Poor Little Rich Girl (10 page)

She had hoped to see Lonnie, but here she was disappointed, for the overhanging trees hid the child’s small garden plot completely from her view. However, she left the window, threw a light cardigan over the shoulders of her cream cotton blouse, and descended the stairs. She did not much fancy helping Lonnie with her digging, but she intended to praise the child for her endeavours, for she knew, probably better than anyone else in the house, how hard it must be for Lonnie to come to terms with doing things for herself. Even in the short time she had worked for Mr Hetherington-Smith in Delhi, she had realised that she had been very lucky. Her own parents, though they had had a great many servants when they were in the city, or in their bungalow in the hills, had made sure that their little girl knew how to wash and dress herself, how to cope with ordinary life. When she and her father set off on a tour, what was more, she had had to be self-reliant.
She had done some rudimentary camp cooking, had helped her father’s servant to carry clothing down to the nearest stream for laundering, and had waded into the water, thigh deep, to rinse shirts and shorts in the faster current in mid-stream.

Gardening, however, was a closed book to her, but one she was pleased to see young Lonnie eager to tackle. So she set off down the stairs and across the hall full of good intentions. No matter what sort of mess Lonnie was making of her plot she, Hester, would praise her for her efforts.

On her way out, she met Miss Hutchinson coming in. They exchanged a few words and then Miss Hutchinson had to hurry away, since she was dining, as usual, with her employer at seven o’clock and dreaded keeping that difficult lady waiting. ‘Where are you off to, Miss Elliott?’ she said archly, as they parted. ‘Not meeting a young gentleman friend, I trust? Miss Hetherington-Smith would not approve of that, I can assure you!’

‘No, I’m not meeting anyone. I’m going to bring Lonnie in, if she’s had enough digging for one day,’ Hester said, trying to hide the annoyance she felt. As if she could possibly have met a ‘young gentleman friend’ whilst under the Hetherington-Smith roof! Why, she was always with the child; when she had once suggested that one of the maids might keep an eye on Lonnie whilst she went to a concert at the Philharmonic Hall, she had been sharply taken to task.

‘Mr Hetherington-Smith assured me that you would be in charge at all times,’ Miss Hetherington-Smith had said smoothly. Hester believed the older woman was lying, had never had any such assurance from her brother, but she realised that this was not the
moment to say so. ‘In time, Miss Elliott, I may make arrangements so that you can have a few hours off, but not whilst Leonora is so dependent upon you. Now please don’t mention the matter again. As for sparing a maid to do your job, certainly not!’

‘Digging?’ Miss Hutchinson said now, raising sparse eyebrows. They were as grey as her skin and almost invisible, Hester saw. ‘Why on earth should the child be digging?’ She giggled. ‘Not trying to escape by tunnelling her way out of the garden, surely?’

Hester sighed; it would have been nice to tell Miss Hutchinson that sarcasm was said to be the lowest form of wit, but she refrained. She guessed that because of her position in the household and the treatment meted out to her by her employer, Miss Hutchinson was simply having a go at the one person in the house who could not revenge herself upon her. ‘No, Miss Hutchinson, she’s been given a piece of garden of her own to cultivate,’ she said patiently. ‘It was very kind of Mr Mimms and means a good deal to the child. She’s not very comfortably situated, so far from home and with only myself for company, for I dare say we both know that her aunt has no time for children, and no interest in her niece.’

Miss Hutchinson sniffed, but looked a little conscious. Possibly she was comparing her own lot with that of Lonnie, and realising that they were both to be pitied in their different ways. ‘It’s nice for the child to have an interest,’ she admitted over her shoulder as she went into the house. ‘Not that I saw her when I was selecting a few blooms for the drawing room … but I expect Mimms has given her somewhere out of the way, in case she grows tired of her new pastime. Good evening to you, Miss Elliott.’

‘Good evening,’ Hester said levelly, and continued into the garden.

The first thing she noticed, once she had crossed the lawn and wended her way between the rows of vegetables in the kitchen garden, was the open back door in the wall.

For a moment Hester thought that Mimms had just gone out and was about to close the door behind him, but then she looked towards the plot that Lonnie had been given, saw the cast down fork, the general air of abandonment, and cold fear clutched at her heart. She did not yet love Lonnie the way she ought but she was growing fonder of the child with every day that passed, and was horrified at what might befall one small girl, alone in the city of Liverpool … and there was the kitten! Oh, mercy, Hester thought, breaking into a run, what on earth could have happened?

She reached the open doorway and went into the street beyond, looking swiftly up and down, for who knew when Lonnie had left? It might have been minutes or hours ago! The street was a quiet one, with the houses and shops opposite all tiny, close-crammed dwellings whose inhabitants, Hester thought, were probably indoors at this hour, for no children played on the narrow pavement or invaded the road with their tops and skipping ropes. Truth to tell, she had never before used this doorway, never set foot in Haig Street, and it was a surprise to her, and not a pleasant one, that such poor dwellings should crowd so close to fashionable Shaw Street. But it had been just the same in Delhi, she remembered, beginning to hurry along the pavement towards Everton Brow. The rich rubbed shoulders with the very poor and seemed, most of the time, not to notice them. Her father had
often remarked upon the indifference of the rich to the beggars, many of them horribly mutilated, who sat patiently outside the doors of those so much more fortunate than themselves. He had told the young Hester that he had often seen athletic young Englishmen trip over an armless beggar’s drawn-up feet, only to curse the man and pass on without parting with so much as an
anna
.

‘It’s not wickedness so much as a total lack of imagination, a feeling that because a man’s skin is a different colour from your own he is not a man at all, not capable of suffering, as one is oneself, but more like an animal,’ he had told her. ‘Don’t ever get like that, little Hester. Feel for others, as I do, as all right-thinking men and women do.’

Having searched Haig Street both to right and left, Hester returned to the garden, gnawing her lip with indecision. Should she admit defeat and return to the house and tell her employer that she had lost her charge, and persuade Miss Hetherington-Smith to get the police to search for Lonnie? Or should she go further afield, knock at the doors of the houses which had a view of the roadway, and ask for help herself? She supposed it was her duty to tell Miss Hetherington-Smith, but the thought of those cold, indifferent eyes suddenly blazing into icy wrath – and, it must be admitted, the thought of her own plight should her employer decide to dismiss her without a character and without notice – determined her to search alone for a while, at any rate. What was more, it was now seven o’clock or past, which meant that the two ladies would be in the dining room, eating the excellent dinner which Cook had sent up, and in no mood to be interrupted with something as trivial as news of a lost child.

Accordingly, Hester went to the dwelling directly opposite the back of the Hetherington-Smith house, and was lucky. The woman who came to the front door was harassed and clearly in the middle of a meal, for she was still chewing and held a small baby in her arms whilst two more children clung to her skirt, but she was both knowledgeable and helpful. ‘A little gal in a pink gingham dress? Oh, aye, I see’d her when I called me kids in for their grub,’ she said, wiping the baby’s nose on a piece of rag and then using the same piece of rag to do similar duty by the children at her knee. ‘She come out, looked up the road, then chased off after summat … I think it were a kitten, one o’ them ones wi’ a patchwork sort o’ coat, if you understand me.’

‘Yes, you mean tortoiseshell … lots of different colours,’ Hester said eagerly, recognising the description of Kitty without difficulty. ‘Which way did the little girl go, ma’am? She’s a stranger in the city; she’s lived in India all her life, and may easily get lost.’

‘Oh, she ran off down the Brow,’ the woman said at once. ‘She runs funny, don’t she? She sort o’ turns her toes in and her knees out, like.’

Despite her worry, Hester had hard work not to giggle. Lonnie hardly ever ran but when she did it had occurred to Hester before that she ran like a rickshaw boy, though no doubt unconsciously. The rickshaw boys, Hester remembered, were the only people who ran much in the streets of Delhi.

Once Hester had made up her mind to search for Lonnie herself, things became easier, for she did not hesitate to ask everyone in the street whether they had seen a child in a pink gingham dress, either chasing after or holding a tortoiseshell kitten. And on the corner of Salisbury Street, a fat man in a
faded brown overall, with a pipe gripped between his teeth, leaned in the doorway of his small shop, benevolently eyeing the passers-by. When Hester posed her question, he nodded vigorously. ‘Aye, I see’d her twice,’ he said, beaming at Hester. ‘The first time she were a-chasin’ a kitten – that was when she dashed down Salisbury Street like a scalded cat – and the second time she were comin’ back again an’ bein’ chased herself by a crowd of them horrible dirty little Vine Terrace brats. They was hollerin’, “Stop, thief!” But o’ course no one took a blind bit o’ notice because them Vine Terrace kids is all thieves and robbers to a man.’ He chuckled richly at his own joke. ‘Or woman,’ he finished.

‘I don’t suppose you happened to notice where she went after that,’ Hester asked hopefully. ‘Did she turn towards the docks or up in the direction of Shaw Street? Only she’s a stranger in the city and not yet nine years old.’

‘She didn’t do neither, queen. She lit off across the Brow as though all the devils in hell were on her heels. Which in a way they was, ’cos them kids from Vine Terrace, especially the Lambert kids, are as near devils from hell as you’ll get on this earth,’ he added, rather grimly.

Hester felt the blood drain from her cheeks. Horrid visions of poor little Lonnie lying beaten to a pulp in some lonely alley filled her mind. If the child was hurt, it would be all her fault for letting Lonnie out of her sight. Miss Hetherington-Smith had made it clear, God knew, that she held Hester totally responsible for anything Lonnie might do. ‘What had she done to offend the Vine Terrace kids?’ she asked, her voice quivering with suppressed emotion. ‘Why should they chase her? She doesn’t know anyone
around here … unless she was rude to them, of course.’

‘Kids is like animals in some ways,’ the shopkeeper said shrewdly. ‘They don’t like anyone who is different to what they are. Your little lass were wearin’ shoes and socks as I recall; them Vine Terrace kids are allus barefoot. But I dare say your gal will be all right, ’cos they wouldn’t folly her outside their own territory, if you understand me. And she went down Watmough Street, which is well off their stamping ground. So don’t be afeared you’ll come across a corpuss, ’cos they ain’t that desperate villains, though I won’t let ’em into me shop without I’ve got my till locked up safe.’

‘Thanks ever so much,’ Hester said gratefully, turning to leave him. She glanced back. ‘Can you tell me what time all this happened? Am I very far behind her?’

Here the shopkeeper was unable to help her much, saying vaguely that it were probably forty or fifty minutes ago, or maybe a little more. ‘I comes out to smoke me pipe an’ keeps poppin’ back into the shop whenever a customer appears, see,’ he explained. ‘Time don’t mean much when you’re doin’ the same thing for five or six hours together, but I’d say it were early evenin’ when the little gal passed me first.’

‘Thanks again,’ Hester said. She crossed Everton Brow, turning left along the pavement, and then dived into Watmough Street. Very soon she was as lost as ever the child could have been and when she emerged on to a busy main road, with trams roaring along, was tempted to give up and go home. She had traced Lonnie this far, but what chance had she of finding the child with the pavements so crowded and the streets so busy?

However, there was a woman selling flowers on the opposite pavement and it seemed worth at least asking her if she had seen Lonnie, so Hester crossed the road and approached her. As soon as she mentioned a little girl with a kitten, the flower seller nodded her head. ‘Oh aye, only the feller were holding the kitten,’ she said, in a thick country accent. ‘I noticed the pink dress pertickler, ’cos pink’s me favourite colour. They crossed the road together and cut through the Place to Everton Terrace, I reckon.’

Hester, with her heart in her mouth, was beginning to ask the flower seller what sort of a man Lonnie’s companion had been when the woman gave a crow of triumph. ‘There’s the feller, only he’s by hisself now,’ she exclaimed. ‘Well, ain’t that the strangest thing? See him? Dodging in front o’ that tram?’

Hester followed the direction of the woman’s pointing finger and her heart gave a great leap of relief. It was Ben Bailey, frowning with concentration as he crossed the road and clearly intent upon some errand which was taking all his attention. When Hester shouted to him, he looked blankly across at her for a moment, then a wide grin bisected his face and he came towards her, speaking as he advanced.

‘Fancy seein’ you, Miss Elliott! I were on my way to Shaw Street to tell you that Lonnie is safe. She’s wi’ me mam and dad; Mam’s cleaned her up a bit, ’cos she got in quite a state, one way and another. Will you come back to our place now and see for yourself she’s all right? She didn’t mean to worry you, only the kitten escaped and of course she ran after it …’

On the way back to Elmore Street Ben tried to make the governess see that Lonnie had meant no harm when she had lit out after the kitten. Indeed, Hester was so relieved to hear that Lonnie was safe that she
would have forgiven her most things, and when Ben threw open the back door of Number 27 and ushered her inside she was actually smiling, thinking that Lonnie had had a horrid time and would doubtless think very carefully before leaving the safety of the Shaw Street garden a second time.

Ben waited until she and Lonnie had exchanged an embarrassed hug before briskly beginning introductions all round. ‘This here’s me mam, that’s me dad, this ’un’s me little sister Phyllis, and the tall feller is me elder brother, Dick. Ted’s stayin’ over wi’ me Aunt Jemimah an’ that cat sitting on the hearthrug is Kitty, what I believe you’ve met before.’ He chuckled. ‘Oh, an’ this here’s Miss Elliott, what takes care of Lonnie,’ he added belatedly.

Hester murmured greetings and heartfelt thanks but was unable to stop her eyes returning to the tall, dark-haired figure of Dick Bailey. She thought he had quite the kindest – and handsomest – face she had seen since reaching Liverpool and presently, when she was seated at the table with a hot cup of tea so that she might recover from her anxiety before taking Lonnie home, she realised that Dick was looking at her with equal interest.

‘Ben tells us that you and young Lonnie here lived in India until recently,’ Dick said, his dark eyes fixed on her face. ‘I’ve always wanted to travel but never had the opportunity. Our dad’s the same; I gets him old copies of the
National Geographic
magazine whenever I can, but pictures ain’t the same as visiting somewhere yourself. Me and Dad would dearly like to hear you talk of India sometime.’

Hester, agreeing that she would come round and chat to them one evening, was aware of a distinct feeling of disappointment. So it was not
she
who
interested him, but her experiences in the great land of India. She reminded herself that since he was Ben’s brother, he was unlikely to be the sort of man she ought to be searching for if she had marriage in mind. She doubted if Dick’s education rivalled her own and her mother had always impressed upon her the advantage of marrying into a similar background. And anyway, wasn’t she leaping ahead rather? He was a nice young man with a sympathetic air but that did not mean her thoughts should automatically fly to marriage. The truth was, she had met so few young men since coming to England that anyone she did meet was immediately assessed, as she would once have assessed the young subalterns, district officers and civil servants who had comprised her father’s circle in Delhi. Not that she had had marriage in mind then, any more than she had now. Now, as then, she was simply trying to place herself in the context of new surroundings.

‘Another cup o’ tea, Miss Elliott? And how about a slice of me fruit loaf? I expect you’ve been rare worried over young Lonnie here, so mebbe you’ve not noticed it’s nigh on eight o’clock. Lonnie telled us you normally have supper around now.’

Jerked back to the present, Hester looked about the room, noticing for the first time its stark simplicity and air of poverty. The fruit loaf was on the table and contained, Hester saw, very little fruit. Thanking Mrs Bailey for her kind offer, she accepted a second mug of tea but refused the fruit loaf, though despite her trying to catch Lonnie’s eye that young lady was devouring a large slice as though she had not eaten for a month.

When Hester had finished the tea, she stood up, announcing that it was really time they returned to
Shaw Street. Ben offered at once to accompany them, but Dick was already at the door, holding it open. ‘I’ll walk the young ladies home, then go on to see Mr Nicholls,’ he said gruffly. ‘You help our mam to clear away the tea things, Ben, and tidy the kitchen while she puts Phyllis to bed.’

Hester fully expected Ben to object, to say that it was his place to return them to their home, since it was he who had brought them to Elmore Street, but he did no such thing. ‘Sure I’ll do that, Dick,’ he said equably. ‘I’ll see you another day, Lonnie. And I’m real sorry if we worried you, Miss Elliott, by bringing her here instead of taking her home, only she were in such a state, her aunt would have turned her out if she had set eyes on her.’