Polly's Story (10 page)

She hesitated and I wondered whether she was about to say something else, but then she only sighed and laid down the nippers, and the moment was gone. ‘This thing’s as hard as a rock. We shall have to take the meat cleaver to it.’

That was quite a performance. Fragments of sugar ended up flying all over the place, but at last we had enough broken off to make up the syrup. ‘Miss Eugenie will probably do all right for herself,’ Iris said, wiping her hands on her apron. ‘She’ll end up the mistress of some big fancy house with lots of girls like us, no doubt, to keep it clean and comfortable. I wouldn’t mind being in her shoes and neither would you, I should imagine.’

I wasn’t so sure about that. Of course it would be lovely to wake up in a nice warm room, with a fire blazing away in the grate, but I didn’t fancy the idea of someone creeping around in the dark, to lay it. I’d sooner look after myself than ask somebody else to do it for me; that’s how I was raised. Besides, whatever would I do all day, with nothing to keep my hands busy? Look at Miss Harriet: she was bored to death half the time, even though the new governess had arrived. She couldn’t give two pins about those things that Eugenie was so good at: French and embroidery and poetry, and tinkling away on the piano.

‘Don’t go worrying about Miss Eugenie,’ Iris told me, when the marmalade was bubbling away on the stove. ‘There’s no need to take the cares of the world on your shoulders. Just you look out for yourself, Polly - nobody else will.’

She was probably right, I thought, taking a deep breath of that sour, bitter-sweet tang of oranges and hot sugar which was to stay in our clothes and hair for days afterwards. I can never smell boiling marmalade now without thinking of Iris.

Because Iris was so preoccupied, I found myself spending more time with Miss Harriet. Things would have to change when the family came back, but in the meantime, nobody seemed to mind us going about together on my afternoon off or in the evenings, now that they were drawing out. She showed me all sorts of mysterious corners in the house that I’d never have found on my own: a part of the attic which was full of old furniture and chests of musty clothes; the tiny cell behind a wall in the drawing room, where a priest had once hidden when Henry the Eighth’s soldiers came looking for Catholics; false shelves of books in the library which opened up to reveal a narrow, twisting staircase.

One sunny June afternoon, Harriet and I climbed out on to the roof through a sash window in the corridor opposite our maids’ bedroom. She followed me along a narrow walkway between two chimney stacks and we came out on a flat part of the roof, like a square courtyard looking up to the blue sky above. It was quite safe, being shut in by more chimney stacks and a balustrade which ran all around the edge of the roof, and so private - just the place to talk. The weather had turned very hot at the beginning of the month, so we maids would sometimes sit out there at night for an hour or so when it was too hot to sleep in the attic room, whispering together so Mrs Henderson wouldn’t hear us. I was glad to have somewhere to show Harriet in return. Besides, I’d been wanting to persuade her to take more account of her new governess; now was the perfect time to do it.

Miss Habershon, that was the governess’s name, and she interested me a great deal. I had never seen anyone like her before. She was small and neat, with straight brown hair drawn back in a knot at the nape of her neck, and dressed all in black like an old crow, with not a scrap of lace or trimming to be seen. ‘Well, no chance of His Lordship being led astray by that one,’ Becky commented when we first saw Miss Habershon, and her appearance did take some getting used to - especially in one so young, for she couldn’t have been more than twenty. After a while, though, I began to think that being got up so plain quite suited her: you looked at her face, not her clothes, and then you noticed her pearly skin and clever dark eyes, drinking everything in.

She once came across me looking at a book from one of her shelves when I was meant to be dusting the room, but she didn’t seem to mind. She told me I could take it away to read if I liked (which I did, having always been a great reader at school), and that I could borrow another one when I’d finished. It was a story by Charles Dickens called Great Expectations, which I thought sounded very interesting - having some expectations of my own - and it must have had a great deal more to it than Iris’s novelettes, because I couldn’t go to sleep without reading a few pages every night, and had to beg another candle from Jane to finish it. So I was very kindly disposed towards Miss Habershon, and thought Miss Harriet should have paid her more attention.

‘She knows about all sorts of things,’ I said, once we were comfortably settled against a chimney. ‘You should see the piles of books in her room - and there’s a microscope. She has one of those new bicycles, too. Perhaps she could teach you to ride it.’

‘She shouldn’t even be there!’ Harriet glowered. ‘It’s Nanny Roberts’ room, not hers. I don’t want anything to do with her, or her microscope, or her precious bicycle. She looks ridiculous on it, anyway. The gardeners were laughing at her yesterday.’

I could tell it was time to hold my tongue, though I was disappointed Miss Harriet should think that way. ‘Anyway, Rory and Edward will be home next month for my birthday,’ she said, holding her face up to the sun. ‘There’ll be no time for lessons then.’

 
The family were probably ready for a break in the countryside, although the London season was still in full swing. Who wants to be stuck in a hot, noisy city in the summer, when you could be paddling in a cool stream or walking in the shade of a wood? There would be some other guests from London coming down a little later too, including - and this was most exciting of all - the young American lady, Miss Brookfield, and her mother. We had a good chat about that in the servants’ hall, as you can imagine. I wanted to learn as much as I could about Miss Brookfield, because Mrs Henderson had told me that I was to act as her maid for the visit (Mary, Becky and Jane all being occupied with the married ladies). Apart from Miss Harriet, I had never maided for anyone before, and was feeling quite nervous about it. What if Miss Brookfield realized how young and inexperienced I was? What if I could not manage her hair?

The Vyes finally arrived back at Swallowcliffe, along with the staff who had been looking after them in London - Mrs Bragg and Mr Goddard, Jemima and Lord Vye’s valet, the other footmen and the kitchenmaids. The rest of us stood in a circle on the front steps to welcome them home, along with Miss Harriet and Master John. Lady Vye certainly looked pleased to see her little boy; after all, she had been away from him for nearly four months. I shouldn’t have liked to be separated from my own son for so long, but there you are - some things about the gentry I’ll never understand. They had a few days to settle back into the house before Master Edward came down from Oxford and Master Rory from London, together with the Brookfields and our other guests.

I looked anxiously out of the window when the carriage that had gone to meet them arrived from the station, but the only glimpse of my lady was the sweep of a wide-brimmed hat and the swish of a lavender gown beneath, reaching out to take William’s arm. So I tapped on the door of the Chinese Room without knowing quite what to expect, once Miss Brookfield and her luggage had been taken upstairs.

In a second, it opened wide and there she stood. Well, she was certainly beautiful, with greeny-grey eyes and copper-coloured hair that glinted in the sun like a new penny, but that was only the half of it. She spoke with a sort of lilting drawl that you could have listened to for hours, and had such a natural, easy manner that I knew right away she’d be a pleasure to work for. After I had told her who I was, she took me into the room and sat me down on the bed beside her. (I couldn’t imagine Lady Vye ever doing that!)

‘Now, Polly,’ she said, smiling at me as though we had known each other for years, ‘I am relying on you to tell me the drill around here. You must stop me making some awful mistake like wearing tweeds to dinner or insulting an important duchess. Will you be my helpmate, and try not to laugh if I say anything too stupid? I shall be quite lost otherwise, and people will say we Americans don’t have the first idea how to behave.’

‘I’m sure you don’t need my advice, Miss,’ I said, feeling myself blush with pleasure.

‘Oh, but I do,’ she laughed, jumping up, ‘and you look so sweet and patient I know you will give it freely. Now, must I change for luncheon? And if so, which of these dresses should I choose?’

She flung open several of her suitcases and pulled out one gown after another until the bed was covered in a rainbow of pretty colours. Together we decided on a cream muslin frock that was just right for the occasion (and which she had probably been planning to wear all along, come to think of it). I helped her wash and change, then unpacked the cases and hung up the rest of her beautiful clothes while she wandered about the room, asking me a stream of questions about Swallowcliffe and the Vyes. She had already been so kind to me, taking the trouble to put me at my ease like that, and I’d have done anything for her in return; at least I was able to pass on what I knew about the Hall.

‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen such an enchanting place,’ she said, wandering over to the window and looking out over the parkland and the hills behind. ‘I mean to explore every inch of it, if I may. Don’t bother about my hair, Polly - I cannot bear to sit still for a moment. Do you think I am sufficiently presentable to go downstairs?’

So that was Miss Brookfield. Everyone she came across ended up a little in love with her - man, woman and child - and I think we were all hoping that she in turn might fall in love with Master Edward. Quite apart from her being so wealthy (the only child of a shipping magnate, apparently) she would make a wonderful mistress for Swallowcliffe; she seemed to think as much of the house and grounds as we all did. Edward had just come down from Oxford with his degree and he would turn twenty-one next year, so it was high time he started keeping an eye open for a suitable bride.

‘They could live in one of the spare houses on the estate for the time being,’ Mary said. ‘Why, the Dower House is empty at the moment! That would be perfect. And her father would probably buy them a London townhouse.’

We had everything worked out by the end of Miss Brookfield’s first evening at the Hall: all that remained was for Master Edward to propose before she disappeared back to America, and for her to accept.

‘Do you think she likes him?’ I asked William, happening to come across him laying the breakfast-room table the next morning. ‘How did they get on last night?’

‘They were talking about books for nearly half an hour,’ he reported, ‘and every one Master Edward mentioned, she’d read too. So that’s a good sign. But Master Rory was sitting on her other side, and she seemed pretty taken with him. They’re to go out riding tomorrow.’

Unfortunately Mr Wilkins was coming, or I would have spoken my mind about Master Rory. Trust him to stick his oar in and go spoiling things! Why didn’t he leave Miss Brookfield alone and give his brother a chance? She would be just right for Master Edward - cheer him up a bit - and she would be just right for Swallowcliffe too. Surely she wouldn’t turn down the chance of becoming the next Lady Vye, and everything that went with it?

The whole family showed Miss Brookfield and her mother around the estate. They were particularly taken with the boathouse, which apparently reminded them of mountain chalets they had seen in Switzerland. Between them, Miss Brookfield, Edward and Rory came up with the idea of holding a surprise party for Miss Harriet’s birthday there. Her brothers would take Harriet out rowing on the lake in the morning, and stop off at the boathouse as if by chance. Inside, all the guests would be waiting to wish her a happy birthday, with a wonderful luncheon spread out on the table.

‘I know you will arrange everything perfectly,’ Master Rory said to us in the servants’ hall - no doubt hoping to win us over, since making the boathouse ready and then serving a meal there would be quite a performance. ‘Let’s give Harriet a party she’ll remember!’

We all agreed that we would - although as Becky said afterwards when Rory had left, she didn’t believe half so much fuss would have been made of Miss Harriet’s birthday if Miss Brookfield had not been there to witness it. I couldn’t get over Master Rory, standing there in front of Iris and talking about the boathouse, bold as brass. He might have spared a thought for her feelings. They had met there secretly at least once, to my knowledge, and maybe at other times too; surely he would have been able to persuade Miss Brookfield that the party might be better held somewhere else. I could tell that Iris was upset by it. She was sitting beside me and I felt her flinch when he mentioned the place.

Iris had taken a turn for the worse since Rory had turned up at Swallowcliffe again; all the spirit seemed to have gone out of her and I noticed her red-eyed a couple of times in the morning, as if she had been crying at night. I should like to box his ears for the trouble he’s caused, I thought to myself as I swept out the grate in the boathouse, the day before Harriet’s birthday. There he was, parading about with Miss Brookfield as though he hadn’t a care in the world, and breaking poor Iris’s heart in the process.

‘Well, I’ve done my best with the carpets but they still smell properly musty,’ Jane said, coming in through the open double doors. ‘And how everybody is to fit in here with all those tables and chairs, not to mention the food and drink and enough people to serve it, I really don’t know.’

She could be a right misery sometimes. ‘Oh, they’ll manage,’ I told her. ‘It’s sure to be sunny so most of them will sit out on the balcony, I should imagine.’