Miss Happiness and Miss Flower (7 page)

‘There aren’t trees as small as that,’ said Belinda.

There was no scroll yet, but in the niche Nona put a vase of flowers. For the vase she used her ivory thimble, and for flowers she chose a scarlet pimpernel – ‘That’s a peony,
the King of Flowers’ – and with it were stalks of grass – ‘Dolls’-house bamboo,’ said Nona. ‘Bamboo means luck.’

‘Yes. Yes!’ breathed Miss Flower.

It was finished. ‘They can move in tomorrow,’ said Nona.

‘Tomorrow!’ Miss Happiness felt as if all of her were warmed by the firebox, but Miss Flower felt as if she might crack. ‘I shan’t close my eyes all night,’ she
said. They could not close in any case, but she meant that she would not sleep.

‘Our house!’ said Miss Happiness. ‘Tomorrow we move into our house.’

‘Yes!’ Then Miss Flower stopped. ‘We haven’t moved in yet. Suppose . . . suppose something were to happen and prevent . . .’

‘But what could?’ asked Miss Happiness.

Miss Flower did not know, but all at once she felt cold.

‘Can I have a feast?’ Nona was asking.

‘You can ask some people to tea,’ said Mother.

‘Can I ask Mr Twilfit and Miss Lane and Mrs Ashton and Melly? And you and Father and Anne and Tom – and Belinda of course?’

‘I’m not coming,’ said Belinda.

‘Why should Nona have people to tea?’ asked Belinda, and kicked the corner of the table leg. ‘It’s not her birthday.’

‘Now, Belinda . . .’

Belinda kicked the corner of the table leg again.

‘If you do that,’ said Mother, ‘you can go upstairs at once.’ Then she put her hand on Belinda’s shoulder and said gently, ‘Belinda. Nona has worked so hard.
Don’t spoil it’; but Belinda shook Mother’s hand off, kicked the table leg harder than ever, and ran upstairs.

It was no wonder that Miss Flower trembled.

The dolls were to have a feast too. ‘A tea party,’ said Nona.

‘A tea ceremony,’ said Miss Flower.

Belinda’s dolls’-house food was a cardboard ham glued on a plate, some plaster fish glued on another and a plaster pink and white cake. ‘That won’t do at all,’ said
Nona, and she went to see Mr Twilfit to find out about a Japanese feast. In the end a beautiful little feast was set out on the low table: a bowl of rice made of snipped-up white thread – nothing
else was fine enough; a saucer of bamboo shoots made of finely chopped grass; a saucer of pink and white sugar cakes made from crumbs of meringue cut round; and some paint-water tea.
‘
Green
tea?’ asked Belinda.

‘Japanese people drink green tea.’

‘Huh! You know everything,’ said Belinda, who was in a very bad temper. ‘Everything!’ she said. ‘But there’s one thing you don’t know.’

‘What is that?’

‘Wait and see,’ said Belinda, and she looked angry and pleased at the same time.

The dolls were dressed in new kimonos; Father had given Nona an empty cigar box and she kept their clothes in that. Mrs Ashton had made Miss Happiness a white kimono embroidered with a tiny
pattern of leaves, over an under-dress of pale yellow silk, and with a sash of blue. Miss Flower’s was coral pink over an under-dress of delicate violet colour, and her sash was pale green.
Their hair was brushed and their socks and sandals had been painted. Tom had carefully patched the chip on Miss Flower’s ear with some white paint and repainted Miss Happiness’s shoe.
‘We look quite new,’ said Miss Happiness.

‘Is it really going to happen?’ asked Miss Flower. Even though she was dressed she could not quite believe it.

‘It really is,’ said Miss Happiness.

In the dolls’ house the house lamp and the firebox were switched on, and the lantern was lit. In the real house the front door bell rang, and ‘It really is,’ said Miss
Flower.

Everyone brought presents. Melly had a packet of water flowers, the Japanese paper flowers that uncurl into brightly coloured patterns when you drop them into water. ‘You
can put one or two in the shell for water lilies,’ said Melly.

Mrs Ashton brought a tiny paper sunshade she had once found in a cracker. ‘It’s from Japan,’ she said.

‘Quite right,’ said Miss Happiness and Miss Flower.

Miss Lane had brought her present in a matchbox; it was a length of paper three inches long and an inch and a quarter wide – if you measure with your ruler you will see how big it was. Top
and bottom it was held on two matchsticks that Miss Lane had sandpapered smooth and fine; the paper could roll up on them, and on the paper, in fine, fine painting, was some white plum blossom and
a bird; the bird was no bigger than a pea. There was some writing too, but so small that to read it you almost needed a magnifying glass, and Nona cried, ‘It’s my poem!’

‘Who could have done it?’ asked Belinda.

‘It looks like a fairy but I think it was Miss Lane,’ said Nona.

‘A scroll! A right size Japanese scroll!’ said Miss Happiness.

‘But shouldn’t the writing have been Japanese?’ asked Miss Flower doubtfully.

‘Not in England. That wouldn’t have been polite,’ said Miss Happiness, and Miss Flower was satisfied.

Nona hung the scroll in the niche. ‘Soon I must make you a new one,’ said Miss Lane. ‘This one is for spring but you should change them with the seasons.’ Miss Happiness
and Miss Flower gave two doll’s nods, which means they nodded though you could not see them, and said, ‘Quite right.’

Anne had made two pleated fans, no bigger than your finger nail. ‘It says they should wear fans for the tea ceremony,’ said Anne.

‘Very right,’ and Miss Happiness and Miss Flower were glad when the fans were tucked into their sashes.

Tom had made two tiny pairs of wooden clogs of the kind Japanese ladies use to walk in in the mud, fastened with a loop of scarlet cotton. ‘O Honourable Tom!’ said the dolls.

All the presents were beautiful but the best of all was Mr Twilfit’s. He had brought two trees. ‘Are those
trees
?’ asked Belinda. ‘Real
trees
?’

‘A pine and a willow,’ said Nona looking at the labels. She sounded dizzy, as indeed she was, for how many people have heard of or seen a pine tree ten inches high and a willow only
seven? ‘But – they’re real, alive!’ cried Nona.

‘Quite real,’ said Mr Twilfit, his eyebrows going up and down.

‘I didn’t know,’ said Miss Flower with great respect, ‘that there was anything like that in England.’

‘England is indeed a most honourable country,’ said Miss Happiness.

‘They are grown for people who make sink gardens,’ said Mr Twilfit. ‘Dwarf gardens in sinks or basins.’ Everyone was so enchanted that he was beginning to feel shy and
his eyebrows grew still. ‘Better plant ’em,’ said Mr Twilfit abruptly, and he turned away to look at the house. As he looked he forgot to be shy and his eyebrows began to go up and
down again. ‘The President couldn’t have made it any better,’ he said to Tom.

The best of a dolls’-house garden is that it takes only five minutes to plant a tree. Nona planted the pine by the shell, the willow by the stream. They made the garden look exactly like
the gardens in the book.

Then Nona turned to the dolls. She made them bow to the company – which means all the people there – and said, ‘Miss Happiness and Miss Flower, will you come into your
home?’ but before they could be made to walk up the path bordered with shells and past the tubs of lady’s-slipper, Belinda spoke:

‘Not Miss Flower,’ said Belinda. ‘She’s mine.’

‘Belinda! Belinda! You’re not going to spoil it?’

‘Yes I am,’ said Belinda.

Mother had taken Belinda to the playroom to talk to her. Belinda stood hard and angry by the table; her cheeks were red and her eyes very blue and bright. She argued with Mother.

‘On the parcel it said “The
Misses
Fell”. You said Anne was too old for dolls and we could have one each. You
said
so,’ argued Belinda.

‘But that was long ago,’ said Mother.

‘Miss Flower’s mine,’ said Belinda. ‘You can’t take her away from me.’

‘It’s just that you don’t want Nona to have her,’ said Mother sadly. ‘Oh, Belinda! Belinda!’

‘I don’t care,’ said Belinda.

‘That’s true,’ said Mother. ‘You never cared or thought about Miss Flower or wanted her.’

‘I want her now,’ said Belinda, and she took Miss Flower and threw her into her own dolls’ house and slammed the door.

Belinda ate her tea very quickly. Her cheeks were still red, her eyes an even brighter blue. She talked a great deal and said funny things to make everyone laugh, but it was an
odd thing that nobody laughed at them except Belinda. No one else really talked and nobody ate very much. Nona ate nothing at all and her face looked white and sick with disappointment; Belinda saw
Melly steal a hand into hers, and ‘Can I have another meringue?’ asked Belinda; and when she put it into her mouth she laughed and blew the sugar crumbs all over the table.

‘I think we will go into the drawing-room,’ said Mother. ‘Belinda, you had better finish your tea alone.’

In the dolls’ house the lantern threw a soft light into the house where the front was open and the screens had been slid back to show the garden; the lantern made a
reflection in the looking-glass stream and gave the tiny trees real shadows.

Miss Happiness knelt on her cushion in front of the table set ready for the tea ceremony, but she did not touch any of the tea; opposite her was the blue cushion, empty, and a little empty
bowl.

‘Oh, why couldn’t Miss Belinda have taken me?’ mourned Miss Happiness. That would have been dreadful enough, but she was stuffed fuller than Miss Flower and her plaster had not
been chipped. ‘Miss Flower wanted the house even more than I did,’ mourned Miss Happiness. ‘She was always frightened.’ If dolls could have tears I am sure they would have
rolled down Miss Happiness’s plaster cheeks. ‘Oh, I’m afraid!’ cried Miss Happiness. ‘I’m afraid that Miss Flower will not be able to bear it. I’m afraid
she will break.’

There was certainly not a sound or movement in Belinda’s dolls’ house; not the smallest doll rustle.

When tea was over the guests quietly went home. ‘Shan’t we play any games?’ asked Belinda, astonished.

‘We would rather not play with you,’ said Anne.

‘Because you’re a little rotter,’ said Tom.

Belinda put out her tongue at him, which was not at all pretty for it still had crumbs of meringue sticking to it.

‘You had better go upstairs,’ said Mother.

Nona put out the lantern, and switched off the lamp and the firebox. She washed the bowls and platters and put them away. Then she unrolled the blue quilts – the pink
ones stayed in the pencil box cupboard – and gently she laid Miss Happiness down and covered her up. Miss Happiness looked very small and lonely in the big room and when Nona slid the paper
screens shut they made a s-s-s-sh like a sigh.

Belinda sang and danced all the time she was going to bed; it was odd then that the house should have felt so silent. Tom and Anne had gone to their rooms to do their homework;
usually they did it with friendly calls from room to room, but now they shut their doors. Nona had got into bed without a word and lay with her face turned to the wall. Downstairs in the
drawing-room Father and Mother talked in low tones. ‘What a fuss about a doll,’ said Belinda.

No one answered. She half thought of going to the dolls’ house and taking Miss Flower out and throwing her at Nona, but ‘I’ll be darned if I will,’ said Belinda.

Saying ‘be darned’ like Tom made her feel very big and important and she shouted and gargled as she did her teeth.

The house still stayed quite silent.

Belinda always went to sleep as soon as her head touched the pillow; only once, long ago, when she had had a cold, she had woken up in the night with a sore throat and stuffy
nose. She had not got a cold now but there seemed to be something the matter.

She tossed and turned and twisted. She heard Anne and Tom go to bed, and then later – hours and hours, thought Belinda – Mother and Father came up.

‘I can’t go to slee-ep,’ called Belinda. It did not sound loud, it sounded like a bleat, but Mother did not come in or give Belinda a glass of hot milk as she had that other
night. Mother went into her room and shut the door.

Belinda was so surprised that she got out of bed and padded in her bare feet to Mother’s door and knocked. Mother opened it a crack. ‘I can’t go to slee-ep,’ wailed
Belinda.

‘I’m not surprised,’ said Mother and shut the door.

Then Belinda felt something queer in her eyes and in her chest, as if something hot and aching were gathering and coming up. Quietly she went back to bed and burrowed under the clothes, but up
the aching came until it spilled over; it was wet and splashed down on her pillow. It was tears.

‘It’s no good crying.’ How often Belinda had said that to Nona, but sometimes it is good. As the tears soaked into Belinda’s pillow the hard angry
feeling seemed to melt away, and ‘I’m sorry,’ sobbed Belinda, ‘sorry.’ But she did not cry herself to sleep, she cried herself awake, perhaps more awake than she had
ever been in her life.