Rose Rivers

‘Bless the wee lamb,’ said Grandmama.

  ‘Would you like to hold her for a minute, madam?’ Nurse asked politely.

  ‘Good heavens, no! She’ll dribble all over my velvet,’ she exclaimed, as if Nurse were quite mad. ‘You’d best take her up to the nursery. It’s all prepared. Take the little ones too. And poor Beth.’

  Beth was already asleep, her head on the table, and protested irritably when Nurse Budd shook her awake.

  ‘I’ll carry her upstairs,’ said Papa, but Beth struggled when he tried to lift her.

  ‘I think she wants a piggyback,’ said Paris. ‘Here, Beth, up we go. I’ll be your horsy.’

  ‘Horsy!’ said Beth. ‘Horsy, horsy, horsy!’ she cried as Paris galloped out of the room with her on his back. Nurse Budd went marching sternly in their wake, sniffing at such nonsense.

  ‘She likes horses, does she?’ Grandpapa asked. ‘We’ll see if we can find a good steady plodder for her to ride tomorrow. And how about you, Rose? Do you fancy a canter?’

  ‘I’m afraid not, Grandpapa. I don’t care for riding,’ I said quickly.

  I don’t think Beth likes horses. She likes Paris. We are all in his thrall.

  ‘So you’ve taken a shine to this young artist, Jeannie?’ Grandmama asked when the children had been swept upstairs. Rupert and I were treated as token grown-ups and allowed another hour in their company. Rupert was even offered a tot of whisky and water, though I had to make do with raspberry cordial.

  ‘He’s Edward’s friend. He invited him,’ said Mama, her chin in the air. ‘Is that not right, Edward?’

  Papa nodded. He doesn’t say much when we’re at Pennycuik. He isn’t quite himself. Grandpapa and Grandmama are still cool with him. When Mama and Papa first eloped, the family refused to have anything to do with them. They treat Rupert like the real man of the house now, and of course he loves it.

  ‘Mr Walker is practically part of the family,’ said Mama. ‘Such a dear fellow, and so talented.’

  ‘And so poor,’ said Grandmama. ‘His shirt cuffs are frayed and he has a rip in his trousers!’

  ‘Yet he acts the dandy with his drooping purple scarf and his down-at-heel pointed boots,’ said Grandpapa.

  ‘Mr Walker is an artist,’ Mama declared indignantly. ‘Of course he dresses unconventionally.’

  ‘He is also my friend, and I’ll thank you not to talk about him when he’s barely left the room,’ said Papa.

  There was an awkward silence. Rupert and I exchanged glances. Was there going to be a family row already, when we’d only just got here?

  Grandmama quickly changed the subject. She turned to Rupert and started asking him about school. He replied fluently, lying so convincingly I almost believed he really was the golden boy who was everyone’s favourite.

  ‘Was that all lies in there?’ I whispered when we were sent upstairs to bed.

  ‘I was being polite,’ said Rupert. ‘It’s the eleventh commandment. Thou shalt not disturb your relatives unduly, for it will trouble them and have dire consequences for yourself,’ he said. ‘Night, Rose.’

  He sauntered off to the blue room. I followed him and peeped inside. It was one of the best guest rooms, and I’d always longed to sleep there because there was an elaborate blue and white Dutch tulip vase on its own ebonized table. Grandmama always had it filled with flowers. Obviously tulips were in short supply in December, but she had used red poinsettias and they looked wonderful. The bed was splendid too, a four-poster, with midnight-blue velvet curtains.

  By rights Paris should have been given this bedroom, but Grandmama had sent his things up to one of the attic rooms where the servants slept. Mama had protested, but she shrugged her shoulders.

  ‘There’s no option, Jeannie. We’ve got a full house – well, we will tomorrow, when the Lord Provost and his wife and daughter come, plus old Lord and Lady Allingham – and the Jessops if they over-imbibe,’ she explained.

  ‘But Mr Walker could at least have a decent room tonight!’

  ‘Please don’t worry on my behalf, Mrs Rivers. I shall be very happy to sleep in the attics. I’m sure it will be much more comfortable than my garret bed,’ he insisted.

  ‘You poor boy. But don’t fret, once my portrait is shown I’m sure you’ll be the toast of London and all society will come flocking. You will soon find yourself able to afford a beautiful house with a studio,’ said Mama, patting his arm. I wished she wouldn’t clutch him like that, as if they were a couple.

  I feared that Grandmama had put me in the nursery, where Rupert and I had always slept before, but I was in the big amber room – with Nurse Budd and Beth! It’s another beautiful room, with a large display cabinet of amber beads from the Baltic. It has a four-poster bed too, with deep yellow damask curtains. I’d have loved to sleep there by myself – I wouldn’t even have minded sharing it with Beth – but I was appalled at the thought of Nurse Budd sleeping with us. Were we all going to have to squash up together?

  Thank goodness a servant appeared with a truckle bed, indicating that Nurse Budd was to sleep there.

  ‘Nonsense, girl,’ said Nurse Budd. ‘I am not one of the servants. I am a trained nurse. I need a proper bed. I shall sleep in the four-poster, Miss Beth may have the truckle, and Miss Rose will sleep in the nursery with her siblings.’

  The servant looked at her. The Scottish staff are far more inclined to say what they think.

  ‘Oh my, what’s that bleating? You’d think there was a nanny goat in the room! But no, it’s not a goat, it’s a nanny – and, dear goodness, what a fuss she’s making,’ she said to Beth and me. She turned to Nurse Budd. ‘Know your place, and don’t go calling me “girl”, lassie,’ she said, and flounced off.

  Nurse Budd had gone a deep red. ‘I shall report her in the morning. She shall be sacked for insolence! I am not sleeping in a truckle bed,’ she said, and she gave it a kick with her boot.

  ‘Truckle bed,’ Beth said, backing away from it as if it might bite her.

  I ended up sleeping in it. Beth had to sleep in the four-poster with Nurse Budd. That was the worst option. It was horribly embarrassing getting ready for bed together. Nurse Budd undressed herself in bed behind the yellow curtains, but she had no qualms about whipping all Beth’s clothes off and leaving her shivering stark naked before putting her nightdress on over her head. Then she went to her little leather case and gave her a large spoonful of Godfrey’s Cordial.

  ‘Why are you giving her that when she’s already yawning her head off?’ I asked.

  ‘She won’t sleep through the night without it,’ said Nurse Budd. ‘Please leave me to do my job, Miss Rose.’

  Perhaps she took some cordial herself, because five minutes after she’d put the light out she started snoring. Beth snored too, slightly out of time with Nurse Budd. I curled up in my truckle bed and pulled the blankets over my head. Nurse Budd insisted on having the window open for fresh air and the room was freezing.

  I couldn’t get to sleep. I imagined Clover lying awake too, missing our chats. I wondered if I dared go and find her. I waited another half hour or so, and then eased myself out of bed, wrapping one of the blankets around me like a shawl. I tiptoed across the room. Nurse Budd and Beth kept snoring steadily.

  I opened the door, turning the handle very slowly, and then slipped out into the corridor. It was so dark I had to feel my way along until I got to the servants’ stairs.

  I crept up the steep steps to the attics and then paused, wondering where to go next. I didn’t know which room they’d put her in. There were so many. I didn’t dare call Clover’s name in case I woke someone else.

  I listened at each door. I heard loud snoring, someone coughing repeatedly, and someone else muttering – but Clover didn’t snore like that, she didn’t have a constant cough, and the mutterer had a thick Dundee accent.

  I had gone halfway down the long corridor when I suddenly stopped dead. I heard the soft, steady patter of bare feet following me.

  I DIDN’T KNOW wha
t to do. Should I run? Dart into someone’s room? I prickled all over with fear. I was scared it might be Nurse Budd.

  She was bigger and stronger than me. She detested me. She’d threatened me. What might she do to me now, in the pitch dark?

  The footsteps were getting nearer. I turned and, in the darkness, made out a shape. The footsteps stopped. There we were, facing each other.

  I breathed in and smelled cologne.

  ‘Mama?’ I whispered.

  ‘Rose?’

  She came towards me and caught hold of my shoulders. ‘What are you doing here, child?’ she whispered, her breath hot on my face.

  I swallowed. I couldn’t think of a single feasible excuse. ‘What are you doing here, Mama?’ I asked in turn.

  ‘I – I thought I heard someone crying,’ she said.

  ‘Ah, yes, so did I,’ I returned.

  We both stood there silently. I knew she was lying. She knew I was lying.

  ‘Well, evidently they have stopped,’ Mama said at last. ‘Go back to bed at once, Rose.’

  ‘Yes, Mama.’

  ‘I am going back to bed too, of course. Come on.’

  We shuffled along the dark passageway together, blindly feeling our way. Mama was breathing heavily. When at last we were down the stairs and back on the carpet of the first floor, she gave me a push in the small of my back.

  ‘Return to your room this instant, Rose. I won’t have you wandering about the house in the dark. It’s disgraceful behaviour. What might people think?’

  What might people think if they discovered you were out wandering too? I thought it, but I didn’t dare say it.

  I went back to the amber room, scared now that I’d wake Nurse Budd after all, but I heard two sets of snores behind the yellow curtains. I climbed into bed and tucked my feet up into my nightgown. I was shivering so much I made the bed creak.

  I kept thinking about Mama. Had she realized that I was looking for Clover? Why was she up in the attics?

  I wondered about it all night long, turning over and over in my truckle bed, still very cold and uncomfortable. I kept thinking about the warm four-poster, but I’d sooner have slept on a glacier with prowling polar bears than shared it with Nurse Budd.

  I started composing in my head a series of scenes called Rather Than Sleep with Nurse Budd, with a centrepiece of Nurse Budd lying in bed, her eyes gleaming slits, her teeth bared, her hands crossed piously over her nightgown, but her fingers clawed. In each corner I’d put a comic vignette of myself: I’d drown under a waterfall; bake in a desert with a pride of lions circling; writhe on a bed of a thousand knives; lie upon an operating table while a surgeon sawed off my arm.

  I thought of getting up very early and drawing it with my new ink pen. Then I could show my picture to Paris. I’d have to be very careful not to let Mama see.

  What was I going to say to Mama in the morning? I didn’t know how she would react. I felt ill at the thought of seeing her. Perhaps I’d go to the nursery for bread and milk with the little ones, or share the breakfast tray ordered for Nurse Budd and Beth.

  It was painful watching Nurse Budd get Beth washed and dressed for the day. She was quick to attend to her own needs, dressing herself behind the yellow curtains and emerging fully clothed. She had surprisingly long hair, brushing it vigorously until it crackled. She looked softer with it hanging down her back, but as soon as she’d wound it fiercely round and round and pinned it into its daytime bun she lost all hint of girlishness.

  She didn’t grant Beth any such privacy. She didn’t even wake her properly. She just announced, ‘Time to get up, Miss Beth,’ and pulled her out of bed, ignoring her sleepy protests. She yanked off her nightgown, and Beth closed her eyes tight. Perhaps she thought we couldn’t see her if she couldn’t see us. Nurse Budd washed her and forced her into her underwear and a navy woollen dress, with a crossover tartan wrap wound about her narrow chest. Beth scratched at her arms and fidgeted, reaching out towards the washstand.

  ‘In a minute, Miss Beth. Just let me get your hair done,’ said Nurse Budd.

  She started brushing her hair with such force that she jerked Beth’s head.

  ‘Can’t you do it more gently? You’re hurting her!’ I protested.

  ‘I have to get all the tangles out. You could do with brushing your hair properly yourself, Miss Rose. I always get a lovely shine on Miss Beth’s,’ said Nurse Budd.

  She brushed and brushed, while Beth started whimpering, her gaze still fixed on the washstand.

  ‘What is it then? You’ve had your wash,’ said Nurse Budd. Her eyes were gleaming, and I realized that she was playing a nasty game with Beth.

  Beth grunted and pointed. There was nothing there, apart from the soap and flannel – and the medical case containing the black bottle of Godfrey’s Cordial.

  ‘Oh! Is that what you want?’

  ‘Want!’ said Beth urgently. She started trembling as Nurse Budd made a performance of unlocking the medical case, taking out the bottle of cordial, uncorking it and pouring a large spoonful.

  ‘Careful now, Miss Beth. No spilling on your pretty frock,’ said Nurse Budd, holding it above Beth’s head, out of reach.

  Beth did her best to control herself, whimpering.

  ‘Easy now. Swallow it down in one go,’ said Nurse Budd, holding the spoon to her lips.

  Beth sucked it clean and then grunted pleadingly.

  ‘Very well, my dear. Just one more spoonful.’

  I hated seeing Beth beg like this.

  ‘Isn’t that too much?’ I said. ‘It says just a teaspoon.’

  Nurse Budd rolled her eyes at me. ‘It’s completely harmless.’

  Soon the maid appeared at the door with the breakfast tray and, while Nurse Budd was lifting each silver cover, I held the bottle of Godfrey’s Cordial up to the light. It was still almost full, and I felt reassured.

  ‘Perhaps I shall take breakfast here too,’ I said as Nurse Budd started setting out the plates and cutlery on a side table.

  ‘There’s not enough for three,’ she said, which was ridiculous, because Grandmama’s provisions were always lavish and there seemed enough porridge and scrambled eggs and bacon to feed five families.

  ‘Enough for three,’ Beth repeated, dragging Marigold to the table with her, and sitting her on a little stool.

  I could have gone without breakfast, but the food smelled so delicious. Resolutely I set off down to the dining room. It was a great relief to be joined by Rupert on the stairs.

  ‘You look as pale as a ghost, Rose,’ he said. ‘Didn’t you sleep well? I always sleep like a top at Grandmama’s.’

  ‘I’m sure I’d sleep wonderfully if I had the blue room all to myself,’ I said sourly. ‘It’s so unfair. Why should I have to share with Nurse Budd and Beth?’

  ‘Well, you can hardly expect me to take your place, old girl,’ said Rupert. ‘Come on, cheer up. Grandpapa is taking me riding this morning. I dare say he’ll get a pony saddled up for you too. One with spirit, as you’re such a natural horsewoman. Pamela has told me how much you love riding.’

  ‘Stop being so mean.’

  ‘I’m only teasing. No need to take it to heart. What is it, Rosie? What’s the matter?’ Rupert stood there looking at me.

  ‘I don’t know. Well, last night I crept upstairs, trying to find Clover—’

  ‘Clover?’

  ‘When we’re at home I often go to her room. We talk long into the night,’ I said.

  ‘There’d have been a real to-do if you’d been caught. Mama would be outraged if she knew,’ said Rupert.

  ‘Perhaps she suspects.’

  ‘Strewth! She caught you on the stairs?’

  ‘No, right up in the attics. She was creeping around in the dark too. We gave each other a terrible fright.’

  ‘Good Lord!’ said Rupert. ‘Mama was creeping about up there after we’d all gone to bed? Was she in her nightgown?’

  ‘Yes, I think so. I couldn’t really see, but it was abou
t two in the morning.’

  ‘What did she say she was doing there?’

  ‘She said she thought she’d heard someone crying. I suppose she might have. Clover sometimes cries. Only I didn’t hear her last night.’

  ‘As if Mama would care whether little Clover was crying or not,’ said Rupert. He opened his eyes wide. ‘So who else was she looking for up in the attics? Think, Rose!’

  ‘Shut up, Rupert!’

  ‘Well, grow up!’

  We heard footsteps coming down the stairs. We looked round and saw Paris, jaunty and smiling, a blue spotted scarf tied round his neck, as if to match the splashes of blue paint on his black corduroy trousers. We both started guiltily.

  ‘Are you two quarrelling?’ he asked.

  ‘No, of course not,’ I said quickly. ‘Did you hear what we were saying?’

  ‘I heard Rupert telling you to grow up,’ said Paris. ‘Don’t you dare! You’re perfect just the way you are, Miss Rose Rivers,’ he said, and carried on down the stairs.

  ‘You’ve gone crimson!’ said Rupert.

  ‘No I haven’t,’ I insisted, though I could feel my cheeks burning.

  ‘Dear goodness, what’s that chap’s secret? He looks such a scruffy oaf to me, and yet both you and Mama seem to have lost your heads over him.’

  ‘That’s nonsense.’

  ‘Is it? Rose, what were you really doing up in the attics? Were you looking for Clover? Or were you running after Mr Walker too?’

  ‘Don’t be disgusting,’ I said, and I slapped his face hard.

  Then Papa came down the stairs, and put his arm round both of us. ‘Good morning, my twins. My, you’re both very red in the face. Have you been running up and down to work up an appetite? Let’s go and have some breakfast. It’s actually sunny this morning, though freezing cold of course. Paris and I have decided to avoid all the household preparations for the party. We’re going sketching. I thought I’d show him Monifieth – it’s wilder than the Ferry. You should come too, Rose. You might get inspired.’

  ‘Oh, Papa, I’d love to!’ I said, not daring to look at Rupert.

  ‘That’s marvellous, Rose. I was worried you’d become disheartened with your sketching. It’s good to see you so enthusiastic.’ Papa clapped me on the back and ushered us both into the dining room.