TABBY’S GRAND NEW position as kitchen maid lasted all of half an hour.
She was used to assisting Cook in the odd chore when she was run ragged: chopping and peeling and helping to dish out or garnish the meals, that sort of thing. Creating the food itself, however, was another matter.
How anyone could muck up meringues as many times as the girl had, Cook exclaimed, she didn’t know. First, Tabby had added yolks to a bowl instead of the whites – the latter she’d discarded, and so a fresh batch had to be prepared. Second time around, she got the eggs right, only to add a tablespoon of salt to the mixture instead of sugar. Once more, she’d tried again. So intent was she the third time on getting this attempt right, she’d taken her eye off the mock turtle soup warming on the fire, which boiled over, wasting a fair amount and almost ruining the pan in the process. Cook, not known for her patience at the best of times, was not amused.
‘You’re all thumbs, missis! God alive, clumsy ain’t in it! A dozen eggs, I ask you, to make simple meringues! Wasteful! Wasteful!’
Simon and Mack had struggled to contain their laughter, just as Cook tried to suppress her building crossness. Pip, on the other hand, had watched on with a sorry feeling inside her for the girl. It was clear her enthusiasm at climbing the ladder was rapidly waning – not only was Tabby bad at her new position, she seemed to be thoroughly disliking the whole experience.
After dropping a soufflé which, despite Cook’s earlier fears, had indeed risen beautifully – for all the good it did! – Tabby threw her hands in the air in defeat. Before Cook could, she pointed out the obvious: ‘I ain’t cut out for this malarkey. Pip, please, accept your place back. This here cooking business is foreign to me, and ruddy boring to boot. The scullery’s where I should have stayed, where I’d rather be, thank you very much!’
Cook had looked relieved but Pip had felt it only right to at least attempt to change Tabby’s mind. ‘But you’ve hardly given yourself a chance. Happen you’ll start to like it once you’ve got better at it.’
However, Tabby was adamant. ‘Nay, not me. Besides, it’s cleaning I’m good at – it’s the best I am, aye, I’d go as far as saying. Anyroad, I wish you luck, Pip, for you’ll be in need of it!’
As it turned out, Pip wasn’t. To her own surprised pleasure, she took to it as though she’d been running her own kitchen for years. Cook was amazed.
‘Would you look at that, now! By, you’ve done grand, lass.’
Gazing proudly at the fare on the table ready to be carried through to the dining room, Pip smiled. Lobster salad, beef and tongue sandwiches, meat rolls and dishes of fowls as well as jellies, blancmanges, tartlets and fresh fruits winked back from their silver beds. ‘I only helped prepare them, Cook. It’s you what did the real work.’
‘You cooked the lobsters, didn’t yer? And a treat they look, an’ all. See the lovely colour on them; you mastered the timing just right. You certain you’ve never toiled in a kitchen afore?’
Pip nodded. ‘Well, I helped out Mam where I could. She … got sick sometimes, and the running of the home fell to me. Not that I minded, like,’ she hastened to add lest they thought bad of her mother. ‘And nothing like this today. A pauper’s feast were what we sat down to each night but we managed.’ We did, aye. And we were happy, the two of us. On good days, anyroad, she added to herself. A vision of Mam, healthy and happy, swam in her mind. Her throat thickened. Oh, but she missed her. And she hated her, too, at times. For she’d left her, alone, had seen no other way out of the hellish illness that plagued her. But still, more than any other emotion, Pip loved her. Nothing could outweigh that, not ever.
The jollifications were well under way by the sound of it when Hardman re-entered the kitchen some time later, hands piled with empty platters. Before the door swung shut, refined speech and laughter floated through from along the hall beyond. Helping herself to another slice of cake at the table with Simon and Mack, Pip smiled.
She’d detected Mr Philip’s voice amongst the rest, now raised in merriment rather than the anger of before in the master’s bedroom, and she was glad of it. However unwelcoming he’d been, the displeasure that had spewed from his eyes and mouth regarding them staying and the hurt and embarrassment he’d evoked in her, she wouldn’t have wanted the night ruined for him entirely. It was Christmas, after all, and didn’t everyone deserve happiness today? She just hoped Miss Lucy had enjoyed it as much.
‘Birdy looks to be flagging in the drawing room,’ announced Hardman to Cook, emerging from the scullery after depositing her load on to Tabby. ‘She has that pasty grey look about her.’
Before rising from her seat, Cook said sternly, ‘I’ve told you afore now, Hardman, don’t use that term when referring to Miss Josephine. Remember your place and have some respect.’
The housemaid shrugged. ‘I mean nowt by it; she just reminds me of one, is all. Aye, a frickened bird – all wide eyes and perched on the seat’s edge, as though she’ll take flight and flee any second.’
‘Aye, well.’ Glancing to the green baize door, Cook pulled at her bottom lip distractedly. ‘She can’t help it, can she, poor love? It’s her blood, that’s what. It’s bad. It’s not flowing as it should, and she’s suffering for it. Doctor Lawley reckons as much hisself.’
Again, Hardman raised then dropped her shoulders lazily. ‘She could will herself well again, I reckon, if she wanted. If you ask me, it’s a matter of choice.’
‘Well, no one is asking you, are they, so just you still your tongue,’ the cook shot back. Then she craned her neck to call, ‘Tabby, love? Is Miss Josephine’s favourite cup and saucer washed up yet?’
‘Aye,’ came back the reply. ‘I’m just for returning the crockery to the dresser, only I’ve been busy, like …’
Despite the obvious worry that Hardman’s earlier statement had evoked, Cook smiled wryly at this. ‘Bloody slacking more likely,’ she said quietly, adding loud enough for Tabby’s ears, ‘Well, fetch them through, will thee? The lass is for needing them shortly by the sounds of it. Out last night visiting that Sutton-Shaw one, then again today traipsing to church … and now the bother of entertaining the guests in there … That’s what’s done it, aye. She’s took on too much and it’s burnt her out. Set her back days, this will, you mark my words. It’s Mr Philip’s doing, that’s what.’
‘Mebbe it’s what she needs, to get out a bit more.’
‘You know as well as I, Tabitha Newby, it does her more harm than good.’
Pip and Simon exchanged a puzzled look. Just what was wrong with the master’s daughter, at all? They had overheard several references, now, as to her well-being and none good. Bad blood? What did that mean? And Hardman had hinted that it was all in Miss Josephine’s mind, that she could, if she chose, make herself well on her own.
Glancing to Cook, now pouring tea into the china vessel Tabby had fetched her, Pip’s curiosity got the better of her: ‘Please, Cook, what ails her? Miss Josephine, I mean.’
‘Aye.’ Simon folded his arms. ‘I reckon we’ve a right to know now we’re for dwelling here. Happen it’s catching – I’m not for getting sick if I can dodge it.’
The woman looked at them in turn. Then she sighed and nodded. ‘All right. All right. You see, it’s like this—’ Whatever she’d been about to reveal was cut short as the door suddenly burst inwards and the ladies of the house stumbled into the kitchen, making them all gasp.
The shorter of the two held the other by the arm and tried unsuccessfully to draw her back out. ‘Josephine, this is quite improper! Come along to your room and I shall summon Cook myself—’
‘No, no, I … can’t … Oh! Mabel, thank … goodness!’
Cook was at Josephine’s side in seconds. Murmuring softly, she took the pale and violently shaking woman’s elbow and guided her around. ‘Breathe, now, miss. Deep ones, like the doctor showed you, that’s it. Come along to your room and I’ll make you comfortable. Tabby,’ she added in a bark over her shoulder, ‘the tea.’ The scullery maid, like everyone else completely unperturbed by the event taking place – a sign they were well used to such things – did as she was bid. On a cloud of faint perfume and Miss Josephine’s gentle sobbing, the sound of which Pip recognised as that she’d heard during the night, they disappeared, leaving the other lady to regain her composure in the doorway.
Caroline Goldthorpe – Miss Lucy’s mam, Pip realised, thoughts of Miss Josephine melting as she eyed this finely dressed lady. By, but she was dour looking, and stern mouthed to match. How she and her husband had created someone as wonderful as their daughter was astonishing. Brown hair in a plain chignon, long faced and sharp chinned, she peered around the room coldly.
‘So. You must be the strays that my husband has been telling me about.’ Her clipped voice seemed to ping off the walls. ‘Well?’ she added when Pip and the lads remained silent. ‘Do you not possess a tongue between you? Speak!’
‘Aye, Mrs Goldthorpe, that’s right.’ Simon spoke quietly, though defiant anger lurked behind his eyes. ‘We’ve the master’s say-so to be here. And we’ll do our best to see he don’t regret giving it – Cook, an’ all, to boot.’
Jewels winking at Caroline’s throat threw off splinters of light as she cocked her head. ‘Is that so?’
‘Please, Mrs Goldthorpe, we just want us all to get along.’ The words escaped Pip’s mouth before she could halt them. She gazed back fearfully. ‘I, I mean … Forgive me, I—!’
‘Like … friends, you mean?’
Trying hard but failing to gauge the woman’s feelings on this from her stony face, Pip bobbed her head. ‘Aye, yes,’ she whispered.
Hardman had been standing by the fire. At this, she turned and walked away with a soft snort.
‘Why you …’ Nostrils flaring, the lady walked towards them; instinctively, Pip’s arm went around Mack protectively and she pressed closer to Simon at her side. She thought the lady would strike her but instead, she spoke on in her icy tone: ‘How dare you! You deem yourself on a par with this family, with me? Friends?’
‘Just you leave Pip alone.’ Eyes boring into Caroline’s, Simon half rose from his seat. ‘She meant nowt by it, was being nice is all. It’s just her way.’
The room fell quiet. Though his boldness must surely have surprised her, Mrs Goldthorpe’s features altered not an inch. She smiled. ‘I’ll see to it that you’re gone from this house by the end of the week. Mark my words.’ Arching a shapely eyebrow, her smile grew and her tone dropped. ‘Cook isn’t the only one who can wrap that old man upstairs around her finger.’
A moment later, she was gone. The door breezed shut and the children looked to each other in silence.
‘You’d do well to keep one eye at your back.’
Pip swivelled her head. Hardman, leaning against the wall by the window, nodded. If not exactly friendly, she continued evenly:
‘Sour bitch, she is. And snidy as they come when she’s a mind for it. Aye. Watch her.’
‘Thought you hated us, wanted us gone from here?’
The housemaid folded her arms. Rather than focusing her stare on Simon when answering his questions, her eyes bore into the door Caroline had just exited through. ‘I do.’
‘Why the warning, then?’
‘Because my feelings, on both counts you mentioned, run deeper for that one just now than the three of thee.’
Hardman dislikes and wants rid of Caroline even more than she does us? Pip frowned. Then remembering the housemaid and cook’s heated discussion in this very room earlier, her cheeks grew hot. She stole a glance at her. Jess was rather bonny looking in her own way, she admitted. By, but she couldn’t imagine her and Mr Philip together! Was his wife aware? She doubted it – from what she’d just seen of her, surely Hardman would be from this house in a heartbeat? It was a rum do, all right. Messing with the maids – and him a gentleman, too. Mind you, Pip reminded herself, that status meant not a thing, did it? Look at the filthy piece who tried to lure Mack away that day. He’d been a gentleman as well, hadn’t he? Rank and wealth meant nothing really in some respects. You were either good or you were not, regardless of class. It was that simple.
Her thoughts switched back to Mrs Goldthorpe. What did she have planned for them? Would she make good on her threat? Surely the master wouldn’t let her convince him to make them leave? He didn’t appear to hold his daughter-in-law in much regard if his tone was anything to go by when he’d told his son she’d do well to remember whose house this was. Oh, but why couldn’t they all just get along? Pip asked herself again. Was it really hoping for too much? Would the few who for whatever reason had taken an instant dislike to her and the lads one day change their opinion? She prayed so. It was all she could do.
When Tabby re-entered the kitchen, Pip rushed to her side. ‘What on earth happened? Is Miss Josephine all right, now?’
‘Aye. Least she will be. Cook’s with her, promised her she’d stay at her side till she falls asleep. Don’t fret, the lady shall be fine.’ Before Pip could ask more, the scullery maid glanced to Hardman. ‘You may as well retire for the night. The guests should be leaving shortly but if the family need owt in between, I’ll see to them. Same goes for you, little ’un,’ she added to Mack, who was nodding off by the fire.
‘Aye, go on, lad. Me and Simon shall join you soon,’ Pip told him, and on her reassurance he took himself off to bed.
Likewise, Hardman needed no second telling – shrugging, she escaped to her room.
‘Silly sow.’ Tabby jerked her head after the housemaid. ‘Fancy her getting herself mixed up with the son. And him what’s had a piece of nigh on every servant to ever grace his father’s doorstep.’
Pip slipped into a chair at the table beside the older girl. ‘Aye?’
‘Cook liked to think he’d curb his roving-hands ways upon his marriage to Mrs Goldthorpe – clearly not.’ She lowered her tone. ‘You noticed that likeness in her room upstairs?’
‘Cook’s room?’
‘Aye, the one of the young girl wedged behind the mirror?’
Simon nodded. ‘We were wondering over that.’
‘Well.’ Tabby leaned closer. ‘That there’s Cook’s daughter.’
‘Where is she now?’ asked Pip.
‘The master springs from Bolton town some ten miles from here. His parents were farming folk but it were never their son’s calling. Upon their deaths, he sold the land and went into the mill business. He knew what he were about, all right; cotton were quickly becoming king and he struck at the right time. Quickly made a fortune, he did. You’ve noticed he don’t quite speak as the nobs do, though he’s striven most of his life to better hisself, to prove he were just as good as the rest of the rich?’
At Pip and Simon’s nods, she shrugged. ‘He’s none the worse for it. His roots shaped him into the kindly being he is the day. You are who you are – no getting away from the fact for most, nay.’ Leaning back, Tabby folded her arms. ‘Anyroad, Cook went to work for the master and his wife shortly after their marriage. In time, she fell for and wed their groom, the master gave them a little cottage to dwell in on the grounds, and they had their one and only child some years later – Lydia, behind the mirror.
‘Now, as you’ve seen for yourselfs, the master don’t stand on ceremony. Though he ensured Miss Josephine and Mr Philip were raised proper, summat I reckon he’d have liked for hisself, old habits die hard; Lydia were allowed to mix with the young lady and gentleman. They grew together, were inseparable, became as though they were each from the same womb. But course, this couldn’t last and the passing years drew them in directions more becoming of their stations. Miss Josephine’s time were swallowed by lessons with her mother: pianoforte and embroidery, social engagements and suchlike – skills she’d need to find herself a suitable husband – whilst her brother were sent away to school. Lydia followed Cook into servitude as housemaid.’
‘How d’you know all this? You’d not have been employed here in them days. You’re little older than Pip and me,’ Simon pointed out.
‘Aye, you’re right. The master plucked me from the workhouse and brought me to work in his household shortly afore he moved the family here to Manchester.’ The scullery maid motioned to the beer barrel across the room. ‘It were Cook what regaled me with the history, had five too many one night and grew maudlin over Lydia, as she’s wont to do at times.’
Fascinated by the glimpse into these people’s pasts, feeling she’d gained a better understanding of them already, Pip was keen to steer the conversation back. ‘So what occurred, Tabby?’ she pressed before Simon could enquire about anything else. ‘Where’s Lydia now?’
‘No one knows. Not even her own mam. And it’s Mr Philip to thank for it.’
Pip exchanged a look with Simon. It was he who asked quietly, ‘Why’s that then? What did he do?’
‘Cook said he changed at school, wasn’t the selfsame lad whenever he returned for the holidays. In his place developed a spoilt and selfish piece. Whether down to his rich new student friends or the professors what taught them, she couldn’t rightly say. He began addressing her as Cook rather than Mabel as the family had allus done. He’d often retreat to this very table to seek out her hugs and sage advice whenever he were troubled as a lad; now, he steered clear of the servants’ domain, no longer spoke to her unless to bark an order. This hurt – she’d been more like a second mam to him than a mere domestic. He began throwing scorn on the master and what he deemed his lowly beginnings, which upset both his father and mam, and criticised Miss Josephine for her over-familiar ways with the servants. He’d changed for good, for the worst. The house was allus glad to see the back of him.
‘All but Lydia, that is. Though he snubbed her as he did Cook and the rest, she saw only the childhood friend she loved. Pity for her, he saw her now as the gentry are often wont to with their maids: a plaything to be used and discarded. He had his way with her, got her with child, then denied all wrongdoing. She, having been convinced he’d wed her upon discovering her condition, grew mad in the head. Cook wanted to tear his head from his body for him, but Lydia pleaded with her. She loved him still. And the pain and shame that she were unmarried and carrying a child as well as the truth that he’d turned his back on her, didn’t return her love as she’d believed, drove her from the house.’
Pity and disbelief held Pip’s tongue; she didn’t know what to say. She nodded when Simon muttered something about Mr Philip being a swine, then managed to whisper, ‘Oh, poor Lydia. Cook, an’ all.’
‘Aye, on all counts. Despite the best efforts of Cook and the master, who were beside hisself as much as her over the loss and his son’s behaviour, they never did find her. She seemed to have vanished from God’s earth. Cook prayed daily her daughter would return one day, when she were ready, awaited it with all her heart. When the master sold his Bolton mill and purchased the bigger one he owns now, and the family upped sticks here to Manchester so he could be closer to his premises a few years back, Cook fretted herself ill with thoughts of Lydia returning and not finding them at their old residence. Aye, that much I were witness to. She put the word out to neighbouring servants and their employers alike to direct her here should she ever reappear, who promised they would. Poor wench is still convinced her daughter will appear on the step one day. Me, I’m not so sure.
‘As for Mr Philip …’ Tabby took a swig of her tea before continuing. ‘A swine, aye, he certainly is. And that wife of his is no better, found a sound match in her, he has. Mind, ’taint love what binds them, oh no, least not on his part. It’s the dowry she fetched upon their marriage, no doubt, what snared him. His filthy ways with countless maids since is proof.’ She lifted an eyebrow knowingly. ‘Servants talk, you see, and word soon spreads amongst us. The master don’t know the half of it. Cook’s hushed up much of the goings-on to save him the heartache and shame.’
Simon nodded slowly. ‘And now Hardman.’
‘Aye. Seems she’s the latest. It’ll end in nowt but tears – hers, that is, you mark my words. Mind, there’s little point in warning her. Hard faced as she is, she’d only say we were spouting falsehoods to spite her.’ Tabby tossed her head. ‘He’d think twice were he to put his mucky hands on me.’
‘Or you.’ Simon was looking at Pip with the expression he had earlier with Cook – his eyes burned with protectiveness and she flushed, realising now the meaning.
‘I’d break his face for him, I would,’ finished Tabby.
‘Miss Lucy’s nice, mind,’ Pip had to say after a silence. Despite her parents’ rottenness, she’d turned out differently, only good. Pip felt compelled to point this out, defend her.
Tabby and even Simon nodded agreement.
‘Mind,’ Pip continued, ‘one thing I can’t fathom: why didn’t Cook leave? How could she bear to stay under the same roof with someone what had treated her daughter so?’
‘The master,’ Tabby answered simply. ‘She loves him – Miss Josephine, too – as though they were her own kin. Albert Goldthorpe begged her to remain with the family and she agreed. Mind, as is to be expected, she can’t stand the sight of Mr Philip no more. But for his father and sister, she’d be gone from his life like a shot. All she can do is avoid his presence as much as she’s able. Not such an easy task, that though, now he’s back beneath the master’s roof with his tail betwixt his legs.’
‘Aye, I’ve been wondering on that, an’ all. The master upstairs made mention earlier how Mr Philip’s at fault entirely for his situation.’
At this from Simon, a mirthless smile touched Tabby’s lips. ‘Then good on the master! I wish I could have been there to see his face – that son of his needs telling, all right.’
‘He were purple with anger.’
The girl laughed, but again no amusement showed in her face. ‘I’ll bet. You see, he’s a weakness for the gambling. Frittered all his and his wife’s brass besides a fair chunk from the mill. There were blue air in this house when the master discovered his son’s antics, I can tell you. Stealing like that from your own father, I ask you. It’s a good thing the master found out the way of things when he did. He could have been facing ruin, else. When Mr Philip’s home were seized by creditors, the master had no option but to let him and his family move in here. Worst luck. Hope they’re for buggering off out of it again soon. Put a black cloud over this house, they have, and it’s showing. Bar Miss Lucy, of course,’ she added with a quick grin and roll of her eyes when Pip made to open her mouth in defence of the girl again.
Pip returned the smile, then her brow wrinkled and she sighed. ‘Mrs Goldthorpe had a few choice words for us earlier.’
‘Threatened to be rid of us,’ added Simon.
However, Tabby wasn’t concerned at this: ‘Ah, ignore her. She’s no say on much here. The master’ll not be bent by that one.’
Warm reassurance touched Pip. Hadn’t she suspected as much? She smiled again.
‘It’s bitter she’ll be ’cause you’ve come to work here and youse ain’t of her choosing. Had to leave most of her servants behind, she did, for the master refused to fork out for their wages. Who can blame him, with the debts he’s forced to pay off what his son’s racked up? Aye, scattered to the four winds when they moved here – all but Finch, that is. The master relented on that one for Miss Lucy’s sake.’
‘But Miss Lucy hates her.’
‘Aye! Eeh. They’re a rum lot these money-folk, eh?’
‘You’ve got that right.’ Simon pulled a face at them in turn. The three of them chuckled quietly.
When later Pip and Simon lay close either side of Mack, the moon’s silver stroking the peaceful room through the crack in the curtains, she said, ‘I reckon we’ve not to repeat owt we’ve been told the night, lad. Tabby could get into bother, else. Cook mightn’t be best pleased we’ve been tongue-wagging about her and the family.’
Simon agreed. ‘Is the owd ’un for stopping out the night through d’you think?’
Turning her eyes to the empty chair in which Cook should have been slumbering by now, Pip frowned. ‘Happen Miss Josephine’s still bad, like. What d’you think it is what ails her, lad?’ She felt him shrug. ‘Cook were about to tell us till the ladies interrupted. I should have asked Tabby again but the matter left my mind what with everything else we’ve learned the night.’ She’d try again tomorrow, she determined. Whatever it was, this bad blood business didn’t sound good and she felt wholly sorry for the master’s daughter, who from what she’d seen and heard of her didn’t seem a bad sort. By, but this was a troubled household and no mistake.
Soon, Simon’s breathing steadied and, following suit, Pip pushed her thoughts aside and settled deeper in the bed.
When they awoke early next morning, Cook still hadn’t returned to the room.