Songbird (4 page)

He
was a frequent caller at our home in Laurel Close after that, but over time my
feelings started to change towards him.  I knew he was wooing me and I couldn’t
do with it.  My heart was still broken and I didn’t want any intrusion of that
kind.  I just wasn’t ready for any emotional entanglements.  That was until the
morning of my second failed attempt at the scholarship.  Suddenly, Mr Russell
seemed an attractive proposition and although my conscience pricked at what I
was doing, I couldn’t really see anything wrong in it.  If he wanted me as a
wife, then why shouldn’t I want something in return?  It all seemed perfectly
logical to me.

I
dressed very carefully for dinner, making sure I looked the part.  Sweeping up
my hair, I pinned the comb in place and made sure my gown was snug round my
figure.  Pregnancy had been kind to me and my womanly curves had returned very
quickly.  I suppose it was because I had had Danny so young and I was a very
active person, always running when I should be walking.

Before
I descended the stairs I checked myself in the mirror and smiled with delight. 
Mr Russell was on time as usual and I answered the door to his knock.

“Goodness
me,” he said softly, as his eyes wandered over my dress.  “You certainly look a
picture tonight.”

I
felt very gracious towards him and took his hat and gloves.  “Thank you,” I
smiled.  “It’s always nice to look one’s best when a gentleman comes to dine.”

I
took his arm and we went into the parlour that acted as our dining room.  The
table had been set and between us, Nan and I had conjured up a very impressive
three-course meal.  He had brought a couple of bottles of wine with him and he
placed them on the table.  I glanced at him and thought he seemed quite
handsome that evening with his hair slightly greying and laughter lines round
his eyes and mouth.  He was always dressed very smartly.  I was just twenty and
he must have been nearly forty, but it didn’t seem to matter.  It didn’t occur
to me that I saw him only as a money pot and nothing else, since that evening I
tried to convince myself that I was attracted to him.

It
was a lively dinner and made even more so since Gwilym had also been invited. 
Mr Russell had met my brother many times, but Gwilym had never expressed an
opinion on him.  Not that I had asked his opinion.  We had always had an
understanding that we didn’t interfere in each other’s private life unless
advice was asked for.  But that night, Gwilym watched Mr Russell over his
wineglass and I knew he felt uncomfortable that Mr Russell was paying me a lot
of attention.  But when I saw Gwilym frown at Mr Russell’s light-hearted quip
about finding himself a wife before he grew too old, I knew that my brother
didn’t approve of my suitor.

Gwilym
left straight after dinner and Nan disappeared to the kitchen.  I went upstairs
to check on Danny who was fast asleep and gently kissed his beautiful face and
then his tiny fingers.  Mr Russell was waiting for me when I came downstairs,
pouring out two glasses of wine. 

He
turned and smiled as I entered the room.  “Is he asleep?”  He passed the
wineglass to me.

“Yes,
he’s very good about going to bed.  It’s just that he wakes me up too early.”

“Perhaps
he should have a nanny to care for him,” he said.

I
bristled with indignation.  “I look after him.”

Realising
his mistake, he smiled.  “Of course you do.  And I think you do a splendid
job.  He’ll be a credit to you when he’s grown.”

“That
seems a very long way off,” I sighed.

He
held out his hand.  “Come and sit on the couch with me.”  I did as I was told
and made myself comfortable.  His eyes swept over me once more and I smiled
seductively.  He gave a nervous cough.  “When I talked about a nanny for Daniel
I meant no offence.  I was thinking of you and how you would have a little more
time to yourself and not feel so tired all the time.”

“How
do you know I feel tired?”

“I’ve
caught you on many occasions, trying to stifle a yawn behind your fan,” he
laughed.

I
couldn’t help laughing with him.  “I think my students wear me out.  It’s so
tiring trying to teach music when there is no interest.  Only one has potential
and I’m sure she’ll lose her enthusiasm soon enough.”

“I’m
sure,” he smiled and took a sip of wine.  “Does teaching music really appeal to
you?”

“No,
it doesn’t.  It’s dreadful and not what I want to do.”

“What
do you want to do?”

Mr
Russell didn’t know about my ambitions to attend the academy and I didn’t feel
the moment was right to tell him.

“Be
happy in whatever I plan to do,” I answered lamely.

“But
what are those plans?”

I
moved away from him, laughing and he shuffled closer, closing the gap I had
created.  “I’m not sure yet,” I lied.

“Perhaps
I could help you in that?”  He placed his glass on a small table.

“How?”

Smiling
mysteriously, he took my glass and put it next to his and then reached for my
hand.  “Mrs Asquith.  Isabelle.  I’m an unmarried man with a substantial
fortune and a fine house in Richmond.  If you would agree to be my wife then it
would make me very happy.”

It
was said, he had finally proposed.

“What
about Danny?”

He
threw back his head and gave a boisterous laugh.  “Goodness me, do you think
I’d ask you to leave the little chap behind?  Of course not.  He must come with
you and I will treat him as my own child.”  He kissed my hand.  “But I’m sure
he’ll have many siblings in time to come.”

I
hesitated a moment before saying,  “But what would you wish me to do as your wife?”

He
seemed puzzled at this statement and in truth, I felt uncomfortable saying it.

“What
wives normally do.  Run the home as you did in your first marriage,” he said
slowly.

“I’ll
not teach music any more?”

He
gave an amused chuckle.  “Certainly not.  Why would you need to teach after
we’re married.”

At
least that bit was out of the way.  Now it was time to ask him the other.

“I
would like to continue singing, though.”

“Of
course you will continue singing.  We’ll have many musical evenings when you
can entertain our guests.”

“What
about singing professionally on the stage?”

A
stunned expression crossed his face.  “On the stage?  Do you mean in a
theatre?  In front of a paying audience?”

I
moved closer to him and then I really did flutter my eyelashes, to my undying
shame.  “Yes, at Covent Garden.  But I need to be classically trained first. 
The Royal Academy of Music is where I should go and then any theatre will
accept…” I stopped as he rose slowly to his feet.  My husband’s eager face
drifted into my mind and I looked for the same expression on Mr Russell’s
face.  I felt compelled to continue.  “It’s only for two years and then…”

“Are
you saying,” he said tersely,  “that you’ll accept my proposal of marriage
providing I pay your fees at the academy?”

I
opened my fan and wafted it in front of my face.  “Well, if I’m your wife, I
thought you’d wish…” I murmured in a voice that was husky with embarrassment.

He
glared down at me and I shuddered.  “I think you are impertinent, madam!  And
you insult me beyond belief.  Firstly, I wouldn’t want my wife to go on the
stage.  I wouldn’t be able to hold my head up in polite society.  And secondly,
you underestimate me to think I would enter marriage so ill-used.  Do you take
me for an idiot! It looks like I’ve been wasting my time with you.”  He gave a
polite bow.  “Please don’t trouble yourself to see me out.”

I
watched him as he left the room.  And then I heard the front door slam. 

Nan
appeared.  “He’s gone then,” she said, but I knew she didn’t expect an answer.

I
grimaced.  “I’ll just have to think of something else.”

CHAPTER
FOUR

A
month later I put another advertisement in
The Times
newspaper.  The
fact I was willing to teach in a pupil’s home had always attracted numerous
replies.  Many music teachers taught in their own homes and pupils had to make
a special journey.  But I was content to use whatever piano was provided and
carry the music I needed in a small leather pouch. 

It
was a Friday morning on a very hot day in August when I read my advertisement;
checking it had been published correctly.  The last one had printed the wrong
address and I had had to remonstrate with them for the mistake, but this time
it was correct.  And then the advertisement next to mine caught my eye.  I read
it a few times and frowned.

Young lady of
excellent education and

from a good
family required for agreed

duties on a
short term contract.

Exceptional
remuneration

Please apply to
Mrs Holland  PO Box 11

The
words ‘exceptional remuneration’ seemed to jump out at me.  And the duties were
of a short duration.  I felt intrigued and taking the newspaper with me, I
walked over to the writing table in the corner and sat down.  I quickly penned
a letter, giving details of my experience and asking for more information.  I
was just about to put the letter in the envelope when I had second thoughts. 

Although
the advertisement seemed interesting, I also thought it too mysterious and the
fact it was a Post Office box worried me.  That meant this Mrs Holland didn’t
want her address known and I wondered why.

But
the longing to earn more money made me think again.  I scooped the letter from
the desk, tore it in pieces and sat down to write another, this time with a few
changes.  If Mrs Holland wanted to be mysterious then so could Mrs Asquith. 

A
reply came a week later asking me to call on Mrs Holland at her address in
Ealing at four o’clock the following Tuesday.

I
dressed in my royal blue outfit, the one I had worn for my audition at the
academy, tying my hair up neatly with a pretty ribbon.  I decided to wear my
best straw hat decorated with a dark blue velvet ribbon that trailed down the
back.  I hoped I looked business-like but also pleasing to my potential
employer.  Before I left the house, I slipped off my wedding ring and dropped
it in my jewellery box.  As I travelled on the omnibus, I pondered on what Mrs
Holland’s ‘agreed duties’ would be and why she hadn’t been more specific in her
advertisement.

Gibson
Place was a smart row of Georgian houses in a sweeping crescent, with a park
opposite.  It was a fashionable area and as I placed my hand on the large brass
knocker, I glanced around at the ladies and gentlemen promenading along the
pavement, the servants hurrying to and fro on some errand or other.  A young
maid in a frilly apron and cap opened the door to me and then showed me into
the conservatory at the back of the house and overlooking a wonderful garden. 
Mrs Holland rose to her feet as I was shown in and I liked her immediately. 
She had a broad, wonderful smile in a plump face and her figure was matronly. 
She was dressed in black with a lace cap sitting on greying hair.  Gold-rimmed
spectacles were perched on the end of a button nose and her blue eyes seemed to
twinkle with amusement.

She
took my hand.  “Miss Pritchard?  I’m so pleased to meet you and I must say
you’re as charming as I thought you would be.”

“Thank
you for inviting me for an interview, Mrs Holland.  Although I’m rather puzzled
by your advertisement.  It didn’t say anything about the work I’m applying for.”

She
indicated a seat and I sat down.  I was facing the open French windows and I
lifted my face for a second, closing my eyes to enjoy the cool breeze coming in
from the garden.

“It’s
a very hot day isn’t it, my dear.”  She watched me.  “If you wish to take off
your hat, then please do so.  I want you to be as comfortable as possible.”  I
smiled and unpinned the straw hat from my head, laying it on my lap.  I patted
my hair into place and saw her glance towards the window.  “Now would you like
tea?  Or there’s lemonade if you wish?”

“Thank
you.  Lemonade would be wonderful.”

She
tugged at the bell-pull and in a moment the little maid entered the room and
Mrs Holland ordered the lemonade.  She took her seat in a large armchair with
her back to the windows and it seemed only a few seconds before the maid
brought in a glass jug and two glasses.  Mrs Holland poured out the drinks and
I took mine and drank thirstily, not realising how much I needed refreshment. 

“Now
then, my dear.  Your letter says you are twenty years old?”  I nodded.  “That’s
very young.”

I
frowned.  “Very young for what?  I’m old enough to earn my own living.”

“As a
music teacher?”

“Yes.”

“Is
your health good?”

“Very
good.”

“Your
parents are alive?”

I
started to get suspicious.  “I’m sorry, but what have my parents to do with
this?”

She
gave another nervous glance at the open windows of the conservatory where two
large aspidistra stood outside on the terrace.

Her
attention turned to me.  “In my advertisement I spoke of a young lady coming
from a good family.  Although you said in your letter that you did come from a
good family, you were not very specific.”

It
was then I became very suspicious.  “I was born in the Rhondda…” I started and
she laughed.

“You
have a lovely lilt to your accent, my dear.  So, I knew you were Welsh as soon
as I heard you.”

I
smiled.  “My mother was English, but my father was Welsh.  He was born in
Swansea.”

“You
say ‘was’.  Am I to take it that your parents are dead?”

I
looked down at the glass in my hand.  “My mother died when I was fourteen.”

“From
what?”

I
frowned again not understanding the reason behind her questions.  “There was an
influenza epidemic in our village,” I said slowly.  “She developed pneumonia.”

“And
your father?”

“He
was killed…in a mining disaster two years this Christmas.”

Mrs
Holland’s expression became sad.  “I remember reading something in the paper. 
Didn’t two men die?  The owner of the mine and…” Her brow puckered.  “Wasn’t
the second man a mineralogist or something?”

“Yes,”
I murmured.  “Papa was the owner.”  I glanced round the room and then took
another sip of my lemonade.  Suddenly, the large leaves of the aspidistra shook
and my attention became riveted.  “Mrs Holland, I think someone is hiding
behind those plants outside.”  I placed the glass down on the floor along with
my hat and rose from the chair.

She
gave a pleasant laugh and waved her hand in casual dismissal.  “It’s my cat. 
She’s obviously seen a moth or butterfly in the plants and is trying to catch
it.  She can be a real nuisance at times.  Do sit down.”

I did
but wasn’t pacified one bit, the hair rising on the back of my neck. 
Burglaries were common in affluent areas and a thief might take his opportunity
while the windows were open.

“Would
you tell me what it is you want of me,” I insisted.  “You’ve not said a word
about what these agreed duties are.  Or what exceptional remuneration you’re
offering.”  My gaze returned to the aspidistra.

“All
in good time, my dear.  Tell me, are you romantically involved at the moment? 
You are extremely pretty and I can imagine plenty of gentlemen giving you their
attention.”

It
was getting too much for me.  What on earth did my private life have to do with
all this?  I began to feel annoyed and was just about to protest about her line
of questioning when the aspidistra leaves quivered once more.  I listened
carefully.  I had good hearing and as I concentrated I knew that something was
wrong.

I
jumped out of my chair.  “I’m sorry, ma’am, but there’s definitely someone
hiding on the terrace.”

“I’ve
told you, it’s my cat.”

I
shook my head.  “No, I can hear scuffling.”  I glanced over to the far wall and
saw an elm walking stick propped up in the corner.  I walked stealthily over to
it and grasped it firmly.  I took two steps toward the window and cried out, 
“Show yourself or I’ll use this on you.”

I
took another step nearer and raised the stick above my head.  A soft chuckle
made me stop and my mouth dropped open in surprise.

“It’s
no good, Mrs Holland,” said a gentle voice among the leaves.  “We’d better come
clean before Miss Pritchard decides to crack my head open.”

Mrs
Holland rose from her seat and took the walking stick from me.  She leaned it
against her chair and then guided me back to my place facing the windows.

“Sit
down and I’ll finish the interview.  But I must say you’re very brave to
confront a possible burglar.  I would have expected you to run screaming from
the room.”

“Somehow
I don’t think this young lady would do that,” said the man behind the plant.

“Why
doesn’t he show himself?” I asked, feeling very confused.

“He
wants to remain anonymous.”

“And
why is that?”

“You’d
better tell her, Mrs Holland,” he said.

She
turned to the window.  “Are you sure, sir?”

“I’m
quite satisfied with what I’ve seen and heard so far.”

Mrs
Holland took her seat and folded her hands in her ample lap.  “This gentleman
is your potential employer, my dear.  I’m conducting the interview on his
behalf.”

I
glanced towards the window and sighed.  “It seems very suspicious that he
wishes to remain hidden.”  There was no reply from him so I continued, “But let
me hear what you have to say.”

She
smiled.  “First, I would like to repeat my last question, Miss Pritchard.  Are
you romantically involved at the moment?”

I
shook my head.  “No, there’s nothing like that in my life.”

“Then
I can now tell you the true nature of this interview, but you must understand
that what I’m about to tell you is confidential.  What you hear mustn’t go
beyond this house.  Do you understand?”  I nodded and she gestured towards the
window where the anonymous man seemed to be standing or sitting perfectly
still.  “This gentleman finds himself in a distressing situation.  He and his
wife have no children and there is no chance of the lady ever having a child. 
The agreed duties in my advertisement is that a young, healthy woman bears them
a child and then be willing to relinquish that child for an agreed sum of
money.”

A
long time seemed to pass as I stared at her.  I couldn’t speak.  My mind became
a whirl of confused thoughts.  Finally, I found the words to reply.  “You’re
asking me…to have a baby…for a couple who can’t have their own child?”

“It
will be my child, obviously,” said the hushed voice from the aspidistra.

“That’s
it precisely,” said Mrs Holland, smiling.

“Why
me?” I asked, my throat starting to constrict.

The
gentleman’s voice was strangely calm despite the subject in question.  “Because
I think you’d be highly suitable.  You’re young and in good health. 
Intelligent and very attractive.”  He gave another chuckle.  “And as Mrs Holland
said, you are brave beyond your years.”

“Brave
I might be,” I scoffed.  “But bringing a child into the world is a risky
business.”

“You’ll
have the best possible medical attention,” he said.

I
thought for a moment.  “What happens if I lose the child during pregnancy or
the child is born dead?”

He
paused before answering.  “That would be sad and very unfortunate.  However, I
can only pay you if you give me a healthy child.”

“And
if the baby was healthy but I died?”

Again
there was another pause before he said,  “That would be even sadder.  But I
would make sure the money goes to your next of kin.”

“You
haven’t said how much I would get for these
agreed duties
.”

Mrs
Holland smiled.  “Twelve hundred pounds, my dear.”

I
gasped with surprise.  Twelve hundred pounds!  It would be more than enough to
pay for my academy fees and the household bills while I was studying.  I could
afford to buy a Singer sewing machine for Nan.  I could…I pulled myself up,
suddenly realising the implications of what I was thinking.  I would have to go
to bed with a man who was a stranger to me.  Have his child and then give it
up.

“What’s
your answer?” asked Mrs Holland, her large eyes watching me.

“I’m
not sure,” I said slowly.  “There’s a great deal to consider.”

Another
chuckle came from behind the plants and I tried desperately to see the man
hiding there.  But I was facing the window and the bright light obscured my
vision.