Miss Happiness and Miss Flower

by Rumer Godden

  ‘She said house,’ said Miss Happiness.

  ‘Like in our wish?’ But Miss Happiness was not at all sure this was like their wish.

  ‘How wonderful,’ whispered Miss Flower. She would have liked to close her eyes and dream but, of course, dolls with fixed eyes cannot do this.

  Belinda knelt down in front of her dolls’ house and swung open the door. ‘It’s a funny kind of house,’ said Miss Happiness. For the first time she had a frightened quiver in her voice.

  To us it would not have been a funny kind of house, but when a Japanese doll says ‘a house’ she means something quite different. Belinda’s dolls’ house was white with gables and a red roof. The front opened, and inside were two rooms downstairs and two rooms upstairs; it had flannel carpets, bits of lace for curtains and was filled full of dolls’-house furniture and dolls’-house dolls all belonging to Belinda.

  I am afraid she was a careless child and everything was dusty, dirty and higgledy-piggledy. It looked very higgledy-piggledy to Miss Happiness and Miss Flower. ‘I don’t want to stay here,’ said Miss Flower as Belinda sat her on a dusty chair, on which already there was a large pin. ‘Ow!’ cried poor Miss Flower.

  ‘I don’t want to either,’ said Miss Happiness.

  Perhaps it was because Nona too had known quite other kinds of houses, and felt so unhappy and strange in England, that she could guess what Miss Happiness and Miss Flower were feeling behind their stiff plaster faces. ‘I don’t think the dolls’ house will do,’ said Nona.

  ‘Why not?’ said Belinda. She did not see anything wrong. ‘I’ll make room for them,’ she said and she swept the other dolls out of the dolls’ house, helter-skelter, bumpetty-bump; the other poor dolls were bumped and bruised, their legs twisted round. ‘No! No!’ cried the Japanese dolls. ‘O Honourable Miss, please no! Oh no, not for us! Oh, the poor dolls! No! No!’ Miss Flower remembered how her chip had ached when it was done. She saw a little boy doll with his wig half torn off, a girl doll with a twisted leg, and ‘Oh, I can’t bear it!’ cried Miss Flower and she fell off the chair on to the floor.

  ‘Stupid thing,’ said Belinda.

  When Belinda said that, Nona grew so angry and hot that she had to speak. ‘She’s not stupid,’ she said. ‘You are. Japanese dolls don’t sit on chairs.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I once saw a picture of a Japanese girl serving tea, and she was kneeling on the floor, like this,’ said Nona; she took Miss Happiness and made her kneel.3

  Miss Happiness had rather more stuffing in her body than Miss Flower; she stayed exactly where Nona had put her and very pretty she looked with her little black head and the big loop of her sash, far more comfortable than Miss Flower had looked on the chair. Then, very gently, Nona took up Miss Flower and straightened her kimono and put her to kneel beside Miss Happiness.

  ‘That’s better. That’s better,’ sighed Miss Flower, and ‘Wish, Wish,’ Miss Happiness told her. ‘Wish that Miss Nona could look after us.’

  ‘Bet they won’t like kneeling there for long,’ said Belinda. ‘The floor’s too hard.’

  ‘Cushions,’ said Nona. ‘Flat sort of cushions.’ She said it quite certainly for she seemed to see a heap of bright dolls’ house cushions, and she pleaded, ‘Let me try to make them cushions, Belinda.’

  Belinda looked at the untidy, dirty dolls’ house, then at the two little dolls kneeling on the floor as if they were . . . asking? thought Belinda. Indeed they were. Dolls cannot speak aloud, you know that, but now Miss Happiness and Miss Flower wished: ‘Please, Honourable Miss. We are your little nuisances but please let us have the cushions.’ It was certainly the first time in her noisy busy life that Belinda had felt a doll’s wish, and she was suddenly ashamed, but she was not going to let Nona know that. ‘You had better make them a whole Japanese house,’ she said mockingly.

  ‘A Japanese dolls’ house,’ said Anne.

  ‘A Japanese dolls’ house?’ Nona looked startled. Until that moment she had never thought of such a thing. ‘I couldn’t. How could I?’ asked Nona.

  At that moment Miss Flower slipped – you remember she had not as much stuffing as Miss Happiness. She slipped and the slip sounded like a sharp breath and her head sank even lower on the floor. She must have knocked Miss Happiness, for Miss Happiness bent over too, and they looked as if they were very much asking.

  ‘But . . .’ said Nona, ‘I don’t know how.’

  ‘You didn’t know how to make a Star Festival, but you made it,’ said Tom.

  ‘Not properly,’ said Nona, but she was pleased, for Tom was the one in the family who really made things. Anne was clever; she could embroider and paint and sew and weave on her loom but Tom had a proper work-bench in the play-room and was making a model galleon – which is a sailing-ship man-of-war. He was making it most beautifully with endless delicate pieces for masts and spars, decks and rails. Tom really knew, and ‘You could make a dolls’ house,’ said Tom.

  Chapter 2

  It was a week later. Every day Nona took Miss Happiness and Miss Flower out of their wooden box and dusted them and looked at them. ‘But where is our house?’ asked Miss Flower every day, and every day they both wished, ‘Little Honourable Miss. Oh! please, little Honourable Miss, where is our house?’ But Nona could not think how to make a Japanese dolls’ house.

  She got a big cardboard box and cut out doors and windows, but that did not seem right and the cutting hurt her fingers. She tried to arrange an empty drawer with the wooden box for a bed and some rolled-up handkerchiefs for cushions, but it did not look like anything at all. At last she came to Tom’s work-table and stood at his elbow.

  He had finished cutting the pieces for the hull of his galleon – the hull is the bottom part of a boat – and now was very busy gluing them together. He knew Nona would not talk as Belinda did and so he did not tell her to go away. She stood quite silently watching his clever careful fingers, and a feeling stirred in her own as if they could be clever and careful too. At last the hull sat up firm and neat between its blocks on the work-table, though the glue was still sticky. Then Nona did speak.

  ‘How did you know how to make it?’ she asked very respectfully.

  ‘Learnt,’ said Tom, rubbing the glue off his thumbs with a wet rag.

  ‘How did you learn?’

  ‘How did you learn about the Star Festival?’

  ‘Oh!’ said Nona. ‘You mean . . .’ and, as she said that, Tom flipped over the book that had the plan of the galleon in it; it was a paper book filled with patterns and designs, and called 100 Ways to Make a Fretsaw Model. ‘Don’t lose my place,’ said Tom.

  ‘I didn’t know you could learn to carpenter out of books.’

  ‘You can learn anything out of books,’ said Tom.

  ‘A book like this?’

  Tom nodded.

  ‘Oh!’ said Nona. She stood by him a moment longer and then said, ‘Thank you, Tom.’

  Mother was very surprised when Nona appeared in front of her wearing her out-door things, her coat, red cap, boots and gloves. ‘Do you want to go out?’ said Mother.

  ‘Oh, please,’ said Nona. She was in such a hurry that the words tumbled out. ‘I’ve got my Christmas money. I want to go to the bookshop.’

  ‘Run along then, dear,’ said Mother.

  Run along! The excitement faded out of Nona’s face. ‘By – by myself?’ she asked.

  ‘The bookshop is this side of the street. You won’t have to cross the road.’

  ‘But . . .’ The street with its lorries and cars and bicycles, and all the people, thought Nona; the big boys and the dogs. She shivered.

  ‘If you wait till this afternoon I’ll come with you.’

  ‘I can’t wait,’ said Nona.

  As Nona opened the front door all the noise of the street came in: a lorry rumbled past, and a car; a gang of children on roller-skates made a noise like thunder; a big boy whistled. Nona shut the front door and ran upstairs.

  She had
meant to take off her coat and cap and throw herself on the bed in tears again, but then she caught sight of Miss Happiness and Miss Flower.

  They were standing one each side of her clock and . . . Did I take them out of the box, thought Nona staring. She must have done, but she had been so excited when she put on her things to go out that she did not remember. Did I take them out of their box? She did not think she had, but there they were, standing by the clock, their feet together, their arms hanging down. It seemed to Nona that they were waiting.

  I suppose Japanese people are very brave people, thought Nona, and after a minute she went downstairs and opened the front door again.

  Just as she was going out, Mother called her back. ‘Oh, Nona, if you are going to the bookshop be careful to be very polite to old Mr Twilfit. He’s inclined to be cross.’

  ‘Cross! He’s an absolute old dragon,’ said Anne.

  ‘He once nearly bit my head off,’ said Tom cheerfully.

  Nona began to shake. ‘Oh, Anne, come with me.’

  ‘Can’t. I’m busy.’

  ‘Tom?’

  ‘I’m busy too.’

  Nona turned back to the door.

  ‘He once chased me out of the shop,’ said Belinda.

  ‘If I know you, you were touching the books with your dirty hands,’ said Tom.

  Nona thought, and then went back upstairs and washed her hands. Even paler than usual, but with her head held high, she went out and shut the door behind her.

  ‘She has gone,’ whispered Miss Flower.

  ‘And for us,’ said Miss Happiness.

  ‘Is it to do with the house, do you think?’

  ‘I think so. We will wait for her to come back.’

  Tick, tick, tick went the clock as the minutes passed. It might have been two little dolls’ hearts beating.

  Nona’s heart was beating too, but . . . once you start being brave you have to go on, thought Nona. She was shaking when she got to the bookshop. Perhaps she expected to meet a real dragon but all she could see in the shop were books, stacks and racks of them, books on shelves and laid on tables, books piled up on the counter. The shop had W. Twilfit, Bookseller, over the window, but though she peeped and peered she could see no sign of anyone at all.

  The bell rang as she went in, which made her jump. Very carefully she walked between the tables, and jumped again when she saw a big old man looking at her. In the dark shop he seemed very big, very alarming to Nona; his grey hair stood up in a shock, making him seem even taller than he was, but the most frightening thing about him were his eyebrows that were thick and shaggy as two furred grey caterpillars. When she saw him looking at her, Nona stayed as still as a mouse caught in a trap.

  ‘What do you want? Hey?’ His voice was so big that it seemed to rumble round the shop.

  ‘Please’ – Nona could hardly make any sound at all – ‘Please, have you got a book called 100 Ways to Make a Japanese House?’

  ‘No such book.’ Besides being a rumble it was cross. Nona held on to the edge of a table.

  ‘But Tom said . . .’

  ‘Tom’s wrong.’

  The shameful tears were near again. Nona bent her head over a book and turned over a page.

  ‘DON’T TOUCH!’ shouted Mr Twilfit.

  This time Nona jumped so high that she bit her tongue, and the pain and the fright made her speak before she could think. ‘I can touch,’ she said. ‘I washed my hands before I came!’

  She did not know then that when Mr Twilfit’s eyebrows worked up and down, in the way that looked so frightening, it meant that he was pleased. They worked up and down now. ‘Washed them?’ said Mr Twilfit, as if he did not believe her.

  For answer Nona showed them to him palms upwards. Mr Twilfit bent and looked at them; then he took one, and he could feel how Nona was trembling. ‘I didn’t know there was a boy or girl in this town,’ he said, ‘who would wash their hands before they touched books. I beg your pardon, little Missy.’

  The rumble was almost soft now. Ayah had called Nona Little Missy. It was too much for Nona; she burst into tears.

  ‘Must it be a Japanese house?’ asked Mr Twilfit.

  ‘They are – sniff – Japanese dolls – sniff,’ said Nona.

  ‘And you want to make them feel at home,’ said Mr Twilfit, and he looked out of the window. Then he said, ‘When I was a little boy I knew what it was like to be a long way from home.’

  Mr Twilfit had not chased Nona out of his shop, indeed he had taken her into his room behind it and sat her down at his desk while she told him all about Miss Happiness and Miss Flower. His eyebrows worked up and down as she told from the beginning of the postman bringing the parcel, right down to 100 Ways to Make a Japanese House.

  ‘But I’m afraid I was right,’ he said. ‘There is no such book. There are others. Can you read?’ he rapped out.

  ‘Of course,’ said Nona.

  ‘Really read?’

  That was one thing Nona was quite sure she could do, and she nodded.

  Mr Twilfit got up and went back into the shop; Nona could hear him rummaging and taking down books from the shelves. ‘This one is called Japanese Homes and Gardens,’ he said, bringing in a book. It was nearly half as big as Nona. She took a deep breath.

  ‘I don’t think I could pay for one as big as that,’ she said.

  ‘It’s nearly all pictures. Might be useful,’ said Mr Twilfit as if she had not spoken. He went back to the shop. He found another book called Customs of Old Japan; then one on how the Japanese arrange flowers, and a book of Japanese fairy tales with more pictures. ‘Useful,’ said Mr Twilfit.

  ‘I don’t understand about the money here,’ said Nona. ‘Indian money is different.’ And she put all her Christmas money, a ten-shilling note, some half-crowns, shillings, sixpences and pennies, on the desk. ‘But would this be enough?’

  ‘Can’t buy those books,’ said Mr Twilfit. ‘Out of the question. Cost a lot of money. Will you be careful if I lend them to you?’

  ‘Very careful,’ said Nona, and her brown eyes glowed.

  ‘Then give me your name and address.’

  ‘Nona Fell,’ said Nona dreamily – she was thinking about reading those books – ‘Nona Fell. Coimbatore Tea Estate, near Travancore, South India . . .’

  ‘You are in England,’ said Mr Twilfit very gently. ‘Your address here?’

  Nona looked at him and the glow went out of her eyes. She could have fallen through the floor with shame; even small children, almost babies, know their address, but she had been taken into the house almost as if she had been a piece of luggage, and had never bothered to notice or find out its address. ‘I don’t know,’ she had to whisper.

  ‘I see. You weren’t interested,’ said Mr Twilfit, and Nona nodded with another rush of tears.

  ‘Is it far?’ asked Mr Twilfit.

  ‘Just down the road.’

  ‘Come along then,’ said Mr Twilfit.

  ‘Good gracious heavens!’ said Belinda, who was looking out of one of the front windows. ‘Look at Nona and Mr Twilfit.’

  Everyone crowded to the window to see.

  ‘He has a great bundle of books,’ said Anne.

  ‘She’s bringing him in,’ said Belinda.

  ‘Well, I’ll be darned!’ said Tom.

  It was Mother who really brought him in, for it was she who opened the door. ‘Nona, I was getting anxious . . .’ then she broke off. ‘I see you have found a friend.’

  ‘Have I?’ asked Nona. She had not thought of having a friend in England, but it seemed like that when Mr Twilfit came in and sat down and had a cup of coffee.

  ‘And we were fetched down to the room to meet the old and honourable gentleman,’ said Miss Happiness.

  ‘She made us bow,’ said Miss Flower and she sounded just as pleased as Miss Happiness. ‘She is beginning to understand.’

  Now every day on the playroom window seat three heads could be seen: Nona’s dark one, bent, as she sat cross-legged with one
of Mr Twilfit’s books, and beside her two very small black ones: Miss Happiness and Miss Flower. She had made them two cushions from pieces of old hair ribbon; Miss Happiness had a red cushion, Miss Flower’s was pale blue. ‘I like mine best,’ said Miss Flower; then she was worried in case Miss Happiness did not like her own, but ‘I like mine,’ said Miss Happiness.

  Nona had no time to stand and look out of the window; she spent all day over Mr Twilfit’s books or trotting up the road to see Mr Twilfit. She was learning all she could about Japan; about Japanese houses and gardens and Japanese furniture – though it mostly isn’t furniture, thought Nona; about quilts and cushions, bowls and scrolls; about the niche to hold a scroll and flowers; about the way the Japanese arrange flowers. She was learning about Japanese feasts – ‘And they do have a Star Festival,’ said Nona, ‘a New Year Festival and a Feast of Dolls.’

  ‘But not with dolls like us,’ said Miss Flower, and she and Miss Happiness said together, ‘Honourable dolls.’ Nona learned Japanese names, and about Japanese food and Japanese fairy tales. She was not the only one to learn. ‘Everyone else has to learn too,’ said Anne, ‘willy-nilly,’ for Nona sometimes read the books aloud in her sing-song voice. ‘Like a reading machine,’ said Tom.

  ‘For goodness’ sake!’ said Belinda, and stuffed her fingers in her ears.

  Though Belinda stuffed her fingers in her ears there was one story she always managed to hear. It was in the fairy tale book and was about a boy called Peach. ‘We had a Little Peach who should have been in the parcel but was lost . . . and Mother still hasn’t written to Great-Aunt Lucy Dickinson,’ said Belinda.

  The Peach Boy story began with a man and a woman who longed for a child. No child came, until on one hot summer day the woman found a big peach floating in the stream. She took it home for her husband to eat, but no sooner had he touched it with his knife than the top flew off. It opened in two halves and there, in the peach, was a tiny baby boy.

  ‘A Japanese baby boy,’ said Miss Happiness and Miss Flower.

  Belinda loved that story. ‘He grew up to be naughty, just like me,’ she said, ‘and when he was big he went out into the world. I wonder why our Little Peach didn’t come,’ said Belinda.