Rose Rivers Read online

  I felt as if I were under a spell too, though I didn’t have a web to spin. Whenever there was a knock at the door I ran down to see if Paris had come back from his holiday. I told myself not to be ridiculous, and next time the doorbell rang and Edie’s boots tapped across the hall tiles to the front door I stayed where I was. I heard Papa’s deep voice.

  Algie heard him too. He came flying down the banisters and landed with a thud. Clarrie thumped down the stairs after him, with Sebastian scurrying behind. Papa often comes home with a bag of sweets in his pocket so they always greet him eagerly.

  I leaned forward to peer down into the hall, nearly falling off the window seat, and realized that Papa had brought a little girl home with him. I couldn’t see her properly, but she looked like a street child, though she was wearing clean, neat clothes. Did he want to sketch her for Miss Smith’s book?

  I could hear Algie showing off, Clarrie giggling, Sebastian murmuring shyly. Alphonse was yapping in the drawing room, sensing a stranger, but Mama failed to put in an appearance. Upstairs, Beth was silent, while Phoebe babbled at Nurse. I stayed on the window seat, feeling too wretched to greet Papa and his small guest.

  A few minutes later he came up the stairs, looking rather flushed. ‘Hello, Rose darling,’ he said, coat swinging, scarf dangling. ‘Are you drawing?’

  ‘Reading Tennyson,’ I said.

  ‘Good for you! But I hope you’ve not abandoned your drawing just because Paris isn’t around at the moment.’

  ‘You really don’t know where he is?’

  ‘I haven’t a clue, my dear. Your mama is most put out. But I dare say he’ll be back soon.’

  ‘Do you really think so, Papa?’

  ‘Of course. He wouldn’t leave the portrait unfinished. And he hasn’t been paid!’

  ‘Do you think that’s the only reason he comes here – just to make some money?’ I asked.

  ‘Well, a chap’s got to eat, darling. I’ve sometimes spent weeks painting the most terrible bores simply for a pocketful of chink.’

  ‘So he thinks we’re terrible bores?’ I asked, my voice wobbling.

  ‘No, of course not! He says he loves coming here. I’m sure he enjoys painting your mama. She’s still a very beautiful woman. I don’t think my portraits have ever done her justice. And he finds you children fun.’

  ‘So he thinks I’m “fun”,’ I murmured, wondering how one small word could be so humiliating.

  ‘Yes! And talented and lively and gifted,’ said Papa, tweaking my nose.

  Did Paris really call me talented and lively and gifted? Maybe Papa was just saying that to make me feel better. But perhaps he really did say it.

  ‘Oh dear, I didn’t hurt your nose, did I? It’s gone very pink. In fact, your whole face is pink, my love. Are you blushing?’

  ‘Of course not! You’re actually rather flushed yourself, Papa.’

  ‘That’s because I’ve been having an adventure!’

  ‘An adventure?’

  ‘A real one, involving hiding behind doors and a sudden dash for freedom, pursued by a wicked witch of a stepmother! I’ve rescued a child from Miss Smith’s Home for Destitute Girls!’ said Papa.

  ‘You’ve rescued her? But I thought that was what Miss Smith did. Aren’t you going to take the child back?’ I asked.

  ‘I can’t, because the mad woman is pursuing her. The child had to make a run for it. I couldn’t let her roam the streets by herself – she’s only a scrap of a thing. She’s that dear little child I met at the doll-maker’s. Such a fetching girl, with a mass of black hair and a tiny pinched face that’s already seen too much sorrow in her short life. I had to bring her back here, didn’t I?’ Papa’s voice wavered.

  ‘Yes, of course, Papa,’ I said. I thought he’d behaved admirably, and felt a sudden rush of love for him. It was wonderful to have such a gallant, impulsive father – but I couldn’t help wondering what on earth Mama was going to say.

  I glanced up in the direction of the drawing room.

  ‘I think your mama is resting, Rose. I didn’t want to disturb her. I thought I’d introduce her to my little waif later, when she is feeling refreshed,’ said Papa.

  ‘Oh, Papa!’ He was bold enough to rescue a child from the streets and yet too cowardly to tell his wife what he’d done.

  ‘What will you do if Mama says this child has to go back where she came from?’ I asked.

  ‘She won’t do any such thing. I’m sure she’ll be delighted,’ said Papa, clearly trying to convince himself. ‘The child will be a delightful addition to the household. I’m going to employ her as a little nurserymaid.’

  ‘Oh, Papa, you’re going to get rid of Nurse Budd!’ I said excitedly.

  ‘No, no, I couldn’t possibly expect one small girl to handle Beth all by herself.’

  ‘Surely you’re not going to send Nurse away?’ I asked, shocked. ‘I know she’s getting old and struggles a bit, but what would she do without us?’

  ‘I wouldn’t dream of sending Nurse away! Nurse is part of our family, and always will be,’ said Papa firmly. ‘No, I’ve employed the child to help Nurse, as she gets so tired nowadays. She will be very grateful.’

  I stared at him. He didn’t seem to understand the womenfolk in his household at all.

  ‘I’m sure it will all work out splendidly,’ he went on. ‘Anyway, I must go and apply myself to my drawing. Fighting dragon stepmothers and rescuing tiny damsels in distress has been very time-consuming. I need to get on with some work!’ He blew me a kiss and then scuttled on up the stairs.

  I was keen to meet this poor little destitute child. She was still down in the hall with Algie and Clarrie and Sebastian. They were dancing around her, fascinated, and she was telling them that she had magic powers.

  I looked at her curiously. She really was little, the same size as Sebastian, but you could tell by her pale, careworn face that she was older. She had an incredible tangle of dark hair, and she was wearing an institutional blue frock that was much too big for her, and strange soft felt boots, but she looked very pleasing all the same.

  ‘Are you saying you’re a witch?’ I asked.

  ‘I could be,’ she said, chin up. ‘And you could be Beth and have a doll called Marigold.’

  I laughed. ‘You’re not a very clever witch then. I’m not Beth. She’s in the nursery, tucked up on the chaise longue because she’s not very well. I’m Rose and I’m too old for dolls. Who on earth are you?’ I asked her.

  ‘I’m Clover,’ she said. She was looking at my book, trying to read the words upside down. I saw her lips moving, spelling out The Lady of Shalott.

  ‘Do you like poetry?’ I asked.

  ‘Maids don’t read poetry!’ said Algie rudely. He grabbed my book and wrinkled his nose at all the verses. He doesn’t read poetry either. ‘Papa says she’s our new nurserymaid. We don’t want one, do we?’

  ‘Algie!’ said Sebastian. ‘You’ll hurt her feelings.’

  ‘I do like poetry,’ said Clover indignantly. She took my Tennyson from Algie and held it carefully, fingering the fine leather binding. It was clear that she liked books and knew how to handle them. She had spirit, and argued fiercely, just like one of us.

  ‘Can you do magic tricks if you’re a witch?’ Clarrie asked. ‘Can you magic more sweets?’

  ‘Nurse isn’t going to want her either,’ Algie said.

  ‘Oh, bother Nurse,’ I said.

  Clover swallowed hard. ‘I’d better go and introduce myself to her,’ she said.

  She was going to get a frosty reception, I thought. I felt sorry for her. It must be so bewildering to fetch up in this house, dealing with difficult children and hostile staff. She still had Mama to contend with. Papa had abandoned her. I decided I was going to take care of her now.

  ‘In a minute,’ I said. ‘Come to my room first. I’ll show you my books. Come on, Clover. Not the rest of you though. You’ve all got sticky hands. Go and wash!’

  As I took Clover’s hand, I fel