The Orphans of Ardwick

by Emma Hornby

  ‘Nay, don’t speak so. You’re wonderful, you are.’ If only you yourself could see it.

  ‘Are you certain I’m not dying, Pip? Perhaps this time, it’s a different ailment altogether that I’ve been struck with and—’

  ‘It’s one and the same, honest,’ she murmured soothingly. ‘You’ll be well again shortly, you’ll see.’

  The lady fell quiet for a time, the only sound in the dimly lit room her ragged breathing. Again, Pip’s eyes strayed to the clock. Oh lad, lad …

  ‘My chest, it hurts so much from my heart’s heavy beating. I, I feel nauseous, also.’ Suddenly, Josephine smiled faintly. ‘My mother would recite poetry to me whenever I was confined to my sickbed for whatever reason as a child. It never failed to make me feel better.’

  ‘Do you recall them, the poems?’

  ‘I’m … not sure. One or two, perhaps.’

  Pip gently wiped her mistress’s glistening brow. ‘Then why not see if it’ll work now? Close your eyes and say them in your mind. Say them nice and slow, think about the words; concentrate, like. Go on, Miss Josephine, give it a try.’

  The lady did as she bid her. Minutes passed. Occupied once more with the timepiece across the room, it was a while before Pip noticed that the air had stilled – her mistress had fallen silent. She glanced down at her and released a long sigh. Josephine’s expression was one of ease, the worry lines smoothed out. Her breathing was sedate, controlled.

  ‘Better, Miss Josephine?’ she whispered.

  Slowly, she opened her eyes. Sleepiness thickened her words. ‘Yes. Yes, I—’ An almighty screech from next door sliced the response to ribbons.

  Pip almost choked on a gasp. She rose slowly to her feet.

  ‘My goodness! Oh, what in the world …?’ Josephine scrambled up to stand beside her. Gazing at the door, neither moved for a few seconds. ‘Oh, that’s Caroline!’ Josephine added as another shrill cry rent the air. She rushed for the door but before she could reach it, it burst open and the lady herself hurtled in, almost knocking her sister-in-law to the ground.

  ‘You. You!’

  Rooted to the spot, Pip could only stare in terror as Caroline rushed towards her, teeth bared, claw-like hands outstretched as though she meant to tear the flesh from her face. ‘I ain’t, ain’t done nowt, I …!’

  ‘Liar. Liar!’

  At the last second, Pip swerved from her path and ran, whimpering, to hide behind Josephine. Clinging to her nightdress as though her life depended on it – which, given Caroline’s reputation, it very possibly did – she burst into noisy sobs.

  Panting with pure fury, Caroline tried to rush at her again but Josephine held out a hand as a shield: ‘Stop this! You’re scaring the poor girl half to death. What on earth has got into you?’

  ‘She’s the one, she did it!’

  ‘Did what? What is the meaning of all this— Oh, Philip, thank goodness,’ Josephine continued on the next breath as her brother appeared in the doorway, face stiff with irritation.

  ‘Hell’s teeth, woman, come back to bed before you wake the whole house. It was merely a vivid dream, I told you—’

  ‘That was no dream, Philip.’ Caroline’s eyes spat daggers at him. ‘It was real. I felt it.’

  ‘Enough of this nonsense! The door was secured from the inside – which you yourself insisted upon, remember, due to a similar incident you claim occurred last night—’

  ‘That was different. This night, something, someone, touched me! It did!’

  He looked decidedly embarrassed. ‘You’re making a spectacle of yourself. People cannot pass through locked doors, and you and I were the only two in that room, damn it.’

  ‘That wretched little parasite, that one there, she did it.’ Ignoring her husband, she thrust a finger to where Pip was peeking out from behind her mistress. ‘It was her, she—’

  ‘Pip hasn’t left my side all night. Not once, even for a second.’ Josephine nodded. ‘It’s true, sister-in-law.’

  ‘Miss Josephine speaks right. I ain’t passed beyond yon door, honest, Mrs Goldthorpe.’

  At Pip’s timid words, Caroline’s eyes narrowed into slits. ‘Those pests you call friends; they’re responsible, aren’t they?’

  ‘Oh nay, Mrs Goldthorpe, nay. They know their place. Never would they dare to stray beyond the kitchen.’ To her sheer relief, Caroline looked as if she believed her. ‘Cook would box their ears for them good and proper were they to even think it. She would, honest.’

  ‘Lucy—’

  ‘Is sleeping peacefully upstairs, Caroline,’ snapped Philip.

  ‘Then maybe … maybe Albert—’

  He exploded. ‘Don’t be ridiculous! My father can barely stand without assistance. Now, enough of this. I’ve stated already, no one has power to pass through locked doors. It was a dream. Put it from your mind and come back to bed.’

  Dropping her stare, she frowned. Her fingers plucked anxiously at her chin. She walked from the room without another word.

  After shooting his sister an apologetic look, Philip followed Caroline out.

  ‘Is all well down there?’ The new maid Budd, leaning over the banister outside the nursery above, called down worriedly. ‘Mrs Goldthorpe? You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.’

  Innocent, unsuspecting, brilliant Budd! Of all the things she could have said …! Thank you, thank you! Pip hid bubbling laughter when, with a squeak, Caroline dashed away to her room.

  With calm restored, she and Josephine prepared for bed. Pip managed to contain her fizzing emotions until she was in the seclusion of the dressing room – here, they spilled forth and she was forced to clap a hand to her mouth so as not to alert her mistress. But it wasn’t upset or worry or even fear that had her in its grip now, pumping her veins with excited energy that made it impossible to relax and led her to pace the small space. It was euphoria. Because Simon had been right all along. His completely ridiculous, utterly genius scheme, was working. Caroline was well and truly rattled. They were besting her! And things, if they put their minds to it, could surely only get better.

  Fear and desperate need for redemption would drive the witch into confessing all eventually, she just knew it. Life would improve tremendously, for them all. Then it would be Alexander Sutton-Shaw’s turn …

  The thought brought a surprised smile to her lips. She nodded grimly. Seeing the results on Caroline had, it seemed, awakened in Pip something she hadn’t known existed.

  She and Simon would out those who had wronged them and others, if it was the last thing they did. There was no stopping them, now.

  Chapter 19

  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 h
er, 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.

  T
he 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.’