Polly by M.C. Beaton Read Free Book Online Page B

Polly would have been allowed a room had it not been for the departure of Lord Peter’s friend, Maisie Carruthers, who confided to Polly, breathlessly, that she had been left a small legacy by an aunt and was going back to the country.
    “You may have Miss Carruthers’s room,” said Miss Thistlethwaite with a gracious creaking of stays and rustling of dusty black silk. “You may move in your belongings as soon as Miss Carruthers moves hers out.”
    Polly privately wondered
how
Miss Carruthers was going to manage to move out. For an indigent gentlewoman she seemed to have a remarkable wardrobe of dresses. The tiny room was foaming with laces and silks and chiffons.
    Maisie Carruthers was a thin, energetic girl of Polly’s age with a large horselike face and bony red hands. “Oh, bother!” she said, unstuffing a trunk for the hundredth time and looking wildly around. “All this junk! Most of it’s hand-me-downs from old jelly bag—Lady Jellings, I mean. She never wears a frock more than once.” She turned one dark eye on Polly. “See here, if I leave you some money for the carter, could you be an angel and see that this stuff is shipped to the work-house? I really don’t want any of it. I
hate
clothes that are not my own, but Lady Jellings said I had to dress up because I was her social secretary.”
    “I’ll do it for you gladly,” said Polly, trying to keep the excitement from her voice and hoping Maisie would not guess that not one of these delicious confections would find its way to the work-house.
    “Oh, goody,” said Maisie. “Then I can leave.”
    She bent over to slam down the lid of her now nearly empty trunk and Polly held out her hands and hastily, with an imaginary measuring tape, took Maisie’s measurements. The dresses would only have to be taken in a very little.
    “Ta-ta,” said Maisie cheerfully. “Oh, you’ll find a gas ring in that whatsit by the fire. It pulls out. There’s a law about no cooking in the rooms but we would all half starve if we obeyed it. I’ve got a frying pan and a plate and knife and fork hidden under the bed in a box. You’re welcome to them.”
    And, with a cheerful wave of her hand, and bumping her tin trunk enthusiastically against the bannister, Maisie Carruthers left.
    Polly clasped her hands and took a deep breath as she looked at the sea of beautiful clothes. There were outfits for every social occasion. Nothing should stop her ascent up the social ladder now.
    She began methodically to hang away the dresses. They would not all go into the closet but Maisie had hammered a line of nails into the wall and that sufficed to hold the rest of the hangers.
    Polly cast her mind back to the days of the bewildering week before this Saturday morning when she had left home.
    Contrary to her expectations and everyone else’s expectations, Mr. Baines had not given her a row. Instead, he had smiled at her and said that he hoped she had enjoyed her outing!
    She had sailed through the Monday morning, typing letters energetically and waiting for the moment when Lord Peter would pop his head around the door. No one at all had appeared except that Amy Feathers, who had stood there silently, twisting her handkerchief between her fingers. When Polly had asked her what she wanted, Amy had burst into tears and rushed from the room.
    Polly had been very chilly and aloof with Bob Friend, preferring to battle for her lunch herself every day. Then all too soon it was Thursday and there had been no sign of Lord Peter. In keeping with Polly’s mood the weather turned nasty and chilly, and her fingers seemed to crawl across the gold and black keys of the typewriter. By lunch-time, she gave up hope. She had been eating penny mutton pies and saveloys for lunch all week, bought from the street vendor, to try to save her wages for her first week’s rent at the business-woman’s hostel. Polly slammed down the wooden cover on her typewriter and determined to seek out Bob Friend to join