Rose Rivers Read online

  ‘That’s so sweet of you, Rose, but I couldn’t possibly. I’m sure the teatime leftovers are pounced upon by the servants for their own tea,’ Miss Rayner said. ‘I wouldn’t want to deprive little Mary-Jane or Jack.’

  I was surprised she knew their names.

  ‘Oh, we sometimes have little chats on the back stairs. I like children,’ said Miss Rayner.

  ‘Miss Rayner, don’t you think it strange that we Rivers children are nurtured and educated so carefully while Mary-Jane and Jack have to look after us and don’t have any education at all?’ I asked.

  ‘My goodness, Rose, you and your questions! It’s just the way of the world, dear. You were born into a rich family and Jack and Mary-Jane into poor ones.’

  Looking at Miss Rayner’s patched dress and old worn boots, I realized that she was poor too.

  ‘I shall ask Papa if he can pay you a better wage so that you can have more treats – and a warm pair of gloves,’ I said.

  ‘That’s a very kind thought, Rose, but please don’t. I think I’m being paid ample already, especially as I no longer teach Rupert and Beth – and I’m clearly inadequate when it comes to giving you tuition.’

  ‘I think you’re doing a valiant job, Miss Rayner,’ I said, and resolved to be much nicer to her in future.

  I went to ask Cook if she could bake a cake specially for Miss Rayner. She said she didn’t see why she should bake extra, her budget was tight enough already, and it wasn’t as if Miss Rayner was undernourished. She smiled nastily as she said this, and Maggie and Mary-Jane tittered.

  Then I waited impatiently for Algie to return from the afternoon walk. The children had been out for a long time. Nurse was all in a fluster when she brought them back at last. Phoebe was crying because she needed a fresh napkin. Sebastian was crying because some horrid boys had sniggered at his long hair, calling him a girly-boy. Clarrie was limping, complaining that her boots were too tight. And Algie was soaking wet because he’d waded right into the pond to rescue his boat.

  ‘Dear Lordy, what a to-do! There there, baby, Nursie will change you in just a moment. Master Sebastian, don’t take on so, dear – they were just naughty rough boys and I dare say they call everyone names. Miss Clarrie, wait just a few seconds and I’ll take off your boots and rub those poor tootsies, but I must get Master Algie’s wet clothes off him or he’ll catch his death,’ said Nurse. ‘Look at him dripping all over the carpet!’

  ‘He’s a little drip himself,’ I said. ‘Don’t worry about Algie, Nurse. I’ll get his clothes off and find him some dry ones while you attend to the other children,’ I suggested.

  I scooped him under my arm like a rolled-up rug and hauled him along the corridor before he could protest. When we were in the night nursery he started kicking, so I dropped him on his cot and then sat on top of him.

  ‘Kick me once more and I’ll slap you,’ I hissed. ‘I’m so cross with you! How dare you paint my precious Robinson Crusoe!’

  ‘I was trying to make it look nice for you! The pictures were so grey and boring,’ said Algie.

  ‘Well, you’ve absolutely ruined it. And what did you do with my picture?’

  ‘What do you mean, your picture? I haven’t seen any picture.’

  ‘Don’t play the innocent with me, Algie Rivers. What have you done with it?’

  ‘I haven’t done anything,’ he wailed. His teeth were starting to chatter.

  I knew that he was fibbing – but I also knew that he was soaking wet and getting very cold.

  ‘Keep still while I take your clothes off,’ I commanded, unpeeling each of his garments until I was down to his drawers. Then I yanked those off too.

  ‘Stop it! Get off me! Let Nurse do it!’ Algie yelled, struggling to escape.

  ‘I’m doing it.’ I grabbed a towel. ‘Here, I have to get you dry. You really need a bath after being in that stinky pond, but it will take ages to get enough hot water.’ I started rubbing him vigorously.

  ‘Leave off! You’re too rough! You’re hurting!’ Algie protested.

  ‘Stop being such a baby,’ I said. I wasn’t really hurting him, but I didn’t feel like dabbing him gently.

  I was all set for a serious interrogation, but I’m also a responsible sister. I had to get him dry first. It would be just like Algie to take a chill and die and then haunt me for the rest of my days. When at last he was warm and pink, I went to the children’s wardrobe. Algie jumped up on the bed and started leaping around, stark naked.

  ‘For goodness’ sake, Algie, stop it!’ I commanded.

  ‘I’m not Algie. I’m a Whirling Dervish!’ he said, spinning like a top.

  ‘Stop whirling, Mr Dervish, and get dressed,’ I said, bringing an armful of clothes with me and sitting him back on the bed. I’d thought of a devious plan.

  I put a vest and some drawers on him so that he wouldn’t suspect anything too soon, and then I pulled Clarrie’s dress over his head and got all the buttons fastened down the back before he realized that anything was up.

  ‘This shirt feels most peculiar!’ he complained. ‘It’s all tight and itchy.’

  ‘That’s because it’s a dress,’ I said. ‘I’ve decided that you’re such a horrid little boy that I’m turning you into a girl.’

  ‘No! No, stop it! I can’t wear a dress!’ Algie shrieked. ‘I won’t, I won’t!’

  Even as a baby Algie had hated wearing skirts. He couldn’t wait to be dressed as a proper boy. So now he grew frantic, trying to tear off the frock, but his pudgy little fingers couldn’t reach the buttons at the back. Thank goodness they were tightly sewn. ‘Get it off!’ he roared.

  ‘What’s the matter with Master Algie?’ Nurse called from the day nursery, busy with Phoebe.

  ‘Oh, he’s just being silly, Nurse,’ I said, my hand over Algie’s mouth. He did his best to bite my fingers but I hung on determinedly. I put my head close to his and whispered, ‘Now, you’re going to stay a little girl until you give me back my drawing!’

  ‘Haven’t got your silly drawing,’ Algie said indistinctly. ‘Who wants a drawing of stupid old Mr Walker anyway?’

  ‘So you have taken it. Where have you hidden it?’

  ‘I’ve forgotten,’ said Algie. He tried to get the frock off again.

  ‘Algie! I’ll tell Nurse,’ I said.

  ‘I’ll tell Nurse you’re being beastly. And I’ll tell her, you’ve got a silly pash on Mr Walker,’ said Algie. ‘I’ll tell her right now!’

  ‘And I’ll tell her you stole my precious drawing, and she’ll get very angry and she’ll tell Mama, and then she’ll have you whipped,’ I said.

  This wasn’t likely at all. Nurse rarely told tales on us, partly because our behaviour might reflect badly on her. Mama was strict, but we would have had to do something truly dreadful to be whipped. And who was to do the whipping? Papa would refuse outright. He’d never so much as smacked us. Mr Hodgson might be willing, but he was very old and frail now. And surely I’d be the one in trouble for drawing Mr Walker in the first place.

  Luckily Algie didn’t think of this. He just heard the word whip.

  ‘I won’t be whipped! I’ll grab the whip, and then I’ll whip you – lash, lash, lash,’ he said, cracking his imaginary whip.

  I tried to grab him. Unfortunately I caught hold of his borrowed frock, and the silk ripped with a terrible sound, paralysing us both.

  ‘What was that?’ Nurse called sharply.

  ‘Nothing, Nurse!’ I called, wondering how on earth I was going to mend Clarrie’s dress when I was so terrible at needlework. But it was too late anyway.

  Nurse came into the room with a wailing Phoebe on her hip. She saw Algie, red-faced in the torn frock, and smacked him hard across the backs of his legs.

  Algie screamed his head off.

  ‘Now stop that shrieking, Master Algie, I barely touched you,’ said Nurse. ‘How dare you rip Miss Clarrie’s frock! It’s her best silk too – I doubt I’ll be able to mend it without a patch, and then it’ll