Clover Moon Read online

20

  I DIDN’T FEEL like the grimy, ragged girl from Cripps Alley any more. I was this new neat Clover who wore a pretty blue frock and taught the nursery girls.

  ‘You’ve blossomed, Clover,’ said Miss Smith when I encountered her on the stairs. ‘I haven’t seen you for a little while. You haven’t needed to come to my office to look at Mr Rivers’s picture recently.’

  ‘I’ve done my own drawing of Megs,’ I admitted shyly.

  ‘I’m sure it’s very like her. You’re talented, dear. But I hope you still admire Mr Rivers’s work?’

  ‘Oh yes, very much!’ I said.

  ‘That’s just as well because he’s coming here later this morning. He’s bringing his portfolio with him, and we’ll be discussing his illustrations for my new book. I thought you might like to say hello to him,’ said Miss Smith.

  ‘Oh, yes please!’ I said eagerly.

  ‘I should show him your sketchbook if I were you. I think you’ll find he’ll be very impressed.’

  ‘Really?’ I said, blushing.

  ‘Run off to your morning classes now. I’ll send for you when Mr Rivers is here,’ she said.

  I skipped off to the classroom. ‘Good morning, Miss Ainsley. I’m sorry I’m a little late,’ I said politely.

  She shook her head at me but didn’t chastise me. I couldn’t say she really liked me any better and I didn’t care for her either, but we’d learned how to get along together. I settled down to copying from the board an extremely dull passage about the conduct of young ladies. It was so tedious that we were all soon fidgeting, and Miss Ainsley found it necessary to add at the bottom of the blackboard: Young ladies should never yawn in public or scratch their heads!

  Then we switched to a deadly Arithmetic lesson, adding and subtracting pounds, shilling and pence. I could calculate sums in my head in an instant because I’d been doing the family shopping down the market for years, but writing all the figures in columns muddled me and I had to count on my fingers to check I’d got it right.

  I kept stealing glances at the clock. It was nearly half past eleven. Surely that was ‘later this morning’. Where was Mr Rivers? Was he here already? I waited and waited and waited, watching the thin black hand of the clock creep slowly round to the top. When the two black hands overlapped at exactly twelve noon Miss Ainsley gave us a nod.

  ‘Gather your books together, girls, and go and have your lunch.’

  The morning was over! Perhaps Mr Rivers hadn’t turned up. Or perhaps he’d been to see Miss Smith and was now gone.

  I’d so wanted to show him my sketchbook. Perhaps Miss Smith had suggested it, and he’d said he couldn’t be bothered to peer at a child’s scribbles. No, he wouldn’t be cruel and scornful. He was a lovely kind man. That daughter of his was so lucky, having her father search all over London for the perfect doll. If my pa had all the money in the world I knew he would never take the trouble to buy me a present, even though once I’d been his pet.

  I wondered if he were missing me now. It must be so strange for him to lose two daughters in quick succession. How were Jenny and Richie and Pete and Mary and little Bert? And dear Jimmy Wheels?

  They didn’t seem quite real now, more like characters I’d read about in one of Mr Dolly’s story books.

  ‘Clover? Clover, stop your daydreaming!’ Miss Ainsley gave me a little shake. ‘Did you not hear me, child? You are not to go to luncheon with the other girls as usual. You are to join Miss Smith and her visitor in her office. She’s just sent word.’

  ‘Oh, how wonderful! Thank you, Miss Ainsley!’

  I went flying to the dormitory and saw that Mary-Ann was there, lying on her bed. ‘Oh dear, are you poorly again?’ I whispered.

  ‘No, this time I have a stomach ache,’ she said. ‘It’s a girls’ thing. You’re too little to understand.’

  I understood perfectly. You couldn’t grow up doing the weekly washing in Cripps Alley without knowing.

  ‘Oh well, I hope you feel better soon,’ I said.

  I bent down by my bedside cupboard and took out my pillowcase of special possessions. Mary-Ann was watching me intently. I wasn’t sure what to do. If I simply took my sketchbook and stowed my pillowcase back inside she might just creep over and investigate the contents when I was gone. I’d tried to keep Anne Boleyn a secret from all the girls in my dormitory. I didn’t know if I could trust Mary-Ann now. We weren’t bitter enemies any more, but neither were we bosom friends. If she discovered my doll she might tease me. And then there was my special packet of crayons. Mary-Ann had commented on them sourly, saying she supposed I was Miss Smith’s special pet now. Might she be tempted to try them out herself, deliberately breaking the carefully sharpened points?

  I picked up my pillowcase and took it with me, just to be on the safe side.

  ‘Where on earth are you going with that pillowcase?’ Mary-Ann asked. ‘And why is it all lumpy? What’s it got inside it?’

  ‘It’s just old bedding for the laundry basket,’ I said.

  ‘Aha! It wouldn’t be wet bedding, by any chance?’ she said.

  ‘No, it wouldn’t! It just needs to be changed. It’s your girls’ thing,’ I said, and I clutched the pillowcase and hurried out of the dormitory, running to Miss Smith’s office.

  ‘Ah, Clover dear, come in,’ she said, opening the door. ‘Come and say how do you do to Mr Rivers. I believe you two are old friends.’

  He stood up and held out his hand as if I were a true lady. I dropped a little curtsy and then shook his hand solemnly. Miss Ainsley would have been proud of me for once!

  ‘Sit down, Clover. Bring that chair nearer to my desk. Mr Rivers and I are having a picnic lunch here while we discuss work. Would you like to join us?’ asked Miss Smith.

  ‘Oh yes please!’ I said.

  I knew from the thick smell wafting up the stairs that the girls were having onion soup, my least favourite meal. It reminded me of Mildred, who had served it up frequently.

  Miss Smith, Mr Rivers and I had dainty little pork pies, salmon patties, a selection of cheeses, a bunch of hothouse grapes, a plate of iced sponge cakes and a glass jug of lemon cordial.

  ‘What a feast!’ I said enthusiastically.

  ‘Indeed it is!’ said Mr Rivers, tucking his big spotted handkerchief in over his waistcoat.

  He was looking much smarter, with no paint smears on his jacket or trousers, and properly polished boots. His suit was a maroon cord, his waistcoat a deep midnight blue with a red floral design, and his boots were pointed with silver caps. He looked like a dandy!

  He was eyeing me up and down too. ‘My, my, Clover, I scarcely recognize you! You look ravishing,’ he said.

  ‘I could say the same for you, sir,’ I said.

  I meant to be polite, but it made him burst out laughing. ‘Oh, I have to make a big effort with my appearance when I come to see Miss Smith. She’s a highly influential lady. I need her approval for all my little sketches, or her esteemed publishers won’t pay me a penny!’

  ‘Nonsense,’ said Miss Smith. ‘I’m extremely lucky to have such an important artist prepared to illustrate my humble story books. I’m sure Clover will agree with me. She particularly admires your drawings, Mr Rivers.’

  ‘Yes, Miss Smith says you used to come to look at the sketch in her inner sanctum practically every day when you first came to the home,’ said Mr Rivers. ‘But I expect that was simply for comfort. Miss Smith has explained that you’ve suffered a most terrible loss.’

  I nodded. ‘My sister Megs died,’ I murmured.

  ‘The frail little girl with the big eyes? This one?’ Mr Rivers reached into his large pocket, found his own sketchbook and flicked through the pages. ‘Here.’

  I looked at the picture he showed me. I suddenly couldn’t swallow my mouthful of salmon. I stared at the drawing. I thought I’d caught Megs’s likeness well enough, but this was her true portrait. I’d been such a fool to think I could draw well. My picture of Megs was just a nursery scribble compared to