The Orphans of Ardwick Page 7

  ‘Ay, lass, I’m not hurting thee, am I?’

  Dragged from her memories, Pip glanced up at Cook’s concerned face. It was then that she noticed the fat tears she hadn’t realised she was shedding running down her cheeks and dripping into the scummy waters. Forcing from her mind the woman she missed with every part of her, she rubbed at her eyes quickly. ‘Nay, Cook. It’s just the steam, like,’ she lied.

  ‘Well, you might have cause to say otherwise in a minute, for it’s the vinegar next, lass, so brace yourself.’

  The liquid greeted the sores on her scalp with an acid handshake but Pip bore the pain without complaint. Stepping into her still-damp but fresh-smelling clothes afterwards, she felt like another being. To be clean and bug-free for the first time in over a year was glorious. She felt lighter, peaceful. Human. ‘Simon?’

  Now sitting at the table, himself looking like a stranger – a neat and presentable one, at that – black hair now shiny and knot-free, shirt and jacket, though ragged still, laundered and newly ironed, he’d fixed her with a wide-eyed stare. Frowning, she said his name again and he blinked. ‘Bugger me. Pip, is that thee?’ he asked quietly.

  She raised a self-conscious hand to hair Tabby had finished brushing the tangles from. Silken strands met her palm and she drew a lock through her fingers to examine it.

  ‘By. Laddo here is right. Look for yourself.’ The scullery maid held up a silver tureen and Pip gazed at the reflection staring back from the shiny surface. Curls the colour of beaten butter hugged a white face. Above cheeks speckled with freckles sat two bright pools of the deepest green, almond shaped like those of a cat, framed by dark lashes and brows. The sight of this long-forgotten person was startling; she shook her head in denial.

  ‘Such beauty hidden under the muck – unbelievable!’

  Pip blushed to the roots of her hair at Tabby’s compliment. Murmuring a thank you, she sidled over to slip into a chair beside Simon.

  ‘Cook? You giving me a hand, or what?’

  It seemed a long time before the woman heard the young domestic speak. Her attention was on Pip. She was looking at her with the queerest expression, and Pip coloured again under the intense scrutiny. Cook closed her eyes for the briefest moment then cleared her throat. ‘Aye. Aye, lass. Let’s sort this last ’un out.’

  ‘You all right?’

  Now busy at the tub, she nodded to Tabby over her shoulder. Her tone was quiet, flat. ‘Aye. Tired, is all.’

  ‘And me. By, my back won’t like me the morrow, I’ll be bound.’

  Watching them humping out and lugging in yet more fresh water, gratitude and not a little admiration filled Pip. It was clear they were exhausted after their busy workday, had likely been up from their beds before dawn, but still they were taking the time for them. And for what? Was what Simon suspected true? Were they to stay on here? It seemed too fantastical a notion to believe. Yet what, otherwise? Why else were they doing this? She hadn’t an answer. Someone, surely Cook, would explain soon?

  ‘Now then.’ Smiling, the woman beckoned to Mack. The lad trotted to her willingly enough – as much as his painful feet would allow – and raking her eyes over him, she shook her head and sighed. ‘Rotten bloody shame, it is. Eeh, I don’t know. Come on, lovey, off with ’em.’ She helped him peel his jacket and shirt away but when she stooped and attempted to untie his laces, he backed off.

  ‘Nay. It hurts.’

  ‘Now come along and don’t be a babby. How am I meant to see you cleaned up all bonny, like, if you don’t take off your ruddy boots?’

  As she removed, with some difficulty, his left one, he whimpered pitifully but at her soothings, bore it. At her first tug on the next, however, he let out such a scream that everyone almost jumped from their skins.

  ‘Now then, now then,’ murmured Cook, eyes creased in sadness. ‘Aye, this is worse than I thought – nay, stop out of the way a minute, I’ll mend him, don’t fret,’ she added to Pip and Simon, who had risen from their seats, worry etched on both their faces.

  ‘Bloomin’ heck, he’ll rouse the whole house with that carry-on.’ Tabby, glancing upwards then to the doors, bit her lip.

  The woman quashed her concerns. ‘This household is well used to such things in the night, as well you know. Poor lass,’ she added in a whisper, almost to herself, her own eyes straying to the ceiling, and Pip and Simon shared a frown.

  ‘Why’s that, then? What poor lass?’

  ‘Never you mind.’ Cook’s stern look silenced Simon. ‘Now, here’s what we’re to do,’ she continued in a softer tone to Mack. ‘You’re to get in the bath, boot an’ all. The water, here, will loosen it enough for me to remove and shall soothe your skin while it’s about it. All right?’

  ‘It’ll not. It’s stuck. It hurts!’ Despite his protests, he allowed the cook to lower him into the tub. His cladded foot made contact with the water and he gritted his teeth. ‘It stings!’

  ‘All right, all right. Now we’ll leave that hoof to soak awhile. Meantime, let’s get the rest of you scrubbed and cleaned.’

  This she did, washing every inch of his scrawny frame and light, shoulder-length hair with gusto, while Tabby treated his clothing. Then came the moment they were all dreading.

  ‘We can’t put it off any longer, lad. That thing has to come off.’

  After a long hesitation, he heaved a deep breath and nodded bravely.

  ‘Good boy. Now, let’s see what the damage is. Prepare yourself.’

  Mack gripped the bath’s edge until his knuckles turned white as slowly, with gentle twists and tugs, Cook eased the boot away. The pungent smell of infection burst forth, stagnating the air.

  ‘God in heaven …’

  Following Cook’s gaze, Pip caught a glimpse inside the boot before the woman could hide it away – clumps of Mack’s flesh had gone with it, stuck to the leather inside. She slapped a hand to her mouth. Oh, the poor lad … No wonder he’d been complaining about the pain as he had for so long. Blighted with such injury, the sorry mite must have suffered agony. It would be a miracle, she reckoned, if he ever walked normally again.

  Fat, silent tears were coursing down his face. He clung to Cook and she patted his head.

  ‘Now, now. Don’t take on so. That’s the hard part behind thee.’ She looked to Pip and Simon with anger in her eyes – directed not at them but the world in general. ‘Who’s responsible for this child?’ she asked. ‘For all of you, for that matter. How have you found yourselfs this way?’

  ‘Me,’ muttered Simon after some moments. ‘I’m responsible for him.’ The latter part of Cook’s enquiry, however, he ignored.

  The woman looked to him, sighed, then resumed her inspection of the foot, holding it aloft in the lamplight.

  Like his other before its introduction to the soap, this foot was covered in a grey film – layer upon layer of dirt. Yet that’s where the similarities ended. Clusters of bubbles – weeping blisters, some as large as penny pieces – covered the toes and sides of the foot. But it was the heel that had Cook shaking her head in concern, and Tabby, Pip and Simon looking away, cringing. Here there were two open wounds, as if the flesh had been eaten away, oozing blood and pus.

  From what Pip had just seen inside the boot, it was clear what had happened, what she had suspected ailed him. Given that Mack – indeed all three of them – never took their boots off, the sores, when they began to heal, had done so around the broken leather, almost fusing together. Bare feet constantly in soggy and damp ill-fitting boots was the culprit. It was a wonder she and Simon hadn’t suffered the same fate before now.

  Amidst the youngster’s whimpers and with tender strokes, Cook cleansed the foot as best as she was able. She then turned to Tabby. ‘Fetch us a tin dish from the cupboard, there. Ta, lass. Now, if this don’t work, I don’t know what will – swore by her potions, did my granny. Aye, lad,’ she added to Mack, nodding, ‘we’ll have you mended in no time, you’ll see.’ Throwing orders at Tabby to fetch her this, that and the nex
t, she crossed to the table and the girl scuttled about bringing her what was required without question. Cook poured and mixed and ground a whole host of ingredients. Finally satisfied with the look and consistency, she crouched again by the side of the bath and held Mack’s injured foot aloft.

  He pulled an expectant pained face as she began applying the paste-like ointment but it soon slipped from him and he gazed up in surprise. ‘It don’t hurt, that, missis. ’Ere, I’d say it feels nice.’

  Cook smiled. ‘Soothing it, is it?’

  ‘Aye!’

  After coating the heel liberally, she fetched a cloth from a drawer, ripped half of it in two lengthwise and wrapped the remainder around the foot, tying the torn ends together, thus securing the bandage in place. She then lifted him up and out of the tub, dried him from top to toe and helped him on with his clean clothes. Fists on hips, she stood looking from him to Pip and Simon with a satisfied nod. ‘Would you look at them, now? Did you ever see a more striking transformation or finer kiddies than these?’

  Tabby smiled agreement then smothered a yawn with the back of her hand, and Cook motioned to the door that led upstairs. ‘Go on, lass, get yourself off to your bed – and take my thanks for your help the night along with you.’ She gave her a gentle shove, and without protest the exhausted scullery maid did as she was told.

  Cook turned her attention to the children, now sitting close together at the table. ‘Same goes for the three of youse. But first …’

  The plates of floury crusts and ham, and cups of milky tea, were empty in no time. Again, the woman gave a satisfied nod. As Tabby had done, she too gave a yawn, though made no attempt to stifle hers. She wiped her tired eyes then jerked her head and without a word, her three charges too made for the door.

  ‘I’ll follow in a minute, just need to bank down the fire and extinguish the lights. ’Ere and mind yourselfs when you reach the landing. No loitering; we don’t want that Hardman piece catching sight of youse. I haven’t the energy for any palaver. There’ll be time enough to put her in the picture the morrow. Aye, and the rest of them, an’ all.’

  Too tired to dwell on just what the housemaid’s reaction upon discovering them beneath this roof would be – not to mention what the master and his family would make of it – they dragged their weary selves upstairs.

  True to her word, Cook slipped into her bedroom shortly afterwards. She clicked her tongue to find them huddled on the rug like before. ‘What’s this? Why, lying there youse favour the master’s dogs. Up. Come on now, into that bed, the three of you. I’ll take the chair, here. No arguments,’ she murmured when they made to protest. ‘It’s a sound kip you’re short of and that’s what you’re getting. Go on, go on. Oh aye,’ she added as an afterthought, ‘the pot’s beneath said bed should you need to go during the night.’

  Shuffling under the blankets, they released blissful sighs in unison. Cook smiled, tucked the coverings around them, then, taking another blanket from the bottom drawer of the chest, eased into the chair by the window.

  Heavy eyed with contentment, Pip snuggled closer to Mack and Simon, their breathing already steady with sleep. Glancing to the cook’s bulk through the darkness, a smile stroked her lips and tears pricked her eyes. Eeh, but how would they ever thank the woman here enough for this? Tabby, too, aye, for she was nice, as well. She’d promised to keep her silence, hadn’t she? But all this, really, was the doing of but one person. Aye, this angel here. I love you, she thought. ‘Thank you,’ she said.

  ‘You’re a good lass,’ Cook whispered back. Moments later, she too was snoring softly.

  Some time later, whether Pip had dropped off then awakened to the sounds, or whether she was dreaming, she couldn’t be certain. A slight frown touched her brow at what appeared to be faint sobs drifting from another part of the house. She hadn’t time to ponder as deep sleep claimed her once more.

  Chapter 5

  ‘PIP? LOOK, PIP.’

  She opened her eyes. Squinting in the weak sunlight, she followed Mack’s finger. ‘Ah.’ She smiled sleepily.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘That there’s a robin redbreast. Bonny, eh?’

  The boy, wide eyes on the small bird hopping along the window ledge outside, grinned. It was then Pip realised how lovely she felt. She wasn’t cold or cramped or damp with dew, nor was her stomach sick with emptiness. She was toasty warm, cosy, content. In her half-conscious state, she’d forgotten where she was, about last night and everything that had transpired. Slowly, she raised herself on one elbow and looked about.

  The chair in which Cook had spent the night was empty, the blanket returned to the drawer. She swivelled her gaze to her right. Simon lay on his front beside her, head resting on his arms, his breathing rhythmic with sleep. She sighed peacefully but a prickle of sadness soon chased away her soft smile. Where would they be this time tomorrow? What did today hold?

  As she recalled just what day this was, happiness quickly returned. Slipping out of bed, she dropped to her knees on the bare boards and clasped her hands on the coverlet. She’d forgotten to say her prayers last night, she remembered with a guilty bite of her lip. She’d been so exhausted, it had slipped her mind entirely – she’d make up for it now, give double thanks. Thrice, even; today of all days. ‘Dear sweet Jesus, son of God …’ she murmured piously to the ceiling.

  ‘You and your ruddy prayers.’

  Pip opened one eye at the quiet words, thick with tiredness, spoken above her head. Simon was watching her, he too through one eye. She gave a quick smile. ‘Does no harm.’

  ‘Aye, and no good, neither. Yet still, you never miss a day, d’you?’

  ‘Well, I did yesterday so must make up for it, now. Quieten down a minute, eh, while I do. Besides, look at the fortune bestowed on us yesterday. Proof of God’s goodness, this is. Aye, he delivers, lad. The least we can do in return is give thanks.’

  Simon looked as if he would say more, but instead shrugged and turned back over in the bed. Closing her eyes again, Pip resumed her prayers. She’d just finished and, having risen, stood grinning watching Mack, tongue poking from the side of his mouth as he inched closer to the window to get a closer look at the bird still hopping beyond the pane, when the door opened.

  Tabby entered, an earthenware dish covered with a muslin cloth in her hands. Even at this early hour, she appeared dead on her feet; Pip’s heart contracted for her. She and Cook had gone above and beyond for them last night, must have snatched barely a few hours’ sleep between then and now. By, but they were lovely, and selfless too, aye, the pair. She smiled warmly. ‘Good morning, Tabby, and a very merry Christmas to thee.’

  The girl shoved the door shut with her hip. ‘The same to you, an’ all, Pip,’ she said, smiling. ‘Here you are. Cook sends this with instructions to rest yourselfs and she’ll be up to see youse shortly.’ She placed the dish on the bedside chest and wiped an arm across her brow. ‘By, it’s bloomin’ chaos in the kitchen down there. The poulterer’s boy were late this morning delivering the turkey, which had Cook flapping around like one herself, squawking curses. And I’ve been watching the ruddy Christmas pudding while it’s steaming since dawn – and there’s a few hours yet to go, too – to ensure it don’t boil dry, for woe betide if it should. Cook wouldn’t think twice about the rotten delivery boy and his late bird, then; she’d stuff and roast me instead, I reckon.

  ‘And Miss Lucy’s for making the workload twice as hard, her careering in and out every two minutes. A reet ball of excitement, she is, this morning. ’Ere, and Hardman, the housemaid, she’s got the divil’s own temper on her, has had to dust and polish and sweep the kitchen and passageways and rooms with extra care, it being a special day, like. And all that besides lighting the fires, making beds and the hundred and one other chores required – not to mention seeing to the master’s wants.

  ‘It’s more staff we need, that’s what. Ay, we’ll be crawling to our beds by the day’s end, you’ll see. Anyroad …’ She jerked her head
. ‘Eat up, then, afore it grows cowd. And if you’ve room after that lot, and the family leave owt – they’ve only partook of a light breakfast today, mind: lamb chops, mashed potato and griddle cakes; oh and baked apples with sweet cream …’

  The children gazed at each other then back to Tabby in amazement. That was a light breakfast? By!

  ‘But, well,’ the girl continued, ‘if there’s any leftovers, which there usually is, I’ll keep them warming for youse by the fire. Meantime, I’ll fetch thee up some coffee and …’ Lifting the pitcher out of its matching bowl on her way to the door, she continued over her shoulder, ‘I’ll fill this with hot water while I’m about it. You can see to your ablutions after your breakfast.’ In the next moment, she was gone again.

  ‘What is it, Pip?’ Having rapidly lost interest in the robin at the mention of food, Mack came to stand beside her, eyes fixed on the dish.

  She lifted the cloth and licked her lips. ‘Eeh, look now!’

  With a yawn and a stretch, Simon was sitting up in bed as she spoke. He too peered at the fare and his stomach let out a loud growl, making them giggle. He rubbed his hands together. ‘Let’s have it, then. You and Bread sit down on the bed, here, and we’ll have ourselfs a feast. By, it smells gradely.’

  Helping themselves to the kidneys and bacon and bread, they ate in silence; only now, they didn’t wolf the food down as they had the previous night and beyond. That all-consuming hunger they were so used to wasn’t here this morning, thanks to Cook’s generosity yesterday. Moments later, Tabby returned with the promised coffee, the mugs clinking softly in her hands, and the filled pitcher lodged in the crook of her arm.

  ‘Ta, thanks,’ they each said, relieving her of the steaming drinks and blowing at them before sipping tentatively.