The Missing Manuscript of Jane Austen (39 page)

It was only when she had finished singing the final note that Rebecca dared to look in her judges’ direction. The expressions on their countenances were now so altered from those which she had beheld at the start, as to make her feel encouraged. The pair of singers were beaming, Mr. Thurst looked positively thunderstruck, and Mr. Rauzzini’s eyes
were wide with astonished delight. All applauded, and then Mr. Rauzzini and his assistant came forward eagerly.

“That was extraordinary—truly unexceptionable! I confess, you entirely defied my expectation,” said Mr. Rauzzini.

“I daresay, superior even to Miss Campbell!” cried Mr. Thurst.

“What is your name, Miss?”

Promptly, Rebecca answered, “Clarissa Fitzgerald.”

“Well, Miss Fitzgerald,” replied Mr. Rauzzini, “I must say, you do have a lovely voice. I should be delighted to have you perform to-night in Miss Campbell’s stead. Are you familiar with any more Scots songs?”

“Oh, yes sir. Only tell me what you like, and how many.”

He laughed, as if pleased by her enthusiasm. “Miss Campbell was to sing four songs on the program, two in the first half, and two at the concert’s conclusion. The concert bills have already been printed; if you could perform the selections Miss Campbell had intended, that would be ideal.—(Unfolding the bill from his pocket, he read out the titles of the other three songs)—Do you know these?”

“I do, sir.”

“Excellent!”

The singing couple who had been so generous shook Rebecca’s hand, offered their congratulations, and departed. Mr. Rauzzini now took her aside and quietly named the sum which he was prepared to pay for her services, a sum so generous that Rebecca, who had not had time to even consider what such recompense might be, went pale with shock. Apparently worried that he had offended her, Mr. Rauzzini quickly offered a higher figure; to which Rebecca gratefully and smilingly agreed.

A rehearsal of the three other songs ensued; and
al though Rebecca had not sung them in a while, the music and the lyrics came to her as if by rote, and the conductor and his assistant seemed as pleased with these performances as they had with the first. “Do you play any instruments?” asked Mr. Rauzzini.

“Yes; the pianoforte and the harp.”

“Do you play them as well as you sing?”

“I am told that I do,” answered Rebecca modestly.

“Well, if you prove to be as big a success to-night as I
think
you shall, then perhaps we should have you back next week as well, to display your additional talents. But for now, we must make haste. Our rehearsal has gone over, and the concert begins in less than two hours.” After discharging the musicians to their dinner hour, Mr. Rauzzini said, “Where do you reside, Miss Fitzgerald? May I call for a chair to take you home to change and dine before the performance?”

Rebecca thanked him for his kind offer, but said she would just as soon walk home. “However, I would be most grateful for a ride back to the theatre, to accommodate two, if you are willing; for my father greatly appreciates music, and I know he would love to attend the concert.”

“Consider it done; Mr. Thurst, leave a ticket for Mr. Fitzgerald at the door. Only give me the direction and the time you will be ready, Miss Fitzgerald, and I shall send two chairs.”

Not wishing to reveal the awful truth of their impoverished circumstances, Rebecca asked him to send the conveyances to the White Hart Inn, which was not a terribly long walk from where they were actually staying; the appointed hour was fixed; and she took her leave.

Rebecca’s state of mind as she left the assembly rooms need hardly be explained. Of the cold night air, or the
reproving stares from passersby as she ran down the street unescorted, with bonnet ribbons streaming behind her, she was entirely unaware. She was positively glowing; she was overwhelmed. It had all happened so quickly—to think that one could be plunged into the absolute depths of despair one moment, and the next, lifted up to such heights of excitement and good fortune! They had liked her—had actually
hired
her! She would at last achieve one of her fondest dreams, to perform on the stage—and in so doing, by her own efforts, she would help her and her father out of their present financial difficulties! It was too much, too wonderful to believe.

So occupied was she with these thrilling contemplations as she ran, that the long blocks flew by, and although she had covered a very great distance, it seemed mere minutes before she reached the inn. Rebecca hastened up the stairs, out of breath, barely sensible of the oily smells exuding from the tavern below, and found her father inside their rooms, pacing very anxiously, greatly relieved at her safe return, and bewildered as to what had kept her away so long.

Rebecca wasted no time in telling him of her good fortune. Mr. Stanhope was as amazed as he was delighted. They laughed and embraced, cried tears of joy, and then embraced again.

“I have been praying for a miracle all afternoon,” exclaimed he, “and this is the answer to all my hopes. They will truly pay you to sing, my dear?”

“They will, papa; and most generously. If only I had thought of it earlier in the month, we should not have been reduced to our present straits! But never mind. I shall receive payment tomorrow, which means that we shall only be obliged to pass one night here. Then we can either remove to Medford as we thought, or—if Mr. Rauzzini wishes me
to stay for a return engagement—we can find better lodgings.” She explained the practical consideration of the small lie she had told regarding her name. “I felt it necessary, papa, in view of our present circumstances, not to broadcast our name. I hope you do not mind.”

“Many performers use a stage name,” said Mr. Stanhope, nodding, “so it is not really wrong.”

Pleased by this response, she invited him to attend the concert that evening, informing him that his ticket would be under the name Mr. Fitzgerald. “Now, I believe I should be happy to eat that fish they are serving downstairs, for I am quite starved.”

They ordered up a hot meal, which was brought to their rooms; after which Rebecca (relieved that their trunks had been delivered as promised, and that she had kept her pink silk gown), dressed and rearranged her hair as best she could in five minutes, adding a few ornaments which she judged to be befitting a stage performance. Then, taking her father’s arm, in exuberant spirits they walked briskly to the White Hart Inn, where their chairs soon arrived; and they were both off on their way to the assembly rooms.

The evening began in a most agreeable manner. Rebecca was admitted through a back door to the assembly rooms and ushered into a small but comfortable room, where she was to wait with the only other singers on the program—the same couple who had been so encouraging to her earlier—who introduced themselves as Mr. and Mrs. Lloyd. The room was decorated with a vase of flowers, there was refreshment on a table, and Mr. Thurst was ready and willing to bring them any thing else they might require. Every thing was so nice, and Rebecca was made to feel so special and important, that she could scarcely believe it was all really happening to
her
.
Her only misgiving was the discovery that she would be obliged to pass the greater part of the evening in this room, rather than sitting with the audience, and would be able to hear only the faintest strains of music from the concert; for her this was a great disappointment indeed.

Mr. Thurst disappeared; the concert began; and as Rebecca studied the bill, which as usual contained a great variety of musical pieces and styles, alternating between orchestral and choral, she ascertained her position in the proceedings, and began to grow nervous. She knew the songs well, but had only rehearsed them once each, and she had never sung before so many people. What if she should forget the melody or the lyrics? Mr. and Mrs. Lloyd, sensitive to her state, and very amiable, shared a story about their first time on the stage, which despite their fears, had resulted in a success. They further inquired as to Rebecca’s background and such, in a friendly manner, and in an effort to distract her; but she was too anxious to talk, and in any case did not wish to share much information about herself. The couple soon left, under Mr. Thurst’s direction, to make their appearance. Rebecca waited alone, the faraway resonance of their delightful aria and the ensuing applause making her wish again that she could be amongst the audience. When they returned, Rebecca expressed her congratulations; and after another orchestra selection, Mr. Thurst came for her.

What next ensued seemed as though it were part of a dream. As Rebecca waited in the passage with Mr. Thurst by a side-door to the concert-room, her stomach tense with increasing apprehension, she heard Mr. Rauzzini explaining that although Miss Campbell was unable to perform, he was pleased to announce that they had been most fortunate to find a replacement, a talented young woman who was
making her debut at Bath that very night, and who was prepared, upon only a few hours’ notice, to sing all of the songs Miss Campbell had selected.—All at once, she was being introduced; Mr. Thurst gave her an emphatic nod; and Rebecca, with her heart pounding in her throat, mechanically stepped forward to take her place beside the musicians.

And then something magical happened. At the sight of the great, expectant crowd, Rebecca’s apprehension fled, replaced by the thrill of excitement. This was the moment she had longed for, dreamt of, countless times in her life; she knew and loved the song entrusted to her, believed she was equal to the task, and felt all the power of that preparation; she could not fail. The music began; she smiled; she sang.

So wrapped up was she in the beauty of the music, and the cues from the conductor, that Rebecca took no further notice of the audience. She took immense pleasure in the performance. It was not until the conclusion of the piece, during the thunderous applause that followed, that she allowed herself to look into the sea of countenances before her;—and to her great joy, every face shone with delight. In the second row sat Mr. Stanhope, clapping heartily along with the rest, and as Rebecca caught his gaze, she observed proud tears shining in his eyes. Never before had she experienced a more exhilarating or fulfilling moment.

Her second song followed and was equally well received, with the addition of many shouts of “Bravo” from the audience. Rebecca, smiling, took her bow and left the concert-room, the sound of applause still ringing in her ears.

In the interval between acts, the Lloyds were generous with their praise, and Mr. Rauzzini and Mr. Thurst both congratulated Miss Fitzgerald on her triumph. They
reported that quite a buzz was going round the foyer about the discovery of such an outstanding new talent.

The ensuing hour, as Rebecca waited for her next chance to sing, was passed in a state of very happy reflections. If only Sarah and Charles could have been there to share this moment with her, she would have been completely happy. She believed
they
might have derived some pleasure in witnessing her success; and had they the opportunity to carry it in their memories to review with her afterwards, it would have been particularly gratifying. Another idea adjoined this, and it was an unexpected one: how much she would have liked her new friend Miss Clifton and her brother, to have been there as well.

In what seemed no time at all, the concert was drawing to its conclusion, and Rebecca made her reappearance to deliver the last songs on the bill. The hearty applause which greeted her as she was again introduced was thrilling to perceive; and she immediately plunged into a rendition of “The True Lovers’ Farewell.” She had barely finished the second bar, when a deep voice from the crowd suddenly cried out,

“Fraud! That is no Miss Fitzgerald, but Miss Rebecca Stanhope, daughter of a thief!”

Rebecca started with dismay, and her face grew red; but she kept on singing. A murmur began to spread throughout the room. The heckler now stood up and shouted, “Her father is the rector William Stanhope, who stole a thousand pounds from his own parish and fled to Bath, under the name Fitzgerald!
This
young lady was party to it all!”

Exclamations of dismay and derision erupted. A couple got up and walked out. Rebecca faltered, mortified, but still continued her performance, until a man leapt to his feet and cried,

“There he is—the villain himself!” (Pointing to Mr. Stanhope.)

Shouts filled the room: “Thief—villain—blackguard—scoundrel!”

A crumpled concert bill was hurled at Mr. Stanhope’s head. Rebecca could go on no more. The musicians ceased playing. Mr. Stanhope stood in confusion and muttered, “No—no—it is not true—I swear it—”

The audience began to leave
en masse
. Mr. Rauzzini regained control of his musicians, commanding them to play a rousing orchestral piece, which kept some people in their seats. Rebecca was horrified. She wanted nothing more than to run away, hide, and weep; but her first duty was to her father, and so she hastened to his side, gently took his arm, and silently led him from the room.

The consequences of the catastrophe at the concert-hall were these: Mr. Rauzzini sent word to Rebecca through Mr. Thurst, that she should not expect a penny from him, and that her presence at the concert-hall was no longer welcome. With no chair at their disposal, Rebecca and Mr. Stanhope were obliged to walk through the cold of night all the way to the lower part of town. As they trudged along, several people passing by in conveyances directed contemptuous and rude remarks at them. By the time they reached their rooms, father and daughter were in such an abject state that, uncharacteristically, neither had the words nor the will to try to cheer the spirits of the other. They took to their beds, where both gave vent to silent, bitter tears.

Early the next morning, while her father slept, Rebecca went in search of a jewellers’ shop to sell her mother’s pearl brooch. Although to her deep chagrin, she was obliged to accept a sum which seemed far less than its actual worth, it
was at least enough to pay for their removal from Bath. When she told her father what she had done, he was already so depressed, that he merely nodded and shed a single tear.