Rich Girl, Poor Girl

by Val Wood

  I wish I had a dog. But I was wishing for a lamb before, she chided herself. She heaved a breath, filling her lungs with invigorating cleanliness. This is – this is – she cast around to find a word to describe in some small measure the sensation within her – this is joy. This must be contentment, or it would be if I didn’t have this niggling feeling that it won’t last. Cos nothing ever does.

  She was quite out of breath by the time she reached the yard. The stable lad was rubbing down one of the horses. Polly went towards him.

  ‘Good morning again,’ she smiled. ‘Is it still morning?’

  ‘Don’t know, miss.’ He looked up at the sky where a pale sun shone. ‘I reckon it’s on dinner time.’ He was a fresh-faced lad, and gave a shy grin. ‘My belly tells me it is, anyway.’

  ‘What’s your name?’ she said.

  ‘Sam, miss. Sam Little.’

  ‘Is that Mr Howard’s hoss?’

  ‘No, miss, this is Maister’s. He’s just got in.’

  Polly gaped. What a fool I am! That was him! The gentleman I met with his horse and dogs. What must he think? And I said that about Edwin! I might as well go and start packing right now.

  ‘You all right, miss?’ Sam asked curiously.

  She nodded. ‘Yeh,’ she breathed. ‘I think so.’

  Polly took off the galoshes in the hall and ran upstairs to take off her coat. She could hear voices coming from behind one of the doors and then heard Rosalie laugh. She won’t laugh when she knows what I said to her uncle, she thought. Or mebbe he’s telling her what I said, how I put my big foot in my mouth, and they’re laughing about that. But she’ll plead my case, I’m sure she will.

  She pulled off her coat and grabbed a brush for her hair. At least I hope she will, she thought as she pulled at the tangles. She swallowed hard. But Rosalie’ll feel safe now that she’s here wi’ family, and he, Mr Kingston, if it is him, seems like a caring sort o’ man, someone who’ll look after her. She mebbe won’t need me any more.

  Polly was close to tears as she went down the stairs. I was so happy, she thought. It just goes to show you shouldn’t ever be too happy because it’s worse when everything falls apart.

  Dora came up the kitchen stairs carrying a tray of glasses. ‘Everybody’s in the drawing room, Miss Polly,’ she said. ‘Mr Kingston has put lunch back for half an hour cos he wanted to change after his journey.’

  Polly nodded and took a breath. Had he really done that for himself, or was it for her? She’d told him that she didn’t want to be late. Hope fluttered inside her, but then it died again. Why should he? She had been rude about his son and she’d told him that she was uninvited.

  Dora opened the door and motioned her to go inside ahead of her. Polly took a deep breath. This is it, then. Will he ask me to leave in front of everybody or will he take me on one side after dinner and tell me to pack my bag? Will he ask Amos to take me back to Scarborough or will I have to walk?

  All eyes turned towards her as she entered the room. Rosalie was sitting in an elegant gilt chair by the fireplace and opposite her in a deep cushioned one was Howard. Edwin was by the window and Mr Kingston, the very man she had met on the hillside, was standing with his back to the fire looking straight at her.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Polly dipped a wobbly knee to the assembled company. She pressed her lips together and glanced at everyone.

  ‘Polly.’ Rosalie stood up. ‘Please come and meet my uncle, Luke Kingston. Uncle Luke, this is my friend Miss Parker, of whom I have been speaking.’

  Luke Kingston moved forward as Polly dipped her knee again. ‘Why, Miss Parker,’ he said jovially. ‘I do believe we’ve met! Was that not you admiring our wonderful scenery from the top of the hill?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Polly said. ‘It was.’ She opened her mouth to apologize, then closed it again. What was the use, she thought. The damage is done. He’ll think me a fool.

  ‘I’m delighted to meet you.’ Luke Kingston gave a small bow and she saw that his eyes were merry. ‘I understand from my niece that you are inseparable, so may we expect to enjoy your company as well as Rosalie’s?’

  Polly licked her lips and scanned Rosalie’s face, but she was smiling and nodding. ‘If – if that’s all right, sir,’ she said in a low voice. ‘If it’s – erm, convenient to you.’

  She glanced at Howard, who had risen and now gave her a sly wink, and then at Edwin, whose expression was stony.

  ‘We’ll enjoy having you here, Miss Parker,’ Luke said. ‘You’ll be a welcome addition to our family. Isn’t that so, boys?’

  Edwin said nothing but Howard grinned. ‘Indeed she will, as long as she doesn’t keep stealing my dogs.’

  ‘Oh?’ Luke enquired. ‘Do you like dogs?’

  Polly breathed out as she felt a huge wave of relief. ‘I do. I’ve never had one of my own. I onn— only ever fed strays.’

  ‘Well,’ Luke mused. ‘We’ll have to see what we can do about that. Do we have a bitch in pup?’ he asked Howard.

  ‘Yes. I believe Floss is expecting a happy event at any time,’ Howard said. ‘But I don’t know the sire.’

  Polly stared at him and then said, ‘Let’s hope she was particular about his character and temperament then, Mr Howard, and didn’t choose him only for his charm.’

  Rosalie went pink, but both men burst out laughing. Edwin turned to the window muttering something about mongrels.

  ‘I’m truly grateful to you, Mr Kingston,’ Polly said, feeling much more at ease. ‘For letting me stay, I mean. I’ll try not to be a bother.’

  ‘I’m sure you won’t be,’ he said warmly. ‘This is an open house to all of our friends, though regrettably they don’t come so often in winter.’ He beckoned her to the chair that Howard had vacated. ‘And yet the moors are at their most beautiful, as you so rightly observed when we spoke earlier,’ he continued. ‘But they can be dangerous nevertheless. I understand from Amos that you had a difficult journey here.’ He turned to Rosalie. ‘Why did you choose to come when you did?’ He put his finger to his chin and pondered, and before she could answer said, ‘Don’t tell me that I advised it. Did I? What month are we in?’

  He asked the question of no one in particular, but Edwin answered. ‘March. The second. A ridiculous time to travel anywhere in this weather. Unless it’s to somewhere abroad,’ he added.

  ‘You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Edwin?’ his father said sharply. ‘But I’m afraid we’re not made of money. Not enough for you to take a continental tour, at any rate. Besides, you know very well that there’s plenty of work to be done in winter as well as at other times of the year. By the way, did you look at the old fencing as I asked you to?’

  ‘No.’ Edwin’s reply was brief and direct. ‘I haven’t had time.’

  Polly saw Howard give him a swift penetrating glance. ‘It’s fallen,’ he said. ‘The weight of the snow must have brought it down. I saw it when I was digging the lamb out.’

  ‘Tomorrow then,’ Luke said tetchily. ‘We must crack on whilst we can. There’ll be a thaw soon and we’ll need to get our coats off and into our spring jobs. Will the lamb recover?’ he asked Howard.

  ‘Perhaps,’ Howard said. ‘I’ll go back in an hour and give it another feed.’

  ‘Oh!’ Polly said instinctively. ‘Can I help?’

  ‘Yes,’ Howard said. ‘You can. He needs to be kept warm and fed every hour. He’s in one of the stables. I’ll show you after dinner.’

  The midday meal was plentiful and after their late breakfast Polly and Rosalie were not able to eat all that was put before them. Mrs Moody, dressed in black with a white cap, supervised the silver platter bearing the joint of roast pork, which was served with Yorkshire pudding. A sauce boat held puréed apple and a dish of strong mustard made Rosalie cough and Polly’s eyes water. Two more dishes contained buttered carrots and floury potatoes and there was a large jug of thick onion gravy.

  ‘This will fatten you up, young ladies,’ Luke Kingston commented as
he carved a second helping of meat. ‘You need flesh on your bones to survive out here.’

  ‘No more for me, thank you,’ Rosalie said. ‘We ate very well at breakfast. Much more than I usually have.’

  He lifted a slice and beckoned to Polly to pass her plate, which she did even though she knew she had eaten more than enough already. I’ll be as fat as this pig must have been, she thought. She had eaten well since going to work at Rosalie’s house, although once Cook and Martha had left she had prepared less food than Cook had deemed necessary for the two of them. But even so she had put on weight; she felt fit and well and her flux, which had been spasmodic, was now regular.

  She gave a small hiccup; the pork was delicious, tender and tasty, but she put down her cutlery and blew out her cheeks. Luke Kingston saw her and laughed. ‘Old Henry’s too much for you, is he?’

  Polly raised her eyebrows. ‘Henry?’

  He pointed to the meat on her plate. ‘That was Henry,’ he said. ‘A good fat pig. He’s served us well. But you’ll have to do better than that, m’dear,’ he said. ‘Cook won’t like it if you leave food on your plate.’

  Rosalie had turned pale and clutched her throat. She turned to look at Polly and then at her uncle.

  ‘Are you saying that you knew this ... pig?’ she asked in a low voice.

  ‘Why yes, of course.’ Luke Kingston took another generous mouthful. ‘One of ours. We’d hardly eat anyone else’s, would we?’

  Polly hiccuped again. ‘No,’ she said bravely. ‘Of course you wouldn’t. But where I lived, folks’d keep a pig, but they never gave it a name; they never got too familiar with it.’

  Howard grinned. ‘We like our animals to feel wanted, Polly. Henry liked nothing better than to have his ears scratched. He was very friendly.’

  Rosalie gazed at him and then at her uncle. Edwin wasn’t joining in the conversation. ‘But how can you bring yourself to eat something whose ears you’ve scratched, or talked to? It doesn’t seem right.’

  ‘Where did you buy your meat, Rosalie?’ Luke Kingston asked mildly.

  ‘Cook bought it,’ she said. ‘Oh, I’m not denying where the meat came from, but it’s the fact that you knew the animal!’

  Edwin got up abruptly and flung down his napkin. ‘Excuse me,’ he said. ‘What a puerile conversation.’

  ‘Edwin!’ his father roared. ‘Come back here at once!’

  But Edwin had slammed out of the door and his father, his face florid, took a deep breath and said, ‘I must apologize for my son’s rudeness, young ladies. I shall speak to him privately over his lack of manners.’

  Rosalie murmured something conciliatory but Polly was stunned. What a loathsome man he was, she thought. It was just a conversation. How could anyone get so angry over a piece of pork? But then I don’t think it was just that. He was obviously simmering over something else. The fencing, perhaps? He didn’t like it when Howard said it had fallen.

  After they had finished eating, Howard excused himself and asked Polly if she’d like to give the lamb its feed. ‘Would you like to come too, Rosalie?’

  She hesitated for a moment and then said she would and went off to get coats for herself and Polly. Polly went down to the kitchen again to borrow Clementina’s galoshes.

  Dora opened the door to her. She seemed agitated but stammered that she would bring the galoshes to the front door.

  What’s wrong wi’ her, Polly wondered. Bet Cook has been getting at her over something.

  The two girls, well wrapped up in scarves and shawls, followed Howard round to the stable block. ‘I’ve put him in an empty stall,’ he said. ‘Don’t want him to get trampled on.’

  ‘Won’t he be lonely?’ Rosalie said. ‘He’ll be missing his mother. Can’t one of the other sheep be put with him?’

  ‘Not now,’ Howard said. ‘Had he been born in the spring and lost his mother then we could, but he’s a couple of days old and been buried in the snow, so the other ewes will reject him.’

  ‘Poor little thing,’ Polly said when the lamb bleated at their approach. ‘Can I feed him?’ She took the bottle from Howard and knelt down next to the lamb.

  ‘Put him between your knees,’ Howard said, ‘then he’ll feel more secure.’

  Polly sat down on the straw and stretched out her legs, then drew up her knees to enclose the lamb. She asked Rosalie to pass her shawl to put over him. ‘There,’ she said with satisfaction, ‘he’s starting to suckle.’

  Rosalie knelt down too and gently put her shawl over him.

  Howard smiled and said, ‘I’ll leave you to it, ladies. You’ve got the mothering touch.’

  ‘What shall we call him?’ Rosalie whispered as Howard left. ‘If they can call a pig Henry, we’ll have to give this little fellow a name. What about Louis?’

  Polly laughed. The lamb was sucking hard at the teat. ‘Louis the lamb! Yes, that’s a good one.’ Then she sighed and added soberly, ‘But we mustn’t get too attached to it, Rosalie. What if it doesn’t survive? And if it does, what is its future? We’re on a working farm, remember. They’re not at all sentimental.’

  ‘Oh,’ Rosalie said. ‘Of course. We’ll have to hold back, then.’

  ‘Too late,’ Polly said. ‘I love it already.’

  The thaw began two weeks later. The snow melted, showing patches of brown moorland which grew larger each day. Snow on the sandstone slate roof of the farmhouse slipped in great chunks on to the ground below, catching out those who were foolish enough to walk too close to the building. The gutters ran freely and streams began to rush faster, and the trickle and gurgle of water was constant.

  The sheep were back on the moor. Rosalie asked her uncle how they knew which were their sheep and which weren’t, as the moor was unfenced.

  ‘Well, they’re what we call hefted sheep,’ he said. ‘They know their own area. These flocks have been grazing here for generation after generation. They’re hard work,’ he added. ‘Shepherding might seem to be a peaceful occupation but we’re forever running about after them. Lambing, dipping, shearing; there’s always a job to be done. There’s been pastoral agriculture on this land since medieval times, you know. Cattle husbandry as well as wool production. Now, though, some of the land is used for grouse shooting which brings us in another income.’

  Rosalie looked out of the window. They were in the dining room waiting for the midday meal to be served. The view of rolling moorland was lit by the soft light of a mist-shrouded sun. Grazing sheep dotted the hillside, which had prompted her question. ‘It’s beautiful,’ she murmured. ‘And yes, it does look peaceful. No wonder you decided to stay here rather than join the army as my father did.’

  He nodded. ‘I loved the country life,’ he said. ‘And I was very fond of Uncle Josh and Aunt Emily who gave us a home. But your father and I were as different as chalk and cheese, even from our school days. I was the one who didn’t conform. I refused to take up a career in the army as our father had done and as we were both expected to do.’

  He gave a little smile and Rosalie thought there was perhaps some regret. ‘And so,’ he went on, ‘Mark and I didn’t so much fall out as agree to go our separate ways. He was intent on making his way in the army, whereas I abhor war and all it stands for; and after our parents died, we had no real desire to keep in touch. But there was another reason for my staying here. I fell in love with a farmer’s daughter, my late wife, and I knew she would never move away.’

  ‘How long have you been widowed, Uncle?’ she asked softly, for it seemed to her that he looked wistful when he spoke of his wife.

  He considered. ‘Must be all often years. I’m not much good with dates. Edwin would have been about twelve, Howard perhaps fourteen and Clemmie only a child of eight or nine. They were spoilt, of course, even by the servants, trying to make up for the loss of their mother. A double loss for Howard, as he’d already lost his own parents when he was very young. He’s made of strong stuff, though, is Howard. Not like Edwin,’ he added almost as an afterthought
.

  ‘Have you never considered remarrying?’ she asked. The door opened as she spoke and the others trooped in. He didn’t answer, but Rosalie thought a fleeting expression crossed his face as if he would have revealed a confidence.

  Mrs Moody again brought in the roast. This time it was shoulder of mutton. Rosalie and Polly glanced at each other and Polly murmured that at least they knew it wasn’t Louis, who was doing well and tottering about in his stable. Sam Little was keeping an eye on him and had remarked the day before that he would soon be able to go outside. Rosalie and Polly had expressed doubts about this but they were proved wrong, for that afternoon after taking the bottle he escaped from the stall and, bleating plaintively, followed them back to the house.

  Laughing, they turned about to take him back and were surprised to see Dora coming from the stables towards the kitchen door. She blushed scarlet on seeing them and begged them not to tell Mrs Moody.

  ‘I’ll be in hot water,’ she said fearfully. ‘I’ve onny been to talk to Sam and we’re not allowed to have male friends.’

  ‘You don’t have to worry about us,’ Polly said. ‘We won’t tell.’

  ‘Of course we won’t,’ Rosalie agreed. ‘But you must be careful, Dora, or otherwise you might both be dismissed.’

  ‘Not Sam!’ Dora snivelled. ‘He wouldn’t be. But when can I ever go out to talk to anybody? I’m stuck indoors all winter and don’t go out till Mothering Sunday, ’n’ by the time I’ve walked over the moor to see my ma it’s time to come back again.’

  ‘Why don’t you ask Sam to walk with you next time?’ Polly suggested. ‘Take him to meet your ma.’

  Dora looked alarmed. ‘Can’t do that, miss! He’ll think he’s committed and Ma’ll think there’re going to be wedding bells.’

  Rosalie and Polly both shook their heads. Polly thought she would hate to be so restricted; she had always had friends of both sexes since she was a child. As for Rosalie, it wasn’t anything she had considered before. Perhaps Mother laid down directions for the servants regarding followers, but if she did I didn’t know of them, she thought. There had to be rules, of course; the household wouldn’t run smoothly otherwise. It wouldn’t do, she supposed, for servant girls to be slipping out to meet young men whenever they wanted to. They’re vulnerable, and an employer should be responsible for protecting them.