Rose Rivers

by Jacqueline Wilson

  ‘Of course, you’re such a serious bluestocking that you’d tire of an uncouth young lad in five minutes. No, you’d go for a mature gentleman … one with a certain standing and excellent manners. It’s obvious! You’ve got a pash on Mr Hodgson!’

  I rolled my eyes and yawned, but perhaps Rupert had seen me tense when he said the words ‘mature gentleman’.

  ‘Or maybe … maybe it’s one of Papa’s friends,’ he said.

  I tried hard to keep my expression blank, my breathing even.

  ‘It’s dear old Mr Rossetti! You’ll have to grow a lot taller and sprout a massive head of hair if you want him to paint you, but I’m sure he’s not too fussy in his fuddled old age,’ said Rupert.

  ‘You’re the one who’s fuddled, because he’s been dead for years! And don’t talk about him like that! He was a genius. Really, Rupert, you can be so crass sometimes.’

  ‘So are you, fancying yourself in love when you’re still a little stay-at-home ignoramus. I expect the mystery man in your life is having a good laugh at you,’ he said.

  Rupert has always had a streak of cruelty running through him. When I was little he tormented me, making me play Hide-and-Seek at night and then running off into the pitch-black attics, even though he knew I was scared of the dark. He hid the little pink velvet pig I used to take to bed with me, and only ‘find’ him when I was frantic. He pushed me over and pretended I’d tripped, he stole my lucky sixpence and scribbled all over my best drawings. He could be every bit as maddening as Algie – and yet he could also be so sweet and gentle that I was willing to forgive him anything.

  I’m not going to forgive him now.

  IF PARIS HAD come to the house as usual, Rupert would have guessed that I loved him. Luckily the portrait painting had been abandoned for a few days as Mama wanted to spend as much time as possible with Rupert.

  All Sunday he behaved like a dutiful son, attending church so that Mama could show him off to the entire congregation.

  ‘What shall we do for your last day at home, darling?’ she asked him at breakfast on Monday morning.

  ‘I rather thought I’d take myself off for a trip to the Kensington museums,’ said Rupert.

  Mama’s face fell.

  ‘Why don’t we all take a little trip?’ Papa suggested. ‘Yes, let’s go on a family outing.’

  ‘All of us?’ said Mama.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘But where would we go?’

  ‘We could all go to the Kensington museums – or perhaps go to see the Egyptian mummies in the British Museum,’ said Papa.

  ‘Algie and Clarrie would run amok!’ said Rupert quickly. ‘And I dare say the mummies would frighten Sebastian and give him nightmares. No, I think it’s better if I simply slope off for the morning. I’ve taken a fancy to seeing the stuffed animals in the Natural History Museum.’

  Rupert had told me that those stuffed animals with their sad eyes made him shudder. I looked at him sharply.

  ‘I wonder if the Feynsham-Jones girls are going there with their governess this morning,’ I said.

  ‘Why on earth would you think that?’ Rupert said, glaring at me.

  But he’d given Papa an idea. ‘Bother the stuffed animals! Why don’t we go and see some real ones? Let’s all go to the Zoological Gardens! We haven’t been there since you were a little boy, Rupert, but remember how you loved it, especially the elephant ride!’

  ‘I’m a bit old for elephant riding now, Pa,’ said Rupert.

  ‘Nonsense! I intend to ride the great beast,’ said Papa. ‘Think how the little ones would enjoy the zoo, especially Sebastian. And if Algie misbehaves, we can always put him in a cage with the monkeys.’ He put his arm round me. ‘We’ll sketch, Rose, and make sure we get all the creatures’ legs the right way round.’

  Papa was so persuasive that we all decided it was a good idea. If Rupert really had suggested meeting Pamela in the Natural History Museum, he seemed happy now to change his plans. I thought of her wandering mournfully round and round the glass cases looking for him. Poor Pamela!

  Sebastian, Algie and Clarrie were wild with excitement. Nurse was less keen, especially when she was told she must come too, with little Phoebe. This meant carrying her, as there was no way she could get a perambulator into a cab.

  ‘It’ll scare her senseless anyway, seeing all them wild creatures marauding around and biting each other,’ Nurse protested.

  But Phoebe adored the animals, especially the bears. She peered down into the bear pit and stretched out her arms, whimpering urgently, wanting to be lowered down to play with them.

  Algie and Clarrie liked the lions best, because they roared in a thrilling fashion when their meat was thrust into their cages.

  ‘Thank the Lord Beth isn’t here,’ Papa murmured to me. ‘She’d likely start roaring too.’

  He sounded heartless, but earlier that morning he had wanted Beth to join us.

  ‘Beth’s behaviour has improved a good deal since I employed Nurse Budd, but I don’t think she’s reliable enough to trust on a family outing,’ said Mama.

  ‘Then Nurse Budd can accompany us too, and ensure that Beth behaves. Beth is family too, my dear. Rose, go and tell Nurse Budd to get Beth ready.’

  I ran upstairs eagerly, but Nurse Budd stopped me at the door.

  ‘Ssh now! You can’t just burst in here, Miss Rose. I’ll thank you to remember to knock,’ she whispered. ‘Now, I’m afraid I’m going to have to send you away. Your sister isn’t ready for visitors right at this moment.’

  ‘Why can’t I see her?’ I asked. Had she done something cruel to Beth? I imagined her tied to the chair, a gag about her mouth. I took a deep breath. ‘You might be trained as a nurse but you are still our servant. So just jolly well let me see my sister.’

  I pushed past her into the room. Beth was lying in bed, quite still.

  ‘Beth! Beth!’ I cried, rushing over to her. ‘What’s the matter? Are you ill? What has she done to you?’

  ‘Oh dear, Miss Rose, there’s no need to get yourself into such a silly state. My little Beth’s simply staying in bed this morning because she had a disturbed night,’ said Nurse Budd, shaking her head at me. ‘Don’t raise your voice, dear, she needs to catch up on her sleep. She had a nightmare, and then when she woke she was too scared to get out of bed onto her pot so she had a little accident, naughty girl. But I wouldn’t dream of punishing her. I know the poor soul can’t help it.’

  ‘But Papa wants Beth to come with us to the Zoological Gardens.’ I shook Beth gently. ‘Come on, Beth, wake up. You must come and see the lions and the bears and the elephant with us.’

  Beth murmured something crossly, and pulled the sheet over her head.

  ‘I don’t think she wants to, Miss Rose, do you?’ said Nurse Budd.

  ‘Papa will be upset,’ I said.

  ‘I’m sorry about that, but I do know what’s best for your sister.’

  ‘But you never want her to have any treats!’

  ‘Oh, it’s easy enough to spoil the poor child and get her over-stimulated. You’re all very good at doing that. But you’re not the ones who have to soothe her during the day and stay up with her half the night. You seem to upset Miss Beth every time you come near her, Miss Rose. I know you’re full of good intentions, but it is a little trying at times. Do you really think that you could care for her better than me?’

  I didn’t have an answer for Nurse Budd, and she knew it. I had to give up. Beth stayed at home.

  Afterwards I felt unsettled, and couldn’t stop thinking about Beth as I wandered around the zoo. Nurse Budd is right: Papa loves Beth and makes a fuss of her sometimes, but he’s certainly not prepared to look after her.

  Mama rarely goes near Beth, even when she’s quiet and docile. She doesn’t seem to have time for any of her children, apart from Rupert, though when we’re out on show she acts as if she adores us. She was especially animated at the Zoological Gardens, hanging onto Rupert’s arm, forever fussing over the
little ones.

  ‘See the funny monkeys, Clarrie!’

  ‘Algie, say hello to Mr Hippopotamus. See, he gets even muddier than you!’

  ‘Is Montmorency peeping at all these big animals, Sebastian?’

  ‘Yes, Phoebe precious, look at the pretty birdies!’

  Nurse encouraged the children to reply politely, though she muttered under her breath, and put her handkerchief over her nose when we went into the lion enclosure because it smelled so rank.

  Papa was making a big effort too, carrying Clarrie when her small legs got tired, and chanting all the Edward Lear rhymes he could think of as we trekked from cage to cage.

  I mooched around by myself most of the time, but I heard a couple commenting on us.

  ‘What a jolly family!’

  ‘So happy, bless them!’

  When we got home, Beth was awake and dressed, but she looked pale and listless. She crooned quietly to Marigold, and didn’t seem interested when I told her about the animals.

  The next morning she still didn’t seem herself, and had dark circles under her eyes. I reported this to Mama, but she barely listened – she was too busy supervising the packing of Rupert’s tuck box for the second half of term.

  I tried telling Papa, but he was in an unusually bad mood as he pored over his post.

  ‘Can you credit this, Rose? The wretched art editor at the Religious Tract Society doesn’t care for my illustrations! He says the street children look too low and vulgar. He wants me to clean them up and turn them into little Kate Greenaway moppets! How dare he!’

  ‘I’m sorry, Papa. I wonder, could you come and see Beth for a moment? I don’t think she looks very well,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, Rose, do stop fussing over your sister,’ he said irritably.

  I felt cross with everyone. When Rupert left for school I didn’t even say goodbye to him properly. Well, I said goodbye, but I was very cool. He didn’t seem to care.

  The minute the cab had disappeared round the corner I wanted to give him a proper hug. I nearly ran after it. I could probably have caught up with him in the jam of cabs and carriages and omnibuses in Kensington High Street. But I didn’t go, and now I wouldn’t see him until Christmas.

  I started to write him a letter, but suddenly wondered if he might show it to his loathsome friends, pretending that I was yet another sweetheart, so I tore it up. I tried drawing instead. I was in such a bad mood that my sketches were very dark. I drew Beth lying in bed, her hair fanned out across the pillow, with Nurse Budd hovering over her like a ghoul. I drew Rupert in his dormitory, with evil-looking boys sniggering over his stories. I drew Mama and Papa having terrible arguments, screaming at each other, while the children cowered on the stairs. I even drew Mistletoe running off with little Montmorency in his mouth. And I drew myself sitting on the window seat, moping.

  I had real cause to mope the next day: Paris didn’t come. Mama and I went up to Papa’s studio early, Mama squeezed into her blue silk, me wearing my best green dress. My hair was up too. At first I’d stuck pins here and there until I resembled a pin cushion, but as soon as I shook my head my hair had tumbled down.

  I’d asked Nurse to help me – she used to do my hair in schoolgirl plaits and her fingers are still nimble – but she shook her head at me. ‘You’re too young to put your hair up, Miss Rose,’ she said firmly.

  I didn’t waste time begging her. She doesn’t know the latest styles anyway. I tried Edie instead, trapping her in Mama’s dressing room.

  ‘I have enough trouble doing your mother’s hair, Miss Rose, especially now that it’s thinning and she has to have false locks woven in to puff it out,’ she whispered.

  This came as a surprise. I hadn’t dreamed that Mama’s abundant hair was anything but her own.

  ‘Is Mama going bald?’ I asked bluntly.

  ‘Hush, Miss Rose! No, no, of course not. What will you come out with next! I should have held my tongue. It’s just natural thinning as she gets older – and having all you children hasn’t helped,’ she said. She patted her own thick hair complacently. ‘Catch me having any. Well, I might consent to one when I marry my Harold, but no more. It’s like a bear garden in this house with all you children. Though Mr Rupert seems to have turned into a young man in a matter of weeks.’

  ‘Yes, he has. And I’m growing up too, Edie. So please would you help me with my hair?’ I asked humbly.

  ‘I’ve a hundred and one things to do this morning, and your mama had me pin her sapphire brooch this way and that, wanting it at exactly the right angle for her wretched portrait,’ said Edie, sighing. ‘She’s taken a real fancy to that young artist fellow, hasn’t she? I don’t trust him an inch, even though he’s done a pretty enough picture of her. He’s simply stringing her along to make some money, the ne’er-do-well,’ she said, shaking her head.

  ‘You’re utterly mistaken, Edie,’ I said hotly. ‘Mr Walker is entirely honourable. He’s a protégé of my father. He’s extremely talented.’

  ‘I’ll say. He’s clearly stringing you along too, Miss Rose,’ said Edie.

  I didn’t want to get into a dispute with Edie because I badly wanted her to do my hair.

  ‘Do you have any jewellery yourself, Edie?’ I asked, changing tack.

  She peered at me. ‘Oh yes, I’ve got diamond rings galore, and ruby necklaces and emerald earrings,’ she said sarcastically.

  ‘Perhaps you would like to borrow some of my jewellery for when you go out with your Harold,’ I suggested. ‘I haven’t anything truly precious like Mama, but I’ve got a gold link bracelet, a pearl necklace, and several Scottish agate brooches sent to me by Grandmama.’

  Edie looked interested. I ran and showed her the contents of my jewellery box. I didn’t care for any of them, but she picked out an agate brooch with a lucky rabbit’s paw attached. The thought of a rabbit hobbling around on three legs made me feel sick, but Edie said it would look pretty on the collar of her coat.

  We struck a bargain. Edie sat me down, and in five minutes she had transformed me. When I peered into the looking glass I looked quite different. My hair was wound up in a great shining coil, with several strands left drifting to soften the look.

  ‘Oh my!’ I said in awe. ‘I look at least fifteen! Sixteen, even.’

  ‘You’re a funny little thing, Miss Rose. I didn’t think you gave a fig about your appearance,’ said Edie. ‘Oh well, it suits you, I’ll give you that.’

  It was all wasted effort. When I went into the studio Mama took one look at me and exploded.

  ‘For heaven’s sake, child, what do you look like? Take your hair down at once!’

  ‘But, Mama, don’t you think it suits me?’ I was genuinely surprised. Mama was forever nagging at me to tidy my hair, and now it looked exceptionally neat.

  ‘Of course I don’t! You’re just a little girl. You look ridiculous with a grown-up lady’s hairstyle – and such a vulgar one too!’

  This was perplexing. Mama repeatedly begged me to grow up and stop looking like a hoyden. And how could she possibly call the styling vulgar when her own maid had fashioned it for me, arranging it in much the same way as Mama’s?

  I peered at myself in the hand glass Mama keeps beside her to check that she isn’t too flushed or shiny. Did I really look ridiculous? I still liked the gleaming coils and the soft little wisps. I saw how the new hairstyle emphasized my cheekbones and the line of my neck. I hadn’t even noticed that I had prominent cheekbones and a long white neck before!

  ‘Stop preening in that ludicrous way!’ Mama snapped, and she reached out, removing handfuls of pins and scrabbling at my hair until it had tumbled past my shoulders in its usual tangles.

  I struggled not to burst into tears.

  ‘Don’t make that sulky face now! Pull yourself together. I’m not having you showing me up in front of Mr Walker,’ said Mama. She looked at the carriage clock on the mantelpiece. ‘He’ll be here any minute.’

  But he wasn’t. We waite
d and waited, but he didn’t come.

  Later, Papa came up to the studio. ‘My goodness, where’s our golden boy?’ he asked.

  ‘He’s not here yet, as is obvious,’ said Mama, her voice strained. ‘I think something must have happened to him. Do you know where he lives, Edward? Perhaps we should send a message.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s really necessary, Jeannie. I’m sure he’s fine. He’s a lovely chap, but he can be a little unreliable at times. I dare say he’ll come tomorrow.’

  He didn’t come. Not the next day, or the next, or the next.

  Maybe he’s never coming again.

  IT’S SO WRETCHED without Paris. I haven’t been able to hide my misery. Luckily everyone thinks I’m simply missing Rupert.

  The whole household is out of sorts. Beth is no longer suffering from that terrible languor, but she’s so restless, and scratches her arms incessantly, making them bleed. Nurse Budd painted the scratches with gentian violet to stop infection and cut her nails really short – though Beth still managed to scratch. Now her hands are confined in big padded mittens, tied tightly at the top so that she can’t pull them off.

  The little children are fretful, and even baby Phoebe cries because she is teething, her cheeks scarlet. Papa is out a great deal, and Mama stays in the drawing room, issuing peevish orders to the servants. She wangled Paris’s address from Papa after all, and sent an urgent message to his lodgings. His landlady replied that he had taken himself off on a little holiday and she had no idea when he might return.

  ‘A holiday?’ Mama said, outraged. ‘But he’s still got to put the finishing touches to my portrait. He didn’t ask me!’

  ‘For heaven’s sake, Jeannie, he’s not your servant,’ said Papa. ‘Artists like to feel free to come and go.’

  ‘And they also like to eat and drink,’ said Mama. ‘How can he go gallivanting off without so much as a by-you-leave when I haven’t paid him a penny yet?’

  ‘Perhaps he’s found another benefactress,’ Papa said.

  He didn’t mean this seriously, but it upset Mama. Me too. I miss him so. I can’t seem to draw without him. I can’t even read properly. Every day I sit on my window seat with a book on my lap, but I’m generally daydreaming. Anyway, I know a lot of Tennyson by heart. I can recite the whole of The Lady of Shalott. I took a melancholy delight in chanting loudly, chanting lowly, just like her, though Algie and Clarrie hung over the banisters listening, and then mimicked me cruelly.