The Songbird

by Val Wood

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Poppy began, but Black interrupted her as the old man began to clap.

  ‘That was good,’ the landlord said. ‘Do you know any more?’

  ‘Erm . . .’ Embarrassed that they should see her cry, she swallowed away her tears. ‘I’ve got an arrangement of “Greensleeves” here.’

  Black nodded. ‘Let’s ‘ear it then.’

  She began again. This at least was very familiar to her, for she had sung it often before. But she sang it low and huskily and not in her usual style. Not because she thought they would recognize her voice – she didn’t think they were the type to frequent concert halls or theatre – but because she was so choked with emotion.

  ‘Alas my love you do me wrong

  To cast me off discourtesly

  For I have loved you oh so long

  Delighting in your company

  ‘Greensleeves was all my joy

  Greensleeves was my delight

  Greensleeves was my heart of gold

  And who but my lady Greensleeves’

  ‘Loverly,’ Mrs Black said. ‘Really loverly, dearie.’

  Mr Black nodded. ‘Yers, very good, but don’t yer know somefink jolly? Everybody’ll be going ’ome in tears if you only sing them sorts o’ songs.’

  Poppy rose to her feet. ‘I didn’t intend them to be heard by anyone,’ she said hastily. ‘I was – well, just trying them out.’

  ‘Ooh, but you’ve got a loverly voice,’ Mrs Black proclaimed. ‘Hasn’t she, ’enery? Got a loverly voice! You oughta be on the stage, dearie. Shouldn’t she, ’enery? Shouldn’t she be on the stage?’

  ‘All right, you silly old bat,’ Henry Black bellowed. ‘Gerroff back to the kitchen. I’ll talk to ’er. ‘Now listen,’ he said to Poppy, and the old man came closer to hear what he was going to say. ‘You’ve got a good voice, and if you sing ’ere, I’ll up your money another bob a week. ’ow does that sound?’

  ‘I’m not sure that I want to sing,’ she said, looking wistfully at the piano.

  ‘I’ll get it tuned. Pianner, I mean.’ His brow creased and he pressed his lips together. ‘Go on then, one and six, but that’s my final offer.’

  ‘Make it two bob,’ the old man piped up. ‘She’d be worth it,’ he added as Black glared at him. ‘You don’t often ’ear a voice like ’ers. Not round ’ere, anyway.’ He leaned towards Poppy. ‘I don’t suppose you know any of our Marie’s songs, do you?’

  She confessed that she did, and hid a smile at the landlord’s offer, as only a short while ago she had been earning so much more. Perhaps I might sing, she thought. There would only be the regulars at the Pit Stop to hear her; no-one from the theatre world would ever come to this hostelry. They were all working people who drank here, those earning a pittance and struggling to keep out of poverty. Why shouldn’t they hear a different kind of music?

  ‘All right,’ she said. ‘I’ll sing some of the music hall songs as long as I can sing some of my own choosing as well.’

  ‘Done!’ Black said. ‘Start tonight. But now get on with cleaning them winders. They’re covered with cobwebs.’

  If she’d thought she would have a respite from cleaning, she was mistaken. He still expected her to do the same work as before, except that halfway through the evening he would signal to her to stop serving the customers and go to the piano. She sang the music hall songs and the customers joined in with great gusto and then she sang her own choice. She sang ‘Pretty May’, which everyone loved and hummed along with, then followed it with ‘Forever True’.

  Two weeks on, the hostelry was packed every night as word got round that there was a new singer performing at the Pit Stop.

  Poppy took care not to stretch her voice; she sang the love songs low and huskily, her tone sad and full of longing, and the women listening would wistfully stroke their cheeks with rough fingers and cast downward glances at each other, whilst the men would shuffle uncomfortably and then reach for their glasses or tankards and take a hasty swallow.

  Poppy had got into the habit of calling in at the costumier’s, for there were new song sheets arriving regularly. The woman there, whose name was Betsy, would wave her in if she was passing by.

  ‘You’re that singer at the Pit Stop, ain’t you?’ she said one day. ‘You oughta go on the halls. You’re as good as I’ve ever heard. Here,’ she said. ‘Some young fella just brought these in. He’s trying to make a living with his songwriting. He’s taking these all over town. I bought them thinking of you.’

  Poppy held her breath for a second. Not Anthony come back to England? Automatically she looked for the name of the songwriter, but the name wasn’t his. T. Martin. Not anyone she had heard of, and the music was handwritten, not published. But the songs were the kind she liked to sing, so she bought them at sixpence a sheet.

  Sweet eyes that smiled but not for me

  They smiled for him who was untrue

  Dear heart I love you and will be

  Forever faithful just to you.

  Sweet lips that kissed a mouth that lied

  Sweet lips so soft and red

  Her gold-red hair like silken thread

  That when untied will capture me

  And bind me by her side.

  Poppy paused as she read and hummed the refrain. There was a familiarity about the words, but perhaps that was because they had the old theme of love, lost and found. The melodies were simple, wistful and yearning, and she wished she could play better than she did to do the music justice.

  Dear heart forget him

  Let his memory dim

  Come live with me

  And forever faithful I will be.

  Again, she thought. Again it is about lost love and someone patiently waiting.

  If I could only love again I’d choose to love just you

  Listen and hear my silent voice, my words a muted tune

  Of some romantic melody

  Question not the but or why

  I love you now and for evermore until the day I die.

  She turned to another sheet. What’s this? This is a mistake, it shouldn’t be here. Yet it’s fastened to the others. It’s – yes, it’s Robert Burns!

  My love is like a red, red rose

  That’s newly sprung in June

  My love is like a melody

  That’s sweetly played in tune.

  Poppy could hear Henry Black calling upstairs for her to come down, that there were customers waiting to be served. Why would the songwriter, T. Martin, slip in the popular air by the Scottish poet when everyone would know that it wasn’t his? And written in English and not Scots dialect. She went downstairs with the sheets folded and slipped into her pocket. And then she realized that the words were linked with music – ‘My love is like a melody that’s sweetly played in tune.’ She reflected wistfully as the poem ran through her head. ‘And I will love thee still, my dear, till a’ the seas gang dry.’

  How romantic! How wonderful to be the recipient of such love. To know that that love would always be true.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  ‘Look at this, Nan! Another postcard, saying she’s all right.’ Joshua handed the coloured card to Nan. ‘What am I to do?’ He nibbled on his thumb. ‘Should I go to London, do you think? Never mind what that Damone fellow says!’ His face creased. ‘I’m that bothered about her. I know she says she’s all right, but what if she’s not?’

  Nan was worried too, and she was concerned about Joshua as well. Since Poppy’s disappearance he had lost weight and his thick dark hair had developed several silver streaks. ‘How would you find her?’ she asked sensibly. ‘Where would you search? You don’t know London, and it seems that that’s where she might be. And you know, don’t you,’ she added, ‘that Poppy would come home if she was in real trouble? She knows who cares for her.’

  Joshua put his hand to his eyes. ‘Yes, but I can’t sleep for thinking and wondering where she is. It’s worse, somehow, than when Mary was ill.’ He took a handkerchief from h
is pocket and blew his nose. ‘I feel so – so alone, Nan. I know that I’ve got Tommy and he’s as worried as can be, but I lie awake in bed and—’

  Almost without thinking, she went up to him and hugged him to her. ‘Try not to worry,’ she whispered. ‘She’ll be all right, I know she will.’

  He put his arms round her and rested his chin on the top of her head. Then he absently kissed her forehead. ‘Thank you, Nan,’ he sighed. ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you.’ He pulled back slightly and looked at her with a dazed, bewildered expression. Then he bent his head and kissed her cheek. It was soft and smooth. He gazed at her as if seeing her for the first time and kissed her again and she didn’t say anything, but only closed her eyes. ‘Nan?’ he said softly, and stroked her face.

  Nan opened her eyes and looked up at him. ‘Yes,’ she said gently and waited, and he kissed her once more, this time on the lips.

  She saw him swallow and then he said in an undertone, ‘Forgive me, Nan. I’m just a man and so lonely. I can’t cope with difficulties without knowing that there’s someone near to love and care for me.’

  Nan stretched up to kiss his cheek. ‘I know about loneliness,’ she said softly. ‘Show me a widow who doesn’t.’

  ‘Could we – could we care for each other, do you think?’ He seemed almost boyish in his shyness.

  She smiled and her face lit up. ‘I’ve cared for you for a long time, Joshua,’ she said. ‘Longer than I’d ever admit to.’

  His brows creased together. ‘Have you? I didn’t know!’

  ‘Of course you didn’t know,’ she said softly. ‘You were a happily married man and my employer. Besides, I was very fond of Mrs Mazzini. I would never have done anything to hurt her.’

  ‘But Mary’s been gone all these years,’ he began, and he still had his arms round her.

  Nan laughed. ‘Why would I think that you’d ever look at me after being married to such a beautiful woman? She was a perfect wife and mother. I couldn’t possibly match her.’

  ‘You don’t need to,’ he smiled. ‘I wouldn’t want you to change. What Mary and I had together was very special, and I expect it was ’same for you and your husband?’ He saw her give a slight nod. ‘But perhaps we could have something special together?’

  ‘It’s too soon,’ she said wistfully. ‘You’ve been caught at a weak moment. One or two kisses don’t make a marriage, and I wouldn’t agree to anything less.’ She patted his cheek. ‘You’re a good man, Joshua. I wouldn’t want you to regret anything done in a hurry.’

  He threw his head back and laughed. ‘In a hurry! How long have we known each other? Donkey’s years!’

  ‘Seventeen!’ she told him. ‘I came not long after I was widowed. Mattie was onny a bairn.’

  Joshua nodded. He remembered the sad-eyed young woman with an infant in her arms who had come knocking at their door looking for work. ‘Anything,’ she’d said. ‘I’ll do anything: scrub ’floors, serve in ’shop, washing, ironing, baking.’ And Mary, with a spirited Tommy hanging on to her skirt, had taken to her immediately and asked her in.

  He grinned, his eyes twinkling. He felt happier than he’d felt in a long time. ‘So, shall we start courting? Are we too old for that?’

  Nan’s face brightened. ‘I’m not,’ she said breathlessly. ‘It’s more than I’ve ever dared dream of. But only if you’re sure,’ she added.

  He drew her towards him again. ‘I am sure, Nan,’ he said softly and kissed her tenderly. ‘I’ve never been more sure of anything.’

  They said nothing to Tommy and Mattie, though Mattie wondered at her mother’s unusual exuberance, and Tommy puzzled over his father’s sudden habit of whistling, when he had previously been so worried and down in the dumps about Poppy’s disappearance.

  ‘What’s going on with Pa and Nan?’ Tommy grumbled one morning when first his father and then Nan had separately had to slip out on an urgent errand. ‘They know we’re allus busy on a Friday morning. That’s ’second time this week they’ve both cleared off and left us to it.’

  ‘Perhaps your pa’s trying us out,’ Mattie said. ‘Mebbe he wants to see if we can run ’business without him.’

  ‘Well, we need him here – and Nan,’ Tommy complained. ‘I don’t know what he’s thinking of!’

  ‘He said he wouldn’t be long,’ Mattie reasoned. ‘He wouldn’t have gone if it hadn’t been important.’ Her forehead creased. ‘Though I can’t think why Ma’s gone to ’butcher’s now, when she passed his shop on ’way here this morning. He was open, cos we gave him a wave.’

  They continued serving customers as they came in and stacking shelves and writing lists of what stock they needed. An hour went by and then a windswept Joshua blew in. ‘By,’ he said heartily. ‘It’s a bit wild out there.’ Then, rubbing his hands briskly together, he went through into the kitchen. Five minutes later Nan swept in.

  ‘It’s very cold,’ she said, beaming. ‘Very cold indeed,’ and she too hurried through to the kitchen. ‘I’ll make a pot of tea,’ she called over her shoulder. ‘Is your pa back, Tommy?’

  ‘Ye-es,’ Tommy said to her disappearing back. ‘He’s just come in.’

  He and Mattie looked at each other, then Mattie began to grin. She rushed to Tommy’s side. ‘They’ve been meeting up somewhere!’ she said in a hoarse whisper. ‘They could have gone out and come in ’shop door at ’same time if they’d wanted and we’d have thought nothing of it.’

  Tommy’s mouth dropped open. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Don’t you see?’ Mattie could hardly contain herself. ‘They’ve both been acting oddly all ’week.’ She gave a beaming grin. ‘I think they’re courtin’!’

  ‘Never!’ Tommy said. ‘Pa and Nan? Why, they’ve known each other for years.’ He stared at Mattie and his eyes sparkled. ‘Do you really think so? Why would they court at their age? Why don’t they just—’ He shrugged as he saw Mattie frown at him. ‘Well, I mean, there’s nowt to stop ’em, is there?’

  Mattie shook her head at him. ‘Perhaps that’s what they want to do, Tommy. They’ve both been widowed. Your pa’s had a good marriage and my ma . . . well, I don’t remember my father, but—’

  ‘Do you think they’ll get married?’ Tommy said hoarsely, and when Mattie smiled and raised her eyebrows questioningly, he picked her up and whirled her round. ‘Wouldn’t that be just great?’ he said, and put her down as his father came through into the shop.

  ‘What’s going on, you two?’ he said in mock admonishment. ‘Such frivolity in ’place of work.’

  ‘We might ask you and Nan ’same question,’ Tommy replied boldly. ‘Both taking time off together. Just what’s going on?’

  Nan appeared in the doorway. She had taken off her hat and coat and put on her apron. ‘What?’ she asked, catching the tail end of Tommy’s question.

  Joshua cast his eyes from Nan to Tommy and Mattie, who were both grinning. ‘We’re not very good at subterfuge, Nan,’ he said solemnly. ‘I think we’ve just been found out.’

  ‘I will find her,’ Anthony told Dan. ‘Be quite sure that I will. She won’t be able to stop singing any more than I could stop playing when Jeanette and I parted company.’

  ‘It’s really good of you to come back, Anthony,’ Dan said. ‘You didn’t have to. But I do appreciate it,’ he added. ‘How did you know Poppy had gone missing, anyway? Who told you?’

  Anthony laughed. ‘Just about everybody, except you. Your sister Marian and my parents wrote to me.’ He looked down at his hands and stretched his fingers. ‘But by the time I received their letters I was packed and ready to leave. Poppy had already written to me to tell me what had happened. How that wretch had become engaged to someone else and how heartbroken she was.’

  ‘Had she? Really? I didn’t realize you knew each other so well.’

  Anthony nodded, choosing not to answer Dan’s remark, and went on, ‘I had two more engagements that I couldn’t break, but fortunately one came immediately after the other and as s
oon as they were over I came back to London. She’s here somewhere, I know she is, even though I’ve looked and looked already. I’ve even been to Brighton. I thought she might have gone there, but then I realized that she couldn’t hide there as people would recognize her.’

  ‘Yes,’ Dan murmured. ‘With that hair she’ll stand out.’

  Anthony gazed at him. ‘Yes,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Everywhere I’ve been, I’ve been asking for a red-headed young woman but—’

  ‘What?’ Dan asked. ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘If she doesn’t want to be found – she’d disguise herself, perhaps wear a wig, wouldn’t she?’

  Dan shrugged. ‘Possibly. But we don’t know if she’s still in London, do we? She could be anywhere.’

  ‘Where did you go, Dan?’ Anthony asked quietly. ‘When Maria died? You were away for weeks. Everyone was very concerned about you.’

  A shadow fell across Dan’s face. ‘Do you remember? It’s a long time ago.’ He sighed.

  ‘I was only a boy,’ Anthony said. ‘But I remember my parents whispering about her and saying how sad they were for you.’

  ‘I stayed in London,’ Dan said quietly. ‘I wanted to lose myself in the crowds. I thought that if I was hidden amongst the masses, then no-one would ask who I was or where I’d come from. I didn’t want anyone asking me how I felt or saying how sorry they were, or telling me I would find someone else one day. I thought’, he said reflectively, ‘that it would help me forget. I was wrong. Nothing did, nor ever will.’

  He gave a small shrug. ‘And then, some years later, when Jeanette gave you up for that elderly Don Juan, I knew for sure there was no true love left in the world. Except for my sister and her husband.’ He smiled pensively. ‘They are the only exception I know of. Real life isn’t a love song with a happy ending.’

  Anthony smiled back, a light in his eyes. ‘No,’ he said. ‘You’re wrong on that score too, Dan. It can be. I know I’m young and foolish—’

  ‘And I am old and wise,’ Dan broke in.