Part I Chapter 11 Polly: A New-Fashioned Girl by L. T. Meade
A—WAS AN APPLE PIE
The first day of Polly’s housekeeping was long remembered in the household. In the first place, the breakfast, though fairly abundant, was plain. A large piece of cold bacon graced one end of the board, a brown loaf stood on a trencher in the center, and when Helen took her place opposite the tea-tray she found herself provided with plenty of milk and sugar, certainly, and a large tea-pot of strong tea, but the sugar was brown. No butter, no marmalade, no jams, no hot cakes, graced the board. The children spoke of the fare as severe, and the Doctor’s dark brown eyes twinkled as he helped his family to abundant slices of cold bacon.
“Not a word,” he said, in a loud aside to his boys and girls. “I did not think it was in Polly to be so sensible. Why, we shall get through indigestion week quite comfortably, if she provides us with plain, wholesome fare like this.”
Polly took her own place at the table rather late. Her cheeks were still peonyed, as Maggie expressed it, her eyes were downcast, her spirits were decidedly low, and she had a very small appetite.
After breakfast she beat a hasty retreat, and presently the boys rushed in in great excitement, to announce to Helen and Katie the interesting fact that Polly was walking across the fields accompanied by Maggie, each of them laden with a large market-basket.
“They are almost running, both of them,” exclaimed Bunny, “and pretty Poll is awful cross, for when we wanted to go with her she just turned round and said we’d have a worse dinner than breakfast if we didn’t leave her alone.”
“We ran away quickly enough after that,” continued Bob, “for we didn’t want no more cold-bacon and no-butter meals. We had a nasty breakfast to-day, hadn’t we, Nell? And Poll is a bad housekeeper, isn’t she?”
“Oh, leave her alone, do,” said Helen. “She is trying her very best. Run out and play, boys, and don’t worry about the meals.”
The two boys, known in the family as “the scamps,” quickly took their departure, and Katie began to talk in her most grown-up manner to Helen. Katie was a demure little damsel, she was fond of using long words, and thought no one in the world like Helen, whom she copied in all particulars.
“Poll is too ambitious, and she’s sure to fail,” she began. But Helen shut her up.
“If Polly does fail, you’ll be dreadfully sorry, I’m sure, Katie,” she said. “I know I shall be sorry. It will make me quite unhappy, for I never saw any one take more pains about a thing than Polly has taken over her housekeeping. Yes, it will be very sad if Polly fails; but I don’t think she will, for she is really a most clever girl. Now, Katie, will you read your English History lesson aloud?”
Katie felt crushed. In her heart of hearts she thought even her beloved Helen a little too lenient.
“Never mind,” she said to herself, “won’t Dolly and Mabel have a fine gossip with me presently over the breakfast Polly gave us this morning.”
Meanwhile the anxious, small housekeeper was making her way as rapidly as possible in the direction of the village.
“We haven’t a minute to lose, Maggie,” she said, as they trudged along. “Can you remember the list of things I gave you to buy at the grocery shop? It is such a pity you can’t read, Maggie, for if you could I’d have written them down for you.”
“It wasn’t the Board’s fault, nor my mother’s,” answered Maggie, glibly. “It was all on account of my brain being made to fit on the top of a sixpence. Yes, Miss, I remembers the list, and I’ll go to Watson’s and the butcher’s while you runs on to the farm for the butter and eggs.”
“You have got to get ten things,” proceeded Polly; “don’t forget, ten things at the grocer’s. You had better say the list over to me.”
“All right, Miss Polly, ten; I can tick one off on each finger: white sugar, coffee, rice, marmalade, strawberry jam, apricot jam, mustard, pickles—is they mixed or plain, Miss Polly?—raisins, currants. There, Miss, I has them all as pat as possible.”
“Well, stop a minute,” said Polly. “I’m going to unlock my box now. Hold it for me, Maggie, while I open it. Here, I’m going to take half-a-sovereign out of the grocery division. You must take this half-sovereign to Watson’s, and pay for the things. I have not an idea how much they cost, but I expect you’ll have a good lot of change to give me. After that, you are to go on to the butcher’s, and buy four pounds of beef-steak. Here is another half-sovereign that you will have to pay the butcher out of. Be sure you don’t mix the change, Maggie. Pop the butcher’s change into one pocket, and the grocer’s change into another. Now, do you know what we are going to have for dinner?”
“No, Miss, I’m sure I don’t. I expect it’ll sound big to begin with, and end small, same as the breakfast did. Why, Miss Polly, you didn’t think cold bacon good enough for the servants, and yet you set it down in the end afore your pa.”
Polly looked hard at Maggie. She suddenly began to think her not at all a nice girl.
“I was met by adversity,” she said. “It is wrong of you to speak to me in that tone, Maggie; Mrs. Power behaved very badly, and I could not help myself; but she need not think she is going to beat me, and whatever I suffer, I scorn to complain. To-night, after every one is in bed, I am going to make lots of pies and tarts, and cakes, and cheesecakes. You will have to help me; but we will talk of that by-and-by. Now, I want to speak about the dinner. It must be simple to-day. We will have a beef-steak pudding and pancakes. Do you know how to toss pancakes, Maggie?”
“Oh, lor’, Miss,” said Maggie, “I did always love to see mother at it. She used to toss ’em real beautiful, and I’m sure I could too. That’s a very nice dinner, Miss, ’olesome and good, and you’ll let me toss the pancakes, won’t you, Miss Polly?”
“Well, you may try, Maggie. But here we are at the village. Now, please, go as quickly as possible to Watson’s, and the butcher’s, and meet me at this stile in a quarter of an hour. Be very careful of the change, Maggie, and be sure you put the butcher’s in one pocket and the grocer’s in another. Don’t mix them—everything depends on your not mixing them, Maggie.”
The two girls parted, each going quickly in opposite directions. Polly had a successful time at the farm, and when she once again reached the turnstile her basket contained two dozen new-laid eggs, two or three pounds of delicious fresh butter, and a small jug of cream. The farmer’s wife, Mrs. White, had been very pleased to see her, and had complimented her on her discernment in choosing the butter and eggs. Her spirits were now once again excellent, and she began to forget the sore injury Mrs. Power had done her by locking the store-room door.
“It’s all lovely,” she said to herself; “it’s all turning out as pleasant as possible. The breakfast was nothing, they’d have forgotten the best breakfast by now, and they’ll have such a nice dinner. I can easily make a fruit tart for father, as well as the pancakes, and won’t he enjoy Mrs. White’s nice cream? It was very good of her to give it to me; and it was very cheap, too—only eighteenpence. But, dear me, dear me, how I wish Maggie would come!”
There was no sign, however, of any stout, unwieldy young person walking down the narrow path which led to the stile. Strain her eyes as she would, Polly could not see any sign of Maggie approaching. She waited for another five minutes, and then decided to go home without her.
“For she may have gone round by the road,” she said to herself, “although it was very naughty of her if she did so, for I told her to be sure to meet me at the turnstile. Still I can’t wait for her any longer, for I must pick the fruit for my tart, and I ought to see that Alice is doing what I told her about the new curtains.”
Off trotted Polly with her heavy basket once again across the fields. It was a glorious September day, and the soft air fanned her cheeks and raised her already excited spirits. She felt more cheerful than she had done since her mother died, and many brilliant visions of hope filled her ambitious little head. Yes, father would see that he was right in trusting her; Nell would discover that there was no one so clever as Polly; Mrs. Power would cease to defy her; Alice would obey her cheerfully; in short, she would be the mainstay and prop of her family.
On her way through the kitchen-garden Polly picked up a number of fallen apples, and then she went quickly into the house, to be met on the threshold by Firefly.
“Oh, Poll Parrot, may I come down with you to the kitchen? I’d love to see you getting the dinner ready, and I could help, indeed I could. The others are all so cross; that is, all except Nell. Katie is in a temper, and so are Dolly and Mabel; but I stood up for you, Poll Parrot, for I said you didn’t mean to give us the very nastiest breakfast in the world. I said it was just because you weren’t experienced enough to know any better—that’s what I said, Poll.”
“Well, you made a great mistake then,” said Polly. “Not experienced, indeed! as if I didn’t know what a good breakfast was like. I had a misfortune; a dark deed was done, and I was the victim, but I scorn to complain, I let you all think as you like. No, you can’t come to the kitchen with me, Firefly; it isn’t a fit place for children. Run away now, do.”
Poor Fly’s small face grew longing and pathetic, but Polly was obdurate.
“I can’t have children about,” she said to herself, and soon she was busy peeling her apples and preparing her crust for the pie. She succeeded fairly well, although the water with which she mixed her dough would run all over the board, and her nice fresh butter stuck in the most provoking way to the rolling-pin. Still, the pie was made, after a fashion, and Polly felt very happy, as she amused herself cutting out little ornamental leaves from what remained of her pastry to decorate it. It was a good-sized tart, and when she had crowned it with a wreath of laurel leaves she thought she had never seen anything so handsome and appetizing. Alas, however, for poor Polly, the making of this pie was her one and only triumph.
The morning had gone very fast, while she was walking to the village securing her purchases, and coming home again. She was startled when she looked at the kitchen clock to find that it pointed to a quarter past twelve. At the same time she discovered that the kitchen fire was nearly out, and that the oven was cold. Father always liked the early dinner to be on the table sharp at one o’clock; it would never, never do for Polly’s first dinner to be late. She must not wait any longer for that naughty Maggie; she must put coals on the fire herself, and wash the potatoes, and set them on to boil.
This was scarcely the work of an ordinary lady-like housekeeper; but Polly tried to fancy she was in Canada, or in even one of the less civilized settlements, where ladies put their hands to anything, and were all the better for it.
She had a great hunt to find the potatoes, and when she had washed them—which it must be owned she did not do at all well—she had still greater difficulty in selecting a pot which would hold them. She found one at last, and with some difficulty placed it on the kitchen-range. She had built up her fire with some skill, but was dismayed to find that, try as she would, she could get no heat into the oven. The fact was, she had not the least idea how to direct the draught in the right direction; and although the fire burned fiercely, and the potatoes soon began to bubble and smoke, the oven, which was to cook poor Polly’s tart, remained cold and irresponsive.
Well, cold as it was, she would put her pie in, for time was flying as surely it had never flown before and it was dreadful to think that there would be nothing at all for dinner but potatoes.
Oh, why did not that wicked Maggie come! Really Polly did not know that any one could be quite so depraved and heartless as Maggie was turning out. She danced about the kitchen in her impatience, and began to think she understood something of the wickedness of those cities described in the Bible, which were destroyed by fire on account of their sins, and also of the state of the world before the Flood came.
“They were all like Maggie,” she said to herself. “I really never heard of any one before who was quite so hopelessly bad as Maggie.”
The kitchen clock pointed to the half hour, and even to twenty minutes to one. It was hopeless to think of pancakes now—equally hopeless to consider the possibilities of a beefsteak pudding. They would be very lucky if they had steak in any form. Still, if Maggie came at once that might be managed, and nice potatoes, beef-steak, apple-tart and cream would be better than no dinner at all.
Just at this moment, when Polly’s feelings were almost reduced to despair, she was startled by a queer sound, which gradually came nearer and nearer. It was the sound of some one sobbing, and not only sobbing, but crying aloud with great violence. The kitchen door was suddenly burst open, and dishevelled, tear-stained, red-faced Maggie rushed in, and threw herself on her knees at Polly’s feet.
“I has gone and done it, Miss Polly,” she exclaimed. “I was distraught-like, and my poor little bit of a brain seemed to give way all of a sudden. Mother’s in a heap of trouble, Miss Polly. I went round to see her, for it was quite a short cut to Watson’s, round by mother’s, and mother she were in an awful fixing. She hadn’t nothing for the rent, Miss Polly, ’cause the fruit was blighted this year; and the landlord wouldn’t give her no more grace, ’cause his head is big and his heart is small, same as ’tis other way with me, Miss Polly, and the bailiffs was going to seize mother’s little bits of furniture, and mother she was most wild. So my head it seemed to go, Miss Polly, and I clutched hold of the half-sovereign in the butcher’s pocket, and the half-sovereign in the grocer’s pocket, and I said to mother, ‘Miss Polly’ll give ’em to you, ’cause it’s a big heart as Miss Polly has got. They was meant for the family dinner, but what’s dinner compared to your feelings.’ So mother she borrowed of the money, Miss Polly, and I hasn’t brought home nothink; I hasn’t, truly, miss.”
Maggie’s narrative was interspersed with very loud sobs, and fierce catches of her breath, and her small eyes were almost sunken out of sight.
“Oh, I know you’re mad with me,” she said, in conclusion. “But what’s dinner compared with mother’s feelings. Oh, Miss Polly, don’t look at me like that!”
“Get up,” said Polly, severely. “You are just like the people before the Flood; I understand about them at last. I cannot speak to you now, for we have not a moment to lose. Can you make the oven hot? There are only potatoes for dinner, unless the apple tart can be got ready in time.”
“Oh, lor’! Miss Polly, I’ll soon set that going—why, you has the wrong flue out, Miss. See now, the heat’s going round it lovely. Oh, what an elegant pie you has turned out, Miss Polly! Why, it’s quite wonderful! You has a gift in the cookery line, Miss. Oh, darling Miss Polly, don’t you be a-naming of me after them Flooders; it’s awful to think I’m like one of they. It’s all on account of mother, Miss Polly. It would have gone to your heart, Miss Polly, if you seen mother a-looking at the eight-day clock and thinking of parting from it. Her tears made channels on her cheeks, Miss Polly, and it was ’eart-piercing to view her. Oh, do take back them words, Miss Polly. Don’t say as I’m a Flooder.”
Polly certainly had a soft heart, and although nothing could have mortified her more than the present state of affairs, she made up her mind to screen Maggie, and to be as little severe to her as she could.