grand and fine,’ said Marchpane.
‘ C’est vrai mais –’ said the walking doll, ‘ Mais – ’ Her voice sounded as if her works had quite run down.
‘I don’t want to go back in my box,’ said the wax doll. ‘It is too dark and quiet. I wish . . . ’ She was thinking of the caretaker’s child who still crept
out to look at her in the evenings when the people had gone. ‘I wish . . . ’
The last day came. Tottie, with every minute, grew more happy and excited.
‘You are lucky,’ sighed the wax doll.
‘Tell us about dis ’ouse you are in,’ said the walking doll.
‘Yes, tell us. Then I can think about it when I lie with my eyes shut in my box. I can think and pretend. Tell, Tottie. Tell us.’
All the dolls took up the cry. ‘Tell us, Tottie. Tell.’
Tottie had always thought it better not to talk about the house in front of Marchpane, but now she was so excited and happy herself and so sorry for the other dolls that she forgot to take care.
She began to tell about the dolls’ house.
She told them about its cream walls and the ivy and Darner’s kennel. She told about the red hall and the sitting room with the holly-green carpet and the struggle to get the chairs (though
she did not tell that she had thought that she herself had been sold to get them). She told about the rooms upstairs and the pink and blue carpets and the bath with the taps, and she told about
Birdie and Mr Plantaganet and Darner and Apple. She told them from the beginning to the end, from the bottom to the top. When she had done, there was a long soft silence, and then a-aahs and sighs
from the dolls.
‘If only . . . ’
‘I wish . . . ’
‘It might have been . . . ’
‘I wish . . . ’
‘If only . . . ’
‘If only . . . ’
‘Oh, lucky, lucky Tottie!’
‘Oh, Tottie, you are lucky!’
‘Don’t you believe her,’ cried Marchpane in a loud voice. ‘That isn’t her house. It’s mine.’
All the dolls looked at Marchpane. Then they all looked at Tottie.
‘It is in our nursery now,’ said Tottie.
‘You stole it while I was at the cleaners.’
‘It was sent to us, as you were sent to the cleaners. It needed cleaning and taking care of,’ said Tottie. ‘We cleaned it and took care of it.’
‘How dare you!’ cried Marchpane. ‘You think because the Queen noticed you, you can do anything. Wait and see. Wait and see,’ cried Marchpane. ‘I shall have that
house back.’
‘How can you?’ asked Tottie. ‘It’s in our nursery.’
‘Wait and see,’ said Marchpane. ‘Wait and see.’
The Exhibition was closed. The dolls had been taken away, the room was empty, and when the caretaker’s child came in the evening there were only long blank tables where Tottie and
Marchpane and Queen Victoria’s dolls and the walking doll and the wax doll and the other dolls had been.
Did the caretaker’s child think of the wax doll? And the wax doll, in her lonely box, think of the caretaker’s child and of the finger that had touched her satin dress? Did the dolls
think of Tottie’s welcome home by Emily, Charlotte, Birdie, Mr Plantaganet, Apple, and Darner?
I think they did.
Chapter 13
It was winter when Tottie came back to the dolls’ house. If you would like to know how winter looks to a doll imagine yourself as looking into a crystal ball, a ball of
glass, in which a Christmas-frost snowstorm is being shaken down on little splinter trees and cardboard houses. Children were given those snowstorm balls when Great-Great-Aunt Laura and Emily and
Charlotte’s great-grandmother were young. Winter looks like that to dolls because they are not often taken out in the winter, and they see the snow and snowflakes through the windowpanes of
glass.
Tottie came back and it was winter, but so far there was no snow.
Emily and Charlotte took her with them when they went to Mrs Innisfree’s house to fetch the couch and chairs.
‘Tottie ought to go, because it was Tottie who really got the
‘ C’est vrai mais –’ said the walking doll, ‘ Mais – ’ Her voice sounded as if her works had quite run down.
‘I don’t want to go back in my box,’ said the wax doll. ‘It is too dark and quiet. I wish . . . ’ She was thinking of the caretaker’s child who still crept
out to look at her in the evenings when the people had gone. ‘I wish . . . ’
The last day came. Tottie, with every minute, grew more happy and excited.
‘You are lucky,’ sighed the wax doll.
‘Tell us about dis ’ouse you are in,’ said the walking doll.
‘Yes, tell us. Then I can think about it when I lie with my eyes shut in my box. I can think and pretend. Tell, Tottie. Tell us.’
All the dolls took up the cry. ‘Tell us, Tottie. Tell.’
Tottie had always thought it better not to talk about the house in front of Marchpane, but now she was so excited and happy herself and so sorry for the other dolls that she forgot to take care.
She began to tell about the dolls’ house.
She told them about its cream walls and the ivy and Darner’s kennel. She told about the red hall and the sitting room with the holly-green carpet and the struggle to get the chairs (though
she did not tell that she had thought that she herself had been sold to get them). She told about the rooms upstairs and the pink and blue carpets and the bath with the taps, and she told about
Birdie and Mr Plantaganet and Darner and Apple. She told them from the beginning to the end, from the bottom to the top. When she had done, there was a long soft silence, and then a-aahs and sighs
from the dolls.
‘If only . . . ’
‘I wish . . . ’
‘It might have been . . . ’
‘I wish . . . ’
‘If only . . . ’
‘If only . . . ’
‘Oh, lucky, lucky Tottie!’
‘Oh, Tottie, you are lucky!’
‘Don’t you believe her,’ cried Marchpane in a loud voice. ‘That isn’t her house. It’s mine.’
All the dolls looked at Marchpane. Then they all looked at Tottie.
‘It is in our nursery now,’ said Tottie.
‘You stole it while I was at the cleaners.’
‘It was sent to us, as you were sent to the cleaners. It needed cleaning and taking care of,’ said Tottie. ‘We cleaned it and took care of it.’
‘How dare you!’ cried Marchpane. ‘You think because the Queen noticed you, you can do anything. Wait and see. Wait and see,’ cried Marchpane. ‘I shall have that
house back.’
‘How can you?’ asked Tottie. ‘It’s in our nursery.’
‘Wait and see,’ said Marchpane. ‘Wait and see.’
The Exhibition was closed. The dolls had been taken away, the room was empty, and when the caretaker’s child came in the evening there were only long blank tables where Tottie and
Marchpane and Queen Victoria’s dolls and the walking doll and the wax doll and the other dolls had been.
Did the caretaker’s child think of the wax doll? And the wax doll, in her lonely box, think of the caretaker’s child and of the finger that had touched her satin dress? Did the dolls
think of Tottie’s welcome home by Emily, Charlotte, Birdie, Mr Plantaganet, Apple, and Darner?
I think they did.
Chapter 13
It was winter when Tottie came back to the dolls’ house. If you would like to know how winter looks to a doll imagine yourself as looking into a crystal ball, a ball of
glass, in which a Christmas-frost snowstorm is being shaken down on little splinter trees and cardboard houses. Children were given those snowstorm balls when Great-Great-Aunt Laura and Emily and
Charlotte’s great-grandmother were young. Winter looks like that to dolls because they are not often taken out in the winter, and they see the snow and snowflakes through the windowpanes of
glass.
Tottie came back and it was winter, but so far there was no snow.
Emily and Charlotte took her with them when they went to Mrs Innisfree’s house to fetch the couch and chairs.
‘Tottie ought to go, because it was Tottie who really got the
Similar Books
My Grandfather Would Have Shot Me: A Black Woman Discovers Her Family's Nazi Past
Jennifer Teege, Nikola Sellmair
