Intermezzo (5 page)

Turning, Adela saw a very pretty dark petite young lady with a look of sparkling intelligence and humor.

Lady Spencer made the introductions. “Adela Trowle, may I introduce one of my favorite young friends, Miss Nancy Owens.”

“Ah and you are the remarkable Miss Trowle. I have heard so much about you and I have been very eager to meet you. Do Waterston and Sophia keep you under lock and key?” Miss Owens was laughing.

Adela answered, smiling, “No, I don’t suppose it is
quite
that bad.”

“Pooh to both of you!” the older woman said. “If Adela is trapped indoors it is none of
our
doing, I can assure you. She is a slave, not to Charles and me but to her music.”

“I have no doubt her music is a worthy master, and Sophia you
have
spirited her to Helene’s. Are the three of you purchasing a spring wardrobe?”

“Rebecka and I are, but I cannot convince our cousin to acquire even one bright new gown.”

Miss Owens turned to Adela and appraised her with mock severity. “Adela—I may call you Adela and you will call me Nancy for I see we shall be great friends—do you
want
to look like a drab and poor relation.”

“Nancy,” Adela answered, grinning, “I
am
a drab and poor relation.”

“No, you would not be if you did not think it of yourself, because I can assure you that Sophia does not think of you in those terms. And besides,” she added, her eyes sparkling, “Sophia could not
afford
the existence of a poor drab dependent relation.”

“Really, is Lady Spencer not allowed any poor relations?” Adela asked.

“No, you goose, of course she is not. Only Tories are allowed poor relations. Half of those stiff-rumped coves have been laughing at your aunt for years because of her addiction to charitable causes. Can you imagine their delight when they see that the beneficent Lady Spencer has her own cousin
making an
appearance looking like one of those unemployed orphaned kitchen maids she is so openly devoted to helping? Her critics would like to believe that a woman so
publicly
committed to helping the poor and the needy must be totally without concern for her own family.”

“Yes, yes,” Sophia added, laughing. “I can just hear all the nasty old biddies, ‘Just look at dear Sophia—keeps a slave like the rest of us.’ ”

“Ah, but I am not just any slave, I am a pianist.”

Nancy was shaking her head. “There you are quite out. If you continue to dress like a mopey governess no one will ever see you as a pianist. Do you think that Catalani could have become a great diva in brown bombazine?”

“Yes, I suppose I should have something suitable when, and if, I appear professionally again, but I hardly think that Helene’s is where I could find anything either affordable or suitable.”

Meanwhile Rebecka had returned. “Oh, hello Miss Owens.” The child made her curtsy and turned to her aunt. ‘‘Isn’t Adela going to buy
any
new dresses?”

Adela answered for herself, “No Rebecka, I am not going to buy anything new today.”

“But I think you should, Adela, if only for us. Uncle Charles and I get heartily sick of the same gray and black every evening. Please don’t worry about the expense. I am a considerable heiress and Aunt Sophia and I will stake you.”

“No, Rebecka. I thank you, but I will not agree to become indebted over the matter of clothes.” Madame Helène appeared again, most opportunely, to spirit both Sophia and Rebecka away for another fitting, leaving Miss Trowle with her new friend.

“Adela, I hesitate to interfere, but I think you are
quite
wrong,” Nancy said.

“Is it wrong to wish to avoid debt?”

“It is, I think, in this instance. If you think of Sophia and Rebecka simply as two people to whom you might or might not owe money, then you are rejecting them, you see.
They
are coming to think of you, not as a dependent, but as a loved one, a sister so to speak. If you had a sister dressed as you are and she refused your help, how would you feel?”

Adela sighed. “Perhaps you are right.”

“I know I am. Thank Sophia and agree to the purchase of one or two gowns and trust me to keep her within bounds. Here now before Sophia returns let us select some
reasonable
fabric and
simple
patterns.”

A few moments later Adela was lost, despite herself, in the contemplation of a deep amber silk and a cinnamon velvet.

When consulted, Madame Helene produced a dress in the velvet already completed for a customer who had rejected it. Adela was assured that, as it had been made up for some other lady, the gown would not be prohibitively expensive.

“Thank you. It will be perfect,” Adela said. “Do you suppose, madame, that it can be altered by tomorrow evening?”

“Mais oui, mademoiselle.” And Madame Helène was off to find a fitter.

“It is lovely, Adela. Will you wear it at the dinner for Count Orlov?” Nancy asked.

“Yes, I believe so. Some other young lady has found it impossible to attend and so Aunt Sophia invited me.”

Miss Owens was pensive. “It could only have been Diana Rathbone. She is Mr. Worthing’s cousin and I had heard she was planning an unexpected jaunt into the country. Well I, for one, shall certainly prefer
your
company tomorrow night.”

“Then you will be the third lady, how wonderful.”

“Yes, of course. Did I not tell you? I have been looking to thank Sophia these past few days. She has been so very gracious in arranging this evening for me.” Then as if in explanation, she added, “I’m afraid Mr. Worthing’s family does not quite approve of my middle-class antecedents.”

Here they were again interrupted by the appearance of Madame Helène, who had arrived to take Adela in for her fitting.

The next evening Adela dressed with something more than her usual minimum care. The cinnamon velvet was quite attractive. The simple lines and warm color accentuated her birdlike features without detracting from her general air of reserve. Unfortunately, although Rebecka had begged her to use Molly, the little maid who had the care of Rebecka’s person, Adela had refused. And so, as on every other night, she pulled her hair back into a severe chignon and plastered each recalcitrant curl into place. Her only further concession to fashion was to wear a pair of very tiny pearl drop earrings that had belonged to her mother and had, somehow, escaped her father’s relentless search for salable valuables.

Adela anticipated that Count Orlov would be a stiff old man with little conversation, but she was pleasantly surprised to find her escort into the dining saloon a pleasant middle-aged little gentleman completely at ease with the English language. It was Nancy’s Mr. Worthing, if anyone, who seemed
excessively
reserved. Once Adela had caught Thomas and Nancy exchanging electrically charged glances however, she understood that Mr. Worthing’s reserve should be attributed not to any coldness in his nature but to the normal reticence of a junior diplomat in the presence of his superiors.

The conversation at the dinner table was, precisely as Sophia had predicted, restricted to relatively serious subjects. The count, who sat to Adela’s right, was determined to discuss the situation of the war and Mother Russia’s various efforts toward reform—which the Czar, with the count’s help, might be expected to undertake once Napoleon had been eliminated.

“My country, you understand, is a place of great poverty and suffering. The position of the serfs, virtually slaves as they are, is particularly repugnant to those of us in the aristocracy who
feel
these things. You do not seem to have serfs in England?”

“No,” Mr. Worthing answered. “I do not believe we ever had
serfs
in that sense. Feudalism was never established in England with quite the awesome force of the system on the Continent, you know.”

“Yes, Thomas, but had we had a genuine feudalism perhaps we would have avoided the suffering occasioned by the enclosures,” Waterston added. “Our landed aristocrats might have felt a greater sense of responsibility for their people.”

“Perhaps so, my lord,” Nancy Owens answered, “but the old agricultural methods were so inefficient that they were bound to change. We were no longer able to support our population off the land, were we? Perhaps the change could have been made somewhat less painful, but some move away from agriculture was inevitable.”

Thomas Worthing nodded. “I have come to believe that the enclosures, despite the great suffering they occasioned, were, in part, responsible for our present industrial wealth. And if we are ever to succeed in significantly elevating the living conditions of our poor, it will be because of the generation of that
new
wealth.”

“Yes, I quite agree,” Lady Spencer said. “From all my work with the homes and societies for the needy, I have learned that significant reform will require, not simply that we take everything from the rich, which would in fact simply destroy the economic prosperity, but that we generate far more wealth and distribute that wealth to the poor.”

The count turned to Adela. “And you, Miss Trowle, what do you think?”

“I hardly know what to think, my lord. I have not
studied
these matters, but I cannot believe that all of our problems could be solved either with the increase of wealth or with the guidance of reforming individuals. Many of the problems of poverty, I know, are problems of despair and ... a certain acquiescence to suffering.”

“Yes
exactly,
mademoiselle. I see it in the face of our serfs. The dull fatalistic acceptance—the retreat to alcohol. You understand these things well. Lady Spencer, do you think that any amount of redistribution of the wealth would eliminate addiction to alcohol?”

Mr. Worthing answered, “Perhaps not, Count Orlov, but Miss Owens’s father would claim that a decent standard of living, hard work, faith, and a sound ethics would cure those diseases. Mr. Owens is one of our captains of industry and has worked wonders with working communities in the North of England.” And so the conversation continued until the meal was completed and the ladies had left the gentlemen to their port.

Once in the drawing room Nancy was the first to speak. “Sophia, I had hoped to thank you earlier for your invitation.”

“It has worked out rather well, hasn’t it, Nancy? It is always a pleasure to converse with intelligent and well-informed people.” Turning to Adela, Lady Spencer continued, “Did you enjoy the dinner, Adela?”

Adela nodded. “I realize now I was very silly to experience any apprehension at all. It is unfortunate, though, that Lady Diana could not be with us as well.”

Lady Spencer exchanged glances with Miss Owens.

“Yes, I could not agree more. I had
depended
on Diana and I do not know when I shall have another opportunity to show the Lady Diana off to
such
advantage.”

Nancy smiled. “But
I
am convinced, Sophia, that all has worked out for the best.”

Adela, who realized that the conversation was continuing well beyond her reach, was pleased to see the gentlemen join them.

Within half an hour Miss Trowle had been asked to play.

“Ah, is Miss Trowle a young lady of accomplishment, then?” the Count asked politely.

“No, Orlov. My cousin, Miss Trowle, is not
merely
an accomplished young lady—as you will hear for yourself,” Waterston answered dryly as he seated Adela at the instrument.

Adela, who was not at all certain whether she had received a compliment, masked her confusion as best she could and began to play.

Within moments the Count had come to turn pages for her; and then, except for the music, the room was perfectly silent. Adela, after each piece, was entreated to continue and so she sat and played for well over an hour before bowing herself away from the piano.

She turned to find the Count by her side. “Mademoiselle Trowle, how come
you
to be English? You are beyond everything wonderful. The English they have no soul,” he said, smiling down at her. “What can they make! A trumpet voluntary and a hymn that approximates a march. But you—you, mademoiselle, make
music
.”

“Count Orlov, you are too kind,” Adela murmured.

“Mademoiselle Trowle,” he said as he executed a deep bow. “Come to us in Russia after this Napoleon is gone, and we will show you
both
kindness and music. The family of Court Orlov would be most privileged to welcome you.”

Waterston coughed. “Come now, Orlov, we are prepared to offer your Russia all sorts of aid, but please do not come stealing our musicians. As you have so aptly put it, we are, in England, in absolutely desperate need of musicians with soul and I am convinced that there is no such pressing need in Czar Alexander’s Court.”

Everyone laughed and chatted quietly for the balance of the evening.

Afterwards, when the guests had left, Lady Spencer came to Adela’s room with a tall glass of warm milk.