Polly and the Truth

Polly stood in the doorway of Mr Dudman’s anteroom and stared at him at his small desk, reading some papers. 1

“You wanted me, Mr Dudman?” she said, leaning her shoulder against the doorjamb, her hands at her side, her white cap pushed to the back of her head, untidily. 2

Mr Dudman looked up at her; seemed to scan her features and then her dress. He returned his gaze to the papers. “Come in; close the door.” 3

Polly entered the anteroom, closed the door behind her, and studied the room while she waited for Dudman to speak. It was a small room; hardly big enough to swing a cat, containing a small desk, chair and a few shelves where he kept files and a few books. 4

“You know that Master George has been sent to France with his regiment,” Dudman said, not lifting his eyes from his papers, not noticing Polly pull a face at him, not aware her thoughts were on George and what would not be happening that night in his bed. “Well, these things happen in time of war. A man knows his duty and does it. His Lordship did his best to keep his son from harm’s way as long as he could, mainly to appease her Ladyship, but now, things being what they are France, he could not keep his son from his duty any longer.” Dudman paused; lifted his eyes to Polly. He seemed to study her quite intently for a few moments, Then proceeded to say, “Mrs Gripe told me you had been upset by Master George’s not coming come home tonight, and as commendable as that may be, you showing your feelings for Master George, and his safety and so on, I must impress that he is doing what all loyal subjects of His Majesty must do, and that is go where he is bid, and perform his duty to the best of his abilities, no matter what the dangers may be.” He paused; lifted his head and scanned Polly’s hair and her cap. 5

“Yes, Mr Dudman,” Polly said and kept her face as straight as she could; did not allow any sign, of what she felt about George and his departure, to show. 6

“You are an untidy girl; your cap is not as it ought to be,” Dudman said, letting his eyes lower themselves to her face. Pretty thing, he mused, taking in her eyes; watching as she moved her cap forward; how the fingers moved. He looked down at her breast beneath the black and white uniform, at the smallness of it, at the way she held herself. 7

Polly looked at Dudman’s eyes on her; at the way he gawped at her; his eyes greedy and supping her up, she thought, but saying nothing. She pulled at her apron, at her dress’s hem. “Anything else, Mr Dudman?” she eventually said, lifting herself to her full five-foot-five height. She sighed softly; scratched her thigh; watched Dudman’s eyes leave her and go back to his papers. 8

“I am not a fool, Perkins,” he said stiffly, pretending to be absorbed in the papers, “I know what you were up to in Master George’s room the last time he was here.” Dudman paused; lifted his eyes to Polly’s face. He noticed she blushed slightly. Dirty little bitch, he mused, putting the papers down on the desk; moving himself in the chair so that he faced her head on. 9

“Doing?” Polly said. “Doing what?” she added, trying to stop herself from blushing, but unable to stop the blood rising to her face. 10

Dudman stood stiffly; stared down at her. “You are not the first maid to be utilized by a young master; not the first maid to throw herself at a young master in the hope of lifting herself to the upper classes.” He paused. He wanted to let his words sink into her head. Had it been Susie Simmons he wouldn’t have wasted his words on her, being as she was, he thought, a half-wit, but Polly was different; she had an intelligence of sorts; she had beauty of a different measure than most. 11

Polly glared at Dudman. “I did no such thing,” she protested, trying to keep her tongue in check, tried to hold back with her temper. 12

Dudman showed signs of frustration. He coughed. He lifted his frame to his six-foot-two and walked around the maid. “Do not insult my intelligence by lying, girl. I know; I have one as witness.” 13

“Witness?” Polly said, her eyes narrowing onto Dudman’s nose. 14

“Yes,” Dudman said, “Simmons. She said you often crept along to Master George’s room and stayed there all night.” He stood behind her and studied her back, letting his eyes move down to her backside. He sighed under his breath. 15

Polly felt anger rise into her breast; sensed her features redden further. The bitch. Susie, you cow, she mused, wanting at that moment to pull Susie’s hair and slap face. “She’s lying,” Polly suggested, hoping to defend herself against the truth. 16

“It is you who are lying; you have added being a liar to being a whore,” Dudman said coldly. 17

Polly was stunned by his words as if he’d slap her face with them. She pushed her hands into her apron pockets; stood upright and turned to face him. “I love him,” she murmured. “Nothing sordid,” she added. Tears welled up in her eyes; her stomach tightened; her hands folded into fists in the pockets. 18

Dudman’s features moved slightly at her words. He had not expected the word love to creep into the room, had not expected her eyes to water as had begun to do. Fool, he mused, carrying a vision of her small backside with him, wishing it had been he that the word love had been attached to. But it hadn’t; he knew and knew it never would. “If Lord Elmore knew what you had been up to, you would be dismissed,” Dudman said quietly, studying her eyes as they watered more. 19

“He doesn’t know,” Polly said. She sniffed; wiped her nose with a small grey handkerchief and looked at a picture on the wall above Dudman’s desk. 20

“Maybe not yet,” Dudman said, “but these things get around,” he added. 21

Polly looked away from the picture and stared at Dudman. “Are you going to tell him?” Polly muttered. 22

Dudman’s features betrayed nothing. “I would not lower myself to pass gossip, but there are some who might.” 23

“Who?” Polly asked. 24

“That silly girl, Simmons, for one,” Dudman suggested. He watched for her reaction; looked at her face for signs. 25

“She wouldn’t dare,” Polly said. 26

“She told me.” Dudman pulled his lips into a small smile. 27

“I bet you threatened her,” Polly said, holding back the tears as best she could. 28

“I needed to know. I wanted to know what was going on. I am the butler here; I have to know what goes on.” He paused; sat down again in his chair and picked up the papers. 29

“So, what are you going to do?” Polly looked at Dudman’s dark hair, cut short; his stiff collar, his black clothes. 30

“Now that I know the truth, nothing. And nor are you. You will not again go anywhere near Master George’s room when he is here; you will not enter his room without my permission. Do you understand?” Dudman said. He looked at Polly with an expression of a judge about to pass sentence. 31

Polly nodded; she sniffed and wiped her nose. She had expected him to demand something from her for his silence, but he hadn’t. She wanted to spit at him; to slap his smug face; to pull his dark hair from the roots, but she didn’t. She bit her lip. For a few moments the thought of Dudman demanding something from her, calling her into his room at night, pulling her into his bed, made her feel nauseous. 32

“You understand what I have said?” Dudman said stiffly. 33

“Yes, Mr Dudman,” Polly said, looking at the door, wanting to escape. 34

“Then we will say no more about it.” He returned his eyes to the papers. 35

“You may go; you have work to do.” He waved his hand at her to dismiss her from his room. 36

Polly went to the door and opened it. She gazed at Dudman, studied his features above the papers, saw that he had no more interest in her or her doings, walked into the passageway, and closed the door behind her. 37

Dudman lifted his eyes as Polly turned to go out the door. He liked her figure; loved her strength; her eyes; the way her body swayed when she walked. But he knew she would keep; knew he had the key to her now. And with that thought, he lowered his eyes to the papers as Polly closed the door with a gentle click, and allowed a smile to spread thinly over lips like spilt red ink over a white cloth. 38