Rose Rivers

  Beth and Clover were having their lunch with Nurse and the children in the nursery. I had the room to myself. I lay down on the truckle bed and put my hands over my ears, trying to shut out the sound of Paris’s voice waxing lyrical about Miss Wentworth.

  He wasn’t being deliberately cruel. He had no idea how much he was hurting me. None of them seemed to feel the way I did. They didn’t seem to understand what it was to love someone. Grandmama and Grandpapa had been married for forty years and were considered a perfect couple, but I’d never seen them share a single affectionate gesture. Mama and Papa might once have been in love, but they’d seemed on the brink of a shameful separation. Rupert was already carelessly toying with the feelings of every girl he came across. And Paris was just as bad – worse, really, because for all his fancy ways Rupert was still a child, whereas Paris was a grown man and knew what he was doing.

  I heard footsteps coming along the corridor, steady masculine steps. I thought it must be Papa, and sat up quickly, trying to tidy my hair, hoping I didn’t look too dreadful. Poor Papa – first a distraught wife, and now a despairing daughter.

  There was a knock on the door.

  ‘Rose? Is this your room?’

  It wasn’t Papa, it was Paris! I sat still, not knowing whether to answer or not. I didn’t want to talk to him, not now. But when I heard the footsteps start up again, I found myself rushing to the door.

  ‘Yes?’ I said, flinging it open.

  ‘There you are! Are you all right?’ he asked anxiously.

  ‘Yes, I just felt a little faint,’ I said, not wanting to admit I’d been sick because it sounded so childish.

  ‘Perhaps you were drinking wine last night?’ Paris said. ‘I know Rupert had several glasses.’

  ‘Well, I didn’t!’ I said. ‘Rupert might be my twin, but we behave very differently.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I was only teasing you,’ said Paris. ‘Don’t be cross with me, Rose. I’ve got something exciting to tell you!’

  I turned away and went over to the window, staring out at the garden.

  ‘Don’t you want to hear what it is?’ said Paris, coming into the room.

  ‘Not particularly,’ I said, resting my forehead on the cold windowpane.

  ‘It’s about Miss Wentworth, one of Lord Mackay’s guests,’ said Paris.

  ‘I know who she is,’ I mumbled.

  ‘Rose? Are you still feeling faint?’

  ‘Not at all,’ I said, though the garden was a blur.

  ‘Miss Wentworth was telling me all about her life at the Royal Holloway. It sounds as if she’s having a marvellous time,’ said Paris.

  ‘Good for her,’ I said flatly.

  ‘She’s started editing a student paper with a feminine perspective,’ he went on. ‘She showed me the latest issue this morning. You would love it, Rose.’

  ‘I doubt it. I’m not the least bit interested in fashion or crochet patterns or romantic stories,’ I said.

  ‘Not that sort of women’s paper, silly. Miss Wentworth’s paper is satirical, very humorous and political. She’s called it Judy – and she’s had the wit to send a copy to the editor of Punch. Half of literary London is reading it now. Of course, it helps that her father is a well-known newspaper proprietor, and assists her with the distribution, but she’s still done remarkably well to make such a mark,’ Paris said enthusiastically. ‘Rose? Aren’t you interested now?’

  ‘Not really,’ I said, still with my back to him. I tried to sound bored, but I was struggling not to burst into jealous tears.

  ‘Well, I was interested – because I thought it would be a splendid showcase for your work. I had your Christmas card in my pocket, so I showed it to her.’

  I turned round and stared at Paris. ‘You did what?’ I gasped.

  ‘I didn’t think you’d mind. I thought you’d be pleased! Miss Wentworth was tremendously impressed by your wit and style. She wanted to reproduce your card in Judy, but I thought that it was perhaps a little too personal. I didn’t want to get you into trouble with your family! But, anyway, she’d love to see more of your work. Here’s her address.’ He put a scrap of paper on the empty amber cabinet. ‘You will send her some drawings, won’t you, Rose? Promise? I think this is your big chance!’

  How could I have doubted him? He really did care about me after all!

  ‘Oh, Paris!’ I ran towards him, threw my arms round his neck and kissed him.

  He laughed and hugged me back.

  ‘What on earth are you doing?’ Mama was standing in the doorway.

  Paris let go of me, actually pushing me away from him. ‘My dear Mrs Rivers, don’t look so appalled! Rose is just very excited because I am the bearer of good news,’ he said hastily.

  Mama put her hand to her throat, shaking her head. She stared at us, blinking as if she couldn’t quite believe what she’d seen.

  ‘Tell your mama, Rose,’ said Paris. ‘Explain about your drawings!’

  ‘Mama—’ I began, but she wasn’t listening.

  ‘How could you?’ she gasped.

  I didn’t know if she was addressing me or Paris or both of us. She turned and ran off down the corridor, her new navy dress billowing behind her.

  ‘Oh my Lord,’ Paris breathed. ‘I’d better go after her and explain properly.’

  I was left in the amber room, my heart thudding. I couldn’t quite take it in. Everything had happened so quickly. I paced to and fro, my thoughts in a whirl. I stayed there for a long time. I heard the distant hum of voices, Mama’s urgent and high-pitched, but I couldn’t hear what she was saying. Then I heard Papa – and at last he came along the corridor and stood in the doorway. He looked incredibly weary now, and leaned against the door frame for support.

  ‘Oh, Papa, please sit down, you look so dreadful,’ I said, taking his hands and leading him to a chair.

  He kept holding my hands. ‘Dear goodness, I feel dreadful,’ he said. ‘So much has happened. There have been so many shocks. But this last is the worst. I simply can’t believe it. Your mama is in a very nervous state, though she’s made a heroic effort to gain control of herself. She’s exhausted after her sleepless night. I think she must be deluded – but she says she came across you and Paris here in your room. Surely this can’t be true!’

  ‘You must let me explain, Papa. Mr Walker is helping me to get my drawing published! It’s going to be in a college publication. The editor is that red-haired girl at the ball last night, Miss Wentworth. She likes my work, Papa, my comical style.’

  I hoped that he would be impressed, but he was hardly listening.

  ‘Rose, look at me. Please tell me the absolute truth.’ He clasped my hands even more tightly, crushing my fingers. ‘Did you actually invite Paris into your room?’

  ‘No. Well, yes. You see, I suppose I was sulking at first, but when I heard him walking away I called him back,’ I said.

  ‘Surely you have enough sense to realize that a young girl should never invite a strange man into her bedroom!’ Papa said.

  ‘But he’s not strange, he’s Mr Walker, our friend. And this isn’t really my bedroom, it’s just a guest room. I don’t see what all the fuss is about. The door was wide open anyway,’ I said hurriedly.

  ‘Yes. Your mama came up because she was concerned when you left the lunch table so abruptly – she says she saw you and Paris together,’ Papa said. He lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘She says she saw you embracing. Can that be true?’

  ‘Well, yes, I hugged him because I was so happy about my drawing. He showed Miss Wentworth my Christmas card and—’

  ‘Never mind your wretched drawing, Rose,’ Papa said sharply.

  I was so hurt. ‘You don’t care about it, do you, Papa? Just because you think it’s silly scribbling you don’t see that other people might find it amusing and interesting. But wait until it’s published in Judy – do you see, it’s a satirical feminist reply to Punch—’

  ‘Did you kiss, you and Paris?’

  I flinc
hed, hating his tone. ‘Papa, please. I don’t know. Well, yes, I think we did kiss, but why is that so very dreadful?’ I said.

  Papa stared at me. ‘Surely you understand, Rose! Was it just an innocent childish kiss? Please tell me that it meant nothing to you.’

  I struggled. I had always been utterly truthful with Papa, and I wanted to be so now. ‘Well, of course it meant something. I love Mr Walker,’ I admitted.

  ‘You love him as a child?’ Papa asked, looking desperately hopeful. ‘But you’re becoming a young woman now and must never embrace a man like that, even a dear family friend. You’re too young to understand why, but Mama will explain when you’re older.’

  But I already understood. I thought of those alarming depictions of the naked man and woman in Grandpapa’s medical book, the unsettling explanatory text. I felt myself blushing a deep, painful red.

  Papa stared at me and then dropped my hands. ‘You do understand! Your mama is right. I can’t believe it! My own dear little daughter!’ he said brokenly, and he got up and left the room.

  ‘Papa! I haven’t done anything wrong, I promise. Please!’ I ran out after him.

  ‘Go back into your room and shut the door. I can’t bear to look at you,’ he said.

  I did as I was told, trembling now. Papa was treating me as if I’d done something truly shameful – but it hadn’t been like that at all. I hadn’t planned to kiss Paris. I’d just been so overjoyed that he hadn’t cast me aside for Miss Wentworth. He’d talked to her about me, he’d tried to help me, he’d shown he cared about me. I had to make Papa understand. I rehearsed the words in my head, but I couldn’t make them sound convincing, even to myself.

  No one came near me all afternoon. Papa hadn’t locked the door, but I didn’t dare leave the room. I had my books, I had a sketchpad and pen and ink. I would normally have been happy to amuse myself, but now I couldn’t settle to anything. I couldn’t understand why Rupert or the children didn’t come looking for me. Dear goodness, had Mama and Papa forbidden them to approach in case I contaminated them? And why hadn’t Paris come to reassure me and help me explain what had happened?

  I went to the window and looked out. I paced the room. I flung myself down on the truckle bed. I tried the four-poster, though I fancied it still smelled faintly of Nurse Budd’s carbolic soap. I pulled the curtains together so that I could curl up in privacy, but they seemed to close in until I felt I was being smothered in yellow damask. When I flung the curtains wide, the walls themselves seemed nearer, and I wondered if I were going mad.

  Some time later I heard Beth crying, and Clover’s soft voice, but then there was silence. At teatime a maid brought me a glass of milk and a plate of bread and butter. No scone and jam, no cake – but at least they weren’t starving me.

  ‘What’s happening?’ I asked the maid. ‘Are my parents very angry with me? Am I to stay here for the rest of the day?’

  ‘I couldn’t say, miss,’ she said, looking worried. ‘The mistress just said I had to bring this to your room.’

  ‘The mistress? You mean my grandmother?’

  ‘Yes, miss. She says she’ll come to see you presently. I must go now, miss,’ she said, and flew from the room.

  I tried a few sips of milk and a mouthful of bread but couldn’t manage any more, even though I’d had little to eat all day. The thought of seeing Grandmama was terrifying. I had no idea what ‘presently’ meant. In ten minutes? In a couple of hours? Would she slap me the way she’d slapped Mama?

  I clenched my fists. She’d talked about grit. Well, I’d show her I had grit. I wouldn’t howl and flail about the bed like Mama. I’d hold my head high to show her I’d done nothing wrong.

  But when, half an hour later, Grandmama marched into the amber room without even knocking, I felt faint with fear.

  ‘No wonder you look ashamed, Rose Rivers!’ she said, her hands on her hips.

  ‘I’m not ashamed,’ I said defiantly.

  ‘You brazen hussy,’ said Grandmama. ‘That dreadful nurse was right. She told me you’d set your cap at that ne’ er-do-well, and I thought she was just making ludicrous suggestions. I thought your mother was bad enough, having her head turned when she was scarcely seventeen – but now here you are flaunting yourself at a grown man when you’re still a child!’

  ‘I didn’t flaunt,’ I said.

  ‘Inviting that man into your room – my amber room – and behaving like a trollop!’ said Grandmama.

  ‘I didn’t, I truly didn’t!’

  ‘Your mama told me in the strictest confidence that the night you arrived she caught you creeping along the attic corridor towards his room!’ Grandmama whispered, speaking with such hissing emphasis that spittle gathered at the corners of her mouth.

  ‘I wasn’t!’

  ‘So you’re calling your own mother a liar?’ Grandmama asked.

  ‘No, she just misunderstood. I was trying to find Clover,’ I said.

  ‘Clover? The scruffy little nurserymaid? Why on earth would you be looking for her?’

  ‘I was looking for her because she’s my friend.’

  ‘Have you no sense of shame? You want a servant girl for a friend? Dear goodness, I can’t believe I have such a girl for a granddaughter. No wonder your mother was distraught.’

  ‘That’s not fair! She was upset because of Papa and that Louisa Mayhorne, it was nothing to do with me. I haven’t done anything wrong, so why am I being blamed? Ask Mr Walker and he’ll explain everything,’ I cried.

  ‘Lower your voice! How dare you talk to me in such a tone, missy! I wouldn’t waste my breath talking to that degenerate, even if he were here,’ said Grandmama.

  ‘So where is he? Has he gone to Lord Mackay’s?’ I asked anxiously.

  ‘I don’t know and I don’t care. He’s certainly not welcome here. You’re not welcome either, Rose. I can’t believe that my own grandchild could behave in such a sly and disgusting manner. Still, I can hardly send you packing like a servant. So I’m asking you to stay in your room while we think what on earth to do with you,’ said Grandmama, and she left the room.

  I was so angry I kicked the end of the bed, and stubbed my toes painfully, but I didn’t cry. I wouldn’t cry. How dare they treat me like this! How could Grandmama talk to me with such contempt and refuse to listen to my explanations? Did she really believe Nurse Budd? And how could Mama be such a hypocrite, when she had been flirting with Paris herself? What had she been doing creeping around the attic bedrooms? How had she explained that to Grandmama? And did she really love Paris – or did she just want to get back at Papa?

  Worst of all, Papa had said that he couldn’t bear to look at me! I’d seen the way he’d looked at Louisa. I’d seen the way he’d painted her, his infatuation obvious in every stroke of his brush. He’d betrayed Mama. I hadn’t betrayed anyone. I hadn’t done anything bad with Paris anyway.

  Had Paris really gone off and left me? Why hadn’t he made them understand that nothing had happened between us? It was an innocent kiss. Or was it? I couldn’t be sure. It had simply felt wonderful at the time. Even now I didn’t wish it had never have happened.

  There was a cautious knock on the door and someone whispered my name.

  I ran and opened it. ‘Rupert!’

  ‘Ssh! We’ve been told not to go near you – even me! But they’re all having their baths and getting ready for dinner so I thought I’d risk it. What on earth’s been going on, old thing? What exactly have you done?’

  ‘Oh, Rupe!’ I said, and at last I burst into tears.

  I sat on the edge of the truckle bed and Rupert sat beside me, his arm round my shoulders.

  ‘There now. Have a good cry. Then you’d better mop your face and go and say sorry for whatever it is. They’re being very fierce, so you’ll need to look extra penitent. Even Papa refuses to talk about it,’ he said. ‘Come on, spill the beans!’

  ‘I haven’t done anything, Rupe. I just kissed Mr Walker and—’

  ‘You did what?’
>
  ‘Don’t you go all stuffy on me – you told me you kissed Pamela!’

  ‘Yes, but that was different. She’s my age. I can’t believe you had the nerve to kiss Mr Walker. So that’s why he cleared off without saying goodbye to anyone. I just thought he’d had enough of us, especially Mama and her fit of hysterics. But whatever made you do such a thing! I knew you had a pash on him, but I never thought you could be so bold,’ said Rupert.

  ‘It was just a kiss. He’s going to help get my drawings published. I was just so pleased that I threw my arms round his neck.’

  ‘Where were you?’

  ‘In here.’

  ‘You’re incredible! My little twin sister, so stern and studious – and there you are, inviting artists into your room!’

  ‘I didn’t! You’re turning it into something horrid, just like the rest of them. Stop it! I’m not going to become one of your nasty stories. Mama and Papa are making a fuss about me, but what would they say if I told them about you?’ I retorted.

  Rupert sat up straight. He’d gone white. ‘You won’t, will you?’

  ‘No, I won’t tell, I wouldn’t ever, you know I wouldn’t, no matter what they did to me,’ I said, furious that he could think that of me.

  ‘Good old Rose,’ he said. ‘But I wonder what they will do to you? Oh well, at least you’re a girl, so you won’t get beaten. I dare say it will all blow over in a day or two. Only this morning it looked as if Mama and Papa were going to separate, but now they’re united in their shock and horror over you – so you could say that you’ve done them a good turn.’

  ‘Don’t joke about it.’

  ‘I’m just trying to cheer you up, that’s all,’ said Rupert. ‘Oh well, I’d better go. They’ll be furious if they find me here. At the moment I’m everybody’s blue-eyed boy and I’d like to keep it that way.’

  ‘You are such a devious monster, Rupert. I don’t know how you can live with yourself,’ I said.