Polly's Story (17 page)

As I stumbled along the corridor with my apron pressed to my eyes, I heard a voice calling after me. Then I found myself being steered through a door and into a chair; I was in Mrs Henderson’s room, and she was sitting opposite me.

‘I’m so sorry, ma’am,’ I hiccuped, trying to control my sobs. ‘I don’t know what came over me. I shall be all right in a minute.’

She gave me a few minutes to control myself. ‘I didn’t think you’d fit in here to begin with, Polly, as you know,’ she said, and I glanced up to see her looking at me thoughtfully. ‘But you’ve done well here. You’re a hard worker and not some silly, flighty creature like a lot of them. I should like to see you staying on at Swallowcliffe and making something of yourself.’

‘Thank you, ma’am,’ I said, more than a little surprised.

‘So you mustn’t go getting any daft ideas in your head. The family go their way and we go ours, and that’s all there is to it. There is no point in complaining, or weeping and wailing about the unfairness of it all. I know very well why you’re in a pother, and let’s not have any more claptrap about your sick mother.’

She gave me a grim smile. ‘Shut your mouth or you’ll be catching flies in it. There’s not a lot goes on in this house that gets past me, or outside it for that matter. I know where your friend Iris ended up, more’s the pity, and no doubt that was where you went the other Sunday.’

I could hardly believe what she was saying. We’d been told that anyone so much as mentioning Iris’s name would be dismissed, and yet here was Mrs Henderson talking about my visit to her in one breath and my future at the Hall in another. It didn’t make sense! ‘How did you know Iris was in the workhouse?’ I asked. There was no point in pretending otherwise.

‘I know the matron of old, so I asked her to let me know if Iris turned up there. A good few maids have come to Swallowcliffe from Hardingbridge Workhouse over the years, although not many have done as well for themselves as Jemima Newgate. There, I’ve surprised you again, haven’t I? Anyway, that is beside the point.’ She leaned forward. ‘Just because Miss Harriet fancies a chat with you every now and then, or Miss Brookfield likes the way you brush her hair, it doesn’t mean you will ever be more to them than a servant - not that there’s any shame in that, mind. Forget your place and you’ll end up in trouble. You learn from poor Iris’s example.’

‘But it’s so unfair!’ I said. ‘Why is she the one to be punished, and - and - ’ Mrs Henderson was being very open with me, but I still could not bring myself to finish the sentence.

‘And the other party gets off scot-free?’ She finished it for me. ‘That’s the way of the world, my girl, and always will be. You might as well try to stop it turning as expect to change that - especially when there’s a gentleman involved. Iris knew the rules and she broke them anyway. Not so sharp then, was I? By the time I found out, it was too late, and I shall always be sorry for that.’ She stood up. ‘Now dry your eyes and think carefully about what I’ve said. I’ll not make a habit of talking like this, and I trust you won’t go yattering to the others about it.’

‘No, ma’am,’ I said. ‘Only, there is one last thing. Do you think the matron would let me see Iris again?’

Now it was Mrs Henderson’s turn to look surprised. ‘But don’t you know? I thought that’s what this crying fit was all about. I am afraid none of us will be seeing Iris again - not in this lifetime, anyway. She passed away last week.’

Fourteen

It sometimes happens among the poorer classes that the female relatives attend the funeral; but this custom is by no means to be recommended, since in these cases it but too frequently happens that, being unable to restrain their emotions, they interrupt and destroy the solemnity of the ceremony with their sobs, and even by fainting.

From Cassell’s Household Guide, c.1880s

The matron had written to Mrs Henderson again, informing her that both Iris and the baby had now left their earthly troubles behind. I suppose she didn’t care to admit that the child had been smuggled out of the workhouse and was still alive somewhere, perhaps causing trouble because of his very existence, instead of having the decency to set everyone’s mind at rest by dying quietly with his mother. The money that Iris had been keeping for the baby’s future had been used to cover their funeral expenses, she said, since the girl’s family was unwilling to contribute; they had been buried together in unconsecrated ground at the side of the Hardingbridge churchyard. I was too shocked by the news to tell Mrs Henderson where Iris’s baby really was, which was probably just as well since it would surely only have landed me in all sorts of difficulties.

‘All this must remain strictly between the two of us,’ she said. ‘There’s no point in upsetting the others when we’ve so much work to get through. I have taken you into my confidence, Polly - don’t let me down. Now get along with you.’

I couldn’t think what to do with myself. There was a little while to spare before we needed to go about our duties upstairs, so I ended up huddled on the floor in a corner of the linen room. It was peaceful and dark, with the sound of the carol-singing drifting only faintly through the door as I sat there with my back against the cupboard door. Iris was gone. My dear, sweet friend had died in that godforsaken place, with no one to comfort her. She must have known how ill she was: that was why she had asked me to come and take Ralph away. And then without him, she had lost the will to live. It was hardly to be borne.

At last I wiped my face and walked slowly back to the servants’ hall. The family and their guests had begun filing out, already in pairs for their procession into dinner. I flattened myself against the doorway of the china room as they went past. There was Miss Brookfield in her jewels and lovely evening gown on Master Edward’s arm, and there was Master Rory, following behind with some other beautiful young lady who was smiling up at him as he told her some amusing story. How I hated him, with his easy, meaningless charm! He might as well have stabbed Iris through the heart. If there had been a knife in my hand at that moment, I would have stuck it in him myself, and gladly too. It seemed extraordinary to me that could he walk by without feeling the heat of my stare as I stood in the shadows, watching him. Yet he did, and so did the rest of the party, and no one even noticed I was there.

And what if one of them had seen me lurking there, and even happened to glance at my face? ‘She has probably had some squabble with one of the parlourmaids,’ this person might have thought, if it had occurred to him or her to think anything at all, ‘or perhaps the housekeeper has had reason to speak sharply to her, or someone left a smaller tip than she was expecting. That’s the trouble with servants these days. They are never satisfied!’

I was very bitter, which you will no doubt understand and forgive. My grief lay like a cold, heavy stone in the middle of my chest, dragging me down. I nursed it to myself for the rest of that night and the next day too - which was Christmas, and hardly a time for such sad thoughts. We went to church and had turkey and plum pudding in the servants’ hall for dinner, and played snapdragon afterwards, snatching raisins with our teeth out of a bowlful of burning brandy, and then watched the wide-eyed tenants’ children receiving their presents, and all I could think about the whole time was Iris.

‘Just you stop worrying about that mammy of yours,’ Megan said, when we were filling up the hip baths that evening. ‘Since when did moping around with a long face ever help anybody?’ But that only made me feel guilty about the lies I’d told.

I went over and over in my mind everything that Mrs Henderson had said, and what she had chosen not to say. Why hadn’t she punished me for going to see Iris? Why had she taken such trouble to explain her thoughts to me? The only answer I could come up with was that she must have been fond of Iris, in her way. Although she had no choice but to dismiss her, she might have felt sorry for her. She wouldn’t go so far as to visit Iris herself, but she had chosen not to stand in my way. Perhaps she was a little fond of me too, and did not want to see me making the same mistake.

And then suddenly I remembered the extraordinary fact that Jemima had come to Swallowcliffe from the workhouse. To think of her growing up in a place like that! She was not a cut above the rest of us after all. If I had clawed my way up through the workhouse, who’s to say I’d have turned out any better than Jemima? All the things I thought I knew about the world seemed to be shifting; the only fact for certain being that it was a strange and confusing place.

On Boxing Day, Miss Brookfield had the chance to fulfil her promise to Harriet. The local hunt was meeting in the village, and the whole family and their guests were taking part - with the exception of little John and Mrs Brookfield, who would be going by carriage to see the riders and hounds set off and then returning to Swallowcliffe. Mrs Brookfield would be going back to America in a few days, and still nobody knew whether her daughter would be going with her.

‘She won’t marry him,’ Becky said. ‘She would have said yes by now, surely.’ I thought there was still hope, but the signs didn’t look promising.

 
We servants watched the party assemble in the courtyard. They did look fine, particularly Lady Vye and Miss Brookfield in their tightly-fitting habits, white stocks tied high under the chin, and dashing top hats. Both of them so graceful on horseback, too. I had heard that clearing fences safely is twice as hard in a side-saddle, and hoped my young lady would be careful. She was mounted on a large grey horse which was stamping its hooves and blowing down its nose in a very flighty manner.

At least Miss Harriet should be safe on old Snowdrop, who looked a placid creature, even though she was always complaining he was too slow. And there was Master Rory having a tussle with his great black hunter; I hoped it would throw him off and stamp on him too, for good measure. The brute had taken a crafty sideways kick at the brown mare his brother was riding. Anyone could see Master Edward was not as confident in the saddle as the others and the mare seemed to sense it as well: she kept stretching out her neck and clanking on the bit with her big yellow teeth. (I’ve never been much of a one for horses.)

Thomas and William took round silver trays covered with glasses of sherry, and then after this stirrup cup the party moved off at last. They would be out for a good five or six hours, so we had been told we could have a couple of hours to ourselves that afternoon since it was the festive season and we would be up late again in the evening. After our dinner at mid-day I fetched my shawl and coat from the back of our attic room door and stole away by myself, not being in much of a mood for company and hoping a walk to one of my favourite places on the estate might settle my thoughts. About a mile away from the Hall was a tall, narrow archway at the top of an avenue of oak trees running up the hill. This was the Fairview Tower, which had been designed by the first Lord Vye so that he could survey his estate from the flat roof. It looked such a mysterious, magical building from the house, catching the last rays of the evening sun. In the summer I had discovered the path which led up to the tower and loved to sit on the bench at its foot, looking down at the Hall laid out like a doll’s house below.

Today, however, I could take no pleasure in anything and stared at the bleak, wintry landscape with an equally frosty heart. I was not even sure whether I wanted to carry on working at Swallowcliffe now - perhaps it was time to start looking for another position. I could see Iris everywhere and it was too painful. So many places and things reminded me of her, down to the jam jars lining the still-room dresser with their labels in her neat handwriting. There was that spot on the roof where she had stood looking out into the dark. Had she any idea then where she might end up? I had a feeling she did. And yet she would not get rid of her baby just to make life easier for Rory Vye.

I don’t know how long I sat there, gazing at the house. After a while, I realized that the sight of it was comforting, somehow. My small hopes and fears did not add up to so very much in the scheme of things. When we were all of us dead and gone, Swallowcliffe would still be standing there, peaceful as ever, while another set of people played out the story of their lives. I loved the place, as dearly as you might love a person. Where else would I want to go? Iris would always be with me - she was locked in my heart - and the fact that we had known each other here was a reason to stay, not to leave. I felt calm and quiet, and then I had a bit of a cry, and that made me feel quieter still. Empty, almost.

Then all of a sudden, whom should I see walking up the hill towards me but William. ‘So this is one of your favourite spots too,’ he said, a little out of breath. ‘I usually have it to myself. Do you mind if I join you?’

‘Not at all,’ I said, despite feeling shy and awkward that we should be sitting there alone. Still, we had come together by chance; it was not as though we had arranged to meet. Although surely William must have seen me setting off up the hill ahead of him?

We gazed down on the house. ‘It is almost a year now since you first came to Swallowcliffe,’ he said, breaking the silence. ‘Do you remember when I found you wandering along the corridor, in a proper temper with Mrs Bragg?’

I smiled sadly. ‘It seems a very long time ago. Things have changed a great deal since then, and I have changed with them.’

‘Not too much, I hope,’ he said. ‘Will you not tell me what is the matter, Polly? Something has upset you, I can see that. In fact you’ve not been yourself for days.’

I shook my head, not sure whether I could trust myself to speak.