Edwardian Candlelight Omnibus Read Online Free

afternoon’s work. Polly plunged into the gloom of the office, feeling as if she had left the whole of the world behind.
    She finished the rest of the letters quickly and took them in to Mr. Baines to sign. The fact that he seemed startled at her speed and accuracy and that he actually smiled at her did nothing to lift the gloom from Polly’s heart. How on earth was she ever going to find her rightful niche in society now?
    Mr. Baines gave her an enormous pile of invoicing as if to prove that no matter how quick she was, work at Westerman’s was never done. As she turned around to leave, he called her back into his large, musty office, which was off the clerks’ room.
    “Oh, Miss… ah… I have already informed some of the staff of the honor that has been conferred on us. His Grace, the Duke of Westerman, has suggested that the annual staff picnic—that is usually held on the first of June—take place on the grounds of his ancestral home, Bevington Chase. Us gentlemen of the staff are allowed to bring our wives. The bachelors, like Mister Friend, can bring a lady of their choice. No mention, however, has been made of any lady in the firm bringing a gentleman…”
    “Oh,
that’s
all right, Mister Baines,” said Polly, her eyes shining like stars.
    “Very well, Miss… ah… you may go.”
    Polly’s feet barely seemed to touch the floor on her way back to her cubicle.
    It was nearly the end of March—two whole months to go. She found she had neatly typed, “To one consignment of Dukes,” and tore up the invoice and concentrated on her work. It would never do to lose her job before the picnic.
    Back in Stone Lane that evening Polly’s great news was received with infuriating calm. “I’m trying to finish this story,” said Joyce, clutching a tattered edition of
Young England
. “This ’ere cavaleer is trying for to get away from them roun’eads. Leave me alone, Pol.”
    “Sit yourself down, luv,” said Mrs. Marsh. “I’ve got some nice pigs’ trotters saved for you. I’ll ’ear all about your dukes when you’ve eaten.”
    Polly sighed. Would her family never appreciate the aristocrat in their midst? But Mrs. Marsh was waiting with her plump red arms folded until Polly finished the last of her meal. “The bread queues are getting wurst,” she said, shaking her frizzled hair. “If some of them poor souls could see you, Pol, a-picking at your food. Well, I dunno wot they would say.”
    “Yerse. Eat up,” admonished her father, “or I’ll tear yer ’ead off.”
    “Now,” said Mrs. Marsh, sitting down beside Polly. “Wot’s it all about?”
    Trembling with excitement, Polly told her about the picnic, the stately home, the invitation, and the date. “Oh, Ma! Could I… could I have a tea gown to wear?”
    Mrs. Marsh narrowed her small eyes thoughtfully. They had once been as large and as blue as Polly’s but rosy pads of fat had diminished their size and hours of needlework had faded their color.
    Perhaps in a more genteel working-class environment Polly’s suggestion would have been greeted with horror. After all, she had two good dresses for winter and two for summer, not to mention the latest in long corsets. What girl could ask for more?
    But among the traders of Stone Lane Market there was a good bit of the theater. When they emerged from their dark, cluttered shops on Sunday to sell their wares at the stalls outside, they competed for customers as hard as any circus barker. Everyone in Stone Lane knew that it was always possible to find what you wanted if you gave it a bit of time.
    “Let me see,” said Mrs. Marsh. “I’ve got it! Lil’s stepsister, Edie, ’er wot ’as arthuritis, used to be a theater dresser. Went with the road production of
Lady Something-or-Other’s Fanny
.”
    “
Lady Windermere’s Fan
,” corrected Polly faintly.
    “Anyway,” pursued Mrs. Marsh, “Edie kept some of them there costumes for sentimental reasons, like, yer see. I’ll ask ’er