Free Poppy by M.C. Beaton

Gladys?” said Mrs. Pullar, with an awful frown.
    “I s-saw madam on the stage,” stammered Gladys, “and she does sing so beautiful.”
    “Go back to your work,” said Mrs. Pullar, red with anger. Mrs. Plummett had shown herself to be a lady, therefore the sooner they all forgot about that stage business the better.
    Gladys backed away quickly, looking frightened, her hand to her mouth in a way that poignantly reminded Poppy of little Emily.
    Poppy threw caution to the wind.
    “Would you like me to sing to you?” she asked the retreating Gladys.
    Gladys was too terrified to reply, and Mrs. Pullar too shocked, but the menservants all shouted a hearty “Yes, please, ma’am!”
    The dinner abovestairs had drawn to the walnuts-and-port stage, the ladies had retired to the drawing room, and the servants were preparing to relax over their own meal.
    James, the second footman, offered to get his accordian.
    With infinite relief Mrs. Pullar espied the magisterial figure of Stammers entering through the green-baize door.
    She went quickly over to him. “Mr. Stammers,” she hissed. “Mrs. Plummett has offered to sing, and it’s not
quite-quite
, if you know what I mean.”
    But Stammers secretly thought Mrs. Pullar exceeded her authority, and he enjoyed every opportunity he could of putting her down.
    “Splendid idea,” he said, brushing past Mrs. Pullar. “We’ll make it like a concert. Good evening, madam. I gather we are about to have the honor of hearing you sing. It is a privilege, madam.”
    Now, if Poppy had sung one of her more vulgar numbers, it is no doubt that she would have made a formidable enemy in Mrs. Pullar.
    But she chose to sing “My Little Gray Home in the West,” a sentimental ballad that was Mrs. Pullar’s favorite.
    Poppy was not only possessed of a remarkably sweet and clear voice, but when she sang she forgot about class or accent or Emily and Josie back in Cutler’s Fields and sang for the sheer joy of it. Poppy firmly believed in the sentiments of the songs she sang, from gray-haired mothers to little gray homes to old-mill streams. She was a very human, very vulnerable girl, but was possessed of an essential goodness and love of life, which shone out when she sang.
    Mrs. Pullar’s hard mouth relaxed into a soft smile, and her eyes were dreamy, and James played the accordian softly while Poppy sang and sang.
    In the drawing room, the gentlemen, with the exception of Freddie, had joined the ladies. Dinner had been a long and tedious affair. It had been reported to His Grace that Mr. and Mrs. Plummett were not in their rooms, and the head groom had said that Master Freddie had taken his motor out “for a spin.”
    The duke assumed Poppy was with him, and although he did not blame Poppy for this breach of good manners, he
did
blame Freddie, and felt angrier with that young man then he had ever been before in his life.
    Over dinner, he had been so immersed in concocting the splendid dressing-down that he was going to give Freddie when that young man returned that he had paid not the slightest attention to what anyone said to him, and when Freda had tried to draw his attention, he had merely stared at her with an abstract look.
    He had a very forceful personality and had successfully managed to depress everyone, including his mother, who was usually immune to her son’s rare fits of bad temper.
    The duke was sure that Freddie had headed straight for the nearest pub, since before dinner he had had a fruitless time of it trying to find a drink, the servants having been given strict instructions to serve him nothing stronger than lemonade.
    All at once the duke was concerned for the new Mrs. Plummett’s welfare. The girl was common and quite impossible, but she did not deserve to be out in the pouring rain in an open motorcar.
    It was with great relief that he heard the noisy clash of gears and churning gravel below the windows, which heralded Freddie’s arrival home.
    He quickly left the