Rose Rivers

by Jacqueline Wilson

I ran to fetch my old drawing book. He held out his hand.

  ‘They’re very childish. I did most of them ages ago,’ I said breathlessly.

  Paris flipped through the book. He chuckled at the goblin Algies and paused at the Wild Girls.

  ‘Oh, Rose,’ he said. He stared long and hard, turning his head this way and that, noting every detail. Then he looked up at me, his eyes shining.

  ‘They’re good. They’re really good. Witty and wicked and wonderful! Your papa is quite wrong, bless him. This is serious work. Seriously original, seriously funny! You must carry on in this vein, Rose. I think they’ve got enormous potential.’

  ‘Truly? You’re not just being kind now?’

  ‘I’m not kind. I’m honest,’ said Paris. ‘I don’t believe in flattery.’

  ‘That’s not true! You’re forever flattering Mama!’ I protested.

  ‘That’s true, I grant you, because I’m hoping to be royally paid for the portrait,’ said Paris. ‘I flatter all potential patrons – but I’m brutally honest with my friends.’

  He counts me as his friend!

  I DEFINITELY DIDN’T want to sketch any more – but I didn’t want to miss out on the morning studio sessions! Up till noon every day I pretended to sketch. Whenever Mama glanced over she saw me bent over my sketchbook, working hard. I was doing my own comic drawing.

  I worked on a series of cartoons called The Artist and His Model. I drew Mama posing, simpering and self-conscious, while behind his easel Paris put his hand to his brow, despairing. He painted a life-like portrait of a foolish fat woman, and then crossed it out and started a flattering portrait. I ended up with a cartoon of Mama grinning like the Cheshire Cat at the finished painting, while a smiling Paris went off with a huge sack of money.

  If Mama had seen this she would have been mortified! I would have to hide my sketchbook carefully now. Heaven help me if Algie got hold of it. He seems to have a sixth sense about my secret things. I know he often searches through my drawers for hidden trinkets. I can always tell, because he leaves my ribbons and sashes and stockings in a tangle. He is the worst brother in the world.

  Sebastian is also in my bad books. He rescued a little brown mouse from a trap that Cook had set in the kitchen, christened her Miranda, and gave her to Montmorency as a bride. They seemed wary of each other initially, but soon settled into wedded bliss.

  ‘I think she might be going to have babies soon!’ Sebastian announced one day. ‘She needs a separate cage now – I’ve read all about it in Suitable Pet Animals for Boys.’

  He made her a little private residence in an old dented copper kettle, lining it with soft leaves and moss, liberally sprinkled with cheese crumbs.

  He looked at it, frowning. ‘I can’t keep it in the night nursery because Nurse will see it and make me set Miranda free in the garden, and then Mistletoe might catch her when he goes for his nightly prowl,’ he said.

  So I let Sebastian hide Miranda’s kettle in my room, because I rather liked the idea of baby mice, but later, when she was cleaning my room, Maggie knocked the kettle onto its side and Miranda and all her children escaped. Sebastian caught a couple, but couldn’t find the rest, and now I’m kept awake by scuffles and squeaks from behind the wainscoting.

  So both Algie and Sebastian were out of favour. I disliked all my brothers, especially Rupert, because he’d betrayed me and hadn’t written to me even once. I didn’t let myself get excited at the thought that he was coming home for half term, from Friday afternoon till Tuesday morning.

  Mama told Cook to prepare all Master Rupert’s favourite dishes, until the kitchen table and the larder shelves and even the windowsills were crowded with plates and bowls, and poor Mary-Jane was sobbing under the table because Cook had boxed her ears for letting the custard curdle.

  Papa painted a huge banner saying: Welcome Home, Rupert. He hung it over the door, flapping above the stone lions. The children were in such a state that Miss Rayner abandoned lessons and let them play Battledore and Shuttlecock in the garden to let off steam. Beth became overly excited too, saying Rupert’s name over and over again, tossing her head from side to side and wringing her hands until Nurse Budd gave her a dose of her medicine to calm her down.

  ‘I don’t know why you’re all getting in such a state,’ I said coolly. ‘Who cares if Rupert is coming back?’

  Mama and Papa went to the railway station to meet him. The whole household stood on the front steps, servants at the back, Nurse and the children at the front, while Nurse Budd and Beth peered out of the upstairs window.

  I was too proud to join them. I went to the window seat and sat there with a book, although I have to admit that I read a very long poem by Tennyson without taking in a word of it. I heard a great cheer as the hansom cab drove up. Then the entire household burst in through the door, laughing and shouting and clamouring like the crowds at the Queen’s Golden Jubilee.

  I stared at my page, the lines flashing up and down like skipping ropes. Then the book was snatched from my lap and tossed aside.

  ‘Hey, Miss Head-in-a-Book!’ Rupert was laughing in my face – the old Rupert, my twin, his hair tousled and falling in his eyes, his cheeks flushed with merriment.

  I burst into tears and threw my arms around his neck so violently I nearly tumbled both of us down the stairs.

  ‘Oh, Rupert, I’m so glad to see you,’ I sobbed.

  ‘Stow it, you silly,’ he said briskly. ‘Let me get my frightful uniform off. This collar is murder on a chap’s neck.’

  His uniform was actually very grand, the tail coat making him look like a real gentleman, though the trousers were already too short.

  ‘You’ve grown!’ I said.

  ‘It would be more surprising if I’d shrunk,’ said Rupert.

  ‘So what is school like? You’re so lucky! Can you speak Latin and Greek yet?’ I asked.

  ‘What was it they said about Shakespeare? “Small Latin and less Greek.” So far I can only chant about love and war and tables in Latin, and I can barely get through the Greek alphabet. Shame I can’t crib off you, Rosy Posy, you’d learn it all in a flash,’ said Rupert.

  He might have been an inch taller, but he was still my dear funny brother. He hadn’t turned into a ridiculous lovestruck ninny, even if he was pining after loathsome Pamela.

  We didn’t have time to talk properly for ages. Mama insisted we take tea in her drawing room, which was hard on the little ones because they were banished to the nursery. Rupert took them up a plate of cakes afterwards – cream buns and jam puffs and brandy snaps. They fell upon them with cries of joy. Algie and Clarrie seized a snap each, pretending they were cigars. Sebastian delicately licked the cream off his bun, and then, after two bites, put it in his pocket for Montmorency.

  Nurse protested that the cakes were much too rich and would give the children stomach ache. Rupert told her she was an old fusspot and insisted she had a jam puff to celebrate his homecoming. Nurse would have been sharp with me if I’d called her a fusspot, but she just giggled and said, ‘Really, Mr Rupert!’

  Mr Rupert? So he’d stopped being Master since he went away to school? We were exactly the same age, but he was treated like a man now, whereas I was still a child.

  Rupert didn’t forget Beth. He selected a meringue with pink whipped cream, and asked Cook to serve it on a little gold-rimmed pink plate from the best Sèvres china.

  ‘I hardly dare, Mr Rupert. Not for one of the children!’ she said, shocked.

  I was astonished too. ‘For Beth?’ I asked.

  ‘I want her to have the very best,’ said Rupert.

  ‘I want that too, but you know how she throws things.’

  ‘She won’t throw the plate. If she feels like throwing things she’ll chuck the meringue instead,’ said Rupert.

  ‘At Nurse Budd! Oh, I do hope she does.’

  ‘What’s she like, this Nurse Budd? Mama waxes lyrical about her in her letters.’

  ‘I can’t stand her. She pretends to be so f
ond and warm, but she’s really as cold as a steel trap,’ I said.

  ‘I can’t wait to meet her!’

  We went to her room and knocked until Nurse Budd put her head round the door.

  ‘How do you do, Nurse Budd. I’m Rupert, the eldest son,’ he said.

  ‘Eldest by fifteen minutes,’ I insisted.

  ‘I’m glad to make your acquaintance, Mr Rupert,’ said Nurse Budd.

  ‘We’ve brought Beth a treat, Nurse Budd,’ he said, proffering the plate.

  ‘That’s very kind, Mr Rupert, but she’s having a little nap just now. Too much excitement! I’ll give her a little taste when she wakes up,’ said Nurse Budd.

  Rupert stood his ground. ‘We’ll wake her up now,’ he said firmly. ‘And I don’t want her to have just a little taste. I’d like her to eat it all. I know she’s got a sweet tooth and I want her to have a treat.’

  I stared at him. He spoke with such calm authority. He really did seem older now. No wonder the servants called him Mr.

  ‘I really don’t think that’s wise, Mr Rupert,’ said Nurse Budd. ‘I’m a trained nurse and—’

  Rupert didn’t listen. He walked straight past her into the room.

  Beth was lying on her bed, fully dressed apart from her shoes, fast asleep with Marigold beside her. Her hand was gripping the doll’s china fingers.

  ‘Wake up, Beth,’ said Rupert, sitting down on the edge of the bed. ‘It’s me, Rupert.’

  ‘Rupert,’ she murmured.

  ‘Yes, that’s right. Sit up a little. Prop her pillows up, Rose. Look, Beth, we’ve brought you a treat,’ Rupert said, coaxing her.

  Beth wriggled up and peered at the cake. ‘A treat,’ she said.

  ‘Yes, you can eat it all.’

  ‘Eat it all?’

  ‘Yes, because you’re my special sister,’ said Rupert. ‘I love baby Phoebe because she’s so sweet, and I love Clarrie because she’s so funny, and I love old Rosy-Posy here because she’s my twin and my best friend, but you’re my very special sister, Beth. I miss you very much when I’m away at school.’

  ‘Eat it all?’ Beth repeated, running her finger round the gold rim of the plate.

  ‘All the cake. I wouldn’t eat the plate too because it might cut your lips, but I dare say you can lick it,’ said Rupert.

  Beth doesn’t seem to understand jokes. She seized hold of the cake and took a huge bite, getting cream all round her mouth and spraying the front of her dress with crumbs.

  ‘Oh dear, you’re making such a mess, Miss Beth. Let me mop you up,’ said Nurse Budd, darting towards her with a handkerchief.

  Beth ducked away, protesting.

  ‘Leave her be, Nurse Budd. Let her enjoy her cake,’ said Rupert.

  We waited while Beth gobbled it all up. She ate with such abandon that she even had a smear of cream in her hair.

  ‘There, special sister! Was it good?’ asked Rupert.

  ‘Good!’ said Beth, licking her lips.

  ‘Bless her,’ said Nurse Budd. ‘Still, someone’s not going to want their nice nourishing bowl of bread and milk for supper!’

  I hated her slightly menacing tone.

  ‘Do you think Nurse Budd is horrid to Beth when we’re not there?’ I said when we were out on the landing.

  ‘How do I know?’ said Rupert. ‘You always fuss about things, Rose. Just be happy that Beth enjoyed a topping cake. It was actually the one I wanted most. Didn’t she just wolf it down!’

  ‘You were lovely to give it to her. But I can’t help worrying about her. Nurse Budd keeps her practically a prisoner.’

  ‘After I’ve left school I’ll set up home, and Beth can come and live with me. I’ll make sure she has the sweetest, kindest nurse ever, and she’ll be so happy she’ll never, ever throw another tantrum,’ said Rupert, swaggering down the stairs.

  He had his future all mapped out. He didn’t even have to make his own way in the world. Grandpapa would make sure that he had a huge allowance, and leave the Scottish jute mill to him. It was all so easy for Rupert.

  ‘What?’ he said, seeing me looking wistful. ‘You can come and live with me too, Rose, you know that.’

  ‘What about your future wife?’ I asked him. ‘Won’t she mind Beth and me living with you?’

  ‘I’m not sure I want to bother with a wife. I intend to have capital fun leading a bachelor life.’

  ‘Does Pamela know this?’ I asked before I could stop myself.

  ‘Pamela?’ said Rupert. He tried to sound astonished but he went very red. Rupert rarely blushes, but when he does it’s always painfully obvious. Even his ears go red. He suddenly didn’t look so grown up and dashing standing there on the stairs, the Sèvres plate held loosely in his hand. He seemed to have forgotten he was holding it.

  ‘Watch the plate!’ I warned.

  Edie was scurrying out of the drawing room with the left-over tea things on a silver tray. Rupert carefully put the plate on it.

  ‘Could you return this to Cook for me and tell her that Miss Beth was utterly delighted,’ he said, composed again.

  ‘Certainly, Mr Rupert,’ said Edie, bobbing him a curtsy with difficulty because she was clutching the tray.

  Mama was calling for Rupert, but he suddenly linked arms with me.

  ‘Let’s take a stroll in the garden,’ he said. ‘I’m not sure I can take any more of Mama just now. “Well, darling boy, are you captain of the rugby team yet? Are you top of the form? Have you made many friends and are any of them titled?”’ His imitation was cruelly accurate.

  We made for the servants’ quarters so that we could slip out through the back door. This meant that Rupert had to compliment Cook on her cake, ask Mr Hodgson about his rheumatics, tease Maggie, and give Jack Boots and Mary-Jane a polished penny each.

  ‘You’re quite the little lord of the manor now,’ I said.

  ‘It’s good to be home,’ said Rupert, squeezing my arm.

  ‘Why didn’t you write to me, Rupert?’

  ‘I was missing you so much,’ he said smoothly. ‘I might have blubbed in front of the other boys.’

  We let ourselves out of the stout back door and wandered through the vegetable garden picking blackberries, circled the greenhouse and then walked the length of the lawn, asters and Michaelmas daisies on either side, until we reached the long grass beneath the apple trees. This was our favourite place. We had always eaten windfalls until we had stomach ache, and climbed the old oak right at the end of the garden.

  ‘So which do you like best, home or school?’ I asked.

  ‘East, West, Home’s Best,’ said Rupert.

  ‘So I gather you’re not captain of the rugby team or top of the form or the most popular boy in the class?’ I asked.

  ‘Mama’s hopeless. You don’t get to be in the team at all till you’re at least fifteen. Though I am third in the form actually, which is not bad considering Robinson Minor is top and Newburg is second, and they are both sad brainboxes who are definitely not the most popular boys,’ said Rupert.

  ‘Papa told me he hated school.’

  ‘Yes, well, Papa would. He’s not very good at fitting in.’

  ‘But you are?’

  ‘You have to be, or they pick on you and make your life a misery,’ Rupert explained.

  ‘The masters?’

  ‘No, they’re not too bad. Apart from old Beetlebrow – he beats anyone who so much as sneezes in his class.’

  ‘He’s beaten you?’

  ‘Yes, because I deliberately played the fool to annoy him and amuse the other boys. That’s the way to be popular.’

  ‘But didn’t the beating hurt terribly?’

  ‘It’s not too bad, especially if you pad your under-things with a nightshirt. And he’s old so he hasn’t the strength to make really deep weals with his cane,’ Rupert said. ‘The other boys can hurt you far more – kicking or flailing with wet towels. Don’t look like that, Rose. No one lays a finger on me. I reckon I am the most popular boy in the class. Th
e only boy who tells me what to do is Mackinley. He’s quite decent actually. He’s only punished me once so far.’

  ‘He’s allowed to punish you?’

  ‘He’s in the upper sixth. I have to be his servant,’ said Rupert. He said it matter-of-factly, though I could tell that he was embarrassed.

  ‘Why do you?’

  ‘The boys at the top of the school get the new boys to do their chores,’ he said.

  ‘What sort of chores?’ I asked.

  ‘Oh, I have to make his breakfast every morning,’ Rupert said cheerily. ‘Of course, we all have to take our brekker in the House dining room, but the upper sixth take theirs in their study. Mackinley has a little stove. Most days I cook him sausages. He sometimes lets me have one. Then I have to make sure he’s got hot water. And I clean his boots. He’s very particular about those blessed boots.’

  ‘So you have to act like Cook and Maggie and Jack Boots for this boy just because he’s older than you?’ I asked incredulously. ‘You must be mad, Rupert. Tell him you’re not his servant!’

  ‘Now that would be mad. It’s the tradition. All the new boys have to do it. Some of the sixth form make their lives hell. Newburg gets beaten practically every day. The other boys hear him snivelling at night, and then they jeer.’

  ‘That’s horrible! Can’t you stick up for him?’

  ‘Then they’d start on me,’ said Rupert. ‘If I start championing poor old Newburg, I’ll be in trouble. You have to put yourself first at school. That’s the way it is. You have to get people on your side.’

  ‘You’re so good at that. You can charm everyone. All these horrible boys, all the family, all the servants,’ I said. Then, pulling a face, I added, ‘And Pamela.’

  ‘Don’t let’s mock Pamela,’ said Rupert. ‘My so-called charm’s not enough to win over all the chaps at school. It’s my knowledge that holds them in thrall.’

  ‘But you’re not the cleverest. You said Newburg and that other boy were brainier than you.’

  ‘I know stuff that they don’t. Things that boys talk about,’ said Rupert.

  ‘What stuff?’

  ‘You wouldn’t understand it,’ Rupert said maddeningly.