The Silent Orphan Read online

  “What did they want?” he asked.

  Martha sighed. “Money, of course,” she looked into her cup. “They’ve gotten themselves into trouble because they can’t pay their gambling debts. Said they got people after them.”

  Gid let out his breath, the sick feeling inside him intensifying. “What did you do?”

  Martha took a sip of her tea. “I had nothing to give them,” she said after a moment. “They wanted to know when I next got paid.” She pushed back her sleeve to reveal angry bruises on her forearm. “They got quite persistent.”

  Gid’s anger swelled. How dare those brutes lay a hand on their own sister? He placed his hand over Martha’s to steady her. “What did you tell them?” he asked gently.

  Martha sighed. “The truth. That I get paid tomorrow. They said they’d be back then.” She rubbed her eyes. “If I give that money to Able and Arthur, I’ll not be able to pay my rent. My landlord will have me out on the street. But if I don’t give it to them…” a tremor ran through her voice. “Able said if they don’t make this payment, they’ll likely be killed for it.” She sniffed, her tears beginning to well, “They’re my brothers, Gid, no matter what else they’ve done. I can’t just let them be killed.”

  “Of course not.” He squeezed her fingers. “How much money?” he asked.

  Martha swiped hurriedly at her tears. She drew in her breath. “They owe ten pounds. They said they managed to get their hands on eight. I didn’t ask how. Didn’t want to know. I’m sure it weren’t legal. They asked me for the other two.”

  Gid nodded, fixing her with reassuring eyes. “Let me come and speak to them. Just tell me where.”

  * * *

  The following night, Gid followed Martha’s directions to her tenement in Whitechapel. It was the first time he had been to her lodgings, and the sight of the place made something tighten in his chest. The streets were crammed with beggars and caked in filth. Men clutching bottles of liquor called out to Gid as he passed. Whole families sat on street corners, their skin pocked and their clothing ragged.

  Gid put his head down and walked. He was glad when he reached Martha’s street. He stood outside her building and drew in his breath. The place was crammed between two other tenements, the bricks loose and the windows broken. From the street he could see into one of the rooms. He counted eight people inside. He pushed open the door and walked upstairs to Martha’s room with a hand over his mouth to keep out the violent stench of the street.

  He knocked loudly on Martha’s door. “Gid.” Despite his promise to be there, she looked slightly surprised to see him. Slightly surprise, perhaps, that he had made it through the slums in one piece. He saw shame flicker across her eyes. He understood, of course. Martha Flatley was a proud young woman. He knew she would have hated Gid seeing the miserable lodgings she had found herself in. But Gid knew Martha. And he knew this would not be forever. One day soon, she would have a life far better than this.

  It was a single room with a thin sleeping pallet in one corner, a ragged blanket tossed across it. A table sat in the other corner of the room beneath a jug of water and loaf of bread. There was no fireplace in the room and the single window had a crack running through the middle. Gid’s heart lurched at the thought of Martha living in such a place. But he said nothing.

  This would not be forever.

  “Able and Arthur,” he said, “They’ve not shown themselves yet?”

  Martha shook her head. She began to pace across the apartment, the floorboards creaking beneath her feet. “I don’t want them to hurt you,” she said, gnawing anxiously on a thumbnail. “Perhaps you ought not be here.”

  Gid pressed a hand to her arm. “It’s all right,” he said. “I can hold my own against them.” He smiled. “I’m not that scrawny little boy of nine anymore.”

  Martha gave a short laugh. “No. You certainly are not.” Her laughter disappeared as suddenly as it had arrived. “But my brothers… they’ve become… ruthless men. I know they’ve been thieving. And plenty worse, I’m sure. I afraid of what they might do to you.”

  Before Gid could answer, footsteps thundered up the staircase. There was a loud thumping on the door. “Martha!” boomed one of the twins. “Open the door!”

  Gid strode across the apartment and pulled open the door. Able and Arthur stood side by side on the doorstep, dressed in filthy coats and trousers torn at the knees. In the two years since Gid had seen them, their shoulders and waists had both grown wider. Their eyes had grown harder. They were both unshaven, their dark hair tangled past their collar. One had a cut along one cheek. As teenagers, Gid had found Able and Arthur frightening. As men, they were positively terrifying. Gid straightened his shoulders and glared at them. He had let Martha stand up to her brothers for him far too many times. It was time he damn well held his own against them. Time he began to behave like a man, instead of a timid little workhouse boy.

  The twins’ eyes flickered at the sight of him. They frowned, as though trying to place him. After a moment, one burst into a roar of laughter. “It’s the mute!” he cried. “What in hell are you doing here, mute?”

  Gid stood unwavering in the doorway.

  “The mute?” said the other, surprise in his voice. “Just look at you, mute. You’ve become a man at last.” He pushed past Gid into the house. “What’s the mute doing here, Martha?”

  She wrapped her arms around herself and glared at her brother. “I asked him to come,” she said, her voice clipped.

  Her brother snorted. “Always knew you had a soft spot for him. Didn’t we tell you that you could do far better?” He jabbed a finger into Gid’s arm.

  Martha slapped him away, “Stop it, Arthur. This second.”

  Arthur looked back at his sister as though suddenly bored with Gid. “The money. Where is it? I need it.”

  Martha looked down, “You can’t have it. I’m sorry. I need it too. I’ll be out on the street without it.”

  “We’ll be dead without it,” Able hissed. “Don’t you care about that at all?” He lurched towards his sister. Stood so his eyes were close to hers.

  Gid’s hand shot out impulsively and grabbed Able’s thick arm. “Stay away from her.”

  He whirled around, “Get your hand off me, mute.”

  Arthur began to laugh, “You’re in trouble, Martha, if you’re relying on this little weakling to protect you.”

  And for a moment, Gid was a boy again, cowering in the Flatleys’ cold room while Able and Arthur leered down at him. He shook the thought away. No. He was a boy no longer.

  He met Able’s eyes. “Two pounds,” he said. “That’s the sum, isn’t it?”

  Able nodded faintly.

  Gid dug into his pocket and produced two notes. “Take it,” he said darkly. “And go. Leave Martha alone. Don’t come back.”

  Martha looked down at the notes. “Gid,” she said. “You don’t have to—”

  “It’s all right,” he assured her. He looked back at the twins. “Go,” he said again. “Now. Get out of here.”

  Able and Arthur stared at Gid as though unsure whether to be angry or grateful.

  “Go!” Martha demanded, “You heard him! You’ve got debts to pay! Or have you forgotten that?”

  Arthur whacked his brother on the arm. “Let’s leave,” he hissed.

  And they slammed the door behind them, their heavy footsteps disappearing into the night.

  * * *

  Abigail was waiting in the entrance hall when Gid let himself back into Haverstock House. She was dressed in a silky pink robe, her golden hair hanging loose over her shoulders. The sight of her dressed in such a way brought a knot to Gid’s throat.

  “Where have you been?” she demanded, her eyes flashing. “I rang for you several times tonight.”

  He swallowed, “I’m sorry. I thought you were asleep. I didn’t think you’d be needing me.”

  “I always need you, mute. I thought you knew that.” Her eyes narrowed. “Where have you been?”

&n
bsp; “I had a problem I needed to take care of,” he said, hoping she would ask no more.

  “A problem?” she repeated. “Did this problem involve that girl? Your little friend from the funeral parlour?”

  Gid swallowed, “Yes. It did. She was in trouble.”

  Abigail looked a little taken back by his blunt admission. “I see,” she said after a moment. She began to pace, her silky slippers sighing against the floorboards. After a moment, she turned to look at Gid. “Do you have feelings for this girl?” she asked. Her voice was thin and cracked, as though she had had trouble forming the question.

  “Feelings?” Gid repeated. “For Martha Flatley?” He gave Abigail a short smile. “No.”

  He watched relief settle over her face.

  “Are you telling the truth?” she pressed.

  Gid stepped closer to her. He could smell rose water on her skin. An intoxicating, alluring scent. “I always tell you the truth,” he said, his voice low. “You know I don’t have feelings for Martha. She is like a sister to me.”

  Abigail hummed to herself. She stepped away from him and continued pacing. She wrapped a coil of golden hair around her finger. “I ought to forbid you from seeing her.” She looked up at him, fixing him with her coloured eyes.

  Gid realised his heart was pounding.

  “Ought I to do that, mute? Ought I to forbid you from seeing that sly little seamstress?”

  His gaze didn’t waver, “If you wish, Miss Gresham.”

  She huffed loudly, seemingly irritated at his response.

  “But you know it’s not necessary,” he continued. “You know there will never be anything between Martha and I.” He looked into her eyes. Was struck again by the beauty of them. “You know my heart is with another.”

  Abigail tilted her head, considering him. A faint smile appeared on the edge of her lips. “Good,” she said shortly. “That’s just the way it ought to be.”

  Chapter 25

  When he appeared to deliver her breakfast a week later, Gid remained standing beside the table.

  She arched her eyebrows. “Is there something you wish to tell me, Mr Cobbler?” she asked, slightly annoyed. Her eggs looked delicious. Her stomach was threatening to grumble noisily and the last thing she wanted was for the mute to hear such an unladylike sound.

  “I just thought I ought to tell you,” he began, “That I’m expecting Martha Flatley today. She’s due to return your green gown from the seamstress.”

  “I see,” Abigail’s appetite began to disappear. “And why exactly are you telling me this?” She could hear the impatience in her own voice. Forced it away. Making the mute angry, she reminded herself, would accomplish nothing

  “I just thought it best to be open with you,” Gid told her. “I know you were concerned over my relationship with Martha and I thought—”

  “Concerned?” Abigail spat. “I was not concerned over your relationship with that girl.” She felt suddenly flustered. “Why on earth would I bother myself with such trivial matters?”

  Gid swallowed, clearly taken aback by her outburst. An outburst Abigail was quickly coming to regret.

  “Anyway,” he continued calmly, “I just thought, as the lady of the house, you would appreciate being kept abreast of what was going on in the household. And Martha Flatley will be visiting this afternoon to deliver your dresses.”

  Abigail sipped her tea, hoping the warmth of it might calm her a little. “And do you imagine Miss Flatley will be staying for tea?”

  Gid hesitated. “I expect so, yes,” he met her eyes. “But as I told you last week, I have no feelings for her. I—”

  “All right, Mr Cobbler,” Abigail snapped. “Leave me in peace.”

  She waited until he was out of the room and then swallowed down an unseemly mouthful of eggs.

  * * *

  That afternoon, she found herself hovering at the top of the servant’s staircase. She could hear the girl’s voice in the kitchen downstairs. She was growing damn tired of these visits. Every conversation she had had with Gid of late seemed to revolve around cursed Martha Flatley. She thought again to put an end to the visits, have the dress maker send another worker in Martha’s place. One that did not hold Gid’s attention so.

  No, such a thing was unnecessary, she reminded herself. Gid had assured her that his heart was with her and not that lowly seamstress. He had assured her that everything was as it ought to be. She knew she could trust the mute. And yet Abigail couldn’t deny she felt uncomfortable having her in the house. She did not like the thought of her and the mute disappearing behind closed doors.

  She ought to be the only woman who disappeared with the mute behind closed doors.

  Abigail lowered herself onto the top step leading down to the tradesmen’s entrance.

  What was she doing? The girl was nothing. Not worth the time of day. Certainly not worth creeping about her own house like a thief.

  Gid and the girl emerged from the kitchen, making Abigail start. She pressed her back against the wall of the staircase. If she peered around the corner, she could just see them standing by the tradesmen’s entrance. They were standing close— too close for Abigail’s liking. She felt the back of her neck prickle. She pressed herself hurriedly back against the wall before they caught sight of her.

  “Perhaps I might see you outside of this place sometime?” the girl asked tentatively. “Perhaps I might thank you properly for helping me with Able and Arthur last week.”

  Abigail almost laughed. Look at her with her ragged, patched skirts and fraying apron. Look at the way her hair hung lifeless on her shoulders. No doubt she smelled of the slums. What nerve she had asking a man for his company. Even a man as lowly as Gid Cobbler.

  He hesitated. Abigail smiled to herself. She could imagine the reluctance in his eyes. “I’m not sure,” he said slowly. “I…”

  The girl sucked in her breath sharply. “You’re in love with her, aren’t you? Miss Gresham. Your mistress.”

  Abigail couldn’t help herself. She poked her head around the corner, desperate to witness the exchange.

  Gid lowered his eyes. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

  Abigail held her breath. She wanted to hear him say it. She knew well of Gid’s devotion to her, but the thought of hearing the words sent a strange frisson of excitement through her.

  Say it, she willed him. Tell her you love me. Let me hear you say it.

  Let her hear you say it.

  But before he could speak, the girl said: “You know she’s just leading you on, don’t you?”

  Abigail smiled wryly. How often he must have heard this.

  She’s just leading you on.

  She will play you like a fool.

  And yet Gid had remained as loyal, as devoted, as adoring as he had been back when he had been that nine-year-old mute who could speak.

  Gid looked at Martha and nodded, “I know that’s what you believe. I know that’s always what you’ve believed.”

  His admission silenced her for a moment.

  She swallowed heavily. “She’s going to break your heart,” she told him, her voice cold. “One day soon.”

  Gid shook his head. “You’re wrong.” There was such fervour in his voice Abigail couldn’t help but feel a swell of affection for him. Her devoted little mute. The girl was wrong. She would never break his heart. She would keep him close, ply him with brandy and breathy compliments. She knew such things made him happy. Such things kept him hoping, kept him dreaming for more. Such things kept him believing in her.

  “You’re wrong,” Gid told Martha again. “One day soon Abigail is going to accept my love. I know it. I can feel it in my heart.” There was a faint, endearing tremor in his voice.

  Abigail felt a smile on her lips. Bless him. He could feel it in his heart. She almost laughed.

  The girl glared at him. “You’re a damn fool, Gid Cobbler,” she hissed. “You’re as much of a fool now as you were when you were a boy.” She turned on
her heel and strode from the house, slamming the door behind her.

  Abigail slipped silently from the staircase before Gid could see her, unable to wipe away the smirk that had appeared on her lips.

  Chapter 26

  Abigail climbed from her carriage, the back of her neck prickling with anger. How she despised these board meetings. How she hated men looking through her as though she was invisible. How she hated being nothing.

  She had been determined that this day’s meeting would be different. She had been buoyed by overhearing Gid’s declaration of love the previous day, had been buoyed by the sight of Martha Flatley disappearing down the path with her shoulders sunken and her head drooped. When Abigail had woken in the morning, she had been full of fresh enthusiasm. She would walk into that board meeting with her chin held high.

  She had stood in front of the mirror in her dressing room and looked herself up and down. She was wearing a dark blue woolen dress that buttoned neatly down her chest, her hair pinned in a sharp knot at her neck. Neat and presentable. No fluff or finery.

  Yes, she thought, she looked as though she ought to be taken seriously. Today, those men of the board would not be speaking over her. If they tried, she would damn well pull rank. This had been her father’s company, after all. And now it was hers. Never mind that she had no thought of what they were even importing. It didn’t matter. The company was hers and any disrespect would see those men out on the street without a job.

  But of course, such a thing had been fantasy. The moment she had walked into that meeting, the old anxiety had returned, and she had found her voice trapped in her throat. She had sat at the head of the table and not made a sound, all the while thinking of how disappointed her mother would be in her.

  Her mother had managed to oversee the board while raising a child and mourning her husband. And Abigail could not do so much as command the men’s attentions enough for them to wish her a good morning.