and drank from her cup with her little finger stuck out at an elegant angle. I had the manners of a rough country child: I still bolted my food and talked with my mouth full and slurped my milk. Polly's voice was gentle and she enunciated every word carefully, while I spoke in a wild torrent. Of c
ourse they picked Polly.
I swallowed hard, trying to compose myself. I kissed her wet cheeks. 'I will miss you sorely, Polly, but I am also truly happy for you,' I said.
'I'm sorry I've been so lucky,' said Polly, still crying.
'I think those McCartneys are lucky having you for their new daughter,' I declared.
We hugged again, and then I helped her gather her few possessions. She insisted on taking every present I'd ever given her, even the little squashed heart with huge stitching. Matron Bottomly came marching into the dormitory, rubbing her hands.
'Are you ready, Polly dear?' she said, so sickly sweet now that Polly was leaving. 'Mr McCartney's carriage is waiting. What a fortunate girl you are!'
'I do hope you get to be fortunate too, Hetty,' said Polly earnestly, squeezing my hand.
'Ha! I doubt anyone will ever come wanting to adopt an imp of Satan like Hetty Feather,' said Matron Bottomly. 'Come along now, Polly. You have got a clean cap and tippet on? Still, you'll probably be taking them off the moment you get to your new home. Fancy!' She giggled unpleasantly, smoothing her apron. 'You'll tell them how happy you've been here in the hospital, won't you, dear?'
'Oh yes, she's been deliriously happy,' I snorted.
Matron Bottomly glared at me. 'You always have to have the last laugh, miss. But the laugh's on you this time, Hetty Feather. You'll miss your friend badly, I can tell.'
'We will stay friends, Matron Bottomly,' said Polly.
I wasn't so sure. And I was right. I waited week after week, desperately hoping that Polly and the McCartneys would attend chapel and then come to observe the grisly public Sunday dinner. But they never once put in an appearance.
I had one letter from Polly. It was formal and restrained, because she knew Matron Bottomly would have a good rummage through it before handing it over to me.
My dear Hetty,
I miss you very much, but in every other respect I am truly happy. Mama and Papa are so very kind and my new life is incredibly comfortable and luxurious. I wish you could come and visit me here. Mama does not wish me to go to the hospital to see you as she feels it will bring back too many memories. I am not even called by my own name any more. I am Lucy now – but to you, dear Hetty, I will always remain
Hetty Feather Page 17
