The Silent Orphan Read online

  Gid said nothing. After a moment, he gave a faint nod. “Yes,” he said. “I knew you’d be here.”

  Abigail’s eyes shifted from the flower to alight on him. “You look sad,” she said. “I told you not to be sad. That little thief is not worth it.”

  Gid made a noise from the back of his throat. Suddenly, he lurched forward, gripping her shoulders and forcing her to walk backwards, away from the grave. He squeezed her shoulders tightly, looking into her eyes with a fierce intensity. “Abigail,” he said, slightly breathless, “It must be now.”

  Hearing her name on his lips made something move in her chest. It was quickly followed by a flush of anger. How dare he address her in such a manner? Who did this mute think he was?

  He tugged her closer, pressing a hand to her cheek. His breath was hot against her nose. “Do you understand me? I must be with you now. I must. I cannot wait any longer.”

  Abigail felt suddenly hot and unsteady. She had not expected this outburst from her meek and submissive butler. She had never seen such fire in his eyes.

  How would it be, she wondered fleetingly, if she were to press her lips to his and say: “Yes, Gid, we can be together.” Would it still the restlessness inside her? Would it bring a warmth to her chest? A swell to her heart? Or would she simply feel the power she had had over him begin to slide away? Would she begin to feel small and powerless and like a thing that was to be taken advantage of? No, she could never risk it. Especially not here, in sight of her mother’s grave. Allowing herself to be with the mute would break every promise she had made to her dying mother.

  She forced out a laugh, pushing him away from her. “Be with me?” she snorted. “Do you truly think you have a chance to be with someone like me?”

  She watched Gid’s eyes harden.

  “You’re nothing but an undertaker’s mute turned butler. Do you truly think you ever had a chance with me?”

  Gid’s jaw tensed. He clasped his hands into fists before digging them into his pocket. “I see,” he said shortly. There was a hardness in his voice she had never heard before.

  She felt a knot in her stomach. What was this? What was this sudden strength, this sudden sharpness coming from her pliable little butler? She did not like his new determination one bit. Anger bubbled inside her. “I could never be with a man like you,” she hissed. “Never. What are you thinking?” She turned her back, unable to look at him. “Leave me alone.”

  Gid said nothing. Abigail kept her eyes fixed on the gravestones in front of her until she heard his footsteps vanish into the grey gloom of the cemetery.

  Chapter 29

  The next morning, Gid woke early. His heart was racing.

  This was it. Today would be the last day he would ever wake in this meagre attic room at the top of Haverstock House. By tonight, the place would be a memory. And so would Abigail Gresham.

  He dressed, and then piled his belongings into his suitcase. From beneath the bed he pulled out the old woollen cap he had brought with him when he arrived at Haverstock House. He ran a thumb over the coarse wool.

  Gid remembered wearing this cap on many freezing nights in the Flatleys’ hay loft. Remembered wearing it listening to the gentle breath of Midnight and Shadow in the stables below him. He set the cap at the top of the suitcase and closed the lid.

  He left the case on the bed and hurried downstairs to the kitchen to fetch Abigail’s breakfast. He carried the tray into the dining room and found her seated at the head of the table. She wore a pale pink day dress and shawl, her hair pinned loosely at her neck.

  He paused a moment in the doorway, taking in the sight of her for the last time. How many mornings had he brought her breakfast into her like this, and had his breath taken away by her otherworldly beauty?

  He drew in his breath. Today was the last day. This had gone on long enough. Abigail Gresham was beautiful. Enchanting. But she was also a demon. It had taken him far too long to see that. But he knew it now. Knew it with certainty.

  He kept his face even as he set the tray on the table in front of her. “Good morning, Miss Gresham.” His voice held no emotion.

  Abigail smiled at him as though the incident in the graveyard had never happened. “Good morning, mute.”

  Did she have any thought of the anguish she had caused, Gid wondered? Had she ever stopped to think of how her words could cut into a man like a knife? She had been so intent on having power over men, and she had power over them indeed. But she would have power over him no longer.

  “Is there anything else you need?” he asked stiffly.

  She didn’t look at him as she began to slice into her eggs. “That will be all, mute. Thank you.”

  Gid disappeared back up to the attic. He took the suitcase from the bed and cast a final glance around the room. He took the key to the housekeeping fund from his pocket and placed it on the bed.

  Yes, time now for this place to be a memory. He had spent far too many nights in that bed dreaming of Abigail Gresham. Had spent far too many nights dreaming of things that would never be.

  He took the suitcase and climbed down from the attic. He marched into the dining room without bothering to knock.

  Abigail glanced at the suitcase and paused, her tea cup half way to her lips. “What is this?” she asked in surprise.

  Gid met her eyes. “I’m leaving you,” he said, his voice hard. “I’m leaving your service. Immediately.”

  She let out an airy laugh. “Don’t be foolish, Mr Cobbler. You can drop the act. You and I both know you’ll never leave,” she smiled thinly. “You’re my puppy dog. My loyal protector.” She sipped her tea casually. “You love me.”

  Gid’s gaze was unwavering. “Yes,” he admitted. “I loved you. I loved you from the moment I saw you back when we were children. I dreamt of you many a night.”

  Abigail’s lips quirked, “You dreamt of me. How sweet.”

  “I longed for the day we could be together,” he continued. “I kept hoping that one day you would see in your heart how much you truly cared for me.”

  She lowered her eyes. “Put the suitcase down, Mr Cobbler,” she said, sounding more than a little bored. “You’ve made your point.” She lifted her cup to her lips again. “Go back to the kitchen and fetch me some more tea.”

  “But my love for you died a long time ago,” he glided past her comments. His voice hardened. He watched a look of uncertainty pass over Abigail’s face and felt buoyed by it. “You are nothing but a manipulative witch,” he said bitterly. “The very worst of women.” He stepped close, looking into her eyes. One green, one blue. Magical eyes. Magical eyes on the darkest of ladies. “You are on your own now,” he said. “You just try and survive without me.”

  Abigail blinked in surprise, then her thin smile returned. “You’ll be back, Mr Cobbler,” she said coolly. “We both know you’ll be back. You’ll not be able to stay away from me. I know how you feel about me.”

  Gid felt anger simmer inside him. “You’re wrong,” he said blackly. “I will never be back. You’ll never see me again.” He snatched his suitcase and marched for the door. He watched the smile on Abigail’s face begin to falter.

  * * *

  Gid carried his suitcase to the cemetery and stood in front of the grave. The rose he had laid there yesterday was still vivid and perfect, dappled with early morning dew. It lay stark against the grey of the grave.

  He heard footsteps behind him and turned to see a woman approaching, dressed in a black dress, a veil covering her face.

  “Was it as I said it would be?” Martha asked, lifting the veil and giving Gid a crooked smile.

  He stepped close, running his fingers over the soft skin on her cheek. “Exactly as you imagined. Abigail still believes me as devoted as ever. She expects me to return to Haverstock House any moment.”

  Martha laughed, “I wish I could have seen it.”

  Gid pressed his lips to Martha’s, pulling her close. He stepped back, tucking a strand of brown hair beneath her veil
. He turned to face his mother’s grave on which he had laid the rose.

  “How I wish Ma could have met you,” he said, close to Martha’s ear. He slid an arm around her waist, pulling her into him. “She would have loved you. Just as I do.” They stood in silence for a moment, their eyes fixed to the worn letters on the headstone.

  Gid let out a long breath. He had done it. Had wrenched himself free from Haverstock House. Wrenched himself free from Abigail Gresham. And here he stood in the arms of a woman he truly loved. And who truly loved him in return.

  Martha took his hands and squeezed. “Everything is ready,” she told him, an excited smile lighting her face. “Would you like to see it?”

  Chapter 30

  Gid’s heart was thumping with excitement as he sat in the cab beside Martha. How liberating it felt to be out of Haverstock House, about to start his new life. How liberating it would be to not wake each morning and serve Abigail Gresham her breakfast, a constant reminder of his childish infatuation.

  But his infatuation, however foolish, had served him well.

  During his first few months at Haverstock House, his love for Abigail had burned hot and sure. One day, he had been certain, she would awaken and come to feel about him the way he felt about her. One day she would see beyond their social status and discover a man who truly loved her. They would have a future together, he had been sure. They would grow old together in Haverstock House, with golden haired children running about them. Children with eyes like fairies.

  I am undecided, Abigail had told him the night she had come home distraught from her board meeting. I am undecided. There had been a playful shine in her beautiful eyes.

  I am undecided about you.

  Gid had seen that night that this was all a game to her. He was nothing more than a game. Nothing more than a shoulder to cry on, a doe-eyed fool to make her feel good and worthy when the world around her tore her down.

  His love had died that day in the study, as she’d whispered I am undecided.

  He had made his way up to his attic room with a pain in his chest. The truth lay before him, stark and brutal. He and Abigail would never be together. She was playing him for a fool, as Martha had told him she would. He had been acting a madman. A blind and lovestruck madman.

  Anger bubbled inside him. Anger at Abigail, anger at himself. How could he have been so blind to have let this girl occupy his thoughts and dreams for so many years? How could he have left Martha alone at the funeral parlour so he might spend his days trailing after Abigail?

  He would be that blind fool no longer, Gid had told himself, lying on his back and staring at the attic roof. He would not be that loyal puppy dog who trailed Abigail Gresham, begging for whatever scraps she might toss his way.

  He would no longer be that blind fool, but he would let Abigail believe he was. Let her believe him loyal, devoted and loving, while he slid a hand into her housekeeping fund and filled his own pockets.

  He had been watching Groves do it for months. It was obvious Abigail had no thought of it. It was far too easy for the butler to earn a little on the side. Abigail never bothered to do so much as open the household’s account books. It was little wonder the men of her company’s board looked at her with derision.

  Stealing from her would be far too easy.

  So easy that when Gid had answered the door to the cobbler the day after I am undecided, he had tried it for himself.

  “Six shillings for the mending of two pairs of shoes,” he had told Abigail. How easy it had been to slip that extra money into his pocket.

  At first, there was more than a little guilt. Gid had spent his life trying to break free from the shadow of his father. Trying to distance himself from the man in every respect. But here he was, becoming a criminal. Succumbing to the urge to steal that was coursing through his blood.

  For a long time the night after his first act of thievery, Gid had sat on the bed in his attic room, clutching the stolen money in his fist and wrestling with his conscience.

  He did not want to be his father. Did not want to be Gideon Cobbler.

  But he needed to show Abigail she would not get away with playing him like a fool. And so yes, he decided, he would keep the money. It was just to steal from Abigail Gresham. Barely a crime.

  He slid the stolen coins into the drawer beneath his side table. Hurried to the tradesmen’s entrance each time the bell rang, determined to beat Groves at his own game.

  And with the old head butler gone in disgrace, pilfering had become even easier. The housekeeping fund had been locked away in Gid’s room and only he had the key. After seeing his record of Groves’ crimes, Abigail’s trust in him had only increased.

  Poor, foolish Abigail. She had been so determined not to let a man play her that she had been blind to it happening right beneath her nose.

  Sometimes Gid’s guilt had resurfaced. Sometimes, when Abigail would look at him with those beautiful eyes wide and pleading, he would feel a faint flicker of that old adoration. He would remember how he had dreamt of her, remembered the way he had longed to be with her. But then would come another whispered rejection.

  Not yet.

  Soon.

  Very soon.

  And stealing from the woman who had played with his heart, Gid thought, was more than just. She would pay for the pain she had caused. He would make sure that she would pay.

  And then there was Martha.

  His heart had leapt when she had appeared at the tradesmen’s entrance with Abigail’s dress boxes in her arms. Gid had been terrified that he might never see her again after his foolish behaviour at the market. But there she was with a smile on her face and forgiveness in her eyes. Had acted like the whole incident outside the baker’s stand had never happened.

  They’d spent more than an hour chatting and laughing over tea in the kitchen. Gid had felt a sinking inside him the moment she left.

  He’d spent a sleepless night, his thoughts not filled with Abigail Gresham, but with Martha Flatley. Keen-eyed, clever Martha, who had warned him away from Abigail from the very beginning. How might his life have been different if he had listened to her?

  The next time she appeared at the door with Abigail’s dresses, Gid had taken her to the kitchen and locked the door. Over cups of tea, he told her about his thieving. He had pocketed thirty-five pounds from Abigail so far.

  Martha’s eyes were wide. “Thirty-five pounds?” she repeated. “And she’s no thought of it?”

  Gid shook his head, “She trusts me.” He grinned at Martha over the top of his tea cup. “She’s a fool.”

  Martha laughed, “That she is.”

  Why was he telling her all this, Gid wondered? But then he saw. He was telling Martha Flatley all this because he wanted her to be a part of it.

  “This money,” he said. “It will buy a better life for me.” He met her eyes, his heart beginning to thump. “And for you.”

  For a long time, Martha said nothing. “You wish to use the money to buy a better life for me?” she repeated, frowning.

  Gid reached out and covered her hand with his. “I was a fool to leave you,” he told her. “And now you’re back in my life I don’t ever want to lose you again.”

  A smile flickered on Martha’s face. Gid lurched forward and pressed his lips to hers. Martha pulled back in surprise for a moment, then pulled him back towards her, opening her lips to deepen the kiss. Warmth flooded him, his heart swelling in his chest. This was real, he knew. This was no game. This was far more than a foolish infatuation. This was everything his relationship with Abigail would never be.

  From then on, their plans began to take shape.

  With each visit, each cup of tea, Gid would slide a little of the stolen money into Martha’s pocket so she might plant the seeds of their new business venture. Gid would secure the funds from inside Haverstock House while she would search out property, suppliers, and potential customers.

  A little of the money had gone to Able and Arthur so they might
be spared the bullet.

  “Abigail is jealous,” Gid had told Martha the week after his visit to her tenement to pay the twins. They were sitting in the kitchen at Haverstock House, speaking in muted, secretive voices. “She’s beginning to suspect there’s something between us.”

  Martha dived forward and kissed him boldly. “Let her suspect it. She’s right, isn’t she?”

  The corner of Gid’s lips turned up. “There’s nothing I’d like more than to tell her how I feel about you,” he said. “But I need to keep her on my side. We’ve not enough money yet.”

  Martha nodded acceptingly, “You’re right.” There was a hint of disappointment in her voice.

  Gid squeezed her hand. “Don’t you worry,” he said with a smile. “She’ll come to know of it one day. Soon.”

  Martha straightened in her chair, “If she’s growing suspicious, we need to put an end to her worries. We can’t have her doubting you.”

  Gid nodded.

  Martha leant forward, her grey eyes sparkling. “You know she likes to listen in on our conversations. She’s always on the stairs listening when you walk me back to the tradesmen’s entrance.”

  He nodded again. He knew well of it. A part of him hand longed to confront Abigail over it. But he knew she would just deny it.

  “We’ll just have to put her suspicions to rest,” Martha said. “You’ll tell me you love her. It will be just what Abigail wants to hear,” her lips quirked. “It will be just what she needs to hear.”

  And then the day had come that Abigail had learned of the missing money in the housekeeping fund. Gid had near emptied the fund a day earlier, to make a payment on his and Martha’s new property. Before he had done so, he had dished out money to the staff for their necessary weekly expenses. He had not counted on Mrs White coming to his door asking for extra money for lamb.

  A thief, Abigail had told Gid, looking at him with accusing eyes.