Intermezzo (3 page)

“It is
my
piano, Lord Waterston.”

“Then I will have it placed in storage for you, Miss Trowle. I will not have an inferior instrument in this house.”

Adela hesitated. “Thank you, my lord.”

“You are welcome, Miss Trowle. Good day.”

Three

Scarcely had his lordship excused himself when a small round woman came bustling through the door.

“A very good morning to you, Miss Trowle. I’m the housekeeper, Mrs. Soames, don’t you know. If you’ll come along now, I’ll show you to your room. Lady Spencer has told me all about you and, of course, I remember waiting on your mother, Miss Emily, during the summer of ‘85, a very pleasant woman she was too. I can see you have got her sweetness.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Soames.”

“You are welcome, miss. And now this be your room and I do hope it is satisfactory.” She opened the door to a large sunny room tastefully furnished in shades of yellow. The room was very much more elegant than any Adela had ever lived in. She was relieved to see that the elegance did not run to prettiness.

“If you are not entirely happy, his lordship has instructed that you make whatever changes you
wish. Rebecka sleeps across the hall, you understand.”

‘The room is lovely, Mrs. Soames.”

“Yes, yes. Lady Spencer and I agreed that it would suit. Of course not having met you I could not know for certain, but I did remember your mother.”

Mrs. Soames walked to the bell cord and yanked it energetically. “Now, Miss Trowle, you are to get yourself settled and rested. I will have Molly come up and build you a fire, and then after a wee bit of a rest and a luncheon I will send Molly, a footman, and John Coachman to your lodging on ... Sloane Street was it?” Her distaste was apparent. “They will pack you up.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Soames. I am certain, however, that I can manage all the packing myself.”

“Be that as it may, it would not be at all proper. I shall instruct Molly that you are only to supervise. I know that you have been living in an awkward way this last year. Lady Spencer confided in me. But, my dear young lady, those days are over, don’t you know.” Between breaths, Mrs. Soames admitted Molly, who set to work on the fire after a brief introduction and curtsy.

“Molly is the maid assigned to Miss Rebecka, and you are to use her to help yourself as well. A nine-year-old child is hardly in need of a full-time abigail. But there now his lordship is always spoiling the child.” Mrs. Soames said this as she ruffled Rebecka’s hair and handed Becka one of the sweets that filled her apron pocket.

“To be sure, we are all agreed that you are needed in this house. Miss Rebecka has myself and Miss Tucker the governess, but we are quite old, don’t you know, and although we have both been with this family for time out of memory, we are not of Miss Rebecka’s quality. A child should be about persons of her own kind.”

As Mrs. Soames seemed, temporarily, to have come to a halt, Adela spoke, ‘Thank you for your welcome, Mrs. Soames, and if I can help you in any way, you must let me know. I prefer to be occupied.”

“There, there, now miss, it seems to me that you have been occupied enough in your short life, that father of yours, I do not like to speak ill of the dead, you understand, but I know quite well life with that father of yours must have been a trial. And then to be forced to teach hourly lessons and live in a garret, it is beyond anything unsuitable. Well, we have you now, and things will be different, young lady. Eat and rest and teach Rebecka, that’s all the help we will be needing.” She hesitated just a moment but not long enough for Adela to get a word in. “I don’t mean to be interfering, but everyone is accustomed in this house to turn to me. Dear Miss Rebecka’s mother was a warm person and often came to me. The fourth viscount, her father-in-law, and Mr. Philip Beaumont, her husband, were not
affectionate
people, don’t you know, and it became quite lonely for her. The older Lady Waterston being deceased and Lord Charles off to war. If you should be lonely and if you are feeling the need of a little motherly advice, and Lady Spencer is not about, you must come to me. And if anyone in this house acts up, you are to inform me. There is no one here, not man, woman, or beast, whom I cannot lick into shape for you. Well, I can see you are very tired, so rest a bit and when you are up and about we will have you moved.”

Rebecka, coming to tuck an afghan about Adela after Mrs. Soames left, chuckled quietly. “Do not worry, Cousin Adela, Mrs. Soames talks a great deal, but unless she thinks one needs help she generally leaves a person be.”

“Thank you, Rebecka, I
was
just a trifle concerned.”

“It would be quite different if you were a servant. Then she would talk your ears off, but being a lady as you are, I think you are rather safe. And she is a dear sweet thing. Only she has very rigid views on propriety, so do be careful.”

Adela found that her room was more than adequate, the piano magnificent, and her pupil truly gifted. Within a week, life in the house on St. James Square began to work itself into a pleasant pattern. In the mornings, Rebecka had her school lessons with the governess, Miss Tucker, while Adela usually practiced and attended to her own chores. In the afternoon, Rebecka and Adela studied together; and, in the evening, after dining in the school room with Rebecka, Adela would retire to the music room and play. On this regimen Adela could devote upwards of ten hours a day to the piano, and as was to be expected, her playing began to improve significantly.

Charles Beaumont was seldom about. He left his home early in the morning, presumably on government business, and returned for tea. As a rule, he went out again for dinner returning later in the evenings when he would isolate himself in the library with a bottle and a book.

Shortly after Adela’s arrival, Sophia Spencer took up temporary residence in the house in St. James Square. She had come ostensibly because her own house was being remodeled and she planned to stay for a few weeks. For the most part Lady Spencer was out of the house tending, as her nephew put it, to her widows and orphans, and so she did not impose either on Adela’s time or on the fragile friendship that was developing between the two of them. Within a week, Adela found herself on comfortable and informally warm terms with Sophia Spencer.

If Adela experienced any real awkwardness those first weeks, it was in her relationship to her charge. Miss Trowle had originally conceived of her role almost entirely in terms of music instructor, but Rebecka, although very adept at the piano, would not restrict herself to that limited relationship. Like most orphaned children, Rebecka was inclined to grasp for affection. The child could not help being aware of Adela’s reserve and she did make a great effort to match that reserve. It was quite clear, however, that Rebecka deeply resented the obligation to be reserved where she would have far preferred to be loving.

Several times a week Lord Waterston would arrange for Becka, Adela, and himself to take tea together in the music room, and on those occasions, he usually had the child play for him. He was careful in his praise, but nevertheless, it was quite clear that his lordship was pleased with her progress. He seldom asked Adela to play for him, and he seemed curiously withdrawn on those few occasions when she was called upon to play.

Adela, quite naturally, interpreted his reluctance to have her play during these teas as an indication of some sort of disapproval of her work. But in this she was quite mistaken. Waterston was becoming a great admirer of her music if not of her person. He preferred, however, to be an unseen listener and the house was so designed that he could indulge that preference. Although sound did not penetrate the walls of the music room, there was a ventilation duct installed between that room and the library so that anyone in the library, should he wish, could open the drafts and hear every sound produced in the music room. His lordship, who was a person of honor, would never have eavesdropped on a spoken conversation but of an evening he preferred to work to music and he saw in good conscience no reason why he should not do so.

Waterston had noted, within days, that on those evenings when Adela believed herself alone, the music was superior to her public performances, but
that
, in itself, would not have precluded his enjoyment of both. Nor was it Miss Trowle’s consciousness of his presence that disturbed him. On the contrary, it was
his
consciousness of
her
presence that disturbed him. While Waterston had become almost mesmerized by the music, he could not and would not associate that music—that extraordinarily powerful music—with the plain prim little Miss Muffet. He was determined in his own mind to keep the music and the musician quite separate. Such music could not, he reasoned, be produced by such an excessively plain female. It was somehow contrary to the laws of nature.

All his life Charles Henry Beaumont had surrounded himself with beauty, and he felt he was among the rare men who understood the nature of the beautiful. In an age of reserve, he had never associated beauty with pain of any sort. Pain he knew to be ugly and sordid. Miss Trowle’s grief, on those rare occasions when it showed in her face, was indeed ugly, but the same grief expressed every night in her music was indescribably beautiful. Here was an apparent contradiction which left his lordship uncomfortable. And it was a contradiction which he did not choose to resolve.

Adela found that as the weeks passed her earlier antagonism for his lordship mellowed into intermittent resentment. He was her employer—she could not think of him as her cousin—and, as employer, he was in a position of power and therefore alien. He reminded her physically of her godfather Horace, but while the long dark features might be similar, the psyche housed by the body was quite different. Horace was lanky, almost casual, shuffling, and kind. The same features in Charles Henry Beaumont were sternly erect, arrogant, and aristocratic. Lord Waterston was never shuffling, never soft, and seldom kind. He shared with Horace a passion for collecting beautiful things, but even a dilettante, Adela knew, would profit from the possession of a soul. Waterston’s collections reflected no soul, only his quiet perfection, his arrogance, and his refined discernment.

Both Waterston and Adela would have been quite comfortable in continuing the armed truce of their first meeting. Fortunately they were under considerable pressure from Sophia and Rebecka to assume at least the guise of a friendship. So, although they could not manage the easy informality preferred by Lady Spencer, his lordship and Miss Trowle eventually settled into a significantly less hostile relationship. They were soon able to treat each other with the measured respect due second cousins, and with a very tentative, but growing affection. Rebecka was delighted with the situation. The house on St. James Square was being slowly transformed into a home. Afternoon tea had become something of a ritual, and on occasion, the atmosphere at those teas became almost soft.

On her first day in the house Sophia had insisted during tea that Rebecka and Miss Trowle join herself and his lordship for dinner. While Rebecka was eager to abandon schoolroom dinners, Adela was not.

“Rebecka, my dear, I for one prefer to dine in the schoolroom. Nor do I think that you would enjoy wasting a good deal of time each evening primping yourself only to sit in a large empty room being served by Friday-faced servants.”

“But Adela, did you never join your father for dinner when you were a little girl?” Becka asked.

“Yes, on those occasions when he was at home, and I can assure you,
those dinners
were not at all pleasant. Hours and hours spent over indifferent meals in an almost absolute silence. Becka, you
will have
years in which to enter polite society. Enjoy your youth.”

Charles Beaumont had joined them and was taking his cup from Sophia. “I hardly think, Miss Trowle, that dinner in our saloon should be described in quite such gothic terms. I quite agree with Rebecka. Henceforward dinner will be served formally for the family in the dining saloon and I will join you on those occasions when it is convenient. Now, scamp upstairs if you are to finish your work in time to make an adequate toilette.”

That evening the first formal dinner was a notable success. Becka was precise to a pin and his lordship even managed, with Sophia’s assistance, to maintain a generally adult conversation without excluding the child. Adela quietly joined the conversation from time to time but remained very much to herself.

In any case, Adela could comfort herself with the knowledge that she had not in the end “primped” for dinner. Adela, who had always considered the extensive preparation necessary to attend a formal dinner to be a waste of precious time, was reasonably mollified by the fact that her limited wardrobe and functional hairstyle made such preparations minimal. Fortunately, his lordship, Becka, and Sophia all had enough tact
not
to comment on Miss Trowle’s appearance, although Sophia later confided to Waterston that Adela Trowle, in her Sunday best, looked like nothing so much as a widow at a Quaker funeral.

Several days later Rebecka confronted Adela directly when they were working together in the music room.

“Oh, dear, Adela, is that the
most
modish dress you have?”

“Yes it is, Becka.” And in response to the obvious criticism in the child’s face she continued, “I’m afraid I am not in the absolute height of fashion, but I can assure you I feel quite comfortable the way I am.”

“Are you still in mourning for your father?” Rebecka asked slowly.

“Mourning for my father?—No, of course not. Why do you ask?”

“But Adela, you
never
wear colors.”

Adela hesitated a moment and glanced down at her pearl gray walking dress. “I hadn’t noticed, but I believe you are correct. I do not wear colors, Becka. I suppose it is strange. Perhaps I am in mourning for my mother and my brother.”