Servants’ Hall by Margaret Powell Page A

he’d do it for him. Amid the general laughter, we met Gladys and her ‘gentleman friend’. I took an instant dislike to him as his pallid limp hand shook mine. Later on, in a teashop, holding his cup with the little finger outstretched, this Harold told Mary and me that he was head assistant in a men’s outfitters. I discovered that there were only two assistants so he wasn’t head of much. He spoke in an artificially refined voice about his father, a clerk; his sister, a teacher; his brother, a dental mechanic; until I felt like asking what were we supposed to be doing, playing ‘happy families?’ I could see however, that Mary was taken with him as we listened to a monologue about his life behind the counter. Still, give him his due, he offered to take us dancing. I could see from the look on Gladys’s face, that she had no wish to be lumbered with us two for the entire evening, so I said that Mary and I were going to the pictures. Mary protested that we could go to the pictures any time, she much preferred to dance. Besides, she’d just learnt how to do the Charleston and what a marvellous dance it was. Vapid Harold trotted out the joke that was going the rounds – we’d all heard it before – that the Charleston was invented by a girl trying to get a bent penny in the lavatory lock. We all went dancing and the evening was ruined for Gladys because, in no time at all, Mary was showing Harold how to do the Charleston and Gladys and I had to dance with each other. She quarrelled with me over bringing Mary along, but how was I to know we’d be together all the evening. She was no less melancholy when I told her that she’d not have kept Harold for long, and neither would Mary. His sort considered themselves a cut above servant girls. ‘Skivvies’ were all right for an evening out and to be seduced if possible, but certainly not for a permanent relationship. I was surprised when he stuck to Mary for two months.
    I had a letter from Rose asking why it was such a long time since she’d seen us. Rose seemed to forget that though she was free every day, Mary and I had only our allotted time off. I went on my own to see her as Mary said she couldn’t possibly put Rose before Harold – she didn’t know then that one more evening was the last she would ever have with the philandering counterhand.
    Rose seemed slightly more cheerful than when I’d last seen her, and she told me she was nearly three months pregnant. Because of this, Gerald had been ever so nice and kind, making her rest and coming home early from his office I thought that Rose looked far from well, very pale and edgy. I told her that she ought to get all the fresh air she could, but Rose complained that she had nowhere to go and she’d no friends but Mary and me. She couldn’t come to our places and was sick to death of walking around Hampstead on her own. She was sure that she’d have been happier as a parlourmaid and often wished she was down below stairs. I discounted that melodramatic statement. Rose would never give up the life of ease and comfort that she had now, and who would? Certainly I wouldn’t have done if I’d had the same luck. Mrs Wardham had been to see her and she was ever so nice and kind. All these ‘ever so’s’ grated on me, but it must be far worse for Gerald who heard them every day. It seemed strange to me that after months of hearing Gerald’s public school accent and polished speech, her way of speaking hadn’t altered in the least. Mrs Wardham had brought up some books for Rose; I was sure that she’d never even read the one I’d lent her.
    The news from Redlands was that Mr Wardham was still enraged over Gerald’s marrying a servant; he’d cast off his son for good and never wanted to see him again. Such was Mr Wardham’s temper – never mild at the best of times but now positively evil – that Mr Burrows had given in his notice. For Madam’s sake, he’d put up with harsh words and insults, but when