Oy Yew (The Waifs of Duldred Trilogy Book 1)

by Ana Salote

  Gertie jiggled where she sat. ‘He did? Only that’s mine – that’s my dream. I know some letters already. If I could just get hold of a book I reckon I could work it out.’

  ‘Just like that?’ Kurt smirked.

  ‘She could, too,’ said Gritty. ‘You don’t know my sister.’

  ‘Who’s with me on this?’ said Alas.

  ‘Something ain’t right,’ said Blinda. ‘It wouldn’t hurt to find out what.’

  There were murmurs of agreement.

  ‘And reading,’ said Gertie, ‘that can’t ever be bad.’

  ‘How is learning letters going to stop us having accidents?’ Kurt argued. He turned to Billam. ‘You broke your nose and whose fault was that?’

  Billam rubbed his nose. ‘Mine.’

  ‘Blinda, who set fire to your hair?’

  ‘I did,’ she said. ‘I’m terrible for falling asleep,’ she explained to Gritty and Gertie. ‘Dropped off over a candle. See.’ She lifted her fringe. The skin on her forehead was ridged and streaked with pink and white.

  ‘I’m not talking about little things like that,’ said Alas.

  ‘It don’t feel little when your eyebrows are on fire,’ said Blinda. ‘Trust me.’

  There was a shuffling on the stairs. A lamp came through the archway with Raymun’s ever-smiling face behind it.

  ‘All in?’ said Raymun.

  Lucinda nodded.

  ‘Raymun,’ said Alas, ‘How long since you been to the port?’

  Raymun rubbed his chin. ‘Ooh, that would be… can’t be sure; went to see off Clement. I got close to Clement. He was like me, a slow grower. Must be twelve yonks back. Then when it was time to go again, Master said, ‘I’m sorry Raymun, I just can’t spare you,’ and he showed me inside the clock I was winding. I been winding ‘em all these years, never guessed what went on inside their heads.’

  ‘Clocks don’t have heads,’ mocked Kurt.

  ‘Behind their faces then – same thing. Anyway Master showed me how all the cogs fitted together and he jammed a pin in one little cog, and the whole thing stopped ticking. “That little cog is you Raymun,” he said, “without you this house stops ticking. Everyone else is replaceable.” Right, it’s time I counted you in.’ Raymun counted thirteen.

  ‘It’s the eight you keep missing,’ said Lucinda.

  ‘Can’t keep that eight in my head,’ he hit the side of his head. ‘Oh, before I forget.’ He went to the forfeit cards and made a mark. ‘Sorry, Alas. I don’t know what it’s for.’

  ‘Nothing much,’ said Alas, his voice over bright. He looked down at Oy who patted his arm.

  4 True Colours

  Oy stretched out his hand to touch the fish. Gertie looked at him curiously. ‘What’s wrong with your eyes? Look at his eyes, Gritty.’

  They peered into Oy’s eyes which had a dull glaze like a dead fish, but when they looked more closely they could see rainbow flecks moving across them.

  ‘I can see little fish,’ said Oy. ‘Pretty they are, all colours. See that one: purple and silver-green.’

  Lucinda came to look. ‘Oh mercy,’ she said, ‘he’s got the swim-eye. Oy, I swear you’re no Porian. What are we going to do? You can’t be sick here, or Jep will make you pay for certain. What’s on your schedule today?’

  ‘Stains.’

  ‘That’s good. Swim-eye’s not serious, it’s just not practical. The fish can get in the way and make you dizzy. Blinda, you’d better look after him. He’ll be seeing stains where there ain’t none, and missing the stains what’s there. Stay out of Master’s way, Oy, and when you pass anyone keep your eyes lowered.’

  Blinda offered her arm so that he would not bump into things and they walked to the laundry. She positioned him next to her at the boards and they scrubbed at stains together. ‘Tell me about the bakery again. I love to hear about them cakes.’

  Oy smiled at her, and at the fish darting around her head. ‘Well, there was a little barred window at the back. All the sweet, warm smells used to come out of that window. Sometimes I could almost see cakes dancing out in front of my eyes, like these fishes.’

  ‘Never mind the fish, tell about the cakes.’

  ‘If I climbed on my shelter and stretched up on tiptoe I could just get my nose over the sill and catch a look inside. There was a long table where the bakers stood patting and puffing the dough into pillows. There was another table where the fancy stuff went on. They had cutters in all different shapes and bowls of icing: pink and white and yellow, and jars of sugar-dusted flowers. And there was big vats of cake mix. I’d see them tipping things in to the vats: sacks of flour, hundreds of eggs would go slithering in, and sugar and treacle. There was a handle on the side and it took three boys to turn it. And these boys, when it came to cleaning the vats, they’d go in with spoons and finish all those scrapings so it hardly needed a wash.’

  ‘Now there’s a job,’ said Blinda. ‘And do the bakers allow it?’

  ‘Oh no. They’re in trouble if they’re seen.’

  ‘Just think of all that food. Do you know what I plan to do when I get away?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Eat an’ eat an’ eat. I don’t care how hard I have to work to do that. I aim to be as beautiful and cushiony as Molly cook. And when I’ve filled myself to bursting, I’ll find some children and start feeding them. The best thing would be to have twelve or fifteen of my own. They shall never want for food. Never. There’ll be no growling bellies in my house and I shall do away with ribs altogether. I’ll feed ’em up and watch ’em grow. I’ll measure ’em every week and if they ain’t grown an oggit every time, I’ll feed ’em some more.’

  ‘I see it. Ten children you’ve got.’

  ‘Have I?’ Blinda smiled broadly. She looked past the swimming specks into Oy’s restful eyes. ‘If you see it, that’s good enough for me.’ Oy stretched a cloth over the washboard and began slamming at stains as though they were flies jumping around. Blinda giggled. ‘I shouldn’t laugh when you got an illness, but you do look funny.’ A movement caught her eye. She touched Oy’s arm. ‘Master’s here.’

  Jeopardine marched through the laundry. ‘Come here,’ he ordered, spreading a table-cloth over a bench. ‘What do you see?’ Blinda pored over the cloth dumbly. Oy moved his head from right to left and back again, as though tracking something. Jeopardine tutted. He held the cloth up in front of the window.

  ‘Now look again. Look there.’ He pointed.

  ‘I think I see it, sir,’ said Blinda. ‘Pink, very faint though.’

  Jeopardine was staring at Oy. Oy dropped his eyes. ‘Look at me boy. Chin up.’ Jeopardine recoiled. ‘Your eyes are diseased. Is is any wonder you can’t see the stains? I won’t have it. I won’t be surrounded by disease-ridden creatures unfit for labour.’ He snatched at a pile of snowy linen, which Blinda had laboured at for days and cast it down in the puddles outside.

  Blinda told their story in the basement while Oy watched cross-eyed a spot just in front of him where fish swam in colours unknown to man.

  Oy’s eyes soon cleared, but for harmless showers of twinkling which he rather enjoyed. Dr Sandy well knew this but it wasn’t what he told Jeopardine. He said that Oy would be missing all manner of stains unless he exercised his eyes by tracing patterns. The Doctor would supply tools for this at no extra cost. And so Oy arrived at the basement one night with something that made Gertie in particular jump to her feet in excitement. It was an old copy of Laver’s Picture Dictionary, and a pencil.

  ‘Good old Dr Sandy,’ said Alas. ‘Let’s see what we can learn.’

  The book was basic and battered. A child had scribbled on some of the pages and torn out the letter K. Still Gertie handled it as reverently as if it were some rare and valuable tome. ‘It’s all to do with food or money,’ she said, ‘but the pictures will help us guess the sounds.’

  Even Kurt edged forwards to see. The rest of them watched and listened intently, and there was a final, strong chant of: ‘Apple, bun, cake,
duck, egg, fish, goose, ham, ink and jebel,’ before the fire went out.

  Gertie looked over Oy’s shoulder at his schedule. ‘You’re with me this morning. We got to light the kitchen fires before the cooks get in. You ready?’ Oy walked alongside Gertie up the steps and along the passage to the kitchens. Gertie prattled on. ‘Don’t look so nervous; we’re friends aren’t we? We’ll look out for each other. I’d rather be here than the factory wouldn’t you? It was same, same, same every day, screwing screws. I still don’t know what we were making.’

  ‘I didn’t mind it,’ said Oy.

  ‘That’s ’cos of your Linnet ain’t it? Well we’ve got some variety now and Molly cook’s a bit partial to us don’t you think?’ Gertie stood still, listening. ‘Somebody’s in the kitchen already. We must be late. Mrs Midden will box our ears.’

  But when they got to the kitchen Mrs Midden was not there, only Molly cook in a state of agitation.

  Molly shuffled from one side of the table to the other. She made for the oven, swerved to the pots and pans, picked up one after the other, went back to the table, ran her finger along a line in the big old cook book, and talked to herself confusedly.

  ‘Eight cups of rice, four eggs, three smokies, six jills of double cream for six people. Ten dining, so that’s, that’s…’

  ‘Thirteen cups of rice, seven eggs, five smokies, and ten jills of cream,’ said Gertie.

  ‘Oh bless me. Are you sure? How do you think as quick as that?’

  ‘What’s wrong, Molly cook?’ asked Gertie, ‘you seem flustered.’

  ‘Flustered custard,’ came a voice from the top of the stairs.

  Molly went to the foot of the stairs and closed the door. ‘She’s got ears like a bat; off her head with fever, but still listening and rhyming.’

  ‘Is she still poorly?’ asked Gertie.

  ‘Worse than ever,’ said Molly.

  ‘Poor Mrs Midden,’ said Oy. ‘It’s too much for her poor old legs.’ He rubbed his thigh.

  ‘What do you know about it you funny thing?’ said Gertie.

  ‘Doctor says she’ll be laid up for weeks,’ said Molly. ‘Today’s the first big dinner I’ve had to do and I don’t know how I’m going to cope. I been here half the night already.’

  Gertie’s eyes rested on the cookbook. ‘We can help. There’s one thing though. I could help more if I could read the lists and the cookbook. I know most letters but I ain’t sure about the way they mix. If you help me with that I reckon I can figure out the rest.’

  ‘Well ain’t you the bright spark?’ Molly cook said with her hands on her hips.

  ‘Readin’ don’t come overnight you know, but you start on that fish and I’ll teach you some words as we go along. Right, this one here is S, ssss like a snake. And the word is ssp..’

  ‘Spoon,’ said Gertie.

  ‘Very quick, want to try something harder?’ Molly wrote down some more ‘sp’ words.

  ‘Spin ache and spat chock,’ said Gertie.

  ‘Spinach and spatchcock, you’re a quick learner alright. Oops, broke that cake. Here taste this. Waste not want not, open your mouth.’

  ‘Eat the whole thing?’

  ‘Better you than me. Look at my apron strings, used to go round me twice, now I’ve had to sew an extra piece in.’

  Gertie let the yellow cake break open in her mouth like a flower, and she almost cried. ‘Do people really eat like this every day?’ she sniffed.

  ‘Oh you poor thing,’ said Molly cook. ‘That grey bread’s about all you get isn’t it? Well not today. Today I’m going to feed you up.’

  ‘Don’t forget Oy. Oy, come and help.’

  Molly handed Oy a cake.

  ‘Can I save it for Lizbuth?’ said Oy. ‘Only her hair’s falling out.’

  ‘Is it?’ said Molly gently. ‘You eat that one, and there’ll be another. I’ll start again on this pastry. I don’t know what’s gone wrong with it.’

  ‘Paper crust,’ said Oy. ‘You need heavy pin and smooth board. You got light pin and number 2 board. Hands in ice water before you start.’

  ‘How did you know that?’ Molly was amazed.

  ‘He lived behind a bakery,’ said Gertie.

  ‘And I been watching your aunt,’ said Oy.

  ‘Well, well. Do you think you could chop these herbs without chopping your fingers?’

  Oy started at one end of the block and went along chopping the herbs quicker than Molly’s eyes could follow.

  Molly laughed. ‘You have been watching, too. Now then,’ she read, ‘mix the herbs with the butter, season, stuff the fillets with the herb mixture – can you do that?’

  ‘The herbs are wrong,’ said Oy. He covered his mouth, suddenly shy.

  ‘Oh, really,’ said Molly, ‘and what would you suggest?’

  ‘It’s just that there’s one strong and one bitter. They’ll fight.’ He walked underneath the herb rack sniffing and pointed out two bunches. ‘That one and that one is gooder.’

  ‘Alright let’s try it.’

  ‘And if you crush first then chop, more taste gets out.’

  Molly tried a pinch ‘You’ve got something there,’ she said, putting her cook’s hat on Oy’s head and tightening the band by half.

  ‘Like people,’ said Oy, as Molly held his head between her hands.

  ‘What you saying now, Oy?’ said Gertie.

  ‘Herbs are like people, you can tell if they’re in the wrong dish,’ said Oy, looking closely at Molly.

  ‘Don’t I know it,’ she sighed. It seemed that Oy’s remark was forgotten until Molly took it up again. ‘Have you seen how well Master treats my aunt? It’s because she’s the best pastry cook in Affland. See all those trophies.’ Molly pointed to a row of bronze and silver pies on engraved pedestals and, in place of honour, a large golden rolling pin, with a smaller version made into a medal hanging on a chain. ‘Champion of champions she is, and that’s what I’ve got to live up to. Everybody thinks it should come easy to me just because I’m a Midden. Well it don’t. I’m the wrong herb in the wrong dish. There, I’ve said it.’ Her eyes welled. ‘Don’t mind me. Keep on with those letters, Gert.’

  Oy’s hat had slipped over his eyes. He pushed it back. ‘You’ll find your right dish, Molly, if you...’

  ‘It’s alright, go on,’ she said.

  ‘If you keep tasting.’ He bent to his work. Molly had forgotten hers.

  By the end of the day Gertie was making sense of the store lists and all the meals had gone out perfectly prepared and on time. The upmaid, seeing Oy and Gertie with their hands on the food, had raised her eyebrows sharply.

  ‘No choice,’ said Molly. ‘Would you like to take this into the dining room?’ She lifted the dome of a serving dish. ‘Will Master carve the fresh air? And for dessert,’ she waved another empty dish, ‘some sweet nothing. No? Well stop scowling then. One pair of hands can’t do what has to be done here.’

  When the upservant had gone, Molly swayed and steadied herself on the mantel.

  ‘Are you alright, Molly cook?’ Gertie asked. ‘Hope you ain’t coming down with the run a’bed.’

  One of Molly’s knees jerked up almost hitting her under the chin.

  ‘Oh my stars. Oh my, my, my. What shall we do?’

  ‘Molly cook, let me take the cookbook back tonight,’ urged Gertie. ‘Mark the recipes and let us study them. I’m sure we can do it.’

  ‘You two: do all the cooking?’

  ‘We done alright today didn’t we?’ said Gertie.

  Oy nodded with certainty.

  Molly’s other leg jerked. ‘I’ll sit before I fall. I’ve had this once as a baby you know so it should be mild. If I lie here in the chair tomorrow and direct, perhaps we’ll manage. Take my notebook; the other’s too precious. Come before dawn and we’ll have a good breakfast.’

  ‘Legs!’ came a great shout from above. ‘Legs ’n’ eggs, and dregs,’ Mrs Midden trailed off weakly.

  Gertie was the last one back to the baseme
nt that night. As soon as Raymun left them she brought out the cookbook from the folds of her skirt. Everyone wanted to look but no one could make sense of the handwritten notes except Gertie. She read out some recipes, only leaving out fancy ingredients that seemed to be in another language. Oy sat at her elbow.

  ‘You done well, Gert,’ said Alas.

  Gritty looked smugly over at Kurt.

  ‘Read us that dinner menu again,’ said Lizbuth. ‘I don’t know how their stomicks takes all that in one go.’

  ‘It’s a torment,’ said Blinda, cradling her own empty belly. ‘We shall never get to eat like that shall we? Not as long as we live.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Gertie. ‘We tasted this one at least. Rose cloud cakes; like eating paradise it was. We brought one for Lizbuth as she’s weakest. We should give up our bread tonight, Oy. Let the others share it.’

  ‘Here,’ said Alas. He knocked the sparks from a piece of charred wood. ‘Write some of them new words big on the back of the old schedules. We can all try to collect more words whenever we see them and we’ll use this time every night to learn ’em.’

  5 Milk and Honey

  The weeks passed and the word collection grew. It was surprising how much they could learn from the dictionary and what they saw around the house. If they weren’t always growing in height, at least they were growing in learning.

  ‘Anybody got anything to tell before we start with our letters?’ said Alas one evening.

  ‘Jep had a visitor today,’ said Billam. ‘I had to get off the lake path quick to avoid him.’

  ‘I saw him too,’ said Gertie. ‘Mrs Midden was nosing at the window like she always does when she hears a horse outside. She said it was Cyril Syrell, the apothecary from Crust – the one who makes pepper poultices for her leg.’

  ‘Hmm,’ Alas mused, ‘what would Jep want with a chemist? He’s got Dr Sandy if he’s ill.’