Polly's Meditations.

Polly stood and gazed from the window of Master George’s room. Held back the lace curtains; pressed her small nose against the glass pane. Breath made glass steam up. She brushed it with her hand; gazed at the drive where Master George’s car would come. Best not let Dudman catch me here; hell to pay for if he does, she mused, looking back into the room briefly. Silence. No one. 1

She sniffed the air of the room; stared at the bed and the neatness of it; the way she had smoothed down the bedcover; made the pillows just so. She tried to recall him and her lying in the bed the last time he was home and remembering, she sighed. Missed him, his touch and kisses. And there were words, too. Soft words, softly spoken. Gentle touch. Lips on lips. Lips on her neck. Sighed. She put her hand across her breast. Imagined him there with her; his hand on hers; his eyes searching hers; his voice speaking. 2

Voices below. She returned her gaze to the window; peered down through the lace curtains carefully so that no one might see her. Dudman with gardener; gesturing with his hands; nodding with his silly head. She stood back from the window in case Dudman peered up. She could see just the heads now above the windowsill. They were gone, the voices silent. She moved forward and peered again. Both men gone. Good. Breathed out. Relieved. Sighed. 3

Would Master George have her here this time? she asked, letting the curtain drop into place. Rare moments, precious time, felt whole. Susie’d keep her mouth shut about it. Had the icy bed in the attic to herself. She hated that Susie did. No one to snuggle up with against the cold. Poor cow. Yet, she was good sort even if she was dim as dusk. 4

Moving away from the window, she sat on the bed. Sensed the mattress beneath her, the strong springs. She ran her hand over the pillow; tried to imagine his head there beside hers. She leaned down and kissed the pillow. Sighed. Something stirred within her. Her groin tightened. She rubbed her thigh. Pushed her hand between her thighs. Sighed. 5

Maybe, she mused, rising from the bed, maybe. She smoothed the bedcover and pillow; slowly walked to the door. She looked back at the window and bed. Smiled. Brushed her hair from her forehead and closed the door with gentle thud. She gazed up and down the passageway. No one. Still. Silent. Soon, she mused, soon, and walked along the passageway in her slow daydreaming fashion, swinging her duster back and forth, as if waving hello to her secret passion and Master. 6