by K. Velk
Violet shrugged. “She’s like that – wanting to be on her own all the time. Probably up in her room practicing to be the next Marie Lloyd.” This struck Rhonda as funny and both girls strode off to their room in a fit of giggles.
He wished after they had gotten away that he had asked who Marie Lloyd was.
The next day came and went in much the same fashion. Ada appeared here and there, sending Miles’ heart rate soaring each time he glimpsed her, but she never gave him so much as a second look. At dinner she again ignored him, and everyone else. Desperate though he was for more information, he had determined not to ask Rhon and Vi any more questions about her. He felt sure they were being reported back to Ada, and this was not helping. Why couldn’t anything be easy? He needed a plan to get some time alone with Ada.
Unfortunately, the only one he could come up with was terrible and almost certainly doomed to failure.
He would have to sneak into the maids’ rooms. It was beyond risky, but if Ada was the point of all of this, he had to take the chance. He spent a nearly sleepless night plotting how he might get down from his own third floor room, through the kitchen – where Eubank kept his ears wide open all night – across the courtyard, and up the drain pipe into the maids’ quarters.
The doors were locked each night, so he would have to go through a second story window. He would have to test the pipe the next day. If the mortar wasn’t solid it would be hopeless. If the windows were locked, he’d have to break one. Could he carry a rock wrapped in a handkerchief up with him? How could he test the drainpipe without attracting attention? Could he get a ladder somewhere? In all his miserable preoccupation, Miles never considered that he might catch a lucky break, but that was just what he, finally, got.
40. Wait ‘Til the Sun Shines Nellie…
Mrs. Grimwald had half days off on Wednesdays. Miles had forgotten about this since she hardly ever seemed to leave Sessions. On this Wednesday, however, the housekeeper emerged from the kitchen door wearing her hat and pulling on her gloves as Miles was sweeping the courtyard.
“Don’t stare, Miles, how many times do I have to tell you?” He bent back to his broom and swept noisily as he watched her go. There was a bus stop at the end of the long drive and Mrs. Grimwald made her way in that direction. She was leaving!
“Don’t stare I said!” She called as though she had eyes in the back of her head.
He swept showily and loudly as possible until she disappeared beyond the yew hedge then he rushed back into the kitchen intending to ask Nell where Ada might be working that day.
He didn’t have to ask.
Ada stood in the kitchen with her arms around Nell, who was holding her apron to her eyes and sobbing into the young maid’s ample bosom.
“Shhh, Nell. It’ll be all right. Shh,” Ada said as soothingly as possible at the volume that was loud enough for Nell to hear. “We’ll think of something.”
“What’s wrong?” Miles asked. Adult tears were always alarming, but to see Nell cry was heart-rending. Nell had been at Quarter Sessions since before the Fishers had acquired the place. She came along with it, as part and parcel of the estate. She and her late husband had kept off the looters in its worst days. She might have retired years ago, but she was still so spry and determined to be useful that on she went. Nell was generally regarded as a treasure, except by Mrs. Grimwald who resented Nell’s great antiquity, deafness and, worse, her shadow of a little dog.
“That witch Grimwald has ordered that Eubank be put down!” Ada shouted.
Nell sobbed at the mention of the dog’s name. “He made a puddle on the floor! I missed it. I can’t believe I did – oh the luck! Mr. Hardy’s going to come and take him away! Oh my own dear little Eubank! Poor, dear creature.” Nell cried harder. Ada hugged her in more closely. And then Ada sang,
Wait till the sun shines, Nellie,
When the clouds go drifting by,
We will be happy, Nellie,
Don't you sigh…
Miles had heard that song once or twice on the wireless. He knew it as a bouncy tune, but Ada sang it low and slow and with a voice that was unlike anything he had ever heard before. It wasn’t like her speaking voice, which was rather flat and nasal. Her singing voice was rich and deep.
Miles could hardly have been more surprised if Ada had sprouted wings and flown with Nell out of the roof. For a moment he just stood, slack-jawed, while the world drew itself into focus, at last.
This was why he had been sent! Ada was a singer – one with a real talent – and one that was required, apparently, in the next century. His job was to get her there.
“Can you sing that again?” he asked.
She looked at him with incomprehension and disgust. “What? Did you not hear? Nell’s little dog had been given a death sentence. This isn’t a bloody recital!”
He needed to explain – but to do that, he realized, he needed to attend to the Eubank situation.
“Where did Grimmy go?”
“Some meetin’ at that church of hers,” Ada said as she stroked Nell’s gray head. “She was in a rush just now, but she said she would see Mr. Hardy straight away when she got back.”
“I think I can fix this!” Miles said. “Promise me, Ada, that you’ll wait here til I get back. It shouldn’t take more than about ten minutes.”
“Well, I ent gonna to leave ‘er on ‘er own, am I? But you’d best hop it. Grimmy has a way of turnin’ up when she’s most not wanted.”
41. One Good Deed
Miles normally would have been in dread of approaching “the Master” to ask for anything, much less with a request that he overrule Mrs. Grimwald. It wasn’t that Sir James was an angry or short-tempered sort of person; only that he was so kingly. And Mr. Scott and Mrs. Grimwald had been clear: Sir James was not to be bothered with staff or household affairs. But Lady Fisher was away so the only higher power available at the moment was her husband, and Miles had no time or luxury for nerves.
Sir James was known to be a thoroughly dog-loving individual. In addition to his prized fox hounds, he kept a terrier in the house, a bright-eyed little dog called Daisy. She was so cheerful and friendly that Miles had assumed she was a family pet. And so she was, but she had another identity. She was expected to dig out a fox that has “gone to ground.” This meant, Jack had explained, that Daisy and the other terriers had to drag a hiding fox out of its hole during fox hunts.
Miles had found it impossible to square little Daisy, the friendly dog that lifted her head at him from the various sofas at Quarter Sessions and wagged her stumpy tail, with a killer bent on tearing the throat out of a kindred fox. He had, early on, made the mistake of saying something to Jack about how he thought fox hunting was cruel. Jack’s response had been genuine disbelief.
“But foxes are vermin,” he had said, clearly viewing this as an unanswerable truth. “Farmers are at Mr. Hardy all the time to have the Hunt come through their places to roust out the foxes. And besides, where would we be without the Hunt?”
Miles wasn’t about to get into a debate. It was against his mission principles to argue with anyone here. He kept his opinion to himself, although it was still his opinion.
He found Sir James in the courtyard of the stable among a group of well-dressed men. They were all slowly circling a very glossy horse, patting it here and there, looking under its hooves and in its mouth. A groom held the stallion’s tossing head.
“Excuse me Sir James?” Miles began bowing extravagantly in the direction of each of the men. They were clearly irritated but their disfavor seemed to melt away as Miles explained the situation. Sir James offered the men a brief history of Eubank.
“A cur dog, got mixed up with the pack during a hunt a few years back. Got trampled, didn’t he? I brought him back to the house intending to put him out of his misery but our Nellie saw him first. She said he looked just like a little dog she’d had as a girl and asked if she could have a go at mending him. She nursed him back to a state of health, o
r near enough.”
Sir James frowned. “Hardy won’t like to be asked to put that dog down. It’s like the huntsman being sent in after Snow White’s heart, eh? I know Mrs. Grimwald runs a very tight ship and I have found it the best policy never to come between a captain and her command – still, under the circumstances… I’ll have a word. Never fear.”
Miles’ thanked him excessively and bowed again at all the men, seeking and receiving Sir James’ permission to tell Nell.
Everyone said that Mrs. Grimwald would do anything for Sir James. If he said Eubank should be spared, Eubank would be safe from her forever after.
Miles ran back to the house. If all went well, he would still have a few precious hours before Mrs. Grimwald returned. Ada was waiting. Here was his chance to find out more about her – and, he hoped, to hear her sing some more.
42. A Girl and Her Piano
Miles’ successful defense of Eubank “worked a treat” as they said here. Nell all but kissed his hand and Ada instantly softened toward him. Then he made another good move by asking Ada if she would sing them another song. It was clear that there was nothing she would rather do. Nell, however, waved the young people off.
“You can’t stand here in the kitchen warbling. I’ll not breathe a word, though, if you have a little sit down and a sing along today.” There was a piano in the sewing room, and Ada practically ran to it with Miles at her heels.
“I’ve been dying to ‘ave at it for weeks,” she said, spinning the piano stool to the proper height. “It’s strictly off limits, but the watch bird isn’t watching now, is she? What kind of music do you like?” She hit the keys expertly. Miles pulled a chair up beside her. She didn’t wait for an answer. She began playing a cheerful tune.
“Got to hand it to Old Grimmy. This is perfectly in tune. Tell you what,” she said, “just to warm up, I’ll play an old favorite. It was popular the year I was born, sung by Ada Jones. Have you heard of Ada Jones in America? I was told that my mother named me ‘Ada’ partly cause she liked this song so much.” And with that she let rip:
Now Jim O'Shea was cast away
Upon an Indian Isle
The natives there they liked his hair
They liked his Irish smile
So made him chief Panjandrum
The Nabob of them all
They called him Jimmy Bob Jhai
And rigged him out so gay
So he wrote to Dublin Bay
To his sweetheart, just to say …
Here Ada gave Miles a prompting look. “Sing along!” She commanded.
He shrugged helplessly and yelled over the booming piano, “I don’t know the words!”
“All right, listen this time, then come in on the next chorus!” Her voice opened up even more as she came to heart of the song:
Sure,
I've
got
rings on me fingers, and bells on me toes!
El-e-phants to ride upon, my little Irish Rose
So come to your Nabob, and next St. Patrick's Day
Be Mistress Mumbo Jumbo Jimmy Bob J.
O'Shea!
Miles didn’t quite catch the words to the next verse, something about Rose Magee going across the sea, then the chorus came back around. Shy and self conscious as he was, the piano and Ada’s rousing voice were irresistible. He tried to sing along, though he flubbed the tongue-twister name at the end.
By the last chorus he had it well in hand. As she struck the final notes, Miles gaped.
“That was really excellent!” He had never heard anything like her voice. She had perfect control and great expression.
“It’s just a silly old song,” she said modestly, though her face was alight in the glow of his admiration. “But it’s a real crowd pleaser. ‘Ave you heard it sung in a music hall? Never fails to raise the roof.”
“No. I haven’t. I’ve never been to music hall. Is everyone supposed to sing along like that?”
Her jaw dropped. “Never been to a music hall? That is positively heart breakin’. I’d take you myself if they had one hereabouts, but there isn’t a proper one for miles. And of course everyone sings at the chorus. That’s the fun of it.”
“But you could raise the roof on your own. You have a fantastic voice!”
“Well, I’m glad someone likes it,” she said, returning her attention to the keys.
“Who wouldn’t? It’s amazing!”
“There are some that admire my singing it’s true – some whose opinions count on the matter too – but no one at Sessions. Didn’t you hear about that trouble in Chapel?”
“No – Rhonda and Vi said something about it, but I didn’t get any details.”
“Well, let’s just say that old Grimmy didn’t appreciate my style of hymn singin’. I weren’t trying to be disrespectful, honest. I just sung ‘em the way I felt ‘em. But she said I was being ‘deliberately impious’ and set me to learning proverbs and psalms by heart for weeks. I think that nice vicar tried to step in for me, but even he’s terrified of her.”
“I would have loved to have heard you…”
She gave him a funny look. “You’re layin’ it on with a trowel, ent you?”
“I’m not trying to flatter you, really,” he stammered. “I’m… I guess, I’m a music lover and you are the real deal. I’ve never heard anything like your voice, and I’ve heard some really great singers. God, you would love the music in the States. I have missed the music more than almost anything else since I got here. Have you ever heard gospel music?”
“Don’t think so… What’s that?”
Miles tried to explain about Aretha Franklin and Mahalia Jackson, and though music beggars description, especially his description since he couldn’t sing a note, she was intrigued. He hoped, if he could close his mission deal with her, she would have the chance to tear off some of that repertoire. She sang with such power that gospel or soul or R&B would be great for her. The thought gave him goose bumps.
“I bet I would love it,” she said, still gently playing a pretty melody. “I love jazz. And all the best songs these days seem to come from America. Do you know this one?”
She sang a sad love song that he didn’t know, about a broken hearted girl whose love had left her long ago. She sang with such heart that Miles wondered if she’d betrayed by someone, though she seemed a bit young for that. When she got to the end, he applauded enthusiastically. His admiration was so open and complete that, bold as she was, she blushed under its intensity.
“You… are… incredible,” he said. He wished he were more articulate. How could he tell her what he needed to say? No words seemed right. He decided after a moment just to spit it out.
“Listen. I know this is going to sound crazy but hear me out. What I am going to tell you now, you have to promise never to tell anyone. Will you promise?’
“Miles don’t be ridiculous!”
“Ada – you have got to promise me by, by…” he racked his brain for some sacred person or object and managed, “St. Cecilia, swear by St. Cecilia that you won’t tell anyone what I am about to tell you.” He had seen a stained glass window in the Westfield church depicting St. Cecilia and had learned from the Mrs. Peppermore that she was the patron saint of musicians.
Ada rolled her eyes and said wearily, “all right. I swear by St. Cecilia.”
“Do you remember how I told you, when we met on the stairs, that I had been sent here to find you?”
She didn’t answer. She just shook her head dismissively and turned her attention back to the piano. “Oh Miles. Come on. I wasn’t born yesterday.”
“No listen,” he soldiered on. “You’ve got to listen to me. I needed a chance to talk with you because something in me felt that it had to be you, but I wasn’t sure why. Now I am sure. You’re The Girl.”
“Right. Aww right. I’m ‘the girl’. Would you like to hear something of my own I’ve been working on? I’m not likely to have another chance at the piano…”
“You wr
ite music too?”
“That’s really what I want to do most, though even my friend in London, my patron if you like,” she said coyly, “says it’s foolish for a girl with my voice to think of songwriting. He says there aren’t any good songs written by women.”
“Who’s this ‘patron’?” Miles asked apprehensively.
“Well Mr…” she stopped herself short. “No. I can’t tell you. I made that mistake once – telling Miss Everett just a wee little bit about my plans and it got me shanghaied into service here.”
Miles looked at her gravely. “Ada. You have just got to believe me. I am not trying to, to, date you. I was sent – not only from America, but from – don’t laugh – from the future for one reason - to bring you back with me.” He decided that this was not the moment to get into the business of “the secret that wasn’t meant to be.”
She let out a braying laugh. “Now I’ve heard everything!”
“Just listen for a minute,” Miles pleaded. I swear by St. Cecilia myself that this is God’s honest truth. I was sent here by a friend of mine – a man who was born and lived in your time but who was… shifted, I suppose, when he was about your age. He was thrown forward about forty years into the future, and from England to America. I know him back in Texas as a man of about seventy…”
The whole story spilled out of Miles as quickly as he could tell it. Ada seemed to be listening but she never stopped playing absently while he talked. She didn’t believe him. He could see that she was dismissing it all. He tried frantically to engage her then, telling her about the music of his day – the variety of it – the freedom that women had to sing whatever they wanted and to write songs. He told her about his friend the music producer who could surely help her. He was starting in on the miracles of science – like TV and the Internet when she stopped him.
