Rose Rivers Read online

‘Bless the wee lamb,’ said Grandmama.

  ‘Would you like to hold her for a minute, madam?’ Nurse asked politely.

  ‘Good heavens, no! She’ll dribble all over my velvet,’ she exclaimed, as if Nurse were quite mad. ‘You’d best take her up to the nursery. It’s all prepared. Take the little ones too. And poor Beth.’

  Beth was already asleep, her head on the table, and protested irritably when Nurse Budd shook her awake.

  ‘I’ll carry her upstairs,’ said Papa, but Beth struggled when he tried to lift her.

  ‘I think she wants a piggyback,’ said Paris. ‘Here, Beth, up we go. I’ll be your horsy.’

  ‘Horsy!’ said Beth. ‘Horsy, horsy, horsy!’ she cried as Paris galloped out of the room with her on his back. Nurse Budd went marching sternly in their wake, sniffing at such nonsense.

  ‘She likes horses, does she?’ Grandpapa asked. ‘We’ll see if we can find a good steady plodder for her to ride tomorrow. And how about you, Rose? Do you fancy a canter?’

  ‘I’m afraid not, Grandpapa. I don’t care for riding,’ I said quickly.

  I don’t think Beth likes horses. She likes Paris. We are all in his thrall.

  ‘So you’ve taken a shine to this young artist, Jeannie?’ Grandmama asked when the children had been swept upstairs. Rupert and I were treated as token grown-ups and allowed another hour in their company. Rupert was even offered a tot of whisky and water, though I had to make do with raspberry cordial.

  ‘He’s Edward’s friend. He invited him,’ said Mama, her chin in the air. ‘Is that not right, Edward?’

  Papa nodded. He doesn’t say much when we’re at Pennycuik. He isn’t quite himself. Grandpapa and Grandmama are still cool with him. When Mama and Papa first eloped, the family refused to have anything to do with them. They treat Rupert like the real man of the house now, and of course he loves it.

  ‘Mr Walker is practically part of the family,’ said Mama. ‘Such a dear fellow, and so talented.’

  ‘And so poor,’ said Grandmama. ‘His shirt cuffs are frayed and he has a rip in his trousers!’

  ‘Yet he acts the dandy with his drooping purple scarf and his down-at-heel pointed boots,’ said Grandpapa.

  ‘Mr Walker is an artist,’ Mama declared indignantly. ‘Of course he dresses unconventionally.’

  ‘He is also my friend, and I’ll thank you not to talk about him when he’s barely left the room,’ said Papa.

  There was an awkward silence. Rupert and I exchanged glances. Was there going to be a family row already, when we’d only just got here?

  Grandmama quickly changed the subject. She turned to Rupert and started asking him about school. He replied fluently, lying so convincingly I almost believed he really was the golden boy who was everyone’s favourite.

  ‘Was that all lies in there?’ I whispered when we were sent upstairs to bed.

  ‘I was being polite,’ said Rupert. ‘It’s the eleventh commandment. Thou shalt not disturb your relatives unduly, for it will trouble them and have dire consequences for yourself,’ he said. ‘Night, Rose.’

  He sauntered off to the blue room. I followed him and peeped inside. It was one of the best guest rooms, and I’d always longed to sleep there because there was an elaborate blue and white Dutch tulip vase on its own ebonized table. Grandmama always had it filled with flowers. Obviously tulips were in short supply in December, but she had used red poinsettias and they looked wonderful. The bed was splendid too, a four-poster, with midnight-blue velvet curtains.

  By rights Paris should have been given this bedroom, but Grandmama had sent his things up to one of the attic rooms where the servants slept. Mama had protested, but she shrugged her shoulders.

  ‘There’s no option, Jeannie. We’ve got a full house – well, we will tomorrow, when the Lord Provost and his wife and daughter come, plus old Lord and Lady Allingham – and the Jessops if they over-imbibe,’ she explained.

  ‘But Mr Walker could at least have a decent room tonight!’

  ‘Please don’t worry on my behalf, Mrs Rivers. I shall be very happy to sleep in the attics. I’m sure it will be much more comfortable than my garret bed,’ he insisted.

  ‘You poor boy. But don’t fret, once my portrait is shown I’m sure you’ll be the toast of London and all society will come flocking. You will soon find yourself able to afford a beautiful house with a studio,’ said Mama, patting his arm. I wished she wouldn’t clutch him like that, as if they were a couple.

  I feared that Grandmama had put me in the nursery, where Rupert and I had always slept before, but I was in the big amber room – with Nurse Budd and Beth! It’s another beautiful room, with a large display cabinet of amber beads from the Baltic. It has a four-poster bed too, with deep yellow damask curtains. I’d have loved to sleep there by myself – I wouldn’t even have minded sharing it with Beth – but I was appalled at the thought of Nurse Budd sleeping with us. Were we all going to have to squash up together?

  Thank goodness a servant appeared with a truckle bed, indicating that Nurse Budd was to sleep there.

  ‘Nonsense, girl,’ said Nurse Budd. ‘I am not one of the servants. I am a trained nurse. I need a proper bed. I shall sleep in the four-poster, Miss Beth may have the truckle, and Miss Rose will sleep in the nursery with her siblings.’

  The servant looked at her. The Scottish staff are far more inclined to say what they think.

  ‘Oh my, what’s that bleating? You’d think there was a nanny goat in the room! But no, it’s not a goat, it’s a nanny – and, dear goodness, what a fuss she’s making,’ she said to Beth and me. She turned to Nurse Budd. ‘Know your place, and don’t go calling me “girl”, lassie,’ she said, and flounced off.

  Nurse Budd had gone a deep red. ‘I shall report her in the morning. She shall be sacked for insolence! I am not sleeping in a truckle bed,’ she said, and she gave it a kick with her boot.

  ‘Truckle bed,’ Beth said, backing away from it as if it might bite her.

  I ended up sleeping in it. Beth had to sleep in the four-poster with Nurse Budd. That was the worst option. It was horribly embarrassing getting ready for bed together. Nurse Budd undressed herself in bed behind the yellow curtains, but she had no qualms about whipping all Beth’s clothes off and leaving her shivering stark naked before putting her nightdress on over her head. Then she went to her little leather case and gave her a large spoonful of Godfrey’s Cordial.

  ‘Why are you giving her that when she’s already yawning her head off?’ I asked.

  ‘She won’t sleep through the night without it,’ said Nurse Budd. ‘Please leave me to do my job, Miss Rose.’

  Perhaps she took some cordial herself, because five minutes after she’d put the light out she started snoring. Beth snored too, slightly out of time with Nurse Budd. I curled up in my truckle bed and pulled the blankets over my head. Nurse Budd insisted on having the window open for fresh air and the room was freezing.

  I couldn’t get to sleep. I imagined Clover lying awake too, missing our chats. I wondered if I dared go and find her. I waited another half hour or so, and then eased myself out of bed, wrapping one of the blankets around me like a shawl. I tiptoed across the room. Nurse Budd and Beth kept snoring steadily.

  I opened the door, turning the handle very slowly, and then slipped out into the corridor. It was so dark I had to feel my way along until I got to the servants’ stairs.

  I crept up the steep steps to the attics and then paused, wondering where to go next. I didn’t know which room they’d put her in. There were so many. I didn’t dare call Clover’s name in case I woke someone else.

  I listened at each door. I heard loud snoring, someone coughing repeatedly, and someone else muttering – but Clover didn’t snore like that, she didn’t have a constant cough, and the mutterer had a thick Dundee accent.

  I had gone halfway down the long corridor when I suddenly stopped dead. I heard the soft, steady patter of bare feet following me.

  I DIDN’T KNOW wha