by Emma Hornby
‘Well, I’m happy to hear it. You’re adapting to your new role as kitchen maid, lass?’
At this, she’d stolen a glance at Tabby, who had pulled a wry face, and definite merriment lurked behind her response: ‘Aye, master. I loves it.’
‘So I can tell.’ Ever so slightly, his smile slipped; cocking his head, he’d scrutinised her thoughtfully with what seemed the same look Cook had when she’d taken stock of Pip following her transformation from the bath. ‘Hm, extraordinary …’
‘Sir?’ Pip had tilted her own head in puzzlement.
‘Yes? Oh. Where was I?’ Blinking back to the present, Albert had cleared his throat. ‘A merry Christmas to you, Pip. May the remainder of this year and the one ahead treat you kindly and bring you health and contentment.’
‘Aye, sir. Thank you, sir. And all the same to thee.’
After he’d enquired about the lads’ well-being and wished them the same good fortune as the rest, they’d returned to the kitchen, and Pip had been thankful for it. Clearly, he was due his rest, hadn’t seemed himself for a moment there, had likely over-exerted himself. She hoped he’d soon feel well. Oh, but he was kind. To them all, aye. A more fair and honest master such as he you’d be hard pressed to find, she’d bet.
Now, beyond the window, violet-black smudges were rapidly switching the winter-white sky to night. Eyes heavy from the flames’ heat and hearty dinner, Pip sighed contentedly. She glanced to Simon and Mack, sitting to her left on the rag rug before the kitchen range, and they smiled. After returning their smiles, she swivelled her eyes to the woman and girl.
Tabby, curled in a ball in a fireside chair, was dozing peacefully. In the seat opposite, head half turned away, Cook looked to be asleep too. On closer inspection, Pip saw she was staring into the fire’s hypnotic glow, as though in a world of her own. The expression of such soft sorrow touching her doughy features brought a lump to Pip’s throat. Lydia’s absence must sting sharper still on days such as this.
She couldn’t pretend to know what a mother’s loss felt like. She likened it instead to a child’s loss of a parent – it was all she could do – which she was only too familiar with. The raw anguish was heart destroying; Pip wouldn’t wish it on her worst enemy. Particularly not this lovely, selfless woman here. And how much smarter the pain must be for her. For as far as they knew, Lydia wasn’t dead. For whatever reason, she was gone from her mother’s life by choice. Not knowing how she fared, whether she lived or breathed … In a way, that was worse. Aye, it was. That must surely hurt far more.
As though sensing she was being watched, the cook turned her head. She brought a half-smile to her lips. ‘All right, lass?’
Pip nodded. On impulse, she reached for the woman’s podgy hand, which rested on the chair’s arm, and pressed it to her cheek. For a long moment, she was quiet, then: ‘I’m glad to have found you, Cook. I … I love thee, I do.’
Silence greeted the declaration. Peering up, she was about to apologise, believing her over-familiarity had made the woman uncomfortable, but the words never made it. Tears were dripping down Cook’s cheeks; instant ones sprang to Pip. They gave each other a watery smile.
‘And me! I love thee, Missis Cook, an’ all.’ Mack clambered across, grasped her other hand and flashed his gappy grin.
‘Aye, suppose you’re all right.’ Simon winked and she chuckled.
‘D’you know summat? Youse ain’t too shoddy yourselfs.’ Though emotion shook Cook’s words, she looked a little happier, and Pip’s heart lightened. ‘Now,’ she added brightly, quickly scrubbing at her face with her sleeve and rising to her feet, ‘hows about youse help me prepare the master’s tray? He slept through his meal, shall be famished by now, poor love. ’Ere, there’ll be some cake in it for thee?’
Laughing, they nodded, with Simon adding, ‘Famished my backside! They do nowt but guzzle beneath this roof. Aye, and we’re for going the same road, an’ all – mind, you’ll not ever hear me complain over that!’
Pip was suddenly struck by the change in the older lad before her. As had Mack and no doubt she herself, he’d lost that drawn, wolfish look; his features shone pink with health. Animation now danced behind eyes that once held only desperation; or worse, emptiness. He had hope again. They all did. With an inward sigh of bliss, she joined them in their task.
They had just returned to the rug, and Cook was heading for the green baize door with the laden tray, when the back door opened and Hardman entered the kitchen. The tip of her nose was red and her lips blue from the cold; instinctively, the children shuffled sideways to allow her access to the fire. However, she hurried towards Cook and in a swift movement, relieved her of her load.
‘’Ere, what are you about? That there’s for the master—’
‘Never mind that. It’s upstairs to his daughter’s room you need to be.’
The surprised anger immediately left Cook’s face. ‘Why? What’s to do with Miss Josephine?’
Pip raised her head in interest. No further incidents had occurred following yesterday’s queer disturbance and she hadn’t as yet managed to find the right time to ask anyone about the woman’s illness. Cook and even Tabby, her coming from the workhouse, had seemed to feel the absence of their own relations that little bit more today. Besides, they had used the hours to rest up; given they had earned the relaxation thrice over, she’d been loath to disturb them. And anyway, she was still new here. It would feel like she was sticking her nose into the family’s business, where it didn’t belong. Now, though, her curiosity had returned and it mounted at Hardman’s next words:
‘She’s hanging out of her window again. I saw it upon my return just now. I tell you, she’s going to fall out of it one day soon the way she carries on. Then this bad blood of hers shall be the least of her concerns, for it’s a cracked skull she’ll have – and that’s if she’s lucky.’
Cook closed her eyes for a second. Glancing to Tabby and seeing she was still asleep, she motioned to the dresser with, ‘Pip, lass, fill that china cup there with tea from the pot and follow me. Lads, youse sit good, like, till we return. You,’ she continued to the housemaid, jerking her head, ‘go on and take the master his tray. And hear this: not a word to him about the miss up there. I’ll not have him fretting. You hear?’
Hardman nodded and after quickly donning her apron and cap, disappeared through the baize door. Cook wasn’t far behind.
Pip hadn’t time to ask questions. Fulfilling the order, she rushed from the room to catch the older woman up.
‘Now then, Miss—’
‘Mabel? Oh, you’re here! I shouted but you didn’t … didn’t hear, and I … I, I cannot … breathe, I …’
‘Now then,’ Cook repeated, hurrying to her side. ‘Come on away from there and into the chair.’
‘No, I … need air, you see.’ She struggled to get the words out. ‘I … cannot …’
‘Deep breaths, now. That’s it, come along. Eeh, you’re frozen to the marrow.’ Supporting the tall slim woman with an arm across her shoulders, Cook brought her other hand around to chafe Miss Josephine’s bare arm.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Nay, now. None of that, none of that.’
‘So sorry, Mabel …’
‘Ay, lass. My poor love. Just you sit still and fill them lungs of yourn. Nice and steady, that’s it.’
It began as a hot rush that started from Pip’s toes and travelled up, up, filling her face with colour. Then it drained from her at speed, leaving her ice cold, making her stumble from the spot she stood rooted to in the doorway. Eyes wide, mouth half open, she continued to gaze at the terrified looking lady who was trying desperately to regain her composure. Memories flitted and disappeared dizzyingly in Pip’s mind. A feeling of fullness wrapped around her throat, as if invisible hands were choking her. The cup rattled in the saucer she was gripping as she began to shake. Alerted by the sound, Miss Josephine looked her way for the first time.
‘Who are you?’ She turned red-rim
med eyes to the cook questioningly. ‘Mabel?’
But the older woman was too busy surveying Pip in surprise to answer. She stepped towards her. ‘Lass? There’s no need to be afraid. Miss Josephine will be sound again shortly.’
Bad blood … Rubbish, rubbish! her brain yelled. Doctors and their mad guesswork when faced with something they didn’t understand. Nor did they want to try to; no, no. Easier for them to explain it away as something else entirely. That or dismiss it altogether. Mam, Mam …
‘I … am not fit to, to see anyone, Mabel. Please, I …’
Pip’s mind pleaded with her, insisted she couldn’t be witness to this, not again, that she’d endured enough of it in the past to last a hundred lifetimes. Her heart, however, spoke louder and though she tried, it wouldn’t be silenced. She placed the tea on the dressing table to her left. Then with tears blurring her path, she crossed to the lady’s chair.
Josephine’s ragged breaths shortened further as she watched Pip’s approach – her shame and fear were tangible. She rose and sat back down, body restless with desperation. Then she clutched at her neck, eyes huge with sheer panic. ‘My God … It’s closing up, Mabel! My throat … It is! I … I’m going to die! Please, go away, go away!’ she added with a choked rasp to Pip, swiping an arm through the air between them.
Face wreathed in helplessness, Cook made to go to the lady’s aid but Pip stopped her with a hand on her arm.
‘This is it! Lord, help me! I knew … knew it would come, knew I was dying. It’s here. Oh, I’m going to die—!’
‘You’ll not, Miss Josephine.’
‘I am, I am!’
‘You’ll not,’ Pip repeated quietly, soothingly. Calmness, from instinct alone, filled her. She dropped to her knees at Josephine’s feet. By now, the lady’s face had turned a deathly shade of grey and her head bobbed sharply on her shoulders from her violent shaking. Terror-ravaged eyes locked with Pip’s. She met them with her steady stare. Without another word, she reached for the lady’s hand and brought it to her chest. The heat of the clammy palm seeped through Pip’s thin bodice. The hand jerked, as though Josephine would remove it, but keeping her hold on top, Pip pressed it more closely to her.
‘What are you …?’
‘Sshhh. Relax, now, Miss Josephine.’
‘But I … cannot …’
‘Can you feel my heartbeat beneath your touch?’ murmured Pip.
After a long moment, the lady nodded.
‘Good. Now, I want you to concentrate on each beat. Count them in your mind. Can you do that?’
Miss Josephine didn’t confirm this. However, neither did she disagree. She simply stared back, a slight frown creasing her sweat-slicked brow.
‘Now, try and bring your own heart rate down. Try and get it to match mine.’ Pip brought Josephine’s free hand to the lady’s breast. ‘You feel the difference?’
‘I … Yes. Oh, mine is thumping at thrice the speed …!’
‘Patience, Miss Josephine. Both of ours will be beating in harmony in no time. Long slow breaths, one after the other.’ Pip demonstrated. ‘Slower. That’s it.’ She nodded, smiling gently, when the lady did as she told her.
Like this they remained for several minutes, neither speaking, just staring at one another. Gradually, the fear began to leave the woman’s eyes. Her trembling body stilled, her breathing became noiseless.
‘Our hearts. They’re beating in perfect rhythm,’ Miss Josephine whispered.
Smiling, Pip took the woman’s soft slim hands and rested them both in Josephine’s lap. Then she rose and walked behind the lady’s chair. Here, with the heels of her hands, she massaged her stiff shoulders. ‘Is that gentle enough, Miss Josephine? I’m not hurting thee?’
The woman shook her head. ‘No,’ she uttered, trancelike. ‘It’s relieving.’
‘It’s the tensing, you see,’ Pip explained quietly to the back of her head. ‘It tightens the muscles into steel-hard knots. You’ll feel lighter in a minute once they’ve loosened.’
Again, they lapsed into silence. The shoulders grew less firm and Pip then worked her fingers into the creamy-skinned nape. When eventually she lowered her arms and returned to stand in front of her, Josephine greeted her with a serene expression.
‘Better, Miss Josephine?’
Tired but peaceful eyes creased. ‘Yes,’ she whispered.
After fetching the abandoned cup and saucer, Pip placed them by the woman’s elbow. ‘Drink your tea then have a lie-down. Your body needs rest to recover.’ She gave a last soft smile. Then she stepped back, clasped her hands in front of her and lowered her gaze as indication that her work here was done.
Throughout, Cook had intervened in neither speech nor movement. She’d simply watched on in complete amazement. Now, eyes like saucers, she craned her neck towards the young lady. ‘Tha really all right, now, lass?’ At Josephine’s equally surprised nod, she turned to Pip. ‘You knew exactly what to … How did you …?’
Before Pip could answer, Josephine, her voice gentle and refined and free from excitement, spoke. ‘Who are you?’ she asked in wonderment, as though addressing a saintly being sent down from heaven.
‘Pip, Miss Josephine. The new kitchen maid.’
‘Pip … It suits you. A lovely name for a lovely girl.’
She smiled shyly. ‘Ta, thanks. Yours is a bonny ’un, an’ all.’ With reluctance – she could have remained in this nice lady’s presence all night – she turned to the older woman. ‘Have I permission to return to the kitchen, now, Cook? Mack shall fret, else, if I’m gone too long.’
Josephine answered for her. ‘You go,’ she murmured. ‘I’d like a word with Mabel, here, before I rest. And Pip,’ she added, voice thickening, ‘thank you.’
She nodded, smiled, then slipped from the room. She managed to hold her emotions in check for most of the journey. Reaching the short passage that led directly to the kitchen, her racing mind and aching heart drew her to a shuddering halt. In the seclusion of the dim light, she leaned her back against the wall and screwed her eyes shut.
‘Oh, Mam …’ The words slipped from her on a broken sob. Dropping her face into her hands, she let the bitter tears flow.
When Cook returned to the kitchen after her talk with Miss Josephine, she made straight to where Pip sat staring into the fire, just as she herself had earlier with the absent Lydia on her mind.
‘I need a word in your ear, lass.’
Pip nodded, and after observing that Hardman was busy with her duties in another part of the house, Cook set Tabby and the lads the task of stoning plums at the table as a distraction. Satisfied they wouldn’t be overheard, she sat down facing Pip. ‘Well? Out with it. What I’ve just witnessed up there … God alive, I’ve never afore seen anyone able to calm the poor love down as you did. How did you know to do that?’
‘One thing you all should know first, Cook: it ain’t no such ailment as bad blood.’
‘Nay?’
Pip shook her head. ‘Nor is what Miss Josephine’s dealing with summat she can control, as Hardman reckons. Least I don’t believe it.’ Her eyes creased as she fumbled around in her head for the right words to explain the condition she knew only too well. ‘What she’s suffering with … It’s like a fear that grips them for no reason. Summat tells them, in their head, like, that summat bad is occurring and they become overwhelmed with doom.’
Cook stared back blankly. ‘What bad things?’
‘I don’t know. Nor do them what’s feeling it. For the truth is, there ain’t nowt bad going on.’
‘Eh?’
‘It’s all in their mind.’
Cook’s voice was little more than a whisper. ‘Are you saying Miss Josephine’s insane?’
‘Nay, nay …’ Or was she? Pip bit her lip in contemplation. Whatever it was, it wasn’t normal, was it? Something was wrong with those afflicted. If it didn’t begin as a madness, it was sure as hell bad enough to turn into that after a time for the poor, confused sufferers. ‘Oh, it�
��s hard to explain,’ she continued eventually. ‘Imagine occasions when you’ve been fearful for whatever reason. That feeling you get, you know, when your hands grow clammy, you begin to shake and your heart’s galloping like a crazed horse has been set loose in your chest?’ At Cook’s nod, she spread her arms wide. ‘That’s what they feel but for reasons they can’t explain. It can strike them at all times of the day or night – even in their sleep – and it’s nigh on impossible to shake it. It does ease off, mind, after a time. Some bouts last minutes, others hours; you never can tell from one instance to the next.’
‘It must frighten you sick. Not knowing when … just waiting for it.’
‘Aye. Course, that makes them all the worse, even more anxious, like. It’s with them, always.’
The woman covered her mouth with her hand. ‘Eeh, that poor broken love up there!’
Tears clogged Pip’s throat, making it difficult to speak. ‘Can you only imagine what it must be like? Afraid to leave your rooms or be in company in case it hits? Folk staring, worrying, judging …? The shame of it, the confusion, wondering if you’re going mad? And worse: the crippling terror that you’re about to die? For it feels that way, Cook, to them. Aye, the fear’s only too real. They grow dizzy, sick, believe their heart’s about to pack in, for it’s beating that hard. Their throat feels like it’s closing so they can’t catch one breath to the next, and so they panic more … And they don’t know why. They don’t, Cook – have no control over it. Oh, it’s hell on earth, it is!’
As Cook watched her trying desperately to regain her composure, understanding slowly softened her eyes. She reached for Pip’s hand and gripped it. ‘Your mam. You’ve seen this with her, ain’t you?’
‘I miss her.’
‘Oh, my lass …’
‘It ruined her, mind and soul. The melancholy, it darkened her mind like a poisoned fog. Laudanum would remedy her for a time but all too soon it were back, worse than afore. She tried … she did … She couldn’t fight it no more. Thoughts of being that way, for the rest of her days … It were too much for her. It were just too much.’