The Orphans of Ardwick

by Emma Hornby

  Simon shook his head slowly. ‘Nay …’

  ‘You were bitter, wanted revenge, and wormed your way into this house for that purpose only. You bided your time before gaining the perfect opportunity to get her alone while everyone slept. You confronted her – perhaps she said something you didn’t like – your fury boiled over and you pushed the housemaid down the stairs. You killed her.’

  ‘Nay, nay—’

  ‘You witch!’ Mindless of who she was speaking to now, Pip jumped to her feet. Sickened to the core, her breathing ragged, she pointed a quivering finger in the grinning woman’s face. ‘You can’t do this!’

  ‘Oh, I can and I shall.’

  ‘They’ll see through your lies, they will—!’

  ‘That’s a risk you can afford to take, is it? My husband and I, the scullery maid, even Josephine can attest to the confrontation outside. We all witnessed it, did we not?’

  ‘And what about what I witnessed?’ Pip was shaking with her emotions. She couldn’t contain herself now. It had gone too far for that. ‘You, lurking about the landing shortly afore Hardman met her end? I’ll tell them that! I will! It’s you what’s the murderer!’

  ‘Aha. Oh dear, oh dear.’ Completely unfazed by the outburst, Caroline clicked her tongue. ‘You were absent from your bed, despite telling the police the contrary? Lying to an inspector of this city? And for what reason would that be? But of course – an obvious accomplice to murder. Your friend asked you to assist him in his heinous plot and you agreed. Seems you’ll be spared the workhouse after all, for it shall be the noose for you, too—’

  ‘Stop it, stop it!’

  ‘The truth hurts, doesn’t it?’

  ‘It’s not the truth, it’s not! You’re the guilty one, you—’

  ‘The likes of you are worth not a jot, don’t you understand?’ Caroline threw the quiet words at them like hot knives. ‘You think your word would carry an ounce of weight over that of your betters? Just you try me. You’re nothing – less than that. Go against me and I’ll crush you like cockroaches beneath my shoe. I’ll crumble your lives to dust. That is a promise. As for your precious Josephine … She’ll be committed to the asylum and the key tossed away. And it will be all your fault.’

  ‘Once Miss Josephine’s wed … we’ll be free to leave?’

  Pip had been shaking her head, eyes screwed shut. At this emotionless question from Simon, she gazed at him, incredulous. ‘Lad, you’re not for going along with it? Nay, we can’t—’

  ‘I haven’t decided yet.’ Caroline cut her off, again that smug smile of hers playing. ‘What is it they say? Keep friends close, enemies closer still? You go when I say.’

  ‘Simon, lad—!’

  ‘We’re powerless, Pip. Even if we run, they’ll find us.’ He lifted dull eyes to her face. ‘We’ve no choice.’

  To remain, they would be prisoners, regardless. And Mrs Goldthorpe was the guard. God above, that it had come to this … Just what did their future hold? Yet if they went against her, they wouldn’t have one at all, their lives would be cut short on the gallows, she’d make sure of it. Pip didn’t believe it was idle talk for a second. Simon had always done right by her and Mack. They could rely upon their worldly-wise leader to make the right decision. Now was no different. She trusted his judgement implicitly. Slowly, her head dipped in defeat. She nodded.

  ‘I knew you’d see sense. Now, I suggest— Oh.’ Caroline broke off as for the first time, her stare captured the glass sitting between them on the table. A slight frown creased her brow. ‘So he was here. Then where …?’ Her eyes hardened. She cleared her throat. ‘This conversation is over. You two, get to your beds. And remember: keep your mouths shut.’

  Her piercing glare bore into them for some moments then she was gone. Pip and Simon didn’t follow suit. They sat for a long time, frozen with shock.

  She’d come seeking out her husband. If only she’d entered seconds later, she wouldn’t have caught sight of them leaving, Pip realised. Philip had managed to evade her acid, retreating not to bed but God alone knew where. Alas, they hadn’t. Now, their lives were over. And there was nothing they could do.

  Without looking her way, Simon held out an arm. Silently, she leaned across, wrapping both of hers around his neck.

  With a simultaneous, hopeless sigh, they held each other tightly.

  Chapter 17

  DAYS ROLLED BY incident free. The children had awaited further trouble with quiet dread – they had begun to expect it, now – but it never came. If anything, the house had settled into an easy routine.

  Caroline, if their paths should cross, acknowledged them in neither look nor speech. She acted as if they didn’t exist, as was normal. It was as though the trouble in the kitchen that bitter New Year’s Night had never taken place. It seemed forgotten, by her at least. Pip and Simon, on the other hand, were not afforded the same – even pretence at – peace.

  How could they? They were being forced to remain here against their will. It was all they could think about. Worry for their uncertain futures was a dark companion during both their waking hours and otherwise. Regularly, Pip woke with a start from black and vivid dreams of Simon, or herself, sometimes the two of them, standing before the scaffold as Caroline waved them on with a demonic grin. And if the unfamiliar smudges of colour beneath the lad’s eyes were anything to go by, the nights were not being kind to him, either.

  Tabby had grown suspicious, Cook more so, particularly when their appetites began to wane with the fretting of it all. By some unspoken agreement, they remained tight-lipped, knowing instinctively that, should they mention a word, Caroline would see her threat through and their lives would be over. They were helpless. Hopeless. Nothing could make this right and it wasn’t going away. They were at a loss what to do.

  To Pip’s relief, Josephine was too caught up in the forthcoming wedding to notice anything amiss. Yet her mistress’s glowing happiness evoked only sorrow and regret and shame. Often, Pip was forced to invent some chore or other to escape her company for a short while and regain her composure. For the guilt was eating away at her; the fine lady she’d come to love was deserving of so much more. Better from Alexander, and from her sister-in-law. Better from her.

  They barely saw anything of Philip these days. Whether as a distraction or because he had simply moved forward, he’d thrown himself into the overseeing of the mill. The cool, collected, level-headed gentleman was back. There were certainly no more late-night maudlin trips to the kitchen with only a whisky bottle for company, at any rate, as far as Pip knew.

  The only beacon of light in the clogging darkness was Lucy. Always her sunny self, she brought life to every room and person she graced with her presence.

  New staff had indeed been employed. Cally, the housemaid, was a somewhat lackadaisical young woman with a chirpy smile, the polar opposite of Hardman. The other new employee was a nursemaid in her middle years named Budd who, to everyone’s surprise, the girl adored. If only the secrets plaguing Pip and Simon’s fraught minds didn’t exist, life at Bracken House would have been a pleasure.

  The glimmer of a solution to their dilemma presented itself one Wednesday morning, a fortnight to the day since the new domestics had joined the workforce. The Goldthorpes had just been served breakfast and the servants, enjoying a few precious minutes’ respite, were seated in the kitchen eating bread and cold bacon washed down with tea. No one glanced up when Cally, returning from the dining room, entered. As she did normally, the woman sat in her chair and helped herself to food from the dishes in the centre of the table. However, this day differed in one aspect: the buxom housemaid’s usually healthy appetite looked to have deserted her. She nibbled at a heel of bread then, sighing, returned it to her plate. Folding her arms, she chewed at her thumbnail, eyes flitting to them in turn.

  ‘What’s the matter with thee?’ asked Cook through a mouthful of meat.

  She plucked at her lip. ‘Can I ask youse summat?’ At their nods, she continued in
a loud whisper, ‘Do youse believe in … spirits, like?’

  Tabby snorted, Mack giggled. Cook, however, didn’t scoff in the slightest: ‘Oh aye.’

  Cally’s eyes were like saucers. ‘Do you? Really?’

  ‘Aye. I’ve had an encounter or two through the years myself. Why d’you ask?’

  ‘Oh ’eck … Oh!’

  ‘What’s up now, then?’

  ‘I reckon the last housemaid here wants me gone. I can feel her, Cook, all around me. Her presence, and touching me, like.’ She threw her apron over her face theatrically. ‘Oh, what am I to do?’

  The older woman rolled her eyes. ‘Eeh, I don’t know. You’re a scatty mare, you are. Hardman’s no more here than the bloody queen of England. I’d know it. I feel these things, me.’

  Cally peeped over the top of the snowy material. ‘You do?’

  ‘Oh aye. Got passed down, it did, from my mam – famous for it were Annie May – to me. My sister, Jilly, has the sense too, though hers is aspying the future – reads the tea leaves, like, she does.’

  ‘But … well, what about what I felt, then, out there?’ Cally thrust a thumb towards the baize door. ‘You telling me it were nowt but fanciful thinking?’

  ‘And what did you feel?’ Cook’s brows suddenly knotted together. She leaned forward and, eyes widening, asked in a shaky whisper, ‘You didn’t feel ghostly fingers of death playing in your hair, did yer, lass?’

  ‘Aye! Oh! How …?’ The young woman’s face had turned a shocking shade of white. ‘See, see! I knew it, I did! Otherwise how did you know? Oh, I’m being haunted by the poor soul forced to wander this mortal realm for ever more—!’

  ‘You’ve a ruddy great spider nestled in your cap.’

  Cally’s lamentations petered away. She blinked. ‘Eh?’

  ‘Them “ghostly fingers of death” you think you felt – it’ll be them black hairy legs busy at making a web in yon locks.’

  Swivelling her eyes upwards, the housemaid let out a screech and, dashing the cap to the floor, leapt up to crouch on her chair as though the ground was home to a hundred rats. ‘Where is the dirty divil? Has it gone? Has it? Oh, Lord, it might still be on me, might have laid its eggs in my ears—!’

  ‘Don’t talk so bleedin’ daft.’ Cook could barely breathe for laughing. ‘Eeh, I’m sorry, lass, I am. I couldn’t resist. I were jesting, is all; nowt to fret over. Come on, drink your tea, now, calm your nerves.’

  The scullery maid and Mack by this time had tears of mirth running down their faces. Even Pip had to cover her mouth with her hand to quell her giggles. Cally, on the other hand, was not amused.

  ‘Rotten-minded swines, the lot! Could have given me a heart attack, you could. I hate them things – bleurgh! Mind, rather a spider than a dead servant tormenting my person …’ Slowly, her lips twitched and swatting a hand at the grinning cook, she laughed along. ‘All right, aye, you had me. I’ll get you back for that, though, you see if I don’t.’

  ‘Aye well. For now, it’s to work for you and the rest of us. Come along, no slacking. As my dear mam used to say: lose an hour in the morning and you’ll be chasing it through the day.’ She heaved herself up, the maids did likewise and, after draining her cup, Pip scraped back her chair.

  Simon, who had been silent throughout the conversation, now laid a hand on her wrist, saying, ‘Hang on a minute.’

  ‘What is it?’

  After looking to Mack and instructing him to collect the grooming brushes and go and see to the master’s dogs, he returned his attention to Pip. His brow was creased, his dark grey eyes thoughtful. ‘Sit back down. I think I’ve got an idea.’

  She slid into the chair beside his that the youngster had vacated. ‘About what?’

  ‘How to get ourselves out of the mess we’re in.’

  A frown of her own appeared. ‘What, with Mrs Goldthorpe?’ she whispered, adding at his nod, ‘Ay, tha does? But what, lad?’

  ‘Miss Lucy drops into the kitchen most days after lunch, don’t she?’

  ‘Aye yes, I suppose she does. But what’s that got to do—?’

  ‘I’ll explain proper soon. Go on up to your room, now, I’ll see you later.’

  Now, it was her turn to halt his attempt to vacate the table. ‘Wait. What’s the young miss got to do with your idea? I’ll not use her, Simon, won’t see her hurt for owt—’

  ‘Nay, nay. Nowt like that.’

  ‘You promise?’

  ‘Course. Aye.’

  Pip watched him leave through the back door to see to his duties in the garden. Still frowning, she headed upstairs.

  That afternoon, as Tabby was washing up the lunch things and Cook was taking the weight off her feet by the fire with a glass of beer, the three children sat finishing their meal at the table. Cally was away somewhere, busy in the house. Swinging his legs and humming a tune, Mack was in his own innocent world. Pip and Simon, however, had but one thing on their minds. They glanced continually from each other to the door. Finally, as they were about to give up hope, Lucy skipped into the room bestowing on them all one of her smiles. Pip heard the older lad sigh in relief but had no time to wonder afresh at his plan; the young girl had rushed to her and now threw her arms around her neck.

  ‘Good afternoon, Pip. I trust you’re well?’

  ‘Aye, Miss Lucy.’ By, but it was lovely to see her, always. ‘You’re all right?’

  ‘Of course.’ She looked across to the fire. ‘Hello, Cook. Have you … been busy today?’ she asked casually.

  ‘Have I done any baking, you mean, young sneak,’ the woman replied without turning, though amusement bubbled beneath the words. She shook her head when Lucy giggled. ‘Go on, get a cake from the stand over there, lovey.’

  When the girl was seated again and occupied picking fat currants from the golden pastry, tongue poking out in concentration, Simon straightened in his seat as though preparing himself. He too now looked to Cook, and Pip bit her lip, wondering what he was about to do and whether it would work. Oh, but she hoped so, she did …

  ‘Tell us about them spirits you’ve seen, Cook,’ he called across, tone easy, as though their very futures were not relying on her unwitting cooperation, which of course they were. ‘Remember, like you told Cally?’

  She stifled a yawn with her arm. ‘Nay, nay.’

  ‘Ah, go on.’

  ‘Another time, mebbe. I’m too fagged, lad, for tales.’

  Desperation flashed in his eyes; he turned to Pip with a hopeless shake of his head, and thinking on her feet it was she who said in an overly loud whisper, ‘It were nowt but daft talk, I reckon, lad. Lies, aye.’

  As she’d anticipated, the cook’s head snapped around. ‘Lie, me? I ask you, bold piece! I’ll have you know that my beloved husband, God rest his soul, has paid me many a visit since the Lord saw fit to take him back home. My mam, too, aye. So stick that in your pipe and smoke it!’ She returned her attention to her beer with a haughty sniff.

  ‘Aye, Cook. Sorry, Cook.’

  Simon rewarded Pip’s efforts with a soft wink. He glanced to Lucy who was sitting agog, clearly trying to process what she’d just heard. Then, loud enough for just the girls to hear, he said, ‘’Ere, I do hope Hardman ain’t still lingering here at Bracken House. I mean, I’d not want to get Cook, there, into bother for revealing that such things as spirits exist, but well … if they do …’ He deliberately let his words trail off with a shiver. ‘I’ve heard that the dead can become trapped, are unable to leave if they have unfinished business here. Like, say … if their lives were unexpectedly cut short, mebbe.’

  The young miss was quiet for the remainder of the visit. Though Pip, filled with guilt and not a little anger that she’d allowed Simon to draw her into this bizarre scheme – the like of which she couldn’t imagine solving their problems – and worrying Lucy as he obviously had, tried to distract her thoughts but to no avail.

  ‘I have to go, now.’ Lucy, her usual smile gone, eventually rose. ‘Goodbye.’
r />   ‘Just what’s your game?’ Pip whispered harshly when the girl left. ‘How could you, lad? You promised—’

  ‘Miss Lucy’ll get over it, don’t fret. I had to, had no choice.’

  ‘Had to what? What was all that in aid of, anyroad?’

  He glanced about, then leaned in. ‘We can’t say nowt concerning Mrs Goldthorpe’s activities, right? And she won’t come clean off her own bat, you can be certain of that. So …’

  ‘Aye? So?’

  ‘We frighten the truth from her. We’ll scare her so bad, she’ll be squealing her crimes like the sow that she is to anyone who’ll listen.’

  ‘How, lad? What will you do?’

  ‘I’ll make her believe she’s being haunted by the housemaid’s spirit. That her victim is out for revenge or some such.’

  ‘Oh, lad …’

  ‘You’ll see. She’ll be so frickened, she’ll confess, she will.’

  Pip’s heart had sunk to her boots. She’d thought for a while there that he’d come up with a genuine course of action. God above, talk about the grasping at a solution by one who was past desperate … It was madness, a childish idea – because that’s what they were: just kiddies, trying to make matters better the only way they could think how. She heaved a long sigh.

  ‘Where would Miss Lucy have gone to after leaving the kitchen just now?’ Simon answered his own question: ‘To visit her mam for an hour.’

  ‘Aye, and?’

  ‘And, what d’you think will be the first thing out of the lass’s mouth? You saw her; I reeled her in good and proper. She’ll not be able to contain herself and, ta-dah, the seed will be sown. And I’ll be the one to reap it. Oh, I will that.’

  It wouldn’t work. Pip knew this and yet what else did they have? She certainly hadn’t a brighter idea. It was an impossible aim he was clinging to, for he had to feel he was at least trying something, she realised. She couldn’t dash his hopes. Suppressing another sigh, she shrugged. ‘Do as you see fit, then, lad. Just be careful, eh? Caroline Goldthorpe … Well, we both know what evil she’s capable of. She’ll show no mercy should she sniff this out.’