Miss Pewtersmith strutted around the house inspecting every room in turn. After opening each door she squealed her disgust down the stairs towards James and Elizabeth. They were going to understand that she was in charge now. Finally she returned to the kitchen where Elizabeth was still cleaning the mess left by her nephews.
'An’ when you finish there you can damn well go up an’ clean the rest of this ‘ouse. Mister Jarvis would be appalled ‘e would. Appalled!' She dropped herself into a chair and began to hack at a loaf of bread on the table.
Elizabeth cast a hopeful glance to James.
Miss Pewtersmith continued 'An’ as the senior staff ‘ere I’ll be sleepin’ in the main bedroom. You can go up an’ clear it out.' She pushed the bread into her mouth. 'An’ those kids of yours can sleep down ‘ere in the kitchen. They’ll not be makin’ any more mess of my ‘ouse. Or outside, they could sleep in the garden. '
'Miss Pewtersmith,' piped up James, 'I respect your position here as head cook and all, but when Mister. Jarvis left he did say that I was in charge. An’ the children…'
Miss Pewtersmith pointed her knife at James. 'That was before ‘e knew I was stayin’. If 'e knew I was here he’d want me running this ‘ouse. I'm next in charge of all the staff after Lancaster.' her raised voice had a piglet-like squeal to it and she showered crumbs across the table. 'So you’d better be watchin’ your step ‘cause ‘fore you know it ‘e’ll be back an’ if ‘e hears that you been underminin’ me, you’ll be out, all of you.' She pointed the knife at James, Elizabeth and Alice in turn. 'He’ll already be upset once he’s realised his mistake leavin’ me here. Real upset.' She pushed more food into her mouth.
James looked at Miss Pewtersmith thoughtfully. She was certainly more senior than he or Elizabeth, but was this different. And James was the man of the house now. But he couldn’t afford to risk losing his job. That would cost his livelihood, his home and maybe his family. He wasn’t going back to the slums. .'Fine, we’ll clear the room in a minute.' He turned and began shuffling the storage jars on the side, careful to avoid Elizabeth’s piercing gaze. Through the window he saw Samuel run up and open the side door to the carriage house. James opened the latch and shouted. 'Make sure you put the flour in the barrel to keep the rats off Samuel.'
Samuel turned and looked vacantly back at his father then nodded and went inside. He wasn't thinking about the flour. He was looking for the sack truck. They had dragged and pulled Shipton to within a few yards of the house but they couldn't get him any further and now he was lying on the street again. A moment later Samuel flew back out with wooden planks bouncing up and down on the sack truck behind him. With Fran's help, he tied the wood into place to form a rickety stretcher.
'There!' declared Fran 'Perfect job. Now let’s get 'im 'id in that carriage place o' yours.'
'But they'll see us through the kitchen window.' warned Samuel. 'Dad was watchin'.'
'Mmm, that's no good. We can't let that cook see 'im. She'll finish 'im off! We need some sort o' distraction.'
Mary muttered something into Samuel's ear. Samuel smirked.
'What you two schemin' at?' asked Fran.
Samuel lifted Shipton’s blood soaked shirt and rubbed his hand across the wound. Shipton groaned. Samuel smeared the blood across his face and arms and then ran towards the house.
'I still don’t understand how they left me behind.' Miss Pewtersmith moaned again in the kitchen. 'Mister Jarvis will ‘ave been so upset. What are they gonna eat?'
Elizabeth and James said nothing.
'Those country cooks won’t know how to cook nothin'! It’ll be roast pigeon an' bloody.... bloody...badger pie!'
The door burst open and Samuel stumbled inside, blood across his face.
'Oh, Samuel!' squealed Elizabeth. 'What’s happened?'
'…an' turnip soup an'...an'... rat stew…'
'I got hit by a carriage!' Samuel squeezed out a few tears.
James grabbed a cloth and soaked it in water. 'Where are you hurt Sam?' He wiped the cloth across Samuel's blood smeared face as Elizabeth fussed around him.
'My head …an' ev'rywhere.' moaned Samuel. 'It all hurts.'
Elizabeth took the cloth and held it on Samuel’s forehead. 'Come over here by the window Sammy.' She gestured to him to sit and then wiped the blood from his face. She couldn’t see a wound. She wiped some more and inspected his scalp. 'Where’s the cut James? I can’t see where this is coming from?'
James joined in the hunt, pulling his hair apart looking for a source of the blood.
Through the window, Samuel could see Fran and Mary battling to drag the sack truck along the drive. Shipton’s arms trailed along the ground; he was barely conscious. Fran's boys followed behind, fighting and arguing. Finally they dragged Shipton him through the large wooden doors and out of sight.
'I feel fine now.' Samuel jumped to his feet. 'I’ll take a drink…for Mary.' He grabbed the jug of water from the table and dashed for the door.
James and Elizabeth stood open mouthed. The short-lived injury was strange enough but the sudden concern for his sister?
'That’s odd! What are they up to?' Elizabeth scratched her head.
James frowned back at her and nodded towards Miss Pewtersmith still mumbling away at the table.
'...an' crow pie, an'...bloody...bloody...shit like that! That's what they'll be eatin'. An' 'e won't like it!'
'Make sure all that stuff is put away Samuel.' James called after his son.
'I bet 'e sends for me, any minute! I'd best be sure I'm ready to go, at a moment's notice.' Miss Pewtersmith walked to the window and stood alongside James. 'What them two doin’ out there, any'ow?' she asked as she watched Samuel disappear into the carriage house.
Mary and Fran made a small bed in a corner from clean hay and placed Shipton on top. The boys were exploring. They’d climbed into the loft space and now they were jumping down onto a pile of horse blankets and tarpaulins.
Shipton looked worse than ever. His skin was waxy and grey. The only colour came from his blue lips. He gulped air erratically. Mary looked anxiously into his face seeking some sign of recognition, but Shipton’s gaze was fixed far beyond her.
Fran put a gentle hand on Mary’s shoulder. 'Look darlin', we can only do so much. You didn't stab 'im and neither did I.' She knelt behind Shipton and raised his head onto her lap. She took the pitcher of water from Samuel and gently poured into his mouth. Shipton coughed and spluttered. Most of it ran down his neck and chest but Fran continued anyway until the pitcher was dry. She tore a long strip from the bottom of her dress and tied it firmly across the wound. 'You get more water Sammy and keep givin’ him as much as you can.'
Samuel had another idea. He knelt alongside Fran with his box. He rummaged inside it until he found the red stone. 'Aunt Fran. There’s somethin’ special ‘bout this. He said he’d be needin’ it, an’, well, everyone's after it.'
Fran took the red jewel from Samuel and caressed it in her hand. 'Tis a beautiful thing Sammy. What’s it do?'
'It's magic. It can fix up the sick. It can tell the future, all sorts. I bet it can make 'im better.'
‘Wow that is special. But, what d'you do with it?' Fran tried pressing against Shipton’s forehead. He didn’t seem to look any better. She held it over his wound. 'How d'you get it workin', Sammy? Did 'e tell ya?'
Samuel shook his head.
Fran stroked Shipton's forehead. 'Can you 'ear me darlin'? Can you tell us 'ow it works? We gotta know if we're gonna fix ya.'
Shipton’s lips moved but no sounds came out.
Fran leant forward. 'What's that? You're tryin’ to tell us, ain't ya darlin'? Come on, a little louder for old Fran.'
Shipton’s lips moved again. There was a feint whisper but the words were still too soft to hear.
'Keep tryin' darlin'.' Fran leant over and put her ear against his lips and listened hard. 'Go on, you can do it.'
Mary and Samuel edged closer.
After a moment, Fran raised her he
ad with a frown. 'He’s tryin' to tell us but I can’t ‘ear him. You try Mary. Your young ears'll do better than mine.' She stroked Shipton’s hair back over his head. 'Come on sweetheart, you tell young Mary.'
Mary pressed her ear close to his mouth and listened carefully. She nodded and knelt back up.
'Could you ‘ear him?' asked Fran eagerly, clutching the stone.
Mary nodded.
'Well, what’s he say then?'
'He says...'
'Yes, yes. Says what?'
'Say’s ‘e’ hasn't got a clue. Says he won it in a card game from some Scottish bloke.'
'Bloody ‘ell!' Fran pushed his head off her lap and onto the straw. 'Well that's it. I gotta be getting these young ruffians o’ mine back home.' She began to gather together her luggage.
'But Aunt Fran! We can’t just leave ‘im here. Miss P’ll find 'im.' warned Mary.
Fran looked back at him and frowned. 'Suppose you’re right. We gotta hide 'im somewhere.' She looked around for ideas. Hanging from the roof above was a rope and pulley that dangled from the loft. 'We can use that an' 'ide 'im up there. They won't never look in the loft. Boys, you two climb up an' get ready to pull 'im in. We'll hoist 'im up.'
Fran tied the rope firmly around Shipton's chest whilst her two older boys made their way up to the edge of loft in readiness.
'Right Mary an' Sam, let’s see how strong y'are. Pull!'
The three of them hauled on the rope and dragged Shipton up into the air. He hung limply, swinging gently from side to side.
'Come on kids, harder!'
He was heavy but eventually they pulled him level with the boys in the loft.
'Get him you two! Pull him in. Quick, he's 'eavy!'
Matthew and Isaac leant out over the edge and tried to grab hold of him. He was just beyond their fingertips.
'Get out the way Zac. Your arms are too short.' snapped Matthew.
Isaac turned around and shoved his brother. 'I’m not short!'
Matthew shoved him back. ‘No, not if yer a friggin' pixie, you're not.'
'I'm not short, I'm nearly as big as you an' …an' …an' least I don’t smell like fish!'
'Boys, stop fightin' and grab ‘im for heaven’s sake!’ shouted Fran. This was getting too hard. 'Sammy, tie the end to that post, quick! I can't 'old on!'
Samuel fixed the rope around the wooden beam in the centre of the carriage house. Fran relaxed her burning arms at last.
'Now you two bloody pull 'im in else I'm comin' up there ta sort ya both out!'
But they weren’t listening. Matthew smacked the back of Isaac’s head.
'I don’t smell like fish. An’ I don’t piss my pants every night like you do, neither.'
Isaac had no answer for that one. He turned sullenly and stretched out to try and catch Shipton again, determined to show he could do it. He curled his toes on the edge of the platform and stretched an arm as far out as it would go. Shipton was swinging like a pendulum back towards him. He was nearly in reach when Matthew gave him a violent shove in the back. Isaac had no hope of holding on. He was airborne; his only hope of avoiding crashing to the floor was grabbing the swinging body of Shipton. He threw his arms out and grabbed hold of Shipton's waist and clung on for his life. When he opened his eyes he was ten feet up and sailing across the carriage house.
'Isaac, get down now! He ain't no bloody swing!' screamed Fran. 'Matthew! I’m gonna tan your arse for you when I get up there!’
Matthew stood on the loft laughing.
Isaac meanwhile was no longer scared. In fact he was quite enjoying the ride and started pushing himself off the wall with his feet for a bit of extra swing.
'You two are bloody for it!' But then through the small side window Fran spotted Miss Pewtersmith leave the kitchen and begin marching towards the carriage house. ‘Oh blimey. Quick! If that old bag finds us ‘ere were dead! Isaac! Get off Mister Shipton right now!'
Isaac slid down Shipton’s legs and dropped to the floor. He dashed back up the ladder.
'Quick boys, get 'im on there!' Fran cast an eye back to the window. Miss Pewtersmith had stopped and was shouting something back towards the house.
Matthew found a rake. He leant out and hooked it around Shipton’s waist and finally pulled him over the platform.
'Sam, untie that rope an' 'elp me lower ‘im down.' ordered Fran.
Samuel rushed to undo the knot. But the moment he loosened it, the rope fizzed through his fingers. It was too quick for Mary and Fran, and Shipton dropped like a stone. He hit the platform with a thump, bounced once and was left with head and shoulders dangling over the edge of the loft. Matthew and Isaac dived on his legs to stop him falling off altogether.
'Bloody 'ell!' hissed Fran. 'If he wasn't dead before... Mary, Sam, you go outside and try an' stop that woman getting’ in ‘ere. I’ll go 'ide with the boys 'til she's gone. Go on, 'urry up. I'll make sure 'e's right 'fore I go home. Go on, quick now!'
Mary and Samuel slipped out of the door and tried to look as care-free as they could as Miss Pewtersmith approached.
'So boy, you’ve recovered from ya terrible accident then have you? That was quick. Not much to show for all that blood.'
'Yes thank you Miss P'.
'An where’s all these extra supplies you brought back? She peered through the window at the side of the carriage house. She didn't see Fran and the boys trying to drag Shipton’s limp body back from the edge. 'I’ll be needing those soon. Where did you put 'em?' She reached for the door latch.
'We was extra careful to put ‘em away proper.' replied Samuel stepping in front of her, '’Cause there's rats everywhere! Loads of ‘em. Big, fat ones!'
Miss Pewtersmith paused.
'One bit me!' Samuel rubbed at his leg. 'A great big fat rat with huge dark eyes and big teeth.'
Miss Pewtersmith took her hand away from the latch. 'Hmm, well, not to worry, I'll get them later. Anyway, I got lots for you two to do. Lots o' chores. I’ll see you both in the kitchen. You got two minutes, no more.'
'Yes Miss Pewtersmith, but we just gotta get the rest of the errands.' Mary smiled politely.
'What? You ain’t finished gettin' the stuff? You lazy pair! Well bloody well ‘urry up and get back ‘ere when you’re done. I got lots for ya both, ya hear me?'
Mary nodded and they headed off towards the gate.
'Bye Miss Pukersmith.' called Samuel.
'Shut up!' hissed Mary.
But the cook wasn't listening. She was back peering into the carriage house through the small side window.
Across the road the smart figure of Wooldridge stood in the churchyard, observing quietly.
Chapter 10