by Sally Rippin
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!’
‘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.
Here’s a sneak peek at Meet Ruby
RUBY felt trapped. The pale green walls of the classroom seemed to be closing in on her, and the warm, stuffy air was making her feel quite sleepy. If only she could run away! She glanced sideways at Brenda Walker, in the desk across the aisle. Brenda was sitting up very straight and looking interested. How could she? There wasn’t a single thing about maths that was interesting. And the very worst thing about it was Miss Fraser’s droning voice.
Ruby tried to imagine what it would be like to be Miss Fraser. Everything about her was grey. Her grey hair was pulled back in a tight little bun,
and she wore a grey skirt and a long grey cardigan and horrid thick grey stockings.
Marjorie Mack said that Miss Fraser had once had a sweetheart: he was a soldier, and he’d died in the last year of the Great War. But Ruby didn’t believe that any body could ever have loved Miss Fraser.
‘Open your books, girls. We have time for some quick mental arithmetic before the bell goes. Page twenty, problem one.’
Ruby groaned and turned to page twenty. Sixteen currant buns at a penny-ha’ penny each . . . Picking up her pencil, she began to draw a plate of buns in the margin of the page.
‘Perhaps you can give us the answer, Ruby Quinlan? Yes, Ruby, I’m speaking to you. Stand up, please. What is the answer to problem one?’
Ruby stood up. Oh my hat, she thought. I should’ve known she’d ask me.
‘I don’t know, Miss Fraser,’ she said at last.
‘Well, work it out. Sixteen times one-and-a-half pennies.’
Ruby stared at the ceiling. The answer didn’t appear there. She stared at the floor. Not there either. She stared at Brenda Walker. Brenda was scribbling something on a piece of paper, partly covering it with her hand.
Ruby tried to read what Brenda had written. ‘Um, one pound and four shillings?’
Miss Fraser’s lips set in a thin line.‘Good heavens, child, use your head. Would you pay one pound and four shillings for sixteen currant buns? I hope you don’t do the shopping for your family.’
‘Of course I don’t, Miss Fraser. Our cook does it.’
Miss Fraser sighed. ‘Sit down,Ruby.Brenda,perhaps you can help us.’
Brenda stood up, smoothing down her school uniform. ‘Two shillings, Miss Fraser.’
‘Thank you, Brenda,’ Miss Fraser said, with an approving smile. ‘Now for something a little more difficult. Hilary Mitchell? Your answer to the next question, please. If it takes three men five days to dig a ditch . . .’
Ruby saw the startled look on Hilary’s face. As usual, Hilary had been gazing dreamily out of the window. I’ll bet she was thinking about her new little sister, Ruby thought. Baby Cecily was just three weeks old, and Hilary had promised that Ruby could meet her soon.
