sent her from the reformatory.’
I stared at him, aghast. A criminal serving in my uncle’s house! Could he not get proper servants?
He and the captain shared a strange smile. I didn’t care for the vulpine look that passed between them, so I decided to let the matter lie. Soon after, Polly knocked at the door and announced that dinner was served. I was relieved that my uncle didn’t insist on a formal procession, so I didn’t have to surrender my arm to the captain.
As soon as we were seated my uncle furrowed his brow at the place settings. Polly filled our wine glasses from a decanter and set plates of asparagus before us.
‘From the right, if you please, Polly,’ my uncle said with a pinched smile.
‘Yes, sir.’
When we were alone, my uncle looked down at the table. ‘The place settings are rather … creative, don’t you think?’
The captain agreed and I rolled my eyes.
‘What do you expect, Uncle?’ I asked. ‘She’s not even a proper maid.’
‘Oh, but such girls can be taught,’ said the captain.
I didn’t appreciate being contradicted, so I ignored him and ate my asparagus.
When it was time for the soup, Polly displeased my uncle by slopping soup onto the lip of his bowl. Sir James and the captain discussed ‘civic duty’ and charity and the chance she was being given, but I was simply weary of her incompetence.
When she came to clear the soup bowls Sir James addressed her. ‘Who set the table, Polly?’
‘I did, sir.’
‘Were you never taught how to arrange the cutlery?’
She didn’t have a satisfactory answer for that. How on earth was the wretched girl expected to know anything about it? Surely all she knew was a life of crime and wickedness. While he kindly explained to her that the places were to be set outside in, I noticed that one of the tines of my fork was tarnished. I waited until she was almost to the door before calling her back.
‘Oh, girl? Do you think I might have a cleaner fork?’
She scurried to my side and took the fork from me with a worried expression. ‘Certainly, miss,’ she said with a curtsey before scampering out.
I took a sip of my wine and noticed the captain smiling at me.
It was a few minutes before Polly arrived with another fork and I inspected it, slightly disappointed to find it immaculate.
She refilled our wine glasses, then served the lamb and potatoes. And parsnips. I loathed parsnips. I snapped my fan open to show my displeasure.
‘I’m not eating that,’ I informed her curtly. ‘You can take that plate straight back to the kitchen and fetch me a clean one. With no parsnips. And tell Mrs Carson that in the future she needn’t bother cooking them for me.’
Perhaps a little humiliation would help her learn. It was unlikely she’d forget my preferences next time.
Polly looked worriedly at my uncle, then dropped a little curtsey. ‘I’m sorry, miss.’
Sir James and the captain continued to discuss the merits of his method of ‘reformation’ while Polly bustled around us. I didn’t doubt she would be nibbling off the plates in the kitchen and probably stealing wine from the cellar as well. Not to mention the silver. My uncle’s ‘charity’ was sheer folly.
I became more interested in the conversation when the men began to discuss discipline. The birch was used liberally in the reformatory, they said, so Polly would have no reason to suppose herself above such measures simply because she was a maid now. My uncle supposed his charity would provide her with an extra incentive and that in the end she would prove more reliable – and more loyal – than maids in the finest country estates. Maids, he added, who were
not
subject to such chastisement.
I was intrigued. Naturally, no one had ever raised a hand to me, but I found myself fascinated by the prospect of seeing the maid under discipline. The captain made no secret of his interest either. He really was quite handsome, I decided.
Several minutes had passed without
I stared at him, aghast. A criminal serving in my uncle’s house! Could he not get proper servants?
He and the captain shared a strange smile. I didn’t care for the vulpine look that passed between them, so I decided to let the matter lie. Soon after, Polly knocked at the door and announced that dinner was served. I was relieved that my uncle didn’t insist on a formal procession, so I didn’t have to surrender my arm to the captain.
As soon as we were seated my uncle furrowed his brow at the place settings. Polly filled our wine glasses from a decanter and set plates of asparagus before us.
‘From the right, if you please, Polly,’ my uncle said with a pinched smile.
‘Yes, sir.’
When we were alone, my uncle looked down at the table. ‘The place settings are rather … creative, don’t you think?’
The captain agreed and I rolled my eyes.
‘What do you expect, Uncle?’ I asked. ‘She’s not even a proper maid.’
‘Oh, but such girls can be taught,’ said the captain.
I didn’t appreciate being contradicted, so I ignored him and ate my asparagus.
When it was time for the soup, Polly displeased my uncle by slopping soup onto the lip of his bowl. Sir James and the captain discussed ‘civic duty’ and charity and the chance she was being given, but I was simply weary of her incompetence.
When she came to clear the soup bowls Sir James addressed her. ‘Who set the table, Polly?’
‘I did, sir.’
‘Were you never taught how to arrange the cutlery?’
She didn’t have a satisfactory answer for that. How on earth was the wretched girl expected to know anything about it? Surely all she knew was a life of crime and wickedness. While he kindly explained to her that the places were to be set outside in, I noticed that one of the tines of my fork was tarnished. I waited until she was almost to the door before calling her back.
‘Oh, girl? Do you think I might have a cleaner fork?’
She scurried to my side and took the fork from me with a worried expression. ‘Certainly, miss,’ she said with a curtsey before scampering out.
I took a sip of my wine and noticed the captain smiling at me.
It was a few minutes before Polly arrived with another fork and I inspected it, slightly disappointed to find it immaculate.
She refilled our wine glasses, then served the lamb and potatoes. And parsnips. I loathed parsnips. I snapped my fan open to show my displeasure.
‘I’m not eating that,’ I informed her curtly. ‘You can take that plate straight back to the kitchen and fetch me a clean one. With no parsnips. And tell Mrs Carson that in the future she needn’t bother cooking them for me.’
Perhaps a little humiliation would help her learn. It was unlikely she’d forget my preferences next time.
Polly looked worriedly at my uncle, then dropped a little curtsey. ‘I’m sorry, miss.’
Sir James and the captain continued to discuss the merits of his method of ‘reformation’ while Polly bustled around us. I didn’t doubt she would be nibbling off the plates in the kitchen and probably stealing wine from the cellar as well. Not to mention the silver. My uncle’s ‘charity’ was sheer folly.
I became more interested in the conversation when the men began to discuss discipline. The birch was used liberally in the reformatory, they said, so Polly would have no reason to suppose herself above such measures simply because she was a maid now. My uncle supposed his charity would provide her with an extra incentive and that in the end she would prove more reliable – and more loyal – than maids in the finest country estates. Maids, he added, who were
not
subject to such chastisement.
I was intrigued. Naturally, no one had ever raised a hand to me, but I found myself fascinated by the prospect of seeing the maid under discipline. The captain made no secret of his interest either. He really was quite handsome, I decided.
Several minutes had passed without
Similar Books
