‘Really, Beth, you mustn’t be so pernickety,’ said Mama, frowning.
Beth bent her head and slid so far down her chair that she was nearly under the table. Alphonse was lurking there, hoping for scraps. He snapped at her irritably and Beth cried out.
‘Oh, for pity’s sake,’ said Mama. It looked as if Beth might be taken away again, but mercifully she subsided, nibbling listlessly, nearly asleep.
By the time we’d finished the vast meal we were all drowsy. We lolled around in the drawing room, utterly stuffed with food. Mama had a doze on her chaise longue, with Alphonse stretched out beside her, snoring. Papa had forty winks too. Phoebe fell asleep in her cradle. Beth nursed Marigold, her head nodding. She looked like a painting by Sir John Everett Millais, posing so sweetly in her red velvet dress, with her hair shining.
Clarrie and Sebastian played with the doll’s house, Clarrie making the little family climb up the walls one by one to camp on the roof. She let the smallest doll fall, and announced in a matter-of-fact voice that it was dead. She wanted Sebastian to help her organize a funeral, but he was busy setting all the rooms to rights. He took all the furniture out of the biggest room and made a cosy nest of straw at one end, with a water bowl at the other. It was obvious he was preparing it for a new resident.
Algie was very bored with all this and plagued Rupert to play with him. Rupert gave him several games of Snap, and then showed him some card tricks he’d learned, perhaps from his new friend, Jack. He kept making cards disappear and then reappear in his pocket, as if by magic. Algie demanded to see the trick again and again.
I wished Rupert could make Algie disappear. I grew bored and wandered off by myself. I went up to my room and set out a piece of scrap paper, the little bottle of black ink and the new pen Paris had given me. I needed to practise. I’m not very skilled with pen and ink and usually make blots. This pen was finer though, and after a shaky start I got used to the nib and learned to control the thin, steady flow of ink.
I drew Beth asleep in her chair, with ivy and brambles growing all around her like Sleeping Beauty. I was trying to think of a handsome prince who could release her from the enchantment when I heard a knock at the front door.
I wondered for a mad moment if it could be Paris visiting after all. I ran out onto the landing and heard Edie talking, and then a lady’s voice, deep and resonant, answering her. I’d forgotten that Papa had asked his writer friend, Miss Sarah Smith, to share our Christmas tea.
I ran down to the drawing room. Mama was sitting up, patting her hair, her cheeks flushed. Perhaps she thought it was Paris at the door too. Papa was still dozing.
‘Mama, Papa’s friend has come calling. Papa, I think Miss Smith is at the door,’ I warned them.
‘Oh my Lord, what a silly day to choose for a visit! Edward, how could you invite this lady on Christmas afternoon!’ Mama grumbled.
Papa woke with a start and ran his fingers through his tousled hair. ‘Dear goodness, I’m still so full I feel I need to undo my trousers!’ he said.
‘Don’t be so vulgar!’ Mama hissed. ‘Children, I want you to behave yourselves for our guest. Let us hope she will leave immediately after tea. Nurse Budd, take Beth away – she can’t cope with strangers.’
‘For pity’s sake, Jeannie, let the child stay and be part of the family,’ Papa protested. ‘If she’s wary of strangers it’s because she never meets any. I’ll not have poor Beth locked up in her own house!’
‘She’s never locked up, sir,’ said Nurse Budd indignantly. ‘I do my best to take care of her. But I feel that Mrs Rivers is right. It would be kinder to take her away for a little rest. Come along, Beth, my sweet.’
I hated the way she used those false endearments. It clearly irritated Papa too. Perhaps he decided it was time to stand up to Nurse Budd.
‘I take your point, Nurse Budd, but I think she should stay all the same,’ he said. ‘Beth has no need to fear my friend Miss Smith. She is used to little girls.’
Edie led Miss Smith into the drawing room. She was a tall, dignified lady, very plain, but elegantly dressed in black silk. She wasn’t alone. She had a child with her, a thin, red-haired girl in the quaintest of uniforms: a tall cap and starched apron and a brown stuff dress with short sleeves, in spite of the wintry weather. She had sharp little elbows and her fingers were red with chilblains, but her blue eyes were bright with wonder and curiosity.
‘Merry Christmas, Mrs Rivers!’ said Miss Smith. ‘It’s very kind of you to invite me to join you for Christmas. I hope you don’t mind my bringing an extra little guest with me.’
‘Merry Christmas!’ replied Mama stiffly. ‘Is this quaint child a foundling? Good heavens, whatever next!’
I’d read all about the abandoned children in the Foundling Hospital. I stared at the girl, wondering what it must be like to live in such an extraordinary place.
Mama was looking appalled. Foundlings are the children of fallen women, and so she thinks they are tainted. She threw Papa an indignant glance and suggested that Nurse take the foundling girl to the nursery.
‘I’m not a baby!’ said the girl, with spirit.
Nurse shuffled forward, still sleepy herself after her Christmas lunch in the servants’ quarters. Nurse Budd marched forward too, still bristling from Papa’s rebuke.
The foundling didn’t flinch. She wasn’t even looking at them. She was staring at Clover.
‘Clover Moon!’ she declared.
‘Hetty Feather!’ said Clover. ‘Oh, my!’
They were acting as if they were old friends. Miss Smith laughed, and explained that she’d once taken them out to tea together. Then she quietly reminded little Hetty Feather of her manners. She promptly dropped a curtsy to Mama, and said she had a beautiful room.
I wondered what the rooms in the Foundling Hospital were like. I was sure they must be very bleak, like Lowood School in Jane Eyre.
Papa seemed enchanted with Hetty Feather and asked if Miss Smith had brought her out because she was the best behaved of all the foundlings.
Hetty smiled ruefully. ‘I rather think it’s because I am the worst behaved,’ she said, which made me like her enormously. I wanted to befriend her at once, and yet I hung back, feeling strangely shy and uncertain. She might not like me. Clarrie had no such qualms, and showed off her doll’s house. Hetty seemed fascinated. I suppose she’d had no experience of grand toys. Perhaps she didn’t have any toys at all in the Foundling Hospital.
Clarrie started giggling, telling Hetty how Algie had insisted on taking every member of the doll family to visit the miniature lavatory – and then there was a to-do because we all suddenly realized that Algie had mysteriously gone missing.
We all played Hunt Algie until Clover discovered him hiding inside the biggest ginger jar. There was an even greater fuss trying to get him out, but then Rupert seized him by the shoulders and pulled hard. Mama was very vexed, especially as her precious ginger jar nearly got broken in the process, and threatened Algie with a whipping. She didn’t mean it of course. None of us have ever been whipped in our lives.
I saw Hetty Feather shudder. She had clearly taken Mama seriously.
‘Do they ever whip the children at the Foundling Hospital?’ I asked her.
She told me a little about her life there. I’d thought a servant’s lot was dreadful enough, but a foundling child suffers terribly, frequently cold and hungry, and forced to do the dreariest chores. Miss Smith was upset because she is a governor of the hospital, and resolved to try to make changes. Papa suggested she write a book about a foundling’s life – but Miss Smith said that Hetty herself might write that book one day.
It turns out that she has been writing her memoirs! I was amazed. I didn’t think she’d even be able to read and write. Apparently she’s already written hundreds of pages, sitting up night after night and scribbling by candlelight.
Algie pestered Mama to know what a foundling was. She was very blunt and told him that it was the child of a degenerate wo
man who had abandoned her baby. I’m sure they can’t help being degenerate, and wouldn’t abandon their babies if they could help it. I felt it was very cruel of Mama to say this in front of Hetty Feather.
She clearly thought so too, and flushed with fury. ‘That’s not true!’ she said, her eyes flashing.
Miss Smith hastily whisked her out of the room to wash her hands, with Clover showing them the way. They were gone for a very long time, and when they came back at last Hetty Feather seemed in quite a different mood, pink and smiling and whispering to Clover.
I wondered if they were whispering about us. I wanted to talk to them, but felt too awkward. It was a relief when tea was served, though we were all still uncomfortably full of lunch.
Hetty ate enormously though, helping herself from every single plate. She must have been wretchedly starved in that institution. She munched her way through the savouries, the jellies, the iced creams, and chose every kind of cake. I wondered how such a small thin girl could possibly devour so much food so rapidly. Clarrie was fascinated too. She is a very greedy little girl, but even she can’t manage more than three cakes at a time.
Then Papa gave out the crackers. They delighted Hetty. At first she didn’t want to pull hers because she thought it looked so pretty – and then, when she discovered a whistle inside, she blew it for all she was worth, nearly deafening us all. When Cook brought in the flaming fruit so we could play Snapdragon, Hetty thought the bowl was on fire and offered to run for a bucket of water. I asked her to hold my new silver bangles while I thrust my hand into the flames. Nurse Budd said I was a fool to trust a foundling child. I thought I’d trust this funny, lively red-haired girl implicitly, whereas I didn’t trust Nurse Budd an inch.
When we played Blind Man’s Buff, Hetty was very gentle with Beth, pretending she was the fairy on the Christmas tree. Nurse Budd said she must be simple, but Hetty Feather is actually very clever. We played Charades together, Miss Smith and Hetty and Beth and I – and Clover, to make up the numbers, though Mama objected. We won too – an old lady, a foundling, a troubled child, an ignorant girl who’s never been to school, and a servant!
It was delightful plotting our play up in my bedroom, though I felt embarrassed when Hetty admired my furniture, my old toys, my much-thumbed books. Hetty came up with our Charade phrase – Foundling Hospital – and we acted it out, playing foundlings ourselves in the last scene. It was such fun. If only I could play with girls like Hetty and Clover every day.
We won, and I gave Hetty a hug. She was still wearing my silver bangles when she said goodbye, and I wanted her to keep them, though Miss Smith gently protested. Clover said they were beautiful – she didn’t think I should give them away either. In the end I decided to give one bangle to Hetty, one to Clover, and to keep the last for myself. We were three girls with matching silver bangles. Three friends.
OF COURSE, MAMA made a great fuss when she discovered what I’d done. She insisted that Clover give her bangle back immediately, behaving as if she’d stolen it, but there was nothing she could do about Hetty’s. Every night I take Clover her bangle, and she dances around in her petticoat pretending she’s a grand lady at a ball with the bangle gleaming on her arm in the moonlight.
One morning we overslept. I rushed down to my room, praying I wouldn’t bump into Maggie or Edie on the servants’ stairs, while Clover scrambled into her clothes and dashed to the nursery to supervise the little ones. But she’d forgotten to take off the bangle! When she rolled up her sleeves, Nurse Budd saw it.
‘Aha! You wicked little thief!’ she cried. She met Papa on his way into Mama’s room with the early morning post.
I heard the hullabaloo and hurried down to defend Clover.
‘My goodness me, ladies! Could I suggest we all calm down and conduct this conversation a little later, when we are all dressed?’ said Papa, peering at us from over his reading glasses.
‘I beg your pardon, sir. I’d never intrude on you normally, but this is a matter of urgency. Clover Moon has stolen Miss Rose’s silver bangle! She’s wearing it now, as bold as brass. She deserves to be sent packing immediately, madam!’ said Nurse Budd, turning to Mama.
‘No, Mama! Please, it’s not Clover’s fault. I gave her the bangle back. Oh, I can’t bear it if she gets into trouble because of me,’ I said, starting to sob.
‘Don’t cry, Rose dear,’ said Papa.
‘Yes, Rose, there’s no need to get in such a state,’ said Mama. ‘You really must learn not to be so familiar with the servants. You certainly should never lend them your jewellery! You should be ashamed of yourself for accepting it, Clover, but I suppose you don’t know any better.’
We all gaped at her. Was that it?
‘Oh, Mama, thank you for being so understanding!’ I said, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. Clover bobbed her a little curtsy while Nurse Budd stood there stiffly, clearly astonished.
‘Calm down now, Rose. We all have a lot to do today, packing for our journey to Scotland. You run off to the nursery, Clover, and help Nurse pack for the children,’ said Mama.
I couldn’t understand why she was so serene. She enjoyed spending New Year’s Eve in Dundee, but normally the effort of organizing all our trunks drove her into a frenzy, and she snapped and scolded all day long.
‘You’d better go and attend to Beth, Nurse Budd,’ said Papa. He paused. ‘This is the second time poor little Clover has been falsely accused of stealing. I hope you now realize that she’s a good honest girl who’s never stolen so much as a sixpence in her life. Perhaps you owe her an apology.’
‘If you say so, sir,’ said Nurse Budd, tight-lipped. ‘I beg your pardon, Clover.’ She turned on her heel and marched out of the room, her boots squeaking on the polished floor as if they were protesting.
‘Good for you, Papa,’ I said, smiling at Clover.
She bent her head gratefully.
‘So you are not to be sent packing after all, little Miss Moon,’ said Papa. ‘You are required to do the packing for our jaunt to Bonnie Scotland. It should be a very jolly trip this time because we’ll have company. Paris is joining our party.’
‘Really, Papa?’ I said, my heart thudding.
‘I met up with him at the Arts Club on Boxing Day and waxed lyrical about the Scottish moors and mountains. Apparently your mama has already invited him to make the trip to Dundee with us. It seems an excellent idea. I did my best to persuade him to come and do some landscape painting with me, and he’s just written to say he’d be delighted to accept the invitation.’
So that was why Mama was in such a good mood! She sang as she selected suitable clothes and had Edie fold them into her big leather travelling trunk. Edie was cheerful too, because she could stay at home with Maggie and Cook and Mr Hodgson and Jack Boots and Mary-Jane. Perhaps they all feast on steak pies and suet puddings and Papa’s wine while we’re away. Edie and Maggie are free to see their young men too.
Nurse always comes with the family to look after us. This year Nurse Budd would be joining us – and Clover too! Nurse Budd didn’t look too pleased and had a word with Mama, suggesting it might be better if she and Beth stayed at home. Mama was tempted by the idea. Last year Beth had cried for the whole journey and had nearly driven us all insane. But Papa wouldn’t hear of it.
‘Beth is part of our family. I will not have her left behind,’ he said firmly. ‘If you find looking after Beth on a long train ride too much of a challenge, Nurse Budd, I’m sure Clover will help amuse her.’
‘I don’t think that will be necessary, sir,’ said Nurse Budd stiffly.
Clover was wildly excited at the thought of going to Scotland.
‘I’ve never seen a real mountain. I want to climb to the very top! And I want to see Highland cattle because they look such strange beasts in picture books. And I also want to see if all the men really do wear skirts and boldly show off their legs,’ she said, giggling.
‘Wait till you see Papa in the kilt,’ I said. ‘He thinks he cuts
a dashing figure, but his legs look so funny in their woolly stockings.’
‘I’m sure Mr Rivers looks splendid in a skirt,’ said Clover, who admires Papa and will never hear a word said against him.
Papa wore his kilt for travelling, though I dare say he found it uncomfortable, because he likes to lounge with his legs well spread, which means careful attention to his skirts if he is to maintain his dignity. Mama insisted that Sebastian and Algie wore their kilts for the train journey as well. Sebastian was only too delighted, and wore the kilt with pride, careful of his pleats whenever he sat down because he didn’t want to crease them. Algie protested bitterly. He liked wearing his Scottish woollen socks and tucked his knife down them eagerly (it was only a pretend knife, of course – Algie certainly couldn’t be trusted with a real one), but he absolutely hated the kilt.
‘It’s a skirt and they’re for girls and I’m not a stupid girl,’ he yelled, and he lay down and refused to put it on, even when Nurse smacked him. At last Clover managed to talk him into it, but he glowered and sulked all the way to the railway station. Clarrie wore a kilt too, and she wasn’t happy either. It was last year’s, and rather too small for her now, emphasizing her round stomach and chubby knees, and she kept clawing at the neck of her Aran jumper, saying it was itchy. Phoebe fretted too, wrapped so tightly in her large tartan shawl that she could scarcely draw breath.
Beth wore her kilt without too much fuss. I think Nurse Budd had given her a large dose of Godfrey’s Cordial to keep her calm for the long journey. She slept nearly all the way, her head lolling, mouth open, snoring softly.
‘Bless her,’ said Nurse Budd, and read her copy of the Nursing Times until she fell asleep herself.
I wore my kilt too. Mine was last year’s as well, and still roomy enough, but it was very short and showed too much of my skinny legs.
Rose Rivers Page 24
