‘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.
Meet Alice, a ballerina in World War One, 1918. Here’s the first chapter of her story, and you can read more about it here.
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!’
‘Shall we?’ asked Alice, as they watched him get smaller and smaller. ‘Before it’s too dark?’
Jilly sighed. ‘I’ve got to do the milking.’
‘Oh, of course, sorry. I’ll come and help you. It’s always faster with two.’
Since Jilly’s papa and big brothers had gone off to fight in the Great War in Europe, she was the only one left to do the heavy chores, and her mother was terribly, horribly strict. It didn’t seem fair to Alice – her mother didn’t mind in the least about waxing the floorboards and milking Honey, their brown cow, at exactly six o’clock, and learning bits of the Bible by heart. And though Alice’s father, who they called Papa Sir, had been at war for three years now, they still had Teddy to watch over them.
‘No, really, it’s fine,’ said Jilly. ‘I’m pretty quick now. Will I see you over the weekend, Alice, or do you have extra dancing?’
‘Only for some of it. Come round tomorrow afternoon. Little’s baked shortbread.’
Jilly looked at the ground. ‘Sorry, Alice – Mother’s hosting the Red Cross ladies tomorrow and I’m to take all the knitting to the depot when
they’ve finished.’
Now it was Alice who was blushing. Peppermint Grove was filled with ladies who knitted and sewed for the soldiers, and put on fetes and balls to raise money. But since the war had started four years ago, Alice’s mother hadn’t stitched a sock or rolled a bandage, and everybody knew it. Mama said she didn’t believe in fighting – that it all came to no good for anyone – and even when Papa Sir had gone to war, she wouldn’t change her mind. Jilly’s mother said that was a disgrace.
‘Go and see Teddy,’ said Jilly. ‘You mightn’t be able to for much longer.’ As soon as she said it, Jilly winced as if she wished she hadn’t.
Alice stopped sharply. ‘You’re not talking about the war, are you? You know Teddy doesn’t believe in fighting.’
‘Sorry Alice, I overheard Mother talking, that’s all. Teddy’s seventeen soon, and, well …’
Alice started to walk very quickly, not minding the thump of her ballet bag against the backs of her knees. ‘That’s just rubbish.’
‘But your father went – Papa Sir, I mean.’
‘Not to fight, Jilly. He’s a doctor – he went to help people, not kill them.’
Jilly looked uncomfortable.
‘As if Teddy would hurt anybody,’ Alice continued. ‘And he’s too young, anyway – you can’t enlist before you’re eighteen.’
‘But lots of boys do and no one seems to mind,’ panted Jilly earnestly, trying to keep up. ‘My brothers did. And you know how people treat cowards round here – white feathers in the mail and whatnot.’
‘No. Teddy’s staying here to take care of us.’
And though it made her heart hurt to think of Jilly milking alone, the idea of life without Teddy was so unbearable that Alice sprinted off into the twilight, hoping that if she ran fast enough, she’d leave it behind forever.
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Follow the story of your favourite Australian girls and you will see that there is a special charm on the cover of each book that tells you something about the story.
Here they all are. You can tick them off as you read each one.
PUFFIN BOOKS
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Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
Published by Penguin Group (Australia), 2012
Text copyright © Penny Matthews, 2012
Illustrations copyright © Lucia Masciullo, 2012
The moral right of the author and the illustrator has been asserted. All rights reserved.
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ISBN: 978-1-74253-641-5
Nellie's Greatest Wish Page 8
