Polly's Story (7 page)

‘Flip yourself up on the ice, John,’ I called out to him. ‘Just like a big fish. That’s the way!’

At last he came to a layer of ice that was thick enough to bear his weight. With Harriet pulling as hard as she could, and me holding her legs to anchor them, John finally managed to roll himself out of the water on to the ice. He lay there, exhausted, still clutching the other end of the scarf for dear life. We reeled him in, and then I took his limp, sodden body in my arms and skated for the shore as I had never skated before. Master Edward seized the boy from me, wrapped his coat around him and started running towards the house without another word.

‘Is he alive?’ Rory’s eyes asked the question - I was not sure whether he had spoken or not.

‘I think we got him out in time, sir,’ I said, through chattering teeth. Yet John’s face was so white, blueish even around the lips, and I could still feel the deadly cold of his body seeping through my clothes. I had an awful feeling he had been in that icy water too long.

‘We saved him,’ Harriet said, bursting into tears. I hoped to goodness she was right.

She gave me her skates to carry and then she and Rory ran on to the house behind Master Edward. Iris and I trudged behind. ‘You saved him,’ she said to me. ‘I saw what you did, and Mrs Henderson is going to hear about it too.’

‘Oh, don’t say anything,’ I told her. ‘I’m in enough trouble as it is.’

It was hard to go back to the house and carry on with our work as though nothing had happened, but Mrs Henderson would have had my guts for garters if she’d heard me talking to anyone. There was nothing for it but to put on our caps and aprons, for Iris to take up her place in the still room and for me to help the others set up the fifty or more little round tables in the dining and drawing rooms, each with its own silver candelabrum and bowl of flowers on the white linen tablecloth. Twenty extra footmen had been hired from London for the night, and a French chef had been busy in the kitchen with a team of maids since early that morning to prepare the refreshments. You can imagine what Mrs Bragg had to say about that! Her cooking was good enough for every day but not for fancy occasions, that’s what she must have thought, and it didn’t seem fair to me.

We had already washed the floor in the ballroom and given it a coat of beeswax and turpentine; now Mr Wilkins was sprinkling over a layer of French chalk so the dancers would not fall over themselves. The gardeners had been up the whole night, raking the lawns and the drive, and you could not move for flowers all over the house, everywhere you looked. There would be champagne for the guests first, and then they would have their dinner; the dancing would start at ten, stop at midnight for fireworks over the lake, and carry on till two in the morning when it was time for the hot breakfast with more champagne. There were enough bottles coming up from the cellar to keep the whole of the British navy afloat.
 
My last night at Swallowcliffe would certainly be one to remember.

We must each have gone up and down those stairs fifty times. There were cans of hot water to be taken up for the hip baths, fires to be stoked, and how ever many towels did our guests get through? Both the huge linen closets on the landing were emptied; they would have to work till midnight in the laundry to have fresh supplies ready for the morning. We hurried to and fro with flowers, and fans, and evening jackets that suddenly needed pressing right that minute, and another cup of tea for the Countess - oh, and could Lady Pemberley have a gardenia for her corsage, since those orchids were just the wrong shade of pink and clashed too horribly with her gown?

We gathered together in the servants’ hall for a quick supper at seven, those of us who managed to get away. I could not stop thinking about poor Master John. How was he? His name had not been mentioned, which surely had to be a good sign. If the worst had happened or his life was in any danger, we would have been told to stop preparing for the ball, wouldn’t we? But now Mrs Henderson was telling us each our duties. The conservatory had been turned into a dressing room for the ladies, and since I was not maiding for anyone in particular, I would be sitting there for most of the evening to offer any help that might be needed - after our house guests had come downstairs and we had cleaned up their bedrooms, of course.

‘Not so fast,’ the housekeeper said, as I curtseyed and prepared to leave. ‘You’re to come with me for a moment first.’

Oh, she did look cross! Somebody must have seen me out skating with Miss Harriet. I hurried along behind her as we made our way to the front of the house, wondering how I was going to explain that away, and why we were not going to her room for my dressing-down. Imagine how I felt when she opened the drawing-room door and beckoned me through with a nod of her head. Lady Vye was standing by the mantelpiece, and His Lordship sitting in a chair on the other side of it. They were both in evening dress. Lady Vye’s gown was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, deep blue shot through with green and a long train like a shimmering peacock’s tail. I only had a second to take it in, however; Mrs Henderson pushed me forward and I stood in front of them both, staring at the carpet.

‘Henderson tells me you went out on the lake this afternoon,’ Her Ladyship said.

‘Yes, M’lady.’ I could feel my knees start to tremble. What could she do to me now? I’d already been given notice to leave. Perhaps she was going to dock part of my wages for insolence; I should find that very hard to take, on top of everything else.

‘And I gather you were instrumental in getting John out of the water.’

‘Yes, M’lady.’ For a second, I forgot to keep looking down. ‘How is he? Will he be all right?’

Mrs Henderson tutted and gave me a sharp nudge in the back.

‘Sorry M’lady.’ I dropped my eyes immediately.

‘He has had quite a shock but the doctor assures us there will be no lasting ill effects,’ she replied. There was a pause. ‘If you had not acted so quickly, it might have been a different matter.’

Thank goodness for that. I could not help smiling from the relief, and had to curtsey hurriedly because that was probably disrespectful too.

‘We are very grateful to you,’ Lord Vye said. All I knew of His Lordship up till then was a solemn voice at morning prayers and a distant figure in the corridor which would send us scattering for cover; we knew that he hated to be disturbed going about his business. Becky had told me she had even hidden in a cupboard once, hearing his step outside the room and not having any other means of escape. And now here he was, smiling at me! Something about his expression reminded me of my father - which is the only time a baron has been compared to a fisherman, I should imagine. That was certainly a thought to keep to myself.

Then Lady Vye cut in, and that was the next extraordinary thing. ‘I have discussed the matter with Henderson,’ she said, ‘and decided to give you another chance. There are aspects of your behavior I find unacceptable, but clearly your heart is in the right place. Henderson tells me your work is satisfactory on the whole and you are still young - there is hope you will improve. You may continue to work at the Hall, so long as you manage to control your conduct. Do you understand? There is no place for a saucy, bold little madam here.’

‘Yes, M’lady. No, M’lady,’ I said, hardly knowing what to do with myself. I could have jumped for joy! However that would have done me no good at all, so I merely curtseyed again with so much feeling that I nearly fell over backwards.

‘That is all,’ she said. ‘Off you go.’

‘Just a minute.’ His Lordship was beckoning me towards him. He reached into his pocket and then slipped something into my hand. It was a sovereign - a whole gold sovereign! I had to look twice at the coin before I realized what it was, never having seen one before.

‘Good girl,’ he said, and smiled at me again. ‘You did well today.

Six

General Rules for a Ball

Wall-flowers: The master of the house should see that all the ladies dance; he should take notice, particularly, of those who seem to serve as drapery to the walls of the ballroom (or wallflowers, as the expression is) and should see that they are invited to dance. But he must do this wholly unperceived, in order not to wound the esteem of the unfortunate ladies.

From
Manners, Culture and Dress of the Best American Society
, Richard Wells, 1893

I hurried back to work up the servants’ staircase as though I were floating on air. My job back, and a sovereign into the bargain! Never in my wildest dreams had I expected such a stroke of luck. All along the upstairs landing, bedroom doors were opening and the ladies came sailing out in rustling clouds of silk and taffeta, chiffon and ostrich feathers. (I had noticed most of the gentlemen already downstairs.) Some were already wearing their masks, other held fans before their faces. The air seemed to hum with excitement, laughter, and whispered secrets. Miss Eugenie was the belle of the ball, very grown-up in ivory crêpe de chine embroidered all over with seed pearls, and a mask in her hand made of swans’ feathers. I hoped the evening would be everything she could have wanted, and more.

‘You look pleased with yourself all of a sudden,’ Jemima remarked as we started to tidy up the bedrooms.

‘I am not to leave after all,’ I told her, brushing up a quantity of face powder which the Duchess had managed to spill over the carpet. ‘They’ve given me another chance.’

That took the wind out of Jemima’s sails. ‘Better not waste it, then,’ she remarked. I could tell she was put out but didn’t take any notice; nothing could spoil my mood.

When the rooms were back in their proper order and the slops at last emptied away, I went to take my place in the conservatory. It had been set up with several dressing tables and a full-length cheval mirror, and the ladies soon started trickling in: dropping off cloaks and furs for me to hang up, checking their reflections or adjusting their hair. Once the dancing began at ten, I was not so busy - until a very grand lady in burgundy brocade came sweeping through the door.

‘Can you sew tolerably well?’ she asked me.

‘Yes, ma’am. At least, so I have been told.’

‘Good,’ she said, settling down in a chair. ‘I have had the misfortune to dance with the clumsiest man in Christendom, and the wretched fellow put his foot on my gown and ripped off half the hem. Just take a look! Can you do anything with it?’

‘I think so, ma’am,’ I said, inspecting the damage. ‘I’ll do my best, anyway.’

‘If you’re quick about it, you shall have a shilling.’ She fanned herself vigorously. ‘What a thing to happen! And a new gown too. My dressmaker only finished it yesterday.’

I had been provided with a sewing box in case of just such an emergency, so I knelt beside her on the floor and began stitching away. It was very quiet and peaceful and I was beginning to think she might have nodded off, when in came another lady who was evidently an old friend of hers and looked much the same sort of person, only not quite so stout. They fell to talking straight away in the kind of easy tones people take when they are well-acquainted. I could not help but overhear, although at first the gossip meant little to me as I did not know the names that were mentioned. But then the talk turned to the Vye family, and my ears pricked up.

‘That Eugenie’s a pretty little thing,’ my large lady said. ‘No wonder Clara wants her married off in a hurry and out of the way - far too much competition.’

Her friend leaned forward and lowered her voice confidentially, although there were no other ladies in the room at the time. ‘They had better hope she makes a good match. You’d never think so to judge from this evening, but I’ve heard somebody needs to bring some money into the family. Nobody can make a living out of farming these days, and a place like Swallowcliffe must cost a fortune to run.’

‘My dear, there’s talk they may have to sell off part of the estate. Really, it’s a disgrace! Our finest houses are all being bought up by bankers and factory owners, and who knows what state England will be in by the end of the century.’

There was a pause while they both fanned themselves. ‘There’s always Edward, I suppose,’ said the other lady eventually. I could tell she was rather put out to find herself the
 
bearer of stale news. ‘Perhaps he can catch one of these rich American girls who seem to be all the rage in London. There’s bound to be a new batch coming over for the season. Some of them are perfectly lovely, I hear, and better manners than one might imagine.’

The conversation turned to more general matters, and shortly afterwards I came to the end of my sewing. I snipped off the thread and got up, my legs half asleep from having been in the same position for so long.

‘Oh! I had quite forgotten you were there,’ my lady said, rather taken aback. ‘You’re a quiet one, aren’t you?’ She glanced down at the hem of her gown and then opened the beaded evening bag hanging from her elbow. ‘I think I shall only give you sixpence, since you have taken such a time.’

I might have said that it was a very long tear and she ought to have given me twice as much as she’d promised for mending it, rather than half, but as a matter of fact I did not. After all, there was a sovereign in my pocket. I did not feel sorry to see those ladies go, and wished I had not had to listen to them talk in that way; it was a worry to think of the Vyes being short of money.

I went to check the bedrooms upstairs, my head spinning with all kinds of thoughts I didn’t know what to do with. What a strange evening it was turning out to be, and shortly to become stranger still. I bumped into a lady on our servants’ staircase; she must have lost her way, although I didn’t see how she could have gone so far astray as to end up there. I curtseyed and stood aside to let her pass, wondering whether it would be rude to offer her directions back to the ballroom. She was wearing a lovely pale green gown, with a white pierrot mask over her fair hair.