Nightingales (Warrender Saga Book 11)

by Mary Burchell

  ‘Sometimes,’ replied Amanda equivocally. ‘But what makes you say that?’

  ‘He talked quite a bit about Henry and seemed unusually understanding and sympathetic over my anxiety. In fact I don’t know whether he ever mentioned this to you?—he said he knew himself the anguish of loving someone who was ill and not being able to do a thing about it.’

  ‘He told you that?’ Amanda stared at her sister-in-law in amazement. ‘He certainly never told me anything so personal in all the time I’ve known him. You astound me, Nan! How on earth did you get on such a footing?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Nan said candidly. ‘He was somehow so easy to talk to that I just found myself telling him more about Henry and our problems than I usually would dream of doing with anyone else I can think of. I understand why you’re fond of him.’

  ‘I’m not fond of him,’ Amanda protested quickly. And then, before Nan could query that, ‘Who—who was this person he loved and couldn’t help?’

  ‘He didn’t offer to say.’

  ‘It could have been a brother or sister, I suppose. One of his family anyway,’ Amanda said slowly.

  ‘Or someone he would have liked to marry only she died,’ Nan suggested. ‘Or even—I suppose he never was married, was he?’

  ‘Not that I know of.’ For some unexplained reason Amanda found the idea both improbable and unacceptable, and she went on quickly, ‘He must have been here quite some while before he came out to speak to me in the garden.’

  ‘Oh, not so long,’ Nan assured her. ‘One can say a lot in a short time if there’s immediately a good relationship. We sat in the window there for about ten or fifteen minutes and——’

  ‘Did you face the garden or did he?’ asked Amanda sharply.

  ‘He did. Why?’ Nan looked surprised.

  ‘It doesn’t matter. I—I just wondered how it was you didn’t realise I was there.’

  ‘I thought you very well might be, but told him I would check first that you weren’t in the house. I left him sitting there in the window, and I suppose he caught sight of you and went out to join you.’

  ‘I suppose he did,’ agreed Amanda, accepting with reluctance the certainty that he could not have missed much of the final scene between her and Jerry. ‘I was out there with Jerome Leydon, you know. He came about half an hour earlier and we went straight into the garden, so that I could explain about my decision to refuse Max Arrowsmith’s offer.’

  ‘And how did he take your refusal?’ her sister-in-law asked with interest.

  ‘Beautifully,’ replied Amanda almost savagely. ‘We ended by pledging renewed friendship and kissing each other.’

  ‘Did you really?’ Nan looked amused. ‘That isn’t much like you.’

  ‘You tell that to Lewis Elsworth! He watched the scene from the window, I gather, and drew all the wrong conclusions.’

  ‘Oh, dear!’ Nan laughed, but then she glanced not unkindly at Amanda and added, ‘Does that matter, Mandy?’

  ‘No,’ said Amanda shortly, ‘it doesn’t matter in the least.’ And she went out of the room, leaving her sister-in-law to look after her thoughtfully.

  The next day, just as she was preparing to set out to cycle to Austin Parva for her appointment with Lewis and Patrick Rogerson, Sir Oscar Warrender’s accountant arrived. He proved to be a pleasant, businesslike man who had obviously received such exact instructions with regard to the position that Amanda had no qualms about leaving him to settle everything with her brother and sister-in-law.

  Henry seemed surprised at her departure. But, pleading the urgency of her previous arrangement, Amanda determinedly made her escape, already a little anxious about the time she had inevitably lost. Luck was with her and the church clock was striking two as Lewis opened the door in answer to her tug at the brass bell-pull.

  He smiled slightly and congratulated her on her punctuality, but very much in the manner of the teacher to his student, and with no trace of the friendly understanding which had seemed to blossom during that afternoon at the Warrenders’ flat. Only when they started to go through some of the music he had composed during the last year or so did her enthusiasm and delight add warmth to their exchange of comment and suggestion. By the time Patrick Rogerson arrived Amanda at least felt she was embarked on a thrilling voyage of discovery.

  The two men had met before, though only passingly, she gathered, and it seemed to her that they measured each other up with some degree of caution at first. Rogerson greeted Amanda herself with frank interest as he said, ‘So you’re another of Oscar Warrender’s discoveries, are you?’

  ‘No,’ Lewis stated firmly, before she could reply for herself. ‘She’s my discovery.’

  ‘Hh-hm——’ Rogerson—a heavily built, good-looking man in his early forties—glanced amusedly from one to the other. ‘Your discovery and your inspiration, eh?’

  ‘Oh, no, one couldn’t say that!’ exclaimed Amanda, a good deal embarrassed by this description of herself. ‘I didn’t even know Dr Elsworth composed until quite recently.’

  ‘But I thought you were the girl that this work is all about.’

  ‘No, no!’ Amanda glanced anxiously in Lewis’s direction and was surprised to see that apparently he was more amused than affronted. He came to her rescue at that point.

  ‘Amanda is, I think, peculiarly fitted for the sort of heroine we all have in mind,’ he said mildly. ‘Provided of course that a complete work does eventually emerge from the rather fragmentary stuff I have so far composed.’

  ‘And what,’ asked Patrick Rogerson, ‘is “the sort of heroine we all have in mind”?’ And he threw himself back in a fragile Queen Anne chair with a degree of energy that made Amanda wince.

  ‘You’d better explain, Mandy,’ said Lewis and, staggered though she was to hear this informal version of her name on his lips, she realised that he was letting her know that it was up to her to make out a good case for the work which they both now hoped to bring to fruition. So once more, with care and great earnestness, she embarked on a description of the tentative suggestion she had outlined for the Warrenders. And all the time Patrick Rogerson watched her, his bold dark eyes intent on her face and the changing expressions which, without her being aware of the fact, flitted across her expressive features.

  ‘It’s a bit vague,’ he said at last. ‘Sing me something from it. Warrender said there’s an unusual prayer. Uncanny but compelling, was how he described it. He said you made a very telling comment about it.’

  ‘I did?’ She looked surprised.

  ‘You did,’ Lewis confirmed quietly as he went to the piano. ‘It’s a prayer for warding off the Evil One, and Amanda said the girl sings it when she’s learned enough about good to be afraid of evil.’

  ‘Uh-hm. Go on—sing it,’ Rogerson ordered her.

  So Amanda, with the absolute conviction that this was an important moment, stood beside Lewis and sang it, while Patrick Rogerson sat with his hands lightly clasped between his knees and his gaze on the ground. It disappointed her a little that he did not look at her. But at the end he did look up and said, ‘Do you know the words by heart?’

  ‘Almost, I think. They’re simple and rather repetitive. Why?’

  ‘Because I want to hear—and see—you do it without the music in your hand. Study the words for a minute or two.’

  She went to the window and, standing with her back to the room. concentrated on the words of the prayer. Behind her she was aware of the two men talking quietly to each other. But when she turned and said, ‘All right, I think I have it,’ they broke off immediately and Rogerson took charge with an air of authority which surprised her.

  ‘Go and stand over there,’ he directed her. ‘Obviously we have to set the story roughly in the Middle Ages. You’ve dabbled in witchcraft in the early part—whether through ignorance or intention doesn’t matter at the moment. What does matter is that something has happened which has drawn you irresistibly towards the light instead of the dark, but you haven’t y
et broken completely free. You’re now in great danger—in a moment of crisis. Your familiar instinct is to call upon the Evil One but, because of your dawning knowledge, what you pray for is to be saved from him. Now, how would you portray that? Don’t hurry. Think about it for a minute or two.’

  There was something so compelling about the instructions of this big, forceful man that Amanda tried with all her heart and mind to do what he wanted of her. She stood there for a minute or two just thinking herself into the part he had sketched for her. It was very much how she herself had thought of this strangely beautiful composition of Lewis’s, and presently she nodded to Patrick Rogerson and he made a slight gesture of his hand to Lewis who immediately played the opening phrases.

  In the most extraordinary way it seemed to Amanda that the familiar room began to change subtly, the light faded, and she was alone and very much afraid. The simple words, the strangely beautiful music were both there, ready to express exactly how she was feeling. Not a thing did she need to invent. It was as though she had known this scene all her life. And when she had sung the last notes she found she was on her knees and crying.

  ‘You’re a fortunate man,’ she heard Patrick Rogerson say. ‘The girl is a natural artist.’

  ‘I know,’ Lewis replied. Then he came across, picked her up off the floor and said, ‘Don’t cry, Mandy,’ and kissed her.

  ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be so silly.’ She was divided between shamed surprise at her own emotion and astonishment that Lewis should have kissed her and once more addressed her by that half affectionate shortening of her name.

  ‘What stage experience have you had?’ Rogerson wanted to know.

  ‘None,’ Amanda told him.

  ‘None?’ He sounded curiously satisfied. ‘She’s a natural, I tell you,’ he remarked again to Lewis. ‘She’ll need a certain amount of basic professional stage training, of course. Maybe Warrender might find her a place in the chorus, or a small walk-on part or something of the kind. Just to give her the feel of the stage. We’ll discuss it. And now to go back to your work, Elsworth——’ he grinned at Lewis in a friendly way. ‘Is that the one and only flash of genius or——?’

  ‘Oh, no!’ It was Amanda who replied with determination this time. ‘There’s a lot more lovely stuff. You must hear some of it. Dr Elsworth can make shift to sing tenor or baritone.’

  ‘All right.’ Patrick Rogerson gave her an indulgent glance. ‘And I daresay I can supply a bit of bass growling if necessary.’

  There followed what was to Amanda one of the most exciting experiences of her life. There was no question about Rogerson’s interest and approval. He sang, Lewis sang and Amanda sang, all of them breaking off from time to time while Rogerson threw in a suggestion about a dramatic possibility or something to do with basic construction—only to withdraw it ten minutes later in favour of a re-alignment of plot or a flash of fresh inspiration.

  ‘It’s the oddest way to construct a theatrical piece,’ he said at last with a laugh, ‘and of course there’s a great deal of grinding desk work to be done. But I’ll stick my neck out here and now and say that I think we’ve got something pretty good, even if it’s only in the making at the moment. Maybe I’m overenthusiastic—’ he frowned passingly at the possibility—‘but it’s a heady experience to find a lovely singer and a gifted composer all in one afternoon.’

  ‘Where do we go from here?’ Amanda asked breathlessly. ‘I mean, we can’t waste time just exulting over it.’

  ‘She’s a girl after my own heart,’ Rogerson told Lewis, again with that infectious grin. ‘“At once” is hardly soon enough for her! Well, Miss Amanda, if Elsworth has time to spare—’

  ‘For this, yes,’ Lewis put in quickly.

  ‘—I think I’d better find somewhere to stay in the neighbourhood during the next month or two, and we’ll get to work right away.’

  ‘You could stay at our hotel, The Nightingale,’ Amanda said shyly. ‘It’s small but it’s very comfortable and my sister-in-law cooks like an angel. It isn’t more than three miles away. I cycle over twice a week. But if you have a car of course it wouldn’t be more than ten or twelve minutes’ run.’

  ‘Well, that seems to settle my part of the problem,’ Patrick Rogerson agreed. ‘All you have to do—’ he smiled at Lewis as though he already welcomed him as an artistic partner—‘is to go on composing for all you’re worth, but now on the basis of setting to music what I write for the libretto. As for you, Miss Amanda, we’ll see what Warrender has in mind in the way of stage experience.’

  Amanda looked startled, but enjoyably so. ‘Do you mean that I might have to go to London and stay there?’

  ‘If Warrender said so,’ Rogerson assured her. ‘Unless you have someone around here who drives to London fairly regularly and would give you a lift. Is there anyone in your circle who might fill the bill?’

  For a pregnant moment Amanda and Lewis irresistibly exchanged a glance, then she said steadily, ‘I’m afraid I don’t know anyone like that.’

  ‘Well, the train service is reasonably good, I believe,’ Rogerson shrugged. ‘No real problem about that.’

  ‘Except that Amanda will still require her twice-weekly singing lesson,’ stated Lewis firmly. ‘And she also has family demands on her time.’

  ‘In the circumstances I’m sure Nan would manage to dispense with me for a while and get casual village help,’ Amanda offered eagerly.

  ‘And as for singing lessons,’ added Rogerson with what seemed to Amanda magnificent casualness, ‘it’s not impossible that Warrender might offer to do something. I presume you would both accept him as a suitable stand-in for the odd singing lesson?’ Then he laughed a good deal at Amanda’s expression and asked not unkindly, ‘Are you scared of him? Most singers are, I know.’

  ‘Not exactly—scared,’ said Amanda, not quite truthfully. ‘I just thought it highly unlikely that he would even dream of giving singing lessons to a complete beginner, professionally speaking.’

  ‘You’d be surprised,’ Rogerson told her seriously. ‘There are few things he’s not prepared to do if his interest is fully aroused.’

  ‘And you think his interest is fully aroused?’ Amanda caught her breath.

  ‘I don’t think there’s any doubt about it,’ Rogerson said. ‘Whether it’s you or the work or a combination of the two—which is the most likely—I couldn’t say. But when I talked with him yesterday he was like a gold prospector who’s turned up some grains of gold and expects a pretty sizeable nugget to follow.’

  Both Amanda and Lewis laughed at this graphic description, though Lewis said sceptically, ‘On the strength of one aria extremely well sung?’

  ‘Oh, no! Not even Warrender would follow a hunch on so little. But I understand he’s heard Amanda on another occasion and has seen quite a lot of your stuff in manuscript, besides being impressed by what was said when you all first discussed the project.’

  ‘Objection withdrawn,’ conceded Lewis with a smile. ‘Your optimism is extraordinarily infectious. Rogerson. From now on I expect difficulties to melt away with dramatic completeness.’

  And that, thought Amanda during the next week or two, was very much what happened. First there was the almost incredible ease with which the arrangements were made for Henry’s departure for Switzerland, aided by the fact that it was Lewis who surprisingly found an excellent substitute for him while he was away.

  ‘John Partington was an old friend of my father and I’ve known him most of my life,’ he explained. ‘He’s a retired accountant with a little specialised knowledge of the hotel business as he did about a year in that line just after he retired. He has recently lost his wife and would be very willing to take on a temporary job of this kind.’

  ‘What sort of age, if he’s retired?’ enquired Nan briskly.

  ‘Late sixties. But very energetic and totally reliable. A likeable man,’ said Lewis. And on further acquaintance and during his few days of discussion with Henry over the t
ransfer of duties and records. He proved to be all that Lewis had claimed.

  ‘You say he was a friend of your father,’ Amanda remarked when she was discussing the appointment at her next singing lesson. ‘It’s the first time I’ve heard you mention your family. Are your parents still alive?’

  ‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘They were both killed in a plane crash, coming home from the States.’

  ‘Both of them? What a tragedy for you!’

  ‘But not perhaps for them,’ he said reflectively. ‘They were so completely devoted to each other that I can’t really imagine either going on even relatively happily without the other. That wasn’t the way I saw it at the time, of course, being only seventeen and with a younger sister to look after.’

  She thought suddenly what a nice elder brother he must have been, and then enquired quite naturally about his sister now.

  ‘Five years ago she married a Canadian doctor with whom she’s tremendously happy’, he smiled as though that reflection gave him great pleasure. ‘They have two children and live in Montreal.’

  Remembering what Nan had told her, Amanda would have liked to enquire further, but he evidently considered they had discussed his personal affairs sufficiently and went on with the lesson. Afterwards, however, she reflected that, short though the conversation had been, it had supplied the answer to most of the questions posed by his conversation with Nan. Whoever it was that he had loved and mourned, it was no one in his own family—a circumstance which was of course nothing to do with her at all, but one which still prompted a certain amount of dissatisfied speculation.

  John Partington was not the only one to be installed at The Nightingale with remarkable speed and smoothness. Within a matter of days Patrick Rogerson had also taken up his quarters there and, with his unique blend of cheerful good humour and unusually subtle understanding of people, he made himself immediately popular, not only with the Lovetts but with everyone who came to the hotel.

  It was he who softened the harsh ordeal of Henry’s departure. For the fact was that, however happy Nan and Amanda might be in the knowledge that his trip to Switzerland would very possibly restore his health, they both knew that they would miss him sorely. Fortunately young Clive was due home for the school holidays in a week or two’s time so that Nan at least would have someone to take up her time and rejoice her heart.