by Ella Edon
“Mademoiselle Garance Monteux, known as The Parisian Nightingale!” said the footman who announced her in a perfect French accent. It was clear that he had been coached on the proper pronunciation of the name.
There was a gasp from many of the ladies and gentlemen who did not know she would appear. Suddenly, one person began to applaud, as though this were her performance. Garance looked into the crowd, and there was D’Arcy Dancer, leading the applause. Shortly, the entire multitude began to clap. Garance stepped forward, a smile playing on her lips. Her consummate professionalism was on full display as none of her nerves showed to any of the revelers.
Slowly, and with great pomp, she approached the spot on the floor where her mother and father were standing, speaking to some lord she did not recognize. He was an older gentleman, and as she approached, he bowed deeply, with great reverence. He then caught her eye as she neared him, and spoke to her in French.
“Mademoiselle Garance Monteux,” he said. “I have had the pleasure of hearing you sing at Covent Garden, and I will confess to you that I fell in love with your voice at that event. It was I who sent you the dahlias on that night at the end of January. I did not dare identify myself for fear you would think I was being inappropriate, given my marital status, but do know it was merely a gesture of the greatest reverence to your astounding gifts.”
Garance, who regularly received upwards of a dozen bouquets, had no memory of that specific arrangement, smiled and offered her hand to the gentleman, who was clearly in his declining years, despite his obvious love for her. “I remember the bouquet well,” she said. “And I thank you for your generosity.”
“Will we be graced with your beautiful voice tonight?”
“Only the future can tell,” said Garance, turning to her parents.
“Garance, this is a very strange affair,” said Claire, Garance’s mother. “This young man you told us about has introduced himself to us and he said he hopes to get to know us better. Why would that happen? The war is only over these six years, and I know nothing about this young man. I understand he is a very good student at that famous English university called Oxford. But why would he want to get to know me better?”
“Because he is the man I hope to marry,” said Garance. “This is the young man I told you about.”
Garance’s mother, blushed. “Of course!” she said. “I think I knew this at some level. I only wonder why you would want to marry an Englishman. They are all mad, you know.”
Garance laughed and turned to see Jonathan speaking with a beautiful girl by the punch bowl. Her joy turned to a tinge of jealousy as she noted the confidential tone of his conversation, viewed from a distance. She was more annoyed when he took her hand and led her to the rapidly filling dance floor. Surely, he knew she was there. After all, everyone else seemed to have noticed her. There were hundreds of eyes who were boldly staring at her. This was a feeling she was well-acquainted with, but having what seemed like a rival gave her a certain feeling of disquiet. Her original plan of dancing with Jonathan was suddenly changed, owing to his attention to this other young woman.
Across the dance floor, Jonathan was chatting with Miss Cordelia de Montmorency. “I trust you know my friend, Simon Northridge.”
“I have a mind like a sieve, Johnny,” she said, giggling. “If I have met him, it would fly from my mind like a sparrow.”
“Well, allow me to introduce you then,” said Jonathan, pulling Simon into her line of view.
“Miss de Montmorency,” said Simon, bowing. “It is a great pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“And who might you be, young sir?” she asked.
“I am Lord Simon Northridge,” he said, confused.
“I see,” she said. “And what family is your family?”
“My father is the Marquess of Camden, Nigel Northridge. He fought with Wellington at Waterloo.”
“Speaking of that, My Lord, where is the water closet?” said Cordelia.
“It is through the door beyond the orchestra,” said Jonathan. “I am sure you can be directed to it by my sister, who is standing there,” he indicated the door.
“Dance with me first, won’t you Johnny?” she said, pulling Jonathan to the dance floor. “They are playing my favorite dance, the quadrille. Do dance with me, won’t you Johnny?”
She pulled him to the dance floor, and Jonathan was unable to prevent this, although it was the last thing on earth he had any interest in doing.
“I am not as familiar with this dance as I might be,” said Jonathan as he was pulled on to the dance floor. “Perhaps Lord Northridge, who is a capital dancer, could dance with you.”
“Nonsense. You are the perfect gentleman to dance with.”
“It is only I have promised this dance to another.”
“First come, first served,” snapped Miss de Montmorency. “You are mine and I shall keep your dance card filled.”
Jonathan looked back at a confused Simon, who had hoped to impress Miss de Montmorency, who was looking radiantly beautiful in her vacuous way. Simon had been very keen on dancing with her, but was prevented from his aim by the machinations of Miss de Montmorency herself. She was a bull-headed girl, who was bound and determined to get Jonathan. Jonathan, being a gentleman, was unable to stop her.
Consequently, when Garance was making her way over to Jonathan, itself an indiscretion noted by many of the revelers, she was made to look the fool by Cordelia, who monopolized Jonathan just at the moment when things were supposed to go right for Garance.
Mercifully, for Jonathan, the quadrille was a short one. Jonathan bowed to her at the end, and led her from the dance floor, looking desperately for Garance. “I must excuse myself, now Miss de Montmorency,” said Jonathan. “There are pressing matters I must attend to.”
“If you do not come back for another dance, I shall scream!” said Miss de Montmorency, dipping a cup into the brandy-infused punch. She lifted the cup to her lips, as Simon approached her.
“Miss de Montmorency, may I have the pleasure of this next dance?”
“And who are you?” she said, drinking the punch a little too quickly and dipping it again into the bowl, to extract another glass.
“I am still Lord Simon Northridge, son of the Marquess of Camden,” he said weakly.
“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” she said, slurring the last word.
“Why, Miss de Montmorency, Lord Yarmouth just introduced us, just before you danced.”
“Well, so he did!” She laughed. “And so, what is yer name, young feller?”
Simon, who had been smitten with the beautiful young fool before she began talking, was seriously considering leaving her presence, noticing she was tottering on her dancing shoes, and dipping her glass back into the punch. He was scandalized, for ladies did not serve themselves, but according to the rules of the ball, waited a gentleman. Cordelia de Montmorency, who was the daughter of a wealthy businessman, seemed to be oblivious to the rules of decorum, and was clearly getting drunk, something so frightful to a young gentleman like Simon Northridge, that he began to move away from her just as she toppled like a felled tree in a forest, on to the dance floor. Noticing this, he rushed to her aid, and caught her before any damage was done.
“My dear Miss de Montmorency,” he said to her with great sympathy. “You seem to have tripped on something. Allow me to help you to your feet.”
She looked at him with glassy eyes and shook her head from side to side. “Have we met?” she said once again, to the consternation of Simon.
Across the ballroom, Jonathan, who had managed to extricate himself from the clutches of the drunken Miss de Montmorency, met Garance for the first time that evening. He was smiling with joy that could not be measured. “Oh my dearest,” he said. “You have never looked so lovely as you do tonight. You have simply outdone yourself. Did I mention that I met your parents, and they seemed to be very kind and sympathetic?”
“Who was that embarrassment you were d
ancing with?” said Garance with a certain venom in her voice.
Jonathan sighed. “That embarrassment is the young lady I have in mind for my friend Simon Northridge.”
“Well I do not understand how you could impose that on him. She seems frightful.”
“She is,” said Jonathan. “But I have no desire to speak of Miss Cordelia de Montmorency. Let us dance, if you like.”
“La Valse is the next dance, after which I plan to ascend the dais and perform for your guests,” said Garance.
“Capital. This dance you keep calling La Valse, what is it like? For I have no knowledge of this dance.”
“It is a waltz, as you say in English.”
“That scandalous dance? I see,” said Jonathan, smiling, recalling D’Arcy Dancer’s recitation of Byron’s poem. He pondered the effect this would have on the audience for a moment. “Perhaps it is not the right dance for this moment,” he said cautiously.
“It is the perfect dance for this moment, my friend,” interjected D’arcy.
“D’Arcy, you nearly frightened me out of my wits!” said Jonathan. “What the devil are you doing skulking around me?” He was laughing.
“I simply wanted to let you know that I think you and Garance will look smashing dancing La Valse!” he said. He turned to the crowd and said in a very loud voice, “I beg your pardon, ladies and gentlemen, but I would like you to turn your attention to this lovely couple who shall lead us in the new dance from the Continent, known as La Valse. Any who are daring enough to partake are invited to join in.”
Ultimately, Jonathan decided it was a good idea to scandalize them a little, now that the introduction had been made.
“Very well,” said Jonathan happily. “Let us proceed to the dance floor.” He offered Garance his arm.
Together, the two of them made their way to the dance floor, and Jonathan grasped Garance around the waist. “I must confess, I have wanted to do this since the moment I first saw you in the doorway.”
“This is also the thing I was most hoping for,” she said, looking around at the scandalized faces of the older attendees. The two of them danced as though they were floating on a cloud, with more joy than was proper, and D’Arcy joined them with Cecily moments later.
After the dance was complete, Jonathan bowed to Garance and she curtsied deeply to him. As she rose, she looked at Jonathan and said, “now, I must perform. Do make sure your mother is in the room.”
“I shall,” said Jonathan.
Garance made her way to the high dais upon which she was to sing. Jonathan found his mother and stood by her as Garance began. He knew his mother had witnessed her wonderful singing voice at her husband’s funeral, but he wanted to be certain that she heard Garance this time as well.
Garance began with a beautiful song written by Cipriani Potter himself, called “When Evening Draws Her Curtain Round”, which spoke of the love one feels when walking with one’s lover at twilight when the fairy lights are all around. The room went silent as she paused between verses, and Margaret, beside Jonathan, gasped.
“Mother, are you alright?” asked Jonathan.
“Yes,” she whispered. “I just had no idea her voice was so beautiful! It is remarkable and wondrous.”
“Yes, I mentioned that,” said Jonathan.
After the song was finished, she began to sing a song called “Come Unto Me” by the composer Handel, which was met with rapturous applause. She finished her turn at the dais with a song called “I Know That My Redeemer Liveth” also by Handel. After the song completed, all the room erupted with applause. Margaret, overcome with emotion began to faint, as Jonathan caught her. “Mother!” he cried with alarm. “Are you quite alright?”
“I am simply overwhelmed with the beauty of that woman’s voice. How, Jonathan, how did you hide this from me?”
“Mother, she is the woman who sang at father’s funeral. Surely you remember that?”
“I do now, although I had forgotten as I was overcome with emotion at the funeral, as you can understand. I would love to speak with her.”
“That can be arranged.” Jonathan stepped toward the dais, where Garance was descending, and the two of them met in the middle of the dance floor as Potter began his symphony.
The music was dramatic as they met, and singularly appropriate for this highly dramatic moment between the two of them. The trumpets were playing a long and low melody that twined around the room, filling the room with longing. Jonathan looked into Garance’s eye and they both longed to kiss. However, every eye was on them, and they dared not create a scandal.
“Garance, you have outdone yourself,” he said into her ear, as the music continued.
“I am so very glad,” she said into his ear. Together, they approached Lady Margaret Anderson-Reese, the Dowager Countess, who rushed up to Garance and took both her hands in hers, clasping them to her breast.
“Miss Monteux, I scarcely know where to begin! I simply have never heard anything like your voice. It is exquisite.”
“Thank you, My Lady.”
“Miss Monteux, I cannot call myself any kind of expert in music, but what you just did was extraordinary. I do not know how you do this or what it takes to create such a wondrous sound, but I am at your feet with admiration.”
Garance took her hands and kissed them with gratitude, as the beautiful symphony by Cipriani Potter continued to overwhelm them all with emotion.
“What do they call this style of music?” asked Margaret.
“I believe it is called ‘Romantic music’,” she said.
“I see,” said Margaret. “Rather like the stories of the new novelists.”
“Yes,” said Garance. “They are very similar in outlook. The idea is to capture the mood of the composer, rather than his sense of order. As a result, the music seems to be extremely fraught with emotion. Cipriani Potter, as you may know, is one of our foremost composers. He spent time on the continent, studying with that most famous of composers, Louis Beethoven, the gentleman who went deaf but continued to write music, the great genius of this style. He is still writing a memoir of his time in the Austrian capital when he studied with the great man.”
“And this is the gentleman who wrote this music? The fellow waving his arms around in front of this large orchestra?”
“Yes, he is conducting, which is to say he is directing the stream of music through each individual player and making it one. It is fascinating, don’t you think?”
“It looks to me as though he were casting a spell,” said Margaret, causing Garance to laugh.
Silently, the group continued to listen with rapt attention until the work ended with a crash and a blast of trumpets and trombones. As it finished, all of the crowd burst into applause, led by D’Arcy Dancer. Potter turned to face the crowd, well aware he had increased his worth and his reputation in one fell swoop. The applause continued for several minutes.
“Jonathan,” said Cecily, sidling up to him. “I confess I am a little in love with Miss Monteux myself. She is simply too wonderful!”
“I agree,” said Jonathan. “I think I need to make my intentions known to the public.”
“Oh Johnny, that would be delicious!” said Cecily. “And I simply told Peter that we would not announce our engagement yet. It is too soon, and it interferes with your plan. By the way, what is the name of that young man who is so interested in the music?”
“That is my friend D’Arcy Dancer, from Ireland. Word has it that he is frightfully rich, but he would never tell me if that were true or not,” said Jonathan.
“Interesting,” said Cecily. “Would you be so kind as to do the introductions?”
“You want to meet him?”
“Of course. He seems charming.”
“Very well,” said Jonathan. “Come with me and I shall introduce you.”
Then, turning to D’Arcy, he lifted his hand and indicated for him to approach. “Mr. D’Arcy Dancer,” said Jonathan. “I would like to have the honor to introduc
e you to my sister, Lady Cecily Anderson-Reese. You will find her most interesting, I warrant.”
D’Arcy looked at Cecily and a smile spread across his face. “My dear Lady,” he said with a most beautiful tenor to his voice. “Can I interest you in a glass of punch?”
“Certainly, sir,” said Cecily, moving away from Jonathan.
“Right this way, My Lady,” said D’Arcy, offering her his arm. With that, the two of them headed off to the refreshment table.
Jonathan took Garance by the hand and approached the dais, as the musicians began to leave the stage.
“Dear friends,” he said. “I stand before you a humble man. In the face of this much brilliance, I scarce dare to present my humble announcement, but do it, I must. Tonight, you witnessed the brilliance of England’s greatest composer, Mr. Cipriani Potter, and the tones of The Parisian Nightingale, Miss Garance Monteux.” The group began to applaud again, but Jonathan held up his hands in supplication. Seeing this, they stopped, and listened.
