The Orphans of Ardwick

by Emma Hornby

  Lies. Lies.

  ‘Don’t ever flee from your problems, lass, for there’s not a body alive can out-run what’s in the mind. Face it, resolve it. Trust in God’s protection and you’ll not go far wrong.’

  Those words had fallen from her mother’s lips not long before she died. Her wisdom about things, about the world beyond their cellar door, had impressed Pip. She recalled thinking at the time that Mam had never run from anything for she knew instinctively it wasn’t the way to beat your demons. Clever, she was. More than anyone else she knew, and she was proud of her.

  Lies. Lies. Lies.

  Something Cook had said recently, about the ability to sense spirits, now came back to Pip: ‘Got passed down, it did, from my mam – famous for it were Annie May …’ She squeezed her eyes shut. Everything was slotting into place. Clearly, Mam had decided a new identity would be wiser, to fit with her fresh life. She’d adopted her grandmother’s name. It must have been the first one that came to her when choosing – she must have thought a lot of her, been close to her. Pity she’d deprived her child of the same opportunity with her own.

  How different life could have been. The anger inside her expanded further.

  Mam had kept herself to herself, was civil with their neighbours but never allowed herself to get too friendly, too close, reveal too much, Pip realised now. She’d kept the world out and her secrets locked tightly within. She’d likely reasoned that in escaping to a larger town, there would be a higher chance of securing work. Blending in. Disappearing amongst the multitude of faces for ever. She’d ended up in Manchester, a suitable distance from her home in Bolton. Perhaps also, part of the decision may have been that her aunt, Cook’s sister, lived here. Had Mam planned to throw herself on her mercy but for whatever reason decided against it, to go it alone instead, at the last minute? They would never know.

  By some twist of fate, the very people she’d felt the need to cut free of had themselves relocated to the same city. And Cook, she’d fretted each day since, pined still for the daughter she was certain would return some day.

  But she wouldn’t. Because she was gone for good. Annie, Lydia, were one and the same. And both were dead.

  How could this be? How could her mother have lied to her all those years? She’d been reared but a short distance from Bracken House, from kith and kin, for all that time with neither side having an idea how near to one another they dwelled. It was too incredible to accept, to bear. How had this, any of this, been allowed to happen? All those wasted years! So much loss, on both sides – with Pip stuck in the centre, missing out more than anyone, without a single clue it was occurring.

  Again, numbness wrapped around her heart like a protective shield and she welcomed it, for the pain in her was like nothing she’d known before and never would again, she was certain. The one constant throughout her entire time on this earth, the person who had loved, protected, nurtured, was a stranger, a fake. Annie had never existed. Right now, Pip wished she herself didn’t either.

  Footsteps and familiar laughter floated towards her from beyond the railings. She blinked and moved behind a tree to steal a look at the trio passing down the wide street. Father, mother, daughter. A family. Perfect, right. As it should be. As everyone deserved …

  Again, Miss Lucy’s laughter – yet now, it brought none of the warmness to Pip’s soul that it always had. For the first time, black envy of the innocent little girl she’d only ever loved, had felt instantly drawn to – dear God, now she understood why – who had the life she’d been cheated of, stirred. And Pip hated herself for it. She hated him.

  The urge to scream at the top of her lungs to the world and everyone in it struck her with such force that pain stung her throat. Slowly, the corrosive fog clogging her breast began to clear. Bitterness towards her mother, which she’d never believed she could ever feel, was leaving her. It was replaced with an altogether stronger emotion – fury – towards another: Philip Goldthorpe.

  Pip, she thought suddenly. Mam liked that name. A smile would stroke her lips whenever she uttered it. Pip. Philip. They sounded eerily similar, too much so to be coincidence. Had it been a secret reminder of him? Had bestowing it upon her daughter brought her a modicum of happiness, made her feel she was keeping his name and his memory alive? She’d never ceased loving him, had she?

  A deadness settled within her. Neither her mother nor anyone else was to blame in all this. He was. He’d used her, cast her aside, broken her, left her feeling she had no option but to abandon all she’d ever known and loved. He’d ruined her life. In the process, he’d dashed any chance of a normal existence for the child he’d helped create. For her. And to all intents and purposes, he’d done so with an easy mind. He cared not a fig, wondered about it less. He’d ejected it from his mind as callously as he’d rejected the woman who adored him.

  He deserved to pay.

  He’d destroyed the lives of others. Now, it was his turn. She’d smash to dust all he held dear, as he’d done to her.

  When she was finished with him, he’d be the one wishing he’d never been born.

  Chapter 21

  PIP RE-ENTERED THE house the way she had left. Immediately, Cook beckoned her across, firing enquiries about her health, believing it was the explanation for her queer behaviour minutes ago. Pip held up a hand.

  ‘Aye, sorry for disappearing like that. I’m all right, now. I felt a bit sick, like, but it’s passed.’

  ‘Sick? Why? What’s to do? You felt unwell long? You must say, for you’ll hand it to the rest of us and that’ll never do, nay.’ Cook puffed out her chest and her head bobbed on her fleshy neck. ‘Whatever it is, you’ve picked it up elsewhere, for I know well enough it ain’t from my cooking. Oh no, that it bloomin’ is not!’

  ‘Nay, not that. By, your grub’s finer than owt else around.’

  ‘Aye, well.’ Satisfied, Cook nodded.

  ‘Honest, I’m well. Tired is all it is, I reckon.’

  ‘You be sure to get a fair kip, then, the night, eh? You’ll finish up making yourself ill for real. Now.’ She motioned to the teapot. ‘You wanting that brew?’

  ‘Aye, ta. I’ll just nip and show my face to Miss Josephine, let her know I’m all right, and I’ll be back.’

  ‘Go on, then, lovey. There’s a good lass.’

  Smiling, Pip crossed the room and exited through the green baize door; then, when it swished shut again safely at her back, her act dissolved and she crumpled against the hallway wall. Closing her eyes, she crushed a fist to her mouth.

  How she’d struggled to appear natural! How her gaze had yearned to stray about that woman’s face just now! The fight not to had physically pained her. As for her even tone, the smile … Pushing all thoughts from her burning mind before they had the chance to overwhelm her completely, she headed upstairs.

  Josephine raised her brows at her entrance; shaking her head apologetically, Pip fumbled in her pocket and brought out the embroidery silk. ‘Terrible sorry about before, I—’

  ‘Sit down, please, Pip.’

  She did as she was bid. Expression contrite, she opened her mouth to spin her mistress the tale she’d concocted on the walk back from the Green, of how she’d come to be in possession of the picture, but the lady stopped her.

  ‘It’s all right. I understand.’

  ‘You … do?’

  ‘Of course. I was a girl once upon a time, too, you know.’ Josephine flashed a small but wicked smile. ‘Forever snooping in other people’s private effects, I was – inquisitive, I liked to call it, though it would drive Mother mad.’ She laughed softly at the memories. ‘However, I feel I must say, you cannot take another’s belongings when they are of so personal a nature. Philip must have gifted it to Mabel in days gone by. And you see, pictures … they are all poor Mabel has left of her daughter and she would be heartbroken should they get damaged. You understand that, surely? Now, I know you would never intentionally—’

  ‘Cook?’ Pip nodded slowly, relief washing t
hrough her. Her mistress’s assumption was far more believable than the tall story she’d thought up. ‘Aye, yes, Cook. I, I took it from her room. Only to show you, mind, for I were interested to know who it were, but was too shy to ask the owner herself. Besides, Cook would know I’d been rooting in her things, which I did but meant no harm, I just—’

  ‘I know, I know. As I said, you were curious. I understand. But tell me, dear girl, why the insistence? You could barely get your words out when enquiring as to who the woman was.’

  Feeling heat creep up her neck, Pip thought quickly. ‘Oh, could I not?’ She gave what she hoped was a nonchalant shrug. ‘I’d been running … Happen that were the reason if I seemed a bit breathless, Miss Josephine? When I went to fetch the silk, I remembered the picture in my pocket and had to show you. Then, well, I rushed to put it back afore Cook should miss it.’ She shook her head and sighed. ‘I’m sorry. I act daft at times, I know. It’ll not occur again.’ She swallowed in relief when the lady chuckled. ‘Am I forgiven, Miss Josephine?’

  ‘Oh, Pip. There is nothing to forgive. All is well and no harm done. Now.’ She lifted her sewing basket into her lap. ‘I’m sure I can spare you for a while; go on downstairs and see your friends.’

  ‘Ta, thanks.’

  Outside, Pip again leaned against the wall and took some deep breaths. Thank goodness that was over and she’d got away with it. Her aunt … ‘Mustn’t think, mustn’t think,’ she muttered thickly, blinking back fresh tears. Another deep breath and she set off once more for the kitchen.

  Averting her gaze from bustling Cook, she slipped into a chair beside Simon. He turned to her quizzically – and the pain in her intensified. She couldn’t tell him, couldn’t tell anyone. He’d view her differently, she just knew it. Or would he? Oh, she didn’t know, didn’t know anything any more. Without a word, she felt up her sleeve beneath the table and pulled out the rolled-up likeness of Hardman. Then she felt for his hands resting in his lap and placed it into them. His eyes widened but he too didn’t speak, shoving it from sight up the arm of his jacket.

  ‘How did tha—?’

  ‘Don’t matter.’ She took a sip of her tea. ‘Just promise me one thing.’

  ‘Aye, what?’

  She looked him full in the face. Her response was firm. ‘Use it wisely. Make this your best attack yet. I want his wife gone.’

  That night, alone in her small bed, Pip silently cried herself to exhaustion. Still, her battered mind refused to release her to sleep. Dark and jumbled thoughts ran amok, relentless. Throughout, Philip’s face was at the forefront. Staring, always staring …

  When the faint rattle of a doorknob seeped through the wall, followed by Caroline’s fearful howl then her husband’s exasperated voice ordering her back to sleep, Pip smiled.

  A numb calmness settled in her once more. Pulling the blanket around her chin, she dropped immediately into a deep sleep.

  Simon’s tenacity in his build-up to what he’d termed ‘the last rites’ – the death of Caroline’s lies – was nothing short of remarkable. He’d upped his tricks tenfold. That way, he’d explained to Pip, when he did strike with the picture – whose absence, thankfully, Philip hadn’t yet noticed – the effects on the murderess’s tattered nerves would be explosive.

  Now, his terrorisation wasn’t limited to nocturnal hours. With Pip’s help, he’d taken to braving her during the day, too, when and wherever opportunity arose. Knocking and scratching at doors, hissing through keyholes; he was relentless. Then, like a shadow melting away when the sun emerges from behind a cloud, he’d be gone. And his antics didn’t end there.

  Sneaking into the Goldthorpes’ room and moving Caroline’s belongings around was his new favourite thing. A well-thumbed book on her night table, he hid beneath the rug before the fire. The unmissable bulge was soon spotted and Caroline’s confused ramblings carried through the bedroom wall to Pip and Josephine; the latter had shaken her head in consternation at the sound, much to Pip’s inward pleasure. And yesterday, he’d even found the nerve to enter the drawing room; in broad daylight, too!

  Asked by Cook to take along a message concerning that day’s menu to the master, who was now well enough to spend short intervals in his study, Simon had spotted on the return journey Caroline exit the drawing room and head upstairs, leaving the door ajar. Having seen Mr Philip leave for the mill that morning and knowing there could be no one else present – after all, the housemaid had taken tea for only one through to the lady minutes before – he’d stolen across the hall. He was in and out and safely back in the kitchen in a flash.

  Soon afterwards, the housemaid was once more summoned to fetch Caroline tea. The lady had noticed that her cup was empty, though for the life of her, she’d wittered to Cally, she couldn’t recall taking more than a few sips …

  ‘Not a full shilling, that one, I’m sure,’ the harassed servant had muttered to Cook and Tabby, taking herself off once more to replenish the cup. Simon and Pip had struggled to hold in their grins.

  Things were running brilliantly. The whole household had begun to view her differently, whispering behind her back. No one could fail to notice her erratic behaviour. Nor could Caroline be blind to what everyone was thinking. She and her husband argued constantly, and the rest of the family were growing increasingly concerned about her state of mind. Pip had witnessed the master and Josephine whispering together, faces grave, on more than one occasion.

  As for the woman herself, she’d swallowed whole everything they had thrown her way, exactly as they wanted. It was better than either of them could have ever foreseen. Any day now … Her confession was teetering on the tip of her tongue, they were certain.

  All of this was like balm to Pip’s shattered soul. Without the distraction it offered, she’d have withered inside without a doubt. What she’d learned … She refused to dwell on it. Giving her thoughts free rein, even for a second, made her physically ill. Her young mind was unable to withstand the enormity of her discovery. Family. Her family. Every which way she turned …

  Cook, her grandmother. Her body ached constantly to throw itself into the meaty arms, pour out her breaking heart. But for some reason – she wasn’t sure what that was, just knew she couldn’t utter the truth, not yet at least – she kept her silence. The master was her grandfather … It was like something from a mawkish story, it was, really. She’d have found it laughable were it not so tragic, not slowly killing her inside. An aunt, a half-sister … God above, Caroline, her stepmother.

  The notion sickened her. But not nearly as much as the thought of her father.

  Father.

  Pip still found that impossible to process. Philip Goldthorpe and her mother … And who was she? Pip couldn’t even answer that any more. Thinking of her as Lydia felt ridiculous. She was Annie. Always had been. Just Annie, her mam. A stranger, now, with a new name, a whole new life she’d hidden from everyone, from her own daughter, her entire existence.

  How differently their lives could have played out had the one who was responsible done the decent thing. The poverty, pain, hardship … Her mam might still be alive today.

  She’d never accept it all, never. Nor would she ever forgive. And she’d not stop until she’d wreaked revenge on the man who had caused it all. He too would know the sear of loss.

  Even as Pip made the promise, she was aware how ugly she sounded. What had happened to her? She barely recognised her own mind. She’d changed, hardened. She loathed who she was becoming, missed her old, calm and uncomplicated self. But for the life of her, she couldn’t control it. She hurt inside, every inch, with each beat of her heart. And she was terrified at what would happen when she was no longer able to bear it.

  Today was the final day of February and with its arrival, the weather had plummeted. Frost stroked every flagstone, cobble and plant with twinkling white – even the lake in the Green had succumbed to the icy touch, its liquid surface lost beneath a solid, cut-glass sheet. Inside the kitchen of Bracken House, however,
the occupants were toasty warm. Cook had built the fire right up that morning and flames leapt merrily up the chimney back, casting the room in yellow-gold.

  The air was heady with the aroma of cinnamon cakes and fresh bread. Mack, Tabby and Cally were engaged in making silly figures from a lump of floury, leftover dough: a two-headed sheep, a dog with six legs, a man complete with mutton-chop whiskers sporting a teapot for a hat; their laughter was enough to warm the coldest heart, while Cook glanced up at them now and then from the vegetables she was peeling with a smile.

  It was the perfect picture of domestication and comfort, thought Pip, looking around, and she’d have happily basked in it but for the worry assaulting her guts. As it was, she was forced to feign a calmness she was far from feeling. For today, she and Simon were to play their final hand with Hardman’s picture.

  Nervousness flickering behind his eyes showed he shared her apprehension. What if the move failed?

  Christ in heaven, should something go wrong … So much could. To call this a bold move was certainly an understatement. Nay, don’t think it, she told herself. It had to work, must.

  She watched him look to the small clock on the mantel then glance at the room’s occupants in turn. He then gave Pip the briefest of nods. Her heart skipped a few beats. She rose shakily.

  It had to be her. No one else was free to come and go through the house as she was. Simon might manage to sneak around in the dead of night when all were deep in sleep but could never get away with venturing inside Caroline’s room in broad daylight. Also, it must be now. Earlier, they had overheard Cook mention that Caroline had taken a dose of laudanum to help her snatch some sleep. She’d be waking any time. Pip must move fast.

  With the precious tool once more secreted securely up her sleeve, she murmured to everyone about heading back to Josephine’s room and work, and left the kitchen. On the landing, she came to an abrupt halt. Her heart was galloping so badly she could hardly breathe and when she finally plucked up courage to continue and was standing before Caroline’s door, she had to literally carry her right hand with her left towards the knob. Slowly, tentatively, she turned it and pushed.