OVER THE FOLLOWING weeks, Simon played his hand with expert precision. Blade-sharp instincts from a childhood spent every moment clawing for survival had served him well. It was as though he could read inside his victim’s mind.
Some days, he seemed to sense that it wasn’t safe to make a move. Perhaps Caroline would be lying in wait behind the bedroom door, in which case at the slightest disturbance she would be on him and the game would be up, he’d occasionally predict. Sure enough, the next morning the woman would be seen stomping around the house with eyes red-rimmed from lack of sleep and a face like thunder. The next night, knowing she was exhausted from her nocturnal failings, he’d revel in shattering her rest two, sometimes three, times at random intervals.
Mr Philip never witnessed a single act. His snores were all the signal Simon needed – the first he was aware of anything occurring was his wife screeching in his ear. That his tolerance at what he viewed as her wild imaginings was wearing thin was obvious. He now spent more time away from home than in it, seeking peace and normality at the mill or his club.
The effects of the terrorisation on the woman herself and its unpredictability were staggering. Caroline had grown jittery, looking over her shoulder wherever she went. Her increasing confusion and paranoia saw her either withdraw into herself or explode into fits of rage at the slightest thing. She was convinced someone was out to harm her, yet was unable to discover who. She trusted no one. Pip and Simon knew it was only a matter of time, now – not if, but when – before she cracked.
Pip’s initial lack of faith had left her. She believed in the lad completely and now aided him without question. Keeping lookout, providing in-house information on Caroline’s movements; what she was able to provide, she did. And when a golden opportunity to up their antics to another level presented itself one Saturday afternoon, she seized it with both hands, unable to believe their luck.
Turning from the table with a silver tureen destined for the dining room, the new housemaid had caught her foot on a chair leg. Though she’d mercifully managed to catch her balance, she’d been unsuccessful in preventing hot soup sploshing down the front of her apron. Pip, on one of her short visits downstairs, had offered to fetch a clean one from Cally’s room. She found what she was looking for in the chest of drawers and was making back for the door when she discovered it: there, on top of the wardrobe, hung a corner of white material.
What had made her glance up, she couldn’t say. Then she stepped closer and the shaky pink initials J.H., laboriously sewn by Miss Lucy’s hand at Christmas, winked back at her and she smiled.
Hardman. She’d meant for Pip to find it, she was certain. This, which Tabby had clearly missed when packing up the deceased’s effects, was her contribution to the cause, her final act of revenge from beyond the grave on the woman she’d loathed as much as they did.
Slipping the handkerchief into her pocket, she’d hurried downstairs to show Simon.
Now, thanks to the general hubbub of the busy kitchen, the two of them were able to go over the final details of their plan unheard.
‘You sure about this?’ he asked again, though excited anticipation shone from his eyes. ‘You know the risks …’
‘Aye, I’m sure. It’ll be easier for me to slip to her room unseen while they’re away dining down here. I can be in and out and back to Miss Josephine’s next door in seconds.’
‘Be watchful, eh?’
She nodded. ‘I will.’
‘This find … it’ll change everything. You see, she has her suspicions it’s some unearthly being what’s tormenting her so. But the handkerchief, emblazoned with Hardman’s initials, suddenly appearing out of thin air … Mrs Goldthorpe’ll be unable to deny it to herself any longer. This will seal the deal, Pip, you’ll see. And the best part? She’ll feel she can’t reveal her incredible find to a soul.
‘Think about it. If by some miracle someone decided to believe that the spirit of their dead housemaid were terrorising her as she claims, what explanation could she give for why she, of all people, was being targeted? What wrong had she done to the woman in life to bring on such a need for revenge as this in death?’ He shook his head. ‘Nay. The lady, she’d not risk it. She’d be forced to hold her tongue, and that’ll eat at her state of mind further, it will. With no one to discuss or make sense of it with, alone with her decaying judgement … This’ll break her. It will.’
Minutes later, her heart banging so fast she could hardly feel it, Pip was mounting the main staircase. It took her some moments to gather enough courage to reach for the Goldthorpes’ doorknob; finally, closing her hand around it, she took some deep breaths. Then quickly, noiselessly, she opened the door and stole inside.
Making directly for the dressing table, she extracted the handkerchief from her pocket, smoothed the creases from it and slipped it inside Caroline’s jewellery box. Here, there was less chance of Philip stumbling upon it by mistake. The next person to set eyes on the material would be the lady herself. Imagine her shock, confusion, horror – unable to explain let alone prove who had placed it there. Then the realisation when she spied the initials … Pip’s only regret now was that she wouldn’t be present to witness it.
She escaped, closing the door again quietly behind her, and crossed the landing to her mistress’s room, amazed at how smoothly it had gone.
In a few hours, Caroline would have to change for dinner. And no lady was suitably attired without her jewels … Pip smiled. They didn’t have long to wait.
Finding ways to distract herself was difficult; the slightest movement outside had her freezing to the spot, pulse quickening, palms clammy. Josephine couldn’t fail to notice:
‘Are you sure you’re quite all right?’ she asked again as time was approaching the appointed hour and Pip, her anticipation at fever pitch, fidgeted in her seat, unable to relax.
‘Aye, Miss Josephine. It’s just a headache, but like I said, it should shift itself soon enough,’ she lied, biting her lip in guilt. She didn’t like being dishonest with the lady but what choice had she?
‘You do look rather ghastly – no offence intended, dear girl. I insist you take yourself for a lie-down while I’m away at dinner. The rest and quiet will do you good. Don’t argue,’ she added firmly when Pip made to do just that.
Despite her turmoil, she couldn’t help but smile. The worst bout by far of anxious sickness to have struck Josephine down seemed almost like a distant memory. Through poetry, she’d discovered a treatment that appeared to work more than anything they had attempted. Whenever an attack seemed imminent, Josephine now adopted the method that had guided her through that night’s jet darkness, silently reciting her favourite poetry to become lost in their cathartic stanzas. Again and again, it miraculously garnered results.
Now, Pip was certain her mistress had turned a corner in dealing with her illness. Discovering something that alleviated her symptoms had instilled in Josephine quiet confidence. That she was coping with it effectively, which in turn made her less anxious, meant the attacks were becoming milder and less frequent. She was well on her way to recovery and Pip couldn’t have been happier for her, nor prouder.
She’d always known Josephine was stronger than she appeared. Now, she herself had slowly realised it, too. Hopefully, this new-found knowledge would stand her in good stead in coping when secrets eventually emerged about her intended husband. For it would, somehow; it had to. Her discovering the truth was the lesser of two evils by far. She couldn’t marry such a monster.
When finally Josephine rose to head downstairs, Pip took it as the perfect opportunity to find out how the plan was faring; damping down her eagerness, she crossed the room with her as if to see her out. So far, there had been no disturbance of any kind from next door. Perhaps Caroline was late in getting ready? Surely any moment now …? A scream, an incredulous shout …?
‘Sister-in-law.’
Josephine’s greeting, upon opening the door and seeing Caroline emerging from her room at the same time, brought Pip’s head up sharply. What? But why …? Her gaze settled on Caroline’s throat – and the string of rubies lying there. Her mind spun. Then she must have opened … How had she not seen …? Or had she?
‘Shall we walk down together?’
Caroline nodded listlessly. As she slipped her hand into the crook of the proffered arm, her attention stayed on Josephine’s face and she frowned, as though seeing her properly for the first time. ‘You appear … different, somehow.’
As do you. However, unlike mine, your change is not one for the better, said Josephine’s eyes. And yet there was no sign that she revelled in the fact. No withering look or cruel put-down. No desire to dominate one weaker than herself, as Caroline was wont to do with her. Because she possessed a kind soul. Ugliness didn’t exist in Josephine. Instead she responded, ‘Thank you, I feel it.’ She flashed an easy smile. ‘Come along, then, before the meal grows cold.’
Watching them cross the landing and descend the stairs, Pip couldn’t fail to notice the striking switch in their demeanours. Josephine walked upright, her step assured. Caroline, on the other hand, allowed herself to be led, meek and passive as a lamb. The tables had turned full circle. And the realisation conjured up in Pip for the first time a stirring of guilt. For whatever Caroline had done, she wouldn’t wish what she feared the woman might be developing on her worst foe.
The anxious illness ruined lives – Pip was only too aware. Her very role in this house had been to help a tortured soul if not to conquer, then to deal with the crippling affliction. And now, was she contributing to creating it in another?
How was that right, or forgivable? She’d watched her own mam wither from it, lost her for good to its far-reaching effects. How could she deliberately inflict that on another? Miss Lucy, she too would be hurt by it in the long run – another little girl made to suffer a sick mother … God above, God above.
‘Well? Did all go to plan? Did she swallow it?’
Pip barely registered Simon’s eager probing the moment she joined him at the kitchen table. Chewing her nail, she shrugged, mind elsewhere.
‘What’s up? Pip? Pip?’
‘Hm?’
The lad stared at her keenly. ‘Summat’s afoot. Tell me, what’s occurred?’
‘I just …’
‘What?’
‘Are we doing the right thing?’
He sat back heavily. ‘You’re jesting with me, here, right? Please tell me you’re jesting with me.’
‘Simon, Mrs Goldthorpe ain’t looking too good.’
‘Did she ever?’
‘I’m being serious. What we’re doing, doing to her mind …’
‘That woman deserves it and more besides. She means to send me to the gallows, you along with me, would have no qualms should she so choose, neither. Or have you forgot that?’
‘Nay, course not—’
‘She set you up, got you booted from Bracken House, has hurt thee time and again. She’s a rotten mother, a worse sister-in-law, stands on the backs of those she’s meant to love without a thought so long as she gets what she wants. And she’s a murderess. She’s rancid through to the marrow.’ His voice thickened. ‘Don’t fail me now, Pip, please.’
He was right. Of course he was. She opened her mouth but her reassurances never reached her lips as Miss Lucy’s trilled greeting swept through the room. Bringing a smile to them instead, she asked, ‘All right, lass? By, it’s good to see thee.’
The girl rewarded them with her sweet laughter. ‘And you, Pip, as ever!’
Hearing Simon’s small gasp, Pip turned to him with a frown. He was staring intently at the young miss’s bodice; following his gaze, her own eyes widened in terrible realisation …
‘That’s a pretty brooch you’re wearing, there, Miss Lucy,’ the lad said quietly, inclining his head.
It was all making sense. She and Budd took their dinner early in the nursery upstairs – she’d have had ample time to wander before her mother went to change …
The girl blinked in puzzlement. Then her hand strayed up and her mouth fell open in horror. ‘Oh dear!’
‘You been in your mam’s jewels again, missy?’ Cook, alerted by the raised voice and spying the beautiful diamond-encrusted piece adorning the dress, shook her head from across the room, where she was elbow deep in a large bowl of floury dough. ‘Now you know you’re not meant to mess about with them. She’ll have your guts for garters. You’ll not learn, will yer?’
‘Oh, but they’re so pretty, Cook. Look, see how the stones catch the light.’ She twisted this way and that; then, seeing the elderly woman was unimpressed, dropped her gaze, abashed. ‘I was only playing with them.’
‘Such rich and precious pieces; playing, I ask you!’
‘I must have forgotten to remove this one.’ Lucy scrambled from her seat. ‘I’ll return it right away.’
‘Hurry yourself, an’ all. They’ll be finishing up with their dinners in a minute. Go on, afore your mam knows owt about it.’
Casting Cook, her lifelong confidante, a grateful look, the girl ran for the door. Pip hurried after her.
‘Wait, I’ll come with thee. I’ve just remembered I’ve some tidying up to see to in Miss Josephine’s room,’ she lied. Catching Simon’s eye, she nodded reassurance that she’d get to the bottom of things – his face was like thunder.
Quickly, she and the girl ascended the stairs. Pip waited at the door while Lucy rushed to return the brooch to the jewellery box. She emerged with a sigh of relief and Pip smiled. ‘No harm done, lass.’
‘Oh, that was a close one!’
‘Aye. ’Ere, Miss Lucy …?’ She paused, chose her words carefully. ‘You sure you’ve returned everything, now? Happen, say … there were summat else you took and forgot about?’
‘No, that’s everything. Oh. There was a handkerchief in there, which I took up to my room earlier, but Mama shan’t mind about that. She’s probably already forgotten she put it in the box in the first place. It wasn’t hers, you see – the initials were clearly marked J.H. It’s the one I made for poor Hardman. Mama must have found it somewhere and believed it to be the one I made her.’
‘You … took it up to your room, Miss Lucy?’
‘That’s right, to unpick the lettering.’
Pip’s heart skipped a beat. With the owner’s identity removed, the handkerchief was useless! ‘Aye?’ she managed to croak.
‘I shall reuse the material to make a Sunday bonnet for my new doll. Aunt Josephine will show me how. And she has lots of trim and lace to add to it. It will be so pretty, Pip!’
You didn’t know what you were doing, Miss Lucy, you ain’t at fault. Oh, but now what? Simon insisted an item such as that would have been the crux in prompting Caroline to confess for sure …
‘Aye, yes, I’m sure it will, will look lovely …’ Mumbling something about having to go now as she had work to do, Pip escaped to Miss Josephine’s room. Closing the door, she leaned against it and closed her eyes.
This was a great blow to their plan. What now? There were only so many times they could frighten Caroline by rattling door handles or some such. She’d grow used to it soon, or hatch a scheme to catch them out. No, it had to be something different, something completely unexpected, that she couldn’t deny the significance of. Something directly linked with Hardman herself. But there was nothing else, nothing. Oh, Miss Lucy. Why, why?
She barely slept a wink that night and encountering Simon again the next morning, tired and disappointed tears burned her eyes. ‘The handkerchief, lad, it’s no more. Miss Lucy—’
‘Don’t matter about that. Not now.’
‘Nay? How so?’ She studied his bright face for a moment. ‘Do you know summat?’
‘Oh, do I.’
‘What? Eeh, lad, I thought our plan were done for. Eeh, you are clever.’
His chest puffed proudly at the compliment. ‘Well, I don’t know about that … Anyroad, it’s like this. Cook sends me to the study late last night, for she wanted her bed but Mr Philip’s light still shone beneath the door. “Go and see if he’s requiring owt more the night, lad,” she says to me, so off I go.
‘Well, I knocked and he permitted me to enter in a voice thick with drink. Sure enough, he were slumped at his desk with a bottle of summat – strong, aye, by the smell of him. And what did I happen to spy, spread out before him? Only a stack of papers; amongst them, a sketching of Hardman. Too late, he returned them to a leather paper-carrier and bundled them into a drawer, which he secured with a key. ’Ere, the likeness were impressive, mind. Some talent’s gone into that, it has.’
The selfsame leather carrier she’d seen him with in the kitchen that night … Though she hadn’t caught a glimpse of its contents, she’d sensed then his morose mood was to do with his lost lover.
‘It’ll be his art. Miss Josephine once mentioned he used to draw. He must have got the housemaid to sit for him. So, what were you thinking, like?’ she whispered.
‘I’m thinking we need to get our hands on it and plant it somewhere for Mrs Goldthorpe to find. I doubt she’s aware her husband possesses such a thing – well, he’s not reet likely to show her, is he! – so imagine her shock when she comes face to face so to speak with the one she thinks is out for her blood.’
‘But how do we get it, the picture? If it’s under lock as you say?’
‘Aye, that’s a problem. I had to retreat afore I could see where he kept the key.’
Pip’s stomach turned over at the mere thought but she had to help. ‘Happen I could search his effects; his room, pockets of his clothing and that? Meantime, when you get the chance, you give the study a going over. It’ll surely not be that hard to find.’
‘Be watchful, Pip. If you’re caught …’
She nodded grimly. He didn’t need to finish his warning. Both knew the consequences would be dire. ‘And thee.’
When she returned upstairs to Miss Josephine’s room, she halted in pleasant surprise to see her father sitting in the chair opposite hers by the fire. ‘Morning, sir! By, it’s good to see thee up and about.’
Though a little tired-looking, Albert’s face held a healthy colour and his bright eyes matched his smile. ‘Thank you, lass. It feels good, too.’
‘Father’s regaining his strength at last. Isn’t it wonderful?’
‘Oh, it is, Miss Josephine.’ Pip answered with feeling, for the sight of him there had awakened in her a spark of happy hope. With the master back on his feet, their worries had lessened somewhat, surely? He was wise; and clever, aye. Confined to his room, he’d had the wool pulled over his eyes for too long, but not any more. He’d notice things were not as they should be beneath his roof, with his family, would sniff out the goings-on and put an end to them; he must, she told herself. His son and daughter-in-law’s scheming concerning the wedding would be brought to light, and Alexander would be gone. Please God.
‘So. Caroline’s parents have refused outright to have her there, have they?’ said Albert.
‘Yes. Even for just a few days, as Philip suggested. He thought a change of scenery and spending time with her family would provide the tonic she needs but alas, it’s not to be. He received their letter today. Apparently, it wouldn’t do her reputation any good to have her there as she is – their servants and friends may jump to the wrong conclusion and begin spreading rumours about her mental state.’
‘A likely story. They fear the embarrassment and shame for themselves, more like.’
‘Precisely. Can you believe it, Father? Their own flesh and blood? Philip is furious. The poor man is at his wits’ end with her imaginings.’
Pip had crossed the room to busy herself with straightening the curtains when the adults had resumed their conversation; now, she struggled to retain her impassive stance. Thank the Lord Caroline’s parents had refused her. With her gone from Bracken House, their plan would be ruined. And yet, even as the thought flitted by, an earlier feeling scratched at the outskirts of her conscience: guilt. She was sick, and growing more so, it seemed.
But she deserves it, remember …? Even the family appeared of a similar mind. That their concern was for Philip rather than the woman herself was clear to see. And who could blame them? Caroline wasn’t someone you could easily feel empathy for.
Albert sighed. ‘Where’s Philip now?’
‘He and Lucy have taken Caroline for a walk to get her some air. She had a bad night again.’
‘I’ll talk to the lad later. Something must be done. These claims of hers … she barely makes any sense these days. Perhaps Doctor Lawley could—’
‘No.’ Josephine spoke quietly but firmly. ‘No, Father, there is no need to bother him with this. Let us see what Philip decides. As her husband, the decision is his to make, after all. Caroline will pick up, I’m sure. My reckoning is, she’s sleep deprived. It can affect one in the queerest of ways. Rest is the surest balm for the mind.’
‘I suppose you’re right, lass. Well.’ Soft grunts and shuffles signalled he was rising to take his leave. ‘I shall see you at lunch. If you see your brother before I do, direct him to my room, would you?’
‘I will. And Father?’
‘Yes?’
‘It’s good to have you back on your feet and under mine.’ Josephine blew him a kiss, Albert responded with a chuckle, then the door opened and closed and all was still.
‘Pip?’
She sidled out from her hiding place. ‘Aye, Miss Josephine?’
The woman had her nose buried in her sewing basket. ‘Would you be a dear and fetch me some blue embroidery silk from next door?’
‘Mr Philip and Mrs Goldthorpe’s room?’ If God Himself had smiled down on her from heaven, she couldn’t have been more jubilant; free rein, to enter with full permission the very place she needed to, right now? And she’d thought she’d have to wait perhaps days for such an opportunity! The urge not to punch the air was overwhelming. She forced an easy nod. ‘Course, Miss Josephine, aye.’
‘You should find some in Caroline’s red basket. By the bed, I believe she keeps it. Thank you, dear girl.’
And thank you. Telling herself not to run, Pip managed to leave the room at a normal pace. Once outside, however, she couldn’t contain her impatience. Not having to sneak around or check if anyone was coming, for she’d every right to be here, she entered the room without hesitation, closing the door behind her.
She found the silk where Josephine said she would and popped it into her apron pocket. Then she peered around.
A dark jacket, tossed carelessly over the arm of a finely carved chair by the far side of the bed, immediately caught her eye; this, she thought, would be as good a place as any to search first. She looked for a pocket, slipped a hand inside and felt about – and almost staggered when her fingers closed around something hard and cold. A key!
She gazed at the small metal object in awe, utterly amazed at the breakneck-speed find. How was this possible? The very first place she’d checked, there it was? It was as if it was meant to be.
For reasons she couldn’t fathom, she knew without question this was the one they were seeking. But of course, there was only one way to be absolutely certain … With the precious object clasped safely in her bunched fist, she spun on her heel and headed out.
Josephine’s door, she didn’t even glance at; instead, she made in the opposite direction, skittering down the stairs as fast as her legs could take her. Before she knew what she was doing, she’d crossed the hall and was letting herself into the study.
Again, she closed the door behind her and looked about. She could have the drawing in her possession and the key returned to its owner’s pocket in mere minutes, and no one would be any the wiser. Then, once Hardman’s likeness had done its job on Caroline, she’d steal it and the key back and return both to their rightful places. Simple.
Imagine Simon’s reaction when she next saw him, how proud he’d be that she’d found what they needed, and all on her own. He’d be more than a little impressed. And she did so want to please him. She needed him to know he could rely on her, always, for that lad was the single most important thing in her life. Mack, too. Her excitement mounted. She hurried to the desk.
She opted for the bottom of the three drawers and again, her decision yielded immediate results. She could hardly believe it as she lifted the artwork out and placed it on the desktop. A quick glance to the door and a nod of satisfaction at the silence from beyond and she peeled back the leather.
The hard, sultry stare that locked with Pip’s had her taking an involuntary step back. Simon hadn’t exaggerated – God above, the detail. ‘Eeh, Hardman,’ she murmured, tracing a wispy touch along the housemaid’s cheek. Then, with care, she rolled the sheet into a thin tube and slipped it up her sleeve.
She’d had every intention of returning the rest to the drawer without another thought. Yet the new face now staring back at her, which had lain beneath Hardman’s, piqued her curiosity too greatly and she began leafing through them. Page after page of women were revealed, of varying types and beauty – and state of undress. Quickly, she moved on to the next.
And yet, there was one similarity: all were attired in domestic uniform. Realisation brought heat to her face. They were Mr Philip’s conquests over the years, every one. As though as proof of prowess, he’d immortalised his immorality on paper for eternity. Did memories evoked by these long-gone faces bring him personal enjoyment? She squirmed with embarrassment at the thought.
The very last sheet was well worn. Age had curled its corners and the drawing was more faded than the rest. Yet it had the power to rip the breath from her lungs and the life from her legs.
She crumpled to her knees, face contorted in a blinding shock that was absolute.
Gazing back at Pip from the yellowed page was her mother.