by Emma Hornby
‘Why, what—?’
Before he could finish, she rose and headed upstairs.
When later she heard Josephine enter the bedroom, Pip pulled the covers around her chin and feigned sleep. She couldn’t bear to see her again tonight. One kind word from her and her resolve would crumble; she couldn’t risk that, must discuss what was to be done with Simon, first. To her relief, her mistress didn’t disturb her and a few minutes later, sounds of her retiring to her bed carried through, then silence fell once more. Pushing the covers away, Pip sat up and wrapped her arms around her knees.
How long she remained like this, she didn’t know – long enough, she surmised, if her stiff back was anything to go by, for the last of the guests to have left and the family and staff to have gone to their beds. She rose and stole downstairs.
When she pushed open the kitchen door and saw faint light from within, she sighed in relief – he was already up and waiting for her. However, the tall figure she met when she stepped inside wasn’t Simon. She froze to the spot.
Slouched in a chair, nursing a glass filled with amber liquid, was Mr Philip.
He didn’t seem to have noticed her entrance. His dull gaze was on a sheaf of papers illuminated by the shivering flame of the candle on the table in front of him. Gone was the man she’d come to recognise. His stiff countenance was nowhere to be seen, his immaculate dress crumpled, the top two buttons on his shirt lying open and the sleeves rolled to the elbow. He looked in another world altogether, one all his own.
Pip licked her lips uncertainly. Could she retreat without drawing his attention? She put one foot out behind her and was about to move back towards the door when suddenly he lifted his head.
‘Sorry, Mr Philip, sir, I … I’ll be away to bed, now,’ she mumbled, inching further away.
He scooped the sheets of paper into a leather folder and rested his arm on top, almost protectively. His speech was slightly slurred. ‘What are you doing here?’
I could ask you the same thing, she thought, saying instead: ‘I were wanting a sup, were thirsty, Mr Philip. I didn’t think anyone would be awake. Sorry.’
Low laughter left him. He waved his glass towards her. ‘Great minds, hm? Although the milk or whatever you were thinking of wasn’t quite what I had in mind.’
‘Sorry.’
‘How is my sister?’ he asked in a softer tone.
‘Sleeping. I shouldn’t have left her, should get back … Sorry.’
‘Will you cease with that wretched word?’
At this, she almost apologised again – couldn’t help it. He was a formidable character at the best of times; here, alone with him in the dead of night … She was more than a little nervous.
‘Sorry means nothing, really, does it?’ he added, almost to himself. ‘It’s a mere noise, without substance. Anyone can say it, can’t they, but it eases nothing inside. In here.’ He tapped his chest.
‘It can if it’s genuine.’ The words hung in the air between them; she chewed her tongue, regretting having blurted a response. She should have remained silent, should just have made her excuses and gone …
‘What if …?’ His gruff voice was a murmur. ‘What if an apology is heartfelt but the recipient is unable to hear? What then?’
She thought for a moment. ‘I, I don’t know, Mr Philip. Say it louder?’
He gave a snort of amusement. Then he bestowed upon her a small smile. ‘Your innocence is something to be treasured. Don’t lose that, will you?’
‘Nay, Mr Philip.’
‘You promise?’
She nodded. Feeling increasingly uncomfortable, she once more edged towards the door.
‘I thought you needed a drink?’
Swallowing a sigh, she collected a glass and made for the covered pitcher of milk kept cool on the marble slab in the pantry. Then, changing her mind, she turned and filled it half full from Cook’s barrel of ale. The fire had long since been banked down and the long room was chilly; the drink would warm her up and, she hoped, help her sleep. That was if she ever escaped this room …
Philip threw back his own glass, gulping half its contents. He screwed his face at the strong spirit then dipped his head into his hand.
Tabby had mentioned once that he’d escape to the kitchen as a youngster when troubled in his mind – was that what he was doing now? Pip wondered, eyeing him discreetly. Whatever demons were keeping him from his bed, she neither knew nor wanted to. Though she had a strong inkling, if she was honest with herself – Hardman. His clear sense of melancholy and attempt at escape at the bottom of a bottle … talk of apologies … His grief spoke volumes. Against her better judgement, she almost felt sorry for him.
Nonetheless, it wasn’t for her to know nor be witnessing this. Her position, or more to the point his, went against it. He was drunk; what was her excuse? She must cut this meeting, leave him be, for his embarrassment tomorrow upon remembering their exchange might see him resenting her for it. The last thing she needed was another enemy.
Her gaze turned to the door. She was just about to slip away when the one leading to the servants’ quarters opened.
Simon took in the scene. His eyes narrowed. He made to speak, pausing when she held a finger to her lips, then he swung around and disappeared. Pip hurried after him.
‘Simon?’ She reached out to him as he approached his and Mack’s bed – but he snatched his arm back and she gasped. ‘Lad, what’s wrong?’
‘Nowt, why would there be? Anyroad, go on back down. Don’t let me keep you from enjoying yourself.’
She blinked, confused. ‘That’s the last thing I were doing, believe me. Mr Philip’s that skennin’, he don’t know what day it is. I came to meet thee, remember, but found him slumped at yon table in your place.’
‘And agreed to a nice cosy drink with him, eh?’ He pointed to the glass she still held.
‘Nay, I—’
‘Well, on your head be it. Go on, get back to your fun and games. I want my bed.’
Her anger was rising; she grasped his shoulder and turned him around to face her. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘He’ll snare you over my dead body!’
Slowly, realisation dawned. She blushed to the roots of her hair. ‘Don’t talk so daft—!’
‘Aye? Daft, is it? He’s an appetite that’s never full when it comes to maids. Now Hardman’s gone, he’ll be on t’ prowl for a replacement. Happen not you now, but in a few short years—’ Suddenly, his whole countenance relaxed. He closed his eyes and released air slowly and the ghost of a smile appeared. ‘By, I keep forgetting … Thank the heavens, we’ll not be here by then, eh? He’ll not get the chance, for we’ll be away at the Sutton-Shaws’. Sorry, for snapping, like. It’s just … I just, well, I don’t want to see you go the same path as the rest and …’ He frowned when she looked away sadly. ‘What’s wrong? What’s happened?’
‘Oh, lad. Oh, the day I’ve had …’
‘Tell me.’
She raised her eyes slowly to his. ‘It’s ruined, lad, the lot. We can’t go to work for Miss Josephine … and him.’ She waited but when Simon merely continued frowning at her, added, ‘Alexander Sutton-Shaw? He’s the divilish piece what tried to lure our Mack away that day.’
‘What?’
‘It’s true. Miss Josephine’s in the dark about his wicked ways, that much is clear – likely him downstairs and that wife of his, an’ all, I reckon. I ain’t told Miss Josephine, it would break her heart. She loves him, deep like. I’ve said nowt to no one till now. What are we to do, lad? We can’t dwell beneath the same roof, now, can’t put ourselfs at risk, Mack especially. And well, the way matters have got with Mrs Goldthorpe, we can’t remain at Bracken House, can we?’ Her voice broke. ‘Can you fathom it, at all? The rotten luck of it; why, why this bad fortune all the time, lad?’
Simon had joined his hands behind his head and was pacing the room. Finally, he halted by the window. His back to her, he released a sigh that seemed to come from
his soul.
‘What will we do?’ she repeated.
‘We leave. The night.’
‘Aye?’
‘I’m fair fed up with the bloody lot of them. Leave them to it. We’re done here.’
Deep in her heart of hearts, she’d been preparing herself for this, knew he was right. Still, the stab of pain at the prospect struck acutely all the same. ‘Aye. Suppose we must.’
To leave their friends, though … Miss Josephine … Oh, how could she do it? But there was no option. There wasn’t anything they could do, was there? Besides, they likely wouldn’t be believed. Their short time here had come to an end. In some small way, she realised she was almost glad, was tired to the bones of it all. Things grew worse by the day and were certain only to get uglier. They must go.
‘Go to your room and collect your belongings,’ said Simon dully. ‘I’ll rouse the young ’un and we’ll meet thee by the back door.’
She nodded, then, catching sight of her dress, told him, ‘We must leave our new rig-outs behind. They’re uniform. We ain’t entitled to them no more. It’s only right.’
Mack’s feet were healing well; the thought of him returning to the old boots that had caused him so much misery tore at her. Nevertheless, they had no choice. The property didn’t belong to them. She wouldn’t give anyone the opportunity to brand them thieves on top of everything else.
‘Aye. Now go on. Hurry.’
Swallowing tears, Pip turned and headed downstairs. Entering the kitchen, she saw that Mr Philip and his leather paper carrier had gone. Bar his near-empty glass on the table, it was as though he’d never been there. She hurried out and up the main stairs.
Pip changed into her old garments quickly, trying her best not to feel sad and to ignore how different they felt to the new ones she’d been so proud of. Besides the Christmas box from the master containing her precious coin, she owned nothing in the world. Clutching it in her palm, she headed back. She told herself not to glance in her slumbering mistress’s direction but, as she knew they would, her eyes betrayed her; she paused by the door and gazed at the lady for a long moment.
Terrible sorry, Miss Josephine. I love thee and wish thee well, but I must leave you. The silent words fell from her lips. Carrying a pain in her breast along with her, she left the room for the final time.
As he’d promised, Simon was waiting by the back door with a sleepy looking Mack. After stroking the youngster’s hair and readjusting his cap, she shared a dull look with Simon. Neither spoke, for there was nothing more to discuss. She stole a last look around the homely room and followed the lads out.
The starless night barely had time to wrap its frosty arms around them when a demand that they get back inside hissed through their ears like splinters. Shocked confusion made them do as it bid. The door clapped shut behind them; whipping around, they found Caroline glaring at them in the kitchen’s dim light.
‘And where, pray, did you three imagine you were slithering off to?’
The woman’s spite-filled eyes had Pip shrinking behind Simon. But he, after some seconds, lifted his chin and faced her head on.
‘We’re getting out of Bracken House, for good and proper, and from the divilment what dwells within it. We rue the day we ever set eyes on the rotten place!’ He turned back to the doorknob. ‘Let’s go, Pip, Bread—’
‘Oh no. Oh no, no, I’m afraid not.’ Caroline’s tone was chilling. A smile greeted their puzzled frowns. She glanced to Mack and flicked her head. ‘You there. Back upstairs to your bed.’
He obeyed without resistance. ‘Aye.’
‘Wait.’ Pointing to the ground at her feet as though summoning a dog, she ordered him back. ‘Yes? Yes? Yes, what?’
Mack blinked up at her. Rubbing a bleary eye with his fist, he said, ‘Aye, Mrs … Goldwart?’
‘It’s Goldthorpe, you imbecile. Goldthorpe.’ With a curl of her lip, she pushed him from her, sending him staggering towards the servants’ door. ‘Get out of my sight.’
When he’d gone, Simon turned a steely glare on her. His hands were bunched at his sides, his nostrils flared. ‘It’s a good thing for you you’re a wench, for so help me, you’d be nursing a bloody nose for that. Tripping Pip here earlier, now the lad … Don’t you ever lay a hand on either again, you hear?’
Pip held her breath, yet a slow but steady stream of anger was rising in her, too. Lord, how she loathed this woman. She did, she did. She seemed to cause nothing but misery to all unfortunate enough to pass in her shadow.
In one swift movement, taking them both by surprise, Caroline threw out an arm and grabbed hold of Simon’s ear. Eyes narrowed to slits, she twisted peevishly. ‘Let’s get one thing clear,’ she spat over his gasp of pain, ‘I make the rules around here. One more word out of place from that infernal tongue of yours, and I’ll …’ Slowly, her face relaxed into a ghoulish smirk. ‘Well, let’s just say you’d be wise to pray you never come to find out.’ As she had with Mack, she slung Simon away from her. ‘Sit. And you.’ Shooting Pip a look, she pointed to the table.
‘We’ll do no such thing, we’re getting out of here—’
‘Oh, you’ll hear me all right, boy. Unless you want me to have someone summon the police here and now?’
Pip and Simon exchanged worried looks. The law was a thing to fear, particularly for folk like them, always had been. It was she who murmured, ‘Police? But … we’ve done nowt.’ Unlike you! her mind screamed, at the same time praying Simon wouldn’t give life to the words. Lord, if she only knew what they knew …
‘Nothing?’ Caroline arched an eyebrow. ‘Now that depends, doesn’t it?’
‘Depends on what?’ asked Simon quietly.
‘On who is doing the accusing. My word would carry infinitely more clout than the likes of yours, and you know it. Now, I shan’t tell you again. Sit.’
Reluctantly, they did as she ordered. They watched with wary eyes as she approached them. Her stare was empty, stiff face unyielding. Why was she threatening them in this way? What was she up to?
‘What is all this?’ asked Simon in the next breath, as though reading Pip’s thoughts. ‘You’ve plotted to be rid of us since the day we got here; now you’re telling us to stay? Why?’
‘Josephine Goldthorpe must marry. I intend to ensure that nothing comes in the way of it. Therefore, you,’ Caroline continued with a jerk of her chin to Pip, ‘go nowhere. She seems to have got it into her mind that she needs you to help control her nerve disorder. If you were to leave, her condition might deteriorate and the wedding could be put in jeopardy. I see that now. It is a risk I am not prepared to take.’
‘Why would we do owt for thee?’ Simon met her stare boldly. ‘After all you’ve done, the trouble you tried to cause for Pip here …? We should have gone to the master then.’
‘With what proof? Do you honestly believe I’d be so careless? Oh no. I’m most cautious in my planning. It’s unfortunate that Finch had to go, I admit. However, I did what I needed to at the time.’
‘Even at the price of your own daughter’s happiness and well-being?’ He was gratified when she glanced away. ‘So, I’ll ask thee again: why would we do owt for thee? For it is for thee, ain’t it? You care not a fig for the lady upstairs, nor her happiness, I’ll be bound. What game are you playing? What do you care whether she weds or not? What shall you get out of it?’
‘Ask your fine master up there; all of this is his doing,’ she ground out, almost to herself.
Pip frowned. Again, as when she’d overheard her with Philip in the study, the reference to Albert Goldthorpe being at fault. What did it all mean? However, she hadn’t time to ponder; Caroline’s eyes were again on them.
‘There is no two ways about it – Josephine and Mr Sutton-Shaw must marry. That’s all you need to know.’
‘Mrs Goldthorpe?’ Where Pip found her courage, she didn’t know. It was, she suspected, love of Josephine and care for her well-being that had her lifting her chin in defiance. ‘D’you know wha
t make of man you’re for shackling that fine lady to? He’s a beast, aye. A filthy swine with a liking for ones much younger than his intended.’ That had knocked the wind out of her sails – she nodded grimly at Caroline’s stunned expression. ‘It’s the truth. We encountered him a while back on the streets.’
‘You’re lying—’
‘Nay, she ain’t,’ Simon interjected. ‘He’s a feral demon in gentleman’s clothing. You’d push your own kin on to someone like that, aye?’
‘But … But they must wed.’ Caroline swung angrily from the table to pace the floor. ‘If they don’t, it will spell ruin for us, ruin.’ Abruptly she halted. ‘I don’t believe a word of it – and you’re lucky I’m not hauling you before the courts on a slander charge. Attempting to drag the name of a gentleman such as Alexander Sutton-Shaw through the dirt; how dare the pair of you.’
‘You know we speak the truth. It’s written all over your phizog.’
‘Silence!’ Caroline took a deep breath before continuing with more composure, though her face remained void of colour: ‘Josephine loves him. Her happiness is secured. Now, I suggest you retire to your respective beds and utter not a word of this to anyone.’
‘And if we refuse?’
The lady glared at Pip, unblinking. She rested both palms on the table and a small smile appeared at her mouth. ‘Then all three of you worthless waifs shall suffer for your folly. You and the boy upstairs will be incarcerated in the workhouse. As for him …’ Her eyes swivelled to Simon. ‘He’ll dangle at the end of a rope with a noose around his neck.’
Pip lurched back in her chair. ‘What? I don’t understand …’
‘What is there not to?’ Caroline’s tone had dropped to a whisper. ‘That’s the punishment normally handed out to murderers, is it not? You, boy, had an axe to grind with the dead servant. Half the street heard you verbally attack her for swindling you out of money. The perfect motive, wouldn’t you agree? I know the courts would.’