Eve

by Beverley Hughesdon

  ‘Mr Parton is a distant cousin of Lord Rothbury’s – on the paternal side.’ So he wasn’t an outsider, either. Oh well. Dr Travers’ voice became brisk. ‘Now I really must run through one of my solos, so if we won’t be disturbing you at your work—’

  How polite he was! I assured him breathlessly, ‘Nae – I’d like tae hear ye sing.’

  He sprang up the steps to the piano. Mr Parton played the first notes of ‘Take a pair of sparkling eyes,’ and then Dr Travers began to sing. I knelt by the grate, shining the fire irons to silver with my steel mesh burnisher, and listening to that lovely tenor voice singing: ‘Live to love and love to live—’ It was one of the most perfect moments of my life. And soon Lord Rothbury would find me a dress to wear, and I would dance, tonight.

  Behind me Dr Travers sang ‘Fate has nothing more to give’. And I could only agree.

  When he’d finished I stood up, and said, ‘You’ve got a verra, verra guid voice.’

  ‘Thank you.’ He looked pleased.

  ‘In fact, ye’re sae guid, you could be on the stage.’

  He smiled. ‘As it happens, I have trod the boards – though only in an amateur capacity, naturally.’

  Footsteps outside – Lord Rothbury was back. I spun round to face him – suppose Lady Lydham had said ‘no’ – he gave me a reassuring smile. ‘No problem, we can choose whatever we like.’ With the three of us in tow he headed down to the end of the billiard room, pulled a small key out of his pocket and began to open a large, brassbound chest – which I’d dusted every morning!

  As he lifted the lid I exclaimed, ‘So the answer was under ma nose, all the time!’

  Dr Travers smiled. ‘That is so often the case with a solution to one of life’s problems – but you have to be prepared to look for it.’ Just what Apa used to say.

  Meanwhile Lord Rothbury had dropped to his knees and started rummaging through the contents of the Chest: silken fringes, satin flounces, sequinned skirts – in every colour of the rainbow. ‘All the old fancy dress costumes get put away in here, let’s see what we can find for you.’

  Sinking down to the floor beside him I plucked a pair of purple harem trousers from his hands and held them up to the light – they were made of a shimmering, transparent silk gauze. ‘Ah, I dae like these!’

  He snorted. ‘I thought you might, somehow.’

  Above us Dr Travers said firmly, ‘Not at all suitable for a female – in the Christmas pantomime these are always worn by a man.’ He added hastily, ‘Over his usual trousers, of course.’

  Looking at it from the practical point of view I said, ‘Then there’s nae point in their being see-through, is there?’ – and Lord Rothbury sort of exploded.

  Dr Travers thumped him hard on the back. ‘The dust in here must have got up your nose, Monty.’

  I was indignant. ‘There’s nae dust in this room – I see tae that. Oh, look!’ A red brocade kimono. ‘Can I wear this? I like scarlet.’

  ‘No, scarlet doesn’t like you.’

  Lord Rothbury removed it firmly from my grasp, but by then I’d spotted another treasure. ‘Oh – a real grass skirt!’ It rustled beguilingly. ‘I’ve always wanted to wear a —

  That was taken off me, too, with a forceful, ‘I’m going to do the choosing, or goodness knows what you’ll pick. Ah, I’ve got it! Now, here’s one that should suit you, and size and length aren’t critical for this outfit. Let me find all its constituent parts – here we are.’ He sprang to his feet, and held them out. ‘How do you like this, then?’

  A gypsy costume! I loved it.

  The full skirt was of emerald green velvet, ornamented by two bands of bright red embroidery enclosing a row of silver roundels that flashed and shone in the morning sunlight. The white muslin blouse was decorated by matching green and red embroidery round its low neck and puffed sleeves, and worn with a laced-up black velvet bodice, that pulled it in tight below the bust. Gosh!

  ‘You’d better run off and try it on – we’ll square it with your head housemaid, if necessary.’

  Lord Rothbury didn’t need to tell me twice. I was off down the corridor like a shot. No point going all the way upstairs – I dived into the business room, kicked off my shoes, shed my uniform, peeled my stockings off tossed them on the heap and then – into my costume. The minute the bow of my bodice laces was tied I shot off back again to the billiard room.

  As I reached the door I heard Dr Travers voice, raised in song. He paused, and back came the reply in a deep, strong, bass. I wasn’t surprised – that voice looked like Horseface. Suddenly, I was shy. Pushing the door open I poked my head round, and called, ‘I’m changed.’

  Lord Rothbury said, ‘That was quick. Well, come along in, so we can see you.’

  I obeyed.

  He and Dr Travers jumped down from the platform and stood looking at me. I twirled round, so all my silver circles sparkled, then stood still, waiting for their verdict. Dr Travers turned to Lord Rothbury and said with a smile, ‘Jimp, eh?’

  Horseface nodded, then, still looking at me, replied, ‘Yes, Will, definitely jimp – as jimp as they come, I would say.’

  Jimp – slender and graceful. I glowed with pleasure.

  Dr Travers said, ‘Now, Fred and I have one or two points to clear up about the programme this evening—’

  Lord Rothbury waved him back to the piano. ‘I’ll supply the finishing touches to our Cinderella, here.’ He looked me up and down. ‘Now, hairstyle – nothing fancy. Coil your plaits in a crown round your head – just as you do when you’re swimming.’ He grinned, and I grinned back. He flicked a tendril of my hair with his forefinger. ‘It won’t look too severe – with a girl like you, there’ll always be a curl or two breaking bounds. Next, have you any shoes with you, suitable for dancing in?’

  ‘Nae – but I’ll dance barefoot. Gypsies dae.’

  Lord Rothbury shook his head. ‘Not in Lady Stokesley’s presence, they don’t. I’ll try and rustle something up – but first, let’s see what size of glass slipper you take.’ He dropped down on one knee in front of me, and put his hand on his thigh, palm uppermost. I fitted my bare foot into it. His hand was very warm under my sole. I stretched my toes out on to the smooth, starched whiteness of his cuff. He cupped his other hand round my heel, holding it firmly in place.

  It was a nice feeling.

  ‘Mm, I think I’ll remember your size, now.’ But he didn’t let me go. Instead, he shifted his grip slightly, so that the fingers of his left hand could trail gently down the length of my foot. ‘Nice straight toes you’ve got.’ In reply I spread all five of them widely apart. ‘Yes, I can do that, too.’ Tipping his head back he looked up at me. Grey-blue eyes, big nose, strong chin, huge, wide shoulders – he smiled at me, and I smiled back. I couldn’t think why I’d been frightened of him that evening – he was like a tiger, but I’d never been frightened of tigers – Both his hands tightened round my foot. ‘May I have first claim on this tonight? For the opening dance?’

  I felt my smile blossom once more. ‘Aye, o’ course ye can.’

  His voice dropped. ‘This time, Eve Gunn, you won’t escape me. And there’s still the question of that forfeit you owe—’

  ‘Ah weel – I’ll see. But I havena got four feet – only two—’

  He laughed. And Dr Travers called, ‘Monty, we need your advice.’

  He set my foot down, and stood up, brisk again now. ‘Lady Lydham’s sending her maid down to repack the chest. Take your finery up to the sewing maid, she’ll press it for you.’ He was off to join his two friends.

  I finished sweeping the hearth, quickly laid the fire, and picked up my box, to leave. At the door I looked back. All three of them were bent over the music. I called, ‘Thank ye – thank ye so much.’ Three faces looked up, and smiled.

  I smiled back, bobbed, and left the room. I would come back after breakfast and give it a really special McNiven-Butterfield going over – for the concert. The concert!

  Chapter Thirty />
  The first half of the concert was exactly what you’d expect a concert at Wenlock Court to be. On rows of padded seats from the dining room sat the nobs, married couples first, the Duke and Duchess (as head nobs) hang in the middle of the front row, with Lord and Lady Stokesley next to them, and Lord and Lady Lydham beyond. The single ladies and gentlemen then took their places behind the marrieds. All were wearing full evening dress – coloured dresses and flashing jewels for the women, white waistcoats and black tails for the men.

  After a quarantine gap came our heads of deparment, Mr Taylor and Mrs Salter in the middle, flanked by head coachman, gardener, cook and, in the case of the males, their respective spouses. Ladies’ maids and valet then closed in behind, in strict order of employers’ precedence. By the time they were all fitted in neither chairs nor space were left for us juniors, so we had to position ourselves against the wall on each side of the room, seated crammed together on the long wooden benches from the servants’ hall and craning our necks sideways to see the stage.

  Once everybody was in place Dr Travers jumped up on to the platform to act as master of ceremonies (bliss), and to open the proceedings himself with, ‘I’ll Sing Thee Songs of Araby’ (double bliss), sung oh, so romantically, (treble bliss squared). He really was a wonderful person to be in love with.

  What else? Lady Binham sang ‘The Mountains o’ Mourne’ extremely mournfully, Miss Ames played the violin so vigorously she was in danger of losing her bow, Lord and Lady Lydham sang a soppy duet about a gypsy maiden who married an earl and became a countess – and pretty boring the maiden found that, too, I’ll bet.

  Mr Parton then played a brilliant piano solo, never raising his head once, not even after his bow at the end. He simply scuttled back to the piano to accompany Lord Rothbury who belted out ‘A Son of the Desert am I’ – which was certainly not sung romantically. In fact when he got to the third verse about Zulica waiting for him in her tent he managed to make the poor girl sound like a horse – so no surprises when for his encore he chose, ‘An Arab’s Farewell to his Steed’.

  Oh yes, I’ve forgotten to mention the encores – mostly the singers just repeated their last verse, but for his encore Dr Travers sang: ‘Drink to me only with thine eyes, and I will pledge with mine…’ (bliss level beyond counting by then!)

  After Lord Rothbury? He and Dr Travers did their duet, then Lady Lydham sang a solo. Lord Lydham, wisely, I think, didn’t risk that – but did join in the chorus of all the bachelors in a rip-roaring ‘British Grenadiers’, encored With a ‘D’ye Ken John Peel’ that nearly brought the ceiling down. Mr Parton wasn’t so much an accompanist to this one as a Sheepdog.

  And then it was the interval. The audience all retired to their separate rooms for lemonade and biscuits – that’s what we had, anyway – and then processed back again, in rank order, to discover that Lord Rothbury had joined Dr Travers as joint M.C.

  But that role had now changed – in the second half the M.C. no longer announced the programme, because there wasn’t one. Dr Travers produced a posy of artificial flowers and explained that when a singer had finished their song they were to lob it into the audience, and whoever caught the posy was on stage next – and had to perform something from a Gilbert and Sullivan Opera! You told Mr Parton what you were going to sing, announced the opera and role, and sang your song.

  If your choice needed a chorus Dr Travers and Lord Rothbury would round one up for you, or if you didn’t want to sing, you could still make your choice, and they’d find a volunteer to perform it in your stead. Gosh – what fun!

  Lady Lydham was invited to throw the first favour. She lobbed the posy of silk flowers – which had clearly been weighted to fly straight – into the front row, where it was caught by the Duchess – who chose Dr Travers to sing ‘Take a pair of sparkling eyes,’ on her behalf.

  As he raised the favour at the end of his song I was poised, ready to leap for it. Glad shook her head. ‘Don’t be daft, Eve – it won’t come anywhere near us – it’s for them.’ She was right. The wall between guest and servant might be invisible this evening, but it was still there, and as high as ever. I subsided, and let my hands fall down on to my starched white apron.

  It all worked suspiciously well. Despite the occasional squeal of excitement and cry of, ‘Oh – I simply couldn’t!’ it was obvious that some rehearsing had been taking place. A trio of young ladies performed a competent ‘Three little maids from school are we’, Lord and Lady Lydham polished off Luiz and Casilda’s duet from ‘The Gondoliers’, which was followed by Miss Ames’ rollicking rendition of, ‘For I’m called Little Buttercup’.

  Mr Brandon cheated by reciting Bunthorne’s poem from ‘Patience’, ‘Oh Hollow! Hollow! Hollow!’, but the honour of the gentlemen was redeemed by Lord Rothbury’s bone-chilling bass booming out the ghost’s song from ‘Ruddigore’ – ‘When the wind howls in the chimney cowls, and the bat in the moonlight flies’. Dr Travers invited Lady Janet to join him in ‘Happily coupled are we’ (what!) then Lady Binham sang an extremely gloomy, ‘When a merry maiden marries’ – perhaps she had been merry once, before she met Lord Binham. I was enjoying it all, but – if only –

  Lady Binham was a very poor thrower, but Lord Lydham managed to reach over and scoop the posy off the floor from under Billy’s feet, so he could summon a male voice chorus for ‘We sail the ocean blue’, encored for once with a different song, also from ‘Pirates’ – ‘Let’s give three cheers for the sailor’s bride.’

  Lord Rothbury threw the posy on behalf of the chorus – straight to Lady Janet, who called him and Dr Travers back to join her in ‘Here’s a how-de-do!’ from ‘The Mikado’. Afterwards they gallantly offered her the chance of tossing the favour. But she couldn’t throw for toffee – the first time it fell limply down by the piano, and when she tried again the posy sort of spun – and shot off sideways. Captain Cholmondeley leapt up for it – but I was there first. Triumph! The thwarted captain held out his hand. Ignoring it, I headed straight for the front and sprang up on to the platform, with the favour firmly in my grasp. Gasps of consternation all round!

  Dr Travers offered, ‘Would you like me to sing on your behalf?’

  Lord Rothbury said, ‘I’ll stand in for you.’

  His hand was already on my favour – I snatched it away from him. ‘I can sing for maself, thank ye.’ Dr Travers still looked worried, so I reassured him.

  ‘I’ve sung “Gilbert and Sullivan” on stage before. I’ll just tell Mr Parton ma choice.’

  As I made my way to the piano I could hear Lord Rothbury murmuring, ‘Here’s a how-de-do!’

  I whispered to Mr Parton, returned to the front of the platform, waved Dr Travers and Lord Rothbury back to their seats and annnounced in my best Scots accent, ‘Ma choice is frae “The Yeoman o’ The Guard”, it’s the song Phoebe sang tae the Head Jailor o’ the Tower, tae distract him while she was stealing his keys.’

  In the split second before Mr Parton played the first notes I remembered Apa’s advice ‘Sing as if to each individual member of your audience,’ and my eyes found the bachelors. Fixing my gaze on Captain Cholmondeley I began, ‘Were I thy bride’. Before starting the second verse I found Mr Brandon, to assure him, ‘Upon thy breast, my loving heart would rest’.

  To Dr Travers, of course, I sang, ‘This heart of mine would be one heart with thine’. Lord Ernest came next, but I couldn’t turn round to Mr Parton, so I chose William instead, then Billy. Lord Lydham was my substitute bachelor for ‘The rose’s sigh’, while to Lord Rothbury, I accorded Phoebe’s triumphant conclusion, once her task had been safely accomplished, ‘But then, of course, you see, I’m not thy bride!’

  As usual, Apa’s advice had worked. Louder even than the clapping was the chorus of male voices shouting, ‘Encore! Encore!’

  I was full of myself! But as I stood there, drinking in the applause, I couldn’t help noticing the pained expression on Lady Stokelsey’s face, and how very limply the ducal palms were being wie
lded. My eyes rose to that quarantine gap, and to those serried ranks of uniformed servants, set so firmly apart – and suddenly I had this wonderful idea. Now was my chance to strike a blow against Lady Stokesley’s stupid, stuffy opinions – and to play a really good joke, too!

  ‘Encore! Encore!’

  I grinned at my audience, then rushed over to the piano to explain to Mr Parton what I was going to do. It was slightly complicated, but he was very quick.

  ‘Only – are you quite sure?’

  ‘Och aye – I often sing men’s songs.’

  Back at the front of the platform I announced to my attentive audience, ‘Ma encore’s frae ‘The Gondoliers’, an’ it’s when Marco and Guiseppe ha’ just been made joint Kings of Barataria, sae they’re telling everyone how they’re going tae rule their new country.’

  Mr Parton played the first chords, his timing slower than usual, as requested, and I began my song.

  ‘Frae every one who feels inclined,

  Some post we undertake tae find

  Congenial with his frame o’ mind –

  The briefest of pauses, then I belted out the last line:

  ‘And all shall equal be!’

  I was away.

  Proclaiming the gallant Gondolieris’ gospel of republican equality for all ranks and jobs, I gestured to the appropriate member of the audience in turn. Earl – marquis – duke. Groom, butler, cook –

  ‘They all shall equal be!

  In the third verse I waved to Lord Lydham for, ‘The Aristocrat who banks with Coutts—’, Lord Rothbury again as, ‘The Aristocrat who hunts and shoots—’, then moved straight on to Billy, ‘The Aristocrat who cleans our boots—’, before announcing,

  ‘They all shall equal be.’