The Orphans of Ardwick

by Emma Hornby

  ‘Sit that arse of yourn back down.’ Cook spoke as calmly as before.

  ‘But—!’

  ‘Do it!’

  After a hesitation, the housemaid dropped back into her seat, expression sullen.

  ‘Now.’ Folding her arms over her huge bust, the cook addressed her quietly but firmly. ‘I’ve decided that these here kiddies are to stay. Whatever feud exists betwixt you and the lad here, ends now, you hear? And the same goes for thee,’ she added to Simon grimly. ‘If we’re to live beneath this roof together, we must do so peacefully, else it’ll be the worst for us all. Right?’

  ‘Mr Philip’ll not be best pleased about this—’

  ‘And what of it? The master shall have the say, not his son.’

  ‘You think you can just do as you please in this house, don’t you? Well, I’m not standing for it, I tell you—!’

  ‘You’ll do as you’re bloody well instructed, missy! Nigh on forty year I’ve toiled for Albert Goldthorpe,’ she said, jerking her thumb in the general direction of the master’s room beyond the ceiling, ‘and his dear wife, God rest her soul. I were here when Mr Philip entered this world, and Miss Josephine afore him, too. So aye, I’ve a tie with this family – a strong one at that – which goes beyond owt you’d understand. And that which binds us, on my part at least, is love; aye, I’m not ashamed to admit it. My feelings for this family … well, most of them, anyroad … go beyond mere sense of duty.

  ‘Now, the master knows me and my ways of old. I like to offer the hand of kindness when I’m able, to any soul what needs it.’ Her gaze moved over the children. ‘These poor mites haven’t a single body beneath God’s blue sky to care for them. Norra one. Through your actions – aye, yours, missy, you and your nastiness brought them to me –’ she pointed out, nodding, when Hardman made to protest, ‘they’ve found theirselfs at Bracken House, and I for one’ll not cast them away. And the master, I’m certain, will agree with me. So, it’s like this: you put up or ship out, got it?’

  For half a minute, the housemaid glared at Simon, Pip and Mack in turn. Then she burst out, ‘The workhouse is where they ought to be! That’s what them places are meant for, after all: down-and-outs and the like. I’ll happily take them along myself in the morning, it’s no hardship—’

  Tabby’s furious gasp cut her off. The scullery maid had been standing silently by the door; now, she stalked towards her. Throwing the cloth she held on to the table, she bunched her hands into fists. ‘You talk of the workhouse like you know of it, aye? You know nowt, Jess Hardman. I were cast into Fletcher Street Workhouse in yon Bolton town. Ay, didn’t know that, did you? That’s right; I’m one of these down-and-outs you speak of. And I’ll tell you for nothing, I’d not wish the divil hisself in such a place. These kiddies committed no crime deserving of such punishment as the poorhouse bar losing their mams, same as me.’

  Cook’s tone was soft. ‘All right, lass, settle down.’

  ‘Well, she gets on my wick, she does.’

  ‘You could come along in t’ morning an’ all, then, I reckon – aye, back where you belong!’ the housemaid hissed, thrusting her face close to Tabby’s.

  ‘Why you spiteful, black-hearted—!’

  Cutting off Tabby’s tirade and making them all jump, Cook brought her palm down on the tabletop. The room fell silent. Nostrils flared, she turned her stare on Hardman. ‘Cease that vicious tongue of yourn, bold piece. Whatever you like to believe, you’ve not a shred of standing in this house, and you’d do well to remember it. You forget sometimes, I think, your place here. It’s the mistress of this establishment you fancy you are, I’m certain, with your selfish manner and false grandeur ways.’

  Hardman’s face was scarlet with indignation. ‘I’ve more standing than that one!’ She thrust her chin towards Tabby.

  ‘That mebbe so, but I’m above the lot of youse put together, missy,’ Cook shot back, proving there was no such thing as equality even in the servants’ quarters. ‘Shall I tell you summat else? D’you know how many domestics I’ve seen come and go in my time? More than I can count, let me tell thee. Housemaids are ten a penny. You’d do well to remember that, an’ all.’ She paused with narrowed eyes, as though daring the young woman to make further response. Receiving none, she nodded, indicating that was the end of the matter. ‘Now, we’ve got work to do so we’d best shake ourselfs. You, Tabby, back to the scullery and them dishes. Hardman, get some water on the boil to take up to the family for freshening up when they waken.

  ‘’Ere and another thing,’ she added to the housemaid as she flounced towards the fire, ‘norra word to the rest about these children when you are summoned. It’s the master should be informed first, and that I’m for doing myself when the dinner’s over and finished with. D’you hear me?’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘Aye what?’

  The audible sound of gritting of teeth was followed by, ‘Aye, Cook.’

  Again, the woman nodded, satisfied. ‘As for youse,’ she told a subdued Pip, Simon and Mack, ‘go on up back to my room so as not to get under our feet. I’ll be along to collect you later to see the master. Be good and rest up. Go on, now.’

  Without a word, they did as they were told – rising as one, they crossed to the door. It was clear Cook had spoken the truth, Pip saw, glancing over her shoulder before leaving the room: servants were indeed not afforded the same luxury of resting as were their employers. The pace had instantly picked up. The rush for Christmas dinner was on.

  This crew of women saw to the running of the house like a tight ship with Cook at the helm. Nonetheless, thoughts of lounging idly upstairs as they created the family’s elaborate fare brought to Pip a stirring of restlessness. If only they had been allowed to stay, she and the lads could have helped out, lessened the harassed servants’ workload. She could peel veg well enough, and Simon and even Mack could surely be set to some task or other …? Then she caught Hardman’s eyes and the hatred spewing from them, and whipping around Pip scurried upstairs after the boys to the safety of the eaves.

  ‘Oh, the day has been glorious, glorious, from beginning to end – and there is even more fun to come! But anyway, as I was saying, after breakfasting, Mama permitted me to enter the drawing room. The candles, which Papa had carefully placed on the tree’s branches, had been lit and they shone like a hundred diamonds. Then the gifts, all wrapped in coloured paper, were given out. There were embroidered pieces for each of us from Aunt Josephine – handkerchiefs and suchlike – and a crystal inkwell for Papa from Mama, and a jewel-studded fan for her from him, as well as earrings and a brooch – oh, he does like to spoil Mama so …’

  Pip sat enraptured as Lucy regaled them all with the wonderful Christmas she’d had. The family had finished dinner shortly before and while the adults had retired to the drawing room, the girl had taken the opportunity to slip to the kitchen for a brief visit.

  In the centre of the table stood the now near-stripped turkey. Cook had brought the children down to the kitchen as the dinner was almost through and when Hardman, summoned to the dining room at the meal’s end, had carried back the family’s leftovers, Pip’s mouth had dropped open. It seemed hardly a thing had been touched. And all that hard work Cook had gone to as well! she’d thought with sadness and not a little anger. By, it could have fed her, Simon and Mack for two, three days even; and how glad they would have been of it too but a day ago, literally starving to death on those mean streets out there.

  That folk behind these fancy walls and clean painted doors lived such extravagant lives, she wouldn’t have believed had she not witnessed it herself since entering this house. The privileged lot seemed not to give a single thought to, or care about, the thousands upon thousands clawing for survival a mere few streets away in the slums; that they were forced to do anything – beg on their knees, steal, assault, sell their very flesh for a few coppers – for a few morsels just to stay alive. By, they really hadn’t a clue how the real world was – the one they were either blind
to or chose not to see, to think on.

  ‘Aye, prime Norfolk bird; only the best for this house,’ Cook had announced earlier, carving the remainder to go with the small chicken, vegetables and potatoes for her own, the two servants’ and the children’s dinners. She’d explained that, as was commonplace, the legs were not removed by the higher classes – only the best part, the breast carved by Mr Philip, had been eaten by the family. The legs and whatever remained went back to the kitchen for the staff. In recognition of rank, Cook and Hardman had got a leg each, whilst Tabby was given the wings – one of which the thoughtful maid had given to Simon, him being the biggest of the three waifs.

  Despite the dizzying, heavenly taste, each mouthful more wonderful than the last, Pip had been forced to swallow down something altogether more bitter with the delicious meal: guilt. So many a poor soul back in Ancoats and beyond wouldn’t be feasting as they were this day. Some wouldn’t have anything at all. It just didn’t seem right. No, it didn’t.

  Yet despite the sting of injustice Pip felt, despite her feelings of confusion and anger at the cavernous inequality between a few with everything and the plenty without a thing, she harboured no ill feeling towards the girl sitting before her now. An angel she looked in her stunning burgundy frock, cuffs trimmed with fur, the bodice’s tiny buttons winking silver-white in the firelight. And that smile of hers, perfect poppy lips stretched across sparkly teeth. Miss Lucy was lovely, and good-minded to match. Pip felt she could look at her, listen to her, for ever.

  ‘And there was a silver snuffbox for poor sick Grandy and also a silver letter opener – oh, Papa received one of those, too – and a silk-lined sewing basket for Aunt Josephine, and …’

  When the girl, pink-cheeked with pleasure, eventually came up for air, Pip asked, ‘What of you, Miss Lucy? Weren’t there owt under yon tree for thee?’

  Lucy laughed. ‘Well, of course, silly! I was keeping the best part for last. I received three clockwork toys – mice, they are, with long, thin tails – and books, and plum-coloured ribbons for my hair, and a new hairbrush … Ooh, and a pincushion in the style of a strawberry; it’s quite adorable! And some exquisite mittens, and two dolls, not just one as I’d expected, and …’

  Several times, out of the corner of her eye, Pip spied Simon shaking his head, but ignored him. And when Cook said, ‘Now now, Miss Lucy. I’m sure the lass don’t want her ears bashing with all this – remember, some folk ain’t so fortunate as thee, and it ain’t nice to brag,’ Pip got in first:

  ‘Nay, oh nay, Cook, I want to hear. By, it’s a lovely story.’ Clasping her hands together beneath her chin, she sighed dreamily. ‘Eeh, you are lucky, Miss Lucy.’

  But the young miss had gone a dull red colour. Dropping her gaze, she bit the inside of her cheek. ‘Please forgive me, Pip, boys. I … did not think … Mama always says that my tongue has a nasty habit of galloping away with itself before my brain has given it permission; I fear she’s right.’ She patted Pip’s hand, smile soft. ‘I’ll bring my dolls in to show you tomorrow. You may keep them the whole day, if you’d like? I must go now, or Papa will send Finch to look for me and that shan’t be a good thing for either of you three.’

  Cook nodded. ‘That’s right. And remember, Miss Lucy, no mention of the children yourself, neither, till I’ve had words with your grandfather.’

  ‘I shan’t utter a thing, Cook, certainly not. Oh, I do hope Grandy gives his consent. He will, won’t he?’ she asked, gazing up with her beautiful big eyes at the large woman.

  Cook threw her a wink. ‘You hop along now, Miss Lucy, and enjoy the rest of your night.’

  ‘Thank you, Cook. Oh, I shall! I’m to recite some poetry, and there will be songs to sing, and Mama will play the pianoforte, then we shall play blind man’s buff …’ The girl broke off with a sheepish grin. ‘Sorry. I’m doing it again, aren’t I? Oh! Oh, Cook!’ Clicking her tongue suddenly, she tapped her forehead. ‘I almost forgot. Here, for you. And there is one for both Hardman and Newby. Go on, take them.’

  Hearing their names mentioned, the two younger servants abandoned their chores to sidle to Cook’s side. The older woman, after taking the flat parcel from Miss Lucy, pulled back the paper. Squares of snowy material stared back – Cook gasped. Fingering the shaky pink lettering in the corner of one handkerchief, her eyes were bright.

  ‘Eeh, now … Bless your young heart.’

  ‘That says M.M., for you. And those, J.H. and T.N. – they are yours,’ she told the others.

  Tabby blinked back at her, amazed; even Hardman managed to crack a smile of pleasure. ‘Ta, thanks, Miss Lucy,’ they said in unison, stroking the gifts.

  ‘Aunt Josephine has been teaching me embroidery.’

  ‘That’ll be good for her.’ Cook’s voice dropped. ‘How’s she been the day?’

  Lucy adopted the same solemn countenance as the servant. ‘Well enough. And Papa insists she’ll feel better still, later, in the company of their guests.’ The girl looked doubtful at this – then her mouth stretched in a wicked smile. ‘You know Aunt Josephine got the ring in the Christmas pudding?’

  Earlier, Cook had amazed Pip, Simon and Mack, who had breathed a collective ‘Ahh’ at the sight of the glistening brown cannonball, its surface dazzling with blue flame, on its way to the dining room. Beforehand, as she’d adorned it with a sprig of holly and soaked it in brandy to set alight, Cook had told how secreted amongst the fat raisins inside were several small tokens: a coin, ring and silver thimble, which represented different meanings to the finders.

  Now, Lucy’s smile grew into a grin. ‘That means she shall be married within a year; oh, Cook, her face was a picture! Secretly, I rather hoped she’d get the thimble, which meant she’d have remained a spinster for at least another year. Huh – that would have shown Mr Sutton-Shaw! Grandy found the coin and shall enjoy good wealth. Papa is funny – I rather think he’d hoped for it, for he didn’t look too pleased!’

  Cook’s lips twitched as she hid a smile. ‘Aye, I’ll bet he didn’t. Anyroad …’ She motioned to her gift. ‘Tha did reet good. I shall treasure it.’

  ‘Thank you. Though I’m afraid I have a way to go …’ The girl pulled a sorry face at her attempts. It fell further when she glanced to Pip, Simon and Mack looking on. ‘I would have made one for the three of you had I known … I shall make extra special gifts for you all next year,’ she promised with a nod.

  Pip’s face spread in a smile. ‘Ta ever so, Miss Lucy.’

  ‘You’re quite welcome. Now I really must be getting back or else—’

  ‘Child? Child, where have you got to?’

  The girl in question poked her tongue at the door and Finch calling for her beyond. ‘That woman is truly the worst thing to happen to me!’ she stated in her tinkling voice, sounding every inch a woman full grown rather than a mere child. ‘Oh, Pip. Nursemaids are such a trial, aren’t they?’

  Though Pip was at a loss how to answer this – what on earth did she know about such things? – she felt happy Miss Lucy had asked. It was as though she forgot sometimes that Pip wasn’t of her class. And didn’t that, surely, bode well for the future? Pip didn’t care a fig, and if Miss Lucy didn’t either … They were going to be firm friends, she just knew it. ‘Oh, um …’ she responded after a moment, ‘Aye, I’m sure they must be.’

  ‘Well, bye for now!’ With a flick of her wrist, Miss Lucy gave them a wave and on a flash of puffy white petticoats and bouncing black curls, skipped from the kitchen.

  Without having to be told, Hardman and Tabby disappeared to resume their duties – though a smile hovered about their mouths, the pleasure at their gifts seeming to have distracted them from their exhaustion. Cook refilled her glass from the beer barrel and lifted down a heavy, age-faded book from a shelf set in an alcove by the fire. Returning to the table, she leafed through the pages with a soft frown.

  ‘Surely to God in heaven they ain’t wanting yet more grub the day?’ asked Simon, indicating the recipe book with his thum
b.

  Cook gave him a bland smile. ‘A light supper will do them. They’ve their guests arriving later once Miss Lucy’s away to her bed.’

  He shook his head, but Pip didn’t catch his next words nor Cook’s response – her attention was still on the door.

  I wonder what it’s like in there? she thought. She envisioned the family sitting around a roaring fire, lights from candles adorning the lavishly decorated tree twinkling merrily on their smiling faces. She pictured Miss Lucy and her mama and papa. What must it be like to experience such wonderment, to share a Christmas such as they had with each other? Family. A proper one, with a mother and father and an aunt and grandfather. And more food than you could eat in a month. And gifts; dolls with china faces and hair ribbons and books. And love. Aye, and togetherness. By, there was nothing greater, surely? The time of their lives was what they were having right now, she’d bet. She sighed longingly.

  ‘All right, there, my lass?’

  Pip blinked up into Cook’s kind face. A lump had formed in her throat and she was unable to speak. She nodded.

  ‘Good. For I think it’s time I introduced you to the master. Don’t youse?’ Three pairs of eyes stared back at her solemnly. ‘He retired to his room after dinner so it’s in private we’re for speaking with him. We’ll not be disturbed.’ She rose, straightened her cap then smoothed down her voluminous apron. ‘Follow me, then.’

  The baize door swished noiselessly at Cook’s push and again at their backs, shutting out the kitchen and safety, and Pip and the boys glanced behind them, wishing they could scuttle back to the warm room, their hideaway, free from the danger of possible dismissal. But Cook was striding along the short passageway ahead and they had no choice but to follow. They climbed three wide steps, turned a corner and emerged into a long hall. For a brief moment, all three halted and stared about them in awe.