Part I Chapter 13 Polly: A New-Fashioned Girl by L. T. Meade
IN THE ATTIC
There is no saying how Polly’s week of housekeeping might have ended, nor how substantial her castle in the air might have grown, had not a catastrophe occurred to her of a double and complex nature.
The first day during which Polly and Maggie, between them, catered for and cooked the family meals, produced a plain diet in the shape of cold bacon for breakfast, and a dinner of potatoes, minus “point.” But on the Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday of that week Maggie quite redeemed her character of being a Flooder, and worked under Polly with such goodwill that, as she herself expressed it, her small brains began to grow. Fortunately, Mrs. Ricketts, Maggie’s mother, was not obliged to meet her rent every day of the week, therefore no more of Polly’s four pounds went in that direction. And Polly read Mrs. Beaton’s Cookery-book with such assiduity, and Maggie carried out her directions with such implicit zeal and good faith, that really most remarkable meals began to grace the Doctor’s board. Pastry in every imaginable form and guise, cakes of all descriptions; vegetables, so cooked and so flavored, that their original taste was completely obliterated; meats cooked in German, Italian, and American styles; all these things, and many more, graced the board and speedily vanished. The children became decidedly excited about the meals, and Polly was cheered and regarded as a sort of queen. The Doctor sighed, however, and counted the days when Nell and Mrs. Power should once more peacefully reign in Polly’s stead. Nurse asked severely to have all the nursery medicine bottles replenished. Firefly looked decidedly pasty, and, after one of Polly’s richest plum-cakes, with three tiers of different colored icings, Bunny was heard crying the greater part of one night. Still the little cook and housekeeper bravely pursued her career of glory, and all might have gone well, and Polly might have worn a chastened halo of well-earned success round her brow for the remainder of her natural life, but for the catastrophe of which I am about to speak.
Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday the family fared richly, and the household jogged along somehow, but on Friday morning Dr. Maybright suddenly surprised his girls by telling them that unexpected business would call him to London immediately. He could not possibly return before Monday, but he would get a certain Dr. Strong to see after his patients, and would start for town by the mid-day train.
The Doctor’s portmanteau was quickly packed, and in what seemed a moment of time after the receipt of the letter he had kissed his family and bidden them good-by. Then her four younger sisters and the boys came round Polly with a daring suggestion.
“Let’s sit up late, to-night, and have a real, jolly supper,” they begged. “Let’s have it at nine o’clock, up in the large garret over the front of the house; let it be a big supper, all kinds of good things; ginger-beer and the rest, and let’s invite some people to come and eat it with us. Do Poll—do Poll, darling.”
“But,” said Polly—she was dazzled by this glorious prospect—“I haven’t got a great deal of money,” she said, “and Nurse will be very angry, and Helen won’t like it. For you know, children, you two boys and Firefly, you are never allowed to sit up as late as nine o’clock.”
“But for once, Poll Parrot,” exclaimed the three victims; “just for once. We are sure father would not care, and we can coax Nell to consent; and Nurse, as to Nurse, she thinks of no one but baby; we won’t choose the garret over baby. Do, do, do say ‘yes,’ darling Poll.”
“The dearest cook in all the world!” exclaimed Bunny, tossing his cap in the air.
“The queen of cake-makers,” said Bob, turning head over heels.
“The darlingest princess of all housekeepers,” echoed Firefly, leaping on her sister, and half-strangling her with a fierce embrace.
“And we’ll all subscribe,” said the twins.
“And it will really be delightfully romantic; something to remember when you aren’t housekeeper,” concluded Katie.
“I’d like it awfully,” said Polly, “I don’t pretend that I wouldn’t, and I’ve just found such a recipe for whipped cream. Do you know, girls, I shouldn’t be a bit surprised—I really shouldn’t—if I turned out some meringues made all by myself for supper. The only drawback is the money, for Mrs. White does charge a lot for cream, and I don’t mind owning to you all, now that you are nice and sympathetic, that the reason you had only potatoes for dinner on Monday was because Maggie and I met with a misfortune; it was a money trouble,” continued Polly, with an important air, “and of course children like you cannot understand what money troubles mean. They are wearing, very, and Maggie says she thinks I’m beginning to show some crow’s feet around my eyes on account of them. But never mind, I’m not going to cast the shadows of money troubles on you all, and this thing is not to be spoken of, only it makes me very short now.”
“But we’ll help you, Poll,” said all the eager voices. “Let’s fetch our purses and see what we can spare.”
In a twinkling many odd receptacles for holding money made an appearance, and the children between them found they could muster the noble sum of six shillings. All this was handed to Polly, who said, after profound deliberation, that she thought she could make it go furthest and make most show in the purchase of cream and ginger-beer.
“I’ll scrape the rest together, somehow,” she said, in conclusion, “and Maggie will help me fine. Maggie’s a real brick now, and her brains are growing beautifully.”
But there was another point to be decided—Who were to be invited to partake of the supper, and was Nurse to be told, and was Helen to be consulted?
Certainly Polly would not have ventured to carry out so daring a scheme without Helen’s consent and cooperation, if it had not happened that she was away for the day. She had taken the opportunity to drive into the nearest town five miles away with her father, and had arranged to spend the day there, purchasing several necessary things, and calling on one or two friends.
“And it will be much too late to tell Nell when she comes back,” voted all the children. “If she makes a fuss then, and refuses to join, she will spoil everything. We are bound too, to obey Helen, so we had much better not give her the chance of saying ‘no.’ Let us pretend to go to bed at our usual hour, and say nothing to either Nurse or Helen. We can tell them to-morrow if we like, and they can only scold us. Yes, that is the only thing to do, for it would never, never do to have such a jolly plan spoilt.”
A unanimous vote was therefore carried that the supper in the garret was to be absolutely secret and confidential, and, naughty as this plan of carrying out their pleasure was, it must be owned that it largely enhanced the fun. The next point to consider was, who were to be the invited guests? There were no boys and girls of the children’s own class in life within an easy distance.
“Therefore there is no one to ask,” exclaimed Katie, in her shortest and most objectionable manner.
But here Firefly electrified her family by quoting Scripture.
“When thou makest a supper,” she began.
All the others rose in a body and fell upon her. But she had started a happy idea, and in consequence, Mrs. Ricketts’ youngest son and daughter, and the three very naughty and disreputable sons of Mrs. Jones, the laundress, were invited to partake of the coming feast.
The rest of the day passed to all appearance very soberly. Helen was away. The Doctor’s carriage neither came nor went; the Doctor himself, with his kindly voice, and his somewhat brusque, determined manner, awoke no echoes in the old house. Nurse was far away in the nursery wing, with the pretty, brown-eyed baby and the children; all the girls and the little boys were remarkably good.
To those who are well acquainted with the habits and ways of young folks, too much goodness is generally a suspicious circumstance. There is a demure look, there is an instant obedience, there is an absence of fretfulness, and an abnormal, although subdued, cheerfulness, which arouses the watchful gaze of the knowing among mothers, governesses, and nurses.
Had Nurse been at dinner that day she might have been warned of coming events by Bunny’s excellent behavior; by Bob’s rigid refusal to partake twice of an unwholesome compound, which went by the name of iced pudding; by Firefly’s anxiety to be all that a good and proper little girl should be. But Nurse, of course, had nothing to say to the family dinner. Helen was away, the Doctor was nearing the metropolis, and the little boys’ daily governess was not dining with the family.
These good children had no one to suspect them, and all went smoothly; in short, the wheels of the house machinery never seemed more admirably oiled.
True, had any one listened very closely there might have been heard the stealthy sound of shoeless feet ascending the rickety step-ladder which led to the large front garret. Shoeless feet going up and down many, many times. Trays, too, of precious crockery were carried up, baskets piled with evergreens and flowers were conveyed thither, the linen cupboard was ruthlessly rifled for snowy tablecloths and table napkins of all descriptions. Then later in the day a certain savory smell might have been perceived by any very suspicious person just along this special passage and up that dusty old ladder. For hot bread and hot pastry and hot cakes were being conveyed to the attic, and the sober twins themselves fetched the cream from the farm, and the ginger beer from the grocer’s.
No one was about, however, to suspect, or to tell tales if they did suspect.
Helen came home about seven o’clock, rather tired, and very much interested in her purchases, to find a cozy tea awaiting her, and Polly anxious to serve her. The twin girls were supposed to be learning their lessons in the schoolroom, Katie was nowhere to be seen, and Helen remarked casually that she supposed the young ones had gone to bed.
“Oh, yes,” said Polly, in her quickest manner.
She turned her back as she spoke, and the blush which mantled her brown face was partly hidden by her curly dark hair.
“I am very hungry,” said Helen. “Really, Polly, you are turning out an excellent housekeeper—what a nice tea you have prepared for me. How delicious these hot cakes are! I never thought, Poll, you would make such a good cook and manager, and to think of your giving us such delicious meals on so little money. But you are eating nothing yourself, love, and how hot your cheeks are!”
“Cooking is hot work, and takes away the appetite,” said Polly.
She was listening in agony that moment, for over Helen’s head certain stealthy steps were creeping; they were the steps of children, leaving their snug beds, and gliding as quietly as possible in the direction of the savory smells and the dusty ladder and the large dirty, spidery—but oh, how romantic, how fascinating—front attic. Never before did Polly realize how many creaky boards there were in the house; oh, surely Helen would observe those steps; but, no, she cracked her egg tranquilly, and sipped her tea, and talked in her pleasantest way of Polly’s excellent cooking, and of her day’s adventures.
Time was going on; it would soon be eight o’clock. Oh, horrors, why would the Rickettses and Mrs. Jones’s three boys choose the path through the shrubbery to approach the house! The morning room, where Helen was taking her tea, looked out on the shrubbery, and although it was now quite dark in the world of nature, those dreadful rough boys would crack boughs, and stumble and titter as they walked. Polly’s face grew hotter and her hands colder; never did she bless her sister’s rather slow and unsuspicious nature more than at this moment, for Helen heard no boughs crack, nor did the stealthy, smothered laughter, so distinctly audible to poor Polly, reach her ears.
At ten minutes to eight Helen rose from the table.
“I’m going up to Nurse to show her what things I have bought for baby,” she said. “We are going to short-coat baby next week, so I have a good deal to show her, and I won’t be down again for a little bit.”
“All right,” said Polly, “I have plenty to do; don’t worry about me till you see me, Nell.”
She danced out of the room, and in excellent spirits joined a large and boisterous party in the front attic. Now, she assured her family and her guests, all would go well; they were safely housed in a distant and unused part of the establishment, and might be as merry and as noisy as they pleased; no one would hear them, no one would miss them, no one would suspect them.
And all might have gone according to Polly’s programme, and to this day that glorious feast in the attic might have remained a secret in the private annals of the house of Maybright, but for that untoward thing which I am about to tell.
At that very moment while the Maybrights, the Rickettses, and the Joneses were having delightful and perfectly untrammeled intercourse with each other, a very fidgety old lady was approaching the Hollow, being carefully conducted thither in a rickety fly. A large traveling trunk was on the box seat of the fly, and inside were two or three bandboxes, a couple of baskets, a strap bursting with railway rugs, cloaks, and umbrellas, and last, but not least, a snarling little toy terrier, who barked and whined, and jumped about, and licked his mistress’s hand.
“Down, Scorpion,” exclaimed Mrs. Cameron; “behave yourself, sir. You really become more vicious every day. Get in that corner, and don’t stir till I give you leave. Now, then, driver,” opening the window and poking her head out, “when are we getting to Sleepy Hollow? Oh! never, never have I found myself in a more outlandish place.”
“We be a matter of two miles from there, ma‘am,” said the man. “You set easy, and keep yourself quiet, for the beast won’t go no faster.”
Mrs. Cameron subsided again into the depths of the musty old fly with a groan.
“Outlandish—most outlandish!” she remarked again. “Scorpion, you may sit in my lap if you like to behave yourself, sir. Well, well, duty calls me into many queer quarters. Scorpion, if you go on snarling and growling I shall slap you smartly. Yes, poor Helen; I never showed my love for her more than when I undertook this journey: never, never. Oh! how desolate that great moor does look; I trust there are no robbers about. It’s perfectly awful to be in a solitary cab, with anything but a civil driver, alone on these great moors. Well, well, how could Helen marry a man like Dr. Maybright, and come to live here? He must be the oddest person, to judge from the letter he wrote me. I saw at once there was nothing for me but to make the stupendous effort of coming to see after things myself. Poor dear Helen! she was a good creature, very handsome, quite thrown away upon that doctor. I was fond of her; she was like a child to me long ago. It is my duty to do what I can for her orphans. Now, Scorpion, what is the matter? You are quite one of the most vicious little dogs I have ever met. Oh, do be quiet, sir.”
But at that moment the fly drew up with a jolt. The driver deliberately descended from his seat, and opened the door, whereupon Scorpion, with a snarl and bound, disappeared into the darkness.
“He’s after a cat,” remarked the man, laconically. “This be the Hollow, ma‘am, if you’ll have the goodness to get out.”
“Sleepy Hollow,” remarked Mrs. Cameron to herself, as she steadily descended. “Truly I should think so; but I am much mistaken if I don’t wake it up.”