IT FELT LIKE she’d been asleep for hours but in reality it could only have been one, if that. Lamplight still showed at several windows of houses overlooking the park; not everyone had retired for the night yet; it couldn’t be so late.
Why had she wakened? Pip didn’t know. Simon and Mack were still slumbering soundly either side of her. She peered through the darkness and saw nothing. Shrugging, she closed her eyes again. Suddenly, by the bushes close by, a snuffling sounded; heart beginning to thump, she peeped once more over the blanket. She was deliberating whether to waken Simon when the unmistakable shapes of two large dogs materialised as her eyes grew accustomed to the gloom. She released air slowly in relief. Moments later, there came what sounded like a rodent’s muffled squeak. The hounds bounded away across the Green and silence swooped back.
It seems I were wrong – even the rich do have their share of rats, she thought, then bit her lip and tucked her legs up under herself, hoping the dogs had caught it. Folk weren’t the only beings that the pains of hunger touched; the furry pests thought nothing of taking a nibble at you, given the chance.
‘Psst! ’Ere, youse.’
Pip had nodded back to sleep when the voice came close to her ear. A hand shaking her shoulder accompanied it. She sat bolt upright with a gasp. ‘Wha …? Who—?’
‘You Pip?’
Surprise and confusion chased away a little of her fear. She squinted up at the speaker – a plain-looking girl not much older than herself – and stammered, ‘A … aye, yes.’
‘You’ve to follow me. Cook says.’
‘Cook?’
‘That’s right, at Bracken House. I’m Tabitha – Tabby to my friends – the scullery maid there. Rouse t’ other two and come with me.’
‘It’s a ruse,’ Simon stated when Pip woke him and explained what was happening. ‘They’ve got the law on us, that’s what! Well, they ain’t nabbing me—’
‘Have we bloomin’ heck.’ The maid chuckled. ‘Give over, lad. You’re talking daft.’
‘Then what’s she after?’
‘I don’t know, do I? I’m only the messenger. Neither will youse till you go check.’
As was their habit, Pip and Mack looked to Simon to make the decision.
He thrust his hands in his pockets and stared hard at Tabby. ‘You certain she said to fetch us?’
‘Aye.’
‘There’s no funny business afoot?’
‘Nay.’
‘And definitely no police awaiting us?’
‘Course there ain’t. Ay, you’re the one from earlier, ain’t you, what confronted Hardman on our way out?’ she stated, nodding understanding now. ‘What did you do, call on Cook after we’d gone, for she seems to know youse somehow? When the master’s dogs sniffed youse out minutes ago and I ran back to tell Cook there were trespassers in the Green, she reckoned she knew who it’d be right away.’
‘The dogs what were chasing the rat, they’re the master’s?’ asked Pip.
‘Rat?’
‘Aye, I heard it squeak.’
Tabby’s mouth spread in a grin. ‘That weren’t no rat; that were bleedin’ me! Frickened the liver from me, youse did.’
‘Sorry … The gate were open. We never broke in or nowt.’
The maid pulled a guilty face. ‘Ay, I must have forgot to lock it behind me after walking the dogs this morning … Good thing I spotted youse, else I’d have been for it off Mrs Goldthorpe, and no mistake.’ She eyed Simon, one brow raised. ‘So, youse coming along with me or ain’t you?’
He breathed deeply with indecision and Pip touched his sleeve. ‘Let’s go see, eh? It can’t do no harm.’
Tabby turned and walked away. He dithered a moment longer. Then he motioned to Pip and Mack and followed the scullery maid into the street. After locking the gate, she popped the key into her apron pocket and, checking they were following, headed for Bracken House.
Pip had almost forgotten the giddying assault on the senses the kitchen evoked; stepping back inside the bright warm room, her heart lifted instantly.
‘’Ere they are. Now look at youse, frozen and soaked to the bone.’ Cook beckoned them towards the fire. ‘Come on, let’s be having you.’
‘But …’ Pip’s gaze strayed to the green baize door.
‘Missis, what’s this about?’ asked Simon.
‘Laddo thought you had the police waiting.’
‘Is what Tabby, here, says true? Tsk! Now I said earlier you needn’t fret on that; didn’t I say?’
Pip and the boys stared back silently. Then just what was going on? Why had the cook asked them back?
‘Don’t go worrying on that lot,’ Cook stated, flicking her head to the door that led to the house proper beyond. ‘The family don’t venture in here. Well, besides Miss Lucy, given the opportunity. That one’s the exception to the rule.’ The woman smiled softly. It was evident she held deep affection for the child. ‘Nay. This is servants’ territory. You’ll not be discovered. I’ve spoken on matters with Tabby, here.’ Cook nodded to the girl now busy garnishing a platter of cows’ tongues at the table. ‘She’ll not breathe a word. Will you, lass?’
‘I’ll not.’ She smiled over her shoulder.
‘Finch you saw earlier, she never shows her phizog down here usually. The night were a rarity owing to Miss Lucy’s antics,’ Cook continued. ‘She takes her meals in the nursery with the child and sleeps in a room adjoining hers, has no cause to mix with us. Nor would she be welcome to,’ she added with a sniff. ‘That leaves the housemaid, Hardman, who you’ve already had the misfortune of crossing paths with. Don’t fret on that one, mind. I’ll see she says nowt or feel the full weight of my wrath. Bar the washerwoman Mary Stubbs, who calls twice weekly to collect and fetch back the laundry, us four make up the domestics employed here. This residence houses but a modest sized family, you see – just the five of them – without need of an army of folk at their beck and call. Youse understand all that?’
The children shared confused looks. It was Simon who asked, ‘Why you telling us all this, missis? Why have you asked us back?’
‘Cook has her whims like this,’ the scullery maid offered mildly. ‘Took a stray cat in last month, she did, but it grabbed and gobbled a chicken she’d spent all day preparing and cooking and she slung it out.’ She released a snort of laughter then shook her head. ‘Oh, I’m not saying you’re strays, like—’
‘I should think not, Tabitha Newby!’ cut in the older woman. ‘These here are flesh and blood people just like yourself and me. Anyroad, that scraggy chancer were an ungrateful divil. Fed it fresh meat off the bone, I did, for nigh on a fortnight and it goes and pilfers the family’s dinner? Oh no, missy, I weren’t having that! This, now, is altogether different. These here are God’s children. I’ll not have it said that Mabel May don’t perform her Christian duty should the need arise,’ she proclaimed, prodding her puffed-out chest. ‘As Lord Jesus hisself once said: It’s more blessed to give than to receive.’
At this, much to Pip’s astonishment, Tabby fell about laughing. Holding on to the back of a chair, she wiped her eyes, wet with mirth, with the back of her free hand. ‘Christian …? Why, you ain’t graced a church door in all the years I’ve know you, yer great untruth-teller!’
‘Aye, well … Moral duty, then, flappy tongue!’
Again, Pip shared a confused look with Simon and Mack, unable to believe, to hope … Did this mean …? No, surely not! Surely the cook, here, wasn’t suggesting they could stay at this house? However, her next words confirmed it and sent Pip’s heart thumping in her chest:
‘Now, here’s what we’re to do. You’ll wait in my own room upstairs. Tabby shall show you to it. There, you stay till I shouts you. There’s a mammoth amount of work to be had afore the night’s through – the family have yet to have their Christmas Eve feast. Then there’s the fare for the morrow’s dinner and a million and one other things to prepare besides … But, no matter about that, no matter. We’ll manage, allus do. Come along, then, that’s it. Tabby, you lead the way, lass. Shake a leg, now.’
Instead of obeying, as Pip and Mack were about to, so lost were they in shock to argue, Simon backed towards the street door. Eyes narrowed, he shook his head slowly. ‘Now I’ve asked enough and got nowt for my troubles,’ he said quietly. ‘I’d like some answers, missis, for I’ll be damned, I’ve norra single idea what’s occurring, here. Where are you expecting us to go to exactly, and why? Why are you doing this? What are you doing?’
‘Taking youse in,’ Cook proffered simply. ‘Well, the night, at least. You think I’d sleep well in my warm bed knowing I’d cast three kiddies out into the bitter cold – of a Christmas Eve, an’ all? Nay, now don’t you fret and don’t ask another question, for time’s not on our side. Go on with Tabby, now. She’ll see you well till I’m freed up, later.’
‘But … the master,’ Simon persevered as the scullery maid made to lead him towards the far door to the servants’ quarters. ‘Happen he were to discover—?’
‘He’ll not.’
‘And Miss Lucy? Mebbe she’s already—?’
‘Nay, not her,’ Cook interrupted him again. ‘Young she may be but daft she ain’t. She’ll hold her tongue, I’m certain. Nor have you need to worry about her parents, Mr Philip and Madam.’ Cook dropped the last word off her tongue with a roll of her eyes. ‘Neither, for that matter, poor Miss Josephine, the master’s daughter.’
‘Aye, but if they did …?’
‘Aye, well. Anyroad, they’ve no reason to, really, and it’s only right they don’t. For as Jesus also said: Beware of practising your righteousness before other people in order to be seen by them, for then you will have no reward from your Father who is in heaven. Thus, when you give to the needy, sound no trumpet before you, as the hypocrites do—’ At Tabby’s guffaw, Cook shot her a stern look and continued: ‘in the synagogues and in the streets, that they may be praised by others. Truly, I say to you, they have received their reward—’
‘But when you give to the needy, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your giving may be in secret. And your Father who sees in secret will reward you.’
All eyes swivelled to Pip, and for a moment she was confused. Then she realised it was she who had interrupted the cook, finishing the verse she knew so well, without thought, and her cheeks flamed red. ‘I … I’m sorry …’
‘What says you, child?’
‘I … That … But when you give to the needy—’
‘I heard it.’ Warmth filled the cook’s eyes. ‘What I mean is, you know the Bible by heart?’
Pip nodded. ‘Well, mostly. Mam read it to me each night. That there were her favourite bit.’
The lads were staring at Pip in surprise. Even Tabby had stopped her teasing of Cook’s hypocrisy on religious matters, and was nodding her head, smiling.
Cook looked as if she’d ask more but changed her mind, saying instead, ‘Ay, the master will like that. A reet God-fearing man, is he.’ She’d spoken softly but in the next moment seemed to shake herself and her words were delivered with purpose. ‘Well, lad?’ she asked of Simon. ‘Tha looks to be the decision-maker amongst you. What’s it to be?’
All eyes were now on the older boy. Cook raised an eyebrow, Pip followed suit, and with a sigh that seemed to come from the bottom of his cracked boots, his shoulders sagged in defeat. With a flick of his head to Mack, he took up the lead behind Tabby and the four of them left the kitchen.
No one spoke as they mounted the bare and narrow, well-scrubbed stairs, which seemed to go on for ever. Then they circled a sharp bend and climbed an identical set; up, up, towards the very top of the house. The candle that Tabby held high in front of her barely illuminated their path and Pip held on to the bottom of Simon’s jacket, more for security than from fear of losing her footing. Likewise, behind her, Mack had balled his fist around the edge of her shawl. Suddenly, they were brought to an abrupt halt when Tabby paused at the top of the stairs. Before them ran a short landing with four doors leading off into the gloom. She nodded to the one nearest.
‘That there’s Cook’s domain. Come on, then,’ she said mildly with a quick smile. Before opening the door, she motioned to the others. ‘This one’s mine,’ she told them of the neighbouring room. ‘Next one along is Hardman’s – hell’s teeth, here’s a warning you’ll do well not to forget: don’t go wandering into that ’un by accident! I’ve made the mistake of entering her bedroom only once afore and bore a fat lip for nigh on a week to prove it!’
Pip wondered to whom the last room belonged but didn’t dare ask. She was certain that one wrong word or action and the three of them would be slung quick sharp back on to the street. She wasn’t taking the chance. Just what on earth they were doing here now, she hadn’t the faintest idea, but she for one wasn’t about to burst this unbelievable dream. They were in a house; all three! They were to sleep in this house. Had you ever heard the like! Cook must have a fever of the brain, or been struck with some other mode of illness that was affecting her thinking, surely? She’d said one night, but that alone was more than nothing. By, it was. It was the grandest gesture they had received in … well, ever. Pip wouldn’t forfeit this opportunity for anything. Nay, not she.
The scullery maid shepherded them into a fair-sized room and closed the door. She disappeared and moments later, murky light flickered forth from a candle atop a small bedside chest as she lit it from the one she held. ‘Right, then. As Cook said, we’ve work to do so youse stay put here till she’s ready for you.’ She nodded to a neatly made bed against the far wall. ‘Sit yourselfs down, take the load off. Lord hisself only knows when we’ll be for finishing up downstairs the night. Mr Philip brought guests back – Mr Sutton-Shaw besides the rest – for drinks and songs. We can’t greet our beds till the family’s in theirs. You’re likely in for quite a wait.’
Gazing at the pristine, cream-coloured coverlet and matching frilled-edged pillowslips adorning the cook’s bed, then looking down at her filthy skirts and the lads’ equally soiled trousers, a trickle of shame-filled horror ran through Pip. Tabby was heading back to the door and she hurried after her. ‘Please. Is there anything we can use to protect the bedding? Some sacking, mebbe? Our clothing, you see …’
‘Oh.’ The girl tapped her lips, eyes thoughtful. Then she shrugged. ‘It’ll not matter, I’m sure. Cook will understand. Just sit yourselfs down,’ she added over her shoulder, ‘sit yourselfs down.’
The door clicked shut and the children were alone.
For a long moment, no one moved. Neither did they, despite the scullery maid’s reassurances, make towards the bed. It didn’t seem right; they felt it as though of one mind. They simply stared around them. Besides the bed itself and the chest alongside, the room held a plain-top desk and hardback chair set beneath a window, from which hung cream and pale-green striped curtains, the material rough-looking but pretty. A dark-wood wardrobe and set of matching drawers stood by the opposite wall. On top of the latter was a large, navy and white washbowl and pitcher, a fluffy flannel folded neatly, a hairbrush and a bottle of something – toilet water by the look of it – as well as a small wooden box with flowers carved into its lid.
Above was an only slightly cracked oval mirror. In the top right corner, held in place between it and the wall, was a portrait smudged and grimy with age. Hesitantly, Pip stepped nearer for a quick peep. She saw on closer inspection that it depicted a young girl with long ringlets wearing a plain frock, and a cheery smile just visible beneath a too-large bonnet that cast the rest of her face in shadow.
‘Cook’s child?’ murmured Simon over her shoulder.
‘Aye, mebbe.’ A frown touched Pip’s brow. ‘I wonder where she is now?’
Simon didn’t have opportunity to speculate. ‘This room’s like a magic room in heaven, like what angels have. Ain’t it, Pip?’ breathed Mack.
She glanced down and smiled. ‘It is.’
‘Are we going to live here, now, for ever and ever?’
‘Nay, lad. Just the night. But ’ere,’ she added quickly when his face fell, ‘just think, a night beneath a sound roof! And the morrow, afore we leave, happen Cook will send us on our way with a few scraps again, eh? We’ll find somewhere new, somewhere warm, like, and dry, and we’ll snuggle together and eat our feast and sing songs, for it’ll be Christmas when we waken. That’ll be nice, won’t it?’
He shook his head, his bottom lip wobbling, and she hadn’t the strength to try and persuade him further, for her own eyes were stinging at the prospect of leaving here in a few short hours. She hugged him close and sighed. Then she motioned to the rag rug by the bed and the two of them settled down upon it, Simon following after some seconds. The blanket from the cook earlier, tucked under her arm, she now wrapped around them.
‘Feet hurt. They hurt bad.’
Again, Pip sighed. ‘I know. I know. Try and snatch some sleep, good lad.’
His pitiful griping continued for some minutes and just when Pip had exhausted all avenues of comforting words of distraction, Simon spoke quietly.
‘’Ere, Bread, look.’ He pointed to the window where the curtains hadn’t yet been drawn, and to the dark sky beyond, stained in places with grey cloud. ‘You see? See the pictures? I reckon that’s a fish wearing a top hat. What says thee?’
Pip could have hugged him. He could be thoughtful when he chose, loved this little lad deep down as much as she, however he tried to mask it. Their eyes met over the top of Mack’s head. She gave him a smile and he responded with his usual, ever so brief one.
‘I see, Simon, aye!’ Wide-eyed, Mack nodded. Then he yawned and snuggled into Pip’s shoulder.
Again, she and Simon shared a look. Then as one, they too closed their eyes and settled down for what they knew would be the warmest, safest, most cosiest sleep any of them had known in a long, long time.
The queer knowledge a body experiences when it’s being watched, as though the spy’s eyes are burning holes into your flesh, plucked Pip from her light doze. Under the cover of her shawl, through the hazy light of the near-spent candle, she saw Cook’s figure in the doorway. For a long moment, it remained still and, half afraid to move unless the woman had changed her mind and might order them from this room and house, so did Pip. Then the woman turned and disappeared. Pip heard her knock at Tabby’s room next door, then voices trickled through from the landing beyond:
‘You certain about this …?’
‘I’ve just been looking on the poor blighters sleeping. The rotten shame of it … Aye, I’m certain.’
The scullery maid’s soft sigh floated on the air. ‘Well, it’s your call, I suppose …’
‘That’s right. Besides, you know how matters are, of my standing in this house. And neither Mr Philip nor that wife of his will alter my decision. The master will see to that once I’ve put him straight.’
‘Aye.’
‘Thing is, they’re filthy and likely verminous. And that poor youngster has some problem with his feet, is pained, it’s clear to see. It’ll need addressing sooner rather than later if they’re not to infest the whole house and us along with it.’
Curiosity momentarily left Pip as she felt embarrassment burn her cheeks. Then Cook spoke again and it returned, drawing her brows together in a puzzled frown:
‘Now I know you must be dead on your feet, lass, as am I, after the day’s toil. And I know it’s all the sleep we can snatch that we need right now, for the morrow shall be busier still. But I’d appreciate a helping hand if you’re for lending it? Them sorry mites in there are more in need than we at this moment in time. What says you?’
Tabby answered without hesitation. ‘Aye, I’ll help, Cook. It’s no bother. What d’you want me to do?’
‘The house is all abed bar Hardman— Oh, here she comes, now.’
The voices ceased and Pip heard the tread of the maid in question on the stairs. No words were exchanged between her and the other two servants, pleasant or otherwise. The housemaid walked straight past them and the room, and seconds later, her door opened then banged shut behind her.
Cook’s voice, when she resumed her conversation, had dropped to a whisper, likely so Hardman wouldn’t hear, and Pip was unable to catch the words. Then Tabby’s light step descended the stairs to the kitchen and Cook appeared once more in her bedroom doorway. This time, she entered and closed the door behind her. She crossed the room to stand before the children, and again simply stared at them for a time. Then she sighed, stooped and spoke quietly:
‘Waken, children. You hear me? Come on, that’s it, poor divils. Rub the sleep from your eyes and come with me. I’ll not keep you long, then you can rest easy again. That’s it, lass,’ she continued softly when Pip finally raised her head. ‘And you, lad, aye,’ she added to Simon, who had bolted awake. ‘Fetch the little one. Quiet, now. Come along.’
Without another word, the cook hurried them down to the kitchen, Simon and Mack stumbling along behind Pip, dumb with tiredness. When they entered, the scullery maid paused in her task of dragging a bath before the fire to smile. Cook indicated the table, and Pip and the lads sat. They watched, silent with confusion, as the woman and girl filled the tin tub with the bubbling contents of a mammoth pot on the fire. They then added cold water from a pail nearby. Cook swished a hand through to check the temperature, nodded satisfied, then hung a large towel on the wooden rack above the mantel to warm. Then she put her hands on her hips and turned to the children.
‘Right, then. Who wants to go first?’
Pip and Mack glanced at each other then to Simon. No one spoke, astonishment holding their tongues.
‘How’s about biggest to smallest? That way, I can spend more time on the little ’un once you two are done, see what’s the trouble with his young feet?’
Again, silence. Cook jerked her chin questioningly.
Simon finally found his voice. ‘You want me to get in there?’
Cook nodded. ‘That’s right.’
‘No offence, lad, but you smell like summat the dogs have coughed up,’ piped Tabby, then shrugged when Cook gave her a stern look. ‘Sorry, but it’s true!’
Simon, proud to a fault, was always quick to take umbrage; biting her lip, Pip awaited his temper. It never came. Neither did he question Cook’s motives. He gazed in disbelief, then a look passed over his face, something akin to understanding mixed with excitement. He rose. Within seconds, his clothes were in a heap around his feet.
Pip blushed scarlet, Mack giggled, but Cook and Tabby appeared unfazed.
He crossed to the bath, lowered himself into the steaming clear waters and lay back with a long sigh.
‘There, that’s it,’ Cook said mildly. ‘Though by hell, it’s fortunate me and the lass, here, are from farming stock and have seen it all afore from the beasts of the fields, else you might have given us a merry fright.’ Then she took quick stock of his emaciated, dirt- and sore-riddled body and the amusement faded from her eyes. She nodded to Tabby, who handed Simon a flannel and small block of soap. ‘Scrub yourself good and proper, now, good lad.’
Pip still had no notion of why all this was occurring but Simon seemed to, and if he trusted this was for the good then so did she. He always knew best. As he did as he was bid, the cook and scullery maid took his clothes to task. Cook filled a broad wooden pail with more water, grated in flakes from a different bar of darker soap and after working up a lather, plunged the clothing in. She then rubbed into them a foul-smelling disinfectant, likely to kill the lice, paying particular attention to the seams.
‘Tabby? Stockings off, lass.’
Once in her bare feet, the girl hopped into the pail and, holding on to Cook’s shoulders for balance, proceeded to perform an on-the-spot jog, pounding the grime from the clothing with each step. Working quickly, they then transferred the suddy garments to another pail waiting nearby filled with clean water and rinsed everything thoroughly. One by one, they took an end of each item, twisted it between them into a sausage shape to wring it out before placing it beside the towel to let the heat from the flames do its part.
When Cook disappeared with Simon’s boots and a brush, presumably to clean them of the years’ worth of muck, and Tabby, on instructions from the older woman, made through the green baize door for the house proper and the master’s dressing room, Pip sidled up to the bath.
Dropping to her knees, she rested her elbows on the cold metal rim. ‘What does it mean, Simon?’
He stared at her and ran a hand through his damp hair. ‘I think she’s for inviting us to stay on.’
‘You mean …?’
‘Aye.’
Her breaths came in short gasps. ‘How d’you know?’
‘Why else go to all this bother?’
‘But …? I mean, how will Cook pull this off? Surely the household will notice us? Hardman for one definitely will—’
‘By, I’ve missed a reet good tub soak. A dip in t’ River Irwell on occasion ain’t the same, somehow.’ He sank further beneath the water.
Normally, he held steadfastly to making no reference to his past. However, he’d spoken with such feeling, Pip couldn’t help asking, ‘Aye?’
He stared straight ahead as if he hadn’t heard her. Then he closed his eyes. ‘Let’s just see how matters play out, eh? Anyroad, the cook looks to know what she’s doing.’
Pip studied his face for a moment, now a lovely shade of cream with pink cheeks from the cleaning he’d given it. He looked calm. And contented, aye, a side to him she’d never known before. Usually, he was on edge, furrow-browed and quick-eyed, almost feral, alert to possible opportunity or danger, as were they all. You had to be, had to look after your own well-being just to survive when you had no one in the world to do it for you. ‘Is that what you want, lad? To stay?’
His head snapped around to face her. ‘Don’t thee?’
A note of worry lingered behind his eyes and she smiled. ‘Aye, aye.’ She knew his thoughts ran as hers did – they were a trio and would always be. Where one went, the other two wouldn’t be far behind. They couldn’t be separate beings, now, after everything they had faced together, the protective love they had for one another. The very notion was inconceivable.
‘’Ere, and me!’
She turned to grin at an offended-looking Mack sitting swinging his legs, thumb planted firmly in his mouth. ‘Course and you, daft boy. Lord, just think of it!’ she added, looking back to Simon and grasping his wet shoulder. ‘Us, here, together—!’
‘What’s together?’
Pip scrambled to her feet at the cook’s voice, the woman having returned without their noticing. ‘Nowt. Nowt, Cook.’
‘You ready next, lass?’ she asked, motioning to the tub, and Pip nodded. ‘And how are you getting on, lad?’ she asked of Simon.
‘All right. Ta.’
‘Good. Now, where is that girl … Ah, here she comes. Come on, dawdle-Lil,’ she told Tabby as she entered with a bottle in her hand.
‘All right, all right. I had to take my time, didn’t I, couldn’t be dashing about the house at this hour!’ The girl handed the bottle over. ‘The master didn’t hear me. He’s sleeping soundly.’
‘Good lass. Aye, glory be to God, that glass of mead he took with his meal will help him rest easy the night.’
‘I don’t know how he sups that stuff. The alcohol part, aye, I like, but honey …?’ Tabby pulled a face. ‘It’s foul, that’s what.’
‘Aye well, the master likes it, so less of your mealy-mouthness,’ Cook said over her shoulder as she crossed to Simon, and didn’t see the tongue that Tabby poked out at her back, nor her grin, but Pip did. She and the scullery maid shared a smile.
Simon was eyeing suspiciously the bottle Cook held. ‘And what’s that when it’s at home?’
She pulled out the cork, sniffed the contents and nodded. ‘Head back, lad.’
‘Nay, not likely. You ain’t pouring no poisons on me.’
‘Don’t talk daft. This ’ere’s but a little borax and olive oil mixed with water, will cleanse that raggedy mop of yourn. And ay, if it’s good enough for the master’s luscious locks, I’m sure as ninepence it’s swell enough for thee!’
Pip was amazed. Surely any other servant in the land bold enough to make free use of their master’s possessions without so much as a by-your-leave would be out on their ear if caught. Yet the cook didn’t seem fazed by the prospect in the slightest. Just what was the deal, here, beneath this roof? She’d never heard anything like it.
‘Aye, this is the pleasant part,’ continued Cook, liberally soaking his hair. ‘It’s the delousing next, my lad – vinegar and water followed by the comb.’
Tabby was hovering nearby with the towel and when Cook had finished with Simon’s head, amidst his growls and grumbles, she tossed it to him then reached on tiptoe to pluck down his clothes. She wrapped a rag around the handle of a flat iron that had been on the heat, spat on it, sending it sizzling like bacon in a pan, and quickly smoothed it over each garment with a deftness that belied her tender years.
When Simon had crossed to the corner of the room to dress, Cook and Tabby set about the tub with a fresh batch of water. Pip swallowed hard – her turn next. She couldn’t recall when she’d bathed last and, if she was honest, she was a little afraid.
‘Off with ’em, lass.’
Pip’s fingers automatically travelled up to clutch at the bodice of her dress.
‘No time for modesty, lass. Left untreated properly, you’ll infest the whole house. All right, all right,’ Cook added kindly, lifting her eyes to the heavens, ‘the lads, here, will look away, I’m sure. That ease your fretting?’
Pip nodded, yet still bit her lip uncertainly, making no attempt to undress. Then she caught a reassuring nod from Simon across the room and relented. ‘Aye, Cook. All right.’
Whatever her worries, she needn’t have harboured them. The moment she slithered in and the silky waves hugged her skin, she quivered out a blissful sigh. By, it felt like a summer sun’s embrace, it did. The heat made her eyes grow heavy but the desire to wash away the grime pushed through and as Cook and Tabby gave her clothing the same treatment as Simon’s, she scrubbed herself with gusto. Then Cook was approaching her this time with the bottle from the master’s room.
Eyes closed, she allowed the deft fingers to cleanse her matted locks. The touch felt comfortingly familiar and a wonderful sense of remembrance took hold of her. She envisioned her mother, her dark head tilted in smile, her soft hands undertaking this very action before the fire in the small room they once called home. From a far-off place, she heard her mother’s gentle humming of long ago, saw in her mind’s eye her mother envelop her in the scrap of towel, lift her from the water and sit hugging her before the flames until she was dry. They would talk and laugh quietly and after she was dressed, her mother would run a brush through her hair, exclaiming gently in admiration of its loveliness, before plaiting it neatly …
‘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 next, 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.