I shared a room with Polly. We lay in bed that first night and talked about funerals and how they hadn't known how ill He had been until He had been "took sudden." I was comforted in this strange house to be close to Polly, because below us in the parlour lay "the corpse."

The great day came. Vaguely I remember now those solemn undertakers in their top hats and black coats, the plumed horses, the coffin, "genuine oak with real brass fittings," as Eff proudly explained.

It was piled with flowers. Eff had given him "The Gates of Heaven Ajar," which I thought a little optimistic for one of his reputation—before death, that was. Polly and I had hurried to the flower shop and bought a wreath in the shape of a harp which seemed hardly suitable either. But I was learning that death changed everything.

There was a solemn service, with Eff being supported on one side by Polly and on the other by Mr. Branley, to whom she let rooms in the house. She drooped and kept touching her eyes with a black-bordered handkerchief. I began to think that Polly had not told me the truth about Him.

There were ham sandwiches and sherry, which were taken in the parlour—blinds now drawn up and looking quite different without the coffin—a little prim and unlived-in, but without the funereal gloom.

I learned that there was a great bond between Polly and Eff, though they might be a little critical of each other—Polly of Eff for marrying Him and Eff of Polly because she had "gone into service." Father, Eff hinted, would never have approved of that. Mind you, Eff conceded, it was a special sort of service and Polly was almost one of the family, with that rector who never seemed to know whether he was standing on his head or his heels, and Eff admitted that I was "a nice little thing."

I gathered that Eff was in no financial difficulties. Polly told me that it was Eff who had kept things going in the house on the common. He hadn't worked for years because of his Chest. Eff had taken lodgers. The Branleys had been with her for two years and they were more like friends than tenants. One day, of course, when the little nipper grew up they would have to consider getting a place of their own with a garden, but just now the Branleys were safe.

I realized that Eff's fondness for the Branleys was largely due to "the nipper." The nipper was six months old and he dribbled and bawled without reason. Eff allowed them to keep his perambulator in the hall—a great concession of which Father would never have approved—and Mrs. Branley would bring him down so that he could have his airing in the garden. Eff liked that; and I gathered so did Polly. When he lay in his pram Eff would find some excuse to go into the garden and gaze at him. If he were crying—which was often—they would babble nonsense at him: "Didums want his Mumums then?" or something like that, which sounded so strange on their lips, as they were both what Mrs. Janson would have called "sharp tongued." They were completely changed by this baby.

It occurred to me that the great lack in the lives of both Polly and Eff was a baby of their own. Babies seemed to be very desirable creatures—even Fabian had wanted one.

I remember very well an occasion two days after the funeral. Polly and I were going back to the rectory the next day. Polly had been making the most of our last day and she had taken me "up West," which meant the west end of London.

We were in the kitchen. I was seated by the fire and I was so sleepy that I dozed off.

Vaguely I heard Polly say, "Look at Drusilla. She's half asleep already. Well, we did a bit of traipsing about, I can tell you." Then I really did doze.

I awoke suddenly. Eff and Polly were at the table, a big brown earthenware teapot between them.

Eff was saying, "I reckon I could take two more people in here."

"I don't know what Father would have said, you taking in lodgers."

"They call them paying guests ... in the sort of place I'll have. Did you know, Poll, the Martins next door are going and I reckon I could take on that place."

"Whatever for?"

"More paying guests, of course. I reckon I could make a real business out of this, Poll."

"I reckon you could."

"Mind you—I'd need help."

"What'll you do ... get someone to come in with you?"

"I'd want somebody I know. Somebody I could trust."

"Nice business."

"What about you, Poll?"

There was a long silence. I was quite wide awake now.

"The two of us would make a regular go of this," said Eff. "It would be a nice little venture. You in service ... well, you know Father would never have liked that."

"I wouldn't leave Drusilla. She means a lot to me, that child."

"Nice little thing. No beauty ... but she's sharp and I reckon she's got a way with her."

"Sh!" said Polly.

She looked in my direction and I immediately closed my eyes.

"Well, that won't go on forever, Poll. I reckon sisters ought to stick together."

"Well, if it wasn't for her I'd be with you like a shot, Eff."

"You like the sound of it, do you?"

"I'd like to be here. The country's dead dull. I like a bit of life."

"Don't I know that. Always did, always will. That's you, Poll."

"While she wants me I'll be there."

"You think about it, that's all. You don't want to be at the beck and call of others all your life. You was never one for that."

"Oh, there's not much of the beck and call there, Eff. He's soft ... and she's like my own."

"Well, it would be a good life. The two of us working together."

"It's nice to know you're there, Eff."

So a new fear had come into my life. There would come a day when I would lose Polly.

"Polly," I said to her that night when we had retired. "You won't go away from me, will you?"

"What you talking about?"

"You might go in with Eff."

"Here! Who's been listening to what she wasn't meant to? Pretending to be asleep. I know. I rumbled you."

"But you won't, will you, Polly?"

"No. I'll be there as long as I'm wanted."

I hugged her, holding her tightly for fear she would escape from me.

It would be a long time before I forgot Eff's holding out the bait of freedom to Polly.

The French Affair

The years passed and I was fourteen years old, doing much the same as I had always done. Miss York was still with me and Polly was my guide, comforter and mentor. I still paid my periodic visits to the House, but I was no longer so subservient to Lavinia. I only had to hint that I would refuse to come and she changed her hectoring ways. She had a faint respect for me—though she would never admit it. I had helped her through one or two scrapes and that gave me an advantage.

Polly and I were closer together. We had paid several visits to Eff, who now had the house next door and was doing well with her paying guests. She seemed to have grown in importance and presided over her two houses in a very gracious and genteel manner. Polly had to admit that Father would have had very little to complain of. The Branleys had gone and been replaced by the Paxtons. "Much better," commented Eff. "Mrs. Paxton always wraps her rubbish before putting it in the dustbin. Mrs. Branley never did. Though I must say I miss the nipper." So, apart from the loss of the baby, the change really was for the better.

"Eff'll do well," said Polly. "All this is right up her street."

I knew that, but for me, Polly would have been with Eff, keeping all those paying guests in order and secretly laughing with Eff over their little foibles. But Polly had sworn never to leave me while I wanted her, and I trusted Polly.

Then life started to change. An architect came to the House because there was something wrong with the structure of the east wing and it had to be put right by an expert who would know how to restore it in a suitable manner. This was Mr. Rimmel, and he and Miss Etherton became very friendly. Lady Harriet was unaware of this until it had gone too far and Miss Etherton announced her engagement to Mr. Rimmel and gave notice to Lady Harriet that she would be leaving in a month to prepare for her wedding.

Lady Harriet was incensed. Apparently there had been a succession of governesses before Miss Etherton's arrival and she had been the only one who had stayed. "People are so inconsiderate," said Lady Harriet. "Where is their gratitude? All these years she has had a good home here."

But Miss Etherton, secure in the love of Mr. Rimmel, was by no means dismayed. She was beyond Lady Harriet's disapproval now.

In due course she went. Two governesses came, but neither of them stayed more than two months.

Lady Harriet then declared that it was rather absurd to employ two governesses when there were two girls virtually of the same age living so close. She had been impressed by Miss York's efficiency and she saw no reason why the young woman should not teach Lavinia and me at the same time.

My father hesitated and said he would have to consult Miss York, which in due course he did. Miss York, like the two governesses whose stay at the House was brief, was not eager to undertake the education of Lavinia; but in due course, attracted by the offer of a larger salary and no doubt overwhelmed by the dominating personality of Lady Harriet, she agreed; and as a result Lavinia sometimes came to the rectory and I sometimes went to the House, where we took lessons together. Miss York, buoyed up by the knowledge that she could to some extent make her own terms, refused to take up residence at the House and insisted on regarding the rector as her employer.