Cornelia and the Audacious Escapades of the Somerset Sisters

by Lesley M. M. Blume

  “Alexandra went into a flurry of activity over the next few days, getting Monsieur Deux ready for the dog show. He was exercised, washed, brushed, and polished in every way possible. Our house smelled of shampooed dog for days. Alexandra even shone his toenails and brushed his teeth. At the best of times, Monsieur Deux looked confused, but mostly he looked downright surly about this turn of events.”

  “Poor Monsieur Deux,” said Cornelia. “Did the other dogs get jealous that Deux was getting all of the attention?”

  “Heavens, no,” said Virginia. “Messieurs Un, Trois, and Quatre observed the activities from the sidelines and seemed very grateful to be there. In fact, I’m sure they got away with all sorts of naughty things while our attention was on Deux.”

  “Very sagacious of them,” complimented Cornelia, admiring their craftiness. Virginia continued.

  “Finally, the day of the dog show arrived. Monsieur Deux shone like a new penny in Alexandra’s lap as we drove to the event. We pulled up at the big hall where the contest would take place, and hopped out under a big banner proclaiming:

  CRUFTS CHAMPION DOG SHOW

  Underneath that banner was a smaller one, written in gold print:

  CRUFTS WELCOMES HER MAJESTY THE QUEEN

  “A mob of photographers idled around outside the front entrance, clearly waiting for the queen and her dog to arrive. They ignored us as we carried Monsieur Deux up the walkway, except for one photographer who pointed at our dog’s face and laughed.

  “The grooming area was a chaotic mess of dogs and cages and tufts of fur. Many of the dogs looked like they had been shipped in from other planets—some with big squished, wrinkled faces and others with skinny, shaking legs and still others with so much pouffy fur that their bodies were undetectable underneath. Most of the dogs barked in cages or stood on special tables, getting brushed and pampered—but some owners showcased their dogs like jewelry in a store window. One huge, long-limbed white poodle lay arranged on a large Chinese-red silk pillow on top of a table. Crossing its front legs haughtily, the dog tolerated a line of well-wishers and admirers.

  “Just as we found our stall for Monsieur Deux, all of the noise in the room hushed to a whisper. The queen’s dog had arrived with its handlers.

  “I don’t know if you’ve ever seen a corgi, but they’re short, pudgy little things—hardly the sort of dog you would describe as regal. It trembled with nervousness as its handlers carried it through the crowd. The royal pen stood right in the front of the room, and the corgi’s handlers and groomers in white aprons made a great show of combing the dog’s coat.

  “‘That’s the dog to beat,’ Gladys said to us. She peered through a pair of old binoculars across the crowded room, assessing Monsieur Deux’s rival. ‘It’ll be a piece of steak,’ she added.

  “‘What?’ I asked.

  “‘I meant, it will be a piece of cake,’ Gladys said quickly, and busied herself with Monsieur Deux’s grooming. Two dog owners walked past our stall and snickered when they saw Monsieur Deux sitting there. He looked bloated and uncomfortable, like he’d just eaten a big feast.

  “‘But we have to get through two contests just to get to compete against the queen’s dog,’ I said doubtfully.

  “‘We’ll be fine,’ said Gladys confidently. ‘I have a plan.’

  “I looked at her suspiciously. Even though it seemed to be about a thousand degrees in the room, Gladys wore a long overcoat. But before I could ask her about it, the judge called over the loudspeaker for all French bulldogs to come to the show ring.

  “Alexandra dragged our dog into the ring, where all of the other French bulldogs lined up like stumpy soldiers. Monsieur Deux was last in the line.

  Beatrice, Gladys, and I stood next to the ring in the front row. A judge with a helmet of gray hair and tall boots like stovepipes asked the handlers to take their dogs around the circle so she could examine them. Then the most inexplicable thing happened. Each of the little dogs marched around the ring proudly with its handler, its leash making a taut white line in the air. And then, as soon as it passed in front of us, the dog would suddenly lunge at Gladys, barking and gnashing its teeth! The astonished owner would try unsuccessfully to calm his or her dog, and an even more astounded judge had to dismiss one French bulldog after another for bad behavior.

  “She eliminated twelve dogs before it was Monsieur Deux’s turn to trot around the ring. He trucked along unenthusiastically next to Alexandra, and then planted himself in front of the judge and belched loudly. The judge looked repulsed. But because Monsieur Deux was the only French bulldog left in the ring, the judge grudgingly declared him Best of Breed and sent him on to the next round of the competition. She was careful not to touch him as she handed a winner’s ribbon to a beaming Alexandra. No one in the audience even clapped.

  “The same thing happened in the next part of the competition. Something about Gladys sent a Boston terrier, a chow chow, a dalmatian, and thirteen other dogs into a frothing tizzy before Monsieur Deux promenaded around the ring. Even the snobby poodle tried to attack Gladys. It pawed deliriously at the velvet rope in front of Gladys and was swiftly eliminated. Once again, at the end of the round, Monsieur Deux was the only dog who hadn’t been disqualified.

  “This time, when the judge gave an ungrateful Monsieur Deux a Best of Group trophy, our dog farted rudely and looked in the other direction. The trophy gleamed under the spotlights as Alexandra proudly waved it at us. Gladys grinned back at her. Just then, I noticed an array of small flies buzzing around my plump sister. Beatrice and I looked at each other and shrugged as we swatted the gnats away with our dog show programs.

  “Finally, it was time for Monsieur Deux to compete for the Best in Show competition, the big prize. Out of thousands of dogs, only about twelve had made it this far, the queen’s corgi among them, of course. An army of groomers fussed around the royal contender, getting it ready for the big moment.

  “Suddenly a troop of guards swarmed into the show ring, and a voice over the loudspeaker announced: ‘Ladies and gentlemen! Please stand in honor of Her Majesty the queen!’

  “Everyone in the room bowed and curtsied as the young queen swept into the arena, and a little orchestra played the British national anthem, ‘God Save the Queen.’ Her guards ushered her to a throne at the edge of the ring. It was time for the final part of the contest to begin.

  “I looked down and realized that Monsieur Deux looked fatter than ever before. Alexandra patted his belly worriedly.

  “‘We’ve come so far,’ she whispered to us. ‘He’ll just have to muddle through.’

  “We all kissed him for good luck. Then Alexandra heaved him off his grooming table and carted him to his place in the ring. Beatrice, Gladys, and I took our seats at the edge of the ring.

  “A huge crowd had assembled around the main ring by this time, and a mob of photographers snapped pictures of the dogs and the queen. Stern as a general, the Best in Show judge stalked out into the ring to begin the proceedings. He paced up and down, appraising each of the dogs. He signaled to the first handler to run his sleek gray Weimaraner in a circle around the ring. It cantered along gracefully, and the audience oohed and aahed.

  “Then the dog passed in front of Gladys and bucked up in the air, gnashing its teeth and barking.

  “‘Disqualified!’ the judge cried. ‘Remove that dog from the ring at once!’

  “A murmur swept through the startled crowd. Once the commotion calmed down, the judge asked the handler of the queen’s corgi to step forward, and the dog scampered neatly into the center of the ring. The queen leaned forward on her throne and gazed adoringly at her pet. As it passed in front of her, she clapped politely and smiled.

  “But once the corgi neared us, it tried to attack Gladys! It writhed at the end of its leash and snapped its chops. The queen gasped.

  “‘Hey!’ shouted a photographer standing across the ring from us, peering through a long lens at Gladys. Then he threw down his camera, ran up to the jud
ge, and whispered something in his ear. The shocked judge gestured to the queen’s guards and pointed at Gladys.

  “‘Take her away!’ he shouted.

  “About fifteen guards leaped in our direction and whisked Gladys, Beatrice, and me away from the ring and into a grooming room.

  “‘All right, lass, hand it over,’ one of the guards said to Gladys.

  “‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Gladys answered innocently. Just then, I noticed that she smelled a little funny.

  “‘Oh, really,’ said the guard. ‘We’ll see about that.’

  “He snapped his fingers and another guard stepped out of the room. He returned with a small, yappy Norfolk terrier. The dog scrambled across the room and leaped up on Gladys, madly pawing the front of her long coat.

  “‘Gah!’ shouted Gladys, trying to push the dog away.

  “Just at that moment, a big flat bag fell out from inside her coat. The guards snatched it up and ripped it open, revealing the biggest steak I’ve ever seen! Beatrice let out a horrified scream. The meat plopped down on the floor and the terrier immediately ravished it.

  “Needless to say, we got kicked out of the dog show. The photographers delighted in the latest scandal and snapped photos of us being escorted out of the building by the queen’s guards. But the fiasco didn’t end there.

  “The queen was so outraged that Gladys had tried to tamper with the performance of her beloved pet that she issued a statement saying that Gladys had ‘attempted to malign and incapacitate a member of the royal family.’ Then she put out a decree stipulating that ‘Miss Gladys Somerset is henceforth exiled from the British Isles,’ lest she attempt another such feat.

  “The only one satisfied by this turn of events was Monsieur Deux. Gladys had secretly fed him so much steak before the show that he couldn’t have cared less about the meat hidden in Gladys’s coat. Sluggishly delighted to be out of the ring for good, he slept for two whole days while we packed our bags to leave the country.”

  “What did your parents do when they found out you got in trouble?” Cornelia asked.

  “Well, naturally they tried to make us come home right away,” said Virginia. “So we did what any reasonable girls would do: we got on a boat to India before they could come over to London to get us.”

  “I don’t know anyone who gets into as much trouble as Gladys,” said Cornelia. She thought for a minute.

  “Well, except for my mother’s friend Gunner Joerg.”

  “Do you mean the pianist Gunner Joerg?” asked Virginia with great interest. “What happened to him?”

  “He’s always in trouble,” said Cornelia. “Once he conflagrated a restaurant with a cigarette. My mother said it was an accident, but he got put in jail anyway.”

  “Goodness,” said Virginia. “I don’t think that even Gladys ever set anything on fire. Permanent exile from England was her biggest claim to fame. But see? It sounds like your mother has been telling you stories about colorful people too.”

  “Once in a while,” said Cornelia. “But I like your stories better.”

  “Why don’t you tell some of them to your mother when she gets back from London?” asked Virginia. “It will give you something to talk about.”

  “It wouldn’t be the same,” said Cornelia, not wanting to tell Virginia that Lucy knew nothing of their friendship. “She doesn’t like words and stories like we do.”

  Virginia studied Cornelia. “Well, maybe she’d surprise you.”

  “Maybe,” said Cornelia doubtfully.

  She thanked Virginia for the tales about England and went home for dinner, her mind filled with thoughts about ghosts, planes, and royal dog shows gone awry.

  Chapter Nine

  A Different Sort of Play

  A month later, Cornelia sat and read in her bedroom armchair on a Sunday afternoon. She had long since memorized the second book of long words that Virginia had given her. On her lap instead lay an old copy of The Arabian Nights from Virginia’s English library.

  As she read about the beautiful Arabian storyteller Scheherazade, Cornelia marveled that she had her own secret Scheherazade next door. She was reading a story about a genie and a merchant when footsteps approached her closed door.

  “Madame Desjardins,” Cornelia called out, hoping to prevent any long, interfering conversations. “I’m reading a very important book. No morology this afternoon, please.” (“Morology” meant “nonsense” or “mere foolishness.”)

  There was a moment of puzzled silence on the other side of the door, followed by a tentative knock.

  “Cornelia? May I come in?”

  It was Lucy’s voice. Cornelia sat up straight as her mother stepped in uncertainly.

  “Hello, darling,” Lucy said, looking around curiously, as if she hadn’t been in the room for a long time.

  “Hello,” said Cornelia, wondering what was going on.

  “I’m sorry to barge in on your afternoon reading,” Lucy said, walking over to Cornelia’s desk lamp and snapping it on. “I was just out having lunch, and I ran into Natalie Hunt’s mother.”

  Natalie Hunt was a classmate of Cornelia’s. Cornelia didn’t know her well but shyly liked her. She was bookish like Cornelia, and had said enough interesting things in class to earn Cornelia’s silent respect.

  Lucy picked up a dictionary from Cornelia’s desk and turned it from left to right, admiring the gold border on it.

  “Anyway,” she continued. “Natalie’s mother was very nice, and she asked if you would like to go to their house tomorrow afternoon to play. Some other girls from your class will be there as well. I accepted the invitation for you—is that all right?”

  Cornelia’s heart sank. She hadn’t been invited to anyone’s house since her afternoon with Lauren Brannigan several months earlier.

  “You don’t have to go,” Lucy said. “But I thought it might be fun for you. And the mother seemed lovely and creative—not like the other dullard parents at your school. I’ll bet that Natalie is just as interesting.” She looked hopefully at her daughter.

  Cornelia didn’t want to disappoint Lucy, but the invitation made her nervous. What if Mrs. Hunt was like Lauren’s hideous mother and badgered her with questions about Lucy? And what if Natalie turned out to be like Lauren, and who were the other girls?

  But then Cornelia thought, What would Virginia do? She would have seen it as an opportunity for a little adventure, Cornelia reasoned. After all—even though things always seemed to go wrong for the Somerset sisters, everything always turned out well in the end. How wrong could things go in one afternoon at Natalie Hunt’s house, compared to getting kicked out of a whole country like Gladys? Cornelia felt a bit braver, and nodded to her mother.

  “Okay,” she heard herself say.

  The next day after school, Cornelia met Natalie outside their school building. Natalie had two more girls with her, Hannah West and Abby Cohen. They all greeted Cornelia cordially as Mrs. Hunt pulled up in a car to take them to Natalie’s house. Cornelia felt queasy as she climbed into the backseat and held her backpack on her lap.

  To her surprise, Mrs. Hunt didn’t ask Cornelia a thing about Lucy during the entire ride uptown. Cornelia remained wary, however, wondering if the questioning would begin once they were inside the Hunts’ home. She began to think of especially confusing words that she could throw at the woman when the interrogation began. But as Cornelia settled into her seat, surrounded by three other girls her age, she imagined that she was Virginia going off on one of her trips with Alexandra, Beatrice, and Gladys. She pretended that Pierre and Ahmed sat in the front seat, driving them through the teeming streets of Marrakech.

  A short while later, Cornelia found herself sitting in Natalie’s big bedroom, still uninterrogated. The girls threw themselves across Natalie’s bed and kicked off their shoes.

  “So, what do you guys want to do?” asked Natalie, untying her laces.

  Cornelia stood there awkwardly, waiting with dread to hear them vote
for karaoke or something equally extroverted.

  “Let’s put on a talent show,” suggested Abby.

  “We did that last time,” said Natalie.

  Hannah dug around in her backpack and pulled out some sheets of paper. “I’ve already done all of these, so I’m bored of them,” she said. “But I brought them along just in case.” They were American Girl play scripts.

  “No,” said Natalie and Abby together, much to Cornelia’s relief. Natalie turned to Cornelia. “What do you want to do?”

  The room was quiet as all three girls looked at Cornelia, who almost panicked. Then she had an idea.

  “I know a play we can act out,” she said tentatively.

  “But it’s a different sort of play. And there are four characters as well—all girls—and lots of scenes. But I don’t have a script or anything.” She was encouraged by the interested looks the other girls were giving her. “I’d have to tell you the stories.” Another long moment of silence followed.

  “Sure,” said Natalie. “Sounds good.” Cornelia’s heart pounded gratefully.

  As she told them about the adventures of Alexandra, Beatrice, Gladys, and Virginia, the other girls listened attentively. They decided to act out the ghost scenes first, starting with the sultan’s palace in Morocco and then the Paris catacombs and King Arthur’s ruins in England. Natalie got to be Alexandra, Hannah was Beatrice, and Abby played Gladys. The girls made Abby wear a big shirt and they stuffed it with pillows to make her seem nice and plump. Then they all made matching hats out of construction paper and feathers.

  Cornelia, of course, got to be Virginia. Shy at first, she became bolder as she told the stories and acted them out. She could almost hear all of the dogs yapping around her as the girls acted out the ill-fated Crufts Dog Show. Natalie pretended to be the queen of England, and when it was Gladys’s big moment with the guards and the steak, Natalie leaped around shrieking, “Off with her head! Off with her head!” just like the Queen of Hearts in Alice in Wonderland. Cornelia couldn’t believe that her idea had gone over so well.