by Val Wood
‘Well, if they did,’ Rosalie declared, ‘we would answer the door as usual and explain that as we were busy packing to leave I was unable to receive visitors, except in the drawing room. They wouldn’t stay long,’ she said with some satisfaction, ‘if there wasn’t a fire. I am, however, expecting a visit from Mr and Mrs Fellowes, for I’ve written to them regarding transport and will of course receive them.’ She frowned. She had sent the letter two days ago but there had been no response as yet.
‘It’s your house, miss,’ Polly said. ‘You must do what you think best.’ She wondered what Martha or Cook would have thought. They would have been horrified, she was sure, if their employer had suggested she come to live downstairs with them. Not at all the thing to do, they would have said. Upstairs and downstairs shouldn’t mix. But Polly didn’t mind. She liked Miss Rosalie, and the crying session she had had upstairs seemed to have eased her tension. She was much more cheerful and positive now with regard to travelling to her uncle’s house.
Rosalie went through her wardrobe choosing clothing she thought would be suitable for life in the country. ‘My uncle said they lived very quietly and that there was no entertainment, so we’d better pack only plain gowns.’
‘And warm ones, Miss Rosalie,’ Polly said. ‘It’s bound to be cold in ’country.’
‘Yes,’ Rosalie said thoughtfully. ‘I’ve looked on a map of my father’s, and it seems to me that it is in the middle of nowhere. Uncle Luke only told me the names of the house and the moor. I found a place with the same name on the map, but I’ve written back to him and asked for more details.’
She selected some of her clothes, two grey gowns and one in blue, and a wool coat, and put them on the bed.
‘Why don’t you try these on, Polly?’ she said. ‘They’re a little too tight for me, but you’re thinner than I am and I think they’ll fit you.’ She sank down on the bed and sighed. ‘I don’t really know how to go about things, you know. I suppose Mama ordered clothes for Martha and Cook but I don’t ever recall her mentioning it, though I’m sure she would have taught me eventually; to prepare me for running my own household,’ she added.
Polly nodded, fingering the soft wool of the dresses. Ordering clothing for the staff seemed an odd thing to teach a young girl, she thought, but if that young girl was destined to be the mistress of a house she would have to learn everything about housekeeping and what to tell the servants to do, she supposed, otherwise everyone would live in a muddle.
‘These are lovely, miss. Can I try them now?’
‘Yes,’ Rosalie said. ‘Why not? And then you can pack your trunk as well.’
‘I don’t have one, miss.’ Polly slipped off her cap and apron and unfastened the ties of her skirt. ‘I wore one skirt and carried ’other one under my arm.’
‘Oh!’ Rosalie exclaimed. ‘Then in that case we must fully kit you out. You can have those three gowns and the coat; you’ll need stockings and new boots, four nightgowns and a dressing robe, slippers, a shawl ... I’m sure I can find several that I no longer wear.’ She pondered, her hand on her chin. ‘What else? A bonnet – two bonnets, one for weekdays and one for Sunday.’
Polly stared at her. ‘I’ve never had so much. And you’re forgetting, beggin’ your pardon, Miss Rosalie, that I’m onny a scullery maid.’
Rosalie blinked. She had indeed forgotten Polly’s role. They had spent so much time in each other’s company since the other servants had left that she had treated her as a friend, a confidante. But she was suddenly aware that Polly hadn’t forgotten her place. She always treated her, Rosalie, with respect and never overstepped the line between mistress and servant.
‘But you won’t be a scullery maid in my uncle’s house,’ she quavered. ‘I didn’t mean you to think that. He will have his own servants.’
Polly licked her lips. ‘So what, then, Miss Rosalie? What will I be?’ She clung tightly to the blue gown. She so badly wanted to wear it; it was such a beautiful blue, the colour of a summer sky.
Rosalie put her hand on Polly’s. ‘Will you not be my companion?’ she asked diffidently. ‘It doesn’t matter to me that we’ve had a different upbringing – that I have had so much and you so little. It seems to me that we’ve travelled on the same sad and stony path in order to meet.’ She swallowed hard. ‘I do not enter friendships lightly, Polly, but I would like you to be my friend, if you think you could.’
CHAPTER TWELVE
Polly gave a wide smile. ‘I’d like that, miss. I think we’d get on ever so well and we’d be sort of allies, wouldn’t we, up in that place where we don’t know anybody.’
‘Yes, we would,’ Rosalie agreed excitedly. ‘And you’re so much more sensible than I am. I’m far too sensitive. That’s the result of a sheltered upbringing. Oh, I’m so eager to be off now that I know you’re coming with me as a friend. It will be quite an adventure into the unknown.’
‘Yes!’ Polly said. ‘It will. It’ll be different from anything I’ve ever known, anyway.’ She pulled the blue gown over her shift. ‘Would you mind, miss, if I told a friend I’m going away? He might worry if he finds me gone.’
‘Of course you must, Polly. Would you like me to come with you so that he knows who you’re with? Oh, Polly! That suits you so well. I must find you a hoop to go underneath it, or some extra petticoats. But the colour is perfect. I have always loved that blue. Take a peek in the looking glass.’
Rosalie took Polly’s arm and led her to the full-length mirror. Polly stared at her reflection. That was never her!
‘Are you sure I should have it, miss?’ she said. ‘It’s – it’s too good for me.’
‘Nonsense,’ Rosalie said. ‘Of course it’s not,’ she added generously, for in truth she had always loved the gown. ‘I have a bonnet which matches and we’ll buy a blue ribbon for your hair.’ She fingered Polly’s fair hair. ‘And shall we wash it so that the colour is brighter?’
Polly let out a sigh. She hadn’t washed her hair in months. She never did in winter. In the summer months she would put her head under the pump, but in the winter the pump was often frozen up. ‘I’ll heat some water,’ she said. ‘I’ve had a bath since I came, in ’tin bath when Martha and Cook had gone to bed, but I’ll have another and wash my hair so that I’m sparkling when we leave.’
Rosalie laughed. ‘We’re not going yet. You’ll need another one before then.’
Polly gasped. ‘Too much washing is bad for you. That’s what my ma used to say.’
‘Well this time I think your ma was wrong.’ Rosalie giggled. ‘You go and heat the water and I’ll find some nice soap and powders for you.’
Polly reluctantly took off the blue gown. ‘I’ll keep that one for best,’ she said. ‘And wear a grey one to look for Sonny Blake.’
‘Sonny Blake? You’ve mentioned him before. Is he the man who ...’
‘Yes,’ Polly said. ‘He’s the one who spoke to you about me. He said he did, anyway.’
‘Yes,’ Rosalie said softly and idly twisted a lock of hair round her finger. ‘He did.’
The following day they set out together to look for Sonny Blake. It was bitterly cold and Polly decided that she would wear the blue dress after all, with the warm wool coat. Rosalie had found her a matching velvet bonnet and she exclaimed as she put it on that Mr Blake wouldn’t recognize her.
Rosalie too had washed her hair and the two of them could have been mistaken for sisters, being of a similar height and both fair, though Polly’s hair was thick and strong while Rosalie’s was soft and fine.
‘You might not like where I’m tekking you, Miss Rosalie,’ Polly told her as they walked towards High Street. ‘It’s a bit rough down here, but I want to ask Granny Walters if she’s seen Sonny.’
‘Your granny?’ Rosalie said. ‘I thought you said you hadn’t any relations?’
‘Nor have I, but everybody calls ’old lass – I mean, ’old woman – Granny Walters. She’s a sort of midwife and nurse. She’s allus there if anybody’s sick
or pregnant.’
Polly fell silent, thinking of her mother and about how the old lady wasn’t able to help her. The memory of that awful day and night came rushing back and she stifled a sob. If she went away with Miss Rosalie she would be leaving behind all those she knew, and the memories too. Or would she think of her mother as she once was, beautiful, caring and loving, once she had left these streets and courts behind?
‘It’s not all rough,’ Rosalie said as they entered High Street. ‘There are some fine houses. My mother knew several people who lived here, although quite a few of them have moved to the country now.’ She put a handkerchief to her nose. ‘What’s that smell?’
Polly put her nose in the air and sniffed, and then laughed. ‘That’s ’reason they’ve moved, miss. Cos of ’smell! It’s seed oil, fish oil, and ’stench from other industries.’ She refrained from mentioning the charnel house, although she could see smoke coming from the tall chimney. ‘And not everybody wants to live amongst ’poor.
‘We go down here,’ she said, cutting through an alleyway. ‘Mind where you’re treading. Some folks are not too particular where they throw their rubbish.’
Rosalie held her breath. There really was a most awful stench. Drains, she decided, though on looking round she didn’t see any. Then she spotted the pump at the bottom of the court and next to it a privy with its door wide open. She put her hand to her nose and wilted.
‘I don’t think I can bear this, Polly,’ she faltered. ‘I think I’m going to be sick.’
‘Oh, it’s not that bad.’ Polly turned to look at Rosalie, and saw that her face had drained of colour. ‘You should be here in ’summer. Even ’locals are ill wi’ stink. Are you really going to be sick? Cos if you are—’ She stopped as Rosalie turned and ran. ‘You stop up there, miss,’ she called after her. ‘I’ll not be a minute.’
Mrs Walters wasn’t there, but Polly left a message with one of her granddaughters to say that she was going away. ‘Be sure to tell her,’ she said. ‘I’m going away to a new life in ’country.’
Rosalie was leaning against a wall in High Street. ‘I’m sorry, miss,’ Polly said. ‘I never thought ... I mean, I’m used to it.’ She heaved a breath. ‘There’s nobody about, anyway. I’ll have to come back tonight.’
‘Not in the dark!’ Rosalie objected. ‘It won’t be safe.’
‘Yes it will,’ Polly said cheerfully. ‘I lived here, don’t forget. But I won’t come in this frock,’ she added thoughtfully. ‘I don’t want folks to think I’ve come into money.’
Money! ‘Polly!’ Rosalie exclaimed. ‘I haven’t given you any wages. What did Cook say when she interviewed you?’
‘She said five pounds a year,’ Polly said, ‘and all found. She give me a shilling at ’end of first week and said I’d get another shilling in spring and then ’rest next November if I was still here. Riches!’ she crowed.
Rosalie made a mental note to give Polly some money before they left. She would need to see Mr Benjamin again too, to arrange for her allowance to be sent on to her uncle’s house.
They crossed over Lowgate to make their way back home and Polly suggested they cut down Charlotte Street and round the edge of the town dock as it would be quicker. The sky was dark and ominous and more snow threatened. People were scurrying for shelter and a familiar figure was hurrying towards them with his head and shoulders shrugged down into his overcoat.
‘Sonny?’ Polly called to him. ‘Is that you?’
He looked up. ‘Polly!’ He grinned. ‘It’s never Polly Parker all dressed up and nowhere to go!’
Polly stuck her chin in the air. ‘It is me,’ she said pertly. ‘And I have got somewhere to go. We were coming to look for you to tell you.’
Sonny glanced at Rosalie. ‘Miss Kingston. How do you do.’ He smiled. ‘How very nice that we should meet again.’
Rosalie dipped her knee. ‘Polly was coming to look for you,’ she said awkwardly. ‘And – and I came along to confirm where she was going.’
‘Oh?’ He looked from one to the other. ‘And where are you going?’
‘Somewhere above Scarborough,’ Rosalie said and wondered why she felt so dumbstruck with this man when Polly was so free and easy. But she knows him, she excused herself. He said he was a friend of the family. ‘I’m awaiting further details from my uncle.’
‘Above Scarborough?’ He frowned. ‘How far above Scarborough? Not the moors?’
‘Yes.’ Rosalie said hesitantly. ‘But I’ve not been given full instructions.’
‘I hope you’re not contemplating travelling just yet,’ Sonny said briskly. ‘There’s still thick snow up there. The roads will be impassable.’
Rosalie swallowed. ‘At the end of February. That is the suggestion.’
‘What nonsense!’ he exclaimed. ‘How do you propose to travel? Is someone travelling with you?’
‘Just ’two of us,’ Polly said.
‘I’ve written to friends of my mother,’ Rosalie added, ‘to ask if they know of a reliable driver.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘You can’t. Come with me.’ He took Polly’s arm and would have taken Rosalie’s but she drew away, and steered them both back the way they had come and into an inn.
‘A pot of coffee for the ladies,’ he called to the landlord as he led them to a table in the corner away from the drinkers at the bar. ‘And a pint of your best ale.’ He seated himself opposite them. ‘Now. What’s this all about?’
Polly unbuttoned her coat, pushing open the collar to show off the blue gown, and sat back with a sigh of satisfaction as Rosalie began to explain.
She began hesitantly at first, and in a low voice, for she didn’t know this man and the thought ran through her head that it might not be wise to tell him that the house in Albion Street would be empty once they had left. She was reassured when one of the first things he said was that if they were going to shut up the house they must inform the police.
‘You should travel by train to Scarborough,’ he went on, ‘and ask your uncle to arrange transport from there. A local driver who knows the route, if the house is indeed on the moors. But perhaps it is not,’ he added thoughtfully. ‘It could be that it is only at Scalby or Hackness.’
‘He said they lived very quietly and that there was no entertainment,’ Rosalie said. ‘And the house is called Nab Farm. I believe it is a very isolated place.’
‘Ah!’ he said. Suddenly he smiled. ‘Well, if it is on those glorious moors, then perhaps I could visit you in the spring? You must write to me, Polly, and tell me for sure. Send a card care of Charlotte Street Mews. The postie will find me.’
Rosalie drew herself up. ‘I’m not sure if my uncle would allow – followers,’ she faltered. ‘We must first discover his feelings regarding visitors.’
Sonny laughed irrepressibly. ‘Follower!’ he hooted. ‘I’m no follower.’ He gazed at Rosalie from his dark eyes and she felt herself blush. ‘I promised Polly’s mother that I would look out for her,’ he said in a softer tone, ‘and I will, even if it means going to God knows where.’
‘Did you, Sonny? Really?’ Polly’s mouth trembled. ‘I didn’t know that. Thank you.’
Sonny nodded. No need to tell her that Ida was already dead when he made the promise. He intended to keep it anyway.
‘I – I’m sorry,’ Rosalie stammered. ‘I didn’t mean – I didn’t mean to be offensive, Mr Blake.’
‘No offence taken,’ he said solemnly, but she felt once again that he was teasing her. ‘Of course you must be careful. It wouldn’t do to invite all and sundry to your relative’s home. But I assure you’ – he smiled at her – ‘I shall bring impeccable credentials!’
Before they left the inn, he remarked on how well Polly looked. ‘Miss Kingston is treating you very well. May I ask what role you will play when you leave town?’ He glanced at Polly but his gaze lingered on Rosalie.
Polly didn’t reply. The agreement to be friends had been solely between themselves. She was still a servant as far
as anyone else was concerned. What would Miss Rosalie say to Sonny?
‘Polly is to be my companion,’ Rosalie said firmly. ‘That is ... we will be companions, although Polly will receive a salary, which is her due.’ She raised her eyebrows quizzically at Sonny Blake. ‘I trust that will meet with your approval, Mr Blake?’
He held back a grin. It couldn’t be better. Polly would teach this correct and formal young lady how to unwind, and she in turn would teach Polly manners and how to behave.
‘Admirable, Miss Kingston.’ Sonny held her gaze. What fine features she has: beautiful skin, high classical cheekbones, azure eyes as wide and blue as a cloudless sky. He felt his senses quicken. I’d like to paint her. He smiled at Polly. Her gaze was eager and alert, her features sharper than Rosalie’s but attractive nevertheless. ‘I most heartily applaud you.’
He gave a short bow as he left them. ‘I hope to hear from you when you receive more details from your uncle and I’m at your service at any time. I’ll escort you to the station, if you will permit me, and help you with your trunks.’
‘Goodness!’ Polly exclaimed, watching him as he walked away down the street. ‘What’s got into him? He seems so different. He’s quite a gent, isn’t he?’
Rosalie also watched him until he turned a corner. ‘Yes, I think you’re right, Polly,’ she said abstractedly. ‘Mr Blake is more than he appears to be, or at least more than he would like us to think he is.’
Polly frowned. ‘I’m not sure what you mean, Miss Rosalie. He’s just Sonny Blake that I’ve allus known. But he’s acting sort of different from usual.’ She gave a grin. ‘I think I know what it is,’ she said. ‘Beggin’ your pardon, miss. But I think he’s tekken a shine to you.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Polly!’ Rosalie responded, but her eyes creased and she couldn’t help but smile. She nudged Polly with her elbow. ‘How silly you are.’ She tucked her arm into Polly’s. ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Let’s go home.’