The Orphans of Ardwick Page 4

  ‘Call it payment for me lugging them baskets and parcels earlier.’

  ‘Aye,’ but that’s the maid’s debt, not the master’s.’

  He moved to select another cake. ‘Don’t make no difference. They’re all part of the same establishment, ain’t they? And he weren’t mithered to hear what she’d done, was he, so bugger him. Anyroad, you reckon they’ll miss a few ruddy morsels? Look around you, Pip. They’re hardly wanting, are they? Nay. But we are. We’ll perish unless we eat soon, that’s the truth of it. For all your good intentions, morals don’t fill bellies. Now, hurry afore they return. We’ll have ourselfs a bit of grub and be away without anyone knowing the difference.’

  Pip bit her lip until her eyes watered. She sighed, and sighed again. Then she roused Mack, took his hand and crept into the house.

  The little boy rubbed his eyes with his knuckles and blinked around in confused amazement, mouth agape. Simon beckoned him over but Mack didn’t seem to notice. His attention was on the fire’s leaping flames. He stood before it and as his freezing body absorbed the heat, he flopped like wet card. He curled up on the hearth mat, put his thumb in his mouth and fell fast asleep.

  Pip turned fearful eyes to Simon then made to rush to wake the younger boy, but Simon stopped her.

  ‘Leave the lad, let him enjoy the warmth. We’ll rouse him in a minute when we’re leaving.’ He nodded to a fat black teapot atop the dark-wood table running down the centre of the room. ‘I’ll pour us a quick sup. You grab yourself a bit of grub. We’ll take some with us for Bread.’

  Pip put out her hand, drew it back, then reached out again quickly and plucked an orange-coloured biscuit from the stand. Simon was returning with a cup from the dresser as she popped it into her mouth and he’d just begun pouring tea when the green baize door at the opposite end of the room swung wide.

  Like scorched cats, they bolted beneath the table.

  Hell’s fire, we’re for it, now! Pip panicked, and worried tears stung behind her eyes. Then she spotted Mack through the shelter of the chairs, still sleeping soundly, and her breath caught. God alive, the lad! She glanced to Simon, who shook his head in shared realisation. Moments later, however, they both frowned in surprise when two feet crossed the threshold.

  Clad in small, lemon-coloured slippers, they were those of a child, it seemed, only a few years older than the sleeping boy they had been fretting over seconds ago. The frilly hem of her white nightdress swished softly as she skipped across the room. To Pip and Simon’s relief, she failed to spot Mack and instead made directly for the silver stand they themselves had been busy at. Chomping sounds, as she devoured cake after cake, filled the space between them – then a gasp escaped her as, again, the door opened. This time, there was no escaping the fact that this new visitor was an adult. The large boots beneath the long, snowy apron stopped abruptly; Pip’s insides twisted with fright and she gripped Simon’s hand tightly.

  ‘Miss Lucy, well, I’ll be …! I thought you were ill in your bed, child. What the divil are you doing down here, I ask you?’

  Warm giggles rang from the girl. ‘Hello, Cook. Oh, isn’t it exciting; it’s almost Christmas! Mama has promised me a new doll with a red dress and ribbons to match. I just knew it. Didn’t I wish for just such a thing, Cook? Remember, this morning, when you let me stir the Christmas pudding mixture? Clockwise, you said, with eyes closed for good luck – oh, it worked! And I’m to be allowed to stay up a whole hour later tomorrow to play games in the drawing room!’

  Definite amusement coated the cook’s response. ‘Is that so? Well, you know, the sooner you go to sleep, the sooner it’ll be the morrow. On that note, why ain’t you away in the nursery as you should be? Where’s Finch, I should like to know?’

  ‘I gave her the slip.’

  ‘You did, did yer? Ay, I see your game, miss!’ the cook exclaimed, as though she’d spotted the girl’s crime. ‘You made the whole thing up about being sick, didn’t you, you imp, so you could skip the outing with the others and pilfer my baking. Well, have you ever known the like! You just wait till your parents hear about this.’

  ‘Oh! Please, Cook, don’t tell!’ the girl beseeched, then stamped her foot, adding haughtily, ‘I forbid you to. That is an order.’

  The woman hooted with laughter, and Pip and Simon exchanged a surprised look – a servant laughing at a superior? A rum set-up this was! – before turning their gazes back towards Mack. How in the world these two hadn’t spotted him yet …

  ‘Listen ’ere, young ’un. Don’t come all that, here. It might work with that sop Finch but it’ll not wash with me. I take orders from none other than the master up yonder, so just you think on.’

  ‘Humph!’

  ‘And “humph” to you, an’ all!’ shot back the cook, and she and the girl burst into laughter. ‘Now, you get yourself back to the nursery afore everyone returns. Go on, aye, take another ruddy cake along with thee. You selected one? Right, come along, then— Eeh!’

  At cook’s astonished squawk, Pip and Simon held their breath. Mack. She’d seen him. Lord, what would become of them? The house would have the law on them for certain!

  ‘God in heaven above, what’s this I’m seeing?’

  Following the servant’s gaze, the girl’s gasp barely broke through the crash of blood pounding in Pip’s ears. ‘Simon …’ she mouthed. He simply stared back, wide-eyed with helplessness.

  ‘Is it a person?’

  ‘Well, of course it is – what else would it be?’ Cook murmured, as though to convince herself. She inched forward, the girl following, clinging to her skirts. Reaching out a tentative hand to the bundle of rags that was the young boy, she prodded his shoulder. He moaned softly and she sprang back. ‘It is, it’s a child!’

  Simon’s face was the colour of bleached bones. He extracted his hand from Pip’s, then before she could stop him emerged from beneath the table. Biting back a cry, she scrambled after him – then stopped dead when the cook whirled around towards them.

  For half a minute, the four of them stared at each other in stunned silence, a mixture of expressions creasing faces both young and old. At length, Simon took a hesitant step forward.

  ‘Missis … We can explain.’

  ‘Holy Mother, I don’t believe what my eyes are seeing …’ The cook swung her head from them to Mack then shook it slowly.

  ‘Are they savages, like in my storybook upstairs?’ cherub-faced Miss Lucy squeaked, grip tightening on the servant’s skirts, eyes wide with fear.

  ‘Hush, child.’

  ‘They are, they are! I’m certain of it,’ she cried, shuddering in horror at them, and Pip lowered her gaze in shame. ‘Oh, they’ll dash our brains out, eat us alive—!’

  ‘Enough, now. Savages, indeed. Books will rot your head, I’ve allus said so. These here are but poor urchins, and children just like yourself.’

  The words had held a pitying note; Pip’s heart lifted slightly. She flicked her eyes back up.

  ‘Now then. What’s the meaning of this? Come on, spit it out.’

  In a quiet rush, Simon explained about the maid who had swindled him, how the door had been unlocked and, due to their desperate state, they had been unable to resist the opportunity of filling their bellies. ‘Only a bit of grub, mind,’ he insisted, eyes solemn. ‘We’d not have swiped nowt else, ’onest. We were fair wanting, is all.’

  ‘Sounds like you’ve had the misfortune of meeting Jess Hardman, the housemaid. There’s none below stairs with a more vicious streak than her. Mind, that’s no excuse for this. Housebreaking it is, that’s what!’

  Simon crossed the space, roused Mack and pressed him behind him protectively. ‘Little ’un’s not used to the heat, were overcome by it, is all. He meant no harm, neither. Will tha let us leave, quiet like? We swear we’ll never darken yon door again. Please,’ he finished on a whisper.

  Cook scratched her chin in contemplation then put her hands on her hips and frowned. ‘I’ve a good mind to alert the master he
re and now to give the three of youse the horsewhipping you deserve.’ She scrutinised the room for a moment. ‘Mind, it don’t favour you’ve caused any damage and nowt looks to be missing …’

  ‘Oh nay, missis.’ Pip shook her head. ‘We’d do nowt like that, not in a week of Wednesdays, never.’

  ‘Hm. Well.’

  ‘Can we go now?’ asked Simon, already inching to the door with Mack.

  ‘Hold up.’ Cook studied them. ‘What did you manage to scran afore you were interrupted?’

  Pip and Simon exchanged guilty glances.

  ‘One of them dainty cakes over there. All right, two,’ Simon muttered when the woman lifted an eyebrow.

  Pip raised her hand. ‘And I took a biscuit,’ she murmured, eyes downcast, adding before she could stop herself, ‘By, it were heaven.’

  Cook preened slightly. ‘And so they should be, I’d say. Been at my baking since dawn’s break, I have. What about the little mite, there?’

  ‘Nay, Bread ain’t had a scrap. He dropped to sleep the moment we entered.’

  ‘Bread?’ Miss Lucy gave a soft snort. ‘Cook, that boy’s name is Bread!’

  ‘Nay, it’s Mack, really. Simon forgets,’ Pip told them.

  ‘And what do you go by?’

  She straightened her shoulders. ‘Pip,’ she told the cook proudly.

  Again, Miss Lucy turned to the servant in amusement. ‘That isn’t a proper name, either!’

  ‘Aye, it is,’ Pip responded boldly then quickly changed her tone for fear of overstepping the mark with one of her betters. ‘What I mean is, it’s what Mam called me.’

  ‘Where is your mama? Mine, along with Aunt Josephine, has accompanied Papa to see his friend, who lives nearby beyond the church. Is yours away making visits, too?’

  A pang of pain struck inside Pip’s chest. In a sense, her mam was, aye. Away, that was. And near a church, too. Well, in the church’s boneyard, anyroad.

  ‘I stayed behind because I’m unwell – well, I told them I was unwell but really, I’m not!’ Miss Lucy added, grinning. ‘I wanted to stay here; it’s far too cold to venture out, even with my new fur cloak and muff. Besides, I don’t much care for Mr Sutton-Shaw,’ she continued in her sweet, articulate voice. ‘It also meant I could sneak down here to the kitchen for more of Cook’s delicious cakes. I stole some, too, like you!’ She laughed up at the servant, who rolled her eyes heavenwards. ‘Finch, that’s my nursemaid, says I’m not to have any because I’m fat.’

  Cook clicked her tongue. ‘Finch said that?’

  Nodding, Miss Lucy prodded her admittedly chubby midriff. ‘However,’ she finished to Pip, ‘I’ve bested her; she believes I’m in bed! Ha!’

  Pip smothered a giggle with her grubby hand. This lass wasn’t like the gentry you heard about. She wasn’t stiff and abrupt or unwilling to speak kindly with them because of who she was and, more to the point, who they were not. She was nice, and real bonny to boot. ‘You’re funny,’ she told her shyly.

  ‘Thank you, Pip. I’ve always thought so. My name is Lucy. You may call me Miss Lucy,’ the girl stated without a trace of self-importance.

  Simon made a derisive noise in his throat that only Pip caught, but she didn’t share his sentiments. Miss Lucy wasn’t being priggish, just herself. This was how she’d been raised, taught. Such was life.

  ‘Aw, Pip. Ay, my feet – oh!’

  They all looked down at Mack’s rotten boots. Tears had filled his soft blue eyes as he whimpered, shuffling on the spot.

  ‘All right, lad,’ she told him quietly. Glancing at Simon, she motioned to the door.

  ‘Can we leave, missis?’ the older lad asked the cook yet again.

  ‘What’s this about his feet?’

  ‘It’s nowt—’

  ‘Awful sore, missis,’ Mack spoke over Simon, nodding to the cook.

  The woman was silent for a long moment, then, ‘Where d’you plan on bedding down the night? It’s perishing out there.’

  They stared back silently. Her guess was as good as theirs.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘We normally kip by the baker’s shop on London Road when the weather’s ’specially bad. Heat carries from his ovens and warms the flagstones outside, like. Happen we’ll try there.’

  ‘Or not,’ Simon said quickly, shooting Pip a warning look. ‘We ain’t decided yet.’

  ‘I don’t plan on sending a search party of police after youse, lad, don’t fret,’ the cook assured him with a hint of sadness. ‘I were enquiring, is all.’

  ‘Aye, well. Like I said, we ain’t decided—’

  ‘Miss Lucy! There you are.’

  Cook turned sharply to the baize door. Quickly, she positioned her wide bulk in front of the orphans, blocking them from the view of the tall, angry-sounding woman who had appeared.

  ‘Why, you wretched child. You had me worried sick! Why aren’t you in your bed? Just you wait until your mama—’

  ‘All right, Finch, there’s no harm done,’ Cook interrupted her. To the child, she added, ‘Go on, now, Miss Lucy. We’ll keep this to ourselfs, eh? No one needs know.’ Ever so slightly, she jerked her head back, indicating Pip and the lads behind her.

  Catching the double meaning, the girl flashed a wink. ‘Oh, yes. Thank you, Cook.’

  Unaware that anything was other than it seemed, Miss Finch bristled. ‘Indeed we shan’t forget this, oh no! That child has disobeyed me once too often. I’ll be informing her parents of this the moment they return. I specifically told her to—’

  ‘Aye, all right, you do that, then. I’m sure they’ll be interested to learn of your slapdash ways.’

  ‘What?’

  Cook bobbed her head in a nod. ‘You heard. You were meant to be watching your charge, missy. Dozing by the fire again, were you? Aye, thought as much. If you did what you’re paid for, this wouldn’t have occurred. Tell them, aye, for you’ll be doing us all a favour – you’ll be out on your ear and halloo to that!’

  Glancing up at the back of the cook’s head, iron-grey curls peeking from her frilled white cap, Pip wondered anew at this seemingly fearless woman. She spoke to both servants and superiors as she pleased and didn’t care a fig. Eeh, she liked her, she did!

  After a charged silence, Finch’s voice sounded again, tight with rage. ‘Come along, Miss Lucy.’

  ‘Goodbye, Pip. Goodbye, Simon, Bread. Merry Christmas,’ the girl breathed on a soft whisper then skipped to the door.

  ‘And another thing.’ Cook’s words stopped Finch in her tracks. ‘Don’t be filling Miss Lucy’s head with tales that she’s fat. You leave the child be, you hear? Anyroad, if you want my opinion, you’d do well to get some flesh on them bare bones of yourn.’

  ‘And finish up with a girth as wide as yours? No thank you!’ shot back the nursemaid before ushering the girl out; the green baize door swished shut and all was still.

  ‘Huh! Bold piece.’

  Nudging Pip, Simon inclined his head to the back door. The three of them had almost reached it when the cook turned and, seeing what they were about, stopped them with, ‘Hang on. Here.’ She crossed to the small oven, pulled the long handle and opened it wide. She brought out a steaming joint of glistening, dark-brown meat. ‘Take a slice apiece along with youse. Little ’un there’s had nowt, you said. Sure, I can’t see you go – of a Christmas Eve to boot – without giving alms.’

  The children glanced at each other, mouths moving into small smiles. Eeh! This woman was kindness itself, she was. A real-life Christmas angel. By, meat! Proper stuff, an’ all, not the slink (premature or stillborn calves) or broxy (diseased sheep) they were used to, when fortunate to cadge scraps off charitable housewives from the surrounding streets back home.

  ‘The master’s son and his wife, Miss Lucy’s parents, have invited friends around for a small feast and drinks the night. No mind to me and the rest of the staff, already up to our eyes in it with preparing the banquet for the morrow’s dinner. Oh no, they think nowt of that so long as they g
et their jollio. They’ll not notice a few morsels gone, I’m sure,’ Cook muttered as she sliced generous pieces of beef. All the while, her eyes flicked over them, lingering on little Mack with definite sorrow. She made for a drawer in the enormous dresser, took out some brown paper and tore off a large square. On to this she laid the succulent cutlets and folded up the sides, wrapping them tightly.

  ‘For us, Pip,’ whispered Mack; she nodded excitedly. His eyes widened. He clutched his hands to his chest in rapture. Grinning, he swung his head to Simon but the elder boy had moved to open the door.

  Half indoors, half out, Simon’s gaze darted towards the servant then back to the street, as though he believed this was some big trick and expected to be pounced on by a constable any moment. ‘Need to go,’ he mumbled to himself, picking agitatedly at the sores around his mouth.

  ‘Oh, now just one minute …’ Nodding, the cook headed for a far door set in a recess, saying over her shoulder, ‘I’ve a blanket I can spare that youse can take along. Just hang about while I fetch it. You’ve the need of it more than me, that you have. Now wait a minute.’ She disappeared and they heard her tread on bare stairs as she ascended to what must be the domestics’ sleeping quarters.

  ‘Grab that grub and let’s get gone.’ Pulling his cap low against the cold, Simon moved outside.

  ‘But the cook said—’

  ‘I’m not hanging about here any longer. I don’t fancy having my collar felt, nay, I don’t.’

  ‘But Simon, the blanket … We could do with it; it’s turning more bitter by the hour out there. Anyroad, she’ll not tell on us. She said so, didn’t she?’

  ‘And what if the nobs arrive back and catch us here?’

  ‘You weren’t mithered on that when you entered in the first place,’ Pip shot back quietly.

  ‘Aye, well. I were angry, then, weren’t I? I weren’t thinking straight. I’m grateful to the owd ’un; she’s norra bad sort, but … You think a mere skivvy’s word would mean owt against that of her betters should they return? It’ll be their decision whether to get the law on to us, not hers. And there’s the girl – mebbe she’s blurted all to the hard-faced one, Finch, the minute she got upstairs. Word could have been sent to the station while we’ve been stood here. Happen a team of police are on their way this second to apprehend us! What?’ he asked when Pip frowned. ‘How do you know? They could be and—’ He broke off as footsteps from the street outside drifted on the air. ‘Oh heck. Now see we must be away. Come on!’