The Peppermint Pig (12 page)

That made Poll feel very important. She wouldn’t have wanted to die, or be ill for the rest of her life, but she was a bit sorry that her legs seemed to be fattening up quite so fast and was almost jealous of Theo: although he had grown while she’d been in
bed and was now at least an inch taller than she was, he was still very much thinner. When she looked in the mirror she sucked in her cheeks and practised a faint, hollow smile that made her look sad and interesting.

The day she met Lady March, she had got this smile to perfection. She and Mother were crossing the Square on their way to the baker’s when a carriage stopped beside them and a high, cracked old voice said, ‘Oh, Mrs Greengrass, I am so delighted to see your dear little girl is quite well again!’

Lady March’s face was like a piece of thin, crumpled paper under the spread sails of her hat; her fluttering, gloved hands frail as bird’s wings. Poll looked modestly down, smiling her sad, rehearsed smile, and Lady March said, ‘Poor, pretty child. I’m afraid she still looks very delicate.’

‘Only when she pulls that silly face,’ Mother said, rather grimly. She ignored Poll’s reproachful sigh and went on, ‘I’m glad we’ve met, Lady March. Perhaps you would be kind enough to tell your daughter her new dress is ready whenever she wishes to call and collect it.’

This dress, as Poll knew, had been ready for more than two weeks and the most likely reason why Arabella March had not come to fetch it was that she had overspent her quarter’s allowance. Only that morning Mother had looked in her purse and said, with an angry sniff, ‘I suppose not paying
what they owe is one of the ways rich people save money.’

Lady March laughed like glass tinkling. ‘I expect she forgot, my dear, you know what girls are! But I’ll remind her, of course. I know she’s been really quite pleased with the work you have done for her up to now. As a matter of fact, I might ask you to do something for me! Not a
new
gown – as you know, I always get my things made at Mullen’s. So much more convenient to be able to get the material there and put it down on the bill, don’t you know! But I have an afternoon gown that needs renovating and I have never found Mrs Bugg very helpful with alterations. Won’t take the trouble, I suppose, it’s the same story wherever you turn nowadays, standards of service are not what they used to be! But then I expect you know that as well as I do!’

‘Oh yes,’ Mother said. ‘Yes, Lady March.’

‘I’ll bring you the gown, then?’ She smiled graciously as if the gown was a present. ‘Would this afternoon be convenient?’

‘I’m afraid not, Lady March. Not this week at all. One of my customers has a funeral on Friday and that, as you know, really must take priority!’

The manservant driving the carriage had been sitting still on the box and staring straight ahead all this time. He cleared his throat suddenly and Mother’s mouth twitched. A purplish colour crept into Lady March’s cheeks as if she felt she was being
laughed at in some way. Poll felt sorry for her and looked at Mother indignantly but her expression was innocent.

Lady March said, ‘Well, next week, perhaps? To tell you the truth, Mrs Greengrass, one reason I am anxious to come is to see your famous pet pig. The one everyone is talking about. When I spoke to the Vicar last Sunday he mentioned it and said it really was a remarkable animal. I know, Mrs Greengrass! I have a
splendid
idea! Would you be kind enough to bring him up to the Manor one day? Round to the back door and show me his tricks?’ She clapped her little hands together in affected excitement and added, ‘Of course, you could pick up the gown at the same time, couldn’t you?’

Mother gave her a long, hard pitying look and shook her head slowly. ‘My Johnnie is not a back door or kitchen pig, Lady March! Nor does he do
tricks
, like a freak in a fair! As the Vicar told you, he is an unusual creature and he has his own proper dignity that I wouldn’t wish to offend. A formal invitation to visit you would be a different matter, of course.’

The manservant took a red handkerchief out of his pocket and blew his nose loudly. The noise startled the horse and the carriage jerked forward over the cobbles. The man looked over his shoulder and grinned.

Mother smiled pleasantly. ‘Good morning, Lady
March. You will give my message to your daughter, won’t you?’ She took Poll’s hand and walked on. Out of earshot, she chuckled. ‘Really the cheek of the woman!’

Poll said, puzzled, ‘She only wanted to see Johnnie.’

‘Just a sprat to catch a mackerel, Poll. Mullen’s won’t do alterations at a price she’s willing to pay, that’s the truth of it. Well, I won’t, either! I may have sunk down in the world but not so low that I’m ready to turn seams on an old miser’s gown for a shilling and a kind word or two! That’s the last we’ll hear of that, I do hope!’

She was wrong. The next day the manservant came to the door with a note on an engraved card.
Lady March would be pleased if Mrs Greengrass, her younger daughter, and her pet pig, would care to take tea with her next Friday at four
.

Mother sat in the kitchen and laughed. ‘She’s beaten me,’ she gasped. ‘Oh, she’s a sly one! Run to the door, Poll, and tell the man we’ll be delighted to come. No wait a minute, I’ll write, since we’re being so grand with each other!’

Poll watched her write. She said, ‘Shall you alter her dress after all?’

Mother put her note in an envelope and stuck it down. ‘Oh yes, she’s earned it. Out-smarted me properly and it’s always best to pay up with a good grace when that happens. If she’s willing to entertain
an old pig in her drawing room just to get a bit of work done on the cheap, then good luck to her!’

Mother scrubbed Johnnie down with the broom – since he liked having his back scratched he found this no hardship – and left him to dry in the sun while she and Poll dressed. Poll wore her pink shantung with a hanging pocket to match and her leghorn hat trimmed with daisies. ‘Now you’re fit to have tea with a Queen,’ Mother said.

They set off at twenty minutes to four, Johnnie walking sedately behind them across the Market Square, past the church, and took a short cut through the ruins of the old Priory on the edge of the Town. When they started up the long drive that led to the Manor House, Poll began to feel nervous. She looked at her mother and saw her lips moving silently, as if she were holding an internal conversation. Then she made a little grimace, and smiled. Her eyes shone suddenly bright and when she spoke her voice was light and eager as bird song. She said, Polly, love, forget the unkind things I said about Lady March, she’s not a bad old thing, really,’ and Poll thought at first she was just saying this because she felt happy and wanted everything to be pleasant about her. But then she added, ‘It’s hard to be lonely and old and know that even your servants laugh at you when your back’s turned,’ and Poll remembered the man snorting into his handkerchief
and grinning on the box of the carriage and knew it was true.

He had the same knowing grin on his face when he opened the door to them and it made Poll indignant. Copying her mother, she averted her gaze and ignored his impertinence. It was harder to ignore the two young maids giggling at the far end of the hall, particularly when she knew they were not just laughing at the sight of a pig walking in the front entrance and at foolish old Lady March for inviting him, but at her and her mother too, for joining in this daft game, but she did her best. She gave them one look and put her nose in the air and followed Mother and Johnnie into the drawing-room, where a log fire was burning in spite of the warmth of the day.

Johnnie went straight to it as if he was accustomed to being received like a gentleman. Lady March, looking small and witch-like without her big hat, scratched his ears tentatively and he sat down by her chair and leaned against her. ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Oh my!’

‘Push him away if he’s heavy,’ Mother said. ‘He won’t hurt you. Or your carpets. He’s as well trained as a good dog in that way.’

‘I’ve never had a dog in my drawing-room either,’ Lady March said.

One of the maids brought in tea. She was still giggling openly and when Lady March motioned her to put the tray down on a low table beside her, she dumped it down with a rough air of contempt that
Poll recognized as deliberate: she wanted the visitors to know how little she thought of her mistress! Lady March laughed as if she were not embarrassed at all, only amused at the girl’s clumsiness, but when she had gone she looked at the tray and said, ‘Oh dear, Cook has forgotten the sugar,’ in a tone that said, clearly as if she had spoken the words, ‘I’m afraid if I ring the bell, she’ll be rude again.’

Mother said, ‘Poll and I don’t have sugar in tea, Lady March, but if you want it, Poll can run to the kitchen.’

Lady March didn’t take sugar. She poured tea and offered them bread and butter and cake. The bread and butter had been cut a long time and was curling at the edges and the jam had a film of dust over it as if the dish had been left standing uncovered by the side of a fire, but the cake was all right; a rich, dark, fruit cake that no one could spoil. Poll ate three slices and answered Lady March’s questions. Yes, she was very much better. No, she wasn’t back at school yet, but she would be next week. Yes, she was looking forward to it – she heard herself saying this with surprise and wondered if she could really mean it.

When the conversation about school was finished, Lady March talked to Mother about patterns and materials and the latest Paris fashions. Poll sat in a big chair, pins and needles in her dangling feet, and tried not to yawn. At last tea was over, and when Lady March took Mother upstairs to look at the gown that
had to be altered, Poll escaped into the garden with Johnnie. She went round the side of the house into the stable yard and peeped through the window into the kitchen. The man who doubled as coachman and butler was sitting with his feet on the table, the two young maids sat either side of him, and a fat woman in a black dress and apron presided over the teapot. There was a splendid spread on the table: muffins, a crusty new loaf, cheese, butter, jam, and several sorts of cake. Poll thought of Lady March’s tea tray laid out with stale bread and dusty jam and felt herself swelling with anger in a way she had not done for ages. The last time was before she ran off to see Annie Dowsett; before she was ill…

The other side of the yard there was a rose garden and beyond that a small wood, full of foxgloves. Full of maybugs, too; the air whirred with them. Poll knocked one down with her hat and picked it up as it lay stunned on the ground. Its little horny feet tickled her palm. She put it into her handkerchief pocket and went on knocking down the flying beetles until she had a buzzing, angry pocketful. She felt the weight of the pocket in her hand and thought of Lily who was scared of maybugs, who went wild if one came into the bedroom at night because she was afraid it would get into her hair.

She went back to the stable yard and looked in the kitchen window again. They were still sitting there, stuffing themselves. One of the girls said something
and they all roared with laughter, wet, greedy mouths open. The man belched loudly and slapped his stomach.

The window was open at the bottom. Poll loosed the thread of her handkerchief pocket and emptied the maybugs over the sill with a jerk of her wrist. Fright, or rage, at being shut up made them buzz louder than ever now they were free, and within seconds the girls and the fat cook were on their feet screaming, beating frantic hands in the air, running round the room, banging into each other, knocking chairs over. The man jumped up too. He saw Poll at the window and she put her thumbs in her ears and waggled her fingers and stuck out her tongue at him before she ran off.

Johnnie was sitting patiently on the path in front of the house. Poll reached him as her mother and Lady March came out of the door. Mother was saying, ‘I’ll speak to Mrs Dowsett, then, and bring Annie to see you…’

But Lady March was looking at Poll. She said, in a surprised voice, ‘Why, the child looks quite different. Much better than she did earlier on, don’t you know?’

Mother smiled. ‘You wouldn’t think she’d ever been ill to look at her.’

‘Oh, I’m better,’ Poll said. ‘I started to be better about two minutes ago and I’m quite better now.’

CHAPTER SEVEN

T
HEO SAID
, ‘I
F
Mother grumbles about someone to start with you can be sure she’ll end up taking their part. I bet you anything Lady March will be someone she has to take care of, like Annie Dowsett.’

Annie was often in their house now. She was shy with George and Lily and Theo but she worshipped Mother, following round at her heels ‘just like the old pig,’ Lily said – though she was careful not to let Mother hear this. ‘Annie’s a good girl,’ Mother said. ‘She just needs encouragement.’

When Annie left school at Christmas she was going into service with Lady March at the Manor House. ‘That’s a good turn done for them both,’ Mother said when she arranged this. ‘The poor old soul needs someone who doesn’t look down on her. I told her, if I were you I’d get rid of those flipperty-gibbet girls
and get someone respectful. And it’ll be a fine place for Annie. My mother went to the Manor House as kitchen maid and ended up cook, no reason why Annie shouldn’t do just as well. She’s got a nice light hand with pastry already.’

‘I can cook too,’ Poll said. ‘I can make lovely buns, better than Annie’s. I wish I could leave school and go and be a cook too.’

‘Don’t let your Aunt Sarah hear you say that,’ Mother said. ‘She’d think it a disgrace for her niece to go into service, she’d never hold up her head again!’

‘Grandma Greengrass was a cook. And your mother. Why can’t I be?’

‘You’re luckier. You’ve got a chance to rise up.’

‘I think Annie’s lucky,’ Poll said enviously. ‘I wish I could leave school. School’s boring. I hate it.’

She was only there mornings because she was still thought to be delicate and although she was quite glad to be back at first, for a change, that wore off quite soon. Her classroom looked over Farmer Tuft’s meadow. The window was too high to see out but it was open at the bottom in fine weather and Poll, dreaming at her desk throughout the maths lesson, could hear Farmer Tuft’s cows plucking the squeaky grass, and the frogs in the pond, splashing and croaking. A willow tree hung over the pond and she could see a magpie in its top branches.
One for sorrow
,
Poll thought, watching its long tail flick up and down, but her only sorrow at the moment was Vulgar Fractions.