It was nearly two o’clock. We were assembled around the dining room table, but lunch had not yet been served and the atmosphere in the room was rather tense. Mr Petrov, with a frown, announced the reason for the delay.
“We are waiting for my great-nephew Harold,” he said. “He is coming home from school.”
“What school is that, Nicky?”
“Cantilever College.”
“Ah, he has his holidays,” said Papa.
“I suppose you could call it that.” Mr Petrov was tight-lipped and grim.
You could have cut the air with a knife.
Then, all in a rush, as if she couldn’t hold back any longer, Helen said, “I hope you are not going to be too hard on him, Nicholas. Remember, I told you we should have sent him to Castlemaine Grammar School. It is good enough for the Leviny children, and–”
“You must excuse Helen,” said Mr Petrov. “She is upset. I’m afraid Harold has been expelled.”
“Oh, that’s terrible!” exclaimed Connie, and then blushed. “I beg your pardon.”
“Actually, it is not so terrible,” said Helen. “Nor is it totally unexpected. It’s happened before.”
“What’s ’e done?” Trust Poppy to come right out with it.
“According to the headmaster, he is not amenable to discipline,” answered Mr Petrov.
Poppy frowned as she tried to take in all those long words.
“I’ll tell you a secret, Poppy,” said Helen. “Harold is cleverer than his teachers, and that’s the problem.”
“Aha,” said Papa. “He is an intelligent boy, yes? And does not fit the mould expected of him? I like the lad already.”
The dining room door opened and in came Hannah bearing a soup tureen. Following her was a tall, broad-shouldered boy in a magenta school blazer. I’d say he was fifteen or sixteen. He had curly dark hair, hazel eyes and a rather square jaw. His black brows were drawn together in a worried frown.
He went straight to Mr Petrov. “Uncle Nick, I’m sorry. I tried, I really did.”
“But not hard enough.” Then in a softer tone, Mr Petrov said, “Those teachers don’t know a bright boy when they see him.” He held out his arms and Harold gave him a gentle hug. “Welcome home, nephew. Now go and greet your aunt.”
Harold slipped into the chair next to Helen’s. There was a tender look on her face as she turned her cheek for a kiss.
“You haven’t said good afternoon to our guests, dear,” she said in a low voice.
“How rude of me. I beg your pardon,” he said. He felt in the pocket of his blazer and brought out a pair of rather smeary spectacles. With them on, he looked a little like an eccentric young professor. He shook hands with Papa, and then turned to Connie, Poppy and me. “I’m happy to meet you. Very happy. You see, I’ve got three younger sisters at home in England, and I miss them. So …” He flashed a cheeky glance at his great-uncle. “I’m glad I got expelled.”
No one mentioned Cantilever College again. Harold seemed keenly interested in all the colonial news and politics and the men had quite a long talk until Poppy complained.
“That’s all a bit dull for me.”
“I do apologise,” said Harold, turning to her. “Why did the pony cough?”
Poppy was nonplussed. “Why?”
“Because it was a little hoarse.”
She thought for a few seconds.
“It’s a joke!” she giggled. “Tell some more.”
Harold obliged with another and then another but in the end she got the hiccups from laughing so much.
“Stop now, you ridiculous boy,” said Helen, giving him a playful slap on the hand. She was very fond of him, that was clear, but there was something else. Was I imagining it, or did she seem relieved he was here? I thought back to this morning in town, and the letter. My guess was that it had been a warning from Harold. Now he was here, and Mr Petrov wasn’t upset or angry, perhaps …
Maybe I should stop seeing mysteries everywhere.
“Those jokes, they are terrible,” said Papa. “Where did you learn them?”
“From Uncle.” Harold fell silent.
“I used to tell them to my grandchildren.”
In the pause that followed I remembered my vision in the Indian room: the small shapes under the sheet and the chess pieces fallen on the floor.
Helen changed the subject. “The Levinys are hosting one of their soirées tonight, Harold. I am going to sing, and Connie will be accompanying me.”
“Oh, that’s splendid,” said Harold. “And will you be performing too, Verity?”
“No. I’m not musical.”
“Neither am I,” he said with a cheerful grin. “Not a bit. But I enjoy seeing other people enjoying themselves, so I always love a concert.”
My thoughts exactly.
We girls had packed our good dresses, and they’d been hung up overnight to get the creases out. We all had new outfits. Connie’s was blue, Poppy’s was pink stripes, and mine was pale green with tiny covered buttons all down the bodice.
There was a tap at the door. It was Helen, dressed in lemon yellow trimmed with white lace. She had white silk rosebuds in her hair and a string of very fine pearls round her neck.
Poppy gave a sigh of delight. “You look absolutely divided!” she said.
“Thank you, darling.” Helen dropped a kiss on top of Poppy’s head. “I have something for you.” It was a pink hair ribbon. She had a blue one for Connie.
“An’ what about Verity?” asked Poppy.
“I will do Verity’s hair myself,” she said, guiding me onto the seat in front of the dressing table. She smiled at our joint reflections in the mirror and began undoing my plaits. “I wonder what you would look like with a side parting?” She picked up my brush and comb. “Do you mind?”
I’d rather my hair was left as it was, but it seemed rude to say so.
She produced a few more silk rosebuds and some narrow pink ribbon. With quick, clever fingers she pulled my hair back from my face and wove the ribbon through my hair into a complicated braid. A flower here and there, and she stood back to admire her handiwork.
“One last touch.”
My reflection looked back at me with a quizzical expression. Anyone with half an eye could have seen that the flowers didn’t suit me. Too fiddly, too fussy. But it wasn’t just good manners that made me smile and thank Helen. It was what she said as she twisted the last rosebud into my hair.
“I often think … how lovely it would have been,” she whispered, almost to herself, “… to have a daughter.”
As well as a nanny goat, the Petrovs kept a horse. She was a big brown mare called Beauty and she pulled the Petrovs’ phaeton. It was a roomy four-wheeler with slat sides and two seats facing each other. It could carry four people but we wouldn’t all fit in, so rather than do two trips, we girls volunteered to walk to the Levinys’ house with Harold while Helen and Papa went in style. Mr Petrov wasn’t going. According to Helen, he rarely went out in the evenings any more. Helen herself took the reins, and I was surprised. I’d never seen a woman drive before.
As she walked, Connie hummed to herself and I knew she was mentally rehearsing her music. Poppy held Connie’s hand and trotted along beside her. Harold and I would have to make conversation, or else walk in silence. Which was it going to be? I wasn’t often shy, but I’d never known any boys before. What could we talk about?
As it turned out, conversation was not a problem. Harold was curious. He was much more curious than Judith would consider polite. (Judith had rather strict ideas about etiquette.) He didn’t seem to know that one shouldn’t ask personal questions of a new acquaintance.
“You and your father – I’ve noticed you have different surnames,” he said. “How did that come about?”
“It’s rather a long story,” I said. “I was adopted.”
“Oh, so Mr Savinov is not your real father?”
“Yes, he is. Ma and Pa – their names were Thomas and Elizabeth Sparks – took me in when I was only a few months old.” I paused. How could I tell such a complicated tale in a few brief sentences? “It was meant to be temporary but Mama died in a fire and my father was told that I’d died too.”
Harold’s eyes were on my face. “Go on,” he said.
“Ma and Pa died of typhoid fever when I was eleven. My aunt and uncle couldn’t keep me, so I was apprenticed to a milliner.” I paused again. “I lost my job and the Plush family took me in. Professor Plush and my father were friends and … well, eventually we discovered the truth.”
His face registered surprise. Well, the truth was surprising. Here in the colonies, people knew me only as rich Mr Savinov’s daughter, but my real story was almost incredible. I was a bit choked up and changed the subject.
“Your aunt seems much happier now that you are here.”
“Yes,” he said. “And you girls have cheered her up. Especially Poppy. Auntie Nell loves children.”
“Even schoolboys who don’t behave themselves,” I said demurely.
“And sharp-eyed young ladies.”
“Sharp-eyed?” I looked at him sideways. Was that a compliment – or not? “What do you mean?”
“Oh, I get the impression that you are a very noticing sort of person.”
“That makes two of us, then.”
For some reason, we both found that very funny. We were still laughing when we arrived at the Levinys’.