‘To me too,’ I said solemnly, though I felt a little awkward. There was something so sweetly sincere about Jem. I knew he truly meant every word he said. I had often used words to make people like me or to get my own way. They’d flood out of my mouth in a colourful torrent, but I wasn’t quite sure whether I was only acting for effect.
Jem sometimes gazed at me with such intensity as we sat by the fire together in the evening. His brown eyes were so big, so shiny, so earnest. I was pleased that he looked at me like that – and yet I couldn’t help thinking of Farmer Woodrow’s docile cows with their moist eyes and strangely long lashes.
I felt uncomfortable whenever our conversation petered out, though Jem didn’t seem to mind. I suggested we read aloud to each other.
‘You read to me, Hetty. My eyes are too tired for deciphering small print by rush light,’ he said.
So I read aloud from my precious copy of David Copperfield. At first Jem took a great interest, and laughed and commented, but gradually he stopped talking and closed his eyes.
‘Oh, Jem! Wake up!’ I said.
‘I’m not asleep. I’m simply resting my eyes. Go on, Hetty – it’s a wonderful story and you read it so well,’ he said – but in two minutes he was snoring.
I stared at his nodding head, trying to make excuses for him. The poor man was up before dawn, doing hard physical labour all day long. Of course he was bone tired. He couldn’t help falling asleep. I knew this, but I couldn’t help feeling lonely and disappointed.
It was almost as if we were an old married couple already. I’d sunk into the cosy routine of a woman twice my age, and it frightened me. I started longing for change – any change at all in our daily life.
I got very excited and enthusiastic about Christmas. It had never been an extraordinary occasion at the hospital. We’d each been given a penny and an orange – that was the extent of our Christmas gifts. There had been no lessons, no hours of darning, but there had been a punishingly long session in the chapel that gave us all aching backs and pins and needles in our dangling legs.
I had read about Christmas though, and was convinced that all other folk sat down to huge tables groaning with capons and figgy puddings galore, with a Christmas tree and coloured lanterns and many presents.
I looked around our small, dimly lit cottage, saw our big stewing pot, and sighed at the few coins rattling in my purse. ‘How can we make Christmas special, Jem?’ I wailed.
‘We don’t really set so much store by Christmas,’ he said. ‘Perhaps we can have a bit of stewing beef. That’ll make a nice change.’
‘It should be a roast,’ I wailed. ‘And I need to decorate the house to make it pretty. But what are we going to do about presents? I want to give real gifts. Folk will be getting tired of me stitching them silly clothes.’
‘Oh, Hetty, you stitch beautiful clothes. We don’t really give elaborate gifts – but I do have a tiny present for you.’
‘Really? What is it?’
‘You’ll have to wait until Christmas Day! And listen – perhaps one of the girls will invite us to her house. Both Bess and Eliza have big ovens, so we could share their roast. We could bundle Mother up and drive her over in Molly’s donkey cart,’ said Jem, a little doubtfully, because both sisters lived miles away.
There were certainly a flurry of letters inviting us over for Christmas, and Mother seemed excited by the idea. But when Jem and I talked it over together, it didn’t seem at all practical. It was getting so cold. Mother would freeze to death on the journey, even if we wrapped her up in twenty blankets. We couldn’t take her special wheeled chair too, so she would be trapped in a corner – and would there be room enough for her in any spare bed?
It was dear Janet who solved our problem. ‘You must come to our house for Christmas Day,’ she said. ‘I’m sure Jem and Father could give Peg a chairlift to our house. We have a big oven, and you know how much my mother loves cooking. Please say you’ll come, Jem and Hetty.’
I think we were both torn. I wanted to have a wonderful Christmas in our house, and that was what Jem seemed to want too. If only our walls could expand so I could invite the Maples and many other guests besides. Perhaps not my foster sisters. I’d seen a little too much of them at the funeral.
I’d have liked to invite my father for Christmas. Katherine and Mina and Ezra could have smokies and baked cod and fishy pudding back where they belonged. I’d have liked my dear friend Freda the Female Giant to come too, though we might have to raise the ceiling specially. I’d have liked to see my pal Bertie the butcher’s boy too, and he would surely bring us a fine turkey or a side of beef, but I wasn’t so sure Jem would enjoy his company. And oh, most of all I’d have liked to send an invitation up to Heaven and have Mama pop down for the day. I’d make her a feast even better than manna, whatever that was. I just knew it was the only food they seemed to eat in Heaven. I paused, trying to decide what Mama would most like to eat during her visit.
‘Hetty?’ said Jem. He gave me a little nudge. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said to Janet. ‘She’s got that look in her eye. I think she’s picturing again.’
‘Don’t tease me, you two,’ I said, coming back to my senses. ‘It’s so kind of you and your family to invite us for Christmas, Janet. We’d love to come, wouldn’t we, Jem?’
So that’s what we did. It was all very jolly and we ate like kings. Mother particularly enjoyed herself. Mrs Maple was so kind to her. She’d made up a special chair like a throne, with extra cushions and blankets and shawls, and gave her a special Christmas meal tactfully cut into tiny pieces.
Mother was learning how to feed herself again now, though her hands were very shaky and she sometimes lost concentration halfway to her mouth. She couldn’t help making a mess on the tablecloth and looked upset, but Mrs Maple patted her shoulder and said calmly, ‘Don’t fret, Peg dear, you’re doing splendidly.’
We ate turkey, the very first time I’d tasted it. I didn’t care for the live birds at all, with their weird worm-pink heads and fat feathery bodies and yellow claws. I always skirted round the turkey shed, keeping my distance. I’d had no idea that such a grotesque creature could taste so sweet and succulent. We had roast potatoes too, crisp and golden, and parsnips and carrots and small green sprouts like baby cabbages.
We ate until we were nearly bursting, but when we were offered a second serving we said yes please, and Mother nodded enthusiastically. There were puddings too – a rich figgy pudding with a custard, a pink blancmange like a fairy castle, and a treacle tart with whipped cream. I could not choose which pudding I wanted because they all looked so wonderful, so I had a portion of each.
This was a serious mistake, as I was wearing my first proper grown-up corset for the occasion. I’d bought it in the hope that squeezing my stomach in with its strong whalebone might help a little bust to pop out at the top, but I remained disappointingly flat-chested – and unable to breathe properly into the bargain.
I was glad I hadn’t tried to encase Mother in her own corsets. She spread comfortably underneath her loose gown. She usually fell fast asleep after a big meal, but she stayed wide awake for the present giving. The Maples gave her a specially wrapped little package. I helped her unwrap it. Mr Maple had carved her special cutlery, cleverly designed to help her manage more efficiently. The spoon had a deep bowl to prevent spillage, the fork had clever prongs for easy spearing, and the knife had a curved handle so that Mother could grip it.
She seized hold of her spoon and fork, wanting to try them out immediately, so Mrs Maple gave her another bowl of figgy pudding, even though she was already full to the brim.
Of course, Mother had no presents to give the Maples in return, but Jem and I had done our best. Jem gave me several shillings from his farm wages and I bought them an ornament at the market – a little china model of a house, not unlike their own, with a little lumpy extra bacon room beside the chimney. There was a message written carefully across the plinth: Bless This House.
I??
?d wanted to find something special for Janet too, because she had been such a dear friend, so I bought her a special pen. It was a fine one, with a green mottled casing, and I rather wanted it for myself, but I decided to be generous.
The Maples were very satisfyingly pleased with their presents. Janet hugged me hard and said she would use her beautiful pen every day and think of me.
‘Then at least your journal will have variety,’ I said. ‘You can write Today I got up – and I love my friend Hetty!’
Jem and Mother and I had kept our presents to give to each other at the Maples. I didn’t want to fob Mother off with yet another nightgown. I bought her a new china washing jug and bowl, white with pink babies playing all around the inside. There was also a matching chamber pot, though it seemed a shame to piddle on the little children. I kept the pot at home because it might have been embarrassing unwrapping it in company.
I couldn’t wait for Jem to open his present from me. Market Jim had let me have an end roll of scarlet worsted because it had a flaw running through the weave. I cut it out carefully on the slant and avoided the flaw altogether. I’d made it into a waistcoat with pockets and brass buttons.
‘Oh I say!’ said Jem, going as red as the cloth when he unwrapped the waistcoat. ‘I shall look a right robin redbreast! Oh, Hetty, it’s the finest waistcoat I’ve ever seen. I shall wear it every Sunday.’
‘You don’t think it’s too bright?’ I asked anxiously.
‘Not at all – the brighter the better,’ said Jem, though I’m not entirely sure he was being truthful.
‘Try your waistcoat on, Jem!’ said Janet.
‘Yes, do – I need to see if it fits properly,’ I said.
‘I probably won’t be able to get the buttons done up because I’ve had so much Christmas dinner,’ said Jem – but they slid easily into place. Although it sounds dreadfully like boasting, his waistcoat looked magnificent. Even taciturn Mr Maple murmured that it was a tremendous fit.
‘But I wish I knew what the time was,’ I said excitedly.
They all stared at me. The Maples’ brass clock was ticking steadily on the mantelpiece.
‘I’d like to check the time,’ I said. ‘Doesn’t anyone else have a timepiece, Jem? Don’t gentlemen keep a pocket watch about their person?’
‘You know very well I don’t have a pocket watch, Hetty,’ said Jem.
‘Not even in your fine new waistcoat?’ I said. ‘Why don’t you check the pockets?’
Jem stared at me, and then slid his fingers into the slim pocket at the front. His hand felt something. His mouth fell open as he drew out a gold fob watch. It wasn’t real gold, it was pinchbeck, and it wasn’t brand new. I’d seen it on a curiosity stall in the market and I’d bargained hard for it. It was truly a pretty ordinary watch and it didn’t even have a chain, but Jem cradled it in his hand as if it were part of the crown jewels.
‘Oh, Hetty,’ he whispered. ‘Oh, Hetty!’
‘Do you like it? I thought it was time you had a watch. Now you haven’t any excuse to be late home and keep supper waiting,’ I joked.
‘I’ve never had such a splendid present,’ said Jem. ‘Thank you so much. Thank you so very, very much. Oh dear, I wish I’d got you something as special.’ He handed me a tiny parcel apologetically.
I felt it carefully. ‘Is it . . . jewellery?’ I asked, my heart beating fast.
Janet gave a little gasp. ‘Oh, Hetty, open it!’
I picked the paper open and saw a little necklace. It was a silver sixpence with a hole bored into it so that it could hang on a dainty silver chain. ‘Oh, Jem, it’s lovely!’ I whispered, putting it round my neck and fumbling with the clasp.
‘Here, let me,’ he said. ‘It’s an odd plain thing, I know – but you lost your last sixpence, the one I gave you as a token when you had to go off to the hospital. I thought you could keep this one hanging safe around your neck.’ He fastened it in place for me. ‘Perhaps it’s just a silly whim. It’s not very fancy like a real necklace,’ he said uncertainly.
‘It’s perfectly lovely, Jem. I shall treasure it for ever,’ I said.
I felt dangerously near tears and I could scarcely breathe for the wretched corset. I plucked at the terrible whalebones constricting my stomach. ‘Oh dear Lord,’ I said, gasping.
Janet drew me to one side. ‘Why don’t you slip up to my bedroom and loosen the ties, Hetty?’ she whispered.
‘I think that’s a good idea,’ I said.
I ran out of the hot living room, up the stairs to Janet’s quiet pale bedroom. I shut the door for privacy, pulled off my frock, and struggled with the wretched laces until suddenly they gave and I could breathe deeply again. It was such a relief I pulled the corset off altogether and had a good stretch and scratch, delighting in my freedom.
Janet had a looking glass, so I peered at myself, though I looked a figure of fun in my chemise and drawers. The sixpence was cold against my chest. I fingered it lovingly. It was such a sweet kind thought of Jem’s, and it looked so pretty too. I knew I should feel delighted. I was delighted – and yet I rather wished he hadn’t given it to me even so. It would have meant the world to me once . . . when I was back in the Foundling Hospital. But somehow, now that I was grown up, the touching little keepsake worried me. Well, I wasn’t quite grown up yet, I knew that, but I seemed to be growing differently now.
I glared at myself in the looking glass. ‘What’s the matter with you, girl?’ I said to myself. ‘All your dreams have come true. You live in your own home with Jem, the kindest man in the world, and he loves you dearly. This is what you longed for, year after year, in that wretched hospital. You’ve got what you wanted, Hetty Feather, Sapphire Battersea, Emerald Star. You can’t live with Mama, you won’t live with Father. You want to live with Jem, don’t you? You want to be part of this village and look after Mother, and when you’re a little older, Janet’s age maybe, you and Jem will marry and you’ll live happily ever after, like your precious fairy tales . . .’
I put my hot forehead against the cold glass, wondering why I couldn’t feel properly happy. Then I looked over my shoulder in the glass and saw Janet’s checked journal on her little bedside table.
I wondered if she’d started writing out all her thoughts and feelings. It was her private diary. It would be terribly bad even to glance inside. But somehow my feet were tiptoeing across the rug, and my hands were reaching out for the check cover.
No, Hetty, I told myself sternly, but I opened it. Well, perhaps just one peep!
There were dozens of closely written pages in Janet’s neat schoolteacher hand. My goodness, she was writing down copious thoughts and feelings. I smiled down at the neat lines, not properly focusing – and then I saw my name and Jem’s. I couldn’t help reading it then.
Oh dear, it’s so hard spending time with Jem and Hetty now. Jem is clearly utterly devoted to her. He can’t stop looking at her whenever she is in the room, and when she says something his eyes shine and he smiles so proudly. I do not blame him. Hetty is so lively, so witty, so enchanting, forever saying something droll or fanciful. I wish I didn’t like her so myself. It would be much easier to hate and resent her. Before she came I was beginning to hope that Jem might be starting to think of me romantically – but now she is here I can see I have no chance whatsoever. Jem thinks of me as a good friend and companion, but that is all. It is Hetty he loves. He only has eyes for her. It is so hard to bear when I love him so myself. Oh, Jem, Jem, Jem. I love you, I love you.
16
IT WAS SO dreadfully difficult to roll up my corset, put on my dress and go back downstairs again.
‘Are you all right, Hetty?’ Janet asked, seeing my stricken face.
‘Yes, yes – just a little queasy because I’ve been so greedy,’ I said.
I certainly felt sick at heart for the rest of the evening. Carol-singing children came calling from another village, standing earnestly on the doorstep with their turnip lanterns, singing ‘Here We Come A-wassailing?
?? and ‘God Rest You Merry, Gentlemen’ and ‘Hark! The Herald Angels Sing’. Several were Janet’s pupils. They clustered around her, wishing her a special merry Christmas.
‘Is that your mister, miss?’ one asked, pointing at Jem.
‘No, no!’ Janet said, blushing, while the Maples and Jem himself laughed heartily.
Yet when I looked at them together, they really did look as if they belonged to each other. They were both tall and handsome and kindly and gentle. I watched them talking to Mother, clearing the table, setting my china ornament on the mantelpiece. They could be a couple already. They would have been a couple, if I hadn’t come along.
Janet had been so sweet to me too. She had tried her hardest to befriend me and make me feel welcome, when all along she knew I was unwittingly stealing her chances of happiness.
Jem loved me. I didn’t need Janet’s journal to tell me that. I knew it was true. And I loved him, didn’t I?
It was a great palaver getting Mother home again and settled back in her bed. She had clearly enjoyed her day but she grew agitated now, turning her head restlessly, calling ‘Gi-gi-gi’ again. I had to sit with her for a long time, holding her hand and talking gentle nonsense to her before she would quieten.
I was bone tired now and ready for my own bed. I thought Jem might have retired, but he was down by the fire, although it hadn’t been lit all day and the empty grate was cold and cheerless.
‘Jem? Aren’t you going to bed? It’s so late.’
‘I’d like to sit a little while and think over today, Hetty,’ he said. ‘Come and keep me company.’
‘But it’s so cold!’
‘I’ll warm you up a little,’ he said cheerfully, holding out his arms.
We had hugged each other a hundred times, but now I felt a shrinking self-consciousness as I sat beside him. He pulled me close, so that my head rested on his shoulder.
‘It’s been a splendid day, hasn’t it?’ he said. He pulled out his pocket watch. ‘Nearly midnight! Oh, Hetty, it’s such a beautiful watch. I shall treasure it for ever.’ He paused. I knew I should say something about my sixpence necklace.