Dancing the Charleston Read online

  ‘Thank you, Mr Berner,’ I said politely, and walked out.

  ‘I wish I had some money. They’re such lovely little dolls,’ said Marcella. ‘You can pretend they’re twins.’

  ‘I bought one for you,’ I said, pressing it into her hand.

  ‘Really? Oh, that’s so lovely of you! And it’s not fair at all, because I know you’re very poor – Barbara said.’

  ‘We’re not poor any more, actually,’ I said, stung. ‘Aunty has a special contract with Harrods in London. And I’ve got my very own bank account.’

  ‘I think you’re fibbing,’ said Marcella, cradling her doll in her hand.

  ‘No, truly. I’m not allowed to spend it yet though.’

  ‘I’m not allowed to spend anything. Barbara and Stanley are so stingy. We’ve got hardly any toys. The only person who buys us lovely things at Christmas is Uncle Benjamin. Can we visit all the other shops too?’

  Marcella was interested in them all, but thought Mr Berner’s by far the best. Nigel liked the butcher’s shop, and dragged Marcella inside.

  ‘Oh dear, I’m so sorry,’ she said as he scrabbled eagerly in the sawdust, trying to jump up at the hanging rabbits.

  ‘Come on the scrounge for a bone or two, have you?’ said Mr Samson, looking at me.

  I blushed, but Marcella didn’t understand. ‘Oh, yes please, I think Nigel would love a bone! Thank you very much.’

  Mr Samson shook his head at us, but gave Marcella a parcel of bones, all with quite a lot of meat on them. They would have made Aunty and me a stew to last all week.

  ‘I do like this village,’ said Marcella happily. ‘It’s going to be absolute heaven staying here this summer. We can play together again, can’t we, Mona?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ I said.

  We headed homewards. When we passed the Higginses’ cottage Bertha was still tethered to the pram, but Maggie was indoors, which was a relief. Aunty asked Marcella in for a cup of tea. ‘But hang on tight to Nigel. I’ve got a kitten,’ I said proudly.

  ‘Oh, you lucky thing!’ said Marcella. ‘Please let me see it, I simply love kittens.’

  We left Nigel in Aunty’s care while I took Marcella up to my bedroom. Aunty didn’t look very thrilled about it, but didn’t object.

  Sixpence was curled up dozing in the middle of my pillow.

  ‘Oh, she’s adorable!’ said Marcella. ‘I’d swap Nigel for her any day of the week.’

  Sixpence yawned and stretched and purred, delighted to have company. We played with her until Aunty called to say the tea was ready. We went running down. Aunty had set the good china out neatly and opened a packet of Petit Beurre biscuits too, laying them in a little fan on the best bluebird plate.

  ‘What lovely dainty biscuits,’ said Marcella. ‘Oh, they’ve got French writing on them. It says they’re “little butter” biscuits!’

  I hadn’t known that petit beurre meant ‘little butter’. I don’t think Aunty knew either, but we both nodded. A cup of tea and a biscuit was hardly a feast, but Marcella was very complimentary.

  ‘It’s such fun eating in your kitchen,’ she said.

  ‘We don’t have a parlour because Aunty has a special workroom,’ I explained.

  ‘Can I see it?’ Marcella asked.

  Aunty hesitated, looking doubtfully at Nigel. She was worried he’d jump up at the clothes hanging neatly from their racks.

  We left him tied to the kitchen table leg while Aunty led Marcella into her workroom. I watched from the doorway as she wandered around, staring at all the dresses. She looked awed, as if she was tiptoeing around a church. She asked questions in a whisper, examining the tiny stiches, the lace collars, the embroidery.

  ‘Do you always make your dresses in very small sizes, Miss Watson?’ she wondered.

  ‘I make my dresses in ages two, four and six,’ said Aunty.

  ‘I’m nine,’ said Marcella dolefully.

  Aunty didn’t even hesitate. ‘I’ll make you a dress in your size, if you like, Miss Marcella.’

  ‘Really? But I dare say they’re very expensive. I’m not sure Barbara would want to pay a lot,’ she said.

  ‘I wouldn’t dream of asking for payment,’ said Aunty. ‘I’ll make it as a present.’

  ‘I can’t believe you’d make such a lovely kind offer! I expect I should say no you mustn’t, but I’m going to say yes please!’ said Marcella, clasping her hands against her blue-smocked chest. ‘Oh, I should just die of happiness if I could wear a frock like that.’

  ‘This particular design? With the rainbow smocking?’ Aunty asked.

  ‘Actually, I’d rather not have the smocking – maybe just a plain bodice? I’m rather sick of smocking, though you do it so beautifully. Barbara always makes it pucker unevenly,’ she said, plucking at her own dress.

  ‘I think she does it very well,’ said Aunty, plainly fibbing. ‘Of course, she’s not a trained dressmaker.’

  Marcella blew upwards through her fringe to indicate her agreement. ‘Could the dress be a lot shorter too? This one keeps bunching up around my legs and getting in the way.’

  ‘Of course. Knee length? Maybe just above the knees?’ Aunty suggested.

  ‘Oh yes!’

  ‘Then we’d better include matching knickers.’

  ‘Oh goodness! Look at the ones I’m wearing.’ Marcella hitched up her coarse blue smock to show an ancient pair of white drawers – now an unattractive grey, with a distressing droop. ‘They weren’t even new when Esmeralda had them. They were cut down from a pair of Barbara’s, can you imagine!’ she said.

  I’d have died rather than show off such a pair, but Marcella seemed to be enjoying herself. Aunty clucked sympathetically and got out her tape measure. ‘I’ll just jot down a few measurements, Miss Marcella, but you seem a pretty standard size to me.’

  ‘How soon do you think you could make my dress, Miss Watson? By teatime?’ she asked hopefully.

  I knew that this was ridiculous. It would take Aunty much, much longer, and she had all her Harrods orders to get through first. Marcella would be lucky to have her dress made in a week – several weeks.

  ‘Pop back tomorrow teatime, dear, and let’s hope for the best,’ said Aunty.

  ‘Oh, you’re a positive angel,’ said Marcella. She gave Aunty a hug, and to my astonishment Aunty hugged her right back, pink in the face. I felt a strange twinge. She was trying to please Marcella much more than she ever had me.

  Marcella went skipping off, holding up her dress so that she wouldn’t trip over it.

  ‘How on earth will you get her dress ready by tomorrow, Aunty?’ I asked.

  ‘Oh, it won’t be the first time I’ve stayed up all night stitching,’ she said cheerfully.

  ‘I know you did for Lady Somerset, but at least she paid you for it.’

  ‘Goodness, Mona. I thought you’d be thrilled that I was putting myself out for your new friend,’ said Aunty. ‘What’s the matter with you?’

  ‘Nothing’s the matter,’ I said. ‘And I am pleased Marcella wants to be friends. I just don’t see why you’re being so nice to her. You never offered to make Maggie a dress, and she’s been my friend for ages.’

  ‘Well, Maggie!’ said Aunty, in a need-I-say-more kind of way. ‘Marcella’s different. She’s a Somerset.’

  ‘Hello, Mona.’ He’d remembered my name!

  18

  Marcella was thrilled with her new frock. Aunty chose a pale green muslin with a slight silver shimmer. She’d fashioned perfect puffed sleeves, and two pockets edged with darker green lace. There were knickers to match, as promised, and they had green lace too, three layers. Aunty had even cut a satin hair ribbon in the same shade of green.

  ‘Oh, Miss Watson, you’re the most heavenly angel ever!’ said Marcella, dancing around her. ‘I love you to bits!’

  ‘Now, now, Miss Marcella, no need to get carried away,’ said Aunty, but her eyes shone behind her glasses.

  I couldn’t help wondering whether Marcella woul