‘Gideon! Oh, brother, it’s so good to see you!’ said Jem, giving him a huge bear hug. ‘Welcome home!’
Gideon stiffened when he said this, and then burst out crying. It seemed somehow to release his voice too. ‘Oh please . . . can I . . . really stay?’ he sobbed.
‘Of course you can, for as long as you want. For ever, if you like!’ said Jem.
Mother was making sad crooning noises, trying to hold out her arms.
‘There now,’ said Jem, patting Gideon on the back and then gently propelling him towards Mother, so that they could comfort each other.
I pulled Jem into the kitchen. ‘He hasn’t spoken a word up till now, though I’ve asked him all sorts,’ I whispered. ‘His face is so badly hurt. Janet thinks he’s still in shock, as well as wounded. She came by and was such a help.’
‘Dear Janet,’ said Jem. ‘And dear, dear Hetty too.’
‘He hasn’t answered a single one of my questions!’ I said.
‘He doesn’t need to, does he? Perhaps he truly can’t talk about it. We don’t want to upset him further, do we?’
‘I – I suppose not,’ I said, though I was burning with curiosity. I knew Jem was right though. For once it felt good for him to be putting me gently in my place and telling me what to do.
It wasn’t long before Gideon told us of his own accord. We had supper together, and then he spent ten minutes upstairs alone with Mother after I’d put her to bed. We wondered if he was going to bed himself. I’d put an extra pillow on Jem’s bed, as they would have to share again, just as they had done as children – but he came back down the stairs.
‘Mother’s asleep,’ he said.
‘You’ve made her so happy,’ said Jem.
‘I wanted to come when you wrote to me about Father dying,’ said Gideon. ‘But . . . I couldn’t.’
‘They wouldn’t give Nat leave either. The army won’t bend its rules,’ said Jem. ‘But I don’t suppose I need to tell you that, Gideon. Would you care for a glass of ale, lad? Or there’s a bottle of cowslip wine, though we won’t let Hetty get her hands on it or she’ll be drunk as a skunk in no time.’
‘I will not! Don’t tease, Jem,’ I said, though I knew he was only joshing me to make it easier for all of us.
We all had a small glass of wine sitting by the fire. Jem offered Gideon his pipe too, treating him like a man. Gideon was still very tense and hesitant in his speech, and he often held his hand protectively in front of his face.
The sips of wine loosened my tongue again. ‘Does it still hurt, Gideon?’ I asked.
He ducked his head. ‘Yes, it does,’ he mumbled.
‘How . . . how did it happen?’
‘Hetty,’ said Jem warningly. ‘I don’t think Gideon wants to talk about it.’
He sat between us, opening and closing his mouth, clearly not able to find the words.
‘You were in a battle?’ I asked again, though Jem nudged me.
‘No. No, I was still a cadet. We don’t go to war, we just . . . train,’ said Gideon. ‘Oh, I hated it so much there.’ A tear fell from his good eye.
‘Was it as bad as the Foundling Hospital?’ I asked softly.
‘It was much, much worse. Oh, Hetty, why didn’t I ever listen to you? I had my chances to escape. I could have run off with you that day in Hyde Park, when we were ten. I could have run away when you left the hospital to go into service. But I never had your spirit. I was too scared, and so I let them parcel me off to the barracks and . . . it was so dreadful.’
‘Did the sergeants treat you badly, Gideon?’ said Jem, taking his hand and squeezing it.
‘They weren’t the worst. It was the other boys. There’s something about me. I’m always the one that gets picked on. I’m so different. I knew nothing because of being in the hospital, so they teased and tormented me. I was their sport, night after night.’
‘You have to learn to fight back, Gideon,’ I said, my own fists clenched.
‘How can I, when it’s not in my nature?’ he said. ‘But I don’t have to fight any more. I have been discharged because of my . . . my injuries.’
‘Was it a gunshot wound? Oh, Gid, those boys didn’t shoot you, did they?’ I asked, starting to cry myself.
‘All the cadets were sent off with the proper soldiers one night. There was an emergency – there’d been a breakout at a prison. We were sent to round up the escaped convicts. We were told they were dangerous – robbers, murderers – and we had to protect the public. We were each given guns, though we’d barely handled them before. It was a terrible night, very stormy, and the men had got out on the commons, where it was so dark you couldn’t see anything, only hear the rustling of bushes in the wind. One of the escaped convicts crept up on a lad and tried to strangle him to get his gun – and after that we were told to fire on sight.
‘We were all spread out in the dark. I somehow lost the others, and I didn’t dare call out. I was stumbling around, half mad with fear, scarcely able to keep hold of my rifle because my hands were so slippery with sweat – and then I suddenly walked straight into someone. It was one of the convicts, right in front of me. He was just standing there, breathing hard. I knew what I had to do. Without really thinking, I just lifted my rifle and aimed and fired—’
Gideon broke down altogether, sobbing. ‘I hit him, I know I did, but he didn’t go down. He tried to run, though his legs were shackled. He hobbled, and he called out, “Don’t shoot again, sir, please don’t shoot.” Perhaps I would have let him go, but then the others came running at the sound of my shot and they all rounded on him, and fired. He didn’t have a chance. He wouldn’t die straight away though, no matter how they fired. He writhed and screamed.’ Gideon put his hands over his ears as if he could still hear the screaming now. The cottage was very still as we waited for him to continue.
‘And after that night . . .’ He couldn’t manage to go on.
‘Don’t, Gid. Please. It’s so awful for you,’ I said, wishing now I hadn’t asked him any questions at all.
Jem poured Gideon another drink and quietly passed him his handkerchief.
Gideon struggled to compose himself. ‘After that night I kept seeing the convict. No matter how I rubbed my eyes he was still there in front of me – even when my eyes were shut. He was there all the time, standing before me, breathing hard, while I stared down the barrel of my gun with my right eye. I shot him, over and over again, while he begged for his life. I thought I was going mad. No, I knew I was mad – or else I was the only sane one in the barracks. It was so bizarre. I’d suddenly turned into a queer sort of hero overnight, because I’d shot the convict first. I was congratulated, told I was starting to shape up, patted on the back. The other boys stopped tormenting me. But I was in a worse torment, seeing the convict there all the time, right before my eye. One day, out on a run on those commons, I couldn’t bear seeing him any more. I took my rifle and tried to put my eye out.’
‘Oh, Gideon,’ I said, standing up and throwing my arms around him. ‘Oh, Gideon!’
‘I thought I would die. To be truthful I hoped to die – but a few days after my accident the letter came from Jem to tell me that Father had died and Mother was taken ill. A nurse read it out to me. Somehow that gave me a little strength. I was anxious about Mother. I decided to try to live for her sake. I developed a very bad infection around the wound and was in a fever for weeks. My mind was still in a torment. I found it hard to speak. I couldn’t explain to anyone. There was talk of my being charged with attempted suicide, but the doctor argued that I was in a state of nervous prostration, prone to fits of lunacy – and who was I to argue with that?
‘So here I am, a free man, but I’m no use to anyone. I cannot think what job I can do now. They’ve warned me I might well lose the sight of my good eye too. But don’t worry, Jem, I’m not going to be a burden on you. If I can stay for a week or so and see Mother, then that is all I ask.’
‘You must stay for ever, Gideon. This is your home, and we
will make you as well and strong as possible, won’t we, Hetty?’ said Jem.
‘Of course we will,’ I said, embracing both my brothers.
17
IT WAS SO strange being a family of four. In many ways it was a lot easier for me, as Gideon did more than his fair share of the work. He had done his nine years at the hospital too. He knew how to make himself useful. He’d never done laundry work or cooking, but after watching me carefully for a couple of days, he started shyly offering to take a turn himself. He was a little clumsy at first, and grew very upset when he scorched the sheets with an over-heated flat iron, but he soon got the knack – and he quickly became a champion cook. He didn’t just stick to my basic soups and stews. He chatted to Mrs Maple and experimented with herbs and spices. Soon he was taking a turn in her kitchen and baking scones and barm cakes and fruity slices that rivalled her own.
She took Gideon to her heart and loved having him around. In fact, all the village women made a pet of him. Jem and I didn’t breathe a word about how he’d lost his eye. I don’t know whether the village folk thought him a hero or a coward. Perhaps they didn’t care. They simply saw that Gideon was a poor gentle chap who meant no harm and were kind to him.
The village children were a different matter. Some of the boys were cruel enough to jeer at him and call him the one-eyed monster-man. They didn’t do it twice. I rushed out and smacked them hard about the head to teach them a lesson. Gideon’s black patch and red scars frightened the little girls, making them shrink from him, covering their own faces. I think this upset him more than the boys’ jeering. But gradually they grew used to him, and when he shyly offered them little iced cakes as a peace offering, he grew to be a favourite friend.
He was Mother’s favourite too, of course. They were inseparable now. He tended her like the gentlest of nurses and knew how to coax her if she was in a contrary mood. Sometimes she wasn’t hungry and deliberately knocked her spoon to spill it. I’d struggle for half an hour to feed her, practically ramming the spoon into her mouth, but Gideon would cluck his tongue at her, jolly her into a good mood in two minutes, and have her scraping her bowl clean.
I was pleased for both of them but I couldn’t help feeling a little put out too. I’d wanted to be king pin in the house, and yet Gideon had bobbed up out of nowhere and taken my place.
‘How do you feel about Gideon living here, Hetty?’ Jem asked one evening when Gideon was upstairs settling Mother.
‘It’s good to see him gradually relaxing, and he’s lovely company for Mother,’ I said.
‘Yes he is. But what about for you?’ Jem asked. ‘You seem a little . . . dispirited, Hetty.’
‘I’m fine, Jem, really,’ I said, forcing a smile.
He reached out and took hold of my hand. ‘Come for a little walk with me, Hetty,’ he said. ‘Mother will be fine with Gideon. Let’s go to one of our old haunts. Shall we seek out the squirrel house?’
I hesitated. Jem was being so sweet and considerate. What was the matter with me? I’d always loved our squirrel tree. Why did I feel so reluctant to see it now? Jem looked so eager I didn’t want to hurt his feelings.
‘Yes, what a lovely idea,’ I said, and we slipped out of the cottage together.
It was twilight, the sun still faintly staining the sky, the trees turning into dark silhouettes. We walked demurely side by side down the village lane, but when we got to the woods Jem took hold of my hand.
‘In case we get lost,’ he said.
‘Silly! You must remember the way. You took little Eliza here enough times,’ I said tartly.
‘Don’t, Hetty. I feel bad now, when it was our special place. I should have let her play house in another tree.’
‘Yes, maybe you should,’ I said, because it still rankled – but when we found the squirrel tree it seemed ridiculous to be harbouring such a grudge.
I’d remembered it as such a special place. The tree had seemed hundreds of feet tall, a hard and hazardous climb until we reached the hollow hideaway. We’d furnished our house with chairs and beds and a fire with a cooking pot. They weren’t real of course – just rags and rubbish, sticks and mud pies – but we pictured them so vividly it seemed like we were really sitting and sleeping and eating in our house.
It was incredibly disappointing to see that the tree was really quite small and spindly. I climbed up to our little house in seconds. There were still a few sticks littering the floor, and a scrap of blanket, but that was all.
‘Oh dear,’ I said, feeling desperately disappointed.
‘We could make it grand for you again, Hetty,’ said Jem. ‘I could fashion you a real little chair and we could buy some proper cups and plates.’ He was trying so hard he made me want to cry.
‘It’s so kind of you, Jem, but it’s all right, really. It’s not the way I remembered it. It’s just a tree,’ I said.
‘Perhaps I could build you a proper treehouse in the summer,’ he offered. ‘Would you like our own private little hideaway, Hetty?’
‘Oh, Jem, we’re not children any more,’ I said gently.
‘I’d still like to hide away with you,’ he said, and he pulled me close.
I knew he was going to try to kiss me again. I wriggled away, climbed rapidly down the tree and started running through the woods.
‘Hetty? Hetty, wait for me! Don’t run off. It’s getting dark. You’ll get lost,’ Jem called anxiously.
I pretended not to hear. I urgently wanted to get away, though I wasn’t sure why. I wasn’t running from a frightening stranger, a cruel man, a hateful one. This was my dearest brother Jem, the man I loved most in the world. Somehow that made me run harder – and then I tripped over some brambles and fell.
‘Hetty! Hetty, it’s all right, I’m coming!’ Jem shouted. He was by my side in an instant, gently helping me up.
‘Oh no, I haven’t twisted my ankle again, have I?’ I wailed. ‘How could I have been so stupid?’
‘It’s all right. Lean on me. I’ll help you. I’ll carry you if you like,’ said Jem. ‘Yes, I’ll carry you!’
‘You can’t carry me all the way home,’ I said, putting my foot down gingerly. I took several little steps. ‘It’s all right, I think it’s fine. Yes, really, I can walk perfectly, thank you, Jem.’
My ankles were intact, but I could feel blood trickling down my shins and knew I’d gashed both knees. It didn’t show in the dark under my dress and I didn’t say a word about it. I felt I deserved some sort of punishment.
Jem held my arm tightly, doing his best to support me, murmuring encouragement. ‘There now, Hetty. Good girl. Nearly there,’ he kept saying, urging me on. I couldn’t help thinking it was exactly the tone he used to the animals on the farm.
‘I’m not a little horse, Jem!’ I declared.
‘No, of course not,’ he said. ‘And – and you’re not a grown woman either, even though you keep telling me you’re not a child any more. Don’t worry, darling Hetty. I will try to remember you’re only a girl and not . . . not frighten you. I will wait, my sweetheart.’
I thought of Jem waiting patiently year after year until he thought I was old enough. It made me long to run again, in spite of my sore knees.
I was filled with this new restlessness now, and it wouldn’t go away. I tried hard to tire myself out with housework, but no matter how much I swept and pummelled, I never settled happily in my chair at the end of the day. I slept fitfully, and in my dreams I started to run. I ran through woods, meadows, streams. I ran across moors and along cliffs and sandy beaches. I ran on hard pavements through dark crowded towns.
I grew thinner than ever, as if I really had been running miles every night. I had no trouble now lacing my corset. It was pointless wearing it, because it hung off me, and would not produce any kind of chest.
Mrs Maple grew concerned and baked me pies and cakes, and dosed me with herbal remedies, though nothing seemed to have any effect.
‘What’s the matter, Hetty?’ Janet asked quietly when we
were up in her bedroom one day. I was fashioning her a new summer dress, a white muslin to wear on May Day. I was supposed to be making one for myself too, but I could not get interested in the project.
‘Nothing’s the matter,’ I said quickly, turning her round and pinning the hem of her dress. ‘Nothing of any consequence.’
‘Aren’t you looking forward to May Day?’ she said.
All of us girls were going through the village in a great procession, and then we would dance on the green and have a picnic on the grass. One of us would be crowned the May Queen.
I shrugged. ‘Yes, I suppose so. I think you’ll be chosen as May Queen, Janet. You’re by far the prettiest girl in the village.’
‘Nonsense, nonsense!’ she said, blushing. ‘No, I think they’ll pick you, Hetty, because – because . . .’
That made me laugh. ‘Because I’m the ugliest, with my bright red hair and scrawny body.’
‘No, because you’re the youngest – and the lightest – and the brightest – and definitely the most loved.’
‘Oh, Janet, you’re always so incredibly kind to me. But not truthful! You love me, and I think your sweet mother does too, and my mother – but most of the villagers think me a very odd fish indeed.’
‘Jem loves you,’ Janet said.
We both went pink now.
‘Jem’s my foster brother, and very kind, so of course he loves me. And Gideon too. But they’re not . . . like sweethearts,’ I said hastily.
‘But they could be when you’re a little older,’ said Janet, a little shakily.
‘I don’t think so,’ I said as firmly as I could. ‘They could just as easily be your sweetheart, Janet.’
We both knew I wasn’t talking about Gideon.
Janet shook her head. ‘I know I’m right, Hetty,’ she said.
‘No, I know I’m right,’ I insisted.
‘Well, you’ll simply have to get up at dawn on May Day and bathe your face in fresh dew and then go and peer in the looking glass,’ said Janet, in a lighter tone.