I opened my case and showed Lizzie the fairytale books Mama had given me, and her precious hairbrush and comb, and her little violet vase, and her letters tied in neat bundles with satin ribbon. She admired each item reverently, as if they were holy relics, as indeed they were to me. I showed her the fat marbled manuscript book where I’d recorded my memoirs, and she seemed astonished to hear that I had written all the words myself.
However, Lizzie was most impressed with my nightgown! She marvelled at the fine cotton and the white embroidery, an S and a B embroidered on the yoke, entwined with daisies.
‘It’s beautiful, just like a real lady’s! Where on earth did you get it, Emerald?’ Lizzie said, looking at me uncertainly.
‘I didn’t steal it, if that’s what you’re thinking!’ I said. ‘I made it for myself, Lizzie.’
She peered at the stitches, one eyebrow raised.
‘Truly,’ I insisted. ‘I told you, I’m good at sewing and darning.’
‘I should just say so! They look like fairy stitches – and all so smooth!’ she said, holding the fine linen to her reddened cheek.
‘I had nine years of wearing harsh foundling uniform that scratched against my skin like sandpaper. This is my little luxury,’ I said.
‘Well, good for you, girl. This nightgown is fit for a princess,’ said Lizzie.
I resolved then and there to make her a similar nightgown because she had been so kind to me. I bade her farewell and lugged my case the length of the street, all the way up to the clifftop. My arm felt as if it were being pulled from its socket, but it was worth it when I sat down on a tussock at the top. The very grass was rough at Monksby.
I looked down at the village below me, trying to work out which little slated roof was sheltering my father. I stared at the cluster of folk at the harbour-side, trying to discern the burly shape of my new stepmother. I peered at the girls collecting flithers on the rocks, the little boys splashing in the sea. For one second I imagined a gigantic wave rising up and sucking Katherine, Mina and Ezra out to sea, so that I could live with Father in peace and comfort, just the two of us. I felt my face flushing, feeling as guilty as if I were truly Emerald Mermaid and had drowned them all deliberately.
I diverted myself from imaginary mass murder by opening my case and taking out my pad of writing paper, my precious pot of ink and my old chewed pen. It was very windy up on the cliff and I had to hang on tight to my possessions to stop them blowing away. It was a struggle to write coherently. I used my closed case as a desk, but it was a very bumpy one, and my writing wobbled this way and that, till I feared my letter was scarcely legible.
c/o Bobbie Waters’ House,
End Cottage,
Home Lane,
Monksby,
Yorkshire
Dear Miss Smith,
I should write OH dear, Miss Smith, because I have been a wilful and disobedient girl, and I am sure you are very vexed with me. You will have heard that I left Mr Buchanan’s establishment. I did try hard there, I truly did, and I’m sure Mrs Briskett and Sarah will vouch for me – but Mr Buchanan did not help me with my writing as you had hoped. Indeed, he did not try to help me, he helped HIMSELF. He stole my memoir and attempted to rewrite it as his own work. When I discovered this and challenged him, he grew very angry. I suppose I grew angry too, and he dismissed me without a character.
I was tempted to write another page or two on the same subject because I still burned with righteous indignation when I thought about it – but I’d already used up one piece of notepaper and it was very precious. I decided not to inform Miss Smith of my change of occupation. I could write persuasively, but I’d never convince her that displaying myself as a scantily dressed mermaid in a seaside freak show was a perfectly acceptable way of earning my living. I decided to cut to the chase.
I went to stay near dear Mama – and perhaps you are aware of the very sad fact that she became sick with consumption. I know you helped get her the position with that elderly lady at Bignor, and I’m sure you thought her a good kind Christian woman, but she was NOTHING OF THE SORT. She turned poor Mama out of her house.
I burned all over again with the injustice. It was so raw and painful writing about Mama that I couldn’t go into detail.
Mama died at the end of the summer, so I resolved to find my father – and I have, Miss Smith, I’m sure I have! He is certain I am his daughter too, and we both have distinctive red hair – but for some difficult folk this is not proof enough.
I need to know Mama’s true name. She must have used it when she registered me at the hospital. Could you please, please, please be an angel and look in the records for me and let me know Mama’s birth name? Then I will be able to rest secure in my new house with my dear father – and other step relatives.
I know I am a sore disappointment to you but I do hope you still have a soft place in your heart for
Your own dear bad Hetty
I addressed the letter to Miss Sarah Smith, Board of Governors, Foundling Hospital, Guilford Street, London town, and stuck a stamp in the corner. I wrote STRICTLY PRIVATE in capitals across the flap of the envelope. I didn’t want one of those nosy matrons prying! I walked back down into the village and posted the letter in the big scarlet box at the corner of two streets.
Then I walked along Home Lane to my new home. The door opened for me. Folk here did not seem to bother with locks and bolts. But Father was no longer lying slumbering in his armchair. He was gone – and Katherine was there in his place, with Mina sitting on the arm of the chair. Their heads were together and they were muttering furiously to each other, clearly plotting something dire.
I shivered but I stuck out my chin and faced them fair and square. ‘Where’s Father?’ I said.
‘He’s not your father,’ said Mina.
‘Yes he is – and I hope to prove it to you shortly,’ I said.
‘Stop spluttering this nonsense,’ said Katherine. ‘Now be on your way. You’re not wanted here.’
‘My father wants me. He has invited me to stay,’ I said. ‘I went to fetch my possessions.’
Katherine sniffed at my fine suitcase. ‘We’re not a lodging house. We haven’t got room for you. Look around! Do you see a spare bedroom? Do you see a spare bed for that matter?’
‘I am looking around – and I see a highly ungracious, hard-hearted woman who wilfully refuses to do as her husband bids her,’ I said. ‘Do you want me to tell him that you’re trying to send his own daughter on her way?’
‘Pa’s not here to tell, so you just push off,’ said Mina fiercely. ‘I’m his daughter, not you.’
‘So be off,’ said Katherine, and she took up a broom as if she were literally going to sweep me out of the house.
My heart started thumping hard inside my chest. Katherine looked as strong as an ox and Mina was already bigger than me. If it came to a pushing match it was clear who would win.
I thought Father must have gone back to the harbour to negotiate on last night’s catch of fish – but then I heard a snore from upstairs.
‘If you lay a finger on me I’ll shout my head off and Father will come running,’ I said. ‘He wants me to stay here, and I shall.’
Katherine stared at me. She was gripping the broom so tightly she seemed ready to snap it in two. ‘You’re a curse on my house. I won’t rest until I’m rid of you,’ she said, and she spat at me.
It didn’t land on my dress, as I think she had hoped. It landed short by several inches, falling on the scrubbed floorboards, where it glistened like venom.
‘You truly are a fishwife,’ I said, and I took my suitcase and lugged it up the narrow staircase, leaving them both.
I went into the smaller bedroom, divided into two by a curtain. I snatched a pillow from one bed, a quilt from the other. Then I went into the big bedroom. Father lay flat on his back, still in his trousers and socks, though he’d discarded his gansey and lay there in his undershirt.
I stood quietly watching him for a while, an
d then I set my suitcase down at the end of the bed. I put the pillow on it, laid my head down, and covered myself with the quilt. It was the middle of the day and I was far too jangled for sleep anyway. I simply lay there like a little dog at its master’s feet.
I wondered if Katherine might seize hold of me and drag me away, but she let me lie there throughout that long afternoon. I tried to time my breaths to match Father’s, thinking I would feel even closer to him if we could breathe in unison. Ezra crept in to peek at me once. He knelt close, peering right into my face. I could feel his breath on my cheek. I blew suddenly, right up his nostrils, making him jump and squeal and dash out of the room.
I lay there, head spinning, wondering what I was going to do. I was content with Father near me – but I knew he went out fishing every night. I did not want to be left to the far from tender mercies of his shrew wife. Might he take me fishing with him? I felt a surge of excitement at the thought. I saw myself in a small gansey and boy’s breeks, with a battered hat set at a jaunty angle, sailing out to sea with Father. Oh, it would be glorious! I would stand shoulder to shoulder, riding the waves with him, the moonlight bright on the dark water. We would talk to each other night after night, catching up on our lost years, becoming even closer . . .
When Father woke at long last at the end of the afternoon, he sat up and called for me straight away. ‘Hetty? Oh, my Hetty, have you come home?’ he called loudly.
‘I am here, Father,’ I said, bobbing up from below the bed. ‘Would you like me to fetch you a cup of tea? I will make it very strong, the way you like it.’
‘In a minute, my dear. Come and sit on the bed where I can see you. Were you lying on the floor? Have you not given yourself a crick neck?’
‘I feel very well, thank you,’ I said, though I was actually aching all over. I was used to hard beds, but Father’s floor was the hardest yet.
‘We will make you a proper bed for tonight, even so. I am sure you can share with Mina,’ said Father.
I would have sooner shared a bed with a rattlesnake. ‘I’m not sure she’d care for that, Father,’ I said.
‘Mina will do as she’s told,’ he said firmly. ‘You two girls will soon become firm friends, I know it. She will take you over the rocks so you can go flither-picking for bait. She’ll teach you all the girls’ tricks, and I dare say Katherine will show you how to gut a fish. We’ll soon have you trained up as a little fisher-girl, Hetty.’
‘Could I not be a fisher-boy, Father?’ I said eagerly. ‘I want to go out fishing every night with you! Please let me. I will gather those flithers and gut haddock and cod with the womenfolk, but please let me fish with you too.’
I meant this seriously, but Father laughed as if I were cracking a good joke. When I persisted, he reached for me and put his arms around my shoulders.
‘You’re too little, Hetty. I wouldn’t take you even if you were a lad. It’s hard, cold, back-breaking work – and far too dangerous. I’ve lost my father and my brothers to the sea. I’m not risking the life of my brand-new daughter. I wouldn’t take any woman aboard with me. It’s bad luck to let a girl so much as touch a boat in the harbour.’ Father spoke solemnly, as if he really believed this.
‘Isn’t that just superstition, Father?’ I asked.
He frowned at me. ‘I’ll thank you not to question me, girl. If you are to live in Monksby you must learn Monksby ways. Custom is custom, and you must respect it, whether you think it superstitious or not, you pert little miss.’
‘I’m sorry! Please don’t be vexed with me, Father. I didn’t mean any harm. I shall be right happy to learn Monksby customs,’ I said earnestly, and he laughed and instantly forgave me.
6
I WANTED TO please my father, but I found I was not at all happy learning Monksby customs. Father sent me out to the beach each day with Mina. She met up with six or seven friends, all girls her own size and weight, scarcely distinguishable in their headscarves and shawls and aprons. I wore Lizzie’s shawl and my own apron, yet I looked like a silly child beside them and they laughed at me. They gossiped together as they worked but it was hard making out what they said, they spoke so quick and so broad. It was clear from the way they nudged each other and looked at me that I was frequently the butt of their jokes.
I pressed my lips together grimly and resolved to ignore them. It was hard lonely work toiling on the rocks. I did not have the knack of picking off the limpets cleanly. Within an hour my nails were torn and bleeding. After a full day’s work my hands were purple and swollen from the cold and wet. It took me much longer than the others to fill my bucket – and then I could scarcely haul it, straining until I was sure my eyes would pop out of my head.
Mina set me to collecting driftwood instead – a job for the little children and a sad simple girl who could not speak. I did not mind so much. I quite liked the company of the little ones. They warmed themselves up by having vigorous ‘sword’ fights with the driftwood, and I joined in these battles too, telling them stories of knights and jousting and tournaments. They laughed at me because I seemed so strange and spoke with a queer accent – but they soon started clamouring for more stories. Big May, the simple girl, liked listening too, though I’m not sure she understood one tenth of what I was saying.
I recited poetry to the children too. One summer at the hospital I had learned the whole of The Lady of Shalott, and after a few verses I had them listening spellbound. I’m not sure Big May took in the sense, but she hummed the rhythm of each line, nodding happily.
I’d have been content to gather driftwood, but Father was indignant when he came sailing home and found out what I’d been doing.
‘I’m not having my daughter set to work with babies and imbeciles,’ he said.
‘Well, Mina says she’s right useless gathering flithers,’ said Katherine.
‘You take her under your wing, Katherine. She’ll learn to gut a fish in five minutes, she’s got such nimble little fingers,’ said Father.
Katherine didn’t want me anywhere near her, but he insisted. I had to join my stepmother at the stalls with the other fishwives. In truth, the gutting was easy enough, but I never got used to plucking out those slimy entrails. I hated the very touch of the fat cod and haddocks, the pop of their eyes, the gawp of their mouths. The crabs were worse – and oh, those live blue lobsters with their terrible claws nip-nip-nipping! I couldn’t help screaming at the sight. Katherine and her friends found this so amusing they were forever thrusting a lobster in my face to make me squeal.
I stomped off by myself, looking for Big May and the children on the seashore. The tide was out and I walked right round the rocks. I saw a raggle-taggle group of little boys running in and out of the waves. One rushed in boldly, mistimed the wave, and got absolutely soaked. They all shrieked with laughter and followed suit. They were all sodden in a matter of seconds. Then one pulled off his shirt and trousers and cavorted in the water stark naked. The others all squealed at him, and then stripped off too.
‘Boys!’ I said, shaking my head at them.
I walked nearer. Their hair was dark and dripping, but I was sure one of them was a redhead. They saw me coming and swam away from me, yelling. Some of them could swim like little fishes, but some were clumsier, only able to paddle their arms doggy style.
‘Be careful! Don’t go out too far!’ I called.
So of course they swam further out, some riding the waves like seagulls, some splashing and struggling. I looked for Ezra’s bright head in the water. I spotted him and waved and he actually waved back, but then he got swamped by a sudden surge of water, choked, and went under.
‘Ezra?’ I shouted. I stared and stared but couldn’t see him bob up. ‘Where’s Ezra?’ I screamed at the little boys, but they simply gawped at me stupidly.
‘Oh for pity’s sake – Ezra!’ I shouted. I kicked off my boots. I knew my skirts would pull me down as soon as they were drenched with water. This was no time for modesty. I pulled my dress up over my head, threw
it on the sands, and plunged into the sea in my drawers and chemise.
The boys were shrieking all around me but I was only intent on saving Ezra. I dived down under the waves, opening my eyes wide in the salty water, trying to spot him. I surfaced, gasping, and then plunged back again. I did not like the child at all, but he was my half-brother and I had to save him from drowning. Poor Father had already lost his own father and brothers to the sea. I had to save his only son from the same fate.
Then I blundered right into something small and pale. I clasped it tight and pushed up out of the water. It was Ezra, choking and spluttering, water streaming from his nose and mouth like a veritable fountain.
‘Oh thank God, Ezra!’ I said, hugging him.
‘Leave off! Don’t you dare hug me in front of the others!’ he spluttered, pushing and shoving me.
‘You cheeky little varmint! I’ve just saved you from drowning. You might at least say thank you!’ I said, and I ducked him back under the water.
Then he seized hold of me and tried to pull me under too, and soon we were bouncing around, play-fighting in the shallows. Some of his friends joined in, but I was used to rough-housing and could easily get the better of all these squirming little boys.
Now that I was soaking wet I decided I might as well enjoy a proper swim. I paddled along beside Ezra, keeping an eye on him, then glided up and down in the waves and practised the steady breast-stroke I’d learned during my summer at Bignor.
‘Hey, Hetty, you’re not a bad swimmer – for a girl,’ said Ezra, which I knew was praise indeed.
When I got out of the water I felt a little foolish in my underclothes. I had no towel to dry myself. I had to put my dress on straight away, of course, for decency’s sake. It was mighty cold and uncomfortable and I positively squelched as I walked, but I started up a running game on the sands with Ezra and some of the others, and I soon warmed up – in fact I started steaming. I combed my wet hair with my fingers and tied it in a topknot and stepped back into my boots and hoped no one would ever hear about my watery adventure – the boys and I still had the beach to ourselves.