Rose Rivers

by Jacqueline Wilson

  They didn’t manage this either. Mary-Jane waved her arms limply, and Jack ran very slowly, as if through treacle. Then they both stopped in exaggerated poses, as if playing Statues.

  ‘Oh goodness, children, this isn’t working,’ I said despairingly.

  ‘We aren’t children, miss,’ said Jack, offended.

  ‘We’re ser-vants,’ said Mary-Jane, enunciating slowly to try to make me understand.

  ‘But you’re children too! That’s what’s so queer about it. Don’t you mind working for us?’ I asked. ‘Wouldn’t you like a different sort of life?’

  They gave each other a quick glance and then looked back at me warily.

  ‘You’re not going to dismiss us, are you, miss? Because I ain’t got nowhere else to go, and Mr Hodgson says I’m a good lad and I buff up the boots so’s I can see my face in them,’ Jack insisted.

  ‘Well, Cook sometimes calls me a bad girl and I knows I’m a bit careless, but I’m learning, honest I am, and I’ve got a home to go to but I can’t go back because Ma says I’ve got to earn my own living, and she’ll wallop me if I get dismissed,’ said Mary-Jane, starting to cry.

  ‘Oh, please don’t get so upset! Of course you’re not being dismissed! I promise you I just want to draw you, and maybe get to know you a bit better. To be a kind friend to you,’ I said earnestly. ‘Look, I tell you what. If you’ll let me sketch you for half an hour, I’ll pay you. Like wages. Would that make it easier for you?’

  ‘Pay us how much, miss?’ Jack asked.

  I calculated. I wasn’t very good at saving pocket money, but I reckoned my piggy-bank pennies might add up to half a crown.

  ‘How about a shilling each?’ I suggested. I was worried that it wasn’t enough, but Jack and Mary-Jane looked dumbstruck at the thought of such riches.

  ‘Right, miss. It’s a deal. You can draw us any way you want. Stand up, Mary-Jane, and close your mouth – you look gormless,’ said Jack.

  ‘Don’t you lord it over me, Jack Boots. I bin here longer than you,’ said Mary-Jane, giving him a push.

  At last they’d started behaving like real children, squabbling like Algie and Clarrie. They still weren’t posing properly, but I managed to do a rough outline. As I drew, I asked them questions, trying to find out more about them. They were more confiding now because they’d started to trust me. Or maybe they were spurred on by the thought of the shilling.

  I was taken aback by what they’d said. I’d had no idea what their life was like. I’d vaguely understood that they came from poor backgrounds but hadn’t imagined any of the grim details. Jack didn’t know who his family were or even his exact age.

  ‘They said my ma came knocking at the workhouse when she was expecting me, see. And then she had me but she was frail and she died. So I was brought up in the workhouse nursery,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, Jack, how sad!’ I said. ‘You must miss your mother so much.’

  He gave me a sideways look. ‘Well, I didn’t know her, did I?’

  ‘And what about your father? Did he come and visit you?’

  ‘Ain’t got a father, not that I know of. There’s just me,’ said Jack.

  ‘So who looked after you in the workhouse?’ I asked.

  ‘No one much. We had to fend for ourselves,’ he said. ‘If you didn’t gobble your grub the second it was put in front of you, some other pig stole it. If you didn’t sidle out the way of the matrons quick, they strapped you just for the fun of it.’

  ‘And did they get really angry if you asked for more gruel?’ I asked. I’d read Oliver Twist and wept.

  ‘You’d have to be a fool to ask for more. It was always burned and tasted blimming horrible,’ said Jack.

  ‘Ssh, you shouldn’t say that word in front of Miss,’ said Mary-Jane primly.

  ‘So what about you, Mary-Jane? You grew up with a proper family, didn’t you?’

  She told me a few bare facts about them. They didn’t sound proper at all.

  ‘There’s eleven of us – well, nine now, because Johnnie got trampled by a horse and Maisie ran off and Ma says she’s gone to the bad,’ Mary-Jane said. ‘Maisie used to help look after the little ones, but now it’s our Jen’s job. I haven’t got a proper job at home, so when Ma heard from her pal who’s Cook’s sister that she was wanting a kitchen maid to train up, Ma said I had to go for it.’

  My head was reeling as I compared their lives with mine. I was often sorry for myself and felt my life was unfair. How would I have coped with Jack’s life or Mary-Jane’s?

  ‘I can see you’ve both had a very hard start. But it’s better for you now, isn’t it? I mean, you have good food to eat and you’re well cared for,’ I said. My voice reminded me of someone. Oh dear Lord, it was Mama.

  ‘You’re both happy here, aren’t you?’ I added pleadingly.

  I wanted them to reassure me that they were very happy, that this was a good home and Mama and Papa were kind employers, but they were looking at me dumbly.

  ‘Happy, miss?’ Jack said at last.

  ‘Don’t rightly know what to say, miss,’ said Mary-Jane.

  I tried to pretend that they simply couldn’t express themselves properly, but I knew this was nonsense. I wanted to think that they liked being servants. But of course they weren’t happy working all day long with no love and no play. Try as I might, I could never be their friend because I was the daughter of the house and they were the servants, and it didn’t matter a hoot to anyone that we were all children.

  PAPA CAME HOME late, when we were halfway through dinner. Now that I’ve turned thirteen I am allowed to join the grown-ups, but it’s not much fun without Rupert. Mama complains and Papa pacifies and I spoon my soup, and Mr Hodgson and Edie wait on us and say nothing.

  I’d sooner be back in the hurly-burly of the nursery, with Sebastian hiding morsels of food in his pocket for Montmorency, and Algie encouraging his toy soldier to climb the Everest of his mashed potato, and Clarrie hiding crusts under her plate. And of course Phoebe has joined us now, which is a delight, though it’s not advisable to sit too near her, as rusks and bottles are hurled without warning.

  I asked Mama whether I could have my meals in the nursery again so that I could help Nurse with Phoebe. It sounded a sensible and sisterly suggestion, but Mama wouldn’t hear of it.

  ‘You’re not a nurserymaid, Rose! It’s time you learned how to be a young lady,’ she said.

  So I have to change for dinner, which is an awful bore. Mama thinks it’s time to have a couple of grown-up dresses made for me. They will have tight waists, and that will mean a dreaded corset.

  ‘I can’t wear such an awful garment. I wouldn’t even be able to lace it up,’ I protested.

  ‘I will ask Edie to help you,’ said Mama.

  I hated that idea. I can’t bear the idea of her seeing me in my chemise and drawers. She is always so superior. She makes me feel less guilty about having servants because she acts in such a condescending manner and is never remotely servile, even with Mama.

  Mama and I bickered over my clothes while we sipped Brown Windsor soup, and when we were served our cutlets Mama started talking about riding lessons. She said she was going to call on Mrs Feynsham-Jones to discuss the matter, though I begged her not to.

  As soon as Papa appeared in the dining room, hastily thrusting his arms into his velvet jacket, I appealed to him.

  ‘There you are at last, Papa! Mama is desperate for me to go riding with those terrible Feynsham-Jones girls and I can’t bear the idea,’ I cried.

  ‘Rose! Let your father sit down and eat before you start plaguing him. Though why you are so late I cannot understand, Edward. It’s not very considerate, either to me or to the servants,’ Mama whined.

  ‘I am sorry, my dear. I’ve been rushing around all over London. My dear novelist friend Sarah Smith told me about a special hospital, so I bundled Marianne up in a shawl and carried her all the way there. I spent the rest of the afternoon on a shopping quest, but it took longer than I�
��d bargained for.’

  ‘Who on earth is Marianne?’ Mama asked. ‘One of those little street children?’

  ‘I’m referring to Beth’s doll,’ said Papa patiently. ‘I’ve found a special doll’s hospital, and they say they can conduct an operation and restore her sight – isn’t that good news!’

  ‘For goodness’ sake, Edward, I wish you wouldn’t be so whimsical,’ said Mama.

  ‘I love it when Papa is whimsical,’ I said. ‘He is capital at make-believe.’

  ‘Nobody asked your opinion, Rose,’ Mama said dismissively.

  ‘However, there have been several dolly casualties in the area and I’m afraid the hospital has a long waiting list. Marianne will have to wait weeks for her operation,’ said Papa.

  ‘Weeks! Oh, poor Beth!’ I said.

  ‘It’s all your fault, Rose. You would interfere. You have to learn the consequence of your actions,’ said Mama. She gave Papa a sharp look.

  ‘You don’t need to lecture me, Mama. I feel badly enough about it. And now we’re saddled with Nurse Budd, which is a dreadful consequence.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous. Beth’s had a very peaceful day, thank goodness. No tears or tantrums. Nurse Budd is working her magic already, and yet I don’t think she’s so much as laid a finger on her,’ said Mama.

  ‘No child of mine is ever going to be physically chastised,’ said Papa. His voice was quiet and even, and for once he wasn’t joking. ‘I’m not as thrilled as you are with Nurse Budd. I’m not sure I agree with her concept of training a child. Beth isn’t a performing dog.’

  ‘I so agree with you, Papa,’ I said.

  ‘You’re both talking nonsense,’ said Mama. ‘Nurse Budd is a marvellous find and we’re very lucky to get her at short notice. Lady Robson said—’

  ‘Do you know something, Jeannie?’ Papa interrupted. ‘I am not the slightest bit interested in what Lady Robson says. She strikes me as an exceptionally foolish and interfering old woman.’

  Mama breathed in deeply, glancing at Mr Hodgson and Edie, who were standing like statues at either end of the long table. There was a long silence while we ate our cutlets. I couldn’t finish mine, and neither could Mama. Papa ate determinedly but without appetite.

  When Edie had taken our plates and Papa had asked Mr Hodgson to fetch another bottle of wine from the cellar, Mama hissed, ‘I’ll thank you not to insult me in front of the servants, Edward.’

  ‘I wasn’t aware that I was insulting you, Jeannie. I was insulting Lady Robson.’ Papa looked at me. ‘Thank your lucky stars your mama doesn’t want you to go riding with any of Lady Robson’s granddaughters. If they take after her, you really would have something to complain about.’

  ‘After Beth’s histrionics I’m sure Lady Robson would never allow any of her family near a child of mine,’ Mama said bitterly. ‘Indeed, I very much doubt whether Mrs Feynsham-Jones will permit Rose to ride with Pamela and Lucinda-May and Cecily, though I shall call on her tomorrow and suggest it.’

  ‘But why would you do that, when Rose is adamant that she doesn’t wish to learn to ride, especially in the company of those particular girls?’ Papa enquired.

  ‘This afternoon Rose ran away, walking all the way to Rotten Row in Hyde Park, simply to see the horses,’ said Mama.

  ‘Did you, Rose?’ Papa asked. ‘Why this sudden interest?’

  Mr Hodgson had returned and was pouring Papa a glass of wine, while Edie served us with blackberry trifle. I waited while they did so, feeling a little foolish. When they’d resumed their positions, I mumbled, ‘I wanted to see the horses’ legs.’

  ‘The legs?’ said Mama.

  ‘They bend backwards, and yet they looked so strange when I tried to draw them. So I thought I should take a look at some real ones,’ I said.

  ‘Excellent!’ said Papa. ‘Well done!’

  ‘Don’t praise the child for running away! She had the whole house in uproar. Anything could have happened to her, walking all that way unaccompanied,’ said Mama.

  ‘Yes, I dare say. You must never do it again, Rose,’ said Papa, but he winked at me.

  Mama waited until Mr Hodgson and Edie had bustled out with our dishes. She’d only had two mouthfuls of her trifle, complaining that the blackberries weren’t sweet enough. Mama looked as if she needed sweetening herself.

  ‘I think it’s very unfair of you to encourage Rose, Edward. I’m simply trying to be a responsible parent. She is becoming very wayward and unladylike. She has no accomplishments to speak of. And no friends at all,’ said Mama.

  ‘I do have friends,’ I said, stung. ‘Rupert is my best friend.’

  ‘Rupert doesn’t count. He is your brother, and now he is away at school.’

  ‘Boys are so lucky to be sent to school,’ I said, sighing.

  ‘I’d like you to make friends with other girls. I simply want you to be normal,’ said Mama. ‘Is that too much to ask? Why are all you children so contrary?’

  She stood up as Mr Hodgson and Edie came back in, dabbing her eyes with her napkin, and then hurried out of the room so quickly that Mr Hodgson didn’t have time to open the door for her.

  There was another uncomfortable silence.

  Papa hesitated. ‘Should you perhaps go after your mother?’ he asked me.

  ‘I think she’s better left to herself,’ I said.

  It wasn’t very nice of me when Mama was so distressed, but I enjoyed being with Papa. He let me have a little coffee while he had more wine, and we both nibbled delicious chocolates.

  ‘I bought a box as a little treat for your mother, but I don’t think she’d appreciate them right now,’ said Papa. ‘You help yourself, darling. Try the rose cream!’

  ‘Oh, they’re my favourites! Louisa once gave me a little box of them!’

  Papa frowned and dismissed Mr Hodgson and Edie. There was a little silence while I savoured my chocolate.

  ‘It’s truly delicious, Papa! You do spoil Mama,’ I said. ‘She doesn’t deserve such a kind, thoughtful husband.’

  Papa frowned. ‘Nonsense,’ he said firmly. ‘I’m not at all kind or thoughtful. Your poor mother has a lot to put up with.’

  ‘I know she finds me a trial,’ I said. ‘Papa, I don’t have to be friends with those beastly Feynsham-Jones girls, do I?’

  ‘I think your mother has set her heart on it. She wants you to make some new friends now that Rupert is at school.’

  ‘But those sisters are so niminy-piminy, especially Lucinda-May,’ I protested. ‘We have nothing to say to each other. She doesn’t even like reading!’

  ‘She does sound a little dull. I wish I could find a jolly girl to be chums with you,’ said Papa.

  ‘But I am not a jolly girl,’ I said.

  ‘Perhaps not always. But I still think you’re perfect.’

  ‘Oh, Papa! You’re only saying that because I’m your daughter.’

  ‘Yes, I think all my children are perfect.’

  ‘You think Algie perfect?’

  Papa laughed. ‘Of course I do. He is a delightful scamp who frequently makes me roar with laughter. Clarrie is a mischievous little monkey too, but so good natured. Sebastian is extraordinarily sensitive, and very loving and caring. Phoebe is an utter delight. I love hearing her chuckle!’

  ‘And Beth?’ I asked softly.

  ‘Poor darling, troubled Beth,’ said Papa.

  ‘She will miss Marianne so. You know how she hates any kind of change.’

  ‘But I have found her a substitute while Marianne is convalescing!’ Papa said excitedly. ‘Shall I show you?’

  He rushed out to the hall, where he’d stowed a big parcel against the coat stand.

  ‘Oh, Papa! A new doll?’ I asked.

  ‘Wait till you see her! After Marianne was admitted to hospital I spent the afternoon rushing from one toy shop to the next, but none had the perfect doll. They were all dressed up in fussy bonnets and elaborate dresses and parasols. They weren’t dolls you could hug and play with properly. I kn
ew Beth would hate them.

  ‘But then someone mentioned a little doll-maker in Hoxton, of all places, so I took a cab there. It’s a shame you’re too grown up for dolls yourself, Rose. It’s the most magical shop, run by a sweet old gentleman, rather crippled but still spry. He has a delightful little girl for his assistant, very bright and perky, with a tangle of dark hair and big green eyes. She pays the most particular attention to all the dolls and helped me select this special one.’ Papa knelt down and started struggling with the string around the package.

  ‘Would you like me to assist you, sir?’ Mr Hodgson was hovering. He bent down to help, his old bones cracking.

  ‘No, no, Hodgson, I’ll manage. That’s half the pleasure of parcels, the battle to get them open! You go and have your supper, old chap,’ said Papa.

  I loved the way he talked to the servants as if they were friends. Mama was much more brusque. She said Papa didn’t know how to treat the staff – though Papa’s family had had a great flock of servants for many generations, while Mama’s family had probably once, not so long ago, been servants themselves.

  Papa didn’t mind me helping though. Between us we prised off the string and opened up the box. It was carefully stuffed with packing straw, and when we burrowed through that to find the doll, we discovered that her face had been carefully protected with scraps of material, and she had another large piece folded around her as if she were tucked up in bed.

  ‘That’s the work of little Miss Clover Moon, the doll-maker’s assistant,’ said Papa fondly. ‘Well, what do you think of her, Rose?’

  I eased the doll out of the box and held her at arm’s length. ‘She’s a beauty!’ I said, marvelling at her dark red curls and the dimples in her smooth china cheeks. ‘She looks so smiley too!’

  ‘That’s why I chose her. I thought she might make Beth smile back,’ Papa said eagerly. ‘Do you think Beth will like her?’

  ‘I’m sure she will,’ I said.

  ‘Shall we go and see?’ said Papa, taking the doll from me.

  I hesitated. ‘I don’t think Nurse Budd will want us to disturb her, Papa, not after supper. She can be very fierce.’