It turned out to be fish soup. The meals here seemed to consist of little else. It made my stomach turn over, seeing all the bits of head and tail simmering in the pan. It was like boiling up a bowl of goldfish.
When it was piping hot, Father poured out three bowls. He and Ezra started eating with gusto, Father with a spoon, Ezra picking his bowl up in two hands and slurping eagerly. I sipped a few mouthfuls of liquid cautiously, and nibbled at the odd chunk of carrot and potato.
‘Eat up, Hetty! You need to get some meat on your bones – though Evie was always so little and light. I could pick her up one-handed, she was that dainty.’
I wondered if he were comparing my lovely little mama with his great surly lump Katherine. He certainly shook his head sadly.
‘Did Evie speak of me much, Hetty?’ he asked when he’d wiped round his soup bowl with a piece of bread.
‘Not really – because I think it upset her.’
Father looked even sadder.
‘I think it was because she’d clearly cared for you so much,’ I said.
‘But she told you of our courtship? We were such sweethearts all one spring,’ said Father.
‘You and Mam, Pa?’ said Ezra, wiping his soupy mouth with his sleeve.
If any of us foundlings had done that we would have been smacked about the head, but polite manners didn’t seem to be a priority in Monksby.
‘Not your mam and me, son. That was later,’ Father said awkwardly. ‘I was meaning Hetty’s mam and me when we were younger.’
Ezra screwed up his face and shook his head, not wanting to hear any more.
‘So Evie never told you her true name?’
‘She had to be so careful. When she applied for the position at the Foundling Hospital she would have had to choose a false name, Father, don’t you see? If they’d checked the records and found she’d given up her own baby to them they’d never have allowed her to work there,’ I said.
‘Did she talk of her own kin folk here?’
‘No, never. She just said she had to leave home,’ I said.
I was starting to panic a little. Had Katherine made him start to doubt me? I also started to think properly.
‘So – do I still have kinfolk here?’ I said.
‘Evie’s mother died years ago – but her father’s still alive.’
‘My grandfather . . .’ I said slowly. It was so strange realizing I had a proper family like normal folk.
‘Do you have a father too, Father?’
‘I lost mine long ago – he drowned. And two brothers along with him.’
‘Oh, how terrible. They were fishing?’
‘Out one night when a squall blew up,’ Father said sadly.
‘And couldn’t they swim?’
Ezra spat out his crust of bread in contempt.
‘Swimming’s not much help when you’re miles offshore in a squall, Hetty,’ said Father. ‘Mother died six months later, with a bad chest. It was as if her heart was broken.’
‘I’m so sorry, Father,’ I said, blinking to have discovered four new relations and lost them in the space of thirty seconds. I paused. ‘So my other grandfather – Evie’s father – does he live near here?’
Father set down his bowl and spoon and set about making a pot of tea. ‘He lives nearby,’ he said shortly, his back to me. ‘But I never see him.’
‘You don’t like him?’
‘No. And he doesn’t care for me either,’ said Father.
‘Then I won’t bother trying to meet him,’ I said quickly. ‘I’m sure I would have detested him anyway because he sent Mama away.’
Father turned and nodded at me, as if to say, That’s my girl. ‘Eat some more soup – you’ve hardly touched it,’ he said.
‘Oh, it was delicious,’ I lied. ‘But I’m full right up now.’
Father shook his head and offered it to Ezra. The little boy stared at me as if I were mad and wolfed it down eagerly, smacking his lips. Father carried on with his tea-making but he seemed unused to the occupation. He spooned far too many times from the tea caddy to the pot.
‘Shall I make the tea, Father? I think you’ll find that will be a little too strong,’ I said.
‘We like our tea strong, dear,’ he said.
He wasn’t exaggerating. He had enough tea in the pot for ten men. I searched for crockery, looking for cups and saucers, but I could only find crude beakers. I found a jug of milk in the pantry and a bag of sugar, but no bowl, and no tea strainer either. Mrs Briskett had taught me how to set a tea tray but I was hampered by the lack of equipment here.
‘Let me pour, Father,’ I said, wanting to show him that I knew all the little niceties like holding the pot aloft and adding the milk last. I hoped to impress him, sticking my little finger out the way Mrs Briskett had done, but Ezra sniggered and Father shook his head.
‘My, you’ve funny southern ways, lass. We just brew and pour and drink up here.’
The tea was as thick and black as treacle but Father drank it down thirstily, just as it was. Ezra had a little milk in his and drank it down likewise. I tried with my mugful, but the reek of tea made my head reel, and the few sips made me shudder.
‘There’s nothing like a warming cup of tea at the end of a long hard night at sea,’ said Father. ‘I usually smoke my pipe for a few minutes now, Hetty. Will it offend you?’
‘No, please go ahead, Father,’ I said.
He sat in the big chair in the living room, filling his pipe and then sucking it contemplatively. Ezra crawled onto his lap and laid his head on his chest, looking up at him possessively. I wondered what it would be like to clamber on Father like that with such casual adoration. Each time he took a puff of his pipe Ezra put a finger in his mouth and made little tutting noises as if he were smoking too.
Father ruffled his hair and smiled at me. ‘You must tell me more about yourself, Hetty. Tell me where you’ve been since you left that wretched hospital.’
‘Certainly, Father,’ I said, and I embarked on the long tale of my travails. I decided to give him a highly edited version of my time displaying myself as Emerald the Amazing Pocket-Sized Mermaid. I was sure Father would disapprove. But I needn’t have worried. I’d only said a few sentences when his head started to nod. His pipe went out but he still clenched it between his teeth as he slept. After a minute or so he started snoring.
I tried not to feel offended. He’d been out fishing all night long, poor man, and then he’d had a terrible shock. No wonder he was exhausted. Of course I didn’t mind him sleeping – though I felt he might have made a little more effort to listen to his long-lost daughter.
Ezra stirred on his lap, gently rising up and down as Father’s breathing grew deeper. I stretched my mouth in a sisterly smile. Ezra stuck his tongue out at me and waggled it violently. I forgot my manners and reciprocated, also crossing my eyes and waggling my hands from my ears. Ezra seemed startled, and slid off Father’s lap. He dodged into the kitchen, took another hunk off the loaf of bread and then was off out of the door, chewing his crust.
I wondered if I should go after him, but decided he was probably old enough to look after himself. I sat on, staring at Father, scanning his visage for similarities. I ran my fingers over my own small snub and stared at Father’s big straight nose. I fingered my little pointed chin and looked at Father’s blunt jaw. I put my hands to my small ears and peered at Father’s great lugs. I circled my slender neck and gazed at Father’s short, strong neck as it disappeared into his navy knitted gansey. I saw his burly shoulders, his broad chest, his strong legs, his big wide feet bursting out of their old boots. I wondered if he really was my father. I fixed on his red hair, stroking my own as I stared at it. But mine was fine and flyaway, while Father’s was coarse and curled about his head.
‘Oh, Mama, if only you were here to tell me true,’ I whispered.
Was Mama really Evie Edenshaw, the girl that Father still cared for, the girl that Katherine still hated? How would I ever find out? I’d been th
ere when she wrote her name in the mothers’ book at the Foundling Hospital, but I’d been a newborn babe. If only I could see that book now and read the entry for myself. I couldn’t go back there, not now I’d been dismissed in disgrace from Mr Buchanan’s. Miss Smith had tried so hard to secure me a good position . . .
Miss Smith! She was a governor at the hospital. She would have access to the mothers’ book. Would she look for me? She would be feeling very disappointed in me but she had frequently stuck up for me in the past. She had even collaborated with me in a tissue of outrageous lies to explain why I’d disappeared on the day of the Queen’s Golden Jubilee.
She knew how much I loved Mama. She would be so sorry that she’d passed away. Perhaps, oh perhaps she would understand my need to find my father. She would see why I needed to prove that this tall red-headed fisherman was my own true parent.
I resolved to write to Miss Smith immediately. I quietly and systematically searched the kitchen drawers and the plain sideboard, but found no paper, no envelopes, no pens. But I had my own writing implements in the case I’d left in Lizzie’s care at the Fisherman’s Inn. I would go there immediately and retrieve them.
Father still slumbered deeply. I stood before him, hovering awkwardly. He was in such a sound sleep it seemed likely I could run over to the inn and back without him waking. But if he did wake up and find me gone, maybe he’d think I’d run for it, frightened away by Katherine. No, hopefully he would know I was made of sterner stuff. I wasn’t going to let a jealous, mean-spirited battleaxe frighten me away. I’d been dealing with cruel, hateful matrons most of my life. I didn’t care a fig if Katherine didn’t want me. Father did – and that was all that mattered.
With sudden confidence I shook his arm, and said ‘Father . . .’ aloud. He stirred, his eyes opened, he looked at me – and then he smiled, his whole face lighting up.
‘Hetty,’ he said. ‘You’re not a dream.’
‘No, I’m absolutely real, and you may pinch me if you like to make certain sure,’ I said, offering him my arm.
‘I wouldn’t pinch that skinny little arm for the world,’ he said, giving it a pat instead.
‘Father, I left my things at the Fisherman’s Inn. Would you like me to stay lodging there, or – or shall I bring them here?’
‘You must bring them here, Hetty, of course. This is your home,’ he said. ‘You mustn’t mind Katherine.’
‘I don’t mind Katherine – but she certainly minds me!’ I said.
‘She’ll come round. It’s simply such a shock to her. She’s a good woman, Hetty, a kind mother to my two – but she’s always been a little difficult if she catches me chatting to any of the village girls.’
‘I’m not surprised!’ I said.
‘Not that I’d ever stray, Hetty. I’m a family man.’ He caught hold of my hand. ‘And you’re part of my family now.’
I felt tears stinging my eyes. I squeezed his hand back and gave an immense sniff to stop myself blubbing.
‘Then I will go and fetch my things, Father. You go back to sleep – I’m sure you need your rest. Let me make you a little more comfortable.’ I knelt down, eased the laces on his old boots, and drew them off his feet. His socks were old and running to holes. There was a darn underneath, but it was inexpertly fashioned and must be harsh on his skin.
‘I will darn your socks for you, Father,’ I said. I’d suffered nine years of constant darning at the hospital so I was now an expert.
Father murmured sleepily and waggled his toes in a comical fashion. I gently took the pipe from his mouth and laid it on the mantelpiece, then crept upstairs and fetched the worn coverlet from his bed. I wrapped this round him, and as he seemed to be slumbering again, I bent forward so that my face was almost touching his. I did not dare to kiss his cheek. He was, after all, still quite a stranger. I simply pursed my lips and blew him a tiny silent kiss.
5
I FOUND MY way back to the Fisherman’s Inn with no trouble at all. Monksby was such a small village – just three winding streets and the sea front. I avoided this, not wanting to encounter the rest of my new family.
The inn was open for business now. Tobias was behind the bar, chatting to a bunch of grizzled old men. I wasn’t sure whether they were the same old men or a different set. They were all similarly wrinkled and weathered, with shaggy beards and whiskers. One small, sour-looking fellow sniffed at me contemptuously. I was pretty sure he was the one who’d commented so unkindly on my hair.
I sniffed back at him and asked Tobias if Lizzie was around. He couldn’t be bothered to reply properly. He just jerked his head to indicate that she was in the back kitchen. I slipped behind the bar and through the door. There indeed was Lizzie, standing at the stone sink with her sleeves rolled up, washing out the beer tankards.
‘Hello, little Emerald Star!’ she said. ‘My, our fresh Monksby air seems to suit you. You’ve got some colour in your cheeks now.’
‘I think it’s because I’m happy,’ I said shyly. ‘Oh, Lizzie, I have found my father!’
She stared at me. ‘Who is he, dearie?’
There was no reason to keep it a secret now. ‘It’s Bobbie Waters,’ I said.
‘Never!’ said Lizzie. ‘My goodness me! Well, of course, you have his colouring. And – and have you spoken to him?’
‘Yes, yes. He’s welcomed me into his home,’ I said proudly.
‘Oh my! Does his missus know?’
I pulled a face. ‘She doesn’t seem to like me.’
‘Well, she wouldn’t, dear, would she? Katherine’s a sterling sort in many ways – we were lassies together – but she keeps a tight watch on her Bobbie.’
‘Were you perhaps . . . lassies . . . with my mother? I’ve found out her real name. Evie Edenshaw.’
‘Little Evie! Oh my Lord, so you’re her daughter! Well, I always knew she was sweet on Bobbie, but we all were, come to that. My, I can’t get over it – he’s your pa! So that was why poor Evie left home. They said she’d gone away down south to be in service. I must admit I couldn’t see it at the time. Evie was a fiery little girl, with her own way of doing things. I couldn’t see her curtsying to a mistress and going Yes, missus, no missus all day long.’
I thought of Mama’s years submitting to the strict regime of the Foundling Hospital. How she must have loved me to have stuck it for so long. Well, I could stick at things too. I wasn’t fool enough to think that living with Bobbie Waters would be plain sailing. Katherine seemed fair set to make my life a misery, but perhaps I would find some way of winning her round. I hoped to make some headway with Mina and Ezra at least. It would all be worth it to be part of Father’s family – wouldn’t it?
If only he’d chosen Lizzie for a wife. She might seem big and tough, but she was as sweet as spun sugar.
‘I know one thing about Evie. She might have struggled to be a good servant but she always had the makings to be a marvellous mother. She must have loved you dearly,’ she said.
‘Oh, she did, she did – and I miss her so,’ I said croakily, knuckling my eyes. ‘Folk say I’ll get over her loss in time but it doesn’t feel that way.’
‘I don’t think you’ll ever get over it, Emerald. But you’ll learn to live with it. You’re clearly a girl with spirit, just like your mother.’
‘You think I’m like Mama?’ I asked eagerly.
‘Now I look at you I can’t see how I didn’t guess before. You’ve surely got your father’s bright hair, but your face and build are pure Evie. It’s just like she’s standing in front of me,’ said Lizzie.
‘Oh, you’re such a dear friend already!’ I said, and I couldn’t stop myself giving her a big hug.
She didn’t push me away, she didn’t step back, she didn’t shift in embarrassment. She not only hugged me right back, strong and hard – she actually whirled me round and round as if I were a baby.
‘Look at you, light as a feather!’ she said.
‘That’s my foundling name, Hetty Feather. That’s
what Father wants to call me. He thinks Emerald too fancy for these parts,’ I said.
‘Maybe it is – but maybe there’s a fancy girl hiding under that demure print frock,’ said Lizzie.
’Oh, I must give you back your shawl!’
‘You keep it for a while. I’ll show you how to knit one for yourself if you like,’ said Lizzie.
‘Would you really?’
‘That’ll impress Katherine. She can gut a crate of fish quick as a wink, but her hands are very clumsy when it comes to knitting. It’s a wonder that man of hers doesn’t catch a chill out at sea at night, there are so many dropped stitches in his gansey – and young Ezra used to look right comical in his baby woollens. She couldn’t even knit the sleeves the same length, so he looked lopsided, poor little lamb.’
I felt a spiteful thrill that my very new stepmother was so cack-handed. ‘She’s certainly no great shakes at darning either. My father’s toes are hanging out of his socks,’ I said. ‘But don’t worry, I’ll take them in hand. I’m an excellent darner.’
We looked at each other and grinned.
‘I’m not sure you’ll win her over that way,’ said Lizzie. ‘But don’t feel too down if she’s hard on you. Remember you’ve got a friend here, girl.’
‘The best friend in Monksby,’ I replied. ‘And I’m right glad I’ve met you, Lizzie.’
‘Hark at you! You’re talking like a native already!’ she said.
‘Lizzie, what are you doing with those mugs? They’re needed right this minute. Do you want the men to sup their ale from the chamber pots?’ Tobias shouted from the bar.
‘Half of them wouldn’t notice the difference!’ Lizzie whispered to me, and we both laughed.
She showed me where she’d stowed my suitcase, marvelling that I possessed such a fine leather object instead of an old tin box. I told her that it had once belonged to Sarah’s mother. I felt a pang then, thinking of her and Mrs Briskett. I had hated my lowly position at Mr Buchanan’s and I had hated him with a vengeance too, but both women had been very kind and motherly to me – though of course no one could take the place of my own dearest mama.