Alice-Miranda Keeps the Beat

by Jacqueline Harvey

  George Figworth raised his hand. ‘I don’t think I can sing this, miss,’ he said, his lip trembling.

  ‘Why on earth not?’ Millie asked, wrinkling her nose.

  Figgy sniffed. ‘Because it’s about a cat and mine died.’

  ‘Oh, George, I’m so sorry to hear that,’ Miss Crowley said. She racked her brain to think of another song that might be suitable. The poor lad looked as if he was about to cry. Rufus Pemberley began to giggle. ‘And what’s so funny, young man?’ Tabitha challenged. ‘Losing a beloved pet is no laughing matter.’

  Rufus nudged Figgy on the leg and this time the pair of them burst out laughing.

  ‘I see.’ Tabitha breathed deeply. ‘Very funny, boys.’

  ‘How juvenile,’ Caprice said with a flick of her copper tresses. ‘Just throw them out, Miss Crowley. We don’t need them.’

  Figgy and Rufus pulled faces at the girl and mimicked flicking their hair in big, flouncy flourishes.

  ‘Right, we should make a start.’ Tabitha walked back to the piano and stood in front of the keys. She was still floating after her news and nothing was going to put a dampener on her day.

  The woman’s happiness was apparently contagious. Figgy proved to have the kind of voice one considered a gift, and when combined with Caprice and the rest of the group, she had tingles several times.

  Jacinta looked at Miss Crowley and for the first time that day noticed the teacher’s gold necklace. It had a crest and a bar hanging from it and closely resembled the one her Great-Aunt Minnie wore. She remembered the woman saying it was one of a kind, but people often claimed such things. As Lucas leaned in to whisper in her ear, his arm touched hers and Jacinta forgot all about the necklace. She could have sworn she felt a spark, but that might have just been the fireworks that were going off inside her chest.

  Towards the end of the session, Tabitha was positively beaming. The kids were good – there was no denying it. And there had been no more shenanigans from the lads. She always found that, if you made your expectations clear from the outset, it was better for everyone. This was going to be fun.

  On Saturday morning it seemed like everyone had somewhere to be. Millie was off to compete in a tennis tournament in Upping Brougham, Sloane and Chessie were playing soccer against the girls from Sainsbury Palace, Caprice had demanded an extra singing lesson with Mr Trout and, to everyone’s surprise, Jacinta’s father had stuck to his word and driven her to Downsfordvale for her acrobatics lesson. The boarding house was all but deserted except for Alice-Miranda. Not one to hang about at a loose end, the tiny girl changed into her jodhpurs and boots and made her way to the stables. She could hear someone singing along to the radio and realised that Dervla was in the tack room.

  ‘Hello,’ the child said, poking her head around the corner. The woman was surrounded by a mountain of mess.

  Dervla spun around. ‘Hello there,’ she said, turning down the volume on the radio. ‘I’m in the middle of a major clean-out – not that it was my idea.’

  ‘Would you like some help?’ Alice-Miranda asked.

  ‘Thank you, but I can manage.’ Dervla flashed a smile as she wiped her sleeve across her brow. ‘Miss Reedy seems to have a bee in her bonnet the past few days. She sent me the longest list of chores. I gather she’s planning to bring by some parents of prospective students, but I’m putting my foot down at sanding and staining the stable timber-work. That’s definitely outside my job description and I have to study for my final exams.’

  ‘How peculiar,’ Alice-Miranda said, her forehead puckering, ‘especially as Mr Charles did all that last year.’

  ‘I almost choked when I read her note ordering me to cover prep time for the junior girls for no extra pay. I can tell you right now that is not happening,’ Dervla said, her mouth set in a grim line.

  ‘Mmm.’ Alice-Miranda frowned. She had a strange feeling that something wasn’t quite right about the situation. It was odd that, while Miss Reedy’s temperament had improved over the past few days, her demands of the staff had reached extraordinary heights. Alice-Miranda had overheard Miss Tweedle complain to Mr Pratt about having to wash the girls’ smocks, while he bemoaned a directive to catalogue the entire contents of the Science storeroom. Perhaps the stress of running the school was beginning to get to the woman.

  ‘But don’t concern yourself with my worries,’ Dervla said, mustering a smile. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘I was planning to take Bony out as long as his foot is better,’ Alice-Miranda said.

  ‘I can guarantee he’s back to his usual self,’ Dervla said with a roll of the eyes.

  Alice-Miranda looked up from where she was sorting the pile of bridles that was sitting on the floor. ‘Oh no, what has that naughty boy done now?’

  ‘Let’s just say I have a lovely bite mark on my bottom and he’s not getting any treats today.’ Dervla picked up a saddle and lifted it onto a peg.

  ‘Bonaparte!’ Alice-Miranda chided. She took a step towards the tack-room door. The sleepy beast opened one eye but quickly closed it again when he realised he was in trouble. ‘I’m so sorry. I hope he didn’t draw blood. The little monster’s been known to.’

  Dervla hefted another saddle onto a higher peg. ‘It’s a bit sore and I think I’ll end up with a spectacular bruise, but no one is going to see it. Where are you off to on your ride?’

  Alice-Miranda untangled a bit from the leather headpiece and placed it on a hook. ‘I was considering a visit to Mr Frost over at Wood End. Do you think Bony will be okay going that far?’

  ‘He’s fine,’ Dervla said. ‘I had to get the vet out to Buttercup this morning. She cut her leg on some wire in the paddock and it needed stitching. While he was here, I had him take a look at the ratbag’s foot. He wanted me to congratulate you on your treatment regime and said that he couldn’t have done it any better himself. Then he grumbled something about ten-year-olds putting vets out of business.’

  Alice-Miranda grinned and took up Bony’s bridle. ‘That’s not happening any time soon, but I do like the idea of being a vet. Millie’s mum’s one and she’s fantastic with all animals. I’m glad to hear that Bony’s okay, but that’s not good about poor Buttercup. Will she be all right?’

  Dervla nodded. ‘She’s in the stall at the end getting lots of treats, which has put Bony’s nose right out of joint.’

  ‘Honestly, that beast of mine has no manners and it doesn’t seem to matter what I do, he never improves.’ Alice-Miranda cast Bonaparte a reproachful look, but he ignored her again. ‘How have your classes been this week?’

  Dervla placed the last saddle onto its peg and began untangling a pile of lead ropes. ‘We’ve been studying handwriting. It’s fascinating stuff. There are some people whose copying skills are incredible, but there’s usually something that will give them away,’ the young woman said, her eyes glinting. ‘It can be the subtlest loop or dot. I never thought I’d love such intricate work, but it’s something I could see myself specialising in.’

  Alice-Miranda nodded. ‘I’ll keep that in mind next time I try to forge my parents’ signatures.’

  ‘You? I don’t believe it for a second. I, on the other hand …’ Dervla shrugged and a mischievous smile played on her lips. ‘Mildred Jelly had no idea how many times I got out of swimming in that arctic pool over at Sainsbury Palace – until she realised there was no way my mother was able to get the notes written and sent to school in time for the morning of my PE lessons. She threatened to expel me, but my parents talked her around. Dad reasoned that getting one over on the headmistress was a sign of intelligence. I ran into Mrs Jelly a year ago, and she wasn’t the least bit surprised to hear what I was studying. She said I was criminal in the making during my time at school, which I took as a compliment.’

  ‘I’d argue that half the battle in becoming an excellent criminologist would be the ability to put yourself in the wrongdoer’s shoes,’ Alice-Miranda said. She thought of all the crimes and mysteries she and her friends
had solved over the years and wondered if a life in criminology might suit her too – so long as she could be a vet on the side who dabbled in acting and competed in the odd Olympic event for horseriding.

  The girl took Bony’s bridle and saddle and stepped into his stall. At the sight of his mistress and her riding gear, the naughty pony perked up and didn’t even try to bite her when she fastened the girth strap. She led him into the centre of the stables, where Dervla gave her a leg-up and tucked a couple of carrots into the saddle bag for later.

  ‘He doesn’t deserve them, but he might be easier to manage with some enticements.’ Dervla patted the pony’s side. ‘Take care, and don’t let this monster get up to any mischief.’

  ‘Thanks. I’ll be back before two,’ Alice-Miranda said. She was keen to pop over to Fayle with Jacinta and Millie later in the afternoon. The girl clicked her tongue and Bony walked out into the morning sunshine.

  It was another Goldilocks day with crisp air and warm rays. The pair jogged along the trail towards Gertrude’s Grove. Bony snorted and stopped to paw at the ground a few times, then he tugged hard on the reins.

  ‘I suppose you’d like to go faster,’ Alice-Miranda said, and was met with a loud whinny. ‘Suit yourself but remember not to overdo it.’

  She urged the pony into a canter across the Grove. He ducked and wove through the forest before they came to the river. The bridge had been rebuilt since the flood, when Mrs Parker and Ambrosia had been stranded in Myrtle’s hatchback high in a tree downstream. Bony clip-clopped across the new timbers. Alice-Miranda smiled at the long line of willows swaying gently in the breeze like hula dancers and remembered her shock the first time she and Millie had visited Wood End and met Stan Frost, only to find that Reg Parker had woken from his years-long coma and was out here with him. Bonaparte whinnied as the house and garden hove into view.

  ‘What are you carrying on about?’ she asked, reaching forward to give him a pat. Her eyes scanned the front paddock and the driveway down to the house. ‘Oh my goodness, how on earth did you two get up there?’

  Mr Frost’s goats, Cherry and Pickles, were renowned for their ability to infiltrate the oddest places – counting the shed, car roofs and the highest branches among their accomplishments – and today they were standing on the ridge capping at the very top of the house. The pair of them could balance better than the most daring tightrope walker.

  Alice-Miranda pressed Bony into a slow canter, giggling as she wondered how the little rogues were going to get down this time. She tugged on the reins and Bony pulled up near the back door. As she jumped down from the saddle, Mr Frost’s cocker spaniels, Maudie and Itch, burst through the screen door, barking and wagging their stumpy tails at top speed. They wound in and out of Bony’s legs while the pony nipped at their curly coats.

  Stan Frost emerged from the house, wearing overalls and a red checked shirt. His grey hair was parted at the side and combed neatly into place and his blue eyes twinkled with delight. ‘This is a lovely surprise.’

  ‘Hello Mr Frost,’ Alice-Miranda said, hitching the reins up onto the bridle. ‘Shall I put Bony out with Cynthia?’ The grey donkey was in the closest paddock, making the most awful racket.

  ‘We’ll never be able to hear ourselves think if you don’t.’ Stan gave Bony a pat on the neck and earned himself a quivering lip and a glare for his trouble. ‘The old girl has quite the soft spot for your Bonaparte and look at her – I don’t know how a handsome fella like him can resist that old bag of bones.’

  ‘I think Cynthia’s charming,’ the child replied, ‘even if she is a bit of a nag.’

  Alice-Miranda led the pony to the gate, which Stan unlatched and pushed open for them. She let Bony go, but instead of charging away to eat the lush pasture, he hovered close, keeping one eye on his mistress and the other on Cynthia, who was still hee-hawing and snorting on the far side of the paddock.

  ‘Off you go, Bony.’ Alice-Miranda patted his rump, but he refused to move. As soon as Alice-Miranda and Stan closed the gate behind them, the donkey charged towards Bony, chasing him around and around, all the while sounding like an old set of bellows. Alice-Miranda and Stan turned to watch, laughing at Cynthia’s antics. Eventually, after half a dozen circuits, Bony gave up and stood under the oak tree in the middle of the field, where Cynthia caught up to him. The donkey rubbed her head all over his neck and nibbled on his mane. He let out a giant sigh but took it nonetheless.

  ‘Can I interest you in a cold drink or a cup of tea?’ Stan asked.

  ‘A cup of tea would be just the thing,’ the girl said, dusting her hands. ‘I want to hear all about Ursula and how her study is going. I hope she comes to work at Winchesterfield-Downsfordvale again soon but as a teacher this time.’

  The man’s once estranged daughter was currently undertaking her teaching degree and had enjoyed a short stint doing some relief work in the boarding house when Mrs Howard had been away. She was very popular with the girls, who would all love it if she got a permanent teaching position at the school once she was qualified.

  ‘And I want to know about what happened last weekend,’ Stan said, bending to pick up a watering can he’d left in the garden bed. ‘Reg called to tell me the news. That was a very brave thing you girls did.’

  Stan set the watering can down on the back porch, then pushed open the door into the cosy kitchen with Maudie and Itch dancing at his feet. The dining table was loaded at one end with boxes and scattered the length of it were photo albums and sheaves of printed pictures.

  ‘Don’t mind the mess,’ he said, putting the kettle on. ‘I’ll clear us a spot. It’s amazing how many photographs you end up with over the course of a lifetime. Well, you did in the old days before everything went digital. I must say it’s been a trip down memory lane. Trouble is, there’s so much and Ursula won’t want it all.’

  ‘What about the village historical society or the Queen’s Preservation Trust for anything about Wood End, seeing that you’ve gifted them the property in the long term?’ the girl suggested.

  ‘Now, why didn’t I think of that?’ Stan said with a smile. ‘I do have quite a few pictures of the village over the years too.’

  ‘I’m sure Mrs Parker would be thrilled to add it to the collection,’ Alice-Miranda said.

  Stan shook his head. ‘How did I not know that my sister-in-law would be in charge of that? She might want some of the pictures for herself, especially the ones of her and Beryl in happier times.’

  ‘That’s a lovely idea. I think the family photos are the trickiest, really – holidays and the like. Perhaps, after you’ve given Ursula and Myrtle a look, you might get the rest scanned and then they won’t take up so much space,’ Alice-Miranda said. ‘We have an archive at Highton Hall and a clever lady called Mrs Pennington comes twice a year to catalogue everything. But I suppose our house isn’t exactly ordinary and then there are the archives for Kennington’s and Highton’s as well, which Mrs Pennington takes care of too, but that’s her proper job.’

  ‘Most people don’t come from important families like yours,’ Stan said with a grin. He cut two slices of cake and poured the boiling water into the teapot.

  ‘Do you really think that?’ Alice-Miranda frowned. ‘“Important” is such a funny word. It makes us sound as if we think we’re better than everyone else and that’s not true at all. Our ancestors just happen to have done some interesting things, which have given several generations of our family considerable creature comforts, but Mummy and Daddy have always told me that with privilege comes responsibility. They’re now the custodians for the generations to come. I will be too one day, and it will be up to me to keep the businesses running so that all of the people who rely on Highton’s and Kennington’s are looked after,’ the girl prattled. ‘Highton Hall is a beautiful place that should be preserved forever – and perhaps the day will come that I don’t live there, but we can gift it to the people so everyone can enjoy it.’

  Stan gazed at the child in wonder. ‘
Are you certain you’re not really an eighty-year-old woman masquerading in the body of a small child?’

  Alice-Miranda chuckled. ‘I’m going to be eleven next birthday. I can hardly believe I’m as old as that!’

  The man began shifting a couple of piles when something caught the girl’s eye. It was a black-and-white photograph of a band. She picked it up and peered at it closely. There was a newspaper article featuring the same photograph underneath. Alice-Miranda read the caption and gasped. She gasped a second time when she spotted a photograph of a young woman dressed in flared jeans and a cheese-cloth top with a flower crown on her head. She turned to Stan with wide eyes. ‘Is that …?’

  ‘Oh, you don’t want to look at that rubbish,’ Stan said, taking the photo and tucking it into the pile at the opposite end of the table. ‘Young people never think anyone over the age of twenty have done anything interesting. Besides, if I told you, you wouldn’t believe me.’

  ‘Please, I’d love to know,’ Alice-Miranda said, carrying the plates of cake and tea cups and saucers to the table. ‘I’ll swap you a story. You might find it quite fun, I think.’

  Stan set the teapot and milk jug on a placemat. Alice-Miranda shuffled onto the seat at the end and Stan sat down adjacent. ‘All right, I’ll tell you, but only if you promise to keep a secret,’ the man said.

  Alice-Miranda grinned as he poured the tea. ‘It’s a deal.’

  Jacinta stared at the plate of spinach-and-ricotta ravioli in front of her. If she spun it around slightly, and leaned her head on an angle, she could just make out a face. Except that when she looked closely, she realised it reminded her of Myrtle Parker. The girl blanched and quickly swished the pasta pillows around. No one needed that woman staring up at them during dinner.

  ‘Darling, are you going to eat your meal or play with it?’ Ambrosia asked.

  Jacinta glanced at her mother’s cannelloni, which had hardly been touched. ‘I could ask you the same thing, Mummy.’