L’auberge De Madame Polly
“Can you slow down a bit? You walk so fast.” Marietta pleaded as she tried to keep up with her hopeless flurry of dainty steps
I sighed and stopped as she caught up
“Yeah, I tend to take long strides, not scurry.” I said ending with a disgusted look at her feet.
“Where are we going anyway?”
“Somewhere where we won’t be bothered.”
“There is a small inn I know about where I know we won’t be followed.” I continued my long strides. As I glanced to my left Marietta was attempting to walk like me, she looked out of place and it took away her prissy state replacing it with a serious one that really didn’t suit her. We turned a corner and soon after found ourselves in front of a mouldy, half-rotten door and a lopsided sign with the words: L’auberge De Madame Polly written in a loopy italic handwriting. I knocked warily on the rotting wood and stepped back waiting patiently. The dented brass door handle twisted and the door opened shaking precariously as a cheery faced woman with a curly mass of dark brown hair and chocolate eyes greeted us.
That must be Polly, I thought.
“Hello, how may I help you?” the woman-most likely, Polly-said nervously
“Err,” I managed to say, “We’re looking to stay somewhere for a short while.”
“Of course, come in. Why are you two girls here, don’t you have to be home by now?” she became worried and her voice sped up
“No, don’t worry; we just need a place to stay.” But that didn’t really help
“Come in, come in…” she trailed off opening the door and ushering us inside. She glanced at the street, as if to check no one was looking-I assumed.
The room we stepped into was dark and dusty, and smelled musty as I took in breaths of stale air. The wallpaper was a sky blue with multiple brown stains covering the flowery pattern and was peeling at the corners-it was old. I turned around There was a small modern-looking glass coffee table that definitely did not suit the old couch next to it that would be considered as antique if not for the stuffing pouring out of the multiple holes and the broken springs I found as I sat down as I did at that moment in my story. It creaked, very loudly.
“Oh, don’t sit on the couch, dear, it’s not at all good, and I don’t want you to get hurt…” and she trailed off again.
I stood up and tuned to Marietta who gave me a worried and disapproving glare. I smiled back at her and she rolled her eyes.
“We have a lovely room on the fourth floor for you two.” Said Polly from behind a desk I hadn’t noticed. Her eyes were scanning the page from their place behind her small oval-shaped glasses, “Just up these stairs, if you’ll follow me.”
And we did. Up the rickety stairwell. Onto the last platform and we entered the door on the left.
The room was slightly brighter; light green walls with a small golden-framed mirror hanging opposite the door, a double bed with greyish sheets neatly spayed across it and white moth-eaten curtains hanging limply from a wooden curtain pole to cover the broken glass of the single window. We stepped through the doorway taking in our surroundings. The room would have to do for now.