Maude called out something to me, but she was too far away and I couldn’t hear. Then she pointed down at the fence separating our gardens and held up ten fingers. We are such kindred spirits that I understood immediately she meant we should meet there in ten minutes. I blew her a kiss and ducked inside to get dressed as quick as I could.
“Mama! Mama!” I shouted all the way down the stairs. Mama came running from the kitchen, thinking I was ill or had hurt myself. But when I told her about Maude she seemed not the least interested. She has not wanted me to see the Colemans, though she would never say why. Perhaps she has forgot them by now, but I have never forgot Maude, even after all this time. I knew we were destined to be together.
I ran outside and to the garden fence, which was too high to see over. I called to Maude and she answered, and after a moment her face appeared at the top of the fence.
“Oh! How did you get up there?” I cried.
“I’m standing on the birdbath,” she said, wobbling a bit. Then she managed to pull herself up, and before I knew it she’d tumbled over the fence and onto the ground! The poor dear was rather scratched by the rosebushes on the way down. I threw my arms around her and kissed her and brought her to Mama, who I am happy to say was very sweet to her and painted her scratches with iodine.
Then I took her up to my bedroom so that she could see my dollies. “I didn’t forget you,” I said. “I’ve looked for you every time we’ve visited the cemetery, hoping to see you.”
“So have I,” she said.
“But I never did. Only that naughty boy now and then.”
“Simon. Digging with his father.”
“Now that I’m here we can go back together, and he can show us all the other angels. It will be lovely.”
“Yes.”
Then Ivy May tried to spoil it by knocking my dollies’ heads together so hard I thought they might burst. I told her to leave but Maude said she didn’t mind if Ivy May stayed with us as she didn’t have a brother or sister to play with. Well. Ivy May looked pleased as Punch at that-as much as she looks pleased about anything.
Never mind. Then Maude had breakfast with us and we could not stop talking.
It is truly a miracle from heaven that the angels have led us to this house and me to my best friend.
Maude Coleman
It is funny how things happen. Daddy always says that coincidences are usually nothing of the sort if only one studies them carefully enough. He proved his point today.
I was looking out of my window when I saw a girl standing in hers across the way, brushing her hair. I had never seen her there before; two spinsters used to live in that house but had moved out a few weeks before. Then she tossed her head and shrugged her shoulders, and I realized it was Lavinia. I was so surprised to see her that I simply stood and stared.
I hadn’t seen her for so long-not since the Queen’s death over two years ago. Although I had asked Mummy several times if we could meet, she always made an excuse. She did promise to ask at the cemetery for the Waterhouses’ address, but I don’t think she ever did. After a time I stopped asking because I knew it was her way of saying no. I didn’t know why she didn’t want me to have a best friend, but there was nothing I could do except to hang about in the cemetery whenever we visited, hoping the Waterhouses would choose to visit then too. But they never did. I had given up on ever having a best friend. And I had not met any other girls who would like to go around the cemetery with me the way Lavinia did.
Now here she was, just across the way. I began to wave, and when at last she saw me she waved, too, frantically. It was very gratifying that she was so happy to see me. I signaled to her to meet me in the garden, then ran downstairs to tell my parents about the amazing coincidence.
Mummy and Daddy were already eating breakfast and reading the papers-Daddy the Mail, Mummy the St. Pancras Gazette. When I told them who our new neighbors were, Daddy was not amazed at all but explained he’d told the Waterhouses about that house.
Mummy gave him a peculiar look. “I didn’t know you were so friendly with them,” she said.
“He contacted me at the bank,” Daddy said. “Quite some time ago. Said they were thinking of moving to the area and did I know of any property. When that house came up I told him about it.”
“So now we are to be neighbors in life as well as in death,” Mummy said. She cracked the shell of her egg very hard with a spoon.
“Apparently he’s a fine batsman,” Daddy said. “The team could do with one.”
When it became clear that there was no coincidence, that Daddy had led the Waterhouses here, I felt strangely let down. I wanted to believe in Fate, but Daddy has shown once again that there is no such thing.
Gertrude Waterhouse
I would not dream of criticizing Albert’s judgment. He knows best in these matters, and to be sure I am very pleased with our new little house, a story higher than our Islington house and with a garden full of roses rather than the neighbor’s chickens scrabbling in the dirt.
But my heart did sink when I discovered that not only are we neighbors with the Colemans, but their house backs onto ours. And of course it is yet a story higher than ours and has the most tremendous garden. When no one was about I stood on a chair and peeked over. There is a willow, and a pond, and a bank of rhododendrons, and a lovely long lawn which I am sure the girls will play croquet on all summer.
Kitty Coleman was working in the garden, planting out primroses. Her dress was of the same buttery color, and she wore a lovely wide-brimmed hat tied on with a chiffon scarf. Even at her gardening she is so well dressed. She didn’t see me, I am thankful to say, or I should have been so mortified I might have fallen from the chair. As it was I hopped down quickly and jarred my ankle.
I would not confess this to anyone, not even Albert, but it irritates me that she keeps such a fine garden. It is south facing and very sunny, which makes it easier. And she must have a man to help-at the very least with the lawn, which looks rolled. I shall do my best with our roses, but I do kill plants off so easily. I really am hopeless in the garden. It doesn’t help that ours is north facing. And we cannot manage any help with it at present. I hope she does not offer to send her man over-I wouldn’t know what to do.
After Maude tumbled over the back fence I felt we should call round, if only to explain the scratches. The front of their house is so elegant-the garden is full of rosebushes, and the steps leading up to the door are tiled in black and white. (The door of our own house opens directly onto the pavement. But I must try not to compare.)
I was hoping just to leave my card, but Kitty Coleman received us very gracefully in her morning room. I blinked at the colors she’d had it done in-mustard-yellow with a dark brown trim, which I suppose is fashionable now. She called them “golden yellow” and “chocolate brown,” which sound much better than they looked. I prefer our own burgundy. There is nothing to compare with a simple burgundy parlor. Mind you, I don’t have a morning room-perhaps if I did have such a light room as hers on the first floor I might paint it yellow as well.
But I doubt it.
Her taste is very refined-embroidered silk shawls over the sofas, potted ferns, vases of dried flowers, and a baby grand piano. I was rather shocked by the modern coffee set, which has a pattern of tiny black and yellow checks that made me feel dizzy. I myself prefer a simple rose pattern. But à chacun son goût. Oh! I made the mistake of saying so out loud, and she replied in French. I understood not a word of it! It was my own silly fault for trying to show off.