Authors: Siobhán Parkinson
A
melia woke up earlier than usual, as she always did on birthdays. She lay in bed, pretending it was just an
ordinary
day and forcing herself to think about dreary things like homework and lacrosse practice. Then, just as she had almost convinced herself that it was any old Tuesday, the realisation that it was really and truly her thirteenth birthday and the day of her party would come flooding back into her mind, and the excitement would make her stomach turn right over so that she groaned into her pillow.
When she heard Mary Ann rattling around downstairs, cleaning the grates, Amelia knew it was time to get up, so she slipped out of bed and washed hurriedly, pouring water from the big flower-patterned ewer into the basin and
soaping
herself quickly and then rinsing and patting herself dry. She brushed her teeth in the last of the water, struggled into her everyday school clothes and her heavy school boots and, pulling the hairbrush quickly through her smooth hair, she left the bedroom and flew downstairs.
Breakfast was laid since the night before, and Amelia could hear Mary Ann’s footsteps coming from the kitchen, but none of the family had made an appearance yet. She paced to the window and looked out onto the garden, which was fresh with a recent shower of spring rain and bright with
daffodils. She didn’t know whether she wished the others would appear, or whether she wanted to eke out the
anticipation
a little longer.
The door opened quietly, and in came Mary Ann, carrying a breakfast tray.
‘Happy birthday, Amelia,’ she said with a grin. She put the breakfast tray down, and came over to Amelia at the
window
. She pushed a small package into Amelia’s hand, and then scuttled out the door.
Amelia certainly hadn’t expected Mary Ann to give her a birthday present. She opened the flat little package with shaking fingers. Inside was a plain white handkerchief, the kind you could buy very cheaply in any of the big shops in town. Amelia knew that Mary Ann couldn’t spare even a penny or two to be buying handkerchiefs for a girl like
Amelia
, who was so much better off.
She shook the handkerchief out, and the fresh smell of new cotton rose up to meet her. Just then, Amelia noticed a little sprig of embroidery in the corner. It was the letters AP intertwined, with a circle of lily-of-the-valley around them, all done in tiny stitches in cream thread. The stitching was so neat and smooth and the colour so discreet that Amelia had almost missed it. This was Mary Ann’s real present – her own handiwork. Amelia was very touched, and she hadn’t even had a chance to say thank you.
Edmund was the next to come bursting through the door. He had a package in his hand too. ‘Happy birthday, Mealy,’ he said, calling her by his baby-name for her. His present was a toy train carriage, gaily painted in royal blue with bright red and gold trimmings – just the sort of thing Edmund loved himself. Its very inappropriateness made Amelia smile, and she leant over and kissed her little brother and said ‘Thank you, Edmund’ in the sweetest voice she could manage.
She led Edmund by the hand to the breakfast table, where
Mary Ann had set tea and coffee and warm muffins and
apricot
jam. As she sat down, Amelia noticed yet another package, wrapped in blue tissue paper and done up with a narrow pink ribbon, by her plate.
This was a puzzle. She’d already got Edmund’s present. Mama and Papa were giving her the silk party dress. And Grandmama always gave Amelia a crisp and sweet-smelling ten-shilling note for her birthday, which Papa whipped away immediately to lodge to Amelia’s bank account. So where could this have come from?
Mama and Papa appeared together, just as Amelia was turning the little packet over. It was lumpy and heavy. ‘Happy birthday, darling!’ they said together, kissing and hugging their daughter. When they’d sat down, Amelia opened the little blue packet. It contained the loveliest gold watch on a golden chain that Amelia had ever seen. She slipped it over her head and turned the wrapping paper inside out, looking for a card or note to see where that lovely present could have come from.
But there was no card. Amelia looked up enquiringly at Mama, who looked blankly back at her. Then she looked at Papa, whose eyes were looking extra blue, for no reason at all. ‘Was it you, Papa?’ she whispered.
‘Might have been,’ said Papa, pretending to be very
interested
in the toast rack, all of a sudden.
‘Oh, Papa!’ exclaimed Amelia, running to hug her father again.
‘Charles!’ said Mama, in an alarmed voice. ‘Charles, you know we can’t …’
Amelia was amazed by her mother’s tone. She turned to look at her. ‘Is something wrong, Mama?’ she asked.
‘No, Amelia. Nothing. I’m just surprised, that’s all. I didn’t realise Papa had bought the watch.’ And she smiled at her daughter.
But Amelia felt uneasy all the same. This exchange between her parents reminded her of something, but she couldn’t think what.
‘Thank you, Papa,’ she said quietly. ‘But you know it was extravagant. You’ve already got me the lovely new dress, and you’re giving the party.’
‘Dress! Party! That’s all very well,’ cried Papa. ‘But I couldn’t bear to think of my little princess with nothing to open on her birthday morning. Now, let’s all drink a birthday toast to Amelia.’
‘In coffee, Charles?’ said Mama.
‘Tea, coffee, milk … who cares? Here’s to Amelia. May this be your happiest birthday ever. And many happy returns of the day.’
‘Happy birthday, Amelia,’ said Mama with a smile, raising her coffee-cup.
Papa leant over and clinked his coffee-cup against Amelia’s, and Edmund, overcome with the excitement, started to sing ‘Happy birthday to you!’ in his hoarse, wheezy voice.
Amelia beamed on them all, and she felt just like a real princess, as she fingered her delicate gold chain and felt the weight of the gold watch, which was nestling against the front of her dress. She raised her cup regally and tried to say ‘Thank you all,’ but only a squeaking sound came out. She was so happy, she couldn’t speak.
People with birthdays got off lightly at school. The
teachers
made a point of not asking them their lessons, so the morning passed pleasantly enough. The girls told each teacher in turn that they were all invited to Amelia’s party, and each teacher gallantly agreed to excuse them all from homework. The girls cheered as the teachers capitulated in turn to their request, and every time they did it, Amelia felt a glow inside. It was all because of her that everyone was so jolly.
At lunchtime, in the school yard, the girls made a dash for Amelia. Two of them grabbed her under the armpits, and another two got hold of her ankles, and they heaved her from side to side, with her pinafore trailing on the ground. Amelia was laughing so much she couldn’t even yell at them to stop. Then they dropped her onto her bottom on the ground, thirteen times, once for every year, calling out the numbers and bumping her faster and faster as they approached thirteen. They were careful not to hurt her, but the final bump was quite a jolt all the same, as the girls let her go abruptly and then collapsed in a giggling heap on top of her. Amelia got a mouthful of Dorothea Jacob’s hair and Mary Webb’s elbow poked her in the eye.
Gradually the squirming mass of boots, pinafores and bodies disentangled itself, and Amelia sat up and combed her fingers through her hair in case there were any twigs or leaves in it. ‘This is the Grosvenor Academy for Young Ladies, I’ll have you know,’ she said, brushing herself down, ‘not the Grosvenor Academy for Young Ponies.’
Suddenly, a dreadful thought occurred to her. She missed the little tug of the heavy watch. She reached around her neck to feel for the chain. There was nothing there! Amelia first went very red, then she went very pale and silent, and finally she burst into tears. She rolled over onto her stomach, heaved herself onto all fours, and went crawling around the school yard, frantically pawing the ground and shouting, between sobs, ‘My watch. My new gold watch!’
When the others realised what had happened, they too started to search everywhere for the gold watch that they’d all admired so much earlier in the day. But it was nowhere to be found.
‘It’s bound to turn up, Amelia,’ Lucinda said comfortingly. ‘Are you sure it hasn’t wriggled its way down your front and got tangled up in your petticoat?’
‘Of course it hasn’t,’ said Amelia crossly. ‘I’d feel a heavy thing like a watch if it was caught in my clothes. Oh dear, oh dear! What’ll I tell Papa?’ And she burst into tears all over again.
‘Will he be very vexed, Amelia?’ asked Lucinda, with a shake in her voice.
‘No, no. He’s never angry with me, never. But even so, I can’t bear to tell him I’ve lost his special present to me. Oh Lucy! What am I going to do?’
The others had drifted away by now, and Amelia and Lucinda were left alone in the school yard, their teeth
chattering
in the early spring wind, their faces looking pinched and cold. But they were shivering with disappointment and upset as much as with the cold of the afternoon.
‘Never mind,’ said Lucinda at last, putting her arm around her friend’s shoulder. ‘You’d better just try to put it out of your mind for the moment and enjoy the party this
afternoon
. Tomorrow, when all the excitement is over, we’ll think some more about the watch, and see if we can’t come up with a plan.’
‘All right,’ said Amelia heavily. ‘We’d better get back to class anyway. The second bell has already rung.’
All through afternoon school, Amelia thought and thought about the watch. First she tried to think what might have happened to it, where she might have dropped it. And then, when her head ached from thinking about that, she thought about how she was going to break the news to Mama and Papa. She found it very hard to take Lucinda’s advice and just forget about it for the moment.
When the bell rang for the end of school, the girls all crowded around Amelia again. They’d all forgotten about the watch, and were full of excited chatter about the party. They plagued Amelia with questions, about who was
coming
, what there would be to eat, whether there would be
dancing, whether the mamas were to come too. Amelia tried to smile and answer their questions patiently, but all she wanted was to get home to her own bedroom, and have a good weep. All the lovely birthday feeling had drained away and Amelia almost wished there wasn’t going to be a party later that afternoon. She just didn’t see how she was going to face it.
A
melia dragged herself wearily home, wishing vainly all the way that she’d never got the wretched watch in the first place, that she’d been more careful with it, that there wasn’t going to be a stupid party that afternoon, that she was still twelve, that birthdays, parties and watches had all never been invented. But as soon as she entered the house, she got whisked away on a magic carpet of excited anticipation that seemed to be swooping around and carrying the whole household with it.
The first person she met was Mary Ann, laden down with the most enormous trayful of hors d’oeuvres that Amelia had ever seen. She was manoeuvring the tray in front of her, as if it were a particularly unwieldy bicycle with a large front
basket
, like the one the butcher’s boy used for deliveries, with her elbows sticking out even more pointedly than normal. Her cap was slipping down her shiny forehead onto her pointy nose, and she kept jerking her head back to try and jolt the cap into position, because she didn’t have a free hand to adjust it.
Amelia stood hesitantly in the hallway. She was a bit daunted by the size of the tray, so instead of taking it she said, ‘Hold still a minute, Mary Ann,’ and she reached up and fixed Mary Ann’s errant cap.
‘Thanks,’ said Mary Ann with a sniffle. ‘Lawny, I’m run off my feet. I suppose you couldn’t blow my nose for me too, could you?’
‘Oh no!’ said Amelia, with distaste.
‘Idiot!’ said Mary Ann, with a high-pitched laugh. ‘I was only pulling your leg.’ And she turned to go into the dining room, still bearing the tray awkwardly in front of her.
‘Hey, wait a minute!’ said Amelia, trailing after her. ‘Aren’t you going to let me say thank you?’
‘What?’ said Mary Ann distractedly, from the doorway, turning her head to look back at Amelia.
‘For the handkerchief. It’s lovely. The embroidery is
beautiful
. Thanks, Mary Ann.’
‘It’s nothing,’ Mary Ann mumbled and proceeded into the dining room with the tray. She preferred pulling people’s legs to making polite conversation.
‘How come everyone’s so busy?’ asked Amelia, following Mary Ann into the dining room. She could hear doors
banging
and feet clip-clopping along with hurried steps. And there was Mama, standing on tiptoe on a step-ladder,
pinning
paper chains to the picture rail.
‘For goodness’ sake!’ said Mama, looking down at Amelia and answering the question she had put to Mary Ann. ‘In case you didn’t realise it, we are giving a party for twenty people in an hour’s time. Really, Amelia, do you think these things just happen by themselves?’
‘Of course I know they don’t, but it’s cold food. And there’s Mrs Kelly to help in the kitchen.’
‘She never showed up,’ said Mary Ann, taking Amelia by the waist and bodily moving her out of the middle of the room, where she was quite in the way.
‘Oh dear!’ said Amelia. ‘So it’s just you and Cook.’
‘That’s right,’ said Mary Ann cheerfully. ‘And now if you don’t mind, Miss, I’ve got to get back to the kitchen.’
Amelia stood for a while and wondered why Mrs Kelly hadn’t shown up. Perhaps the dressmaker’s assessment had been right, and the Kellys were a feckless family after all. It didn’t seem to make any sense to turn down a chance to make a little extra if money was short.
As she stood and wondered, Amelia gradually noticed the transformation that had taken place in the dining room. The french doors to the orangery were open, as she had planned, so it all looked like one generous, sunlit room.
Little
straight rainbows, like living icicles of light, danced on the floor, as the sunshine refracted through the orangery and fell into the room. The paper lanterns Amelia and Edmund had made for the party were strung in the orangery, and Mama had even found, not real orange trees, but a few parlour palms and aspidistras to give the flavour of a proper conservatory. Through the french doors, flung open to the orangery, through the clear air of the orangery itself, and on through its crystal walls you could see the
garden
, all awash with spring, the fruit trees dainty in their blossomy dresses and the garden bench at the foot of the garden strewn with fallen petals.
‘Oh, Mama!’ breathed Amelia, completely forgetting that Mary Ann was footsore and overworked, that Mrs Kelly was feckless and foolish and that she, Amelia Pim, had lost her first ever gold watch on the very day it was given to her by her dear Papa. ‘Isn’t it wonderful?’
‘Glad – you – like – it – darling,’ said Mama with an effort. She had her arms over her head, trying to pin the edge of a paper chain to the cornice.
‘I’ll see if I can find something to do in the kitchen,’ said Amelia, and she clattered off in that direction.
Cook, who was, as all cooks should be, a large, puddingy sort of person, whose full, soft cheeks shook when she spoke, like a half-cooked cake mixture that’s still wobbly
under the skewer, and who was normally, as all large,
puddingy
persons are, an oasis of calm and a rock of sense, was pink and flustered in the cheeks and concerned across the eyebrows. She raised one of her concerned eyebrows at Amelia as she entered the kitchen and said, ‘I hope you haven’t come looking for a snack, because I haven’t time to get you one.’ And with that, Cook ran, or at least she lurched quickly, which is the nearest that large, puddingy persons come to running, into the pantry and emerged shortly with a platter of iced buns with shiny little glacé cherries on top, for all the world like tiny casseroles with wee bright lid-knobs.
‘Oh no, Cook, I’ve come to see if I can help.’
Cook looked mollified. She shoved the plate of iced cakes at Amelia and said, ‘Well, you can take these to the dining room, but they’re for after the savouries, so make sure they go on the sideboard, not the main table. You can put them next to the jellies and the trifles.’
In her delight with the orangery and the light filling the normally rather dusky dining room, Amelia hadn’t even noticed the food. Now, clearing a place on the sideboard with her elbow to put the large plate of iced cakes down, she took in the splendid array of food for the first time. There were jellies, as Cook had mentioned, in three colours – green, purple and red – all beautifully turned out of their complicated moulds and glowing like translucent eastern buildings with turrets and minarets, and there were trifles in cut-glass bowls, thick with custard and studded with fruit, there were little bon-bon dishes of liquorice all-sorts, all bright and spanking, and there was, right in the centre of the desserts, a birthday cake such as Amelia had never seen before, with perfectly smooth white icing and little pink sugar roses around each of the thirteen candles. In addition, there was a spread of savouries on the large oval dining table – olives and pickled onions, tiny sausages, anchovy toast,
miniature egg-and-bacon tarts, and dainty little triangular sandwiches with the crusts cut off, with little bouquets of parsley dotted here and there among them. It was just as well Grandmama had taken Papa’s advice and absented herself to Bray for the day, for she would never have stood for
sandwiches
with the crusts cut off.
For the next while Amelia joined in the household dither, making little journeys up from the kitchen to the dining room, sometimes meeting Mary Ann on the way, stopping occasionally to hold the step-ladder for Mama when she was at a particularly awkward bit, and even carrying extra coal to the drawing room, where any mamas who came would be entertained.
There was so much to be done, and such an air of
determined
excitement about it all, and Amelia was bustling so hard with the rest of them that she almost forgot to go and get ready. Mama called to her at last: ‘Amelia, do you realise what time it is? They’ll be here in half-an-hour. What’s the point in having a watch if you don’t use it to keep an eye on the time?’
A cold shiver ran over Amelia’s skin, as if someone had suddenly opened a door from a warm room to a very cold outdoors and let in a wintry blast of air. She hadn’t given the watch a thought for a good half-hour at least. Oh bother Mama! Why did she have to spoil everything?
‘Very well, Mama,’ said Amelia in a subdued voice. ‘I’ll go and change.’
But when she arrived in her bedroom and saw the
beautiful
emerald silk dress glowing on the quilt where Mama must have laid it while she was at school, Amelia’s heart gave a
little
leap. When Amelia had last seen it, the dress had still been held together with pins, its glorious colour undimmed, but looking rather shapeless and temporary. Now it was a real ball-gown, shapely and lovely. It worked a magic spell
on Amelia, and all thoughts of the lost watch slipped out of her mind again.
She fingered the silk, and it whispered to her. She picked the dress up and held it to her, and it whispered some more. She caught a handful of the stuff and did a twirl, holding the skirt out, and it shimmered as it rustled, and then it sighed and flowed as she came to a standstill and dropped her handful of material. It was like something that was alive. It was certainly something to treasure.
Amelia laid the dress reverently back on the bed and went and propped the swinging mirror on her tallboy forward and examined her face. It was just as well she did, because there was a big black coaly smudge right in the middle of her nose. Amelia dabbed at it with her sponge until she had got rid of every trace of coal dust, and then she scrubbed her nails and, with long, careful strokes, she brushed her hair, which Mama had washed the night before and dried in front of the drawing-room fire.
Finally, she stepped out of her school clothes, drew on her best stockings and slipped the emerald dress over her head, listening to its murmurings as it slid over her ears and settled on her body. She did up all the little buttons carefully, adjusted the dress in the mirror, bent down and slipped into her party pumps, and behold, Amelia Pim, age thirteen, with a pretty little nose and sea-green eyes that more or less
compensated
for her sticky-out ears, and a burnished waterfall of yellow hair down her back, was ready to face the world, or at least to face twenty young people of mixed sex and
respectable
background in search of a few hours’ entertainment.
She glided down the stairs in the emerald dress, feeling as if she was floating on a silken cloud, as the dress gently
billowed
around her and rose up against her hands, with which she constantly smoothed and settled it. Just as she was
halfway
down, the doorbell rang and Mary Ann came at a gallop
from the dining room with the step-ladder under her arm and made frantic signals to Amelia to open the door herself while Mary Ann made good her escape to the kitchen with the evidence. Amelia hesitated, her heart thumping, and then she gathered up her courage and opened the door. There stood Lucinda and her elder brother, her first party guests.
How could Amelia ever have thought of not inviting Lucinda’s brother? That would have been a great mistake! He was tall, as sixteen-year-olds tend to be, much taller than either of the girls, and he had the same head of bubbly auburn curls that Lucinda had, except that his, cut shorter, looked less as if they were about to take over the world. He looked down at Amelia from a pair of tawny eyes, bright and devilish as his sister’s, and, with a slight forward inclination of the top half of his body that might or might not have been a bow, said: ‘Amelia Pim? I am Frederick Goodbody. Perhaps you remember me?’
Amelia wasn’t sure if he was poking fun at her, but she thought it better to reply graciously. Just as she was about to open her mouth, she heard a muffled giggle behind her, and she knew Mary Ann must be there. She had been handling the situation nicely until she realised she was being observed, but now she could feel herself blushing. ‘Hello,’ she said, unceremoniously, and didn’t offer to shake hands. ‘Come in.’ And then she immediately started to chatter
nervously
to Lucinda, and to fuss with the coats, ignoring Frederick, who stood gallantly by and examined Papa’s hunting prints in the hallway.
Then the doorbell rang again. It was Dorothea Jacob, with her older sister and her cousin Richard. Dorothea looked a bit strange. Her face was pale, but her eyes were pink and there were two bright red spots on her cheekbones. Amelia couldn’t remember inviting Elizabeth, Dorothea’s sister, but
she took her cape just the same and smiled at her. And before Amelia could hang up the coats, there was another ring at the door. Amelia whooshed the first guests into the dining room and turned to admit the next group, and before five minutes had passed, the party had started to happen, all by itself, without Amelia having to give it another thought.
She was a hostess.