by Lesley Eames
Lizzie was thrilled with the gifts she received in return. Harry arranged for delivery of a hamper from Fortnum and Mason and, among other treats, it boasted cake, shortbread, tea and sherry. Delicious.
Edith sent a box of produce from the farm, explaining that it was also from Matt. She included several small plants for Lizzie to start her own herb garden. Polly sent a little hat she’d trimmed for Lizzie and Margaret gave her a diary with an exquisite design of wildflowers on the cover.
From her father Lizzie received nothing at all. Unsurprisingly. Time wasn’t changing Edward Maudsley, it seemed, but the New Year wasn’t slow to usher in other unexpected developments.
20
One bleak Sunday afternoon in January, Lizzie and Margaret were sitting reading by a small fire in the music room when a knock sounded at the front door. They looked up at each other. ‘Are you expecting someone?’ Margaret said.
‘No.’ Lizzie got up anyway, shrugging off the blanket she’d wrapped around her shoulders in an effort to save money on coal.
As soon as the door was opened, the visitor launched herself into Lizzie’s arms.
‘Polly!’ Lizzie cried. ‘How lovely to see you.’
But Polly was in tears. Oh, no. Had something happened to Davie?
Lizzie drew Polly inside, closed the door and steered Polly into a chair in the dining room. It was icy in there but Polly would have some privacy. She sobbed for a while then raised her gaze to Lizzie. ‘Davie’s broken off our engagement. He’s broken off everything.’
Lizzie was stunned. ‘Why? I mean, what happened?’ Surely this was a hiccup rather than a permanent breech?
‘His letters have been rather short recently. I thought… I thought…’ Polly’s face puckered under the threat of more tears but she blinked them away. ‘I thought he was just too busy or too cold to sit writing for long, but then he wrote to say he thought we’d made a mistake in getting engaged so young. He said he still loved me in a way, but he wasn’t sure it was the right way for marriage. In fact, he was sure it wasn’t because he was craving his freedom.’
‘Perhaps he said that because he doesn’t want you to feel bound to him while he’s away at the war,’ Lizzie suggested. ‘He must know he could be injured, and he might not want to tie you down as nursemaid.’
Polly shook her head. ‘I don’t think so. He mentioned his two closest army friends and how they’d made him come to see that a man shouldn’t be tied down until he’s tasted something of the world.’
‘That might have been an excuse.’
‘The thought of being free excited him. I could tell.’
‘Then I’m sorry. Terribly sorry.’
Polly nodded, her pretty face wan and tear-stained. ‘He said I should keep the ring but I couldn’t do that. I gave it to his mother to look after.’
Lizzie was glad. The ring would have been a permanent reminder of what Polly had lost.
‘Davie breaking off the engagement isn’t the only thing that’s happened. Mrs Hepple’s daughter scolded me for not paying attention, and when I explained that my engagement had been broken off, she told me it was no concern of hers and I should do the job properly or find a different job. I told her I’d find a different job. I’m sorry to arrive uninvited, but I couldn’t stay in Witherton where I’d been so happy with Davie. I’d like to find work here in London, but first I need a place to stay. Do you know of any cheap—’
‘You’ll stay here tonight.’
‘I can’t. It’s your godmother’s house, and I know she’s—’
‘A kind woman. When did you last eat?’
Polly looked puzzled as though food hadn’t featured in her thoughts. ‘I don’t actually remember. Yesterday, I suppose.’
‘Then you must eat something now. Wait here while I tell Margaret what’s happened, then we’ll go down to the kitchen. It’s warmer there.’
Margaret was as sympathetic as Lizzie had expected. ‘I’ll stay here for a while to give your friend time to collect herself,’ she said, not being comfortable with excesses of emotion.
Polly was looking troubled when Lizzie returned to the dining room. ‘I don’t want to be a burden. Really, Lizzie. I have the money I’d been saving for when Davie and I…’ Polly faltered then steadied herself. ‘What I mean is that I have enough to pay for a lodging.’
‘Tomorrow, perhaps, but a Sunday afternoon is no time to be looking for somewhere to stay.’
They moved down to the kitchen where Lizzie warmed soup. ‘You need to eat,’ she insisted.
Margaret appeared as Lizzie was pouring tea a little later. Lizzie wasn’t surprised to see wariness enter Polly’s face. Margaret’s flinty features always looked formidable. ‘Thank you for allowing me to stay,’ Polly said.
‘You’re welcome. I expect you’re exhausted after your long journey.’
‘I intend to look for work and a place to live straight away.’
‘Commendable. What work have you done?’
‘I was a housemaid, but became a sort of companion to an elderly lady.’
‘You have references?’
‘From both employers.’
‘There must be many opportunities here in London. Domestic work especially, as so many young girls are filling men’s jobs or working in munitions.’
‘That’s what I’m hoping.’
Silence descended, Margaret’s stock of social conversation being limited and Polly still being in awe of her hostess.
‘Perhaps Polly could sing for you while she’s here,’ Lizzie suggested, hoping to create common ground between them.
‘Yes, I hear you can sing,’ Margaret told Polly.
‘Only a little.’ Polly looked even more nervous now. ‘I’ve never had lessons or anything like that.’
‘I’d like to hear you anyway. It’s no bother if you need to stay a few nights more.’
‘Thank you.’
They drank the tea then Lizzie said, ‘Come upstairs and get settled, Polly.’
Polly collected her bag from the hall and followed Lizzie up to one of the two attic rooms. ‘It isn’t very homely,’ Lizzie apologised.
‘I’m just grateful for somewhere to stay.’
They made the bed up together. ‘I hope you didn’t mind me suggesting you sing for my godmother. I’m sure singing is the last thing you feel like doing, but she’ll appreciate listening to you.’
‘I just hope she isn’t disappointed.’
‘I doubt it. Oh, Polly!’
She’d begun to cry again. Lizzie held her close then insisted she should get into bed for a sleep. ‘Rest now. This house hasn’t many creature comforts but it does have indoor plumbing. The bathroom is next to my bedroom one floor down at the back. I’ll wake you for supper.’
Polly insisted on getting up early the following morning to look for work.
‘We have the women’s group coming tonight and it would be nice if you could join us,’ Lizzie told her.
‘Must I? I don’t mean to be rude but—’
‘You needn’t join us for long.’ And it would do her good.
Lizzie gave Polly a spare key. ‘Margaret and I are teaching today so just let yourself in when you get back from your job hunting. Good luck!’
Polly was obviously tired when she returned but, as Lizzie had expected of her hardworking friend, she’d left no stone unturned in her search for work. ‘I had interviews at three employment agencies, made enquiries at several shops and bought two newspapers for the Situations Vacant pages.’
‘You’ve made an excellent beginning,’ Lizzie said.
‘I didn’t look for anywhere to stay. A live-in job might suit me best, but I can move into lodgings temporarily if I’m in the way here.’
‘You’re not. I’ve made stew for supper so I hope you’re hungry. We need to eat soon as our friends are coming. You’re going to join us?’
Margaret swept into the kitchen. ‘Of course, she’s going to join us.’
Outnumbere
d, Polly nodded and after supper changed into her Sunday Best dress, a simple pale blue dress that looked extremely pretty on her dainty frame.
Her nervousness still showed when the guests began to arrive. ‘I’m a farm labourer’s daughter,’ she whispered to Lizzie. ‘I don’t fit in with grand people like these.’
‘Both Margaret and I have to work for our livings,’ Lizzie pointed out. ‘These people aren’t snobs. They’re friendly. Just be yourself, Polly. You have lovely manners.’
Polly was unconvinced but Lizzie was proud of her friend as she talked to the guests. Polly was sweet by nature and far too modest to put on airs. She answered the questions that came her way with simple honesty.
‘Yes, I knew Lizzie when we were children in Witherton…’
‘No, we weren’t at school together. I went to the town school while Lizzie was educated at home…’
‘I left school at twelve to help to support my family…’
‘I’m in London to look for work…’
‘What sort of work?’ Cordelia asked, and Polly told her about being both a housemaid and a companion.
All of the guests promised to look out for opportunities and Polly thanked them with touching charm.
‘All we need to round this evening off nicely is some music,’ Cordelia declared later. Over the years they’d got into the habit of finishing with music.
Lizzie and Margaret moved towards the piano. ‘Do you play?’ Cordelia asked Polly.
‘I never had the chance to learn.’
‘Polly sings,’ Margaret said.
‘Not properly. I’ve never been trained,’ Polly said hastily.
‘It would be nice to hear you anyway,’ Cordelia told her.
Thinking Polly’s confidence would be boosted by the praise her voice was sure to win, Lizzie joined in the encouragement. ‘Remember how we used to sing “Greensleeves” together?’
‘That was years ago.’
‘I haven’t forgotten the words and I can’t believe you’ve forgotten them either. I’ll start, and you join in when you’re ready.’
Lizzie began to sing and after a moment of obvious terror Polly began to sing too, her voice gradually gaining strength until its silvery tone could be heard by all.
‘Why, that was delightful!’ Cordelia said. ‘Do favour us with another song.’
This time Lizzie and Polly sang ‘Scarborough Fair’, Lizzie being content to let Polly take the lead.
‘Thank you, my dears,’ Cordelia said when they’d finished. ‘I hope we’ll have a chance to hear you sing again, Polly.’
The guests began to leave but Cordelia held back. ‘I was struck by what you said about keeping an old lady company, Polly. My mother-in-law is becoming frail, and she’s unable to go out as much as she’d like. I know some people don’t warm to their mothers-in-law but I’m fond of mine. Not that she’s an easy woman, because she doesn’t suffer fools, especially now she’s riddled with arthritis and losing her sight. You might be just what she needs – someone to talk to her, read to her, take her out in her wheelchair, and write letters for her so she can stay in touch with old friends. But perhaps you’d prefer different work?’
‘No, the job sounds appealing,’ Polly said.
‘I can’t make any promises. I must speak to my husband and the old lady herself. You’ll need to meet her too. But I think you have the sort of sweet temper that would help you to cope with her peccadilloes. The pain gets too much for her, you see? So does the frustration.’
‘I understand.’
Cordelia patted Polly’s arm. ‘Don’t let what I’ve said stop you from exploring other possibilities.’
‘You see, Poll?’ Lizzie said, after Cordelia had left. ‘Everyone liked you.’
‘They were kind.’
‘They liked you! Cordelia even wants you for a job.’
‘I shan’t depend on her making me an offer. I’ll go out job hunting again tomorrow.’
‘Don’t get up too early, though.’
Polly was looking tired again and doubtless there’d be more tears shed over Davie before she slept. Lizzie ordered her to go straight to bed. ‘I’ll wash the glasses and plates. It’s no more than I usually do.’
Polly was still pale the following morning but insisted on washing the breakfast dishes before she left to look for work.
‘Nicely-behaved sort of girl,’ Margaret said, after Polly had left. ‘Excellent voice.’
From Margaret those were compliments indeed.
Polly had news when she returned later. She’d just left the house that morning when Cordelia pulled up in her chauffeured car. ‘She was hoping to catch me before I set out,’ Polly explained. ‘She’d spoken to her husband and he agreed that a companion was just what his mother needed. Old Mrs Bishop herself wasn’t convinced, but Cordelia took me to meet her.’
‘She liked you?’ Lizzie asked.
‘I’m not sure she liked me exactly. She just sniffed and said, “Hmm,” a lot.’
‘It sounds as though she and Margaret would get on a treat. But I’m interrupting.’
‘Mrs Bishop didn’t appear to dislike me either because she agreed I should work for her on a trial.’
‘Polly, that’s wonderful! Assuming you want the job?’
‘Certainly, I do. It’s a live-in position not far from here so I won’t have to look for lodgings. I’ll have Saturday afternoons and Sundays off so I hope to spend some of that time with you, Lizzie.’
‘Of course. I’m glad you found work so quickly.’
‘I was lucky.’ Lucky in employment, even if unlucky in love.
‘When do you start?’
‘Cordelia suggested I spend a week with you first, but if that isn’t convenient…’
‘It’s more than convenient. It’s welcome.’
‘But Miss Penrose? Margaret, I mean?’
‘She’ll be glad of your company. Especially if you sing to her.’
Lizzie showed Polly some of the London landmarks over the days that followed. When Lizzie was working Polly cooked and cleaned because she was keen to repay Margaret’s hospitality. Knowing Polly needed to keep busy, Lizzie didn’t argue.
Polly also sang.
‘You should join us on Saturday,’ Margaret said.
‘Saturday?’
‘We’re singing at a convalescent home,’ Lizzie explained.
‘You’re not suggesting I should sing in public?’ Polly looked appalled.
Margaret opened her mouth – probably to talk of duty – but Lizzie cut her off before she could speak. ‘I know you wouldn’t like that, Poll, but you could cheer us on.’
Getting Polly there was the first step. Once she saw for herself how much the men appreciated the concerts, she might feel more comfortable about taking part. That was the explanation Lizzie gave later when she apologised to Margaret for cutting across her.
‘That sounds subtle, Lizzie. I prefer plain speaking but I daresay you’re right.’
Lizzie hoped so. Polly certainly needed something to help her through her sadness over Davie.
21
They travelled to the convalescent home by underground railway. Polly’s eyes widened and her slim shoulders shuddered as they made their way along the tunnels. ‘You’ll soon grow used to it,’ Lizzie told her.
Polly looked doubtful and was clearly glad to get back in the fresh air. The convalescent home was in a former school. The administrator showed them into a large room which had a piano at the far end. ‘No stage, I’m afraid.’
‘We’re used to making do,’ Lizzie assured him.
Margaret played a few notes and grimaced. ‘When was this instrument last tuned?’
‘Some time ago, I imagine,’ he said. ‘I hope it isn’t going to be a problem?’
‘We’re used to working with less-than-perfect pianos too,’ Lizzie assured him, and the administrator looked relieved.
‘Is there anything I can bring you?’
‘Glasses of wa
ter, if it isn’t too much trouble?’
He went off to fetch them while Margaret and Lizzie settled down to practice with Polly looking on. Soon the wounded soldiers began to arrive and Polly’s expression softened with sympathy as she saw their bandages, empty sleeves and wheelchairs.
Some men grinned with cheerful enthusiasm. ‘They really are looking forward to hearing you,’ Polly whispered to Lizzie.
‘Let’s hope they enjoy it.’
They did enjoy it, listening enraptured to Margaret’s classical piano solos then livening up as the programme progressed to popular songs sung by Lizzie who encouraged the men to join in with the more rousing ones such as ‘Tipperary’. They did so vigorously, clapping their hands and even stamping their feet.
Polly clapped and stamped with them. ‘They loved every moment,’ she told Lizzie, when the men were leaving at the end.
‘That’s why we do this. The men are having a terrible time at the front and you can see that some have suffered awful injuries. We see our job as lifting their spirits.’
Polly nodded, looking thoughtful.
Monday came and Polly moved to old Mrs Bishop’s house. She called in on Lizzie on Thursday evening to let her know all was well. ‘I wouldn’t call Mrs Bishop an easy person, but she told me I was a good girl yesterday.’
‘You’re patient and gentle. She must know she’s lucky to have you.’
Polly was far too modest to agree.
‘Yesterday’s concert went well,’ Lizzie told her. ‘We have another on Saturday. Would you like to come along?’
‘Yes, please.’
This time they took the omnibus to a small cottage hospital where they were welcomed warmly. Margaret’s piano playing went well and so did Lizzie’s, but when the time came for her to sing, she took a sip of water and choked on it. Several coughs didn’t help. Eyes watering, she looked at Polly whose face drained of colour as she realised what Lizzie was asking.
Lizzie beckoned Polly closer. ‘The men are waiting,’ she got out hoarsely. ‘It would be a shame to disappoint them. Please, Poll. You can shut your eyes, if it helps. I shut mine the first time I sang in public.’