Rose Rivers Read online

  ‘It was stupid of me too, because obviously I can never be a fine lady,’ said Clover. ‘I can’t see a girl from Cripps Alley going to a ball like Cinderella and meeting a handsome prince.’

  ‘What sort of man would you like to meet, Clover?’ I asked.

  ‘I’ve met him. Mr Dolly is the sweetest man in all the world. When I’m older I’d like to set up a new shop with him – miles and miles away from Mildred. It’ll be just Mr Dolly and me, and all our dolls. They’ll stay still and silent, never needing to be fed or washed or changed,’ said Clover, chuckling.

  ‘But isn’t he an old man?’

  ‘Yes, he’s been just like a father to me.’

  ‘Wouldn’t you like to meet someone more romantic?’ I asked.

  ‘I don’t much care for romance,’ said Clover. I felt her wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. ‘Big boys used to grab me and kiss me, and I hated it.’

  ‘But you’re only a child!’

  ‘It’s different where I come from.’

  ‘So kisses don’t feel good?’ I asked shyly.

  ‘I suppose it depends. No one’s kissed you then, Rose?’

  ‘No! And I don’t want anyone to either,’ I declared, not quite truthfully. ‘Let’s go to sleep now. It must be very late and we have to be up before six.’

  Phoebe still woke at dawn for her early-morning feed, and Clover had to be up to prepare it. I scurried silently down to my room before the rest of the household stirred.

  I didn’t mind waking early. I stretched out in my comfortable bed, enjoying the soft pillows. The next night I decided to take one with me – and my thick pink quilt because it was so cold in the attic. I sorted out little gifts for Clover too: a spare bar of lavender soap, half a bottle of my rainbow shampoo, a tortoiseshell comb, two handkerchiefs and a little box of sugar plums.

  The sugar plums were actually Algie’s, a present from a sentimental old lady in the park, but he’d only have eaten them all at once and made himself sick. When he discovered they were missing he kicked up a terrible fuss, but everyone was sure he’d eaten them himself. I know it’s despicable to rob your little brother, even if he’s Algie, but I felt that Clover was more deserving.

  I gave her books too, though she’s got no time to read them. I’ve chosen A Little Princess and Jane Eyre, because they’re about girls with troubles and I felt that Clover might identify with them. I told her to read only the first ten chapters of Jane Eyre as she doesn’t care for romance. I don’t either.

  I’m never going to let a boy make an idiot of me like poor silly Pamela. I think falling in love is foolish. It doesn’t make you happy. It doesn’t last. Look at Mama and Papa. Mama has a daguerreotype that was taken on their honeymoon. She keeps it in an ornate frame on her dressing table. The couple standing together are barely recognizable as my parents. Mama is gazing up at Papa, a radiant smile on her face, and he is clasping her hand and looking down on her ardently. Now they cannot be in the same room together without snapping.

  I think Papa still longs for Louisa, while Mama languishes on her chaise longue thinking of Paris. They are so foolish. Especially Mama. Paris is half her age, and he is obviously never, ever coming back.

  I’m the foolish one! Paris has come back!

  He arrived at half past nine this morning, carrying his battered bag of paints and brushes in one hand, his palette in the other, whistling as he walked across the hall and up the stairs. I was sitting on the window seat, scarcely able to believe it was really him. He gave me a cheery smile.

  ‘Hello there, Rose,’ he said casually, as if he hadn’t been missing for four whole weeks.

  I gaped at him foolishly.

  ‘Whenever I pulled a face like that, my old nurse used to say the wind might change and then I’d be stuck with a mouth like a goldfish for ever,’ he said.

  ‘You had a nurse?’ I said.

  I’d imagined him being brought up in a romantic garret with glamorous artistic parents who didn’t give a fig for society and its rules. I was genuinely astonished.

  ‘Was your mother an artist too?’ I asked, thinking she probably scraped together a nurse’s wages so that she was free to paint.

  ‘My mother?’ said Paris. ‘Well, I think she did a little genteel watercolouring when she was a girl.’

  ‘What about your father?’

  He laughed. ‘He’s a stockbroker. I don’t think that’s a very artistic profession, do you?’

  ‘Well, maybe not.’ I took a deep breath. ‘Mr Walker, where have you been?’

  ‘I’ve had a little holiday abroad,’ he said. ‘But now I’m all set to get your mother’s portrait finished.’

  ‘Abroad?’ I repeated. ‘But you didn’t say you were going.’

  ‘I didn’t know I was until the opportunity arose. That’s what being an artist is all about, Rose – acting spontaneously!’ he said. Then he looked more serious. ‘Is your mother very cross with me?’

  ‘I don’t think she’s a very spontaneous person herself. I’m not sure she’d understand your going away on a whim,’ I said.

  ‘Mmm,’ said Paris thoughtfully. He moved closer. ‘Budge up a bit.’

  He sat down beside me on the window seat. I breathed in his distinctive smell of oil paint and tobacco and cologne.

  ‘Can you help me concoct a convincing story to appease Mama?’ he said. ‘I’d really like to continue with her portrait.’

  ‘And get paid,’ I added.

  ‘Absolutely,’ said Paris. ‘You’re very sharp, Miss Rivers.’

  ‘It would probably help if you told me where you really were,’ I said.

  ‘I told you. Abroad. In my namesake city, as a matter of fact. Have you ever been to Paris, Rose?’

  ‘Hmm,’ I said vaguely.

  ‘It’s such a beautiful city,’ he said, shaking his head.

  ‘Yes, isn’t it,’ I agreed, though apart from learning that Paris was the capital of France I knew nothing whatsoever about it.

  ‘What do you like most about Paris?’ he asked.

  I was stuck. ‘Just … the atmosphere,’ I said.

  He laughed. ‘You’ve never been there, have you?’

  ‘No, of course I haven’t.’

  ‘I loved it there – for the light, the pale creamy grey of all the beautiful buildings, the green of the Seine, the vibrant colours of the pretty girls in their fashionable clothes – and the art galleries most of all. I spent entire days in the Louvre, wandering around in awe. But the new painters are the most exciting – Monet, Renoir, Degas. How I would love to paint like them! I don’t suppose your mother would let me start her portrait all over again and paint in the new way? No tedious detail, no delicate little brush strokes, just big bold impressions that get right to the truth of the subject.’

  ‘I don’t think Mama would care for that approach,’ I said. ‘But I think it sounds very exciting.’

  ‘Perhaps I’ll paint your portrait then, Rose. Sitting on the window seat in your green dress, with the sun streaming in and highlighting your hair. Would you like that?’

  Would I? I wasn’t sure if Paris was joking or not. I knew that Mama would never pay for a portrait of me. I wasn’t sure she would even pay for her own portrait now. She’d feel that Paris had let her down badly by gadding off to France.

  ‘What made you suddenly decide to go to Paris?’ I asked.

  ‘French friends of mine,’ he said. ‘They were very persuasive.’

  ‘Are they artists too?’

  He nodded. ‘Mostly.’

  I thought of Paris with those other young men, wandering around the city, gazing at paintings, drinking wine in bars, singing under the stars.

  ‘You’re so lucky,’ I said enviously. ‘I’d give anything to be an artist.’

  ‘I think you’ll become a brilliant graphic artist, known for your sharp wit,’ said Paris.

  ‘I wish you wouldn’t tease me,’ I said.

  ‘I’m not teasing. Run and fetch your ske
tchbook. I want to see your latest drawings.’

  ‘There aren’t any,’ I said. I hadn’t put pen to paper since Paris abandoned us. ‘I just haven’t felt like it,’ I went on. I didn’t want to tell him why, but he must have guessed.

  He cupped my face with his hands, looking into my eyes. ‘Listen, Rose, if you’re going to be an artist, then you have to put your work before everything else. There’ll be many times when you don’t feel like it, but you mustn’t let it stop you. No matter what else is going on in your life, work is always there. It’s worth persevering, even in the depths of despair. Promise me you’ll carry on with your art, no matter what.’

  It was difficult concentrating on what he was saying when we were so close and his hands were on my face, but I nodded and said yes.

  ‘That’s a good girl,’ he said. ‘So, what shall we tell Mama?’

  ‘Perhaps you could say you were suddenly called abroad because your mama had been taken ill, maybe at a holiday resort?’ I remembered that Mama had been terribly impressed when Lady Robson told her about her stay at a spa town in Germany. ‘Baden-Baden! Yes, she became dangerously ill, and you received a telegram and had to rush off immediately, unable to warn anyone. You’ve been at her bedside constantly, and for several weeks it seemed as if you were going to lose her and you were distraught – but now, miraculously, she’s recovered, and you accompanied her home at the weekend and she’s still a little fragile but the doctors are very pleased with her.’ I stopped, out of breath.

  It was Paris’s turn to gape. ‘My Lord, you’re a genius! Perhaps you’re destined to be a writer as well as an artist! And an actress into the bargain because you sound so convincing!’

  ‘I am a girl of many talents,’ I said, though I wasn’t sure that even Mama would believe such a story.

  MAMA BELIEVED EVERY word of it! I think Paris could have spun her a tale about being captured by cannibals and she’d still have nodded sympathetically. She was just so pleased to see him. When I took him into the drawing room she blushed a deep, painful crimson. Even her throat was mottled red.

  ‘Mr Walker!’ she said, and for a terrible moment I thought she was going to burst into tears.

  I was mortally embarrassed for her as she hung on his every word, gazing at him as if she couldn’t quite believe he was here. She even patted his arm as if to reassure herself. Then she rushed off to change into her blue dress while Paris went up to the studio to prepare his paint.

  But Mama couldn’t find the sapphire brooch she’d been wearing to set off the neckline of her frock. She had Edie search in every drawer and cupboard and feel down the back of every sofa and chaise longue. She made Maggie run her feather duster across every mantelpiece and sweep all the corners.

  Nurse Budd objected bitterly. ‘I’m not having you coming in here with that broom! You’ll disturb my little Beth,’ she said. ‘Surely it’s not necessary, madam. You never come into our room so you couldn’t have dropped it here. And I hope you don’t think that I’ve got your brooch!’

  ‘Of course not, Nurse Budd – but perhaps Beth took a fancy to it? I know she likes sparkly things,’ said Mama.

  ‘I supervise my little charge every minute of the day,’ she replied. She paused. ‘I’m not one to tell tales, but the other day I saw the younger children with your big jewellery box.’

  She followed Mama down to the drawing room, and Nurse and Sebastian and Algie and Clarrie were sent for.

  ‘Have you touched my jewellery box, children?’ Mama demanded.

  All three quivered guiltily. Nurse looked at them, shocked.

  ‘You have!’ Mama looked at Sebastian. She looked at Clarrie. Then she looked at Algie. He was biting his nails anxiously.

  ‘What have you done with my sapphire brooch, Algernon Rivers?’ she demanded.

  ‘I haven’t got your old brooch!’ he protested. He ran to Mama and thrust his arms round her waist, while Alphonse snapped at his ankles irritably. ‘Mama, I promise, promise, promise I haven’t taken it.’

  ‘Are you sure, Algie?’ she asked. ‘I don’t think I believe you. You’re such a bad boy. If you’ve stolen my very precious sapphire, then you will have to be soundly whipped.’

  ‘He’s a naughty little monkey, but I’m sure he’d never steal, madam,’ said Nurse indignantly.

  ‘Don’t whip Algie, Mama!’ said Clarrie. ‘We played Pirate Treasure with your jewellery box but none of us took any brooches.’

  ‘I tried on a pearl necklace and a gold bracelet, but I was very careful and I put them right back,’ said Sebastian, who was always painfully honest.

  ‘Really, Nurse, whatever’s got into you! How dare you let the children ransack my jewellery box!’ said Mama.

  ‘It’s nothing to do with me, madam,’ said Nurse. ‘I didn’t know anything about it. They’ve been running wild, getting thoroughly over-excited. Pirate Treasure! It’s one of the games that Clover Moon invented, I’ll be bound.’

  ‘Clover Moon!’ said Mama, her lips tightening. ‘I might have known it.’

  ‘Please, Mama, I’m sure Clover had nothing to do with it,’ I said hastily.

  Mama took no notice, and sent for Clover. She was in the middle of bathing Phoebe, and had to bring her to the drawing room wrapped in a towel.

  ‘How dare you bring the baby into the drawing room like that!’ said Mama, momentarily distracted.

  ‘I’m sorry, missus – Mrs Rivers – madam,’ Clover stammered. She still forgets how to address her so-called betters. I don’t think it matters a hoot, but it doesn’t impress Mama.

  She drew a deep breath now, her nostrils pinched, and glared at Clover. ‘I cannot believe my husband employed you,’ she said. ‘You’re the most useless servant girl I’ve ever known.’

  ‘Mama, that’s nonsense, Clover is absolutely wonderful with the children. She can even make Algie behave – and I’m sure if she were allowed to look after Beth she’d manage her far better than Nurse Budd,’ I declared.

  ‘I’ll thank you not to contradict me in front of the servants,’ said Mama.

  She turned back to Clover. ‘Did you let the children play with my jewellery box?’

  ‘Yes, madam,’ said Clover.

  ‘My goodness, the brazen hussy!’ said Nurse Budd.

  ‘I can scarcely believe my ears! You let the children play with sapphires and rubies and diamonds!’ said Mama.

  ‘I didn’t know they were precious stones, madam. I thought they were just coloured glass,’ said Clover.

  ‘As if a lady in my position would wear coloured glass!’ said Mama. ‘How can you suggest such a thing! And how dare you let the children play with my possessions in any case!’

  ‘I’m sorry, madam. I knew the children shouldn’t be playing with your jewellery, but they were having such a lovely game of pirates that I wanted them to find treasure. I won’t let it happen again.’

  ‘There won’t be an opportunity, miss. You’re not staying in this house a moment longer! I shall have you locked up in prison, where you belong. Now give me back my sapphire brooch!’ Mama demanded.

  ‘I haven’t touched your brooch!’ said Clover, shaking.

  Nurse Budd pointed at her triumphantly. ‘There, look, she’s trembling. A picture of guilt!’

  ‘Mama, you can’t accuse Clover when you have no proof whatsoever that she’s stolen your brooch!’ I cried.

  ‘Poor Clover!’ Algie agreed.

  ‘We love Clover,’ said Clarrie.

  ‘She would never steal your brooch,’ said Sebastian.

  ‘You’ve managed to turn my own children against me, Clover Moon!’ Mama said. ‘We shall settle this once and for all. Nurse, take Phoebe. Edie! Maggie! Where have you got to? Take this wicked girl away and search her thoroughly. And call for Mr Hodgson and Jack Boots to scour her room from top to bottom.’

  ‘No!’ I cried. I thought of the little comforts I’d taken there – the soap and shampoo and handkerchiefs, the pillow and the coverlet. They would all
think that Clover had stolen them too!

  I ran out of the room and, while poor Clover was being led away and Mr Hodgson sent for, I ran up the stairs, along the corridor, up the narrow servants’ stairs, and straight to the tiny junk room. I seized the coverlet, threw the little trinkets onto it, and bundled it up – and there, lying on the threadbare sheet, was the sapphire brooch.

  I stood still, the blood drumming in my ears. Oh, Clover, Clover, Clover! How could she? But perhaps I couldn’t blame her. We had so much and she had so little. Was it really such a dreadful thing to do?

  Thou shalt not steal.

  I didn’t care what the Bible said! I wasn’t going to let them send for a policeman and drag poor Clover off to prison. I had to protect her.

  I snatched up the brooch, then ran down the back stairs clutching the blanket, thrust it into my wardrobe, and then opened my hand.

  I knew that Mama wouldn’t rest until she had her brooch back. It was no use hiding it.

  I ran down the stairs so quickly that I slipped and landed in a heap at the bottom, jarring my spine. It hurt horribly, but I picked myself up and hurried into the drawing room.

  ‘Look!’ I said breathlessly, holding the brooch out in the palm of my hand.

  There were general exclamations from everyone.

  ‘My brooch!’ Mama exclaimed. ‘Where did you get it, Rose?’

  ‘From your room!’ I said. ‘I went to have another look because I couldn’t bear you thinking that Clover had stolen it. And she didn’t! It was there all the time.’

  ‘I checked your jewellery box three times, madam – you saw me yourself,’ Edie declared.

  ‘And I swept that floor thoroughly, I swear I did,’ said Maggie, coming back into the room, hauling Clover with her.

  ‘The brooch was right in the corner, behind the long curtains,’ I said, lying fluently. ‘It must have rolled there while the children were playing. You see, Clover didn’t steal the wretched brooch. We should all apologize to her!’

  We all stared at Clover. She was deathly pale and shaking, her eyes bright with tears.

  ‘I’ll do no such thing,’ said Mama. ‘She should be punished for allowing the children to play with my jewellery. See to it, Nurse! And one more transgression and I will dismiss you, girl, do you understand?’