The Orphan's Dream (8 page)

‘No.' Mirabel covered her face with her hands and would have fallen to her knees if Jack had not supported her. ‘Pa, I'm s-so s-sorry.'

‘It wasn't your fault,' Jack said firmly. ‘Judging by the look of him and his choleric nature, I'd say it could have happened at any time.'

Ernestine rose to her feet, pointing a shaking finger at Mirabel. ‘She did this. She killed her own father and widowed me, the little bitch.'

Overcome with grief and too distraught to argue, Mirabel leaned against Jack and sobbed. ‘I killed my pa.'

‘That's nonsense. His uncontrollable temper was probably the cause, or at least a part of it.'

Ernestine turned at the sound of hurried footsteps. ‘Wiley, the master has been took ill.'

He emerged from the house, wrapping his dressing robe around his skinny body, his hair tousled and his eyes bloodshot with drink. ‘He was all right at dinner time. What happened?' He went down on one knee, holding his hand over Jacob's mouth and nose. ‘He's a goner, ma'am. Dead as a doornail.'

‘She killed him,' Ernestine cried shrilly. ‘That slut of a daughter and her fancy man are responsible for this outrage.'

Wiley shot a wary glance in Jack's direction. ‘Someone ought to fetch the doctor.'

‘Then I suggest you go,' Jack said calmly. ‘I take it you're in Mr Cutler's employ.'

‘I was his right-hand man. I could set the paving stones on fire if I told you the things I know about Jacob Cutler.'

‘Shut up, you stupid man.' Ernestine rounded on him, her eyes bulging from their sockets. ‘You'll keep a civil tongue in your head or you'll leave now without a character.'

‘I don't think you'd do anything so ill-judged, ma'am.' Wiley held her gaze with a contemptuous curl of his thin lips. ‘I'll get myself dressed and then I'll go for the doctor, but I leave you to deal with her.' He jerked his head in Mirabel's direction. Pushing Charity aside, he re-entered the house.

Mirabel dashed her tears away with a shaking hand. ‘We can't leave him lying in the porch. We must take him indoors.'

‘I'll need some help,' Jack murmured. ‘He's a big man.'

‘You won't lay a finger on him.' Ernestine stepped over Jacob's body, forcing Mirabel to move away. ‘You're not welcome in my house, Mirabel Cutler.'

‘This is my home too,' Mirabel said dazedly. ‘You can't throw me out.'

‘Oh yes I can. This house and everything in it belongs to me now. Your father agreed to change his will, naming me as sole benefactor. You can go to hell as far as I'm concerned. Leave here now and I never want to see your face again.'

Jack stepped in between them. ‘You can't do that. The girl has just lost her father. Have you no respect for the dead?'

‘My Jake would be alive now but for the pair of you. You killed him as surely as if you'd stuck a knife in his heart.'

‘That's not true,' Mirabel cried passionately. ‘I loved my pa in spite of the way he's treated me since you got your vicious claws into him.'

‘Don't let her speak to you like that, Ma.' Charity hovered in the doorway, with Prudence hanging on to her hand. ‘Make her go away. I never took to her.'

‘Charity, go upstairs to the attic room and throw all her stuff out of the window. She's leaving now in the company of her fancy man.'

‘Madam, have a heart.' Jack spoke quietly, but Mirabel could see the muscles in his jaw tightening and his fists were clenched at his sides.

‘My door is locked.' Mirabel controlled her voice with difficulty. She was beyond anger, and despite the shock of seeing her father collapse and die, she was in command of her emotions. ‘And I have the key. I won't allow you to touch my things.'

‘Won't allow?' Ernestine thrust her face closer to Mirabel's. ‘You have no rights here, lady. You'll leave this instant, with or without your things, and I'll make Wiley break the door down and have a bonfire with what's left.'

‘That's harsh even for you, ma'am.' Jack's eyes flashed angrily but he kept his voice low and his hand sought Mirabel's, giving it an encouraging squeeze. ‘At least allow Miss Cutler to take what is hers.'

‘Don't let her in, Ma,' Prudence cried gleefully. ‘I've been dying to see in her room. She's probably got all sorts of things hidden away up there.'

Mirabel knelt down beside her father's body, stroking his cheek with her fingertips. ‘Goodbye, Pa. I'm so sorry.'

‘Get up, you trollop. Be off with you.'

Mirabel leaned over and kissed Jacob's rapidly cooling cheek before rising to face her stepmother. ‘I'd rather live anywhere than under your roof, but I will go to my room and take what's mine. You can't stop me.'

Ernestine barred her way. ‘Over my dead body as well as your father's.'

‘We'll see about that, madam.' Jack placed his arms around her ample waist and lifted her out of the way. ‘Go and get what's yours, Mirabel. I'll make sure this woman doesn't molest you.'

‘I'll have you up for assault,' Ernestine shrieked, kicking out with her feet, but Jack had her in a firm grip.

‘Keep still and stop that noise unless you want all your neighbours to come running.'

Charity and Prudence huddled together wide-eyed and trembling, neither daring to follow Mirabel as she made her way upstairs to the room where she had dreamed away her childhood. Now those dreams were shattered and she was alone and unprepared to face a world from which she had been sheltered all her life. Hardly knowing what she was doing she grabbed a carpet bag and stuffed it with as many of her plainest clothes as it would hold. She emptied the box of the few things she had of her mother's and laid them reverently on the top of the bag, leaving behind the fine dresses and dainty shoes that her father had bought for her. She would have to start life anew, abandoning her identity as Miss Cutler of Cutler's Castle. Dazed and numbed with grief, she made her way downstairs.

The cabby stared down at them with a mixture of curiosity and relief. ‘I dunno what's going on, guv. But I'll have to charge you double the fare for the wait I've had.'

‘You'll get your money. Back to Tenter Street, please.'

Mirabel paused with one foot on the step. ‘No, Jack. You can't take me to that place. I won't go there.'

‘Perhaps you'd rather sleep in a shop doorway or on the steps of St Paul's.'

‘No, but . . .'

‘Is there someone you know who would take you in? Have you any relatives in London?'

‘No, there's no one.'

‘As I said, Tenter Street, cabby.' Jack helped her into the carriage and climbed in beside her. ‘Zilla will give you a bed for the night, and you'll be there for Gertie when she wakes up.'

She thought for a moment, desperation making her bold. ‘Where do you stay when your ship is in port?'

‘On board. It's no place for a woman.'

‘I wasn't asking you to take me in,' she said icily. ‘I can look after myself, but I don't want to be beholden to that woman.'

‘Unless you've a better idea there's not much choice, and Zilla is all right. You just have to know how to handle her.'

Mirabel shot him a sideways glance. ‘I'm not the one who had my face slapped.'

‘Touché,' he said, chuckling. ‘Don't worry about Zilla. She's got a heart of gold beneath that steely exterior.'

‘Just one night,' Zilla said as she ushered Mirabel into the room where Gertie lay sleeping. ‘You'll have to take the sofa.'

‘Thank you, Miss Grace. I'm much obliged to you.' Jack had left her at the door, handing her over to Zilla as if she were an orphan discovered wandering the streets.

‘I know what you think of me and my establishment, Miss Cutler. You made that very clear. I'm doing this as a favour to an old friend, and tomorrow you'll have to make your own arrangements.'

‘I understand.' Mirabel sank down on the nearest chair. ‘I'm truly grateful to you, Miss Grace.'

‘It's Zilla. No one calls me Miss Grace.' Zilla gave her a calculating look. ‘You need to sleep. I'll send a girl in with some blankets and a pillow. Make yourself comfortable – you won't be disturbed unless Gertie wakes up, but I've given her a hefty dose of laudanum so she should sleep until morning.'

‘Thank you, Zilla.' Mirabel managed a weary smile.

‘Don't thank me. This was Jack's idea.' Zilla left the room, closing the door behind her.

Mirabel sat very still. Shock and disbelief had set in the moment she left Catherine Court, but the reality of her situation was slowly beginning to dawn on her. She was alone in the world, penniless and virtually friendless. If Wiley had planned her downfall he must be rejoicing now even though he had lost his mentor, and Ernestine would be triumphant. Mirabel had suspected all along that her stepmother was in love with Jacob Cutler's money, and cared nothing for the man himself. She was now the sole owner of Cutler's Castle and Jacob's fortune would be hers to spend as she pleased.

A timid tap on the door made her turn with a start. ‘Come in.'

‘I brought your bedding, miss.' Barely visible beneath a pile of blankets, the maidservant put it down with an audible sigh of relief. ‘Shall I make up a bed for you, miss?'

‘No, thank you. I can do it myself.'

‘Yes, miss.' The girl backed towards the doorway. ‘Miss Zilla said to ask if there was anything you wanted.'

Mirabel smiled tiredly and shook her head. ‘I've everything I need, thank you.' She waited until the girl had gone, undressed and lay down on the makeshift bed. She left a candle burning in case Gertie should wake up and be afraid in the dark, and she closed her eyes.

She awakened to the sound of someone calling her, and at first she thought she was at home in her own room, but when she opened her eyes she realised that this was far from the truth. The memory of what had happened last night came flooding back, taking her breath away. It was true. It had not been a dreadful nightmare – her father was dead and Ernestine had taken everything. She sat up, realising that the faint voice belonged to Gertie, and she raised herself from the sofa. ‘It's all right. I'm here.' She made her way to the window and drew back the curtains, allowing a fractured shaft of hazy sunlight to filter through the grimy windowpanes.

Gertie lifted her head, peering dazedly at her. ‘I'm thirsty.'

Despite her own worries, Mirabel experienced a feeling of intense relief. Gertie was over the worst of the fever. She went to the table and filled a glass with water from a jug that Zilla had provided, taking it to the bed and holding it to Gertie's parched lips. ‘Take small sips.'

Gertie sank back on the bed. ‘Where are we, miss?'

‘It's a long story, but you're safe here and you'll be well cared for.'

‘You ain't going to leave me, are you?'

‘No, of course not.' Mirabel made an effort to sound positive. The truth was she had no idea what she was going to do next, but she could hardly admit that to a sick girl. It was going to be difficult enough to explain why they were living in a brothel in the roughest part of town. Time enough for that when Gertie regained her strength.

Mirabel dressed quickly. She was about to tell her patient that she was going to ask Zilla if they could have some breakfast when she realised that Gertie had gone back to sleep. She let herself out of the room and knocked on the parlour door, but there was no response. It was only then she realised that the house was in silence and that the ladies of the night must still be asleep. She found the back stairs and went down to the kitchen.

The young maidservant who had brought her the bedding was poking the fire in the range, and she spun round at the sound of Mirabel's footsteps, brandishing the poker like a weapon. Her frightened expression was wiped away by a smile. ‘Oh, it's you, miss.'

‘Who did you think it was?' Mirabel asked curiously.

‘I dunno. Sometimes we gets a stray gent wandering into the kitchen on the excuse of wanting something or other.'

‘You looked scared.'

‘You made me jump, that's all.'

Mirabel was not certain she believed her. ‘What's your name?'

‘It's Lizzie, miss.'

‘Well, Lizzie, I was wondering if I could have a cup of tea and something to eat. I'll need a jug of warm water too.'

‘You can have what you like. Cook is in bed with one of her heads, although between you and me I think she took to the gin bottle last evening.'

‘Does she do that often?'

‘More often than not, miss.' Lizzie gave the fire a final poke and flames licked up round the coals. ‘Thank God for that. I thought the bugger was going to go out on me.' She clapped her hand to her mouth, blushing. ‘Excuse the language, miss. I was forgetting meself.'

‘What can I do to help?'

‘You're from above stairs, miss. You don't belong down here.' Lizzie seemed genuinely shocked.

‘I'm here on sufferance, if you know what I mean.'

‘I'm afraid I don't, miss.'

‘Well, I'm not exactly a guest and I don't work here, so while I'm under Miss Zilla's roof I'll do my bit to help.' Mirabel glanced round the untidy kitchen. Pots and pans were strewn on the table as well as the remains of last night's supper. ‘I'm sure you could do with a hand, especially if Cook is indisposed.'

‘If that means dead drunk, then yes, she is. I wouldn't say no to a bit of help. I have to get the water boilers filled so that the girls upstairs can take their baths, and when they wake up they'll all want tea and toast and I dunno how I'll manage.'

‘Do you mean to tell me that it's just you and Cook to look after everyone here?'

‘Lord, no, miss. There's the charwoman, but she's taking out the night soil ready for collection and she does all the heavy work. Then there's Edna and Florrie who come in to clean the upstairs rooms, but they don't start until late morning. There's not much point them turning up to find all the sluts still in bed, and some of them are all-nighters, if you get my meaning.'