A London Season (20 page)

In the event, having washed off the dust of the road and changed into evening dress, he arrived in Upper Brook Street only to find that the family had dined and gone out for the evening. Beale informed him that, except for his lordship, who had gone to his club, they were at Lady Mercer
’
s Brindisi.

“Where?” inquired Sir Edmund.

“I believe, sir, that the term denotes a Musical Evening of a convivial nature. From the circumstance of a drinking song
’
s being known by the name of the Italian city of Brindisi, sir,” explained Beale. “I am not perfectly sure that such a derivation is correct,” he added scrupulously, “but of course, one might ascertain that by reference to Miss Grafton
’
s singing master, Signor Pascali, when next he
—
”

However, he had lost his hearer
’
s attention as soon as the words
Musical Evening
were out of his mouth.

“You mean they
’
re all round in Grosvenor Square?” interrupted Sir Edmund, taking back his hat and gloves. “Then I
’
ll follow them there! Don
’
t trouble to call a hack; it
’
s only a step to walk.”

There was obviously a considerable attendance at the so-called Brindisi. Sir Edmund was well acquainted with the host and hostess of the evening, and although he had received no formal invitation, the lady of the house was delighted to welcome him. “Dear Isabella was saying, just now, she fancied you might join us if you were back in town in time.”

“A large gathering!” said Sir Edmund, surveying the scene from the top of the shallow flight of stairs where he and Lady Mercer stood. “And just to my ward
’
s liking
—
as soon as I heard the occasion was a musical one, I knew how eager
she
must have been to attend.” He was looking about him for the Yoxford party
—
which, as Charley had returned to Cambridge, would consist of the ladies only
—
but had so far failed to see any of them.

“Dear Miss Grafton! I hope she will play and sing for us all a little later,” said Lady Mercer graciously. Since her own two daughters were very eligibly married, she was able to see Persephone shine in company with more equanimity than some of the other middle-aged ladies present. “I hear that people have taken to calling her the Nightingale of Upper Brook Street! Charming! But you must not think we are to depend solely on ourselves for entertainment
—
dear me, no! I have engaged musicians to play for us, one of whom, I am told, is quite a prodigy! But do go in. I think you will find Isabella and her party in the Blue Saloon.” And she turned to greet the next guests ascending the staircase.

Sir Edmund was not surprised to hear that professional musicians had been engaged; it was some time since he had spent a full Season in London, but he knew the Mercers had a great taste for music, and frequently obtained the services of such people to grace their parties. A friend of his had mentioned hearing Henriette Sontag at this house last year, as well as a boy of fourteen then on a visit to England, called Franz Liszt, who played the piano very brilliantly. If such was to be the evening
’
s entertainment, Sir Edmund was not surprised to hear that Yoxford had preferred his club, and poor Isabella would probably find it a bore; he gave her full credit for coming, for he had dropped a tactful word into her ear on the night of the ball, after seeing how tired and anxious Elinor looked, to the effect that she must not delegate
all
her duties to Miss Radley.

He stood on the broad landing, taking his bearings. Through a half-open door, he caught a glimpse of a large music-room where he supposed the professional musicians were to perform, since it contained a good many chairs arranged in short rows and informal groups, a grand pianoforte, and a number of music stands. Just at the moment it was more or less empty. In passing, Sir Edmund briefly noted a few people in sober-hued coats; someone was tuning a cello, while a young man with a great deal of waving dark hair, who was holding a violin, gave him a note on the piano now and then, and meanwhile conversed volubly with a small group of guests whom Sir Edmund did not know. He went on, in search of the Yoxford party.

There were refreshments laid out in a supper room; there was a card room for those whose taste ran to entertainments less elevated than music; and the Blue Saloon, to which Sir Edmund
’
s hostess had directed him, was evidently given over to such of the guests as wished or could be persuaded to perform themselves. It was no surprise to Sir Edmund to find Persephone in occupation of the piano stool in this room. Indeed, he heard her before he saw her: an introductory passage of music, faultlessly executed, caught his ear, and next moment Persephone
’
s voice was raised in a pretty Italian cavatina.

She made a charming picture, sitting at the instrument in a gown of deep blue gauze which matched not only her azure eyes but the decoration of the room itself (Sir Edmund fancied his sister would have remembered its colour, and advised Persephone accordingly as to her toilette for the evening). A number of other young people stood or sat around her, the gentlemen openly admiring, many of the young ladies trying to suppress a certain envy. But Sir Edmund
’
s eyes did not linger on her long; he was looking for Elinor, and had just located her, seated on a sofa beside Isabella, when someone came striding rapidly out of the large music-room he had just passed, and almost elbowed him out of the doorway.

He saw that it was the dark-haired man who had been helping the cellist to tune his instrument. The newcomer paused in the doorway and stood there perfectly still, staring at the singer. Persephone seemed to sense it, for she suddenly broke off short in her song, and looked up. Her hands fell to the keyboard with a small discordant clash, inadvertently knocking the sheets of music off the rack before her. There was a moment
’
s breathless silence, and then, incredulously, happily, Persephone gasped
“
Robert
!”

“Seffi!” cried the young man, in the same instant.

Seated where she was, Elinor had an excellent view of both pianoforte and doorway, and thought that the couple would have flown instantly to one another
’
s arms, but for the fortunate circumstance that each felt impelled not simply to cast aside what he or she was holding, but to dispose of it with some care. The young man was still encumbered with his violin, which he now tenderly set down on top of the pianoforte, and as for Persephone, before she could rise to her feet she had to gather up the pile of sheet music which she had swept into her lap.

Coming fresh from Bath and
Mrs.
Ford
’
s revelations, it took Sir Edmund a split second to grasp the significance of this encounter. Elinor, less well informed than himself, and momentarily confused in any case by the involuntary lurch her own heart gave at the sight of him there in the doorway, just behind the young man who was devouring Persephone with his eyes, was still quick to draw the conclusion that here was that mysterious
friend
whose loss had so distressed Miss Grafton. And unless something was done at once, Persephone was only too likely to betray herself in a manner which would do her reputation no good; rich and beautiful as she might be, even she could not, at eighteen, afford to be considered
fast.
Elinor therefore rose to her feet and walked quickly towards the doorway, saying, “Why, here is Sir Edmund, Persephone! I hope you had a good journey, sir?” Persephone did glance at her guardian, but very briefly. However, as he himself had moved forward towards Elinor, the prosaic greeting served to break the fascinated silence of the rest of the company; people began to talk again, Elinor urged another young lady to take Persephone
’
s place at the instrument, and then returned to the corner of the Blue Saloon nearest the doorway, where Sir Edmund was still standing.

“And I had thought to surprise you with my news,” he said quietly, amusement in his eyes as they met hers.

He had been joined by the puzzled Isabella, and the three of them, forming a small family group, effectively shielded Persephone and Robert Walter
—
for it could surely be none other
—
from the eyes of any curious onlookers. This was just as well, since the young couple
’
s own eyes were still locked in an intense and burning gaze, and Persephone at least seemed quite unaware of the presence of anyone else.

“I knew it must be you!” uttered the young man. “As soon as I heard that voice, I knew!” His English, Sir Edmund noticed, was indeed excellent, with only the slightest trace of an accent.

“But Robert, where
were
you?” cried Persephone. “Oh, such an age as it has been
—
and when I wrote to you in Bath, and had no reply
...”

Here, Sir Edmund observed, the young man made an impulsive movement towards her, but instantly, and considerably to his credit, checked it. “When I returned from Wales and found you gone
—
ah, imagine my distress!” he said in a low voice. “I
had
your letter, Seffi, indeed I did
—
but when she gave it to me,
Mrs.
Ford, good soul, made it a condition I should not reply.”

“Oh no! Oh, how angry I am with her! For when I wrote to her asking your direction, she said she did not know it, and she must have known! I
knew
it could not be that you would never go back there! But why would she not at least tell me where to find you in London? I have been hoping
—
expecting, even
—
to see you at any moment, and now at last I do! Oh, Robert, only think, we were at the very first performance of Herr Weber
’
s
Oberon
, and you know, I wondered if you might have been playing in the orchestra, but though I looked and looked of course you were not! And I went to see the Kembles in search of you
—
oh, and such a kind friend has been making inquiries for me, but nothing came of them either. However, never mind that now! You are here! Oh, Robert, tell me
—
how does your own opera come along?”

At this, although the young man had obviously been feeling a little awkward, and rather more conscious of his very public surroundings than Persephone was, he forgot them entirely; his eyes lit up, and he exclaimed, “
Ac
h
, Seffi, I am making such progress! Wales! Everything that is sublime! The mountains! The mists, the torrents and cascades, the wild Welshmen! Such inspiration as I found there! Influenced by those grand scenes, I have completed the Druids
’
Chorus, and
your
song too nears completion
—
Angelina
’
s last aria. It cannot fail, Seffi, it will surely take all Europe by storm, and then
—
then
, whatever the good
Mrs.
Ford may say, then I approach this formidable guardian of yours, of whom you wrote to me. I shall make myself known to him. I shall let nothing stand in my way!” Realizing that
Mr.
Walter was becoming decidedly carried away, and that Persephone, clasping her hands ecstatically, was about to break into further raptures at any moment, Sir Edmund judged it time to intervene. “Pray
don
’
t
let anything stand in your way, Herr Walter,” said he, mildly. “I am happy to make your acquaintance.”

Brought abruptly back to earth and an awareness of her family
’
s presence, Persephone darted him a glance of the utmost suspicion, but he continued urbanely, to the young man, “I am only just back from Bath, where I have been hearing a great deal about you from
Mr.
and
Mrs.
Ford.” A stricken gasp from Miss Grafton was lost in Robert Walter
’
s enthusiastic response. “Ah, the good Fords! So delightful, so amiable a family!
’

“Just so,” said Sir Edmund. “And providing something of a home from home, I collect, for otherwise friendless young people of musical talent on their travels. Not, of course, that Persephone is to be included in that category,” he added, the slightest hint of steel in his voice, “since she is far from friendless.”

The young man flushed a little, and said rather stiffly, “Sir, I think you perhaps misapprehend! You
are
Sir Edmund Grafton? Delighted to make your acquaintance. Miss Grafton and I, you understand, are old friends.” After what had just passed, Sir Edmund could not but be amused by this masterpiece of understatement, but he said only, “Yes, so I had concluded. Isabella, Elinor, let me make
Mr.
Robert Walter known to you.
Mr.
Walter: my sister, Lady Yoxford, and my cousin, Miss Radley. And is it you whom we are to have the pleasure of hearing perform this evening?”

“Ah, yes, indeed!” he was assured. “Seffi, only think
—
Franz and Josef and Johann, they are all here; the Quartet is to play. How glad they will be to see you! Lady Yoxford, Miss Radley, your servant!” he added punctiliously, if a little late in the day. “Come, Seffi: let us go and find them.” And grasping Persephone
’
s hand, he drew her towards the doorway.

“I believe,” said Isabella ominously, “I am going to faint!”