Clover Moon

by Jacqueline Wilson

  ‘That’s one of Mr Rivers’s drawings!’ I exclaimed.

  ‘You are absolutely right! So how do you know that? You can’t possibly read his signature from the doorway,’ said Miss Smith.

  ‘I know just how he draws! Mr Rivers came down Cripps Alley and drew all of us. He drew my sister! My little sister, who’s only just died. I’d give the whole world to see that drawing again, it was so like her!’ I said. ‘I miss her so.’

  I had to use the already damp lace handkerchief again. Miss Smith shut the door to her inner sanctum, guided me to a chair, sat me down and waited quietly until I’d finished weeping.

  ‘There now,’ she said. ‘If you’re going to carry on crying I’m going to need a handkerchief as big as a sheet to cope with your tears.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I mumbled, sniffing.

  ‘I understand how distressing it must be to lose your sister. My own sister is very dear to me. I am pleased that Miss Ainsley is allowing you to wear your beautiful mourning dress for a while. It was very kind of her because we have strict rules that all girls must wear uniform while they are here. But I don’t think you are repaying poor Miss Ainsley with polite and grateful behaviour!’

  I sniffed again and bent my head.

  ‘I hope that’s a sign of remorse,’ Miss Smith said. ‘Poor Miss Ainsley. She is very shocked. She is such a good woman and she tries her hardest to help all the girls who come here, but she has declared you one of the most challenging she has encountered so far. She is worried that you might be a bad influence on the others.’

  My head shot upwards. ‘That’s so unfair! I have been a positively good influence on Jane – just ask Sissy!’

  ‘Yes, I know. Sissy says you have a very calming effect on poor Jane. She says you have a remarkable way with the little ones. I’m sure you’ll prove a very capable assistant for her. But first you must learn to get on with poor Miss Ainsley,’ said Miss Smith.

  ‘I tried! I put up my hand whenever I spoke to her. I kept saying her name, even though she obviously knows her own name so it seems pointless,’ I said.

  ‘Miss Ainsley is simply trying to teach you normal classroom etiquette. All the girls have to learn how to conduct themselves when they come here. Now tell me, did you really say to Miss Ainsley that our dear Lord Jesus was’ – she lowered her voice to a whisper – ‘a witch?’

  ‘Well, she kept telling us about these miracles and said it was like magic and so I thought he might have been. I didn’t realize she’d get so upset,’ I said.

  ‘You truly didn’t intend to be blasphemous?’

  ‘No. Well, I don’t actually know what blasphe-thingy is,’ I admitted, shame-faced.

  ‘It’s not a crime to be ignorant, Clover. You’re clearly intelligent and articulate, and your writing skills are exemplary. I’ve just been looking at your test downstairs. But you have a great deal to learn about Our Lord. I suggest you pay attention in Bible Study and stay humbly silent while absorbing new knowledge.’ Miss Smith looked at me. ‘Clover?’

  I sat still.

  ‘Clover, are you listening to me?’

  ‘Yes, Miss Smith. But I’m practising being humbly silent,’ I replied.

  Miss Smith stared at me and then smiled, shaking her head. ‘I have no idea whether you are being obedient or impertinent, but I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. However, I do know that you drew a very unkind caricature of poor Miss Ainsley in your notebook and it upset her very much.’

  ‘I didn’t mean to upset her. It was a good portrait, very like,’ I insisted.

  ‘Oh, come, Clover. Miss Ainsley told me you portrayed her as a mouse!’

  ‘But it was a fully-clothed, very sweet little mouse, simply with Miss Ainsley’s features,’ I insisted. ‘I thought she might find it amusing.’

  I hadn’t thought any such thing, I’d only been intent an amusing myself, but I didn’t like Miss Smith being severe with me. She was frowning now, and her look made me wriggle on my chair.

  ‘Yes, well may you squirm, Clover. You know perfectly well that it’s unkind to mock someone’s appearance. Miss Ainsley is very sensitive about the fact that she’s short in stature.’

  ‘I didn’t mean to mock her. I hate it when folk are teased because of the way they look. My dearest friend Mr Dolly has a very crooked back and I can’t bear it when people call him names. And Jimmy Wheels is my other good friend, and his legs don’t work properly so he has to shunt himself around on a board with wheels – that’s how he got his name – and the children in our alley used to torment him, but I soon put a stop to that,’ I said.

  ‘Well, I’m glad to hear it, Clover. I can see that you are a good kind girl at heart. You remind me of another tempestuous child I’ve taken under my wing,’ said Miss Smith.

  ‘A child here?’ I asked, wondering if there might be another girl in the dormitory who could possibly turn out to be a friend.

  ‘No, no, she lives in another institution but I visit her from time to time. I take her out to tea occasionally. Her name is Hetty. I think you’ll like her. Shall we make a special bargain, Clover? If you apologize profusely to Miss Ainsley, work diligently at Bible Study, help Sissy with the little ones and do your best to get along with the girls in your dormitory, I will invite you out to tea too. Is that a deal?’ asked Miss Smith. She held out her hand for us to shake on it.

  My arm wavered. My fist was clenched.

  ‘Oh dear! You’re clearly hesitating,’ she said.

  ‘Could I possibly beg an extra favour?’ I asked.

  ‘It depends what it is.’

  ‘Can I have a peep at Mr Rivers’s picture in your secret study every now and then? I know it’s not a sketch of Megs, but it reminds me of her, and the way we all played together in the alley,’ I said.

  ‘Of course you may come and look at it whenever you feel the need,’ said Miss Smith. ‘Now, I dare say the other girls are having their mid-morning break. You’d better run and join them.’

  I still hesitated. I didn’t know how to thank her. When Mr Dolly had been especially kind to me I’d kissed him on the cheek, but I could see that this was out of the question with Miss Smith. Instead I bobbed her a clumsy curtsy and then made for the door.

  ‘Clover?’ said Miss Smith as I was on my way out. ‘One last thing!’

  ‘Yes, Miss Smith?’

  ‘If you were naughty enough to do a caricature of me, which animal would you choose?’

  I looked at her long white locks, her big brown eyes, her long nose, her large stature. I thought of Mick the Milk with his cart and his faithful friend Daisy, who snickered softly whenever any child offered her a stump of carrot.

  ‘I think I’d draw you as a big white horse,’ I said.

  ‘Clover Moon! You’re incorrigible!’ Miss Smith exclaimed, but when I closed her door I heard her laughing.

  I didn’t wish to join the other girls at their play. I crept into the dormitory, went to my cupboard and felt carefully for Anne Boleyn, unwrapping the shawl and then tipping her gently out of the pillowcase on to my bed. She was as bright and perfect as ever, even after her hazardous adventures.

  I held her close, stroking her smooth head, then shaking my own hair forward so that it looked as if she’d suddenly grown long black hair.

  ‘Oh my! Do you think it suits you, Anne Boleyn?’ I asked.

  She tossed her head from side to side, considering, then told me she thought it would be too much trouble having to brush it every day.

  ‘You’re absolutely right,’ I said. ‘Perhaps I’ll cut off all my hair and then I won’t have to brush mine either.’

  I thought of poor little Pammy, whose brutal father had cut off her hair.

  ‘Do you think I’ll ever make friends with Pammy, or will she always shrink away from me?’ I asked Anne Boleyn.

  She said I would definitely become her friend but it would take time – Pammy’s heart wasn’t easily won because she was sad.

  ‘You’re very wise,
Anne Boleyn. Much wiser than me,’ I said.

  Anne Boleyn smiled graciously.

  ‘Do you think I’ll ever make friends with all the girls in this dormitory?’ I asked.

  Anne Boleyn swivelled in my hand, looking at each and every bed. Her little painted eyebrows seemed to twitch when she looked at Mary-Ann’s bed. She said that I would become friendly with most of the girls, possibly even Julia, but she very much doubted I would ever wish to be friends with Mary-Ann.

  ‘You’re the wisest little doll in the world!’ I said, delighted with her. ‘Can I ask you another question?’

  Anne Boleyn lay down on my bed saying she was rather fatigued and needed a little rest.

  ‘Just one more. It’s the most important. Miss Smith has made a bargain with me. I’ve got to be good and work hard and not annoy that tedious Miss Ainsley, and if I do all this, she’ll take me out to tea. Do you think I should keep the bargain – or run away again? I don’t really like it here but I can’t think of anywhere else to go. I don’t want to wander the streets. I can’t think of any way to earn my living. I definitely don’t want to be a crossing sweeper. I’d like to be a dancer like Thelma, no matter what Miss Ainsley thinks of her, but I’m too small and thin. So what should I do, Anne Boleyn?’

  She thought for a long while and then asked what kind of tea.

  ‘What kind of tea?’

  She wondered whether Miss Smith might treat me to a plate of buns – iced buns, currant buns, jam buns, cream buns, buns of every shape and variety – all the buns I could ever wish for.

  I laughed. ‘All right, Anne Boleyn. I’ll keep my side of the bargain for a month and we’ll see if the buns are worth it. Though it will be a struggle being good, when half the time I have no idea I’m actually being bad.’

  But I did my best. When I heard the bell ring I went back to the classroom and swept Miss Ainsley a proper curtsy.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Miss Ainsley. I’m very foolish and ignorant and don’t know how to behave in school, but I shall try my best to be a dutiful pupil from now on,’ I said, trying to sound as sincere as possible.

  I didn’t convince my fellow pupils. Mary-Ann and Julia groaned, mocking me, but Miss Ainsley looked at me earnestly.

  ‘I say unto you, that likewise joy shall be in Heaven over one sinner that repenteth, more than over ninety and nine just persons, which need no repentance,’ she said. ‘It’s a quote from the Bible, Clover. Our dear Lord of Forgiveness spoke truly and beautifully so I shall try to follow his example.’

  I didn’t know how to reply, so I curtsied again and went to my desk.

  ‘You creeping toad,’ Mary-Ann whispered.

  ‘Don’t remind me of toads,’ I whispered back, miming toads spilling out of my mouth and then pointing at her meaningfully.

  ‘I don’t believe your witchy nonsense,’ she said, and she reached out with her boot and kicked at my stool.

  She took me unawares, so that I tumbled off it. I leaped back immediately, worried that I would be in trouble yet again – but Miss Ainsley had been watching.

  ‘Mary-Ann! I saw that! Poor Clover, she could really have hurt herself, taking a tumble like that. How could you be so unkind when she’s trying so hard to make amends for her behaviour? That’s not like you at all!’ she said reproachfully.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Miss Ainsley,’ said Mary-Ann, scowling. ‘I didn’t mean to. My foot just jerked all by itself. Please forgive me.’

  ‘Very well, dear. But take care you don’t do it again,’ said Miss Ainsley.

  I turned round. ‘Now who’s a creeping toad!’ I mouthed.

  It was clear that Mary-Ann and I were always going to be enemies. However, I did my best to make friends with the other girls. It was hard work because they were all Mary-Ann’s little followers, but whenever she went off arm in arm with Julia I made myself agreeable to the others. I drew them caricatures and sang some of Peg-leg Jack’s saucy sea shanties. They laughed and tried to draw too and learned the rude choruses, but whenever Mary-Ann and Julia strolled into the sitting room they shut their mouths and shunned me all over again.

  Then one day Sissy asked me if I could possibly look after the little ones for the afternoon because Cook had cut her hand badly and needed her help making pastry for the pies for supper. I was happy enough to oblige and miss my session of Needlework, which I hated.

  I was supposed to be supervising the little girls’ sewing. They were each assigned a square of canvas, a skein of wool and a fat needle. They were supposed to work rows of cross-stitch, but they were all fingers and thumbs, and Jane kept trying to poke the others with her needle.

  ‘No wonder this is called cross-stitch,’ I said. ‘Let’s do something else instead. Something that we’d all do.’

  ‘I’d like to make the pies for supper!’ said Moira, who was very round and keen on her food.

  I thought about taking four little girls to the kitchen. They’d get in Sissy’s way and make a terrible mess and I couldn’t trust Jane near any of Cook’s knives.

  Could we pretend to make pies? I’d once stolen some flour from Mildred and mixed it into dough so that Megs and I could make pretend biscuits. I’d given one to Mr Dolly and he’d shown me how to make dough angels with wings and little wiggly curls. He’d taken them to be baked in the big oven at the cake shop, and then he’d painted them and hung them in his shop as decoration.

  ‘Wait here a minute and be as good as gold or we’ll all be in trouble,’ I said. ‘Do you hear me, Jane?’

  ‘Tinkle tinkle,’ said Jane.

  ‘No – no tinkling in here! I’m just going to charge to the kitchen and back,’ I said. ‘Be good and I’ll sneak you a handful of raisins.’

  Sissy was whirling around the kitchen, Cook’s big apron round her waist, rushing from larder to work table and back again.

  ‘Sissy, I wonder if I could possibly—?’

  ‘Oh, Clover, I’m in a terrible flap, dear. Could it wait? Why aren’t you with the little ones? They’re all right, aren’t they?’

  ‘They’re fine, it’s just that I wanted . . .’ I looked meaningfully at the larder.

  ‘Take whatever you want,’ said Sissy, barely listening as she frantically rubbed lard into flour in an enormous bowl.

  I took a small bowl, a few ounces of flour in a bag and a handful of raisins and then bolted for the door, knowing that Sissy wouldn’t approve if she knew what I was planning. But I thought it would be such fun for the children, and good for them to do something different.

  I ran back to the nursery room, clutching my stolen goodies. On the way I saw two big girls carrying Mary-Ann to our dormitory.

  ‘What’s up with Mary-Ann?’ I asked.

  ‘She just fell over. She does that sometimes,’ one girl said, rather vaguely. ‘She needs to sleep now.’

  Back home Mildred had often pushed me over deliberately, but I never needed to go to bed afterwards. I was pretty sure Mary-Ann was making a fuss about nothing. Perhaps she hated sewing as much as I did, and this was a clever ruse to avoid it. She’d probably spend the rest of the afternoon sitting in bed brushing her famous hair. I worried that, alone in the dormitory, she might get bored and start making mischief. I didn’t want a soaking bed again. And what if she went poking in my bedside cupboard? What if she pulled out my pillowcase and discovered Anne Boleyn? What if she tried to hurt her? She could tear her dress! She could snap off her tiny wooden fingers! She could pull her legs out of their wooden sockets! She could saw right through her thin wooden neck with a kitchen knife, re-enacting her Tudor beheading.

  I decided to follow her to the dormitory and rescue Anne Boleyn, but one of the big girls barred the door.

  ‘Off you go!’ she said, shooing me.

  ‘But I need something from my cupboard!’

  ‘You’ll have to do without. Mary-Ann needs peace and quiet,’ she said.

  I had to give up and return to the little girls. I could hear them clamouring at the end of the corridor,
calling my name imperiously. I sighed and went to the nursery.

  I shared out the raisins one by one, making the girls pretend to be little birds opening their beaks.

  ‘That’s it, all fed,’ I said.

  ‘More!’ Jane demanded.

  ‘No, we’re going to make pastry now.’

  ‘Pies!’ said Moira, clapping her hands.

  ‘No, not boring old pies. We’re going to make little pastry angels! Watch and I’ll show you how!’

  I fashioned one quickly – head, body, wings, little face, curls. Elspeth and Moira marvelled, which was very satisfying. Pammy wouldn’t look. Jane snatched my angel, and then squashed her and cried.

  ‘You don’t need to cry, Jane. You can make your own angel,’ I said, dividing up the rest of the dough and handing a quarter to each little girl. Elspeth and Moira made passable angels, though they were rather round and lumpy – they’d need very strong wings to enable them to fly. I showed Jane six times over how to fashion a head and a body, but she couldn’t get it, and tried to eat the raw dough instead. I had to take it away from her, which made her scream and drum her heels on the floor.

  I decided to let her lie there until she’d calmed down, and tried to get Pammy’s attention instead. She hunched up in a ball and wouldn’t look up at me or down at the dough I’d pressed into her hands.

  ‘Lovely squishy dough,’ I said, trying to make her knead it. ‘And we can make shapes with it, Pammy. Little angels. You know what an angel is, don’t you? I have a sister, Megs. She looks a bit like you. She’s an angel now.’

  Pammy looked vaguely interested for once. She peered around as if looking for Megs.

  ‘No, she’s not here. She got the fever and died so now she’s an angel up in Heaven. She wears a long white dress and flies through the sky with her big feathery wings,’ I said. I flapped my own arms. ‘Yes, she flies like this.’