Hettie of Hope Street (11 page)

‘No. I only received one note, and I…'

‘That is enough! I will not tolerate any more lies from you. Mr Buchanan could hardly bring himself to sully my ears by describing to me the nature of your indelicate behaviour. Furthermore, for the sake of other vulnerable gentlemen and in order to protect our own good name Mr Buchanan wishes me to terminate your employment as of now. Indeed, he has confided to me that you have actually had the temerity to flaunt yourself before him and to suggest that your wages should be increased in return for certain unmentionable familiarities.'

Hettie gasped. ‘No! That is not true.' She could feel her eyes filling with shocked, humiliated tears.

‘Silence! You will not speak until I give you permission to do so. Your behaviour is an affront to all decent people. Were I to follow the inclinations of my own feelings you would, as Mr Buchanan has requested, be dismissed forthwith, and a letter sent to your family revealing exactly why your presence can no longer be tolerated in a respectable household.'

Hettie couldn't believe what was happening to
her. How could she ever convince her Mam and Da it was a pack of lies?

‘However,' Mrs Buchanan continued grimly, ‘as I have explained to my dear husband, we have a responsibility to the Adelphi hotel which means that until we can find someone to replace you we shall have to endure your unwholesome presence. As a punishment for your appalling behaviour, you will not receive any money from now on.'

‘I have done nothing wrong,' Hettie blurted out passionately. ‘It is Mr Buchanan who has lied. He is the one who…Oh!'

Hettie cried out in pain and lifted her hand to nurse her smarting cheek after Mrs Buchanan slapped her face with such force that Hettie staggered a little.

‘Do you dare to impugn the reputation of my husband, you little harlot! Who would believe you? No one! Mr Buchanan is a respectable married man, an
Englishman
,' she emphasised, ‘whilst you are nothing but the filthy product of fornication, the issue of a suicide, and a foreign whore, from what I've heard. Mrs Fazackerly, as is a personal friend of mine from when we was at school together, told me all about you.'

‘Mrs Fazackerly?' Hettie protested. ‘But I don't know any Mrs Fazackerly.'

‘No, because she's far too respectable to have anything to do with the likes of you. Her husband was cousin to your father, he who brought disgrace on his family by what he did. By rights
you should be living in a whorehouse by the docks like the rest of your kind,' she added malevolently.

Hettie cowered away from the flood of verbal venom being directed at her. Thanks to Ellie's protection and the sheltered life she had led, Hettie had never previously been exposed to hostility because of her parentage, or been told that she should be ashamed because of it.

Now suddenly she was filled with bewilderment and shocked confusion, with a small cold kernel of unwanted knowledge. She was different. She had always known that. She had, of course, heard her mother explaining her circumstances to Mrs Buchanan during her initial interview in answer to the music teacher's request to know more about Hettie's background. But she also knew that all Ellie had said was that she was her step-daughter, and the child of her first husband.

Did other people secretly think the same as Mrs Buchanan? Was she an outcast, a misfit? Doubts and uncertainties swarmed over her, and misery gripped her stomach.

‘You will never, never repeat the vile insinuations you have just attempted to make,' Mrs Buchanan told her coldly. ‘Otherwise it will be the worse for you!'

Hettie stared back at her numbly. She knew the story of how her Japanese mother had come to England with her looking for the man she loved, and how out of unhappiness and despair her father had taken his own life before they got there. But
when Ellie had related this story to her she had done so with kindness and respect for Hettie's mother, and had said that Hettie should always remember that her parents had loved one another and that she, Hettie, was the child of that love. But the circumstances surrounding her birth lay in the past now, Ellie had said firmly, and it was best that they were left there and not spoken of in public.

‘'Ere, 'Ettie, you've been ever so quiet these last few days, not sickening for something, are you?' Babs asked her.

Hettie shook her head. She had not told the other girls the full story of what Mrs Buchanan had said to her, only that Mr Buchanan was blaming her for what had happened and that Mrs Buchanan was refusing to hand over to her any of her wages.

‘It's a pound to a penny she knows what he's up to right enough, otherwise she'd have had you turfed straight out onto the street,' had been Babs's opinion, and the other girls had agreed.

Hettie had followed their advice and a piece of wood had duly been provided in order that the door to the practice room could be wedged open. Hettie had not spoken one single word to Mr Buchanan since his wife's visit to deliver her ultimatum, simply practising her songs and then singing them for her audience, steadfastly ignoring the pianist.

But worst of all, somehow she could not bring herself to write home about what had happened. Suddenly it was as though there was a barrier between her and the family she had innocently always thought of as her own, but which she had now been forced to acknowledge was not.

‘They're going to be auditioning for that new musical tomorrow, why don't you come along and try for it, Hettie?' Babs encouraged.

She was tempted; after all, nothing could be worse than her present situation.

‘I'm too short for the chorus,' she reminded Babs uncertainly.

‘There's other parts, and you've got a lovely singing voice. Me and the twins are going to get our hair cut in that new bob this afternoon, why don't you come along with us and do the same? It would fair suit you, and you'd look a lot more modern.'

Cut her hair? Hettie's eyes grew round.

‘You'd be bound to get a part then. Bobbed hair's all the rage. Come on, give it a go,' Babs coaxed.

Hettie hesitated, but the other girls were urging her on, saying how much short hair would suit her, and somehow she heard herself saying breathlessly, ‘Very well then, I shall!'

‘Madame Francaise, that's that hairdresser on Lord Street, will do our hair cheap for us, Hettie, if we let her girls use us as models,' Babs explained an
hour later as the four of them hurried across Lime Street. Then they cut down Roe Street, heading for Holy Corner, as the junction between Lord Street, Church Street, Whitechapel, and Paradise Street was known locally, the twins in front and Babs linking arms with Hettie behind them.

As the twins turned a sharp corner the wind blasted their thin summer frocks, lifting their skirts and causing both girls to shriek in mock dismay whilst passers-by turned to watch.

‘'Ee, let's give 'em something to look at, shall we?' Jenny urged, but when she and Jess started to fool around, aiming a few high kicks from their chorus routine, Babs hissed at them fiercely.

‘That's enough, you two! Me and Hettie don't want to be made a show of, thank you very much.'

‘Spoilsport.' Jess laughed as they were about to turn into Lord Street, breaking off to call out, ‘Ooh, look, Bunney's!'

Immediately the twins rushed over to the famous shop.

‘Look at them,' Babs sighed. ‘They look more like kids than anything else with their noses pressed up against the window like that.'

Bunney's was famous throughout Liverpool for its exotic and oriental goods which it imported from all over the world.

A one-legged sailor was standing outside the store, a parrot on his shoulder. The bird was shrieking and whistling, in between calling out
insults, much to the delight of the children who paused to stare at it. Further along the road was an organ grinder, his little monkey chattering and waiting, cap in hand.

Normally Hettie would have been only too happy to have pressed her own nose up against the window, but now suddenly she was acutely conscious of her own ‘oriental' blood and she drew back into the shadows. Ever since she could remember, Ellie had told her she was pretty, but now she could see that her prettiness was not the same kind as that of other true English girls. She was smaller, her face was rounded, her hair darker and her eyes, despite their roundness, were still somehow slightly almond shaped.

‘Come on, you two,' Babs called out. ‘If we don't get there soon there'll be a queue and we won't get in.'

Madame Francaise's establishment was halfway down Lord Street, elegant gilt lettering in its window proclaiming the excellence of permanent waving and the very latest French hairstyles.

Inside, half a dozen girls wearing pink aprons were busy washing and snipping hair.

Hettie examined her surroundings uncertainly. Ellie and Connie both had long hair, which they wore up, and she did not know of anyone other than her mother's friend Iris who had had their hair bobbed.

A very tall, very thin woman with a long pointed nose and thin carmined lips was bearing down on
them, her own short hair immaculately sculpted in waves to frame her face.

‘Yes?' she demanded sharply.

‘We've come about the advertisement in the paper,' Babs answered her. ‘The one that said you could have your hair re-styled for half price.'

Madame Francaise gave Babs a cold look. ‘You cannot have read the advertisement properly for if you had done so you would know that it said that those who wished to take advantage of my generous offer should present themselves for my inspection after hours.'

Babs flushed and looked uncomfortable. ‘Oh. I'm sorry,' she began, turning towards the door, the others all following her.

‘No, wait,' Madame Francaise commanded catching up with them and, to Hettie's discomposure, putting a hand on her shoulder. ‘I will do
your
hair.'

‘Hettie isn't staying without us,' Jenny announced quickly. ‘Are you, Hettie?'

Hettie shook her head. The truth was she did not want to stay without them.

The thin carmined lips became even thinner. ‘Very well then. All of you, wait here. Marie will take you upstairs and get you ready.'

As she swept away to summon one of the pink-uniformed young women Jenny dug Hettie in the ribs and grinned.

Ten minutes later they were all seated together upstairs in a drafty room nowhere near as elegant
or glamorous as the downstairs salon, whilst Marie and two other girls began to take the grips out of their hair.

‘Quick,' Marie urged. ‘Madame will be up here in a minute and she won't half go mad if we're wasting time.'

Once the grips were moved and the girls' hair was loose, Marie, Josephine and Pauline, as the other girls had introduced themselves, began to tug it this way and that, causing Hettie to wince when her turn came.

There was a sudden increase in tugging activity from all three girls when Madame's head appeared at the top of the stairs, followed by her rail-thin body.

‘You, come and sit down here,' she commanded Hettie. ‘And you three as well,' she added. ‘Pauline, Marie and Josephine, you will watch and then follow what I have done exactly.'

A little nervously Hettie sat down on the chair Madame pushed in front of her.

‘You will remain perfectly still,' she warned Hettie before beginning to snip busily at her long hair.

Hardly daring to breathe never mind move Hettie watched out of the corner of her eye as long strands of her hair fell to the floor, but it was not until she felt the coolness of air on the back of her neck that she began to wonder what on earth she had done.

‘Now, you three, do exactly the same,' Madame
instructed, leaving Hettie to watch as the apprentices busied themselves copying their mistress.

‘Oh my gawd,' Jenny cried at one point when the floor all around them was covered in hair.

‘What 'ave you made us do, Babs?' She started to sob noisily, quickly joined by her twin.

‘Go downstairs and get a jug of water, Josephine,' Madame ordered coldly. ‘It is an excellent cure for hysteria.'

As though by magic both girls stopped crying, sitting nervously clenching the arms of their chairs whilst Madame slowly and silently inspected the work of her young trainees.

‘Josephine, you have missed a bit there,' she pointed out, adding, ‘And how many times must I tell you how important it is to keep your scissors sharp. This poor girl's hair looks as though it has been hacked with a blunt knife and fork.'

Babs, the ‘poor girl', looked aghast but Madame ignored her, returning to Hettie and proceeding to push Hettie's head forward so that her chin was resting on her chest.

‘Now for the second stage when we shape the hair into the new style,' she intoned. ‘Watch me very carefully.'

Obediently the three girls clustered around Hettie, watching as Madame began to snip painstakingly into her hair.

If she carried on like this she was not going to have any hair left, Hettie decided, tensely listening
to the busy snip of the scissors and the heavy breathing of the apprentices.

‘In order for the hair to fall right it is most important that the back is cut like so. Now, let us see how well you have observed me and remembered.'

Hettie lifted her head cautiously and watched as the girls went to work on the backs of her friends' heads, snipping off the smallest amount of hair so that incredibly the ugly pudding bowl shape started to disappear and instead an elegant new style began to take its place.

Again Madame inspected what had been done and again she returned to Hettie, this time cutting and shaping the front and sides of her hair. When she had finished, she produced a comb from the pocket of her close-fitting cover-all and flicked it through Hettie's hair, finally stepping back and announcing almost theatrically, ‘Voila, le style Francaise.'

‘Oh Hettie…' Babs's voice trembled with emotion. ‘Oh, but you look lovely.'

‘Gawd, 'Ettie, I'd never 'ave known you if I didn't know it was you,' Jenny breathed in awe whilst her twin nodded her head in agreement.

Pauline brought over a mirror so that Hettie could see herself. A small, delicately shaped face stared back at her surrounded by a cap of silky feathered hair that clung to her cheeks and somehow made her eyes look huge.

‘Oh my, Hettie. Yer look like a real flapper now,' Jess sighed approvingly.

‘You three continue,' Madame instructed, heading for the stairs.

Unable to take in the difference her new hairstyle had made to the way she looked, Hettie sat in silence watching the apprentices work the same magic on her friends, until Madame reappeared to announce, ‘You, Hettie, is it? In a few minutes a photographer will be here to take your picture, so that I can show my clients the elegance of my new hair style.'

Of course, the new hairstyles had to be shown off, first to the others and then, at Jenny's insistence, to the world at large via a visit to the Vines public house which was situated next door to the Adelphi on the corner of Lime Street and Copperas Hill.

Hettie was reluctant to go, but Babs soothed her fears, explaining that the Vines was a very respectable establishment and regularly frequented by theatre folk.

It was certainly noisy, Hettie decided as she followed the others inside the riotously Baroque building.

‘'Ere, look who it isn't,' Jenny whispered, nudging Babs. ‘His nibs and our leading lady all cosyed up together, talking sweet nothings.'

‘Oh quick, Jenny, don't let them see us,' Jess begged anxiously, hurrying to skirt past the semi-private booth where the leading lady was sitting with the Royal Court's manager.

‘I thought Mr Johnson was married?' Hettie whispered.

‘He is, but she likes 'em like that. It gives 'er a kick to take someone else's man, doesn't it, Babs?'

When a waiter appeared to take their order, Jenny made a point of preening and stroking her newly shorn hair as she ordered her porter. ‘What's the betting we
all
get taken on for the new production now,' she gloated.

‘Bang up to the minute we are, and no mistake.'

‘How is Ellie?' John asked Gideon anxiously after he had been admitted to the Winckley Square house and shown into Gideon's study.

‘Very weak,' Gideon told him heavily. ‘I would have preferred to stay up in the Lakes until she was stronger before travelling home, but she was insistent that she wanted to be here and getting herself in such an overwrought state that Iris feared she might suffer a relapse. Thank God Iris was able to come up to look after Ellie. Without her I dread to think about what could have happened.'

John could see how worn down his brother-in-law looked, and no wonder.

‘Iris has given her a draught to keep her calm whilst she recovers her strength. At first she refused to accept that…that there was no longer a child, and then when she did she blamed herself for not consulting Iris earlier. Ellie wanted this child so much and now it is not to be she has sunk into a
melancholy from which nothing seems to rouse her,' Gideon continued.

‘What is to be done, then?' John asked him anxiously.

Gideon shook his head. ‘Iris says we must let nature take its course and allow Ellie to grieve. Oh God, John, when I thought that I might lose her…She is everything to me, my whole life. Without her…And yet she refuses even to look at me and turns her head away when I enter her room.'

His grief seemed to fill the room with a leaden burden of dark despair.

‘Perhaps if I were to speak to her,' John suggested awkwardly.

Immediately Gideon shook his head. ‘No. Iris has advised me that for now it is best if Ellie does not see anyone. She says the balance of her mind is so affected by the loss of this child that anything, even the sight of a familiar face, could be enough to upset her.'

John didn't know what to say or do to comfort Gideon. ‘I have to go to Oxford to take up my new post at the end of the month, but if you would like me to delay leaving?'

‘No, John. It is kind of you to offer, but there is no point. Iris is insistent that the best thing we can do for Ellie right now is to allow her to recover at her own pace. She has said that she will remain here until Ellie is well enough to be left and I know that Ellie could not be in any safer hands. You
must not delay starting your new life on our account. Will you see Connie before you leave?'