"That big place? Very nobby. Did they treat you okay?"
"What? Oh... yes. Yes. Pretty fair."
"Hit you at all?"
"Eh? No. Never," said Polly, nervous of where this was going.
"Work you hard?"
Polly had to consider this. In truth, she worked harder than both the maids, and they at least had an afternoon off every week.
"I was usually the first one up and the last one to bed, if that's what you mean," she said. And to change the subject quickly, she went on: "What about you? You know Munz?"
"We both lived there, me and Tilda - I mean Lofty," said Tonker.
"Oh? Where?"
"The Girls' Working School," said Tonker, and looked away.
And that's the kind of trap small talk can get you in, Polly thought. "Not a nice place, I think," she said, feeling stupid.
"It was not a nice place, yes. A very nasty place," said Tonker. "Wazzer was there, we think. We think it was her. Used to be sent out a lot on work hire." Polly nodded. Once, a girl from the School came and worked as a maid at The Duchess. She'd arrive every morning, scrubbed raw in a clean pinafore, peeling off from a line of very similar girls led by a teacher and flanked by a couple of large men with long sticks. She was skinny, polite in a dull, trained sort of way, worked very hard and never talked to anybody. She was gone in three months, and Polly never found out why.
Tonker stared into Polly's eyes, almost mocking her innocence. "We think she was the one they used to lock up sometimes in the special room. That's the thing about the School. If you don't toughen up you go funny in the head."
"I expect you were glad to leave," was all Polly could think of to say.
"The basement window was unlocked," said Tonker. "But I promised Tilda we'd go back one day next summer."
"Oh, so it wasn't that bad, then?" said Polly, grateful for some relief.
"No, it'll burn better," said Tonker. "Ever run across someone called Father Jupe?"
"Oh, yes," said Polly, and, feeling that something more was expected of her, added, "He used to come to dinner when my mother - he used to come to dinner. A bit pompous, but he seemed okay."
"Yes," said Tonker. "He was good at seeming."
Once again there was a dark chasm in the conversation that not even a troll could bridge, and all you could do was draw back from the edge.
"I'd better go and see to the lieu - to the rupert," Polly said, standing up. "Thank you very much for the soup."
She worked her way down through the scree and birch thickets until she emerged by the little stream that ran through the gully. And there, like some awful river god, was Sergeant Jackrum.
His red coat, a tent for lesser men, was draped carefully over a bush. He himself was sitting on a rock with his shirt off and his huge braces dangling, so that only a yellowing woolly vest saved the world from a sight of the man's bare chest. For some reason, though, he'd kept his shako on. His shaving kit, with a razor like a small machete and a shaving brush you could use to hang wallpaper, was on the rock beside him.
Jackrum was bathing his feet in the stream. He glanced up when Polly approached, and nodded amiably. "'Morning, Perks," he said. "Don't rush. Never rush for ruperts. Sit down for a spell. Get yer boots off. Let yer feet feel the fresh air. Look after your feet, and your feet will look after you." He pulled out his big clasp-knife and the rope of chewing tobacco. "Sure you won't join me?"
"No thanks, sarge." Polly sat down on a rock on the opposite side of the stream, which was only a few feet wide, and started to tug at her boots. She felt as though she'd been given an order. Besides, right now she felt she needed the shock of clean, cold water.
"Good lad. Filthy habit. Worse'n the smokes," said Jackrum, carving off a lump. "Got started on it when I was but a lad. Better'n striking a light at night, see? Don't want to give away your position. 'Course, you gotta gob a bundle every so often, but gobbin' in the dark don't show up."
Polly dabbled her feet. The icy water did indeed feel refreshing. It seemed to jolt her alive. In the trees around the gully, birds sang.
"Say it, Perks," said Jackrum, after a while.
"Say what, sarge?"
"Oh, bleedin' hell, Perks, it's a nice day, don't muck me around. I seen the way you've been looking at me."