by K. Velk
“That’s enough Miles. You’re starting to scare me. You’re either a real spellbinder – a regular Jules Verne or something – or you’re completely daft. If you keep talking like that I’ll have to write you off as daft and we won’t be friends. Anyway, like I told you once already, even if this crazy tale of yours were true – which I don’t believe for a second – I have my own plans.”
“But Ada…” he pleaded. “It’s some kind of great power that has ordered all this. I didn’t ask for it either. I had it just fine back home. My parents were rich. I never had to work hard on anything. But my friend, Professor Davies if you knew him, you wouldn’t doubt it either. I swear. It’s true – every word.”
“Enough Miles!” Her eyes flashed. “I’m not going anyplace with you – not to speak of some dark woods. If you don’t want to hear my song, just go. You’re wasting my precious time.”
He didn’t move. He couldn’t move. He was stuck. He was stymied. She kept playing, working out a phrase on the piano, tweaking it here and modifying it there, while he tried to think what he could say that might convince her. She seemed to forget him. After a few moments of painful silence, she said, more softly.
“You know it was Lady Fisher who had the piano brought to St Hild’s, along with the piano master. I think that’s one reason she feels responsible for me, like she started all this. They got big into cultural education at St. Hild’s after Lady Fisher came along. Miss Everett took us senior girls out to the Dulwich Picture Gallery last year. I saw some pictures there that made me think of this.” She started singing again over the sad melody she had been playing,
A painted ship
A painted ocean
A painted girl who looks like me
I wish, oh how I wish
I could be that girl and sail away
Across that painted sea…
Miles thought the song was beautiful and said so, but he looked miserable. Ada didn’t care for his gloom. She wanted more of his enthusiasm. She looked insulted.
Then a thought flashed into his head. Of course! Why hadn’t he thought of it sooner! The iPod!
“I can prove it! But you’ll have to come to my room alone – or agree to meet me someplace where no one else can see us.” He hoped the iPod had enough charge left to play at least a couple of songs.
She gave him a furious look and crashed both hands down on the piano.
“You are beyond belief Miles McTavish! I mean just beyond belief! Here’s one more, just for you. She sang again in her big music hall voice:
Oh, I wish I could I shimmy like my sister Kate;
She shimmies like a jelly on a plate.
My mama wanted to know last night,
What makes the boys think Kate's so nice.
Now all the boys in the neighborhood,
They know that she can shimmy and it's understood;
I know that I'm late, but I'll be up-to-date
When I can shimmy like my sister Kate.
She sang and played so loudly that Miles ears were ringing and, even though she was only playing to express her irritation, he admired the performance. She even managed to work some pretty impressive shimmying as she banged out the notes on the piano. He was about to try and explain more about the iPod, but he didn’t get the chance.
“You’ll excuse me if I don’t applaud Ada,” Mrs.Grimwald said from the doorway behind them. “Please return immediately to your room. Miles, you do the same. Do not speak to each other on your way out. Do not leave your rooms until I or Mr. Scott speak with you. Do not expect, either one of you, to come down to dinner tonight.”
43. Mr. Scott Takes a Hand
Obliterating disaster overwhelms comprehension. Breathing continues, eyes blink, but all is confusion. Miles’ legs carried him up the stairs to his room. He sat down mechanically on the edge of his bed. Then the sorting began. How long had Grimmy been behind them? How much had she heard? Worst of all, what would happen to Ada?
It would be awful if he got sent away, but far worse if she were. God, how would he ever find her again if that happened? She hadn’t told him what her big secret plan was. The idea that she might be packing her bags as he was sitting in his room like a naughty child left him in a cold sweat. What should he do?
Twice he ran down the stairs, planning to storm the girls’ quarters, grab Ada and make a dash for it. Second thoughts stopped him both times before he reached the first landing. She wouldn’t go anywhere with him. She was older, and bigger, than he was and she thought he was crazy. He’d only get chucked out of the house if he made some big scene. She might tell everybody his story. Then he would be well and properly finished.
“Damn and blast!” Tom Pauling had said that every time something went wrong on the wall and now the phrase burst from Miles. He dropped his head into his hands.
As if this weren’t sufficiently awful, there was still the secret to uncover. He had found the girl but, even if she didn’t slip away, he was only half done! It was maddening, but he was helpless. It was maddening because he was helpless. There was nothing to do but to sit and to wait, and sitting and waiting was torment.
After what seemed an eternity, but was probably no more than two hours, Jack appeared at the door with a foolish grin on his face.
“Hello there, Valentino.”
“What’s going on?”
“Easy fella.” Jack’s smile faded as he took in his friend’s deep distress. “It’s not the end of the world…”
“Please, just tell me, what’s going on?”
“Well,” Jack said, drawing up the chair. “I was called up from the kennels by Mr. Scott just after tea. He was making ‘additional inquiries into your moral character,’ he said. Grimmy apparently reported that you were all but undressing a house maid today while singing lewd songs at the piano.”
Miles moaned. “That’s not true. You know. Oh God…”
Jack laughed. “Don’t worry! Mr. Scott’s no fool. He didn’t need me to tell him that you’re a right enough fellow. He all but said that he’s just going through the motions to satisfy Grimwald. But that’s not going to be easy. You’re to go down to him now.”
Miles found Mr. Scott in his office, reading a newspaper. He put it down wearily as Miles entered.
“Sit.”
Miles sat.
“McTavish, did you think that I did not have enough to occupy my time?”
“No Sir.”
“Did it not occur to you that Mrs. Grimwald would take, let us say, a dim view of you carrying on with Ada as you have apparently done?”
Miles jumped forward. “We weren’t doing anything! She was just singing me a couple of songs. I heard her singing for Nell in the kitchen, and she’s like a genius at singing and playing the piano so I …”
Mr. Scott held up his hand. “I think I have a fairly solid grasp on the situation. Nell has already provided the background.”
“What’s going to happen to Ada?” Miles asked miserably.
“It would be better, certainly, if she had not already placed herself on such thin ice with Mrs. Grimwald,” Mr. Scott said, as he poured himself a small glass of something red from a decanter on his desk. “She will not, however, be discharged. Lady Fisher has been telephoned and her intervention has secured, for the time being at least, Ada’s continued employment.”
Miles flopped back in his chair. “Thank God.”
“And thank Lady Fisher too, I should think.” Mr. Scott took a sip then raised his glass in Miles’ direction. “I congratulate you, at least, on having the good grace to inquire after the young lady’s fate before asking to know your own.” He took another sip. “I am glad to be able to tell you that you, also, are to be spared the worst.”
That was a relief as well, although minor in comparison.
Mr. Scott pointed to a table on which sat a silver-domed tray. “I had Cook send in some dinner for you. I don’t suppose you are much accustomed to missing meals.”
Truer words had nev
er been spoken. Miles smelled something appetizing and, once again, felt very hungry. Mr. Scott indicated that Miles should eat as he poured himself a second glass.
“Mind, it’s no great shock, to me at least, that a lad your age might want to have a bit of conversation with the available girls – when we kept a full staff this sort of thing was a much more common problem.” Miles lifted the dome on a steaming bowl of beef stew, his favorite, along with one of cook’s big, fluffy dinner rolls.
“It’s really not what you think, Mr. Scott. I wasn’t trying to flirt with Ada…” He said between mouthfuls.
“Mrs. Grimwald said that when she found you and Ada at your duet, or whatever it was, that it was the second time in as many days that she had caught you chatting up the maids when you were all supposed to be working.”
“I know it looks bad, but really, I was just interested in finding out more about her – to see if maybe there was some way I could help. I mean, she’s got a real musical talent.”
“I see. I didn’t realize you were an impresario. Perhaps you would tell me what assistance you have on offer?”
“Oh. Uh. Well, I don’t know that I could do anything major, but I do know a lot about American music, and she’s really interested in that.”
“Miles, you would hardly be doing her a favor to draw her further down that road. I am surprised at you.”
Miles was so startled he stopped his spoon midway to his mouth. He expected this kind of thing from Mrs. Grimwald, but Mr. Scott?
“What’s wrong with American music?”
“Well, nothing of the decent sort I am sure, but Ada has been powerfully attracted to this ‘jazz’ we hear so much about these days – generally in connection with violence and drunkenness and voodoo dancing and God only knows what else.”
What was this? Miles had never thought of jazz as being the least bit disrespectable. “I didn’t know that’s what people thought over here,” he said. “Where I’m from it’s more like, the kind of music old people listen to over dinner, like classical music.”
Mr. Scott arched his eyebrows. “Really? You surprise me. I read recently that it is entertainment for American gangsters in their speakeasies. In fact, I am certain that I read that it has been banned outright in many American towns. But I suppose one must expect regional differences in such a large country. In any case, getting Ada mixed up further with that sort of thing would hardly be doing her a favor. Quite the contrary.”
Miles retreated to his stand-by 1928 strategy for difficult conversations. Say little. Listen much. Don’t argue.
“I had no idea. I mean, I think her voice is great.”
“Well, I’ll allow that it has a certain primitive power,” Mr. Scott leaned back in his chair and balanced his glass on his stomach. “But this predilection of hers has been a source of grief to those who care for her and who want to protect her prospects. Did you know that her nickname at school was, “MED,” an acronym of ‘Miss Everett’s Despair?’”
“Rhonda and Violet said something about that.”
“Do you know why they called her that?”
Miles shrugged. “I guessed she was a behavior problem. I didn’t really get details.”
“From what I understand, it was not that she was a badly behaved girl. The despair has been over the fact that she has native intelligence and, I am told, a genuine musical gift – but that she has been unwilling to deploy these assets to her advantage. Instead, she imagines she has a future on the stage. And not for that respectable sort of singing that goes on in opera houses or drawing rooms, but before the most vulgar crowds.”
“Oh. I didn’t know.”
Mr. Scott sighed. “Miles, you are aware, I believe, that Ada is an orphan? And worse for her…” he leaned forward and whispered, “she is also illegitimate.”
It took Miles a moment to understand that Mr. Scott meant that Ada’s parents had not been married when she was born.
Without thinking, he shrugged. “Well, that’s not her fault. And you just said she’s an orphan. Why would it matter if her parents weren’t married?”
Mr. Scott looked as though Miles had just recommended cannibalism. “She was a love child, Miles.” He dangled this terrible revelation like Medusa’s head – obviously intending to freeze any further idiocy from Miles. “She has no father’s name. I’m not sure if her mother even knew the father’s name.”
“But her name is Ada Ardilaun, isn’t it? That’s what she told me.”
“Her full name is Ada Ardilaun O’Shea. Her mother was a maid in the service of Baron and Lady Ardilaun of Ireland. It’s part of Ada’s theatricality that she likes to leave off the ‘O’Shea’ aspect of her heritage.”
“Well, where does the Ardilaun bit come in? Was Baron Ardilaun the father?”
“Certainly not! The Baron was a man of impeccable morals. His only involvement with Bridey O’Shea was to provide her employment in his household. He was dead, in any case long before Ada was born.”
“So how come ‘Ardilaun’ then?”
“Bridey received permission from Lady Ardilaun to include it as part of the child’s Christian name. You see, when Bridey found that she was, er, … with child… Lady Ardilaun arranged for her to be installed at the Ardilaun’s London house for the birth. Incredibly, she then allowed Bridey to stay on in her employment while a local woman fostered Ada. It might have gone on like that until Ada grew up, but Bridey died – pneumonia I think – when Ada was four or five years old. After that, Lady Ardilaun took Ada on personally, eventually sending her to Saint Hild’s. It was Lady Ardilaun, in fact, who first drew Lady Fisher into work for the school.”
Miles realized with a jolt that this information might be “the secret.”
“Does Ada know about all this?” He asked hopefully.
“Of course,” Mr. Scott said, obviously puzzled by the enthusiasm in the question. “She spoke to me about it herself when we first met.”
“Oh.” Miles said again, mildly, though he was thinking, “damn and blast!”
“Ada’s employment here is one in a series of kindnesses shown to her by Lady Fisher. She picked up care for Ada after Lady Ardilaun passed away, you see. But that is not why I am now telling you all this. I am telling you, Miles, though it is really none of your business, so that you may appreciate the fragility of Ada’s circumstances. She has no family. She has no money. She apparently has no ambition except to throw herself into the demi-monde of London. She is still very young, and Lady Fisher and Miss Everett hope that if she can navigate the shoals of the next couple of years, she may yet make a decent life for herself. Her musical tastes may, in time, mature and allow her to become, perhaps, a teacher of music. She may even hope to marry decently. However, she is at this moment at a very dangerous interval. Encouragement from any quarter for this mad plan of hers may prove fatal. Do you understand?”
Miles nodded and tried to look concerned. He didn’t agree at all, of course, but he had no doubt that Miss Everett and Lady Fisher believed they were acting in Ada’s best interests.
Mr. Scott drained his glass. “I am sure you’ll also be able to appreciate why I must ban unsupervised contact between you and Ada, at least for the time being? I don’t believe there was any harm in you here, but some measure was necessary to placate Mrs. Grimwald. She is not happy with this compromise, as you might imagine. She predicted just this sort of trouble and she feels that she has scored quite a point. One more on her side and she might well have the game. So be very certain, for Ada’s sake as much as your own, that you keep well clear of her and do not, for God’s sake, throw any more tinder on this burning desire of hers to take to the stage.”
What could he do except agree? Miles took his last few mouthfuls of stew and replaced the dome with his fingers crossed.
44. A Cunning Plan
Miles’ first thought after this meeting was to ask Rhonda or Violet to carry a note to Ada. But they were likely to read it before delivering it, and even if they did
n’t, they would all get in trouble if they were caught. After turning the problem over and over in bed that night, he hit upon a plan.
The flowers in Chapel were due to be renewed the next day. It was Miles’ job to carry the old flowers out to the compost heap, refill the great vase with fresh water, and to carry fresh flowers provided by Mr. Graves back to the Chapel. Lady Fisher or Mrs. Grimwald would then arrange them. On this occasion, he carried a note with him as well as an armload of daylilies. It read:
I know we are not allowed to talk to each other, but I have something I need to show you and it’s no trick. I will be waiting for you at the bus stop on the Tipton Road, just past the West Gate on Sunday at 1 PM. PLEASE meet me there.
The junior staff wasn’t due back at work until three o’clock on Sunday and he reasoned that this would give him plenty of time to demonstrate the iPod for Ada and to talk a bit more. The bus stop was on a well-traveled road, which ought to satisfy her that he was not attempting anything sinister. Still, it was sufficiently out-of-the-way to make a quiet conversation possible. He folded the note, wrote Ada’s name on the back, and placed it inside the Book of Common Prayer in the pew where the girls invariably sat. No one ever opened the prayer books except during Chapel and no one ever changed seats.
As events transpired, Chapel was the only place where Miles saw Ada during the next two days. He was sent by Grimmy to assist the architects with more measuring and carrying in a far, disused corner of the house. Ada once again disappeared from meals. Rhonda and Violet had clearly been given orders to maintain a safe distance from him. Ada gave no sign of having seen the note on Thursday, but on Friday, as she walked past his pew on the way out of the service, she flashed a glimpse of the note to him and gave him the slightest nod.
