When we were not on the loch or the river we stalked on the hills. Some days we covered twenty miles on the trail of the deer – and by the time we got back to the lodge my legs were afire and I was so tired that I fell asleep almost before the dessert plates had been cleared.
I did not care whether the rain fell or the sun shone. The world was far away; this easy companionship with my brothers was all I wanted. Together we laughed and sang, chatted or fell silent. It was a golden month.
Chapter Six
Back in Cheshire I travelled regularly to Manchester to prepare my Messiah solos with Madame Goldman; Wally Jenkins was brushing up the contralto part so she sang “He shall feed his flock” and I followed on with “Come unto Him, all ye that labour.” Madame Goldman suggested that we might like to practise a duet together and we learnt the Barcarolle from Offenbach’s Tales of Hoffman. I enjoyed working with Wally: she put every ounce of concentration into her music – yet she was always ready to laugh and crack a joke.
Mother had decided to spend the Little Season in Town and, a couple of days after we arrived, Lady Eames came to call, and asked her if she would let me sing in her charity concert. I waited apprehensively for my mother’s answer. I knew she did not like Lady Eames; she made malicious jokes about her to Lady Maud: ‘Such a worthy woman – but why are worthy women always so dull? Molly Eames is the strongest argument against virtue I know; fancy toeing the line all your life and then arriving at the pearly gates to find her there before you, clutching that great ugly embroidery bag and lecturing St Peter on the benefit of flannel next to the skin!’
Lady Maud had laughed. ‘Well, Ria, I shouldn’t waste any sleep worrying about that eventuality – it’s too late for you, anyway. How is Sir Ernest these days?’
Mother had arched her fine brows. ‘Very well, I believe – and Lord Pickering, is he quite well too?’ And, as ever, small complicit smiles had been exchanged.
So now I held my breath as I waited for Mother’s reply – but she was gracious. ‘So long as it doesn’t interfere with her engagement at Hammersmith – young girls today are so very catholic in their tastes.’
It appeared that the German Ambassador was to be the guest of honour, so Lieder were required; Lady Eames had mentioned this to Mrs Benson, who had at once thought of me. Lance was to play a solo, and would later act as my accompanist. I was pleased and flattered and I took out my scores to select my five songs. ‘Nothing too long, dear,’ Lady Eames had said, ‘and do start with something lively – not everyone understands German.’
After earnest thought and anxious consultations with Lance I decided to open with “Die Forelle” – the tune of Schubert’s “Trout” was so familiar – and I would follow with Brahms’ “Nachtigall” and Schumann’s “Mondnacht”. I could not resist the drama of “Gretchen am Spinnrad”, but I would wind up with the lighthearted song of “The Blacksmith”. Lance said I must prepare encores; I shook my head but he insisted – I was to be last of the performers, so he said I must be ready. Lady Eames insisted that no one must know even the names of the participants. It was to be a surprise concert: ‘So much more fun, my dear – I’m simply having the cards engraved: “A Concert of Music and Song, by Ladies and Gentlemen of Society, in aid of St Margaret’s Hospital”. Besides, she added shrewdly, ‘more people will come if there’s a mystery!’
We were instructed to mingle with the guests in her large ballroom, and not to admit to being performers until the moment we stepped on the platform. I swore my brothers to secrecy and they were there on the night beside me, while a palpitating Pansy hung on Lance’s arm. I was nervous too, and sat well to the side of the crowded room, but as the other performers came on I began to relax. They were talented, but only Lady Rhodes’ violin playing was outstanding, and Eileen Fox, who to my surprise mounted to the stage and sang two simple ballads in a pleasant mezzo, was noticeably flat in places – though Guy, sitting raptly to attention beside me, obviously did not care.
It was not until the interval that I saw him. He caught my eye and began to stride towards us. My breathing quickened. ‘My, aren’t you the lucky girl tonight,’ Eddie murmured in my ear. ‘Good evening, Lord Gerald, glad you could come.’
He smiled as he greeted us, and my heart jumped in my breast. ‘So the Girvans are out in force tonight: I thought I saw Muirkirk.’
‘You did,’ Eddie replied, ‘but he’s just rushed off to tell Miss Fox what an oh-too-wonderful voice she has.’
Lord Gerald gave a small shrug. ‘It was quite pleasing – but I’m afraid she was flat. Still, that’s the trouble with amateurs. I’m rather apprehensive, I must say; I’ve heard a rumour we’re to have Lieder for His Excellency, and I do hate to hear Lieder mangled – I feel it should be left strictly to the professionals – ah, there’s our hostess, I must congratulate her on her masterly organization.’ He moved off and I was left rooted to the spot, shaking.
Eddie burst out laughing. ‘I can hardly wait to see dear Uncle Gerald’s face when Hellie steps up on to the platform – what a crashing brick, and he’s always so suave!’
My eyes filled, and I turned and fled into the shelter of a palm and collapsed on to a chair, my fists clenched. Two astonished faces appeared either side of the foliage. ‘Whatever’s the matter, Hellie, suddenly struck down with stage fright?’
I whispered, ‘I’m an amateur, I’m an amateur.’
They stared at me. At last Eddie said, ‘You didn’t take him seriously, did you?’
‘Of course I did!’ I almost screamed at them.
‘Oh Hellie, don’t be so ridiculous.’ Eddie was scathing. ‘He didn’t know it was you.’
‘But he will, he will!’
‘But Hellie.’ Eddie spoke more patiently now. ‘That’s the joke, don’t you see – you don’t mangle Lieder, so he’ll have to eat his words.’
I looked up at them helplessly. It was Robbie who suddenly squatted down beside me and caught my cold hand in his. ‘Hellie, you have a lovely voice and you sing beautifully, we know that.’
I gazed into his loving dark eyes and whispered at last, ‘But – but you’re my brothers. I am an amateur.’ Robbie smiled at me and said softly, ‘When we came to see you in Munich for the last time, Elsa Gehring spoke to us one morning while you were busy with the accompanist – she was complaining that one of the best voices she’d ever trained belonged to a Grafin, who would never be able to sing professionally. It was your voice she was talking about, Hellie, and she’s trained an awful lot of voices. So now you’re going to get up on that platform with old Lance and you’re going to sing as only you know how to sing – do you understand?’
At last I nodded. Eddie clapped me on the back. ‘That’s the spirit, Big Sis, you get up there and hit ’em for six – and just watch old Prescott’s face, it’ll be a picture.’
I jumped up. Suddenly I was confident I knew in my heart my brothers were right: Elsa Gehring had taught me well, I would not let her down. I reached up and kissed their two smooth cheeks, then walked sedately back to my seat.
The string trio bowed, and left the platform. Lady Eames gestured to me and I stood up and walked, head held high, to the short flight of steps and up them. Lance followed me up and went straight to the piano. He flicked out his tails and sat down on the stool, then half-turned a moment to smile at me. I smiled back, before walking forward to the front of the small stage. As the master of ceremonies came forward to announce us, I glanced along the rows and located Lord Gerald’s sleek fair head. My opening smile to conceal that first vital intake of breath came quite spontaneously at the sight of the appalled expression on his face. Lance struck the first chords and easily, confidently, I began to sing:
‘In einem Bachlein helle,
Da schoss in frother Eil’
and even as I sang the first lines I saw his expression change to rueful amusement, to admiration. I saw him sit back in his chair and lose himself in my song.
I sang to him, I sang to my brothers, I s
ang to the beaming German Ambassador, I sang to the whole listening audience.
The applause was thunderous, and this was not a small group of Hammersmith enthusiasts, these were cultured sophisticates, men and women who could hear the best voices whenever they chose – and they were applauding me. I knew now why Lance had insisted on encores.
When at last we had finished I held out my hand to Lance; he gripped it firmly and we bowed together. I saw my brothers’ hands raised in a boxer’s clasp of triumph at the back, then I ran quickly down the steps – and almost into the arms of the German Ambassador.
‘My dear Lady Helena – I never thought to hear Lieder sung so outside of Germany, I congratulate you, with all my heart I congratulate you.’ He raised my hand to his warm lips as I blushed and blushed.
We talked of Munich and of Elsa Gehring: Sir Ernest joined us with his congratulations, and in my turn I thanked him. And all the time I was conscious of a smooth fair head waiting on the outskirts of the throng, but I did not hurry my conversation with His Excellency; I knew that the fair head would wait. I was confident, sure of myself – and when at last I was able to turn to him it was I who spoke first. ‘Well, Lord Gerald – did I mangle the Lieder for you?’
He put his hand to his forehead in mock abasement. ‘Lady Helena, I am utterly confounded! But my only excuse is that I understood this concert was to be given by amateurs, whereas you, you are a professional.’ I glowed. He continued, ‘I should have asked your brothers what exactly you were studying in Munich, but my reconnaissance was faulty and as a result my nose has been rubbed in the gravel!’ He laughed. ‘But never have I been corrected with such enchanting grace and elegance – you have a lovely voice, Lady Helena, and you sing beautifully; you must forgive me if my thoughtless remark earlier this evening caused you a moment’s pain.’ I said quickly, ‘There is nothing to forgive, Lord Gerald.’
‘No, I suppose not – you must have been laughing up your sleeve at me.’ I smiled, but did not answer. He added, ‘But I’m surprised I had not heard of your singing – I don’t go about much in Society these days, but still…’
‘Mother doesn’t really approve, she thinks it very old-fashioned to sing for one’s supper.’
His blue eyes danced. ‘I can assure you, Lady Helena, that if I ever have the good fortune to provide you with supper you will certainly be expected to pay for it – I look forward to hearing you sing again.’
Even as I replied I stood amazed at my own boldness. ‘As it happens, I shall be singing in public again this week – on Friday, in the Messiah.’
And he actually took out his diary. ‘Tell me where, exactly – I have a tentative engagement, but it can be postponed.’
I whispered, ‘At Bell Street Congregational Church, Hammersmith – at seven o’clock.
‘Hammersmith?’ He raised his eyebrows, then smiled. ‘I’ve certainly never been there before – but I shall find my way. Until Friday, then.’
I said a bemused farewell, then took to my heels and almost ran across to the twins. ‘He’s coming to hear me – on Friday – at Hammersmith!’ I clutched Robbie’s arm.
‘Oh, well done, old girl – still, I’m not surprised, you really were something special tonight. Even Mother sat up and took notice – and just look at her now, graciously accepting congratulations from the Duchess – after the way she’s pooh-poohed your singing in the past!’ I looked, and then began to laugh. I had never been so happy.
I watched the clock all day on Friday, agonizing over what I should wear. I longed to sing before him in my newest, smartest evening gown, but I would have looked hopelessly overdressed in a church at Hammersmith. I stood before my wardrobe biting my lip, until Liliane discreetly brought forward a simple dress of midnight-blue velvet, trimmed with satin bands of paler blue. ‘Miladi will be warm enough without a cloak in this frock – if she wears her woollen combinations.’ I felt my face fall a little; she added, ‘Nobody will guess, Miladi is so slim.’
As soon as I was out of my bath Liliane laced me into my corsets. ‘Not too tight, please, Liliane – remember I have to sing.’
‘Yes Miladi.’ The blue dress slid smoothly down over my silk petticoat, the hobble skirt fitted close as a glove round my hips – and the satin bands at neck and hem and cuff shimmered in the light as I moved. I had to force myself to sit still as Liliane worked over my hair. She secured most of it in a bun on the top of my head. ‘Miladi will not remove her hat in church,’ she said practically, ‘and we must make eet safe.’
The simple black hat with its one curving blue feather was eased gently over my soft hair, and carefully manoeuvred into place. I leant forward to peer anxiously into the mirror. Liliane smiled reassuringly. ‘Miladi has colour in her cheeks tonight, because she enjoys singing.’ I smiled back at her reflection, blushing: I knew it was not the thought of singing which had made my eyes shine and my cheeks glow. I slid my feet into the narrow black shoes that she held out for me, and circled my toes so that the silver buckles glinted. My maid brought my cloak and wrapped it around me, I drew on my black kid gloves and smoothed them over my fingers, then, with a last glance in the mirror, I was ready.
My brothers drove with me to Hammersmith: Papa had lent us the Delaunay-Belleville. I was shaking a little as Miss Ling came forward to meet me at the church, but in the small crowded vestry the contralto greeted me warmly, and I became calmer. As I walked out with the other soloists into the gas-lit church I raised my eyes for a fraction of a second and scanned the front pews – and he was there, beside my brothers. My heart jumped; he would never normally have come to such a place – he had come only because I was singing tonight.
The organ began to play the familiar music; every note of the Messiah seemed to become part of my body now.
When the time came I rose for my first recitative: ‘There were shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flocks by night.’ The notes wove their magic pattern as I relayed the angels’ message of hope, then sang: ‘And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God and saying:’ and the choir swelled out in answer, ‘Glory to God in the highest, and peace on earth, goodwill towards men.’
The opening bars of my first air surged out.
‘Rejoice, rejoice, rejoice greatly, rejoice, O daughter of Zion!’ My voice soared up into the shadowy beams high above and I heard the exaltation in it. ‘Shout, O daughter of Jerusalem! Behold, thy king cometh unto thee.’ And I rejoiced because this evening my king had indeed come to me.
He only spoke to me briefly afterwards, but it was enough. Then he turned to the man at his side, ‘Lady Helena, may I introduce Edward Summerhays – Edward, Lady Helena Girvan.’ The dark-haired young man shook my hand and smilingly congratulated me, then they melted away into the shadows and left me to Miss Ling and the Hammersmith Music Circle. But he had come; he had come so far out of his normal haunts just to hear me, and he had even brought a close friend with him – for I had recognized Edward Summerhays as the young man he had been talking to at the dinner party, and again at the opera and at Ascot. I knew his nephew, I had met his sister-in-law, and now I had been introduced to his friend; I was becoming part of his life. I sang softly to myself as we all drove home together.
*
Alice and Hugh came to stay at Hatton in February, but I felt rather flat – the twins had gone back to Cambridge and Guy was in London with his regiment. I was toying with a second piece of toast at breakfast one morning when Hugh glanced up from his Times and said to my father, ‘I suppose Prescott’ll have to resign his commission now, sir.’
My head jerked up. Papa grunted and sliced another kidney. I asked, tentatively, ‘Lord Gerald Prescott?’
Hugh nodded. ‘Yes – my brother Charles was at Sandhurst with him. Brought him down to stay once or twice, nice enough chap – but very tied up with his regiment, he’ll miss it.’
My mind was in a turmoil. Why was Lord Gerald resigning his commission? Had he been fal
sely accused – in a card scandal perhaps? Oh, surely not. At last I found my voice. ‘Then why – why is he resigning, Hugh?’
‘I suppose he’ll have to, now he’s inherited.’
‘Inherited?’ I stared at him.
Hugh explained patiently, ‘His nephew’s died, it’s in the obits – and he’s the next heir.’
I protested stupidly, ‘But his nephew’s Stavey – Stavey can’t die, he’s too young.’
‘We’re none of us too young to die, Helena – poor little beggar was only eighteen.’
I could not believe it. Stavey, who had been so shyly courteous at Eton last summer – Stavey dead. And Lord Gerald – he had been so fond of his nephew – however must he be feeling now?
My father swallowed his kidney and put his fork down. ‘Is it a big estate?’
‘A good slice of Northants I believe, sir – besides the Irish property – and there’s something in Scotland, too.’
Papa pursed his lips. ‘Not to be sneezed at, eh? Entailed, is it?’
I crumpled up my napkin and scraped my chair back; I could not stay to listen to this cold-blooded discussion. I ran upstairs and flung myself on my bed and wept for fair gentle Stavey and his grey-eyed mother – and for Lord Gerald. But with a sudden unpleasant shock I realized he was Lord Gerald no longer, he was Lord Staveley now – the Marquess of Staveley – and his blue-eyed fair face seemed to slowly fade from my inward vision, and become that of a stranger. I sobbed on.
The twins’ next letter was subdued. Stavey had caught a chill, it had settled on his chest, turned to pneumonia – and that was that. They had both gone up to the funeral at Bessingdon; I was glad of that. They said Lord Gerald – Lord Staveley – had seemed very cut up. My heart bled for him, and I rehearsed careful phrases of condolence though I scarcely expected I would ever have need of them.
Song of Songs Page 14
