A London Season (22 page)

Neither he nor Charlotte had been at Lady Mercer
’
s party, and before the more startling events of the evening began to unfold, Persephone had expressed mild surprise to Elinor, saying she knew they had received cards. Elinor, only too thankful for
Mr.
Royden
’
s absence, did not stop to wonder much at it, and pretty soon, in any case, Persephone
’
s reunion with Robert Walter drove all else from her mind. However, the reason for the Roydens
’
failure to attend the Brindisi became clear the next morning. The three ladies of the Yoxford household had come down to breakfast at much the same time
—
Persephone, though Elinor suspected her of having slept very little that night, appearing none the less with the previous evening
’
s radiance quite undimmed. It was otherwise with Lady Yoxford, whose face clearly showed her own lack of sleep and was marked with unwonted lines of anxiety. She was listlessly scanning the
Morning Post
as she sipped tea, and suddenly put her cup down, exclaiming in a tragic manner, “Oh
no
!
Oh, this is above everything! And to happen
now
!
I declare, it is too bad of them!”

“Too bad of whom, Cousin Isabella?” asked Elinor, and even Persephone emerged from her dream of bliss for long enough to inquire, “Why, what is the matter?”

For answer, Isabella merely pointed to the page before her, where her companions, bending over the newspaper to look at the lines indicated by the quivering finger, read the announcement of the forthcoming marriage between Hadstock James Morrell, Viscount Conington, elder son of the Earl and Countess of Wintringham (here followed a rather imposing list of residences), and Miss Charlotte Jane Royden, second daughter of the late
Mr.
and
Mrs.
John Royden, of Royden Manor in Essex.

“Oh!” exclaimed Persephone. “I am
so
glad! I thought that might come about, didn
’
t you, Elinor? Dear Charlotte!”

“Dear Charlotte, indeed!” said Isabella, crossly. “Sly, scheming Charlotte, if you want
my
opinion! She has snatched Conington up from under your very nose, Persephone, that
’
s what she has done, and you could easily have prevented it, if only you had made the slightest push to do so!”

“But good gracious, why in the world should I wish to? Especially now!” said Persephone, in transparent amazement. Elinor, afraid that she was about to start singing the praises of
Mr.
Robert Walter and pointing out that neither
Conington nor any other young man of her acquaintance could hold a candle to him, quickly put in, “But this is excellent, Cousin Isabella! You may certainly acquit Charlotte of scheming! She is in love with Conington, I am sure, and I have seen him paying her a great deal of attention recently. Her fortune may not be great, but the Wintringhams cannot object to her birth or breeding, and are sure to like her. She will make Conington a very conformable wife, which Persephone would never have done, you know.”

“No, I would not!” agreed Miss Grafton, decidedly.

Her spurt of bad temper subsiding, Isabella smiled a little at this, and was able to greet the blushing Charlotte graciously when Conington brought her to call in Upper Brook Street later that day. Inevitably (as it seemed to Miss Radley) they were accompanied by her brother, who watched with evident satisfaction as Charlotte and her betrothed received congratulations.

They had dined with Conington
’
s parents last night, so Charlotte confided to Persephone and Elinor, while Conington and Grenville Royden were engaged in conversation by Lord Yoxford and Sir Edmund, who had just come in: Yoxford from his man of business, Sir Edmund from the Foreign Office. The Earl and Countess had been so welcoming, so very kind! Everything that was amiable! Her eyes kept straying to Conington as she spoke, an adoring expression in them, and Elinor saw that his sought her face and rested on it with almost equal warmth. That augured well, she thought. Charlotte expressed herself amazingly happy, and only hoped Persephone too might find such a husband!

“Oh yes!” cried Persephone. “Oh, Charlotte, I have so much to tell you
—
you will never guess what happened last night! If you were to come up to my room, where we may be private
...”

But Charlotte demurred, evidently not wishing to go anywhere that took her from the sight of her beloved, and in any case, Persephone
’
s own desire to be private with her was instantly dissipated by the entry of Beale to announce
Mr.
Robert Walter (whose name he firmly pronounced in the English manner).

Mr.
Walter, as remarkably handsome in his sober but well cut morning dress as he had appeared in Grosvenor Square last night, behaved, Elinor had to admit, with great propriety, accepting introductions, modestly receiving compliments on the performance of the Lark Quartet by those who had been at the Brindisi, proffering his own polite congratulations to the engaged couple when their recent betrothal was mentioned to him, shaking hands with
Mr.
Royden, and bearing with fortitude Lord Yoxford
’
s remarks to the effect that he, for one, thought it very strange for a fellow to spend all his time scraping the fiddle, but he would be the first to admit he hardly knew one note of music from another, and there was no accounting for tastes!
Mr.
Walter then exerted himself to be agreeable to Lady Yoxford, whose initially chilly manner towards him soon thawed. Persephone had nothing to blush for in her musician
’
s social manners, thought Miss Radley; indeed, she seemed a little put out by the fact that he was wisely not paying
her
very much attention.

But her moment was to come. A civil query from Sir Edmund concerning the progress of the opera mentioned to him by
Mr.
Ford caused Robert Walter to produce a small sheaf of music paper, with a modest flourish, from an inner pocket of his coat, and turn to Persephone.

“Here it is, Miss Grafton,” he announced. (Thank goodness, thought Elinor, he has realized that it is most improper for him to address her as
Seffi
the whole time, and in public too!) “Angelina
’
s second song! I added the ending after parting from you last night, and now we shall see if it will do. You may sing it in English, because by a most fortunate chance, I fell in with a very amiable clergyman walking in Wales, who undertook to put the words of the opera into your own tongue for me, and he did part of the work while we were staying at an inn, and it rained. Where
may we try out the song?”

“Oh, in the Yellow Parlour!” cried Persephone eagerly, her eyes lighting up as she leapt to her feet.

Elinor made an impulsive movement, and was on the point of exclaiming, “No, Persephone!” But she was forestalled. Miss Grafton was prevented from the impropriety of bearing
Mr.
Walter off to the seclusion of her own apartments by Sir Edmund, who at once said amiably, “Do let us
all
have the pleasure of hearing it,
Mr.
Walter!” Nothing loth, Robert Walter seated himself at the pianoforte in the corner of the saloon and embarked upon a few trial passages, meanwhile informing his hearers that the opera in question, a grand romantic work set at the time of the Roman conquest, was to be entitled
Boadicea Queen of Britain
, and took as its subject the resistance of that Ancient British lady to the Romans, a circumstance which he intended as a compliment to the country that had shown him such hospitality. The main part of the action, he added, took place in the mountains of Wales.

“Wales?” inquired Lord Conington, of the well-informed mind. “Did not Queen Boadicea rule the Iceni? Forgive me,
Mr.
Walter, but I fancy they inhabited quite a different part of these islands
—
the eastern counties, I believe!”

“Yes, but you have no mountains there,” said
Mr.
Walter, simply. “It does not signify
—
the music is all! Though the story, written for me by a friend of mine in Germany, is also very affecting. Besides the dramatic conflict of Boadicea and the Roman governor Paulinus, there is a love story between Sempronius, a captain in the Roman army, and Angelina!” “Angelina?” ventured Elinor, who had been wondering for some time who this character might be.

“Yes, she is Boadicea
’
s daughter, and torn between love and her duty! Do you not think the name good, Miss Radley?” he asked, suddenly anxious. “I confess I had my doubts, but my friend was sure that was the name for my younger heroine. Of course, he has never been to England,
and may not be quite conversant with British nomenclature of the time
...
however,” continued the composer, dismissing so minor a point from his mind, “the couple first meet in the forest, while Sempronius is out hunting. Here we have the Hunting Chorus
—
so!” And he played a snatch of a very rousing tune, the words of which the helpful clergyman in Wales had evidently not yet tackled, although they were simple enough, being in the main cheerful cries of “
Juchheisa! Juchhei
!”
He then continued with his tale. “Overcoming all obstacles, the couple confess their love to an aged Druid, a small but fine part for bass voice, who consents to wed them, and the Druids sing a chorus of blessing. Failing to free the Queen, they are obliged to flee, and Boadicea, after uttering a noble defiance to the might of Rome, takes her own life. But here is Angelina
’
s aria, in which she declares her readiness to fly with Sempronius to the ends of the earth!”

Persephone had been rapidly casting her eye over the music as he spoke. Preposterous the plot of the opera might be, but there was no denying the power of the wild, sweet music which presently issued from her throat.
Mr.
Walter accompanied; the words, as rendered into English by his chance-met acquaintance, were certainly not very distinguished, consisting as they did largely of Angelina
’
s declaration,
“
Over the ocean
,
over the sea
,
over the waves I will fly with thee
,” repeated a great many times over. But the music was quite another matter. At the end, when Robert Walter nodded to Miss Grafton in a matter-of-fact way and said simply, “Good!” Elinor could not prevent herself exclaiming, “Good?
Mr.
Walter, it is remarkable!”

“You like it? I am glad. A little less vibrato on the high C, I think,” he said to Persephone.

“Yes,” said she with perfect docility, to her family
’
s amazement. “I will remember.”

“Well, well
—
and so what becomes of this Angelina and
—
what
’
s his name
—
Sempronius?” asked Lord Yoxford.

“Ah, here my friend who wrote the words had a very
h
appy thought!” said
Mr.
Walter with enthusiasm, turning to his host. “At first I had Angelina and Sempronius thrown to the lions in the Circus of Rome! But then it struck me that it might not be possible for the management of
every
theatre to present such a scene, which must be very magnificent or it is nothing! Nowadays gladiators, wild beasts, all must be shown, or I fear the audience will not like it. So we thought of your legend of King Arthur and the island of Avilion, whither the lovers are to flee, and there is a grand processional scene with the Knights of the Round Table. They rejoice at the couple
’
s escape, and offer thanks to Hymen
—
thus!” And he turned back to the keyboard, breaking into a song which declared, presumably through the agency of the Knights of the Round Table,
“
All hail to the Patron of marriage and mirth! Was ever such merriment know upon earth
?”

Conington appeared about to open his mouth
—
perhaps, thought Elinor, watching appreciatively, to suggest that a considerable period of time separated Boadicea from King Arthur, even supposing the existence of that legendary hero to have any basis in fact. But much to his credit he refrained, and exchanged a glance of amusement with Charlotte instead. “And so,” concluded
Mr.
Walter, as the last chord died away, “all ends well!”

“Except for Boadicea! But I suppose you could not go against history there,” suggested Sir Edmund.

“No, just so. Moreover,” said
Mr.
Walter, engagingly, “I was by then writing the part of Angelina for Sef
—
for Miss Grafton, and how could I endure to make her dead? So, a happy ending for the lovers!”

“You were writing it for Persephone?” said Isabella, rather faintly. “But,
Mr.
Walter, you surely did not envisage her
performing
it? Upon a
public stage
?”