‘Did the strapping hurt?’ Bartholomew asked Gus as he sat down. Bartholomew was often in trouble, too, for wandering into the bush in search of wild animals. He loved all creatures and would save even a tiny ant if he could.
Gus shook his head. From the look on his face, though, Poppy could tell he was acting brave.
‘Next time I run away, I’m gonna make it out of here,’ he whispered to her.
‘But Mother Hangtree said she’s going to lock all the doors and windows at night so nobody can escape ever again.’ Poppy glanced across at the matron sitting at the head of the table.
Gus leaned towards her. ‘That won’t stop me. I found a secret door, Kalinya.’
Kalinya was Poppy’s Aboriginal name. It meant ‘pretty one’. Gus’s name was Moyhu, which meant ‘the wind’. When each child was brought to Bird Creek Mission they were given an English name. The girls were named after flowers; the boys were given names from the Bible. What Mother Hangtree didn’t know was that sometimes Poppy and Gus still used their Aboriginal names even though it was strictly forbidden.
‘A secret door! Where?’
‘In the Darkling Cellar. I’d never seen it there before because it’s hidden behind some old sacks. I was moving them around so I could lie down. That’s when I saw light coming in through a crack.’ Gus noticed Mother Hangtree glaring at them. He put his head down. ‘Tell you more later,’ he whispered.
After lunch, the children marched back to the schoolroom. The lesson was arithmetic, and while Mother Hangtree wrote numbers on the blackboard Poppy looked at Gus in the back row. He was scribbling something on his slate, which he handed to Bartholomew, who handed it to Blossom, who then passed it to Poppy.
When Mother Hangtree turned to face the class, Poppy quickly hid the slate on her lap under the desk.
The message was in secret code, a code Gus and Poppy had made up themselves.
Po3 Po1 D2 Ka6 D2 Pl4 Pa6 Ka6 E1 E1
Poppy was proud of her idea to use the names of animals. It had taken weeks to learn the list off by heart:
Echidna
Dingo
Possum
Wallaby
Kangaroo
Platypus
Weevil
Emu
Quoll
Wombat
Crow
Parrot
Galah
Koala
Lizard
Frog
Poppy smiled as she deciphered the message.
Po3, third letter in Possum ‘S’
Po1, first letter in Possum ‘P’
D2, second letter in Dingo ‘I’
Ka6, sixth letter in Kangaroo ‘R’
D2, second letter in Dingo ‘I’
Pl4, fourth letter in Platypus ‘T’
Pa6, sixth letter in Parrot ‘T’
Ka6, sixth letter in Kangaroo ‘R’
E1, first letter in Echidna ‘E’
E1, first letter in Echidna ‘E’
Here’s a sneak peek at Meet Rose
WHEN Rose heard the soft tap on her bedroom door, she joined her brother, Edward, in the dark corridor. Apart from the distant sound of Father snoring and a few birds in the trees outside, all was quiet. Edward was carrying his cricket bat and ball, and he grinned at her, his teeth white in the gloom.
They crept down the wide staircase, past the tall stained-glass windows above the landing and out the front door, closing it behind them with a click. Dawn painted the sky a pale pink and dew coated the lawns.
‘Happy birthday,’ Edward whispered. ‘You want to bowl first?’
‘Of course!’ Rose said.
They avoided the crunchy gravel on the driveway and ran around to the back of their huge house, past the stables and down to the farthest corner, where Edward had set up his wickets. He’d promised to play cricket with Rose on her birthday, and this was the only chance they’d have before Mother would wake up and come looking for her.
Edward poked at the grass with his bat. ‘It must’ve rained last night.’
Rose laughed as she warmed up her bowling arm, swinging it around and up. ‘Not making excuses already, are you Ed?’
‘Just bowl,’ Edward said.
The ball floated through the air, bounced, and Edward swung at it, clipping it on the edge. It disappeared into the bushes behind him. Rose grinned. She loved bowling her tricky spinners, and even though Edward was older and taller than her, she’d soon get him out and then she could have a turn.
They’d had one bat each when a shrill voice called, ‘Rose! Are you out here? Rose?’ It was her governess, Miss Parson.
Rose wanted to run and hide in the bushes, but that would only get her into more trouble. She handed the cricket ball to Edward. ‘I’d better go before she busts a boiler.’
Miss Parson was waiting near the kitchen door, a scowl on her narrow, pale face. ‘What were you doing out so early?’ she asked.
‘Walking,’ Rose said. She wasn’t in the habit of telling fibs, but surely a small lie to Miss Parson didn’t count. ‘It’s a lovely morning.’
‘Hmph.’ Miss Parson followed her inside and up the stairs. ‘Your mother expects you down for breakfast in five minutes, and your boots are dirty.’
‘Yes, Miss Parson.’
In her bedroom, Rose poured cold water from the flowered jug into the bowl and washed her hands and face, shivering at how icy it was. She used the hand towel to clean her boots, and brushed her dark, unruly hair. There. Surely Mother wouldn’t scold her on her birthday? Miss Parson came in without knocking and Rose glared.
‘Come on, hurry up,’ said Miss Parson. ‘And pull up your stockings. They’re a disgrace.’
Rose yanked them up and heard an awful ripping sound. She looked down at the large hole she’d just made. ‘Oops.’
Miss Parson huffed loudly. ‘Too much haste, not enough care – as usual.’
‘But Sally will mend it in an instant!’
‘And what will you learn from that?’ Miss Parson asked. ‘No, you can sew it yourself today instead of working on your doily stitching. Or I can tell your mother and let her give you a suitable punishment.’
Sewing was already like a punishment for Rose. She’d much rather be outside, climbing trees or digging in the garden. ‘I’ll do it myself,’ she said. Miss Parson followed her down the stairs and went off to the kitchen, while Rose continued on to the breakfast room, where she spotted a small pile of gifts by her plate. There was no way she’d let Miss Parson ruin her birthday, especially with all those surprises waiting!
The rest of her family was already seated, her father reading the newspaper, The Argus.
‘Happy birthday, Rose!’ everyone chorused.
‘Open your presents,’ Martha said. Rose’s older sister always gave her something small and special.
Mother tapped her plate with a spoon. ‘Eat your breakfast first, Rose. The gifts can wait.’
‘But . . .’ Rose shrugged. It was useless to argue with Mother. Rose took her plate to the sideboard impatiently, ready to choose some eggs and bacon, but there were only kippers and porridge. She hated kippers – even more than sardines – Mother knew that! Tears stung her eyes, but she bit her lip, determined not to cry. She helped herself to porridge instead, and stirred in four big spoonfuls of sugar and some preserved peaches before Mother noticed.
Rose ate quickly and was finally allowed to open her presents. She decided to leave Martha’s until last. Mother and Father gave her gloves and a parasol. Edward’s was shaped like a book, which was what she really wanted, but it turned out to be a box of glâcé cherries. She glanced at him and he mouthed, ‘Sorry.’ That meant Mother had bought the cherries and put his name on the card. Rose put all her hopes into the last gift, the smallest one.
She pulled the paper off and opened the little box. Nestled inside was a tiny gold oval locket engraved with birds. ‘It’s beautiful,’ Rose said.
‘Thank you.’ She jumped up and gave Martha a hug and
a kiss, breathing in her perfume.
Martha laughed and smoothed Rose’s hair with her soft hands. She was always dressed so perfectly, her pretty face framed by her swept-up dark hair.
‘What about everyone else?’ Mother said, tilting her head so Rose could kiss her cheek.
‘Eleven now, eh, Rose?’ Father said. ‘You’ll be married before we know it.’ He winked and Rose laughed. Father already knew that Rose planned to become an explorer and travel the world instead of getting married.
When Rose kissed Edward, he whispered, ‘Here’s your real present,’ and shoved his cricket ball into her hand. Luckily, Mother was already on her way out of the breakfast room and didn’t see.
‘Holy smoke!’ Rose said. ‘Are you sure?’
Edward nodded. ‘Have a nice birthday. Are you still going to the park?’
‘I hope so.’ Mother hadn’t actually promised when Rose had asked, but she hadn’t said no either.
Until then, though, it was lessons as usual with Miss Parson, which meant an hour of reading from a storybook Rose nearly knew by heart and then mending her ripped stocking. She made such a mess of the stitches that Miss Parson had to give it to Sally, the housemaid, after all. Rose desperately wished Miss Parson could teach more than needlework and French verbs. Rose wanted to learn geography and history, like Edward, and study insects and fossils. However, she could just imagine Miss Parson turning her nose up at a dinosaur bone!
At lunch, Mother said, ‘Now, I expect you to be ready by three o’clock.’
‘Isn’t that a little late for the park?’ Rose said.
‘We’re not going out,’ Mother said. ‘Your grandmother and Uncle Charles and Aunt Philippa are coming for afternoon tea.’
‘But what about the park?’
‘Don’t be silly, Rose,’ Mother said. ‘They are visiting for your birthday. You should be grateful. No doubt they will bring gifts.’
Hot anger rushed through Rose and she clenched her hands. ‘I don’t care! I’ve been looking forward to the park all day!’
‘Fetch Miss Parson,’ Mother snapped to Sally.
Rose waited in silence, face burning, as Miss Parson rushed in. ‘Yes, Madam,’ she said.
‘Please ensure Rose has on her best afternoon dress to receive visitors,’ Mother said frostily. ‘And remind her of the manners required for taking tea and conversing pleasantly.’
‘Yes, Madam.’
Miss Parson scowled at Rose and towed her up the stairs.
‘I don’t have an afternoon dress,’ Rose said, wanting to be as difficult as possible. What was the point of having a birthday when she was not allowed to go to the park and explore the stream and climb hills and play cricket?
Miss Parson opened the wardrobe and selected Rose’s least favourite dress, one made of white lace and frills with a hundred tiny buttons down the back and on the long sleeves. It took forever to put on, and Rose usually spilt something on it within five minutes.
‘This will do fine,’ Miss Parson said.
Rose groaned, but with Miss Parson’s help she put on the white dress and waited as the governess began buttoning the back.
‘Stop pushing your shoulders forward,’ Miss Parson said.
‘I’m not!’
‘Pull in your stomach then.’
Rose tried, but she could tell something was wrong. Miss Parson kept pulling and eventually she finished the buttoning, but Rose could hardly breathe.
‘It’s too short as well as tight. You must have grown more than I realised,’ Miss Parson said.
‘I won’t wear it then,’ Rose said.
‘It’s your best day dress. It will have to do.’
’But I won’t have room to eat any of my birthday tea!’
There was a knock at the door, and Sally popped her head in. ‘Your mother says to come now, Miss. The guests have arrived.’
Rose put on her new locket and went down the wide marble staircase, stopping on the landing. She checked there was no one in the hall below. Should she risk it? She perched on the polished curved rail and pushed off, her dress flying up, her face flushed. That was the fastest she’d ever gone! She jumped off and stumbled, then straightened.
‘Rose!’ Mother stood in the doorway of the drawing room, glaring. ‘Is that any way for a lady to behave? And what on earth is wrong with that dress? Oh, never mind now. Come and greet your guests.’
They’re not my guests, Rose thought crossly, but she followed her mother into the room. Grandmother was already seated in the best armchair, and Aunt Philippa was inspecting Mother’s latest ornaments and figurines.
‘Felicitations,’ boomed Uncle Charles. He bent down to kiss Rose, his whiskers prickling her cheeks, his fob watch falling out of his pocket and dangling on its chain. ‘Got a little present for you, Rosie,’ he whispered.
Rose brightened. Uncle Charles understood how hard it was to be good all the time. His gifts were usually exactly the kind of thing she wanted. Last year he’d given her a world map.
‘Happy birthday, Rose,’ Grandmother said. Her face was almost as stern as Miss Parson’s, and her black muslin dress with its high neck and long puffed sleeves made her seem even more severe. Rose knew better than to kiss Grandmother – a curtsey was required. She made it without wobbling too much and Grandmother tapped her black fan on Rose’s shoulder in approval.
When everyone had chosen their seat, Rose found one for herself in the corner. Immediately, the grownups began talking about Elspeth Brown who’d married beneath her, whatever that meant, and Harry Borland, who had a gambling problem. Rose hid a huge yawn behind her hand. Why on earth did grownups waste so much time gossiping?
She curled her fingers around the wooden end of the chair arm, imagining it was a cricket ball and she was lining up to bowl to Edward. That’s probably what he was doing right at that moment – playing cricket at school.
Sally nudged open the door and, smiling at the birthday girl, carried in a huge cream cake decorated with sugar flowers and eleven candles.
Well, it wasn’t a trip to the park, but Rose did love cake! Maybe Mother would let her have two pieces, just this once.
Here’s a sneak peek at Meet Alice
AS Alice walked out of her Friday dance class and into the wintry afternoon, she was met by two of her favourite things in the world. One was her best friend, Jilly, who had waited outside for an hour reading so they could walk home together. The other was a sunset as bright as flames. Down the hill, beyond the arch of peppermint trees that hung over Forrest Street, the air was glowing.
‘Jilly, look at that!’ said Alice, her face to the sky. ‘Have you ever seen anything prettier?’
Jilly snorted. ‘What, the sky? You’ve seen it every day of your life.’
But I haven’t, Alice thought to herself. Not this one. The setting sun burned like a hot, rosy ball – as red as Jilly’s hair. The pink sky was streaked with gold trails like the tracks of a plough. The horizon was a purple smudge over the navy sea, and the soft night breeze smelled of salty ocean and wood fires and home. Alice rose up on her toes so she could be closer to it all, feeling her ankles twinge with the delicious ache of so much ballet.
‘How was class?’ asked Jilly as they set off.
‘It was heaven. Miss Lillibet made us do rounds and rounds of devéloppés and a new port de bras.’ Not everyone had kept up, but Alice had loved every second. She sighed happily as she remembered the feeling – a lightness and brightness, as if she were covered in little stars. She’d felt it since she was tiny, dancing to the gramophone on the big soft rug in Papa Sir’s study. And even after seven years of lessons, she felt it each time she crossed the ribbons of her ballet shoes over her ankles. Which was every day at the moment, with all the extra classes she’d been doing and practising down in the greenhouse whenever she got a second.
‘Do you think Miss Lillibet will put you on pointe soon, Alice?’
‘Oh, I hope so! I am still quite young, though. Perhaps I’m
not good enough yet.’
‘Rubbish,’ said Jilly. ‘You’re the prettiest dancer that ever lived.’
‘I wish your mother would still let you come to class – you were good too, Jilly.’
‘No use wasting time wishing,’ said Jilly briskly. ‘I wasn’t half as good as you. Besides, Mother’s got some strange ideas about Miss Lillibet.’
In an instant, Alice felt her neck get hot with anger. What on earth was strange about beautiful, elegant, perfect Miss Lillibet?
‘What do you mean strange?’
But before Jilly could answer, the loud clink of a bell rang out from the bottom of the hill near the Village. Alice and Jilly turned to look as a bicycle shot up towards them, past the big houses wrapped around by their shady, wide verandahs, and the big rambling gardens where cows and goats and chickens wandered. Against the sunset, the rider’s curls flashed like sparks.
‘Alice,’ said Jilly, blushing, ‘isn’t that –’
‘Teddy!’ Alice cried. Her big brother Teddy could ride further and faster than anyone. He could pedal round Devil’s Elbow with Alice and her siblings all on board and still have enough puff to sing rounds. George, who was ten and came next in the family after Alice, dinked on the crossbar, and Mabel, the next after him, sat in the big basket up the front. Little, who was six but tiny, would sit on Teddy’s lap, and Alice would squeeze behind him with Pudding, their baby, who sadly wasn’t a baby anymore, on her back.
‘Oh dear,’ said Jilly, smoothing her hair madly.
Alice smiled to herself. Jilly was always very sensible, but she went to pieces whenever Teddy was near – tall handsome Teddy with his dark tumbly hair, just like Mama’s, and eyes the spit of Papa Sir’s, as blue as the river, which they could see from most of their windows. Jilly wrote little poems about Teddy by moonlight, which she read to Alice when they were quite sure that they were alone. Alice would never have said so, but Jilly was not actually very good at poetry.
‘Tink,’ he called to Alice as he sailed past them, not even puffing. ‘Look at that sunset! I’m off to the river to paint it – oh, hello Jilly. Come down – both of you,’ he called over his shoulder. ‘Tink, you could do your stretches there. Got to fly before it’s gone!’
Pearlie's Pet Rescue Page 8
