The Silent Orphan Page 4

  “No,” said Martha. “Don’t go down there.”

  Gid looked at her in surprise. She wiped her eyes again. “Eat in here with me,” she told him. “Able and Arthur are out at the tavern. Mama’s upstairs in bed.” She sniffed. “I could use the company.”

  Gid nodded, giving her a faint smile. He sat at the kitchen table. Martha filled her own bowl and sat beside him.

  Gid’s heart was thumping. What would happen if Able and Arthur were to return home to find him at the kitchen table, eating broth in the seat once occupied by their now dead father? What would Mrs Flatley think? But there was such gratitude in Martha’s eyes, he pushed his fears away. He would have given anything to have shared a bowl of soup with a friend the evening after his mother’s funeral. Instead, he had been carted off to the workhouse and tossed into a bed with four other boys.

  Martha dragged a spoon through her broth. She was yet to eat a single mouthful, Gid noticed. “I’m worried about the business,” she said after a long silence. “I’m worried what will happen to us now Papa is gone.”

  Gid swallowed his mouthful. He had not yet raised his concerns about the twins with her. Clearly, she shared his worries.

  “Able and Arthur are useless,” she said sharply. “They always have been. They’ve not got heads for business and they’ve no idea how to engage with customers.” Her spoon clinked against the side of her bowl. “That’s why Papa had them work with the dead in the cold room.” She gave a humourless snort of laughter. “The dead can’t complain when a man is rude to them.” She knotted her hands together and looked up at Gid. “They’ve taken to drink,” she said. “I know it. They’re out almost every night at the tavern. Sometimes they take a glass with their supper too. I’m sure Papa’s death will only make things worse.”

  Gid nodded silently.

  “With them in charge, I don’t know how the business is going to survive,” Martha said tearfully.

  Impulsively, Gid reached out and pressed his hand to her wrist. “It will survive,” he assured her. “We’ll make sure of it.” He tried to force confidence into his voice, but he could hear the tremor of doubt. “It will survive,” he told Martha again, to reassure her, to reassure himself. What choice did they have? The business would survive, or he’d be back in the workhouse. And Martha and her family would be out on the street.

  Chapter 7

  Two months after her father’s death, Martha appeared at the door of the stables. A thick, leather bound book was pressed to her chest.

  “Do you read?” she asked bluntly.

  Gid peered over the edge of the loft. That day, they had conducted a funeral for a local office clerk. There had been a lengthy dispute over payment and the dead man had been dressed in someone else’s clothes.

  Martha had done her best to calm the man’s family, assuring them they would not be charged the enormous sum the twins had quoted. When they arrived home after the procession, Gid had escaped to the loft immediately, not wanting to involve himself in the family argument he was sure was to ensue.

  Martha looked exhausted, with dark shadows under her eyes and her brown hair hanging limply on her shoulders. “Are you all right?” Gid asked.

  Martha shrugged. “Do you read?” she asked again.

  “A little. Why?”

  She strode past the horses and climbed the ladder to the hay loft, clutching the book beneath her arm. She sat beside Gid. “What about numbers? Arithmetic? Do you know it?”

  Gid hesitated. His mother had taught him his letters well enough before she had died, but he knew little of numbers other than the lessons in the workhouse. He wasn’t sure he had the head for it.

  Martha didn’t wait for his answer. “I can read and write,” she said. “And I know my numbers well. I went to school for six years. I can teach you.”

  Gid frowned, “Teach me? Why?”

  Martha snorted, “Because my brothers are fools. Like I said, they’re not capable of running my father’s business. Without someone to do the accounts, the funeral parlour will never survive.”

  She pulled a hunk of bread from her pocket and shoved it into Gid’s hand. “Here. I thought you’d be hungry. Given the way you escaped without your supper tonight.”

  Gid gave her apologetic eyes, suddenly regretting leaving Martha alone to deal with her older brothers.

  She didn’t look at him but turned slowly through the pages of the arithmetic book, poring over pages of black ink that looked to Gid like no more than scribbles.

  “I’ve been doing the accounting myself since Papa died. But Mama, well, she’s just not been the same these past few weeks. She barely leaves her bed. Needs me to do everything for her,” she sniffed. “I can’t look after the business and the house on my own. And just look what happened today. It’s just going to keep happening if I leave anything important to Able and Arthur. They don’t care about this business. They don’t care about anyone but themselves.” Her voice wavered. Gid felt a sudden rush of sympathy. Impulsively, he pressed a hand to Martha’s shoulder. She glanced at it and Gid hurriedly pulled away.

  “You want me to handle the accounts?” he asked.

  Martha met his eyes, “Yes. Do you think you can?”

  Gid hesitated. He glanced again at the arithmetic book. He couldn’t imagine it making sense to him. But there was such intensity in Martha’s eyes, he found himself nodding.

  “Good,” she nodded at the bread. “Eat first. And then we’ll begin.” He did so, obediently. Martha dug into the pocket of her apron and pulled out a pencil.

  “So,” she said, flipping through the pages of her book. “We’ll start with addition.” She glanced sideways at Gid and gave him a tiny smile. “We’ll have you keeping the books in no time.”

  * * *

  A week after his lessons had begun, the twins carried the body of a short, fat man into the cold room. They dumped the corpse on the table while Gid stood watching.

  “Prepare the body,” Able told him sharply. He gave a snort of laughter. “That’s if you’re not too busy practicing your letters.”

  Gid felt his cheeks flush. He had been reading and writing with Martha each night that week. Had the twins been aware even though they had been discreet?

  Able put a big hand to Gid’s shoulder and squeezed too tightly. “That’s right, boy, we know all about your little lessons.” He gave another snort of a laugh. His breath stank of liquor. The young man’s flinty eyes were suddenly close to his. “Planning on taking over our business, are you?” The joking tone in his voice was gone, replaced by a threatening coldness.

  Gid swallowed, “Of course not, sir. It’s just that… Martha, she’s too busy. She can’t do it all. She asked me to help her…” He faded out, not wanting to get Martha into trouble with her brothers. Though a part of him felt sure Martha could handle Able and Arthur just fine.

  Able snorted. “Martha’s just lazy,” he looked sideways at Gid. “And you’re encouraging her.”

  Gid shook his head slightly, feeling a flush of anger on Martha’s behalf. Martha, he knew well, did everything around the house. If it weren’t for her, the rest of the family would never eat, never wear clean clothes. But he said nothing to Able. Something about the twins made him feel as though he were a spindly boy of nine again. He made his way over to the body and began to remove the man’s clothes.

  * * *

  The next day, Gid stood in the parlour beside the coffin, his eyes fixed straight ahead and his expression morose. The twins milled among the mourners, talking to each other in liquored-up voices that were far too loud.

  Gid clenched his teeth, cringing. His hand tightened around his wand. Martha was right. Her brothers would drive this business into the ground before long. He wondered distantly just how much time the Flatley’s funeral parlour had left. How many more months until he was back in the workhouse?

  He heard the sharp click of footsteps coming towards the coffin. Gid turned to see a young woman in black sweeping towards him. />
  His breath left him. A fine, dark veil cloaked her face, but through its sheer fabric, he knew it was her.

  The girl with the coloured eyes.

  He found himself staring through the veil, trying to see her face more clearly. One blue eye, one green. How often had he dreamt of those eyes in the past four years?

  He remembered his mother’s tales about green-eyed fairy folk. Remembered the way she had stolen his breath the first time he had seen her. And she was doing the same now. He could feel his body heating and his neck prickling. He couldn’t pull his eyes away.

  “Why is the mute staring?” the girl demanded suddenly, snapping Gid out of his trance. Her eyes fixed on his for a moment, and he felt something shift inside him.

  “Avert your eyes, boy,” Able hissed into his ear.

  Gid turned hurriedly to stare at the floor.

  * * *

  The coffin was carried out to the hearse and Gid began to march slowly in front of the carriage, the mourners trailing behind. He focused on the rhythmic clop of the horse’s hooves. Anything to draw his attention away from the girl with the coloured eyes.

  She was there beside him; he could feel it. He kept his eyes staring straight ahead, determined not to look at her. If he did, Gid feared he might never pull his eyes away again.

  He heard a strange breathy voice behind him. “That’s my uncle in the casket,” she whispered, her voice close to his ear. “Did you help clean his body? Did you put him in his burial clothes?”

  Gid swallowed heavily. The urge to turn and look at her was overwhelming. He kept walking.

  “Why do you look at me so?” she asked. Her voice was not unfriendly. “I saw you staring.”

  Gid bit his lip. In the back of his mind, he remembered the thrashing Mr Flatley had delivered the last time he had let this fairy-eyed girl loosen his tongue. Able and Arthur, he felt sure, would have no hesitation in delivering a similar punishment.

  “I remember you,” she said. “You’re the mute that can speak. I know you can answer me.” She gave a faint, airy giggle. “Answer me, mute.” Her breath was hot against his ear.

  Gid swallowed heavily. His knuckles whitened around the wand.

  “You think of me often, don’t you, mute?”

  He said nothing.

  Another giggle. “You do. I know it. You’ve never been able to forget me, have you?”

  He swallowed hard.

  “Look at me,” she demanded, her voice close to his ear.

  Finally, unable to resist the pull of her any longer, Gid turned to face her. The corners of her lips turned up, seemingly aware she had won the battle. Then she darted away from him and hurried back to join her aunt at the front of the procession.

  Chapter 8

  Able and Arthur appeared at the door of the stables that night, their figures casting long shadows over the barn. Midnight and Shadow shifted and sighed.

  Arthur looked up at the hay loft where Gid was sitting with his back pressed to the wall. “Get here right now, boy,” he hissed.

  Gid swallowed. Found himself shaking his head. The moment he had done so, he regretted it.

  Arthur strode towards the ladder and climbed it two rungs at a time. He lurched towards Gid and grabbed his collar, dragging him towards the ladder. Arthur dragged him downwards and Gid snatched wildly at the rungs. He let out a panicked cry as he tumbled to the floor. Pain shot up his side.

  Arthur yanked him to his feet. “I thought you’d learned to keep your damn mouth shut,” he hissed. He shoved hard against Gid’s chest, sending him reeling into the wall of the stables. “What good is a mute who talks? Not to mention one who stares like a fool.”

  The two young men came towards him. Gid felt sickness rise in his throat. Able and Arthur, he knew, could break him like a twig.

  “I didn’t speak,” he spluttered. “I swear it. I didn’t say a word!”

  “But you wanted to, didn’t you? I saw the way you were looking at the girl. There were something not right about it. Like you were in a trance or something.”

  Able drew back a fist and Gid stiffened, readying himself for the blow.

  “What do you think you’re doing, you mad fools?” Martha hissed, snatching her brother’s arm and yanking it back. “Hurt him and you’ll hurt the business. You think anyone wants their procession led by a mute with two black eyes?”

  Arthur looked at her dismissively. “Get out of here, Martha.”

  Her eyes flashed, “No! Not until you leave Gid alone! He didn’t say a word at that funeral. Not a sound. And you know it.”

  Able gave a snort of laughter, “You fond of the mute, Martha? What in hell are you thinking? A girl like you could do far better.”

  Martha glared. “Like I said, hurt him and you’ll hurt the business,” she stepped close to her brother, looking upwards to give him a furious stare. “Or are you too stupid to understand that?”

  Able’s eyes flashed. For a second, Gid feared he might strike his sister, but he snorted and walked away. He looked back at Arthur. “Let’s go. Leave them to their reading and writing.”

  Martha stared after her brothers as they left.

  Gid lowered his eyes in shame. There had been far too many occasions where Martha had stood up for him against the twins. Would he ever find the courage to hold his own against Able and Arthur? He felt like a miserable coward.

  As though reading his thoughts, Martha said: “Don’t feel bad. They’re bullies is all. I just know how to handle them.”

  “I’m grateful,” Gid murmured, feeling his cheeks colour.

  Martha made a noise in her throat. She leant against the hay loft ladder and folded her arms.

  At sixteen, Martha Flatley had grown into a tall and confident young woman. Her grey eyes carried a fierce intelligence and she held herself with her shoulders back and her chin raised. Even after spending the past four years in her household, Gid struggled to read her. She had always stood up for him with the twins and had proven herself grateful for the help he was giving her with the accounts. But she always seemed to have a guard up. She kept a barrier around her that Gid was unable to penetrate. He had no idea who Martha Flatley really was.

  “You’d best watch yourself,” she said, her voice cold. “I had half a mind to let my brothers take a piece of you. What do you think you’re doing, staring at the mourners like that?”

  “I wasn’t staring at the mourners,” said Gid. “Well, not really. I was just… that girl.”

  “Aye, that girl,” said Martha bitterly. “Abigail.”

  “Abigail?” Gid felt the name on his tongue. Knowing her name made her feel suddenly, strangely tangible. Suddenly strangely close.

  Martha fixed him with hard eyes. “What’s so special about her?” she demanded.

  Gid looked down. “She’s beautiful,” he managed.

  Martha snorted. “She’s a lady. And you’re just a mute from the workhouse. You’ll never have a woman like that. You’d do well to remember it.” Her voice was strained, and Gid felt a strange mix of anger and regret. Had his comments hurt Martha? Why? He swallowed heavily. Was she jealous? Surely not. But that strain in her voice…

  He had not meant to hurt Martha. But nor did he wish to be told he would never have a woman like Abigail. Did not wish to be reminded of his lowly, miserable beginnings. He was not just a mute from the workhouse. He was the orphan of a criminal and a woman who had hanged herself from her bedroom rafters. Certainly not the type of man a lady like Abigail might choose. And yet he felt strangely determined. He would see her again. He would make her a part of his life. Such a thing did not feel like an option. It felt like a necessity.

  He met Martha’s eyes for a moment, the silence between them thick. “Thank you for your help,” he said shortly, turning to climb back into the hay loft.

  * * *

  With Martha gone, Gid blew out the lamp and lay back in the dark. He would dream of her tonight, he knew it.

  Abigail.

  A
bigail with her magical eyes and her shimmering, black veil.

  He would dream of her tonight. Gid knew it with certainty.

  Chapter 9

  For three more years, there was no Abigail. Gid saw the girl with the coloured eyes regularly in his dreams, but she never again appeared beside the coffin to whisper in his ear.

  She would be close to twenty now, Gid guessed. Twenty to his sixteen. She was a woman, he almost a man.

  He tried to imagine how beautiful she was. Imagined the delicate curl of her blonde hair, the mysterious pull of her coloured eyes. How he longed to see her. Often, the very thought of her brought a sigh from deep inside him.

  The Flatley’s undertaking business was teetering on the verge of bankruptcy. Able and Arthur’s interests had drifted from the business towards gambling, drink and a slew of what Gid could only assume were desperate and foolish women. He rarely saw the twins at home— according to Martha, they came home late each night and slept until the afternoon, before repeating the whole sorry process the following night. Mostly, they managed to appear for the funerals, but they were always disheveled and unshaven, and usually smelled of cheap liquor.

  In their absence, Martha and Gid threw themselves into the books, determined to keep the business afloat.

  * * *

  One morning on the edge of spring, Gid made his way to the study. Martha was already hard at work writing a letter to a client, and Gid saw her glance sideways at him as he slipped into the room.

  Not wanting to disturb her, he sat at his desk and opened the ledger.

  Gid stopped. A new entry had been made overnight, written in Martha’s neat hand.

  Haverstock House.

  He felt a sudden chill inside him.

  “Haverstock House,” he blurted. “That’s—”

  “Aye,” Martha said, bitterness in her voice. “It’s where your Abigail lives.”