by Ana Salote
‘I know,’ said Elyut. ‘I listened at the hatch in the Jasper Room. He brought Master a potion. Said he hoped it would suit. He had tested it on chickens. It made them sick at first but then they adapted. There was one unfortunate effect, he said: their beaks turned blue. Master said he would-how did he put it-proceed with caution.’
Alas smiled. ‘You all done well. See how much we can find out when we work together. I know some of you think we got no hope pitting ourselves against Jep,’ he glanced at Lucinda, who looked down at her hands, ‘but together, we’re like a beast with twenty-two eyes and twenty-two ears and eleven brains, and eleven tentacles.’
‘That snakes into every part of the house,’ said Gertie.
‘I snaked into the library today and look what I borrowed,’ Gritty grinned, passing a coverless book to Gertie; the spine only held together with glue and a net of string.
Gertie’s eyes glowed. ‘How’d you get your hands on that?’
‘I got moved to the library after Master found some dust on his bone books. Top eight shelves was fun. There’s a ladder on runners. I got to whizz round on it. Anyway, right at the top is some old books. I dropped this one and it all came apart. I was putting it back, then I thought, why not put the jacket back and take the insides for Gert? I know Master’s devilish particular with his checking, but he ain’t going to look at every single book.’
‘Lands of Milk and Honey, it’s called,’ Gertie told them.
‘I like the sound of that,’ said Blinda.
‘And there’s something written inside.’ Slowly Gertie deciphered: ‘To Jeremiah on your 11th birthday from Aunt Cathuselah.’
‘Imagine the Master, same age as Elyut,’ said Lizbuth.
‘Can’t,’ said Blinda. ‘I reckon he just arrived fully growed.’ She looked at the book suspiciously.
Lucinda made precise pleats in her apron. ‘If Master ever finds out…’
‘We won’t get anywhere if we don’t take risks,’ said Alas. ‘Read to us, Gert, if you can.’
Gertie opened the book carefully, smoothed the page and started to read, and when there were words that she didn’t understand she simply filled in a few of her own. Soon the bottomest basement was filled with the haze of other worlds, of kings and queens and talking bears and sheep with golden wool. Gertie read on and on, and not one of them moved or murmured. As the fire burned down the words grew dimmer and Gertie had to tilt the page towards the firelight: ‘And the eagle opened its eyes, looked at the golden sheep and said…’
Raymun came in and a groan went around the circle. Gertie slipped the book under her apron.
‘I’ll go away again if you don’t want the firewood,’ he said.
‘We’re not groaning at you,’ Lucinda assured him.
‘Well that’s good because I’ve got news. There’s a measuring tomorrow.’
Raymun waited for the usual cheer, but his news was greeted in silence. ‘Well you are a sullen lot tonight.’ He walked away sniffily.
‘We’re usually counting off the days but we’ve been so busy it’s crept up on us,’ said Alas looking worried. He moved to the far wall and pressed his back against it.
‘Check me, Cind.’
Lucinda felt for a groove in the wall close to Alas’s head. ‘You’re under,’ she said. ‘Just. We made our own measuring lines,’ she explained to the newest waifs. ‘They’re not exact but it gives us an idea of who’ll be leaving. Kurt, I should do you as well.’
‘Jakes did me yesterday,’ said Kurt. ‘I’m right on the line.’
Alas puffed his cheeks. ‘Spindle will send for Lucinda after the measuring like she always does to ask about the food and work and all.’ He screwed one side of his face up as he did when he was thinking hard.
‘You ain’t still expecting me to tell her what you think about the accidents?’ Lucinda protested.
‘Just a hint – to make her more watchful.’
Lucinda’s face was set.
‘You never listen, Alas,’ said Kurt. ‘Cinda don’t want to do it. She’ll get the forfeit of a lifetime for something you dreamed up.’
Alas looked ready for a fight but Oy touched his arm and his shoulders dropped. ‘I know how bad you want to leave, Kurt. You go for years and that line seems as far above your head as ever and there are days you’re so worn you think you’ve shrunk.’
‘And you never have but a teaspoon of energy left at the end of the day and you take it to sleep with you, and will every bit of it into making you grow,’ said Blinda. There were nods of agreement all round.
‘And then after years and years of slog you’re there, you touch that magic line,’ Alas went on, ‘and you don’t want to stay a minute longer. I know all that, but I got this feeling, this real bad feeling. Will you duck the line tomorrow? That gives me till the next measuring to prove that I’m right. After that you do what you want.’
A babble of arguments filled the basement, but nothing was settled.
6 The Measuring
Oy placed a silver leaf on each white cake and frowned.
‘What are you missing?’ said Molly cook.
‘Sugar dust, sherbert, and…vimberry zest.’ Oy measured and mixed.
Molly cook dredged the cakes with thick drifts of sugar. ‘I ain’t got the touch – here you do it.’ She handed the sieve to Oy. He dusted the peaks delicately. ‘Look how they glint,’ said Molly, ‘like late-year frost.’
‘That’s how they’ll taste,’ said Oy, ‘glinty and frosty.’
Molly laughed. ‘I don’t know how you do it. You said you watched and learned at your bakery, and you’ve had an eye on my Aunt Midden, but still.’ She shook her head and started loading the trays. ‘This will be the prettiest measuring tea I’ve ever sent out.’
‘Your hat,’ said Oy.
Molly bent to retrieve her hat. ‘It never will stay on my head. You know why that is, Oy? Because it don’t belong there.’
The inspectors watched as the waifs trooped into the Boot Room, all scrubbed up and dressed in their measuring clothes: thin blue cotton pinafores and overalls. Jeopardine stood talking behind his hand to Dr Sandy.
A tall, bony woman cleared her throat. ‘For those of you who don’t know me, I am Miss Gwendalyn Spindle and this is my new assistant, Mrs Winifred Whiskers.’ She unlocked a door halfway up the wall to show a yellowing ivory plate, at least a hundred years old. Two brass lines ran through it, one for boys, and one, ten oggits lower, for girls. The door was held back with a small hook and chain. ‘When I call your name, step up to the line and you will be measured. Heels inside the hollows, spine erect, eyes level. Alas Ringworm, you’re first.’
Alas ground his heels into the gaps and pressed his back against the wall. He had flattened his hair with cedar oil. He looked up and waited.
Miss Spindle nodded to Mrs Whiskers who slid the wooden marker down gingerly onto Alas’s head. He had washed for the measuring but there was charcoal shading around his ears, and his rash was flaring. Mrs Whiskers cleaned her hand against her skirt and wrote some figures in a ledger.
‘Good, stand aside please. Lucinda Boniface. Ahem.’ Miss Spindle looked pointedly at Mrs Whiskers. ‘The marker.’ Mrs Whiskers looked puzzled. ‘Must be returned to zero after each reading. Rules are rules. Arms by your sides please, Lucinda.’ Miss Spindle tapped her shoulder with a pen. ‘Barely a hair’s growth. I’ll speak to you later.’
‘Oy Yew,’ Miss Spindle called. ‘Is that right? Oy, Oy Yew. Yes? Unusual name. Where is he?’
‘Here, miss.’
‘Oh, under my nose and I didn’t see you. You are the smallest at present.’ The brass strip was more than two heads above him. ‘Kurt Mutton.’ Kurt took a deep breath. Alas signalled to him to smooth his hair down, but Kurt ignored him. He stood under the plate, holding his breath now. Miss Spindle held her spectacles frame steady and peered at the line.
‘Mrs Whiskers, might I have a second opinion?’
Mrs Whiskers looked, rubbed he
r eyes and shook her head. ‘I’d say over.’
Miss Spindle wasn’t satisfied. ‘After all these years I hardly need to use the line, and something tells me he’s not quite… hand me the glass.’ Mrs Whiskers took a giant lens from the shagreen case and polished it. Miss Spindle peered and polished and peered again.
The waifs watched tensely as Kurt fought with himself and then slackened his knees by a fraction.
‘Comb and wire please.’
Mrs Whiskers combed the crown of Kurt’s head. Miss Spindle passed a wire over the top. ‘No, one hair clear of the line,’ she said, ‘I’m sorry you won’t be leaving just yet.’ Mrs Whiskers dropped the comb in disinfectant and Kurt moved away with an air of anger and defeat.
The others took their turns. Last of all was Raymun. Raymun loved measuring days. It was his chance to excel, to show off his enduring skill of not growing. He gave his head a final polish with the red spotted handkerchief presented to him by the Master for just this purpose. He stood straight as a rod, his arms tight to his sides, his chest thrust out proudly.
Miss Spindle smiled at him. ‘Well, Raymun, this is your 250th measuring and not only have you, once again, not grown, you have actually shrunk. You are now, officially, four hairs below the line. Please to record that Mrs Whiskers. I’m sure Master Jeopardine will be delighted.’
‘Yes indeed,’ said Jeopardine. He patted Raymun on the shoulder. ‘A great achievement; most creditable. Any leavers today?’
‘None,’ Miss Spindle replied.
‘Excellent. Doctor, I’m sure you’ll find them all in good health.’
‘They seem a little thin,’ Mrs Whiskers ventured.
Dr Sandy gave her a wry smile.
‘Personally I’m an admirer of bones,’ said Jeopardine.
‘You have a point.’ Miss Spindle ran a hand down her own bony side. ‘It’s not a fashionable view but I’ve always thought a degree of thinness shows self-control.’
Dr Sandy lifted Lucinda’s arm in which the bones and sinews showed beneath the skin. He frowned at Elyut’s whistling chest, and at Billam’s legs which were bowing rather like the Doctor’s own. He peered at Lizbuth’s scalp. ‘This child has some hair loss,’ he said scribbling on a pad. ‘I am certifying deficiencies. They need milk and fruit. Blinda has advanced sudsoriasis; her hands are badly cracked. She should use a salve and be moved to dry duties one day in four. Lizbuth should take beef jelly daily for six weeks.’
‘I will of course see what can be done,’ Jeopardine conceded.
‘It could affect their work rate,’ Dr Sandy warned.
‘They are very hardy you know, these Porians,’ said Jeopardine airily. ‘Starving is natural to them. Now, if you’d like to adjourn with me to the Mirror Room.’
‘If you’ll excuse me I have a case to attend in Glumbury,’ said Dr Sandy.
Jeopardine watched the Doctor’s retreat. ‘Such an inelegant gait,’ he muttered. ‘It rather smacks of peasant origins I fear. Ladies, if you’ll follow me.’
Jeopardine gave an arm to each of the inspectors. They made an odd threesome. Jeopardine stalked along, his dark silk coat rippling around him; on one side the long, thin Spindle; on the other the short, wheezing Whiskers. Lucinda and Gertie followed with the measuring case. They turned through the Long Gallery. Up ahead the snooty upservants, Inch and Pashley, were holding back the doors of the Mirror Room. Reflections glared from within. The measuring tea was the one occasion when waifs were expected to wait on house guests. Inch stared at Lucinda in disgust. Lucinda looked levelly back at her, though she risked being slapped later.
‘They should keep to their own dirty jobs,’ said Inch as the doors closed, ‘out of sight of decent people. I wouldn’t let them near my food.’
Jeopardine knew how to woo his inspectors. The refreshments were on a silver theme: oysters on ice, stuffed with silvery fish eggs, silvered and frosted fruits and a dish of snowcakes in silver cases, all made by Oy while Molly cook panicked.
Lucinda and Gertie waited at the sideboard behind the screens. Jeopardine and his guests believed them to be well out of earshot. A trick of the mirrors meant that they not only listened, they also watched.
‘Well this is very finely done,’ said Miss Spindle.
‘Indeed. I must congratulate the young cook. In fact,’ he lowered his voice, ‘it might be time to let Mrs Midden go. These flourishes are most pleasing: the agentum leaves on the cake, the way the roe has been swirled rather than… dolloped.’
Miss Spindle snickered. ‘I wouldn’t have mentioned it myself but Mrs Midden does have a tendency to dollop.’
Soon the only sound was the rattle of ice and oyster shells on plates and Mrs Whiskers slurping. To cover the embarrassing sounds, Miss Spindle launched into her report. ‘There were no leavers today. Growth seems slower than usual. Are you following Dr Sandy’s recommendations?’
‘Of course,’ said Jeopardine, ‘two jills of milk per child per day.’
‘Lies,’ Lucinda whispered behind the screen.
‘However, I draw a line at beef jelly – that would be pampering.’
‘Surely children ought to have hair?’ said Miss Spindle.
‘Children, yes, but waifs? It’s hardly essential. It is only hair after all, not an arm or a leg.’
‘Only hair? Yes, only hair.’ Miss Spindle stirred her tea mechanically and looked into the distance.
‘So, you’re agreed, we can ignore that particular suggestion. Between you and me, the Doctor is not entirely competent. You notice I am not drinking tea. That is due to blisters caused by taking his medicine.’
‘Oh dear.’ Miss Spindle’s face was full of sympathy; for a moment her hand fluttered as though she would stroke his face. Then she placed it firmly in her lap where she gripped her napkin.
‘You haven’t tasted the oysters,’ said Jeopardine.
‘To be frank, I don’t quite know how.’
‘Like this,’ he said. With a flick of the wrist he flipped the oyster to the back of his throat and swallowed.
She copied him. The salty liquor gave her butterflies, as though she were taking a sudden drop downhill in a carriage. A little whinny escaped her at the same time as Mrs Whiskers’ oyster shot sideways off the plate. Miss Spindle began to cough.
Jeopardine rubbed her back. ‘Are you alright? You seem a little flushed.’
‘Oysters, I didn’t realise they were such ticklish things.’ She cleared her throat. ‘As to the extra milk ration…’
Jeopardine poured tea, placed the cup and saucer before her precisely, adjusted the angle of the teaspoon and urged on her the honey pot.
‘I will see what can be done. It will mean cutting back elsewhere in the household, but I’m always willing to take my share of hardship.’
‘Indeed, and no one would ever know.’
‘Then take my word. I want for more than you might imagine.’ His black eyes pierced the curling steam.
Miss Spindle dropped her spoon. ‘Two jills will suffice for now. I will speak with Dr Sandy.’
Jeopardine placed one hand on his breast. ‘As always, I can rely on your perfect sense and understanding.’
Dr Sandy’s Glumbury case could not have been very urgent because he stopped at the kitchen and took a leisurely cup of tea with Molly cook. He knew that she shared his sympathy for the waifs.
‘I’ve ordered extra milk for the waifs again,’ the Doctor told her.
Molly shook her head. ‘They won’t get it. They never do. What’s the point of this whole inspection business, Doctor?’
‘There’s very little point. Master Jeopardine has all the power. A word from him and I would lose all of my paying clients. At least this way I can help the street waifs, give them food and show them how to dodge the catchers.’
‘Well, what if someone else was to report him?’
‘Molly, this is Affland. Money buys anything: inspectors, judges, silence.’
‘I don’t think Miss Spindle can be bo
ught. She takes her work very serious.’
‘Maybe not bought but – well they say love is blind.’
‘You don’t think she’s in love with the Master?’
Dr Sandy raised an eyebrow.
‘Blindness indeed,’ said Molly.
‘Have you found a way yet to bolster the waif ration?’ the Doctor asked.
‘My aunt knows the pantries to the last puff of flour. It’s the upservants – thieves the lot of them. They’d be away with everything if she wasn’t careful, so everything’s locked up, weighed in and weighed out. But if ever I can get an extra mouthful to the waifs I do.’
Dr Sandy nodded his approval. ‘And what about you? Legs settled now?’
‘Yes thank you, Doctor, much improved.’ She coughed.
‘I’d better just listen to your chest while I’m here.’
Sly, who had been watching through the window for some time, burst in. ‘I thought you was all better.’
‘And so I am.’
‘No need for no examinations then is there?’
‘Sly,’ Molly stared at him indignantly, ‘shouldn’t you be down at the dairy?’
‘I came for my hat.’ He put the puffy white dairy hat on and slammed out like an angry mushroom.
When Oy had finished his work for the day Molly handed him a brown paper package.
‘It’s the measuring tea leftovers. Put them away and say no more about it. The pigs won’t miss them. You deserve more, the help you’ve been to me. Mrs Midden’s on the mend so we better take our chances while we can.’
The kindness drew Oy to Molly cook’s middle. He put his arms across the front of her waist – he had no hope of stretching round her – and let his face rest on the warmth before he realised what he was doing. He dropped his arms suddenly and blinked.
‘It’s alright,’ she said, putting a hand over his small head.
Sly looked in at the window for the twentieth time that day. Molly tutted and pushed Oy away quickly. ‘Go on. Dark ’n’ early tomorrow – we’ve sixteen dining.’