Pretty Polly (3 page)

She dropped a light kiss on Verity’s cheek and tripped from the room.

Verity looked at the cat, the dog, and the parrot. She gave a little sigh and rang the bell. When Pomfret, the butler, answered it, Verity shyly asked him for two leashes, one for the dog and one for the cat. “And, Pomfret,” she said “I would be most grateful if you could find out for me what is suitable food for a parrot and purchase it for me. The cat is to be fed a small amount of plain, boiled fish and given a spoonful of fish oil. No milk. Just plain water. The dog, I think, plain oatmeal with some vegetables and gravy and a bowl of water. I shall be keeping them in my room. Am I asking too much of you? In a household this size you must have many chores to occupy your time.”

“I shall be glad to oblige, miss,” said Pomfret with a wooden face.

I should not have apologized. How he must despise me, thought Verity—not knowing Pomfret was shortly to tell the staff that it was a great relief to serve a
lady
for a change.

When the leashes were produced, Verity stood and then winced as the parrot hopped onto her shoulder. “I will need to find a piece of leather for my shoulder, Pomfret,” said Verity ruefully, “until I can train this bird. What are the names of the dog and the cat?”

“The cat is called Fluff and the dog Frou Frou.”

“I think I shall change their names, you know,” said Verity. “Something more ordinary, I think.”

“Mrs. Manners changed the names,” said Pomfret. “The cat was called Peter and the dog Tray.”

“Well, Peter and Tray they shall be once more. I think fresh air would do them all good. Hyde Park is near here, is it not?”

“Yes, miss. Go right along to the end of Mount Street and across Park Lane.”

The parrot gave Verity’s hair a peck and flew back to its perch.

“I would leave the bird’s perch in here at the moment, Pomfret,” said Verity uneasily.

“Seems to have taken a great fancy to you, miss, if I may say so.”

Verity looked at Pretty Polly doubtfully.

“If you are going out walking, miss, I will tell James, the second footman, to attend you.”

“I trust the young man will not find the expedition too humiliating,” said Verity. “Very well, tell James I shall be ready to set out in ten minutes.”

When Verity had put on a warm, if unfashionable, wool cloak, she returned to the drawing room.
The house was large and she had no idea where Charlotte’s apartments were.

She put a leash on the cat.

James, the second footman, was a magnificent creature in scarlet livery. “I have never seen a cat on a leash before, miss,” he volunteered.

“Neither have I,” said Verity cheerfully. “But we must try.” She put the other leash on Tray, and dragging the cat and leading the dog, she made for the street door. The great parrot sailed off its perch and landed on her shoulder with a thump.

“Oh, no,” said Verity. “Not you. But I suppose my thick cloak will protect me from your talons.”

The first footman rushed to open the door and Verity handed the dog’s leash to James. “If you will gently walk the dog, James, I will try to cope with the cat.”

The butler stood on the step, watching with amusement as the odd procession made its way slowly down Mount Street.

The day was brisk and sunny with great flying clouds. Verity thought Londoners were a very
staring
sort of people. Quizzing glasses were raised. People stopped in their tracks. They didn’t say anything. They just stared.

Pretty Polly did an ecstatic little shuffling dance on Verity’s shoulder, and she groaned. The cat sat down for the umpteenth time, so she stooped, nearly falling over under the weight of the great parrot, and scooped it up in her arms, hoping it would not bite.

The vast, treeless expanse of the middle of Hyde Park came as a delight to Verity. She walked past the round reservoir, leading her odd menagerie until she found a seat by a footpath. She sat down, slipped the cat’s leash, and set it down. She then unfastened the dog’s leash. The dog immediately
ran around in circles, barking with delight, and then fell panting at Verity’s feet, its sides heaving. The cat slouched off and disappeared from view. The parrot sailed off into the air.

“Now what am I to do, James?” asked Verity.

“I wouldn’t worry, miss,” said James, standing at attention behind Verity’s seat. “If they don’t come back, Mrs. Manners will not be upset. Awful mess they make. Not house-trained, if you take my meaning.”

“Oh, dear, the cat must be allowed out at all times and the dog must have regular walks.”

“Mr. Pomfret has sent for a veterinary surgeon, miss, to help you with the parrot’s feed.”

“How very good of him, James. I confess country people such as I do not expect such thoughtfulness from Londoners.”

“I am from the country myself,” said James.

“Indeed! Will you not sit down, James? The day is quite hot and it must be extremely tiring to stand there.”

“Thank you, miss, but it’s not done.”

“Oh, I am not the complete country bumpkin,” Verity said easily. “I know
that
, but there is no one around.”

James’s feet hurt. He had been running errands all morning. He cautiously edged around the seat and sat down gingerly next to Verity.

Soon, he was responding to Verity’s questions about his country home. James had been drawn to London by the thought of working in a London mansion and of the livery he would wear. But it had, so far, been a difficult and strange existence. He thought that his quiet conversation with Verity in the middle of Hyde Park in the sunshine was one of the most pleasant things that had happened to him since he had come to town.

Verity took respect from servants as a matter of course. She treated her own small staff with friendly courtesy and kindness and never realized it was her own manner and behavior that brought out the best in them. She had, however, expected London servants to be very stuffy and grand and was pleasantly surprised by Charlotte’s staff.

As the shadows began to lengthen across the grass, Verity awoke the now sleeping Tray. “Perhaps I will return this evening and see if I can find the other two,” she said uneasily.

James took the leash from her and they both walked slowly toward the lodge at Park Lane, for the poor dog was so fat it could hardly move. There was a sudden whirr of wings and then Pretty Polly landed with a thump on Verity’s shoulder. “Well, that’s one, anyway, James,” she said cheerfully.

James looked back. “I’m blessed,” he said. “Here comes t’other.”

Peter, the cat, came skulking up behind them. Verity bent down to put on its leash, but it bared its teeth, hissed a warning, and backed away.

Verity walked on, looking back from time to time, and found to her surprise that the cat was following at a distance. When they got to the end of Mount Street, she looked back. Peter was lying stretched out in the middle of the pavement. She ran back, picked the cat up, and patted its dusty black fur.

A low, creaky, whirring sound, like the sound made by a rusty clockwork toy, came from somewhere inside the cat’s body. The dreadful Peter was purring.

Feeling a warm sense of achievement, Verity
conducted her small menagerie back inside the house.

Now to send off that first letter.

Verity sat at the huge oak pedestal desk in her room, chewing the end of a quill pen. Lying stretched out on the far side of the desk was the cat. The dog lay curled at her feet. Both animals had been examined by a veterinary surgeon. He had agreed with Verity’s ideas on diet, dosed both animals with sulfur powder, and then recommended a purge. But Verity could not face the idea of a night in her bedchamber with two purged and unhousetrained animals and so had refused. Sunflower seeds and fresh fruit had been provided for the parrot.

Pretty Polly had fascinated the vet. He had kept shaking his head and saying he had never seen a bird quite like it. It was very large, even for a parrot, and he had been intrigued by the gold fringe of fine feathers on the bird’s legs, which gave it the peculiar appearance of being dressed in exotic and ragged knee breeches.

Verity had then had supper served on a tray and found herself free at last to begin her task.

In order to do her best for Charlotte and repay her hospitality, there must be something in the letters
that would make the duke want to return to London. He had once proposed to Charlotte. He might still be in love with her. Verity frowned. But surely aristocrats did not fall in love. Marriages were more like business partnerships than marriages of true minds. On the other hand, the duke had only been twenty-four when he had proposed and Charlotte seventeen, so perhaps it
had
been love.

At last she decided that the first letter should simply be one of condolence. He had recently lost both brothers and father.

She wrote a short letter, remembering her own grief at the death of her mother and putting a great deal of warmth and sympathy into her sentences.

She had just finished it when Charlotte came into the room. “Oh, you have begun work already, you dearest of creatures,” cried Charlotte. She looked a picture in white spotted muslin with a very high waist and a very low neckline. However, Verity privately thought that Charlotte’s enormous bonnet, lined with pink-and-black-striped taffeta and tied under her chin with broad ribbons of the same material, was a trifle garish.

Charlotte picked up the letter and read it and made a moue of disappointment. “Not very lover-like, Verity,” she commented.

“I could not really write anything else,” said Verity. “When he replies, I shall send a further letter and try to charm him for you. But, in the circumstances, I could hardly write anything of a light and flirtatious nature. It would look most odd.”

Charlotte, who had been scowling horribly, suddenly smiled. “You always were a clever puss. I shall trust your judgment. Now, Lord Chalfont is to call tomorrow and I know he means to propose.”

“Then there is no need to write to the duke,” exclaimed Verity.

“Pooh! I am not going to
accept
Chalfont. It will do my standing in society no harm to be followed around by a languishing and rejected beau. Faith, but it was tedious today. I wish you had been with me. But why not! I mean, why not accompany me on some of my jaunts. Kean is playing Richard III tomorrow, and I have a box.”

“I should like that above all things,” said Verity, her eyes shining. “Oh, to see a Shakespeare play on the stage.”

“Silly widgeon. Who looks or listens to the play? Society goes to see each other. But you shall come and I shall point out all the quizzes to you. I see you have got rid of that pesky parrot.”

“I wouldn’t dream of doing such a thing without your permission, Charlotte. It is on its perch in the drawing room. I did not want to move it until it became accustomed to me. I wonder, Charlotte, while we are on the subject of Pretty Polly, whether we might have a cage for the bird?”

“Why? Has it become violent?”

Verity suppressed a grin. She had a sudden mental picture of a parrot wielding an ax. “No, but a cage is more easily cleaned of bird droppings than the drawing-room floor.”

“As you will. Chalfont is to call at noon. We shall go down together and you shall see how prettily I break his heart.”

Charlotte kissed Verity and sailed out and then let out a slight scream as Pretty Polly sailed in. The parrot flew straight to the rail at the top of Verity’s bed and shuffled up and down. She turned in the doorway. “If I were you, Verity, I would poison that ugly bird.”

Verity bit back an angry reply. She had no patience
with people who made pets of birds and animals only to lose interest in them.

“In any case, I must get a good night’s sleep and be prepared to break Chalfont’s heart.”

“Is he handsome?” asked Verity curiously.

“Chalfont, handsome?” Charlotte gave a tinkling laugh, that fashionable laugh that young ladies practiced as assiduously as their pianoforte lessons. It was supposed to start at the top register and cascade down the scale with a “chiming” sound. “My dear, he is the veriest quiz and
such
a bore. He wears false calves. Do not worry. My refusal of his suit will not dent his massive vanity one whit.”

Charlotte went out and closed the door.

Verity decided to undress and go to bed. She was just twisting around to unfasten the tapes of her gown when she met the unblinking stare of three pairs of eyes. There was a screen folded in the corner of the room. She pulled it forward and went behind it to undress, feeling silly but reflecting that she would feel even sillier undressing before the interested gazes of Charlotte’s pets.

She climbed into bed and stretched out luxuriously. The bed was very comfortable. There was a soft thump as the cat landed on the bed beside her and started doing a mad dance on the coverlet, digging its claws in and out, its eyes shut in ecstasy.

“Shoo!” said Verity, waving a hand at the cat, which seized and bit it. Verity picked up her book from the bedside table and thumped the cat on the head, and it slunk off the bed.

The grating sound of the watch calling the hour awoke Verity during the night. She groaned and turned over and found the cat lying on the pillow next to her. She was going to throw it off the bed, but there was something comforting and soothing
about its purring, so she closed her eyes and let it stay where it was.

The next day, Lord Chalfont stood in Charlotte’s drawing room and studied his reflection in the looking glass. “Fine. You’re looking very fine,” he told himself aloud. He felt his new wasp-waisted coat did him justice, and his skintight pantaloons were drawn over his false wooden calves, making him feel like some muscular Greek god.

A huge parrot sailed into the room and landed on its perch with a thump. It stared unblinkingly at Lord Chalfont, who looked at it uneasily. “Bloody parrot,” he said.

“Pretty Polly,” said the parrot in a harsh parrot voice. Then it put its head on one side, and in an uncanny imitation of Charlotte’s voice, it said, “Chalfont, handsome? My dear, he is the veriest quiz and
such
a bore. Do not worry. My refusal of his suit will not dent his massive vanity one whit.”