DAYS ROLLED BY incident free. The children had awaited further trouble with quiet dread – they had begun to expect it, now – but it never came. If anything, the house had settled into an easy routine.
Caroline, if their paths should cross, acknowledged them in neither look nor speech. She acted as if they didn’t exist, as was normal. It was as though the trouble in the kitchen that bitter New Year’s Night had never taken place. It seemed forgotten, by her at least. Pip and Simon, on the other hand, were not afforded the same – even pretence at – peace.
How could they? They were being forced to remain here against their will. It was all they could think about. Worry for their uncertain futures was a dark companion during both their waking hours and otherwise. Regularly, Pip woke with a start from black and vivid dreams of Simon, or herself, sometimes the two of them, standing before the scaffold as Caroline waved them on with a demonic grin. And if the unfamiliar smudges of colour beneath the lad’s eyes were anything to go by, the nights were not being kind to him, either.
Tabby had grown suspicious, Cook more so, particularly when their appetites began to wane with the fretting of it all. By some unspoken agreement, they remained tight-lipped, knowing instinctively that, should they mention a word, Caroline would see her threat through and their lives would be over. They were helpless. Hopeless. Nothing could make this right and it wasn’t going away. They were at a loss what to do.
To Pip’s relief, Josephine was too caught up in the forthcoming wedding to notice anything amiss. Yet her mistress’s glowing happiness evoked only sorrow and regret and shame. Often, Pip was forced to invent some chore or other to escape her company for a short while and regain her composure. For the guilt was eating away at her; the fine lady she’d come to love was deserving of so much more. Better from Alexander, and from her sister-in-law. Better from her.
They barely saw anything of Philip these days. Whether as a distraction or because he had simply moved forward, he’d thrown himself into the overseeing of the mill. The cool, collected, level-headed gentleman was back. There were certainly no more late-night maudlin trips to the kitchen with only a whisky bottle for company, at any rate, as far as Pip knew.
The only beacon of light in the clogging darkness was Lucy. Always her sunny self, she brought life to every room and person she graced with her presence.
New staff had indeed been employed. Cally, the housemaid, was a somewhat lackadaisical young woman with a chirpy smile, the polar opposite of Hardman. The other new employee was a nursemaid in her middle years named Budd who, to everyone’s surprise, the girl adored. If only the secrets plaguing Pip and Simon’s fraught minds didn’t exist, life at Bracken House would have been a pleasure.
The glimmer of a solution to their dilemma presented itself one Wednesday morning, a fortnight to the day since the new domestics had joined the workforce. The Goldthorpes had just been served breakfast and the servants, enjoying a few precious minutes’ respite, were seated in the kitchen eating bread and cold bacon washed down with tea. No one glanced up when Cally, returning from the dining room, entered. As she did normally, the woman sat in her chair and helped herself to food from the dishes in the centre of the table. However, this day differed in one aspect: the buxom housemaid’s usually healthy appetite looked to have deserted her. She nibbled at a heel of bread then, sighing, returned it to her plate. Folding her arms, she chewed at her thumbnail, eyes flitting to them in turn.
‘What’s the matter with thee?’ asked Cook through a mouthful of meat.
She plucked at her lip. ‘Can I ask youse summat?’ At their nods, she continued in a loud whisper, ‘Do youse believe in … spirits, like?’
Tabby snorted, Mack giggled. Cook, however, didn’t scoff in the slightest: ‘Oh aye.’
Cally’s eyes were like saucers. ‘Do you? Really?’
‘Aye. I’ve had an encounter or two through the years myself. Why d’you ask?’
‘Oh ’eck … Oh!’
‘What’s up now, then?’
‘I reckon the last housemaid here wants me gone. I can feel her, Cook, all around me. Her presence, and touching me, like.’ She threw her apron over her face theatrically. ‘Oh, what am I to do?’
The older woman rolled her eyes. ‘Eeh, I don’t know. You’re a scatty mare, you are. Hardman’s no more here than the bloody queen of England. I’d know it. I feel these things, me.’
Cally peeped over the top of the snowy material. ‘You do?’
‘Oh aye. Got passed down, it did, from my mam – famous for it were Annie May – to me. My sister, Jilly, has the sense too, though hers is aspying the future – reads the tea leaves, like, she does.’
‘But … well, what about what I felt, then, out there?’ Cally thrust a thumb towards the baize door. ‘You telling me it were nowt but fanciful thinking?’
‘And what did you feel?’ Cook’s brows suddenly knotted together. She leaned forward and, eyes widening, asked in a shaky whisper, ‘You didn’t feel ghostly fingers of death playing in your hair, did yer, lass?’
‘Aye! Oh! How …?’ The young woman’s face had turned a shocking shade of white. ‘See, see! I knew it, I did! Otherwise how did you know? Oh, I’m being haunted by the poor soul forced to wander this mortal realm for ever more—!’
‘You’ve a ruddy great spider nestled in your cap.’
Cally’s lamentations petered away. She blinked. ‘Eh?’
‘Them “ghostly fingers of death” you think you felt – it’ll be them black hairy legs busy at making a web in yon locks.’
Swivelling her eyes upwards, the housemaid let out a screech and, dashing the cap to the floor, leapt up to crouch on her chair as though the ground was home to a hundred rats. ‘Where is the dirty divil? Has it gone? Has it? Oh, Lord, it might still be on me, might have laid its eggs in my ears—!’
‘Don’t talk so bleedin’ daft.’ Cook could barely breathe for laughing. ‘Eeh, I’m sorry, lass, I am. I couldn’t resist. I were jesting, is all; nowt to fret over. Come on, drink your tea, now, calm your nerves.’
The scullery maid and Mack by this time had tears of mirth running down their faces. Even Pip had to cover her mouth with her hand to quell her giggles. Cally, on the other hand, was not amused.
‘Rotten-minded swines, the lot! Could have given me a heart attack, you could. I hate them things – bleurgh! Mind, rather a spider than a dead servant tormenting my person …’ Slowly, her lips twitched and swatting a hand at the grinning cook, she laughed along. ‘All right, aye, you had me. I’ll get you back for that, though, you see if I don’t.’
‘Aye well. For now, it’s to work for you and the rest of us. Come along, no slacking. As my dear mam used to say: lose an hour in the morning and you’ll be chasing it through the day.’ She heaved herself up, the maids did likewise and, after draining her cup, Pip scraped back her chair.
Simon, who had been silent throughout the conversation, now laid a hand on her wrist, saying, ‘Hang on a minute.’
‘What is it?’
After looking to Mack and instructing him to collect the grooming brushes and go and see to the master’s dogs, he returned his attention to Pip. His brow was creased, his dark grey eyes thoughtful. ‘Sit back down. I think I’ve got an idea.’
She slid into the chair beside his that the youngster had vacated. ‘About what?’
‘How to get ourselves out of the mess we’re in.’
A frown of her own appeared. ‘What, with Mrs Goldthorpe?’ she whispered, adding at his nod, ‘Ay, tha does? But what, lad?’
‘Miss Lucy drops into the kitchen most days after lunch, don’t she?’
‘Aye yes, I suppose she does. But what’s that got to do—?’
‘I’ll explain proper soon. Go on up to your room, now, I’ll see you later.’
Now, it was her turn to halt his attempt to vacate the table. ‘Wait. What’s the young miss got to do with your idea? I’ll not use her, Simon, won’t see her hurt for owt—’
‘Nay, nay. Nowt like that.’
‘You promise?’
‘Course. Aye.’
Pip watched him leave through the back door to see to his duties in the garden. Still frowning, she headed upstairs.
That afternoon, as Tabby was washing up the lunch things and Cook was taking the weight off her feet by the fire with a glass of beer, the three children sat finishing their meal at the table. Cally was away somewhere, busy in the house. Swinging his legs and humming a tune, Mack was in his own innocent world. Pip and Simon, however, had but one thing on their minds. They glanced continually from each other to the door. Finally, as they were about to give up hope, Lucy skipped into the room bestowing on them all one of her smiles. Pip heard the older lad sigh in relief but had no time to wonder afresh at his plan; the young girl had rushed to her and now threw her arms around her neck.
‘Good afternoon, Pip. I trust you’re well?’
‘Aye, Miss Lucy.’ By, but it was lovely to see her, always. ‘You’re all right?’
‘Of course.’ She looked across to the fire. ‘Hello, Cook. Have you … been busy today?’ she asked casually.
‘Have I done any baking, you mean, young sneak,’ the woman replied without turning, though amusement bubbled beneath the words. She shook her head when Lucy giggled. ‘Go on, get a cake from the stand over there, lovey.’
When the girl was seated again and occupied picking fat currants from the golden pastry, tongue poking out in concentration, Simon straightened in his seat as though preparing himself. He too now looked to Cook, and Pip bit her lip, wondering what he was about to do and whether it would work. Oh, but she hoped so, she did …
‘Tell us about them spirits you’ve seen, Cook,’ he called across, tone easy, as though their very futures were not relying on her unwitting cooperation, which of course they were. ‘Remember, like you told Cally?’
She stifled a yawn with her arm. ‘Nay, nay.’
‘Ah, go on.’
‘Another time, mebbe. I’m too fagged, lad, for tales.’
Desperation flashed in his eyes; he turned to Pip with a hopeless shake of his head, and thinking on her feet it was she who said in an overly loud whisper, ‘It were nowt but daft talk, I reckon, lad. Lies, aye.’
As she’d anticipated, the cook’s head snapped around. ‘Lie, me? I ask you, bold piece! I’ll have you know that my beloved husband, God rest his soul, has paid me many a visit since the Lord saw fit to take him back home. My mam, too, aye. So stick that in your pipe and smoke it!’ She returned her attention to her beer with a haughty sniff.
‘Aye, Cook. Sorry, Cook.’
Simon rewarded Pip’s efforts with a soft wink. He glanced to Lucy who was sitting agog, clearly trying to process what she’d just heard. Then, loud enough for just the girls to hear, he said, ‘’Ere, I do hope Hardman ain’t still lingering here at Bracken House. I mean, I’d not want to get Cook, there, into bother for revealing that such things as spirits exist, but well … if they do …’ He deliberately let his words trail off with a shiver. ‘I’ve heard that the dead can become trapped, are unable to leave if they have unfinished business here. Like, say … if their lives were unexpectedly cut short, mebbe.’
The young miss was quiet for the remainder of the visit. Though Pip, filled with guilt and not a little anger that she’d allowed Simon to draw her into this bizarre scheme – the like of which she couldn’t imagine solving their problems – and worrying Lucy as he obviously had, tried to distract her thoughts but to no avail.
‘I have to go, now.’ Lucy, her usual smile gone, eventually rose. ‘Goodbye.’
‘Just what’s your game?’ Pip whispered harshly when the girl left. ‘How could you, lad? You promised—’
‘Miss Lucy’ll get over it, don’t fret. I had to, had no choice.’
‘Had to what? What was all that in aid of, anyroad?’
He glanced about, then leaned in. ‘We can’t say nowt concerning Mrs Goldthorpe’s activities, right? And she won’t come clean off her own bat, you can be certain of that. So …’
‘Aye? So?’
‘We frighten the truth from her. We’ll scare her so bad, she’ll be squealing her crimes like the sow that she is to anyone who’ll listen.’
‘How, lad? What will you do?’
‘I’ll make her believe she’s being haunted by the housemaid’s spirit. That her victim is out for revenge or some such.’
‘Oh, lad …’
‘You’ll see. She’ll be so frickened, she’ll confess, she will.’
Pip’s heart had sunk to her boots. She’d thought for a while there that he’d come up with a genuine course of action. God above, talk about the grasping at a solution by one who was past desperate … It was madness, a childish idea – because that’s what they were: just kiddies, trying to make matters better the only way they could think how. She heaved a long sigh.
‘Where would Miss Lucy have gone to after leaving the kitchen just now?’ Simon answered his own question: ‘To visit her mam for an hour.’
‘Aye, and?’
‘And, what d’you think will be the first thing out of the lass’s mouth? You saw her; I reeled her in good and proper. She’ll not be able to contain herself and, ta-dah, the seed will be sown. And I’ll be the one to reap it. Oh, I will that.’
It wouldn’t work. Pip knew this and yet what else did they have? She certainly hadn’t a brighter idea. It was an impossible aim he was clinging to, for he had to feel he was at least trying something, she realised. She couldn’t dash his hopes. Suppressing another sigh, she shrugged. ‘Do as you see fit, then, lad. Just be careful, eh? Caroline Goldthorpe … Well, we both know what evil she’s capable of. She’ll show no mercy should she sniff this out.’
‘She’ll not.’ Voice dropping, his eyes deepened in intensity. ‘Pip?’
‘Aye?’
‘I can do this. I’ll remedy this for us, I swear. You believe in me, don’t you?’
He’d spoken with such sincerity, such conviction, that she actually almost did. Almost. She forced herself to nod. ‘Course, lad. Course I do.’
His face relaxed a little and he gave a whisper of a smile. For a long moment, as he stared at her, it looked like he wanted to say more. Then for reasons she couldn’t fathom, his cheeks pinkened and he rose quickly to his feet. ‘Aye, well. I’d best get on.’
Josephine swished the square of silk over the stones, smiled, then repeated the action. ‘Beautiful,’ she murmured, a soft, faraway look in her eyes.
‘Like thee.’
‘Oh, Pip. You are a dear.’
She returned Josephine’s smile then continued with the dusting of the mantel. Her mistress appeared so much calmer these days. Easy of mind, free of unnecessary worry. Her complexion was healthier, eyes brighter. Being in love suited her. Swallowing a sad sigh, Pip averted her gaze.
Josephine returned her attention to polishing the ring Alexander had presented her with to finalise their engagement, a thin band embedded with a cluster of amethyst and sapphire stones as pure and flawless as the bride-to-be herself and their future together, he’d told her. The gems themselves, he’d specifically chosen to represent his initials and thus his love for her. The sickening deception of it all, when her mistress had proudly informed her of this, turned Pip’s stomach.
‘Ah, dear girl. I didn’t tell you, did I?’
Pulled from her thoughts, Pip shook her head. ‘Tell me what, Miss Josephine?’
‘Alexander and I were discussing our future home when he called yesterday evening. The subject of staff came up and I informed him I would like you and the boys to come and work for us.’
She was silent, then: ‘Oh?’
‘He was most pleased with the idea. Is he not the most agreeable man in the entire world, Pip?’
She’d believed he’d persuade her mistress to be rid of her. She’d also half wished he would. Now this … Forcing to her face what she hoped was more smile than grimace, she nodded.
‘I believe he has a soft spot for the three of you, you know.’
This time, Pip didn’t respond; she couldn’t have got a word past the bile in her throat. A soft spot. The thought made her skin crawl.
‘After all, as I told you recently, he too is an orphan of some years. He understands the pain that such a loss brings. Oh yes, yes; he shall treat you all with a tender hand, I just know it.’
Again, another false smile; quickly, she turned back to her cleaning.
‘It’s rather tragic that he hasn’t any kith or kin to speak of. Now we’re betrothed, we would have been making arrangements for our two families to meet. Ah, poor darling. Well, he does have a sister residing in France; rather a distance for me to travel, I fear, though maybe some day she will brave the crossing so we can make one another’s acquaintance.’
Aye, and probably not, Miss Josephine, she said in her mind. This sister of his likely hasn’t a clue about you, nor the fact her brother’s to be wed. The less folk that know of his scheme the better, was likely his thinking, I’ll be bound. In fact, he was probably lying about being parentless, too, for the same reason, she thought, gritting her teeth. To lie about such a thing, when others were forced to live the reality … He really was despicable. Who knew what further untruths he’d fed her lady to uphold this charade? And why? For what reason, what?
‘Sister-in-law, hello.’
Lost in her musings, Pip hadn’t heard the door open; at Josephine’s greeting, her back stiffened. She didn’t turn but carried on with her duties, head down.
‘Alexander is downstairs and wishing to see you.’
‘Oh, wonderful. Though I wasn’t expecting him …’ Josephine’s hands fluttered to her hair then dropped to straighten her skirts.
‘He decided to call in for a brief visit on the way to his gentlemen’s club. Come along, then. He cannot spare much time.’
‘Oh yes, of course. I, I just need to …’
Hearing the agitated note in her mistress’s tone, Pip forced herself to turn. ‘You look gradely, Miss Josephine, honest,’ she murmured reassuringly.
‘Really, Pip?’
‘Aye. Go on, now. Deep breaths—’
‘Come along, for goodness’ sake,’ snapped Caroline, flinging the door wide. ‘He’ll be gone before you’ve managed to leave this room.’
Pip shot Mrs Goldthorpe an angry look, but it quickly melted into a frown. She looked terrible – more so than usual. Her lips were pinched, her piercing eyes darker with barely suppressed feeling. Though twin spots of angry red stained her cheekbones, the rest of her was a pasty grey. For a fleeting moment, she wondered if Simon had put his plan into action already and the woman had discovered what he was up to, but quickly dismissed this. A child Simon might be. A fool he wasn’t. Cunning from years of necessity, he wouldn’t be stupid enough to give the game away, certainly not this early. Would he?
Barely able to wait a full minute after the two women had disappeared downstairs, Pip was following in their wake, though her feet took her not to the drawing room but on towards the kitchen.
Miss Josephine’s voice, high with excitement, carried through the door as Pip passed: ‘Oh, you have? The first week in May? Alexander, that’s marvellous! An absolutely perfect time of year for a wedding.’
‘Well, darling, I cannot advocate a drawn-out betrothal. It is merely precious time wasted, in my opinion.’
‘Oh, indeed. Thank you, thank you …’
Pip closed her eyes, sighed, then hurried her step. After glancing around the kitchen and seeing that Simon was absent, she made for the garden at the back of the house. She found him on his knees, busy tending a sad-looking flower bed, a pile of dead weeds beside him. ‘All right, lad?’
‘Oh, better than.’ A hint of laughter coated his response. He rubbed his hands together, brushed dirt from his trousers, then rose. ‘Mrs Goldthorpe came to the kitchen earlier.’ He nodded when Pip’s eyes widened. ‘The young miss did just as I knew she would.’
‘What did Mrs Goldthorpe say?’
‘Blasted Cook for filling Miss Lucy’s head with nonsense. Cook gave her short shrift, mind – you know how she can be – and the lady went off with a flea in her ear. But Pip … I don’t know …’ He chewed his bottom lip thoughtfully. ‘There were summat in her countenance, summat different. I reckon a worm of fear has taken root in her. I don’t know, can’t explain it, can’t describe how she looked. Just different, you know?’
‘I do, as it happens. I were for thinking the very same just now when she called on Miss Josephine,’ Pip was forced to admit. ‘Eeh, lad …’
Simon’s smile grew. ‘It might work. The bleedin’ thing just might!’
‘What will you do?’
‘I’ve not thought that far ahead as yet. Careful planning is what’s needed, here. For this to pan out like we want, it needs to be done right.’
‘Well.’ Pip cast him a sidelong glance as they made back to the kitchen. ‘A date for the wedding’s been set: the beginning of May. That gives us just a few short months to beat Mrs Goldthorpe at her own hellish game. Josephine can’t marry that man, Simon. She can’t.’
A flicker of uncertainty touched his eyes. But just as swiftly, it vanished, and the lad she knew and believed in implicitly was back. ‘The month of May, you say? Aye, plenty of time, with some to spare. You’ll see.’