Drama at the dance

Set in 1900

POLLY was shivering but she hardly noticed the cold. She stood at the corner of the big house, her sleeves rolled up, her apron damp from washing vegetables and her eyes as big as saucers.

She was supposed to be getting parsley from the greenhouse, but the opportunity to sneak a look at the guests arriving had been too good to miss.

Cook would grumble because she was slow, but any scolding would be worth it to see the line of carriages stretched down the driveway, their lamps winking in the dark.

Martin, her beau who worked as a footman, had told her that some guests were coming in horseless carriages and she so wanted to see one.

But there were none in the queue and she daren’t take much longer.

Still, there was plenty to feast her eyes on.

As guests alighted from their coaches and carriages she saw furs, flashes of diamonds, silk top hats – it was like a fairy tale.

She guessed many of them had come to see the new electric lights.

There were none in the servants’ quarters and Cook put her foot down if anyone talked about installing electricity in the kitchen, but Polly had seen them in the main house and it was like magic.

She hoped to glimpse the hall or dining-room lit up again tonight.

Her toes were freezing so she turned away reluctantly and ran to the greenhouse.

“About time,” Cook muttered. “I was going to send a search party.”

She was not a bad mistress, but she became short-tempered when there was a big meal to prepare.

“Sorry, Cook.” Polly held up the parsley. “Is that enough?”

The woman looked up from her pastry.

“Yes. Break half into decent sprigs, Mary, and chop the other half fine.”

Mary rolled her eyes as she took the parsley.

“And make sure it’s clean,” Cook added.

“Grumpy old bat,” Mary muttered, loud enough for Polly to hear.

Polly had to bite her lip to stop herself smiling.

She had chanced to meet the girl in the village just a few days earlier.

Mary was looking for work and asked Polly to give her name to Cook for the dinner dance.

Mary had been taken on for the night at Polly’s recommendation.

Cook hadn’t been impressed.

“Look at those hands. Looks like you’ve not done a day’s work in your life.

“I hope you’re ready for some hard grind, girl.”

Mary had pouted, hiding her hands behind her back.

“I’m generally a lady’s maid.” She had sniffed. “My mum needs me to bring in some extra for Christmas.”

Cook had set her to work peeling potatoes.

She was a slow, sloppy worker so Cook had spent the afternoon nagging her.

There was no chance she would be kept on, but it was the first time Polly had worked