Rich Girl, Poor Girl

by Val Wood

  ‘No, here I am, Dora.’ A man in his mid-twenties came through the door. ‘And starving for eggs, bacon, sausage, black pudding, toast and coffee. Look sharp, there’s a good girl.’

  As Dora scurried out, he smacked her rump and turned to Rosalie and Polly. ‘Ladies.’ He gave a swift nod. ‘Edwin Kingston. One of you I believe is a cousin?’

  Polly took a small step back. This was a man to be wary of, she thought. Foxy! He was dark-haired and thin-cheeked, with a long nose and an arrogant manner.

  ‘I am Rosalie Kingston.’ Rosalie was unnerved by him. ‘I’m pleased to meet you, Cousin Edwin.’

  He came towards her and she felt his eyes sweep over her. ‘Likewise, Rosalie, though I must say it came as a surprise to find I had a cousin. Father obviously forgot to mention it, as he frequently does with other matters.’ He turned and glanced at Polly. ‘And are you a cousin too?’

  ‘This is my good friend and companion, Miss Parker,’ Rosalie said nervously. ‘Polly, may I introduce my cousin Edwin Kingston?’

  ‘How do you do?’ Polly said boldly and inclined her head as he had done. ‘Delighted to meet you,’ she added, making Rosalie smile.

  ‘Have you had breakfast?’ Edwin began to help himself to coffee from the jug. ‘It’s a free-for-all in the morning. Father insists that we wait upon ourselves, which is a terrible bore.’

  ‘We’ve onn— only just come down,’ Polly told him. ‘We were very late arriving last night.’

  ‘And very tired,’ Rosalie added. ‘But we would have been much later if it had not been for your cousin Howard’s assistance.’

  ‘Oh, really?’ Edwin looked at her over the rim of his cup. He took a sip of coffee. ‘And why was he so late, I wonder.’ He gave a scornful grunt. ‘Did he get bogged down in the snow?’

  ‘No, but we almost did,’ Polly said. ‘And one of Amos’s hosses went lame.’

  ‘Hah, you’ve picked up the local lingo already,’ he said derisively. ‘That didn’t take long!’

  ‘We say hosses in Hull where I come from.’ Polly lifted a defiant chin. Although she knew she had to be polite because she was a guest, she wasn’t going to accept any unnecessary criticism from Edwin Kingston. Howard Carleton had given her a timely warning.

  ‘Of course we do!’ Rosalie gave a nervous laugh. ‘Don’t you, Edwin?’

  ‘Certainly not. I don’t wish to speak with the rustics’ vocabulary.’ He put down his cup and marched to the door. ‘Dora!’ he shouted. ‘Hurry up with that breakfast, girl.’

  Polly saw that Rosalie was trembling and pulled out a dining chair for her. ‘Would you like coffee, Rosalie? Sugar?’

  ‘Please,’ Rosalie nodded. ‘One lump.’

  Polly poured the coffee, and tea for herself. It came out rich and strong. ‘Are you a farmer like your cousin Howard, Mr Edwin?’ she asked. He had placed himself at the table opposite Rosalie. ‘It must be very hard work.’

  He stared at her as if she was insane. ‘What? Howard farms in order to earn his keep. He’s lived here since his parents died, or lived off us I ought to say. He was left without a penny.’

  ‘Poor man,’ Rosalie murmured. ‘And how very good of your father to oblige him; as he has me also.’ She paused. ‘Although I expect my father will have agreed some recompense.’

  Edwin Kingston had the grace to look embarrassed. ‘Oh, I’m sure it will be of no consequence to my father. You are a woman after all, and hardly expected to earn a living.’

  Some of us are, Polly thought. But I suppose Mr Edwin would consider me to be of no significance if he knew I was just a poor girl from the back streets of Hull.

  ‘When is your father expected home?’ Rosalie ventured, hoping with all her heart that he wasn’t anything like his son.

  ‘No idea,’ he said abruptly. The door opened again and Dora came in with another loaded tray. ‘At last!’ he said. ‘About time. Serve me first, Dora. I haven’t got all day to waste. Excuse me, ladies.’ He glanced at them. ‘I’m sure you are happy to linger over breakfast, but I am not.’

  As Dora stood next to Edwin to serve him, he put his hand on her thigh. Rosalie and Polly saw the gesture and both stared at him. He shifted in his chair but his lip curled in a disdainful smirk.

  Dora’s cheeks flushed as she piled his plate with everything he had asked for, and then in a low voice she asked if she could serve the ladies.

  ‘No, thank you, Dora,’ Polly answered for them both. ‘We can help ourselves. We are women, after all, and quite capable of doing so.’

  Edwin looked up, unsure if there was sarcasm in her tone, but Polly had turned her back on him as she went to the dresser. ‘Bacon, Rosalie? Scrambled eggs?’

  When Dora left the room, Edwin glanced at Rosalie. ‘I hope you’re not a bluestocking, Cousin?’ He indicated casually towards the door. ‘I was merely jesting.’

  ‘I might be,’ Rosalie answered coldly, though nervously. ‘But what I am isn’t an issue. What I can’t tolerate is intimidation, particularly if someone isn’t in a position to answer back.’

  Polly served Rosalie and herself and sat down next to her. She said nothing to Edwin; not my place, she thought, but she looked him challengingly in the eye.

  Rosalie heaved a great sigh when Edwin left the room after wolfing his breakfast and curtly wishing them good day. ‘Thank goodness he’s gone,’ she whispered. ‘I could hardly eat a thing while he was here. What an insufferable man.’

  Polly nodded; she’d just taken a bite of toast. She licked her lips. ‘Glad he’s not my cousin. I wonder where he’s off to in such a hurry if he’s not going to work.’

  Dora had come in as she finished speaking. ‘Excuse me, miss, but Mr Edwin always goes to his room to read the newspapers after breakfast. He likes to read ’em first, afore Mr Kingston comes back in.’ Then she added tremulously, but as if she was trying to make light of the situation, ‘Then we have to iron ’em again cos he leaves ’em in such a state.’

  So he does have all day to waste after all, Polly thought. And that’s what he is, a wastrel. I wonder if Dora feels threatened by him.

  ‘Where will it be safe to walk, Dora?’ she asked. ‘We need some fresh air but don’t want to stumble into a snowdrift.’

  ‘Oh, I’m not sure,’ the girl said. ‘Miss Clementina hardly ever goes out if the weather’s bad and then onny on horseback. I suppose you could go up the hill behind the house. There’s a track there but it might be covered over. Have you got galoshes?’

  ‘I have,’ Rosalie said. ‘They’re in my trunk. If I’d been sensible I would have travelled in them.’

  ‘I haven’t any,’ Polly said. ‘I’ll have to walk in my boots and they’re still damp.’

  ‘There’s a spare pair of Miss Clementina’s downstairs,’ Dora said. ‘You could borrow those, miss, and I’ll unpack the trunk to find yours, Miss Kingston,’ she said. ‘Just as soon as I’ve cleared away.’

  ‘Rosalie,’ Rosalie explained. ‘Miss Rosalie. Miss Clementina will prefer to be called Miss Kingston, I expect.’

  Dora gave a little shrug. ‘She might,’ she said. ‘It’ll depend.’

  ‘And I’m Polly,’ Polly said. ‘What will it depend on?’ she asked.

  ‘On her mood, Miss Polly,’ Dora mumbled. ‘On how she is when she gets up of a morning.’

  Rosalie and Polly sighed. Polly pulled a face when Dora had gone. ‘Do you think Clementina will be like her brother?’ she whispered.

  ‘Yes,’ Rosalie said. ‘I rather fear she might be.’

  When they had finished breakfast and Dora had cleared the dishes, Polly went down the steps to the kitchen and knocked on the door. She knew better than to barge in without invitation, knowing how the cook at the Kingstons’ house would have been offended had anyone done so in her domain.

  ‘Galoshes, Dora.’ Polly peered over her shoulder when the housemaid opened the door. The kitchen was huge; tall cupboards ran along one wall and a massive inglenook fireplace containing an iron range
took up most of another. It had several fire-bars and side-plates; a roasting spit was holding a joint of pork which was sizzling and crackling and dropping juices into a metal tray.

  Polly licked her lips. The aroma was tantalizing. Pork dripping and bread with a touch of salt, she drooled. Heaven!

  The cook was rolling pastry on a large table in the middle of the room. She looked up, and seeing Polly waiting in the doorway she nodded her head and murmured, ‘Good morning, miss.’ A girl, younger than Dora, was standing at a sink up to her elbows in soapy water. She glanced at Polly, but when she saw she was observed she bent her head back to her task.

  There were several other doors in the kitchen and Polly wondered where they led. One’s ’back door, she thought, but what’s behind ’others? Then Dora came out from one of them holding a pair of galoshes.

  Ah, Polly thought. Boot and shoe room. And mebbe laundry room through the other. She was intrigued. Never had she been in such a large establishment. Another maid came down the basement steps carrying towels and excused herself as Polly made room for her. Mr Kingston must be very rich, she thought, to employ so many servants.

  ‘Here you are, Miss Polly.’ Dora handed the galoshes to her. ‘I hope they fit. Miss Clemmie’s bigger than you so you might need an extra pair of stockings on. Miss Clementina, I mean,’ she said hastily.

  Polly grinned. They’ll have pet names for everybody, I should think. I’d like to know what mine will be, she thought.

  Upstairs she and Rosalie dressed in their warmest clothes, adding extra layers of petticoats and wool stockings.

  ‘You do know that I wouldn’t venture out in this snow on my own,’ Rosalie said. ‘It’s only because you want to go that I’m coming too. It’s madness,’ she laughed.

  ‘It’ll do you good,’ Polly told her. ‘Bring some roses to your cheeks. Besides, you have to find out what kind of place you’re living in. Do you know, there’s a huge kitchen downstairs with four servants that I saw; yet there’d onny be four people living here if we hadn’t come. There’s Mrs Moody, Dora, Cook ...’ she started to tick them off on her fingers.

  ‘That’s the way it is,’ Rosalie interrupted. ‘Come on, Polly; let’s be going if we must. It will be almost dinner time by the time we get out.’

  They crossed the hall and two young dogs rose from the fireplace wagging their tails.

  ‘Are you coming?’ Polly said in a bright voice and they bounded eagerly towards the door.

  ‘Will it be all right for them to come?’ Rosalie said.

  ‘Course it will,’ Polly said airily. ‘All dogs like to have a run in ’snow. Come on, boys,’ she said, opening the door, and the dogs raced down the steps.

  The icy air almost took their breath away. Polly took great gulps of it but Rosalie put her shawl over her nose and mouth.

  ‘I’m not going,’ she said. ‘It’s too cold.’

  Polly looked at her. Rosalie still looked pale and tired. Yesterday’s journey had knocked her back.

  ‘You go in then,’ she said. ‘Go and sit by ’fire and I’ll just take a ten-minute hike. I’ll have ’dogs for company.’

  ‘You don’t mind?’ Rosalie said meekly.

  Polly laughed. ‘Course I don’t, Miss Rosalie. But do you mind if I leave you alone?’

  Rosalie shook her head. ‘No, Miss Polly, I don’t.’

  Polly whistled the dogs and strode off round to the back of the house where she thought she would find the track up the hill. There was a pig pen where the swine snuffled and snorted, and a wide-aisled cattle shed housing four or five cows; a man was halfway up a wooden ladder which led to the floor above them where straw was stacked up to the roof. Hens scratched about in the cleared yard and alongside the stables and tack rooms, where a stable lad looked up as she went by. He touched his cap as she called good morning. Then there’s Amos, she thought. How many more servants are there? Fancy owning all of this.

  She opened a gate leading out of the yard and turned to look down at the moors beyond. To her right at the side of the house was a snow-covered field where pregnant ewes bleated at her from low stone housing. What must it be like to live here for always, she thought. To be able to look at this view every day. The sun was so blisteringly bright on the snow that she had to narrow her eyes to see into the distance. The dogs snuffled round her feet and she leaned down to pat them.

  ‘What’s your name then?’ she said. One of the dogs was a wiry terrier, the other a mix of Labrador and sheepdog.

  ‘Caesar and Brutus.’ A voice came from behind her. ‘And what do you mean by stealing my dogs?’

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  ‘Mr Howard!’ The relief on Polly’s face was evident. ‘I’m sorry. Are they yours? I asked them if they wanted to come out and they said yes.’

  He grinned. ‘They would, of course. They were not well pleased to be left behind this morning.’

  He was wearing a greatcoat with the top buttons undone and beneath it held something close to his chest. He was carrying a shepherd’s crook. Another dog was by his feet.

  ‘I can’t stop to talk,’ he said, opening his coat to show a newly born lamb. ‘I’ve got to get this baby somewhere warm.’

  ‘Oh,’ she breathed. ‘Where’s its mother?’

  ‘Dead,’ he said grimly. ‘Along with another lamb. If it hadn’t been for Shep this one would have died too. Are you going walking?’

  ‘Just to ’top of ’hill,’ she said. ‘Can I take ’dogs?’

  ‘Yes, but be careful.’ He started to walk away. ‘The snow’s very deep. Keep to the middle of the track.’

  She watched him hurry towards the stables and then continued her walk. Poor little lamb. I hope it lives. I wish I could have it. She felt a sudden lurch of emotion. I might have had a brother or sister if Ma had carried ’child through to birth. But what a big gap there’d have been between us. I’d have been too old to play with it, but I could have looked after it. That would have been nice, she thought. Somebody to love. A tear trickled down her cold cheek. Ma! I wonder what you’d think if you could see me now. Here I am living in a grand house with servants and a lady as a best friend.

  But what if Mr Kingston doesn’t want me to stay? Why would he feed me and give me a home? He doesn’t even know me. Her spirits drooped. I expect I’ll have to go back.

  At the top of the rise, she saw a figure with a dog at his heel leading a horse towards her. She puffed onward and Howard’s dogs ran ahead, their tails wagging furiously.

  ‘Good day to you,’ the man said as they met, touching his leather hat. ‘Lovely day.’

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ she said fervently. ‘Best day I’ve ever seen in my life.’

  He smiled. He had a weather-beaten face with a generous mouth. He was muffled up to his chin with a thick scarf and wore a heavy long coat and sturdy boots. He had a dark short beard streaked with grey. ‘And how many have you seen, young lady. Not so many?’

  ‘Well, I’m seventeen so I’ve seen a few, but never one like this.’ Polly spread her arms to encompass the landscape. ‘Just look. You can see for miles. I wonder what it’s like in spring or summer?’ she said pensively. ‘I hope I’m here to see it.’

  ‘Surely,’ he said sombrely, ‘at such a young age you will see many springs and summers, and autumns and winters too, I should hope.’

  ‘Oh, I didn’t mean that,’ she said. ‘I just hope that I don’t have to leave.’

  ‘Well, if you should be so unfortunate,’ he said, ‘I can tell you that spring is lovely; the moors start to show their freshness and the young lambs are frisky. In summer there’s the scent of heather and the sound of birdsong, but I love the autumn most of all, when the colour of the moors starts to change, the heather is purple and the gorse golden yellow.’ He looked down at her and she thought he seemed a giant of a man. ‘Why do you think you won’t be here?’

  ‘I’ve come without being invited,’ she said. ‘And when Mr Kingston, who’s my friend’s uncle, comes back, he mi
ght ask me to leave.’ She took a deep breath. ‘And I just love it. It’s so beautiful.’

  ‘Some people consider it desolate and lonely,’ he murmured. ‘They don’t have a feel for it at all.’

  ‘I could stay here for ever,’ she said fervently.

  ‘Well, let’s hope that this fellow keeps an open house and asks you to stay,’ he said.

  Polly pulled a wry expression. ‘If he’s anything like his son he’ll send me packing.’ She put her hand to her mouth and looked up at him. ‘Beg pardon, sir, I’m speaking out o’ turn. Perhaps ’Kingstons are friends of yours?’

  ‘Everybody knows everybody else round here. There are so few of us. But don’t worry,’ he said, tapping his nose. ‘I’m very discreet.’

  Polly nodded. ‘I’d best be off. I’m going to ’top of hill and then down again, like ’grand old Duke of York,’ she added. ‘I don’t want to be late for dinner. It’s at twelve and I expect ’cook’ll be mad if folks are late.’

  He pulled a timepiece out of his pocket and glanced at it. ‘Plenty of time,’ he said. ‘I’m sure they’ll wait for you.’ He touched his hat. ‘Good day to you. No doubt we’ll meet again.’

  ‘I hope so,’ she said. ‘Goodbye.’

  She reached the summit and looked down the other side of the hill. The moor stretched for as far as she could see. She felt dizzy with the hugeness of it. ‘I’m on top of ’world,’ she murmured, ‘surrounded by whiteness. Is this the view you’d get from heaven? Can you see it, Ma? Can you see its brightness from where you are?’

  Communing with her mother seemed a perfectly natural thing to do up here in this solitary isolation. That she was in heaven Polly had no doubt whatever, and up here so high she felt nearer to her even though she knew her mother had never stepped out of the flatland of Hull.

  I wish Rosalie were here to share this with me, she thought as she retraced her steps. Down below she could see the full extent of the Kingston house and outbuildings. In the stable yard figures were moving about. Someone with a horse; the stable lad, she thought. I must ask his name. Several dogs were running around, their excited yapping and barking carried clearly on the sharp air. Caesar and Brutus looked up at her, obviously anxious to be off to join them, but they stayed with her.