Miss Happiness and Miss Flower (3 page)

‘I didn’t know you could learn to
carpenter
out of books.’

‘You can learn anything out of books,’ said Tom.

‘A book like this?’

Tom nodded.

‘Oh!’ said Nona. She stood by him a moment longer and then said, ‘Thank you, Tom.’

Mother was very surprised when Nona appeared in front of her wearing her out-door things, her coat, red cap, boots and gloves. ‘Do you want to go
out
?’ said Mother.

‘Oh, please,’ said Nona. She was in such a hurry that the words tumbled out. ‘I’ve got my Christmas money. I want to go to the bookshop.’

‘Run along then, dear,’ said Mother.

Run along! The excitement faded out of Nona’s face. ‘By – by myself?’ she asked.

‘The bookshop is this side of the street. You won’t have to cross the road.’

‘But . . .’ The street with its lorries and cars and bicycles, and all the people, thought Nona; the big boys and the dogs. She shivered.

‘If you wait till this afternoon I’ll come with you.’

‘I can’t wait,’ said Nona.

As Nona opened the front door all the noise of the street came in: a lorry rumbled past, and a car; a gang of children on roller-skates made a noise like thunder; a big boy whistled. Nona shut
the front door and ran upstairs.

She had meant to take off her coat and cap and throw herself on the bed in tears again, but then she caught sight of Miss Happiness and Miss Flower.

They were standing one each side of her clock and . . . Did
I
take them out of the box, thought Nona staring. She must have done, but she had been so excited when she put on her things to
go out that she did not remember. Did I take them out of their box? She did not think she had, but there they were, standing by the clock, their feet together, their arms hanging down. It seemed to
Nona that they were waiting.

I suppose Japanese people are very brave people, thought Nona, and after a minute she went downstairs and opened the front door again.

Just as she was going out, Mother called her back. ‘Oh, Nona, if you are going to the bookshop be careful to be very polite to old Mr Twilfit. He’s inclined to be
cross.’

‘Cross! He’s an absolute old dragon,’ said Anne.

‘He once nearly bit my head off,’ said Tom cheerfully.

Nona began to shake. ‘Oh, Anne, come with me.’

‘Can’t. I’m busy.’

‘Tom?’

‘I’m busy too.’

Nona turned back to the door.

‘He once chased me out of the shop,’ said Belinda.

‘If I know you, you were touching the books with your dirty hands,’ said Tom.

Nona thought, and then went back upstairs and washed her hands. Even paler than usual, but with her head held high, she went out and shut the door behind her.

‘She has gone,’ whispered Miss Flower.

‘And for us,’ said Miss Happiness.

‘Is it to do with the house, do you think?’

‘I think so. We will wait for her to come back.’

Tick, tick, tick went the clock as the minutes passed. It might have been two little dolls’ hearts beating.

Nona’s heart was beating too, but . . . once you start being brave you have to go on, thought Nona. She was shaking when she got to the bookshop. Perhaps she expected to
meet a real dragon but all she could see in the shop were books, stacks and racks of them, books on shelves and laid on tables, books piled up on the counter. The shop had W. Twilfit, Bookseller,
over the window, but though she peeped and peered she could see no sign of anyone at all.

The bell rang as she went in, which made her jump. Very carefully she walked between the tables, and jumped again when she saw a big old man looking at her. In the dark shop he seemed very big,
very alarming to Nona; his grey hair stood up in a shock, making him seem even taller than he was, but the most frightening thing about him were his eyebrows that were thick and shaggy as two
furred grey caterpillars. When she saw him looking at her, Nona stayed as still as a mouse caught in a trap.

‘What do you want? Hey?’ His voice was so big that it seemed to rumble round the shop.

‘Please’ – Nona could hardly make any sound at all – ‘Please, have you got a book called
100 Ways to Make a Japanese House
?’

‘No such book.’ Besides being a rumble it was cross. Nona held on to the edge of a table.

‘But Tom said . . .’

‘Tom’s wrong.’

The shameful tears were near again. Nona bent her head over a book and turned over a page.

‘DON’T TOUCH!’ shouted Mr Twilfit.

This time Nona jumped so high that she bit her tongue, and the pain and the fright made her speak before she could think. ‘I
can
touch,’ she said. ‘I washed my hands
before I came!’

She did not know then that when Mr Twilfit’s eyebrows worked up and down, in the way that looked so frightening, it meant that he was pleased. They worked up and down now.
‘
Washed
them?’ said Mr Twilfit, as if he did not believe her.

For answer Nona showed them to him palms upwards. Mr Twilfit bent and looked at them; then he took one, and he could feel how Nona was trembling. ‘I didn’t know there was a boy or
girl in this town,’ he said, ‘who would wash their hands before they touched books. I beg your pardon, little Missy.’

The rumble was almost soft now. Ayah had called Nona Little Missy. It was too much for Nona; she burst into tears.

‘Must it be a Japanese house?’ asked Mr Twilfit.

‘They are – sniff – Japanese dolls – sniff,’ said Nona.

‘And you want to make them feel at home,’ said Mr Twilfit, and he looked out of the window. Then he said, ‘When I was a little boy I knew what it was like to be a long way from
home.’

Mr Twilfit had not chased Nona out of his shop, indeed he had taken her into his room behind it and sat her down at his desk while she told him all about Miss Happiness and Miss Flower. His
eyebrows worked up and down as she told from the beginning of the postman bringing the parcel, right down to
100 Ways to Make a Japanese House.

‘But I’m afraid I was right,’ he said. ‘There is no such book. There are others. Can you read?’ he rapped out.

‘Of course,’ said Nona.

‘Really read?’

That was one thing Nona was quite sure she could do, and she nodded.

Mr Twilfit got up and went back into the shop; Nona could hear him rummaging and taking down books from the shelves. ‘This one is called
Japanese Homes and Gardens
,’ he said,
bringing in a book. It was nearly half as big as Nona. She took a deep breath.

‘I don’t think I could pay for one as big as that,’ she said.

‘It’s nearly all pictures. Might be useful,’ said Mr Twilfit as if she had not spoken. He went back to the shop. He found another book called
Customs of Old Japan
; then
one on how the Japanese arrange flowers, and a book of Japanese fairy tales with more pictures. ‘Useful,’ said Mr Twilfit.

‘I don’t understand about the money here,’ said Nona. ‘Indian money is different.’ And she put all her Christmas money, a ten-shilling note, some half-crowns,
shillings, sixpences and pennies, on the desk. ‘But would this be enough?’

‘Can’t buy those books,’ said Mr Twilfit. ‘Out of the question. Cost a lot of money. Will you be careful if I lend them to you?’

‘Very careful,’ said Nona, and her brown eyes glowed.

‘Then give me your name and address.’

‘Nona Fell,’ said Nona dreamily – she was thinking about reading those books – ‘Nona Fell. Coimbatore Tea Estate, near Travancore, South India . . .’

‘You are in England,’ said Mr Twilfit very gently. ‘Your address here?’

Nona looked at him and the glow went out of her eyes. She could have fallen through the floor with shame; even small children, almost babies, know their address, but she had been taken into the
house almost as if she had been a piece of luggage, and had never bothered to notice or find out its address. ‘I don’t know,’ she had to whisper.

‘I see. You weren’t interested,’ said Mr Twilfit, and Nona nodded with another rush of tears.

‘Is it far?’ asked Mr Twilfit.

‘Just down the road.’

‘Come along then,’ said Mr Twilfit.

‘Good gracious heavens!’ said Belinda, who was looking out of one of the front windows. ‘
Look
at Nona and Mr Twilfit.’

Everyone crowded to the window to see.

‘He has a great bundle of books,’ said Anne.

‘She’s bringing him in,’ said Belinda.

‘Well, I’ll be darned!’ said Tom.

It was Mother who really brought him in, for it was she who opened the door. ‘Nona, I was getting anxious . . .’ then she broke off. ‘I see you have found a friend.’

‘Have I?’ asked Nona. She had not thought of having a friend in England, but it seemed like that when Mr Twilfit came in and sat down and had a cup of coffee.

‘And we were fetched down to the room to meet the old and honourable gentleman,’ said Miss Happiness.

‘She made us bow,’ said Miss Flower and she sounded just as pleased as Miss Happiness. ‘She is beginning to understand.’

Now every day on the playroom window seat three heads could be seen: Nona’s dark one, bent, as she sat cross-legged with one of Mr Twilfit’s books, and beside her
two very small black ones: Miss Happiness and Miss Flower. She had made them two cushions from pieces of old hair ribbon; Miss Happiness had a red cushion, Miss Flower’s was pale blue.
‘I like mine best,’ said Miss Flower; then she was worried in case Miss Happiness did not like her own, but ‘I like mine,’ said Miss Happiness.

Nona had no time to stand and look out of the window; she spent all day over Mr Twilfit’s books or trotting up the road to see Mr Twilfit. She was learning all she could about Japan; about
Japanese houses and gardens and Japanese furniture – though it mostly isn’t furniture, thought Nona; about quilts and cushions, bowls and scrolls; about the niche to hold a scroll and flowers;
about the way the Japanese arrange flowers. She was learning about Japanese feasts – ‘And they do have a Star Festival,’ said Nona, ‘a New Year Festival and a Feast of
Dolls.’

‘But not with dolls like us,’ said Miss Flower, and she and Miss Happiness said together, ‘
Honourable
dolls.’ Nona learned Japanese names, and about Japanese food
and Japanese fairy tales. She was not the only one to learn. ‘Everyone else has to learn too,’ said Anne, ‘willy-nilly,’ for Nona sometimes read the books aloud in her
sing-song voice. ‘Like a reading machine,’ said Tom.

‘For goodness’ sake!’ said Belinda, and stuffed her fingers in her ears.

Though Belinda stuffed her fingers in her ears there was one story she always managed to hear. It was in the fairy tale book and was about a boy called Peach. ‘
We
had a Little Peach who should have been in the parcel but was lost . . . and Mother
still
hasn’t written to Great-Aunt Lucy Dickinson,’ said Belinda.

The Peach Boy story began with a man and a woman who longed for a child. No child came, until on one hot summer day the woman found a big peach floating in the stream. She took it home for her
husband to eat, but no sooner had he touched it with his knife than the top flew off. It opened in two halves and there, in the peach, was a tiny baby boy.

‘A
Japanese
baby boy,’ said Miss Happiness and Miss Flower.

Belinda loved that story. ‘He grew up to be naughty, just like me,’ she said, ‘and when he was big he went out into the world. I wonder
why
our Little Peach didn’t
come,’ said Belinda.

Miss Flower could not help being anxious about the house. ‘Will Miss Nona know that a Japanese house should have walls that slide open like windows?’

‘Paper windows,’ said Miss Happiness.

‘That it should have a little garden to look at?’ said Miss Flower. ‘Does she know about quilts, not beds? Chopsticks, not spoons and forks? Cushions, not chairs?’

‘You know she knows about cushions,’ said Miss Happiness.

‘But bowls, not cups?’

‘Hush, she is studying.’

Miss Flower tried to hush but she could not help a small whisper. ‘It takes so long to study. If we could tell her . . .’

‘We can’t.’

‘What can we do for Honourable Miss?’

‘We can wish,’ said Miss Happiness, and they wished. Perhaps Belinda felt the wishing more than Nona, for, ‘Is she going on reading for
ever
?’ asked Belinda.

It really seemed as if Nona would go on reading for ever, but one snowy afternoon Mr Twilfit knocked at the door. He had brought a book. ‘Not
another
book!’
said Belinda.

‘Hush, Belinda,’ and Mother asked Mr Twilfit to come into the drawing-room where they all were; but Belinda would not hush.

‘She has read and read,’ said Belinda, ‘and she
still
doesn’t know how to make a Japanese house.’

‘I do know,’ said Nona, and they all looked at her.

‘Well, how?’

‘I don’t exactly know how but I know what it should be like.’

‘Well?’

Miss Happiness and Miss Flower, who had been brought down on their cushions, held their breaths.

‘Japanese houses are up off the ground,’ began Nona, ‘so the house should stand on stilts – or up on a box, I thought, with little wooden steps. Some of the walls should
be plain, but the other walls should slide like windows; they should be rather like picture frames but with plain paper crisscrossed with wood. Some of the inside walls should slide too, but they
are plain.’