The Orphan's Dream Page 2

  ‘Have you any jam, Mrs James? I’m sure Pa’s guests would appreciate something sweet.’

  ‘Flossie, take a look in the larder. See if there’s any jam left in the pot, and fetch the fruit cake. I put a meat cover over it to keep it away from the blooming mice.’ Cook tossed a cloth at Flossie who was staring into space, having gone off in one of her trance-like states. ‘Do you hear me, you stupid girl?’

  She came back to reality with a start. ‘Yes, Cook.’

  ‘That Mutton woman’s been here before, Miss Mirabel,’ Cook said gloomily. ‘She only comes when you’re at the soup kitchen, or if you’ve gone to market. Seems to me that something ain’t right, if you know what I mean.’

  ‘I’m sure she’s a very nice person when you get to know her.’ Mirabel tried to sound convincing, but her first impression of Ernestine had not been favourable.

  Flossie bounded out of the cupboard like a jack-in-the-box. ‘The cake’s gone. Not a crumb left and only one pot of jam.’

  Mirabel caught Cook’s eye and had the grace to blush. ‘I’m sorry. I forgot to mention that I took the cake for the poor children at the soup kitchen.’

  ‘Really, Miss Mirabel, whatever next?’ Mrs James puffed out her cheeks. ‘You’d see us all starve in order to feed those who ought to do an honest day’s work to pay for their vittles like the rest of us.’

  ‘Not even a crumb left,’ Flossie said sadly. ‘I’m partial to a slice of fruit cake.’ She handed the jam pot to Cook, receiving a stinging blow round the ear for her pains.

  ‘If I thought you’d pinched it you’d be in for trouble, my girl.’

  ‘No, Cook, it weren’t me,’ Flossie howled. ‘It was her, she said so.’

  ‘It was indeed, Mrs James. Flossie isn’t to blame.’

  ‘It wouldn’t be the first time. That useless creature loves anything sweet.’ Cook peered into the jam pot. ‘If you’ve had your finger round the rim I’ll give you what for, Flossie my girl.’

  ‘Let me help you,’ Mirabel said, stepping in quickly. ‘I’ll butter the bread if you’ll make the tea. Bread and jam will have to do; after all, we weren’t prepared for guests.’

  ‘Guests?’ Mrs James dropped the bread knife with a derisive snort. ‘That one will have her feet beneath the table before you can say Jack Robinson. I’ve met her sort before.’

  Cook’s words proved to be prophetic. Within a fortnight Jacob and Ernestine were married by special licence in All Hallows Church, which was only a short walk from Catherine Court. The small party arrived back at the house to dine off the cold collation which Cook had laid out in the dining room. Jacob presided over the meal, seated as usual at the head, and Ernestine took Mirabel’s former place at the far end of the table. Mirabel was reduced to sitting next to Charity, with Prudence on the opposite side of the table, pulling faces at them both. Wiley had greeted Ernestine with an obsequious bow, bending so low that Mirabel thought he might topple over or snap in two. However, he managed to right himself and offered his congratulations to the happy couple. At the table he hovered between Jacob and Ernestine, pouring the wine and making sure that their glasses were topped up. Jacob’s cheeks flushed dark red and Mirabel was alarmed. She was used to her father’s variable moods, but she had never seen him in such high spirits, and she was afraid that at any moment he might burst a blood vessel. He kept raising his glass to his bride and the more he drank the more lewd his suggestions became, until Ernestine shot him a warning glance. ‘Remember the children, Jake my dear.’

  He choked on a mouthful of cold chicken, gulped and swallowed, washing it down with yet more wine. ‘Of course, my pet. Wiley, fetch another bottle from the cellar.’ He stared at Mirabel, frowning. ‘There’s no need to look so disapproving, daughter. You should be happy for me. You’re acting as if you’re at a funeral and not a wedding breakfast. What’s the matter with you, girl?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Pa. I have a headache. May I be excused?’

  ‘No, you may not.’ Ernestine’s voice rose to a shriek. ‘It’s obvious that you’re jealous and your pretty little nose has been put out of joint, but you’d better get over it because that’s the way things are from now on.’

  Stung by the unfairness of this remark, Mirabel shook her head. ‘I’m not jealous, ma’am. If I thought my pa would be happy with you I’d be overjoyed.’

  Ernestine’s mouth worked soundlessly and her bosom heaved. ‘You little bitch,’ she said angrily. ‘Jake, are you going to allow your daughter to speak to me in such a manner?’

  ‘You’d slap me for being so cheeky, and I’d deserve it, Ma,’ Charity said piously.

  ‘We wouldn’t get away with it so why does she?’ Prudence added, smirking.

  Wiley hovered over Ernestine with the wine bottle clasped in his hand. ‘More wine, ma’am?’

  Ernestine brushed his offer aside, rising angrily to her feet. ‘Are you going to speak to her, Jake, or will you leave it up to me to discipline your daughter?’

  He signalled to Wiley. ‘I’ll have some more wine.’

  ‘Don’t you think you’ve had enough, Pa?’ Mirabel asked anxiously. She could see the whole matter getting out of hand, fuelled by Wiley’s unsubtle attempts to get both his master and his new mistress the worse for drink, although what he hoped to gain by it was anybody’s guess. Wiley shot her a menacing glance as he moved swiftly to refill Jacob’s glass, but she chose to ignore him.

  ‘Mind your own business, girl,’ Ernestine snapped. ‘If you can’t keep a civil tongue in your head, I suggest you leave the table.’

  Mirabel pushed her chair back and stood up. ‘I’m going to my room.’

  ‘No,’ Ernestine said sharply. ‘Things are going to be different from now on.’ She turned to her husband, eyes narrowed. ‘Tell her, Jacob.’

  He downed the wine in his glass in one greedy gulp. ‘This was supposed to be a celebration, my love.’

  ‘It might have been had you sorted things out with your daughter before we wed. I see I’ll have to do it instead.’

  ‘What haven’t you told me?’ Mirabel looked from one to the other. Her father lowered his head, staring into his empty glass.

  Ernestine leaned back in her chair, a triumphant smile hovering on her painted lips. ‘There have of necessity been changes. You have two younger sisters now, and each of them must have a room of her own. Charity has been given your bedchamber and the schoolroom will be made comfortable for Prudence.’

  ‘You can’t do that,’ Mirabel cried angrily. ‘Pa, tell her that it’s my room.’

  Wiley stood behind his master, folding his hands behind his back. He stood stiffly to attention but his eyes glittered with malice as they rested on Mirabel. She knew that she had made an enemy of him by reporting his drinking habit to her father, even though he had chosen not to discipline his employee.

  ‘Ernestine is right, my pet.’ Jacob slurred the words, and he seemed to have difficulty fixing his gaze on his daughter’s face. ‘Quite right. The girls should have rooms of their own.’

  ‘But what about me?’ Mirabel demanded. ‘You can’t expect me to sleep with the servants. I won’t allow it.’

  Ernestine rose to her feet. ‘Won’t allow it? Just who do you think you are, miss? I’m the lady of the house now and you’ll do as I say. Your things have been moved to the attic, where I’m told you spent many hours as a child, so you’ll feel quite at home. That is so, isn’t it, Jake, my love?’

  Chapter Two

  DESPITE THE FIERCE exchange of words that followed, there was nothing Mirabel could do to alter the situation. She slammed out of the dining room and raced upstairs, but Wiley followed her, catching up with her as she tried to gain access to her bedroom. ‘It’s locked, miss, and I have the only other key.’s

  She spun round to face him, recoiling as she caught a whiff of his sour breath. ‘This has nothing to do with you, Wiley. Give it to me.’

  He shook his head, a sly grin creasing his thin face into a mocking mask. ‘You
’ve no authority in this house now, miss. I’d advise you to do as your stepmother says.’ He moved closer, pinning her to the door without actually touching her body. ‘Perhaps this will teach you not to cross Septimus Wiley.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ She faced him squarely even though she was quaking inwardly.

  ‘I’d advise you to watch your tongue in the future, miss. Telling your father that I helped myself to his cognac was not a friendly action, and I take exception to being branded a thief.’

  ‘But you are a thief, and now you’re trying to intimidate me. I’ll have you sacked, Wiley. My father won’t allow such behaviour in a servant.’

  He moved a fraction closer so that she could feel the heat from his body. ‘He won’t sack me, Miss Cutler. I know too much.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’ Her heart was thudding against her tightly laced stays, but she managed to keep her voice level and she faced him unblinking. The man was a liar as well as a bully and he must be stopped, but she needed to know the reason for his outrageous behaviour.

  ‘Wouldn’t you like to know? But I’m not going to tell you – not yet, anyway. We’ll keep that for another time, but let’s say I saw what went on in the warehouse, and I know what happened to old man Pendleton.’ His mirthless laughter echoed off the high ceiling, coming back to mock them both as they stood locked in silent combat.

  Mirabel felt the hackles rise on the back of her neck and a shiver ran down her spine. Fear turned to anger and she gave him a mighty shove, catching him unawares, and he staggered backwards, righting himself against the curve of the balustrade. ‘You little bitch.’

  She tossed her head. ‘I’ll tell my father what you just said. You won’t be laughing then.’

  ‘Now you listen to me, Miss Cutler.’ He righted himself, his eyes narrowed to dark slits and his lips drawn into a tight line. ‘One word out of place and your father will swing from a hangman’s noose.’

  ‘You’re lying.’

  Wiley opened his mouth to reply, but at the sound of footsteps on the stairs his whole demeanour changed. He bowed and backed away. ‘I think you’ll find everything to your liking in your new bedchamber, miss.’

  Charity and Prudence came bounding up the stairs with their skirts bunched up above their knees. Charity came to a sudden halt. ‘That’s my room, not yours. Ma said so and your pa agreed. You’re not to let her in, Wiley.’

  ‘And the other room is mine.’ Prudence ran to the door, extending her arms in a dramatic gesture to block the entrance. ‘You can’t come in here. I won’t let you.’

  ‘You two are spoilt brats,’ Mirabel said coldly. ‘Make the most of your room, Charity, because you won’t have it for long. I’ll sort this out later.’ Ignoring Wiley she left them and made her way up the next flight of stairs, although she had no intention of letting the matter rest. She would wait until her father had sobered up and choose a moment when she could catch him on his own. He must have been blinded by passion for his bride to have agreed to such a thing, but he would soon see the woman he had married for what she really was.

  The top landing, in contrast to the lower floors, was uncarpeted and shabby. When Jacob had sent in the workmen to renovate the old building no one had thought to redecorate the servants’ quarters. It was clean, Mrs James had seen to that, or rather Flossie had been set to sweep down the cobwebs and scrub the floors, but the paintwork was the original blue-grey, and the once pristine whitewashed ceilings had dulled to ochre with the passing of time.

  Mirabel let herself into her dreaming place. If she had hoped it might have been transformed into a boudoir fit for the eldest daughter of the house she would have been disappointed. As it was she was barely surprised to see a truckle bed abandoned in the middle of the floor, with the entire contents of the clothes press in her old room piled upon it, together with some threadbare blankets, a patched coverlet and a couple of pillows. The only other furniture was the wooden rocking chair which had always been there, and the trunk where she kept the few treasures she possessed away from the prying eyes of Miss Barton. These included a painted paper fan, a string of blue glass beads and several hair combs, which were the only things she had to remind her of her mother. There was Sukey, her rag doll with an embroidered face and yellow woollen hair, and there were books purchased from second-hand stalls in the market. None of them were in very good condition, but all were loved and well read, especially those on foreign travel.

  Mirabel was about to investigate in case anyone had tampered with her belongings when Charity and Prudence burst into the room. They stopped, staring around wide-eyed. ‘Ma put you in your place all right,’ Charity said with a spiteful twist of her lips. ‘This is where you belong.’

  ‘Yes,’ Prudence added, giggling. ‘There’ll be spiders and rats, and it’s probably haunted too.’

  ‘Get out.’ Mirabel made a move towards them, holding on to her temper but only just. ‘Go away and don’t come up here again.’

  ‘You can’t tell us what to do.’ Charity shuffled a step closer. ‘This is our home now and Ma makes the rules.’

  ‘Yes,’ echoed Prudence, following her sister’s example. ‘Ma does.’

  ‘Out.’ Mirabel advanced on them with her hands fisted and they fled, screaming for their mother as they hurtled down the stairs. Mirabel slammed the door and turned the key in the lock.

  She had to wait for two days to snatch a moment alone with her father, but Jacob was not in a talkative mood. ‘But Pa,’ she cried in desperation. ‘You can’t mean me to live like this. Why am I relegated to the attic? Couldn’t the girls share the schoolroom?’

  He looked away, staring at the windowpanes as if the raindrops sliding down the glass were the most interesting sight ever. ‘You’ll have to take it up with your stepmother, Mirabel.’

  ‘She’s the one who put me there in the first place. You’re the head of the house, Pa. Tell her, please.’

  Jacob rose from his seat at the dining table where he had been taking a late breakfast. ‘I have to get to the counting house before nine. If I allow Williams to handle things on his own he’ll be giving credit to people who can well afford to pay on the nail for their purchases.’

  ‘Please, Pa,’ Mirabel said, following him to the door. ‘It’s not much to ask to have my old room back.’

  His answer was lost as the door opened and Ernestine swept into the room, but her smile was banished by a frown when she saw Mirabel. ‘What has she said to you, Jacob?’

  He kissed her on the cheek. ‘I’m in a rush, my love. We’ll speak about it when I return from business this evening.’ He hurried across the hall to where Wiley stood, holding his master’s hat and cane. ‘Good man, Wiley. Is the carriage outside?’

  ‘It’s waiting in Seething Lane, sir.’ He moved to open the front door, an obsequious smile pasted on his thin features.

  ‘Good man. Look after the ladies while I’m away.’ Jacob hurried outside with Wiley hurrying after him clutching an umbrella.

  Ernestine pinched Mirabel’s arm. ‘Your father will do as I say, so don’t think you can go behind my back to get what you want.’

  ‘Why are you doing this?’ Mirabel turned to face her, ignoring the pain where Ernestine’s fingers had bruised her tender flesh. ‘What have I done to make you hate me?’

  ‘You may think that you come first in your father’s affections, but you don’t. You’re nothing now, and the sooner you’re out of my house the better.’

  ‘This is my home. You can’t simply throw me out.’

  ‘Why aren’t you married? You’re twenty-one, so I’m told, practically an old maid, and I don’t want a spinster daughter interfering with my life.’

  Mirabel stared at her aghast. ‘What a nasty mind you have, stepmother. I can’t see what my father ever saw in you.’

  ‘That just shows how little you know about men. They’re like putty in a clever woman’s hands. You just have to know how to handle them.’

&
nbsp; ‘I pity you, ma’am. He’ll see through you one day and then it will be you and your horrible daughters who are out on the street.’ Mirabel was about to walk away when Ernestine caught her by the sleeve.

  ‘I haven’t finished with you yet.’

  ‘What do you want now? Haven’t you done enough already?’

  ‘I’ve decided that your expensive education shouldn’t go to waste. I want you to teach my girls how to be ladies. You’ll pass on everything your governess taught you.’ Ernestine’s lips curved into a smile, but her eyes glittered like chips of green glass. ‘They have the looks and I want them to have the polish that will catch them rich husbands. You might not know how to please men, but you can leave that part of their education up to me.’

  ‘I won’t do it.’

  Charity was sullen and Prudence struggled with her lessons, spending more time moping and complaining than she did paying attention to the work Mirabel had set for her. Without the authority to discipline them in any way, Mirabel knew from the start that any effort on her part would be wasted. She had begged her father to intercede on her behalf, but he seemed unable or unwilling to argue with his wife, and Ernestine appeared to revel in her newly acquired position of power.

  The saving grace for Mirabel was that lessons were conducted in the morning and she was able to escape from the house after luncheon each day. Volunteers were always needed at the soup kitchen in Crispin Street, and it was the one place where she felt welcome. With a white mobcap covering her hair and a clean pinafore to protect her plainest gown, she was an anonymous helper and part of a cheerful group of women who gave their time willingly in order to help the poor and needy. Most of her efforts involved peeling potatoes, carrots and turnips or chopping onions, which made her eyes sting painfully and caused tears to pour down her cheeks. She had been doing this one afternoon, alone in the scullery attached to the larger kitchen, when the door leading to the back yard opened and a stranger sauntered into the room. He stared at her, eyebrows raised. ‘What’s the matter? Why are you crying?’