Rondo Allegro (49 page)

“Pray take a seat, and I will ring for some refreshments.”

Anna said, “Please do not trouble yourself. I do not mean to
disturb you. We shall only trespass on your time long enough for me to
discharge my promise.”

“Oh! I am so grateful, you may be certain. A mother’s
anxiousness for her child . . . Perhaps you are not yet a
parent, and here I am, mother of five boys, though you might not think it to
look at me. Five boys! And each a cause for anxious care.” She blinked dry
eyes, and indicated one of the satin-covered chairs, as if she would press her
visitors into them.

Anna sat on the edge of one, Harriet on another, and Anna
launched straight-away into as much of the history of the battle as she knew,
dwelling only on that which affected young Beverley Bradshaw.

As she spoke, she sensed inattention in Mrs. Bradshaw, whose
gaze darted about as if looking for something, perhaps a way to keep them
there? She was a contrast to the father, whose eyes gleamed with unshed tears.
He leaned forward slightly, as if to draw the words out of her the faster.

Twice she had to go through what little she knew of the
battle, dwelling on every detail of Mr. Bradshaw’s wound, and every word he
spoke. From there Mr. Bradshaw asked after the captain, and on hearing of his
wound, said everything that was proper.

Mrs. Bradshaw then spoke up, having a great deal to say
about the glorious Nelson, who the newspapers predicted was to have a grand
memorial after the new year. She repeated every trite expression that had been
written in the newspapers these weeks, after which Anna and Harriet at last
were permitted to rise and take their leave.

Mr. Bradshaw accompanied them downstairs, during which time
Anna had thought about how best to present his son’s earnest request for an
increase in his mess allowance. Mr. Bradshaw understood at once, and promised
it should be seen to, and he thanked her for having a care to his boy.

They were thus in perfect agreement when they reached the
front of the shop. Before Anna gained the front door he took up the two volumes
she had been looking at, and pressed them into her hands.

“Please take them, Lady Northcote,” he said earnestly.
“Gratis. It is the least I can do for such a kindness. Beverley has not been
the most diligent correspondent. We make every allowance for boys that age, and
I know he is kept busy enough. But . . . wounded in the service
of his kingdom, and under such glorious circumstances . . .” He
wiped his eyes, and when she accepted the books with thanks, he scarcely would
allow even that as he bowed her out of the shop.

As soon as they climbed into the gig, Harriet exclaimed, “I
did not know you were
in
the battle!”

“As I explained, I saw very little.”

Harriet turned to gaze at her. “I thought you were in a ship
somewhere nearby, safe.”

“We helped the surgeon.”

Harriet’s eyes rounded. “I did not think ladies would be
permitted.”

“There were women on the battleships, of every degree, on
both sides,” Anna said, and as the gig rolled up the street toward the high
point, she told Harriet about the French woman who had nearly drowned.

“So they rescued her, but did not throw her back into the
water when they knew she was French?” Harriet asked.

“The boat was filled with French rescued from the waters.
Our hold was full of Spanish prisoners. We carried them to Gibraltar.”

Harriet frowned at the low gray sky, and the liquid mud in
the lane. “It seems so odd that they begin by banging away at one another with
cannon, and then next thing you know, they set about rescuing those who survive
it.”

Anna said, low, “I don’t understand it myself, but I am glad
that they did pull those drowning wretches from the sea. There was much death
enough.”

Silence fell between them, except for the creak of the gig,
the crunch of wheels and clop of hooves. Far in the distance winter birds
chattered and cried. Harriet wanted to ask more. The newspapers said nothing
about ‘death’ in such a way as to cause that closed downward look, the gloved
hands gripping so tightly. The newspapers had contained long columns about the
glory of the victory Admiral Lord Nelson had gained before his heroic demise,
and a lot of confusing details about the movement of ships of the line, unhelpful
if one had never so much as glimpsed any kind of ship.

They reached the manor and parted to change. Harriet was
surprised to find Emily waiting for her, to ask after the success of the new
Lady Northcote’s first call.

“We only stayed fifteen minutes,” Harriet said. “She talked
about the battle, and their little boy, and then we left, except that the
bookseller pressed two books upon her.”

Emily sighed. “I expect Mrs. Bradshaw will use those as an
excuse to encroach, but that is a matter to be addressed later. Is that all you
talked about, then?”

Harriet was surprised at questions from this quarter. Emily
was far more used to suppressing what she called bumptiousness or pertness, as
if Harriet were eight and not eighteen. Feeling important, she said, “Yes. Except
when we set out, she’d noticed the fortepiano and asked straight off if we were
a musical family. She expected it because of Henry. I know you did not like it,
but he was a capital player.”

“You mistake,” Emile said smoothly. “I am exceedingly partial
to music. No one is more. It was just that I thought his instrument poorly
chosen. One does not really appear
comme
il faut
blowing upon horns of any kind, but that is neither here nor there.
If he is to come home, I think it appropriate that we consider music again. So
much less tiresome than card-playing, and as you said, a few days from now even
the highest stickler could not be expected to fault us for indulging a wish for
music.” She smiled brightly as Harriet tried to hide her dismay. “Perhaps if Lady
Northcote plays, she will play to me. I must look out my favorite songs.”

o0o

Anna thought no more about the morning after she laid
aside the books she had been given. She longed to resume her dance and her
singing, but she knew nothing of the customs of this house. She walked along
the walls of her new chambers, feeling liked the caged bird of the fairy tale.

But that was mere self-pity. She must simply stir herself,
and find a way.

The door opened, and Parrette entered. “Mrs. Diggory was
expecting to take you over the house, and the elder Lady Northcote has decided
to accompany you both. You are free?”

Anna exclaimed, “I would not for the world have her to think
me remiss in any attentions. Will you take me to her?”

The introduction was made, the dowager peering
near-sightedly at Anna. They toured the house from candles to linens as the
lady related anecdotes from her own life, and those she had learned from her
mother-in-law. Anna was more interested in the elderly woman than she was in
the little stories about persons unknown who had sat in this chair, or had that
window put in.

When they reached the library, the dowager indicated one row
of shelves containing books that looked less decrepit than the remainder as she
said wistfully, “When I was a bride, I spent many a happy hour here.”

“Why do you not now, if I may be permitted to ask?” Anna
said.

The dowager blinked rapidly. “It is merely my stupid eyes.
They refuse to see unless I can get very close.”

“Have you considered spectacles?” Anna asked.

The dowager’s eyes widened, then she looked away, and
murmured something about “the baron” and “bluestockings” and “vulgar appearance . . .
not for the world.”

Anna said, “I confess I do not understand English custom,
and I hope you will put me in the way of what is right. But on the continent,
it is well known that many
queens
wore spectacles, so they could not be considered vulgar, no?”

“Queens?” the dowager repeated.

“Marie Antoinette did, I know. The present emperor is said
to wear them, as well as one of his brothers. Before the Revolution, the Duc de
Richelieu, and for that matter, Louis XIV, and also Catherine the Great. I
learned this because the royal oculist at Naples’ palace once showed a design
that the Empress of all the Russias had made popular, and another ordered by
the Queen of Naples, sister to Queen Marie Antoinette.”

The dowager blinked again. “Well!”

At the end of the tour, Anna noted that the tone of the
dowager’s voice had shifted from minor to major. She smiled and excused herself
as Mrs. Diggory said, “And so, my lady, if you wish to order any changes . . .”

Anna had been thinking. She said, “I believe that it would
be best to carry on as you are accustomed, until such time as my husband
returns.”

Mrs. Diggory curtseyed, but Anna saw the dowager’s subtle
reaction, a quick anxiousness, when she spoke the word ‘husband.’

When Anna came downstairs for dinner, she discovered the
younger Elsteads had joined them. Everyone behaved as if this were a regular
occurrence, so she accepted it as such.

It was somewhat of a relief, as she liked Mr. Elstead. He
was handsome to look at, but more important, he was agreeable, with a fund of
mild talk that successfully banished that cold dead silence prevailing over the
rest of the family meals. Dinner thus passed pleasantly, and this time Anna
knew what to do and when.

As soon as the ladies had withdrawn, Emily walked to the
fire, turned to face the rest of them, and said with a bright smile that was
pretty to look at, but managed not to convey any of the warmth of her
brother’s, “I believe that Harriet has the right of it. John would be the first
to hail a return to normalcy, and so I propose that we recommence certain quiet
pursuits, such as evening music.”

Harriet sat upright. “But we have not had music since before
Papa died.”

Emily said calmly, “
We
did, however, at
my
house. Your elder
brother often asked me to perform when we were courting. You know your brother
Henry was musical, and while one might deplore the instrument he favored, there
is no denying his passion for the art.” She turned to Anna with that smile. “Is
it true that you play? If you would honor me by providing accompaniment, I will
pass the time with a couple of John’s favorite airs.”

The dowager said, “I would love to hear music again.” She then
added in a curious tone, “I would play again if I could see the page.”

Emily did not pursue that. She gave her mother-in-law a
gracious nod, and said, “When Frederick rejoins us—”

At that moment the door opened, and there was Mr. Elstead.

Anna rose and crossed the room while Emily informed her
brother of the plan for evening entertainment. Anna was uncertain whether she
ought to offer to sing. There was always the danger of the truth to oppress
her, but oh, to sing again!

On a fine table she found a stack of music, most of it
yellowed with age. Very little was familiar, mostly British, with a few
old-fashioned French or German airs. The accompaniment was simple enough: she
knew she had only to get the chords right, and to follow the tempo of the singer.

She sat down to the instrument, and softly touched the keys.
The sound was good. Someone had seen to it that the fortepiano was kept in
repair.

“This is most kind of you, Lady Northcote.” A rustle of
bombazine, and Emily was there. “I trust this will serve as a fond reminder.”
And without pausing to wait for an answer, “Can you play this?”

She pulled from the pile a hand-written musical sheet with
“Robin Adair” written at the top.

“Oh, my mother taught me this when I was small,” Anna
exclaimed with pleasure.

“That is capital,” Emily said, her tone the warmest it had
been yet. She took up a stance beside the fortepiano.

Anna played the opening bars, and Emily began to sing. Anna
soon determined that indeed, someone had instructed Emily in tempo and
phrasing, but not how to open her throat. She stayed true to her note in the
middle range, either shrill or breathy on the high notes, especially in
“Katharine Ogle.” She then sang “The Last Time I Came O’er,” which she
prevailed upon her brother to sing with her.

The voices blended pleasingly enough. Anna glanced at the
listeners, who smiled and nodded. Anna could have put them right in several
places—phrasing, breathing, everything, but she kept her own counsel. At least
she was hearing music again.

Then Harriet surprised them by saying, “Mama, come. Play to
us, do. How about Souter’s Rondo? Remember how I used to dance to that?”

The dowager pinked. “I do not think my fingers remember it.
But perhaps . . .” She halted there, then turned to her elder
daughter. “Come, Mary, take a turn.”

Mary Elstead rubbed her hands together. “I wish someone
might have told me you wished to have music again. It has been these four years
at least since I have played my harp, at least since I was married. I would
have to practice before I could be heard.”

“I confess,” Mr. Elstead said easily. “I do enjoy a game of
cards, and Mary plays a capital hand of whist. But I’ve no objection to music,
as long as it is no dirge.”

“Whist?” Mary said. “We can have a hand now. Lady Northcote,
do you play?”

“I do not. But I do not mind watching, that I learn.”

Harriet brightened at once. She would have hated to be the
one left out, and they would have expected her to offer, being the youngest.
She partnered with Emily against the married couple. Anna watched for what she
hoped was a polite amount of time, finding the game tedious and
incomprehensible. When she was certain the others were too involved in their
play, she withdrew to sit by the dowager.

That lady had been bending over stitchery by the fire. She
paused in her work, blinked Anna’s way, then said, “Already things are better
now you are come among us. I never thought to hear a note in this house again.”