Oy Yew (The Waifs of Duldred Trilogy Book 1) Page 15

  25 Court Report

  The very air of Duldred shimmered and simmered with tension. Jeopardine walked around as though various pains were fighting in his head. When he spoke to the waifs it was with barely suppressed hatred. They lived with the knowledge that full vengeance lay on the other side of the wedding, which was only a few weeks away.

  Jeopardine spent hours looking for ways to save what he had spent on bribes, lawyers and the coming ceremony. As relief from his sums he picked the flesh from small creatures and harassed the waifs.

  Elyut dropped the boot he was cleaning and bowed quickly as the Master appeared in the door of the Boot Room. Jeopardine stooped and picked it up. It was his father’s boot.

  ‘Take care,’ he said, leaning close to Elyut, his voice full of menace. He held the boot up to the light and became suddenly thoughtful. ‘Nothing holds the essence of a man like his boots. They are a memorial. That crease is a memory, that scuff is a bygone. Now my grandfather,’ he reached for a boot from the top shelf, ‘was a heavy man, but energetic, forceful. It’s all there in his boots.’

  Jeopardine forgot Elyut and moved to the ladies’ racks. He spent some time handling a riding boot with jet spurs. He held it to his chest, humming a childish tune, then put it away from him with a sour look.

  ‘Box this lot up and put them in the store. And these others, I want the whole lot down and polished. Now say after me: ‘I am not fit to wipe Master’s boots.’

  Elyut repeated the phrase.

  ‘Good, keep on with that, it might teach you something.’

  Elyut was in a mess. No matter how he paired the boots there was always one left over. Foolishly, he had taken them all down at once and now they refused to match up again. Then he noticed that the boots were initialled inside. In some the letters were too worn to read but he did his best to sort the JJ’s from the FJ’s and the JFJ’s. A few pairs were stuffed with old news-sheets. He took these out to reveal JFJ. That was the grandfather, top shelf.

  This made him so late getting back to the basement that Raymun was already waiting to count in.

  ‘There’s been a lot of lateness this week,’ said Raymun. ‘You all slowing down in your old age?’

  ‘Ain’t no chance of that. He’ll be banning sleep altogether next,’ said Lucinda.

  ‘You’ve only got yourselves to blame,’ said Raymun, ‘but you’ll get used to it. Look at me. I been at it…’ Raymun looked down at his fingers and tried to peer through the fog past twelve, ‘long enough to lose half my hair and most of my teeth but I ain’t worn out yet.’

  ‘You ain’t natural,’ said Blinda.

  ‘Right, all in now? I make it… eleven?’

  ‘You missed the eight,’ said Lucinda.

  ‘So I did.’ Raymun’s lamp flickered as he mounted the stairs leaving an exhausted silence behind him.

  ‘Better liven up,’ said Alas, ‘we still got our reading to do.’

  ‘What’s the point now?’ said Jakes. ‘We played our card, it didn’t work, and we ain’t got another one. We should get back to growing – only sure way out of here.’

  Oy stood up. ‘That’s not the way,’ he sat down again, confused as he always was when he spoke out. ‘I got this feeling, that’s all.’

  ‘We’ll carry on then,’ said Alas. ‘Think how we felt when we were fighting. We’ve got to carry on.’

  Elyut was fumbling under his shirt. ‘I got some more news-sheets for us to look at – from the Boot Room. They’re a bit old.’ He handed the yellowing papers to Gertie. She took them briskly.

  ‘Where shall we start? Money World, Learn to Earn, Wealth Listings, Court Reports.’ No one responded. Gertie read to herself, trying to find a story to amuse or inspire them. ‘Ooh, hang on.’ Gertie’s eyes moved swiftly from left to right. A short breath caught in her throat. ‘Never,’ she bit her lip.

  ‘What is it?’ said Gritty.

  ‘Wait a minute.’ She shook her head. ‘Well fancy that.’

  ‘Gert,’ warned Gritty, ‘don’t mess about, what does it say?’

  ‘Ssh,’ Gertie read on silently. When she looked up her face was full of nervous glee.

  ‘What?’ Gritty urged.

  ‘It’s a court report,’ she said, ‘Rutheday v Jeopardine. It starts off: “The long running dispute over waif labour rights took a dramatic turn today…” There’s lots of long words here but the way it goes is this. The Jeps and the Ruthedays was both bidding for waif labour rights – that’s the right to make slaves out of us. The bids was all secret and sealed. Jep’s grandfather was accused of tampering with the bids.’

  ‘How did he do that?’ asked Lucinda.

  ‘Usual thing, bribery. It ends: “The judge called the court to order and declared…” The next bit’s all brown and rotted, I can’t read it.’

  ‘Old Jep must’ve got away with it or we wouldn’t be here now,’ said Lucinda. ‘So we ain’t no further forward.’

  ‘But if we could prove there was cheating,’ Alas paused, making sure of his reasoning, ‘we’d be free.’

  ‘After all this time?’ said Lucinda doubtfully.

  ‘And wouldn’t we just belong to someone else?’ said Gertie.

  ‘Yes. Mrs Rutheday, and Sly,’ Lucinda answered to groans.

  ‘We can think about that later. Jep’s our problem now,’ Alas rubbed his chin. ‘You know what the Afflish are like for writing things down. There’s got to be clues in the records somewhere. The ones in the study go back fifty years. We need older stuff than that, a hundred years or more.’

  ‘Archives,’ said Gritty, ‘back of the library down some steps; pokey musty place, floor to ceiling yellow paper.’

  ‘How long to go through them?’ said Alas.

  ‘Years,’ said Gritty.

  Alas sighed. ‘I don’t care, we gotta try.’

  Raymun brought news of a sailing. ‘Your last schedule, Kurt.’

  Kurt took it solemnly and handled it as though it was a delicate thing. ‘What time do I go, night or day?’

  ‘Night,’ said Raymun.

  Some of the waifs moved towards Kurt in sympathy and support. Others held back not knowing what to say. Kurt stepped aside. He didn’t want to be spoken to or touched.

  The waifs walked in file along the passageway and down the twisty stair into the servants dining hall. Molly cook came in. She filled the bread bowl.

  ‘My you’re a quiet lot this morning.’ She lowered her voice. ‘Eat up before Mrs Midden comes down – I’ve put a bit of jam on your bread.’

  They thanked her sadly.

  ‘Well, I shan’t bother again, if that’s how it makes you feel.’

  ‘Kurt’s leaving tonight,’ said Lucinda.

  ‘Is he? Well, I’m sure all will go well with him.’

  They turned to Kurt with forced smiles.

  ‘Ugh!’ Gritty’s face stretched like dough, and one eyelid fluttered. ‘Pah,’ she spat. ‘Water tastes horrible.’

  ‘Is this from the new butt?’ Molly picked up a beaker and took a sip. ‘I can’t taste anything.’

  ‘I got something,’ said Lucinda. ‘Bitter, right at the end.’

  Oy tasted his. ‘Leave it alone,’ he said. ‘It’s full of badness.’

  Mrs Midden’s shuffling tread was heard in the kitchen.

  ‘Use this one.’ Molly quickly switched the waifs’ jug for the upservants’.

  They could hear Mrs Midden rustling the news-sheet. ‘Molly,’ she called. ‘Here. What do you make of this? “Crust gossip exclusive. Is this the love match of the decade? A certain wealthy waif master” – we don’t need to ask who that is – “is to marry a lowly measuring inspector.” Whiskers is married so it has to be Spindle.’

  ‘No,’ Molly feigned disbelief.

  ‘“Our source is a dark and disappointed beauty who often graces these very pages. Guess all three identities and win a brace of brass-beaks.” It’s got to be wrong. He would never stoop so far.’

  ‘It’s true,’
the voice came from nowhere.

  ‘Why don’t you make more noise?’ said Mrs Midden startled. ‘Do you stick felt on your shoes or something?’

  ‘Pardon me,’ said Inch, ‘just putting you straight. He proposed a few days back. She’s moving into the Chintz Chamber this afternoon.’

  At midday, Kurt took his bread and went to sit alone by the lakeside. Oy stared after him then followed and offered his bread. Kurt looked up in surprise. He declined the bread but let him stay. Supper in the basement was quieter than breakfast had been. Lucinda began talking brightly but soon tailed into silence.

  At last Alas got up. ‘Well, I reckon it must be about time.’ He handed Kurt his bundle. It held one change of clothes. ‘And there’s this,’ he said, ‘it might help. There’s flints, some burnings, peel and rinds, a knife, and there’s a wool vest. You’re to put it on under your shirt now.’

  Kurt shook his head. ‘I shan’t be needing that stuff.’

  Lucinda stepped forward. ‘We know it, but would you take it as a favour to all of us? You can always pitch it over the side of the boat if there’s no call for it.’

  Kurt accepted the packet silently, pulled the vest on and rolled the rest inside his bundle.

  ‘Don’t forget, you’re a Porian and Porians have survivin’ ways,’ said Alas sticking out his hand. Kurt nodded and clasped it. They all did the same. The door at the top of the stairs opened. Raymun had come for him.

  ‘Here’s your pyxid,’ said Raymun. Kurt strung it around his neck. ‘You’ll get your purse at journey’s end. I’m to walk you to the gates. Cheer up you lot. I thought you relished a leaving. You must be popular, Kurt, that’s all I can say. It’s more like a funeral down here.’

  ‘Hush,’ said Lucinda.

  Raymun jerked his chin and blinked. ‘Can’t seem to do right around here lately.’

  ‘I’m sorry. We do hope Kurt has a good life ahead, and that he will be happy. We do wish it.’

  ‘We do wish it,’ they echoed as Kurt climbed the stairs firmly. He paused at the top, half raised his hand and was gone. They listened as footsteps passed along the passage above them. There was a faint scrape of keys.

  From the study window a shadowed face watched the two small figures walking down the flintway under the half-moon.

  26 A New Arrival

  Next morning, as he hooked a slime of leaves out of the kitchen drain, Oy saw a little figure matching three trotting steps to each stride of Sly’s. Now and then she would look up at the mass of Duldred and up and up. Oy knew just how she felt. He turned back to the drain until he heard Sly’s boots crunching behind him, then he sneaked a look at the girl’s face. It was ghastly, blue-lipped and very thin. He slipped through the peelhouse and into the scullery where he knelt unnoticed by the gutters.

  ‘Henret Scant,’ said Sly.

  ‘Lift your head,’ said Mrs Midden.

  Molly cook sucked her breath in sharply. There was a scrape as she pulled a chair over the flags. ‘Sit you down,’ she told Henret. ‘Terrible colour you’ve got. What are they doing to you down at that factory? Have they stopped feeding you altogether?’

  ‘We gets fed the same, miss, but the water don’t taste right, and they’ve cut our time in the yard.’

  Molly stopped stirring the batter and looked thoughtful. ‘Is that right?’ She took the milk jug and poured the yellow cream from the top, then she dug a spoon into the honey jar and dribbled it in with the cream.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ said Mrs Midden.

  ‘Drink this,’ Molly ordered Henret. ‘She’s not going to work without something good in her. She’s half dead. Take it out of my allowance.’

  ‘Molly cook, you overstep. I’ll have words with you later.’

  Henret gulped so fast that her throat hurt. She gasped as she put the cup down. Mrs Midden continued staring fiercely at Molly.

  ‘Where do you want her?’ said Sly.

  ‘She looks like something just hatched. Better give her one of the lighter schedules,’ said Mrs Midden. ‘Have you got a steady hand?’

  ‘I think so, ma’am.’ Henret held her hand out.

  ‘I’ve seen worse,’ said Mrs Midden. ‘Pots ’n’ cots then. That’s cleaning the porcelain and bed-making.’

  ‘Come and wait out here till you’re fetched,’ said Sly.

  Henret sat on the grass bank outside the kitchen. Oy circled behind the kitchens to join her.

  ‘Hello,’ he said.

  ‘Hello,’ said Henret through a mouthful of bread.

  ‘You must be the new waif. Are you alright? You don’t look well.’

  ‘I’m alright. We all look like this now.’

  Oy glanced towards the kitchen window as the voices of Mrs Midden and Molly cook grew louder. He was safe for a minute or two.

  ‘Is it a illness, like the swim-eye?’ he asked.

  ‘Could be,’ Henret shrugged.

  ‘Do you know a waif called Linnet Pale?’

  ‘I’ve heard the name. What room?’

  ‘Finishing B’

  ‘I was assembly, bench 119.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Wait a bit, ain’t she the white one? White hair, dead white skin and a blotch.’ Henret put her hand to her temple.

  ‘Yes. She sort of shines.’

  ‘She got took ill. It’s like she ain’t got no colour of her own to fight this colour with.’ Henret pointed at her own face. ‘I heard she fainted over her bench. Gurney carried her out. She was back next day but they gave her different food and drink to the rest of us.’

  ‘Is she better now?’ Oy was very still as he waited for an answer.

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Henret.

  ‘I’d rather have the truth,’ said Oy.

  ‘Truth is she looks as bad as she could and still be living,’ said Henret.

  Oy ran to the laundry and filled his pockets with copper salts. Wherever he found an empty room he threw a handful on the fire. In his mind he followed the blue smoke out of the chimney pots and up into the air. The wind took it and rubbed it out too quickly. So he kept on, emptying the last of the salts onto a blazing fire in the Hunt Parlour. The fire flared and sizzled blue. He went to the window, stared across to the woodlands and willed Bram to look up wherever he was.

  ‘Privies!’ The shout beat so loud in his ear it left a buzz. ‘That’s where you should be, not lounging upside admiring the views.’

  Oy looked at the long nose jutting towards him, the deep set currant eyes on either side. The face puzzled him with its anger and hatred.

  ‘So let me see you get back to it,’ said Inch. She grabbed his collar and shoved him into the hatch. ‘I’ll be right behind you.’ Inch took the stairs and joined Oy in the Lacquer Suite.

  ‘Now get to it,’ she said. She sat on the edge of the bath and lit a pipe. The green smoke crept around Oy and clung to his hair. He swirled the water in the privy with his brush. It made the dragons chasing round the pan chase faster.

  ‘If I had my way I’d flush you down there, sewer rat. Quickest way to the sewers. Flush you down.’ Inch cackled at her own wit and looked as though she might try it.

  The bath was like a big old pram. She made herself more comfortable by climbing into it and putting towels behind her back. Inside the bat-webbed hood, she puffed and ordered. As she slid further down the bath Oy could see less of her, and then just the smoke. ‘Clean the chain,’ puff, ‘wipe the pipes,’ puff, ‘scale the rail,’ cough, ‘buff the basin, swill the suds,’ puff, ‘and get a move on, there’s fifteen more to do.’

  Surely she didn’t mean to stay with him all morning? But she did. Oy scrubbed his way round privies decorated with cherries, parrots, ivy and lilies. Still Inch stuck with him. If Bram had seen the smoke he would be well on the way to Duldred. Oy was about to dive into the hatch and run for it when a bell on the landing spared him.

  ‘I’m wanted,’ said Inch. ‘You stick to your work, or I’ll be back and…’ She made a motion of pulling
a chain.

  Oy didn’t wait. As soon as she had gone he found Raymun and spun him a tale about sewage backing up to the kitchen yard. Raymun gave him the main drain key.

  Oy stepped tentatively into the main drain. He was getting used to the layout but still carried chalk to mark his way. His light bobbed and he fell into a rhythm, six paces then a chalk mark. All was well until the branching started. Then, as usual, he got lost. The overflow was not where it was supposed to be. Back he went. He tried another way and another. He cursed himself for his own foolishness. The only thing to do was go back to the beginning and walk across the park to the overflow. If he was seen it was just bad luck. He began retracing his path watching for the white dashes on the wet bricks.

  ‘Good day.’

  The voice startled and delighted him. His foot slipped on the narrow ledge. Strong hands caught his arm and pulled him back.

  ‘You’re lighter’n duck down. I can barely tell I’ve got hold of anything.’

  ‘Bram, where were you?’

  ‘Up there, hanging like a bat,’ he said, grinning upwards.

  ‘Oh, it’s the hole.’

  ‘You know about it?’

  ‘I used it to get above the water. I was near drowned last time I saw you.’

  ‘You weren’t still down here when the rain started? How you’ve survived to be the age you are, I don’t know. You ain’t a typical Porian.’

  ‘People say I’m not a Porian.’

  ‘What are you then?’

  Oy spread his hands and shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Linnet says I am a person and I must have had a mother.’

  ‘Well that’s clear enough,’ Bram laughed. ‘Change of plan. We’ll get out in the scrub. I got news.’ Bram led them through enough lefts and rights to leave Oy swirl-headed. They stopped at the foot of a ladder and Oy, in his flapping thigh boots, followed Bram stiffly up the iron rungs. Bram pushed against the cover and peered out cautiously. ‘It’s safe.’ He reached down for Oy’s hand, and laughed as he lifted him without strain. ‘Come and sit where the bushes are thicker before the wind blows you away.’ They were in a scrubby copse, well away from the hall. They felt safe with their backs to a low rock hidden by bushes on three sides. ‘I’m guessing you signalled because you’re hoping to get into the factory.’