Aunt Alice hailed a cab and they sped up Bourke Street, the horse's mane and tail flying, as if it knew they were trying to beat Mother home.

Rose dared to hope that they would indeed get there first. Trees and houses whipped past, and as the horse slowed on the hill up from the river, Aunt Alice leaned out and peered ahead. 'There's the carriage.' She called up to the driver. 'Take the next right, and then the left. Hurry!'

The driver followed Aunt Alice's directions, urging the horse on, and Rose realised they'd be entering their street from the other end. She leaned forward, craning her neck.

Caught

Rose pushed her embroidery needle through the doily and gasped as she pricked herself. Holy smoke, I hate embroidery! she thought. Blood welled up and hastily she wiped her finger on a handkerchief. She threw it down and pulled her chair over to the window of the small schoolroom.

From this part of the house, she could see John grooming the horses, and a strange boy in the yard cleaning Aunt Alice's bicycle, which she'd promised that Rose could learn to ride. The boy was skinny, about her height but with arms like pea sticks. His bright thatch of blonde hair was like a patch of sunlight moving around the yard, and when he talked and laughed with John, his whole face came alive. I'm going to find out who he is, Rose thought. He looks interesting.

The room was stuffy, and Miss Parson had piled more coal on the fire while she sniffed and coughed. 'Rose,' she said suddenly, 'I'm not well. Lessons are finished for the day.'

First Day at School

Rose gazed up at the tall iron gates, and then down the driveway to the big two-storey stone building that was St Swithin's School for Young Ladies. She couldn't believe she was actually here, about to start her first day at school!

John urged the horse forward and the buggy rattled towards the school, pulling up in front of the tiled steps. Rose jumped straight out.

'Thank you, John. Will you be back at three o'clock?'

All in Black

'Isn't it beautiful?' Rose's big sister, Martha, twirled and the pale-blue silk of her dress shone in the sunlight streaming through the bay window. The dress had been specially made for Martha's forthcoming seventeenth birthday dinner, a huge occasion that Mother had been planning for weeks.

Rose nodded. 'You look like a bunch of bluebells.'

Martha laughed. 'Thanks ... I think.'