A London Season (18 page)

“Hmph!” remarked Miss Selina.

“And does she prefer any
one
of them above the rest?” breathed Miss Mary, head coyly tilted to one side.

“Not yet
—
and we are quite glad of that, as she is still so young. There can be no haste for her to become established.” Miss Selina, he saw, looked as if she did not quite agree with this, and might have been about to make some remark, but then thought better of it. “And I was fortunate enough to persuade a cousin of mine, a Miss Radley, to come to London as her chaperon.
”
With a slight effort, he prevented himself from talking any more about Miss Radley who, as a total stranger to these good ladies, could be of little interest to them, and brought himself back to the purpose of his visit. He
had
wondered, though not very optimistically, whether the Miss Maddens themselves would, after all, be able to throw any light on the identity of Persephone
’
s supposed “friends”, and so continued, “Besides charging me with her love to you
—
” Miss Mary, he saw, looked gratified, and Miss Madden decidedly sceptical
—
“Persephone gave me messages for some acquaintances of hers. Very stupidly, I have forgotten their direction. Perhaps you can help me?”

“Acquaintances?” said Miss Madden. “Oh, you must mean her friends in the school!”

“No, I believe these people reside in the town; does that sound probable?”

“Oh, no, not at all! We
never
allow our girls to mix with the town people!” said Miss Madden firmly, a good deal shocked. “You must be mistaken, Sir Edmund.”

Well, he thought, he had not been mistaken in supposing it would most likely be unprofitable to question Persephone
’
s schoolmistresses; whatever she had been up to, she had contrived to pull the wool over their eyes!

“The name, as I remember, was Ford:
Mr.
and
Mrs.
Ford,” he said, proceeding to his next and more hopeful line of inquiry.

Miss Madden
’
s brow at once cleared. “Oh, you mean the music master! That explains it! On occasion we
do
let the girls visit his house, where he has a very superior pianoforte, and the space to hold little concerts. I know that Persephone went, several times.”

“I
’
m sure she did. Her musical gifts are remarkable,” said Sir Edmund.

“They are, are they not?” Miss Madden sounded relieved again
—
as if she had feared that the excellence of Persephone
’
s talent might also be held against her personally, thought Sir Edmund. That would amuse Elinor, too; he must remember to tell her! “
Mr.
Ford,” Miss Madden was going on to assure him, “is a most accomplished teacher! The parents of all our girls have been very well satisfied with his instruction of our pupils on the pianoforte.
Mrs.
Ford herself plays the harp, and has taught some of the girls as well. When you said
acquaintances in the town
, I did not know it was only the Fords you meant. But let me write down their direction for you.”

1
2

T
he address to which Sir Edmund made his way was on the outskirts of Bath, and not in one of the town
’
s more fashionable streets. Indeed, it soon became plain that the Ford family would have had some difficulty in squeezing themselves into one of the elegantly narrow dwellings in the modern crescents and terraces. Theirs was a rambling house of mellow stone, set at the end of a long alley which had obviously been a country lane not so long ago, and looking out over an orchard of old fruit trees and a garden, with fields just beyond. Sir Edmund wielded the ornate but tarnished brass knocker, and was admitted by a little maidservant. He found that he had to raise his voice a good deal to make her understand his business, such was the volume of noise, all of it more or less musical in nature, that drifted into the hallway from the other side of several closed doors. One of these doors opened as he handed the maid his hat and gloves, and a very small girl appeared, carrying a violin half her own size. She looked at him with wide-eyed interest, and ran back into the room, where she could be heard shrilly informing Mama and Papa that there was a gentleman come to call.

The melodious notes of pianoforte and harp floated down from the floor above; someone was blowing heartily into a French horn; and when Sir Edmund entered the room into which the tiny violinist had run he had a view, through the long windows at its far end, of a boy of about ten sitting among long grass and cowslips in the orchard beyond, earnestly fingering a flute, for all the world like a faun incongruously attired in nankeen breeches and frilled shirt. Even the smallest infants, it seemed, did not go without musical instruments here, for a child toddling along in leading strings came round a corner of the low garden wall, beating a toy drum, while its slightly older sister pursued it with an air of anxious maternity. A lady whom Sir Edmund took to be
Mrs.
Ford hurried to the window and called, leaning out, “Oh, Eliza, whatever you do, mind he doesn
’
t fall into the lily pond
—
remember, William has taken a part of the fence down to mend it!”

The maidservant, not surprisingly, had failed to catch Sir Edmund
’
s name in all this cheerful hubbub, so that he was obliged to introduce himself to the master of the house.
Mr.
Ford, described by Persephone as
old
, was not so very aged after all, but a hale and hearty man in his mid-forties, with a shock of thick, greying hair, and an amiably distracted expression on his face. The room where Sir Edmund found himself was a large one, littered with music paper and instruments; there was a bird in a cage, and a great bowl of cowslips on an old oak chest which bore the marks of small, sticky fingers and could have done with a dusting. But that did nothing to detract from the haphazard charm of the place.

“Persephone
’
s guardian! Well, well!” said
Mr.
Ford cordially. “Happy to make your acquaintance, Sir Edmund! Pray let me introduce my wife.”

Mrs.
Ford, having watched her two small offspring safely negotiate the garden wall and disappear among some currant bushes which closed above their heads, turned to greet Sir Edmund. She was a plump, rosy-faced woman with a sweet and slightly harrassed smile, and she adjured her husband to offer Sir Edmund the Madeira
—
“Yes, John, we
do
have some Madeira! Oh, Susan, pray fetch the cake,” she told the little maidservant. “My dear John, look in the corner cupboard
—
there, beside the bookcase!”

Mr.
Ford, who had been muttering vaguely, “Madeira
...
is there any Madeira?
...
well, I wonder where I can have put it?” did as she suggested, and with a pleased if surprised smile produced a decanter. “Good heavens, Amelia, you were right! How in the world did you know it would be there?”

“Because that is where we always keep it, my dear! Now, some glasses
...”

“Glasses, yes. Well, well! Where shall I find
them
, I wonder?” But
Mrs.
Ford had already located the glasses, which were made of handsome cut crystal and were a trifle dusty, like most of the other objects in the room apart from the musical instruments. However, Sir Edmund had cheerfully drunk much worse wine from far more dubious receptacles in the course of his Continental travels, and sipped the wine appreciatively. The maidservant reappeared with a platter on which a handsome slab of cake reposed, whereupon quantities of children materialized as if by magic
—h
ow in the world, Sir Edmund wondered,
had
they known?
—
and went away again with slices of cake in their hands. “Only one piece each, mind!” their mother told them, as one tried to take his place in the line a second time. “No, Georgie, that is very naughty and greedy! Eliza, please don
’
t let Tommy try to stuff any of his into Baby
’
s mouth again, for you know that though he means it kindly, Baby is far too young to eat cake! Oh dear, you must forgive us, Sir Edmund,” she added cheerfully. “The thing is that the children have a holiday from school today, and Cook is busy with the dinner, and Susan and I have had no chance to tidy up, so that is why you find us all at sixes and sevens! But I dare say you won
’
t mind! Now, pray sit down and tell us how Miss Grafton is.”

Sir Edmund, who had taken an instant liking to the Ford family, was happy to comply with this request. As he gave his news of Persephone, he could see the children through the windows and the open door, coming indoors and going out, wandering up and down the stairs, romping and picking flowers in the garden, and (as the evidence of his ears told him) constantly taking up and laying down a wide variety of musical instruments. None seemed older than sixteen, so he thought that any notion of Persephone
’
s swain being among them might be discounted. “Do
all
your children play an instrument,
Mr.
Ford?” Sir Edmund inquired.

“Why, yes, sir, they all play something! It is only to be expected, you know, when both parents are musical,” said the music master, beaming amiably at his guest. “We sing, too; we can make up quite a little family choir. But alas, none of my children has a voice to equal Persephone
’
s!” “No, indeed,” agreed their mother. “But then,
hers
is outstanding!” She suddenly became a little grave, almost intense. “Sir Edmund, I don
’
t know if you are musical yourself, but perhaps I should inform you that with that voice, Miss Grafton might well rival any professional singer of the day!”

“Precisely what my cousin Elinor has said to me
—
that is Miss Radley, of whom I was telling you. She was very much struck when she first heard Persephone sing.”

“The thing is, I have been afraid she may not be able to continue with her singing
—
I have wondered if she will be able to get the voice properly trained, in London?”

“My dear,” interrupted her husband, “I don
’
t suppose that Sir Edmund is much concerned with such matters!”

“Then he ought to be!” said
Mrs.
Ford, quite fiercely. “For it would be worse than a shame, it would be a
sin
to let that voice go unheard! And such a loss
—
to everyone, not least Persephone herself!”

“I feel sure you are right, ma
’
am,” Sir Edmund hastened to assure her. “Even
I
can tell that her performance on the pianoforte is most superior, and her singing is much admired wherever she goes, though I own that I am not competent to judge how she would compare with a professional singer.”

Mrs.
Ford did not look quite satisfied, but here her husband, who seemed to have been mulling over her remarks, spoke up. “You are quite correct, my dear Amelia, although,” he added wistfully, “I suppose that it is immaterial, in Persephone
’
s station in life. But
I
am competent to judge of her ability, Sir Edmund, and I can tell you it is a long time since I heard a singer to equal her. What is more, Amelia, you remember, I am sure, how young Robert praised her voice? And
he
had been in London quite recently, of course, and heard Sontag, and Vestris, and Miss Stephens and Miss Paton, and a great many more. Franz and Josef and Johann agreed with him too, did they not? The very first time they ever heard her!”

Young Robert, indeed, thought Sir Edmund, not to mention Franz and Josef and Johann! He felt pretty sure he was now coming much closer to Persephone
’
s deeply regretted
friends.
And had not Elinor been sure, from an unguarded remark of Miss Grafton
’
s, that R was the initial of her lost love?

“I collect that Persephone visited you quite frequently?” he asked.

“Yes, indeed, the dear child!” said
Mrs.
Ford, her momentary fierceness gone. “I believe it did her good, you know
—
not that the Miss Maddens are not very excellent women, to be sure, but I can well understand that at times she felt
—
shall I say,
constricted
in their seminary? There were not very many girls there with any real liking for music, and certainly
none
with a talent approaching hers
—
sometimes it does seem a shame,” she said reflectively, “that young ladies should be made to play the pianoforte or harp just because it is an
accomplishment
, for if they have no taste for it, what good, pray, will it ever do them or anybody else?”

“None at all, I imagine, ma
’
am,” agreed Sir Edmund.

“Although perhaps we should not complain too much, Amelia,” suggested her husband, with a twinkle, “since we earn our bread by teaching such accomplishments to such young ladies!”

She laughed. “You are right, John! Dear me, Sir Edmund, I become
so
provoked by girls who will not take the trouble to practise that I get quite carried away. With Persephone, of course, the case was very different. Yes, she got into the way of coming here
—
not just for her lessons, you know, but whenever there was a half-holiday, or we had a little evening concert in the big music room upstairs, which will hold quite a number of persons. I own, I miss her! The children were all so fond of her, and I do believe she loved them too. ” No wonder she had seemed rather disappointed in his unmusical twin nephews, thought Sir Edmund, recollecting Persephone
’
s arrival in London. They must have appeared sadly commonplace by comparison with this charming family of Ford infants who wandered in and out at will, playing on their pipes and fiddles!

“And no doubt she met other young people of her own age here, from time to time?” he gently suggested.

“Oh, yes, but there was not the least impropriety, if that is what you were thinking,”
Mrs.
Ford assured him
—
though a little defensively, he fancied. “She always had permission from Miss Madden, of course, and naturally, when we held a little Musical Evening of our own and invited Persephone to play and sing, I was there as chaperon.”

“It all sounds delightful, ma
’
am, and I wish I could attend one of your Musical Evenings myself,” said Sir Edmund, with his warmest smile. “But about the
other
people who were there?” he quietly persisted. “Tell me, were they always persons who live in Bath? The fact is, my cousin has been in rather a worry, because Persephone seemed distressed to have left friends behind her when she came to London, although she will say very little about these friends. Of course, Miss Radley has suggested that she might write to them, and thinks she did so but got no answer
—
and that too seems to have cast her into the dismals. It
’
s as much to set my cousin
’
s mind at rest as anything that I wondered
—
”

But here he was interrupted by a dismayed exclamation of “Oh
dear
!
” from
Mrs.
Ford. Her rosy face crumpled slightly, and large tears began to roll down her cheeks.

“Amelia!” said her husband, alarmed. “What can be the matter?” Looking around for some means of succour, he
took his own glass of Madeira in one hand and the plate of cake in the other, and urged both upon her, begging her distractedly, “Take a little wine, Amelia
—
take a slice of cake, my dear, and you will feel better directly!”

“No, no!” uttered
Mrs.
Ford, through her tears.

Sir Edmund, who had certainly not meant to provoke such a reaction, was quite alarmed by the effect of his own words. “Please, my dear ma
’
am, don
’
t let anything I have said distress you. I had no intention of
—
”

“Oh, I might have
known
how it would be!” wept
Mrs.
Ford, firmly thrusting aside the cake, but taking a sip from her husband
’
s glass. She mastered her sobs. “Of
course
I told her they must not think of such a thing
—I
told them
both
! I even represented it to them strongly, John, that you and I would be held to blame! And he perfectly understood
—
and even
she
promised me
—
but I
have
wondered if they did continue to meet after all!”

Ah, thought Sir Edmund, now we are getting somewhere! “My dear
Mrs.
Ford, no one blames you for anything,” he said soothingly. “It is only that my cousin and I did suspect some affair of the heart lay behind Persephone
’
s unhappiness, and I wished to discover the facts of the matter. Do you think you could manage to tell me?”