by Emma Hornby
The brightly polished boards beneath their feet shone like black crystal, reflecting their shoddy boots. Their eyes travelled up and around the dark-red wallpapered walls, huge portraits of stern-looking men and women in thick gilded frames glaring down on them accusingly, as though even they knew these trespassers shouldn’t be here beneath this magnificent roof. Small kidney-shaped tables supported by spindly legs dotted the walls here and there, adorned with china pots holding all manner of plants – some large and thick-leafed, some draping across the table’s shiny surface, some standing erect like lofty people with their noses in the air … Every which way they turned screamed opulence and importance. The children hurried on.
Immediately they turned another bend, the sound of laughter and voices reached their ears and Pip felt her heartbeat quicken. Fixing her eyes on the doors up ahead, she tried to picture the drawing room beyond and the family within. She could hear Miss Lucy, clear sweet voice raised in merriment as she regaled the adults with some tale or other. As though they had acquired a mind of their own, upon coming level, Pip’s feet made to halt. Shaking herself, she quickened her pace.
Holding on to the banister, they climbed a set of thick carpeted stairs. Up, up to a broad landing with several doors leading off into the softly lit distance. For the first time since leaving the haven downstairs, Cook swivelled her head to look at them. Then she was off again. She halted at a set of double doors to their left. The master bedroom. Again, she turned and this time, assessed properly the children standing uncertainly before her. After tidying down the lads’ hair, tugging at their tattered waistcoats and straightening their jackets, she gave Pip the same attention, shaking out her too-short skirts and running through her hands the two long plaits Tabby had created, to smooth out the unruly curled pieces that had escaped confinement.
She scrutinised the three of them again, then shook her head. ‘Might evoke more sympathy were you looking a little more wanting,’ she muttered to herself, ruffling the lads’ hair then Pip’s. Stepping back, she eyed them once more, her narrowed gaze thoughtful. ‘Mind, youse looking sloppy might garner the wrong impression, like …’ she told herself on reflection and again she began tidying their hair. A deep but tired-sounding voice floated through the doors, halting her hand:
‘Who goes out there?’
The woman turned a hopeful look to the children. ‘Well, here goes nowt. Best foot forward, loves.’ Putting back her shoulders, she grasped the brass knobs and pushed open the doors.
Chapter 7
A GOOD FIRE crackled in the grate. Opposite, in the glow of its dancing flames, the master of Bracken House shifted in the large bed to turn his smiling face towards the doorway.
Albert Goldthorpe opened his mouth to utter a greeting. Then his gaze moved from the cook, standing straight-backed, hands clasped in front of her, to Pip and the boys by her side. His lips drew together and his bushy grey eyebrows followed suit. Finally, he brought his quizzical stare back to the servant. ‘Mabel?’
That he’d addressed the cook by her Christian name surprised Pip – Simon, too; glancing at him, she saw that his frown matched her own. What happened next, however, shocked her to the core.
Cook shut the doors – and this seemed to signal that she was safe to be herself; away from the rest of the household’s prying eyes and ears, she visibly relaxed. Releasing a long sigh, she crossed to the bed. ‘Budge yourself, lad. My bleedin’ pins are fair done in.’ Nudging aside the master’s legs beneath the coverlet with her bottom, she sat none too gently on the edge of the bed. ‘Eeh, aye. That’s better.’
Lying close together on a chaise longue to the side of the window, two large dogs peeped up sleepily – the animals she’d seen last night on the Green with Tabby, Pip realised. Then her head snapped back to the bed as the master repeated, ‘Mabel—?’
‘Aye, I’m getting to it,’ Cook cut in quietly, eyes flicking to the children. ‘You see, Albert, it’s like this: the bitter cold drove these poor young wretches to yon house last night. It’s safe to say they’ve norra soul betwixt them, neither. What were I meant to do, I ask you? Cast them out of a Christmas Eve? Now you know me, I couldn’t do that.’
The master’s gaze travelled across the room. He studied them in turn. Then: ‘Come here, children.’
Automatically, Pip and Mack looked to Simon for confirmation. He made towards the bed and they followed close behind.
‘Your name, young man?’
He dragged his cap from his head and clutched it in both hands. ‘Simon, sir. This here …’ He drew the younger boy forward. ‘This is Br— Mack.’
‘And you, lass?’
Looking at him fully, Pip felt herself shrink under his deep-grey stare. Even in his current position, pale and invalided in his bed, he cut a striking figure. His silver-specked black hair and drooping moustache of the same colour framed a strong but open face. Becoming aware that she’d been staring at him too long, she swallowed and dipped her knee. ‘Sir … Pip, sir.’
‘They’re a well-mannered lot, as you can see,’ Cook said; not in a wheedling tone, merely stating a fact. That she hadn’t need to beg or harangue this man was clear to them all. Master and servant existed not between them. They appeared almost as equals.
‘You’re orphans?’ At their nods, Albert scrutinised them more closely. ‘I must say, you appear surprisingly neat and clean for destitute children. How is that so?’
‘Missis Cook washed us, in the tub afore the fire.’ Mack nodded, smiling. ‘And Tabby helped, and my feet ain’t half better, sir.’
Surveying the chirpy mite’s innocent face, the corner of Albert’s mouth lifted. ‘Is that so? And what, pray, was the matter with your feet, lad?’
‘They hurt; bad, like. Missis put an ointment on and they went better. Are your trotters playing silly beggars with you, an’ all, sir? Is that why you’re abed when it’s not even late?’
Pip shot Mack a horrified look, sure that his boldness would invoke the adults’ wrath, but instead, Cook and Albert chuckled.
‘Actually, yes, in a manner of speaking. I injured my ankle some weeks past falling from my horse—’ He broke off on a rasping cough and when Cook had helped him take sips from a crystal tumbler on the bedside table, added, ‘I’ve felt rather unwell since, seem to have developed a nasty chest illness into the bargain, as you can see.’
‘Ask the missis, here, to rub some of her medicine on your body. It’ll make thee better, sir, it will—’
‘That’s quite enough of that sort of talk, young ’un.’ Cook’s face had turned several shades redder. ‘Rub … indeed! Did you ever hear the like!’ Amusement creased the master’s eyes; throwing him a stern look, she cleared her throat loudly. ‘Now, as I were saying, these mites, they’ve no one, Albert. And nowt, whilst we’ve aplenty. And they’d work their keep, I’d see to that. They’d be no drain upon thee or yon house, nor would you or the family know their presence, for they’d be out of the way in my kitchen.’
All laughter had left the man’s face; he steepled his hands on the bedclothes, eyes half closed in contemplation. ‘How can you be certain they really do have no one at all, no guardians out there somewhere who at this very moment are worrying themselves sick over their whereabouts and welfare?’
Cook cast them a pitying look. Then briefly, she filled the master in on Simon and Mack’s circumstances.
‘So you, lad, cannot actually claim orphan status. You have no way of knowing whether your father still indeed lives.’
Thrusting his hands deep into his pockets, Simon stared down at his boots. ‘I’m as good as, sir, and that’s the truth.’
‘And a damn sight better off for it, too, by all accounts,’ muttered Cook, the anger when relating his past to the master still evident in her voice. When Albert inclined his head in quiet agreement, she next turned her attention to Pip. Slowly, her brow creased – she nodded in remembrance. ‘Tha didn’t get the chance earlier when pasts were being aired. What is your story,
then, lass?’
Everyone was watching, waiting; Pip clasped her hands together in front of her to stop them from shaking. She’d known the questions would arise again some time and now they had. And she’d have to tell, she’d have to, though the thought of uttering the words made her guts twist with pain and that crippling shame …
‘Young miss? You’ve gone as pale as a pound of tripe. Are you quite well?’
The master’s concern brought a lump to her throat and hot tears to her eyes. She swallowed desperately. ‘I … I …’
‘Lass?’ Cook was speaking now. ‘Remember what I said, that the telling shall lift the weight from your mind and you’ll be the better for it? D’you recall that?’
Pip nodded. ‘Aye. I … I do, Cook.’
‘It’s all right.’
The murmured reassurance from the taller lad by her side brought upon Pip a warm sense of calm. She turned to look at him. The scowl he always wore was there, oddly comforting in its familiarity. The eyes that locked with hers were slightly creased and though he said nothing more, she felt the pressure from his arm touching hers increase as he leaned closer.
Bringing her gaze back to the master, she wetted her lips. ‘I have no parents, sir, for my father died afore I were born. And my mam … My mam took her own life.’
In the deafening silence, a lump of coal shifted in the grate, sending crimson sparks fizzing and popping up the chimney. One of the dogs lifted an ear and an eyelid, sighed drowsily then went back to sleep. No other sound was heard until, from somewhere deep in her gut, a jagged sob rose and tore from Pip’s throat. That was the first time she’d spoken those words aloud. Tears, hot and salty, burst forth to cascade down her cheeks and she could do nothing but stand gasping, struggling desperately to wrench out air through the black pain clogging her chest.
Cook was on her feet. Her arms, like fleshy warm wings, enveloped her. She buried Pip’s cheek in her mountainous bosom and with a hand stroking the top of her head, murmured soothingly, ‘Now that’s all right, that’s all right. Now you let out that hurt and Mabel May shall hug it all away. That’s right, lass. Aye, I’m here.’
‘All right, Mabel.’
The woman glanced around at Albert’s words. ‘You mean …?’
‘The children can stay. Must, in fact. I insist.’
‘Ay, lad. It’s a pure gold soul you possess and no mistake. You’ll not regret it. And I’ll make sure you ain’t troubled in any way, neither. You’ll not even know they’re here. Ta, ta.’
Pip couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t believe … God above, was it really true? Had her ears heard right or was she dreaming? Oh. Oh!
‘I rather think it’s you who should be thanked, Mabel, not I,’ Albert said on a smile – to which three voices immediately responded:
‘Ta! Ta, Cook! Ta, master! Oh, ta!’
‘It’s a heaven-sent stroke of luck you’ve had bestowed upon you, crossing paths with this woman, here. I trust you realise that.’ The master’s face was suddenly serious. ‘She has a heart bigger than anyone I’ve ever known. Don’t give me, but more importantly Mabel, cause to regret my decision tonight.’
‘We’ll not, nay never. Oh sir, Cook!’ Pip’s tears were falling once more, only now for a completely different reason. She still couldn’t quite believe this. Please, Lord, she prayed inwardly. Please don’t let me be asleep. And if I am, don’t let me waken just yet. Let me enjoy the magic of this moment a while longer. They were staying! They had a home!
Forgetting his poorly foot, Mack performed an on-the-spot jig, winced, then laughing took up the act again, face alive with utter joy, making them all smile. Snatching Pip and Simon’s hands, he pulled them in a stumbling dance: ‘Diddle-dee, diddle-dee. A dwelling place for me, thee, thee!’
Following Cook’s lead, Albert threw back his head and laughed heartily. In that moment, the doors were thrust wide and in barged Philip Goldthorpe.
Pip and Mack had held back in the street when Simon confronted this gentleman over Hardman’s wrongdoing – now, from the safety of Cook’s shadow, Pip took in his appearance properly. Tall, well dressed, beetle-browed and dark-eyed, he possessed a formidable air. Collar-length hair as black as his father’s, but free of silver, brushed the stiff white material as he swivelled his head around the room. He surveyed the scene, expression serious.
‘May I ask what on earth is going on?’ Though Philip spoke quietly, there was a hard edge to his tone. ‘Father? What is the meaning of this? Who are these … people?’
Cook answered for him. ‘I planned on informing you and Mrs Goldthorpe on our way back to the kitchen. Though seeing as you’re here, now, Mr Philip … The master’s kindly given permission for these poor little ’uns to dwell at Bracken House. As I promised him, so I’ll tell you the same: their presence shall have no bearing on thee, nor the rest of the family for that matter. They’ll work for their keep and will be under my watchful eye in yon kitchen below. The arrangement will prove no trouble to any one of you, for none shall arise. I’ll see to that.’
Before the master’s astonished-looking son could respond, Mack piped up, ‘We’ll not pilfer no chickens like that moggy did and get ourselfs booted out. We’ll not, sir, ’onest.’
‘Hush, child,’ Cook murmured. She turned back to Philip. ‘I’ll leave you and the master in peace. I’ve my duties to be getting back to.’
Planting his feet apart and blocking her exit, he swung his head around towards his father. ‘Is this true? You have given your permission for this?’
‘That’s right.’ Albert nodded curtly as though reinstating the decision. ‘As Mabel said—’
‘Father, please. I do wish you’d address the servants accordingly.’ He moved to close the door, adding over his shoulder, ‘You know Caroline’s feelings on such matters.’
‘Your wife would do well to remember whose house this is. Mabel has been with this family over half a lifetime. I’ll address her as I see fit. Besides,’ he added, raising an eyebrow, ‘there was a time when you wouldn’t have had such qualms yourself, lad.’
The air crackled with tension. It was evident that father and son had a stormy relationship; they seemed almost strangers as they stared at one another. Mind, thought Pip, you wouldn’t be blamed for thinking it – they barely seemed like they were related at all. Apart from sharing the same colouring, the two men were nothing alike. Even their speech was different. Mr Philip spoke with the same articulateness as Miss Lucy. His father, on the other hand, sounded as if he had started life lower down the social scale, delivering certain words with an unmistakable Lancashire tongue. His use of ‘lad’ and ‘lass’, the flat vowels that had a habit of sneaking in amongst the refined tone … She frowned curiously then braved a swift look at Philip.
His face had taken on an angry hue; he straightened his shoulders with a lift of his chin. ‘Never mind all that. Just what these urchins are doing here is a far more pressing matter, I think.’
‘Their names are Simon, Mack and Pip. They are destitute orphans lucky to have survived their harsh life as long as they have. They recently happened across our door in a desperate state. Mabel has taken them under her wing. I for one do not see the harm in it.’
‘Don’t see …! But Father, neither of us know a single thing about them. The housemaid suffered a confrontation with them only yesterday, insists they are no good.’ He ignored Cook’s slow shake of the head, the anger at disobedient Hardman’s loose tongue flashing from her eyes. ‘She’s threatening to walk unless these waifs are cast out tonight. As you insist on employing the absolute minimum to serve beneath this roof, it’s a risk we cannot afford to take—’
‘Others, and you along with them, deem the number of servants one possesses a sign of prestige and position. I myself am not concerned with such trivialities – I prefer to keep my circle small. If the housemaid chooses to terminate her employment with us, so be it.’
His son breathed deeply – and Pip did likewise. Oh, ma
ster …! Please please, God, let Hardman leave, she prayed silently. Then Mr Philip was speaking again and she peeped up at him.
‘Father.’ He spoke slowly, as though trying hard to contain his wrath. ‘We are already severely understaffed—’
‘We manage perfectly well.’
‘You may. What about the rest of us? A workforce of this size is utterly inadequate now that my family and I are residing here, too—’
‘And whose fault is that?’
Mr Philip’s eyes widened then slowly narrowed. But he didn’t speak. He stared back at the older man coldly.
‘You alone are to blame for your downfall. Your actions are the reason you and your family have been forced to reside beneath my roof at Bracken House. Your actions. Remember that.’
‘How could I not, when you kindly continue to remind me of the fact,’ his son muttered.
‘Besides,’ continued Albert, unperturbed, ‘there are three young people standing right in front of you who shall, Mabel insists, prove advantageous to the household.’
‘But—’
‘But what? You just said yourself we are in need of more staff. There they are!’
‘And pray, what use will these … these vagabonds prove to be?’
‘Simon?’ Albert’s voice was purposeful. ‘You know your way around a garden, I trust?’
He blinked, surprised. ‘Sir?’
‘There, that’s settled,’ Albert stated. ‘We could use a hand outside, clearing and tidying and such.
Simon nodded. ‘Aye. Ta, sir. I’ll do my best.’
‘Of course you will. And you, lass.’
‘Me, sir?’ Pip’s head shot up. She swallowed nervously.
‘I dare say you’ll make a fine kitchen maid, will prove most helpful to Cook, here.’
‘Oh, sir! Sir, I … thank you, sir!’
Albert smiled and next trained his gaze on Mack. ‘You, young lad, will make yourself useful, I’m certain. Grooming the dogs, here … Yes, yes, and cleaning boots and suchlike. How does that sound?’