Oy Yew (The Waifs of Duldred Trilogy Book 1) Read online

  The women looked startled as Sly filled the door frame.

  Mrs Midden brushed flour from her hands on to the stiff cloth of her apron. ‘Now do it like I showed you, bring the sides to the middle and roll it out again. How’m I ever going to take my rest years if you won’t learn?’

  Molly cook turned her pastry with one hand while she peered around Sly’s groin at the waifs.

  ‘Bring them forward Sly. Let’s see what they’ve sent us this time.’ Mrs Midden rubbed her bristly chin. ‘Well if they aren’t the least of the least, the littlest, sickliest bunch of never-growns I ever saw. What’ll we make of these, Molly cook? Drains ’n’ stains is all the boy is fit for. Sewers, gutters, privy skivvy, some laundry, plus you’re what we call the floater,’ she told Oy. ‘That means you go anywhere we send you.’

  Years of sniffing bread in place of eating it had given Oy a very sensitive nose. Spending his days in sewers and privies was not a happy thought.

  ‘And the lasses?’ said Sly.

  Mrs Midden glanced down the ruled columns of the waif ledger. Two names were crossed through.

  ‘Peelings and ceilings. Can you climb and balance?’ she asked the taller girl.

  Gritty stepped forward. ‘Yes’m.’

  ‘Here,’ Mrs Midden handed the girl a heavy bucket, ‘now lift your skirt and let me see you stand on one leg.’ Gritty stood, natural as a heron. ‘Now stretch up as high as you can with the other arm as though you’re flicking away cobwebs.’ The girl wafted and wobbled in an odd kind of dance, but she didn’t put her foot down. ‘Now do you think you can do that twenty thighs up a ladder without getting dizzy?’

  ‘Yes’m.’

  ‘Ceilings for you then.’

  ‘Will you look at that one,’ said Molly cook.

  With closed eyes, Oy leaned his small nose into the vapours which crept out around the heavy oven doors.

  ‘He’s well away,’ Molly laughed.

  ‘Oy!’ Sly poked Oy in annoyance. ‘Open your eyes and mind your manners, dribbling like a dog over savouries.’

  ‘Can’t we spare them a mouthful?’ Molly appealed to Mrs Midden. ‘What’s one pie more or less in a kitchen this size?’

  The sisters seemed to grow an inch in expectation.

  ‘I don’t run my kitchen with ‘spare’,’ said Mrs Midden, ‘I run my kitchen with what I call margins - margins for hospitality.’ She smiled at Sly. ‘And hospitality is not for waifs. There’s too many of ‘em: they’d come to expect. And…’ with her hand palm down she raised it from her knees to her chest. She pursed her lips and looked pointedly at Molly, who caught her meaning and, with a little shake of her head, began to knead the pastry roughly. ‘Now, will we set a place for you, Sly?’ the old cook went on.

  ‘Honoured to join you,’ he replied.

  ‘Right, you lot,’ Mrs Midden turned back to the waifs, ‘I have to ask – any itching or lice? Tell me now and we’ll get you dipped. I don’t want to find out later you were lying. We keep a clean house here. No? Alright then, get out of that factory drab.’ They changed out of clothes the colour of sludge into clothes of indeterminate grey, then Mrs Midden handed out dry bread from a bin next to the swill tub. ‘There’s beakers here for the pump. Sit you outside till you’re fetched. Off you go – quick now, I feel a rhyme coming on.’ A pencil and notebook hung from a string at her waist. She took them up and began scribbling.

  If the waifs had only known how little sitting there was to be done, they would have made more of it. The work began immediately. A very little man came to fetch them. His head was shiny and bald on top. He had the collapsed mouth of the toothless but the quickness and energy of a child.

  ‘I’m Raymun,’ he told them. ‘I’ve always been here. I even ’members Master’s grandfather. Same set up as the factory: you gets measured four times a year, or every yonk, as we say. When you goes over that line, he has to let you go. You gets your passage paid to the colonies and five mariats in your hand. You’ll know from the factory that Master’s dead against growing for that reason. He wants to keep you here and working. He favours me because I had the sense to stop growing three hairs short of the line. I polishes my head to make sure I never goes over it.

  ‘Right, the peelhouse for you, next to the kitchen there. Molly cook will set you up.’ Gertie was despatched. ‘Stains ’n’ drains. Start in the laundry. Blinda’s in there doing the linen.’ He opened a door for Oy into a steam-damp room strung all about with white billows. Up in the high ceiling, great fans rattled the sheets and cloths and covers like flags in a gale.

  ‘Thank goodness,’ said Blinda, taking Oy’s arm, ‘I’m up to my neck, you start pressing.’ She showed him a hot plate full of irons. They looked like ugly metal shoes. ‘That’s for flounces,’ said Blinda, and pointing to each in turn, ‘piping, beading, pleats, lace, mushroom iron’s for hats, egg gets you into awkward corners.

  ‘Don’t scorch anything.’ Oy looked bewildered. Blinda wrapped a cloth round the handle of an iron and thrust it into Oy’s hand. ‘Off you go.’

  Raymun closed the door on them. ‘Gritty, you’re in the big house. Be careful now, we mustn’t be seen by house guests. Always check your schedule. Do you know numbers?’

  ‘Some.’

  ‘Lettering?’

  ‘Not much.’

  ‘Well there’s pictures to help. Look, that circle and face is a mirror: Mirror Room that means. That long flower stands for Tulip Room. Stick to your schedule, exact rooms, exact times. We’re supposed to be invisible. The upmaids and upmen are show servants. They don’t do much real work. They just fetch and carry for guests. Everybody pretends we don’t exist, except the Master. He likes to watch us. Takes a lot of pleasure in a job well done. He has very high standards you’ll find, very high. Me, I takes pride in my work and I don’t tire, but a lot of ’em moans about it. You’ll find there’s lots of back ways and little passages so we can get about without being seen. Waif runs they’re called. Upservants calls ’em rat runs, but they ain’t polite, in fact they’ll kick you if they get a chance. They’ve all done a spell inside – prison that is. We’re the only ones lower than they are and don’t they let us know it. Inch is the worst – stay out of her way if you can. Here, in we go. You’ll need a lamp to begin with, but you’ll be able to run round blind soon enough.’

  He opened a small door which seemed to let into a cupboard. Then he rapidly folded back double and triple panels in some special order which Gritty couldn’t follow. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said, ‘takes a while to learn all the ways.’ He led her through a warren of passages. Here and there Gritty noticed low hatches in the walls. Raymun stopped by one of these. ‘Here we are. There’s a little eyehole here for you to check that the room’s empty before you enter it. All clear so in we go.’

  They crawled out of the hatch onto thick cream carpet. There was a smell of antique wood and fresh flowers. Gritty was stunned by the light and space and luxury.

  ‘Tulip room,’ said Raymun. ‘There’s your ladder and your cloths.’ He pointed to the moulded ceiling. ‘Every petal to be sponged inside to outside. Don’t think about missing any. He checks.’

  The waifs lived in what they called the bottomest basement. It was in the kitchen annexe, below the boot room, on a level with the cellars. They were allowed a fire because they got sick without it, and nothing could come in the way of work. The fire was their great comfort. A collection of broken furniture surrounded the hearth. A red brocade armchair was the finest piece. Lucinda, the longest serving girl, had the privilege of sitting in it. She had patched the seat several times and embroidered a flowery L on its back. There was a wobbly three-legged milking stool and a bench made from planks and boxes. Their bedding was all that was moth-eaten, threadbare or torn beyond repair from the big house. Bits of tapestry and tassles showed among the rags.

  There were no windows in the bottomest basement so it was always dark except for the fire’s glow, but the waifs were never there in daylight anyw
ay. Work overlapped day at both ends.

  In the evening whoever returned first built the fire; the rest would haul themselves in one by one and buckle in front of it. The other eight were already there when Raymun brought the new ones in.

  ‘I’d better show you the house plan first.’ He held his lamp to some diagrams on the wall. ‘There’s four floors. Ground is for entertaining: receptions, dining, ballrooms and the like; first floor is studies, bones and whatnot; second is beds and baths; third is your attics. Workrooms is all here in the kitchen wing. These dotted lines are the waif runs. Like I said, that’s how we get around without being seen, so you must learn those ways quick as you can. I’ll give you a tour tomorrow. It’s very tight in there. If we need to pass each other we’ve got a rule: littlest goes over top of biggest. It’s easier than squeezing side by side. Stairs in the runs twist steep, steps are no more than a hand wide so go careful. Especially in the dark and carrying night soil – that’s chamber pots – one of your jobs, Oy.

  ‘Room symbols match the ones on your schedules. Right, come and meet the others.’ Gertie didn’t hear him. She was staring at the plans. ‘Gertie,’ he said, ‘over here.’

  ‘She’s got a thing about words,’ said Gritty, pulling her sister away.

  ‘Gertie and Gritty Garnet and Oy Yew,’ Raymun introduced them. ‘Ceilings and peelings, drains ’n’ stains.’

  ‘Did he say Oy Yew?’ a tall, rat-faced boy sniggered.

  Oy stood small and alone on the hearth. Another boy stepped forward. He did not laugh. ‘Alas Ringworm,’ he said offering Oy his hand. His face was dark as though the shadows were doubled around it. His hair hung in his eyes and there were raised red circles on his face and hands. He knew what it was to have a joke for a name. Oy caught Alas’s eye shyly and held it. Both became unconscious of their hands pumping up and down until another voice broke in.

  ‘Pleased to meet you all,’ said the eldest girl, the mother of the group. She had a pleasant open face which would have been pretty were it not so thin. ‘I’m Lucinda, and this is Lizbuth, Elyut, Kurt, Jakes and Billam – Oy, you know Blinda.

  ‘You three make it twelve all told; not many to service a house of this size, but we gets along somehow. Find a space,’ she told them. The children concertinaed down. ‘There’s water there. We used to get it with a splash of milk, but Master’s stopped that lately.’

  ‘It’s the same at the factory,’ said Gertie, ‘and the bread’s got stony bits in it.’

  ‘Cracked my tooth,’ said Gritty, lifting her lip to show them.

  Lucinda shook her head. ‘Work’s heavier here, breaks your body quicker but there’s more chances to get extra food. Catch your breath a minute, then put your pyxids in that box. Master will send for them. You’ll get them back when you leave.’

  Gritty and Gertie lifted the thin strips of hide over their heads. Short lengths of bamboo sealed with wax plugs held their family details and district. The Porians maintained the fantasy that the children would make their fortunes and find their way back home. Sometimes only the pyxid came back on the tide.

  ‘Lost yours?’ Lucinda asked Oy.

  ‘I never had one.’

  Raymun, who had chopped half a forest of firewood and weeded two acres of garden that day, was lively. ‘Two buckets of logs here for you. I’ll bring some more when I open up. Everybody in?’ he asked Lucinda.

  ‘Yes,’ she said.

  He counted heads anyway, starting with himself, but lost his place over and over till Lucinda stood and counted with him, then he made some marks in a book which, to him, meant 12, and went off to his lodge by the woodshed.

  ‘Master’s favourite,’ said Lucinda, ‘lives above ground, comes and goes as he pleases; counts in and locks up after last bells when he remembers. He’s stronger in the body than the head. He’s the only one that Master calls by name; the rest of us gets called by our jobs. As far as Master is concerned my name is Stairs. Careful what you say in front of Raymun. We thinks we can trust him but we ain’t entirely sure. Now you’re here we’ll eat. It’s bread and scrape most of the time. We get just enough food to do our work on but he don’t give us no growin’ food like milk and eggs; he’d rather throw it away.’

  ‘Molly burns and spoils a lot of food. She lets us have it when she can,’ added Blinda.

  ‘I got these – we can share if you like,’ said Gertie and she emptied a pile of peelings onto the hearth.

  Lucinda took charge, sharing out earthy bits of swede, and tart, brown apple peelings. ‘This is good of you, but it’s risky. Never put things in your pockets, it’s too obvious. This is what you need,’ and she showed them the pouches sewn into her underskirts. ‘We got to teach you our survivin’ ways. I bet you ate so many peelings you got a belly ache didn’t you?’

  Gertie nodded and rubbed her stomach.

  ‘Well you were lucky Midden didn’t catch you. Don’t be tempted to eat till you’re well away from the house. There are eyes everywhere. Upservants get rewards for telling on us. You can put a few peelings in your mouth as you walk alongside the orchard on your way to the sties, but be careful; put your hand to your mouth as though you’re coughing. We think even the iron-beaks are spies.’ She nibbled on her apple peeling. ‘S’good though – haven’t eaten fruit in a long time.’

  Oy sat at the edge of the circle. In his sour, bruised bit of peeling was deep golden apple pie with brown sugar and slicks of clotted cream; on his face was a curious stillness.

  ‘Alas is the expert on survivin’, taught me everything I know,’ Lucinda went on. ‘Come and tell Gritty about ceilings.’

  Alas had been watching Oy thoughtfully. ‘You tell,’ he said getting up to fetch water.

  Lucinda tracked him with puzzled eyes. She turned back to Gritty. ‘Reta, the girl before you, had an accident. Fell twenty thighs onto the parquet. If you want to be safe you need to climb down every time you move the ladder tower, and wedge it. If you use the crutches to move about you got to be very, very careful.’

  ‘Did she die?’ asked Gritty.

  ‘They took her away all broken, and we’ll hear no more about it. Maybe she’ll get better.’ Lucinda swept the matter aside too readily.

  ‘I can see how it might happen,’ said Gritty. ‘I had my face up against them plaster flowers, each petal big as a dinner plate, all of ‘em to be sponged,’ she pulled her schedule out of her pocket. ‘Sixty-two round the chandelier chain and three-one-eight…’

  ‘Three hundred and eighteen,’ said Lucinda.

  ‘That’s right, above that ledge. Then four-o-o-o…’

  ‘Four thousand,’ said Lucinda.

  ‘Four thousand,’ said Gritty. ‘I can tell you now, thousands and me don’t get on. Four thousand icicle things to dust.’ She rubbed her tired shoulders and stiff neck. ‘I soon left off using the wedges. That tower could have shot out from under me, easy.’

  ‘That was stupid,’ said Gertie. ‘You climb down and wedge it next time.’

  ‘Why doesn’t the Master make it safer?’ Gritty asked. ‘It would be easy to make some brakes on a lever, wouldn’t it?’

  Alas looked at her for the first time with old, knowing eyes.

  ‘Where’s the other one?’ Lucinda turned the conversation, ‘I thought there were three of you.’

  ‘Oy? He’s there,’ said Gritty, squinting into the dark, ‘I think.’

  Oy moved uncomfortably as all eyes strained to pick him out.

  ‘Come forward a bit,’ Lucinda addressed the little shadow. ‘It’s damp back there. Come and feel the fire.’

  Gritty and Gertie made space for him on the plank. Oy felt their warmth on either side of him while the fire warmed his face.

  ‘That’s better ain’t it?’ Lucinda went on. ‘You got drains ’n’ stains didn’t you? One of the worst jobs. No perks, no chances at food, and dirty. Watch out for rats, there’s poison in their bites. Strip off and stand under the pump when you’re done, drop your clothes in the boiler. Only
one good thing about drains: Master won’t check your work himself; he leaves it to Raymun. There’s not enough drain work for every day. You get to help in the kitchen and laundry and that ain’t so bad.’ She rubbed his shoulder. ‘Don’t worry. We stick together here, you’ll see.’

  ‘The forfeit cards,’ said Alas.

  ‘I was leaving that till they’d settled in.’ She turned back to the three new waifs. ‘You might as well know. If you do anything wrong…’

  ‘Or even if you don’t,’ said Alas.

  ‘Truth is we get punished a lot,’ said Lucinda, ‘and Alas is right, any excuse will do. Master calls it forfeits: “Time to pay your forfeits,” he says. There’s cards on the wall there and copies in the kitchen. It shows you who’s waiting on a punishment.’

  ‘Sometimes he leaves it till you’ve got two or three forfeits,’ said Alas, ‘so’s he can give you one really nasty punishment.’

  ‘That’s why we say, “lay low and grow.” That’s all you got to think about, laying low and growing. You should sleep now, you’ll need every minute of your rest. Boots next to your crate,’ she pointed to a row of boxes under the bells. ‘There’s a change of clothes in there, two aprons, wash rag, one comb between three.’ She handed out covers for sleeping. ‘Lie down where you can. We tends to lie close. It’s warmer that way.’

  Eight bodies rolled off into the shadows. Eight chests heaved and sighed. Eight sets of bones lay abandoned by eight escaping minds. Soon there was no sound but the settling of logs as the fire burned down, and steady breathing.

  Oy had little need for sleep since his mind was so dreamy. Even when awake it would try to steal away from his body. Another one of his faults, he thought. He listened to the breathing, picking out the faint whistle coming from Elyut’s pigeon chest and that dry snuffle; that would be Lizbuth because her lips didn’t quite meet over her buck teeth. He thought about each waif in turn. He thought them brave. He wished their lives were better.

  Lucinda sat up late; she had one more job to do. Alas delayed his sleep because of the dream. By the firelight he picked at the skin on his knees.