Cubitt, warming to his tale, described how the oratorio had first been performed in Dublin in 1742.
“Mr Handel is a very charitable man. The proceeds from that performance were given to charities. Do you know that one hundred and forty-three fathers were released from debtor’s prison as a direct result? Truly a remarkable man.
“He made it his business to go and help the benighted Irish. Do you know that they had visited upon them a frozen sea, followed by a drought and then floods? Mr Handel made it his mission to help the Irish in the way he knows best, through his music.
“But in England there is, it appears, no stomach for a religious work performed in a theatre. The pedigreed and the haughty hold their noses if the Messiah is relegated, as they see it, to a mere amusement. But they will learn. Eventually they will comprehend.
“This is music to transport the ravished heart.
“But it seems that the good Mr Coram has been drumming up business in aid of the waifs. The concert at the Hospital will be full to the brim. It is, if I may be allowed a mild reproach, quite fashionable to be seen to be pious in a good cause.
“And I must play my part in this psalmody. The music must enter the souls of the listeners and the listeners must bestow their largesse on the poor misfortunates of the orphanage.
“And later, at a repast to celebrate the occasion we will be served by the very children the concert is helping.
“Truly, Mrs Cubitt, the music and the children are a gift from God.”
He looked over to her. Her face was pale and drawn and her eyes closed.
“But you are tired, my dear,” he said with concern.
She stirred.
“I am sorry, Maundy, my mind is active listening to your words but my body is weary. Perhaps I shall retire early. Will you summon Constance?”
He did as she asked then helped her to her feet, noting that she appeared thinner. Once she had retired, he sat in his wing chair by the fire sipping a glass of port, his pleasure at the prospect of his new violin and the forthcoming concert tempered by anxieties over Verity.
CHAPTER SEVEN
He had been summoned in a whispered aside at the end of the dinner that had followed the concert. A liveried footman, all deference and concern, spoke to him in the antechamber. Cubitt gave his thanks and swift apologies to Governor Falaise and hurried to the waiting carriage in Montague Street. He urged the coachman to hurry and settled back in his seat uneasily, his brow furrowed, his eyes casting right and left as his mind raced.
He was met at the door of his house by Constance, wringing her hands in her apron.
“She suddenly fell, sir. I helped her to bed but she said I was just to leave her and not to trouble. I hope I have not done wrong but I sent for Dr Chevalier. He has been with her this past half hour. He told me to get word to you forthwith.”
“No, Constance, you did the right thing,” said Cubitt, already taking the stairs two at a time. He slowed as he entered the darkened room in order not to cause alarm. Verity lay, pale in the light from the candle by her bed, her eyes closed. Dr Chevalier, seated by her, was feeling her brow. He stood up and gently caught Cubitt by the arm, ushering him onto the landing. Maundy’s enquiring eyes made the question superfluous.
“It is very serious. There is a growth in her chest that I had hoped to keep at bay with medicines and treatments. However, it seems that it will not be constrained and has now reached vital organs. In her weakened state her body cannot fight even small sudden infections and this has meant the onset of consumption.”
“And shall she get well?” asked a concerned Maundy. “Is there something you can do?”
Dr Chevalier pursed his lips, shook his head and looked at the floor.
“All I can do is take away the pain and the effects of the fever. If you wish you can stay by her and speak to her. She will hear you and to recognise a calming voice at such a time will be balm to the soul. But I fear she is not long for this world.”
Maundy shook his hand and thanked him and then returned to Verity’s bedside. He took her unresponsive hand in his, bowed his head and said a silent prayer. Then, heeding the doctor’s words, he started brightly.
“Well, here I am returned, Mrs Cubitt. I will relate to you the goings on at the Foundling Hospital. Such a night! The audience applauded Mr Handel’s Messiah to the rafters and the hospital coffers rang with their largesse. But, I am ahead of myself. Let me start at the beginning.
“Not a seat was to be had in the place. We, the orchestra, filed in to take our places and Mr Handel, resplendent in a red frock coat, came in to a rapturous reception. He bowed and then raised his baton and there was such a silence that you could have heard a mouse behind the skirting.
“You will remember that this was the first appearance of my Italianate violin made by Master Luthier Johnson. Well, something happened which I will remember all of my life. As we struck up the first notes of the sinfonia my violin sang out pure and clear as though possessed by divine magic. If I may allow a little arrogance on my part, it was if Veracini himself was playing. And after two bars do you know what transpired? Mr Handel himself, as he conducted the orchestra, half-turned to me and gave me a smile and a half-bow!
“The music poured forth and you could feel the audience who wept with the lamentations, exulted with the Hallelujahs and marvelled at the beauty of the melodies and voices which Mr Handel has married together.
“At the conclusion we took perhaps twenty bows. And do you know what then happened my dear? Mr Handel came across to me and raised my hand in celebration then enjoined the gathering to congratulate me! As you know, Verity, I hope that one of my qualities is modesty but I shall remember that moment forever. And you have played your part my dear in your unflagging support over these years along with those who tutored me, and also the genius Johnson whose architecture is touched by magic.”
Maundy paused as she exhaled gently. He fancied there was a small upturn in her mouth. He continued.
“And then, once the concert in the chapel was finally complete, we were led by our assigned guides – children of the hospital – to dinner in the Great Hall. And what a feast was laid there. All manner of flesh, fowl and sweetmeats, all served by courteous children who replenished our glasses, cleared our plates and attended to any of our requirements.
“Then, my dearest – oh I wish you had been with me to see – there was a darling girl by the name of Faith, no more than about ten or twelve years who had been deputed to play for us a miniature violin at our table. She is clearly half-caste but with such a lovely face and blue eyes that you would think God had experimented with all the best features to produce such comely symmetry. And such an agreeable spirit.
“We sat, entranced, as she rendered a little concert of tunes and airs. She played a little Bach piece, some jaunty airs, a few popular songs and finished with a very passable representation of a little Vivaldi. Such nimble fingers! Such expression! Such passion!
“And all the while smiling such a sweet smile and giving a courteous bow after each piece. We applauded until our hands smarted. Truly the foundling care has allowed this little one to flourish.
“I enquired about her provenance but not much was known. Mr Coram himself arranged for her to have music lessons and she has been a dedicated student as we saw for ourselves. Apparently she will be put into service as soon as she is old enough which is very sad. If she had been a child of well-to-do parents she could have made a career in music. Oh, my dear, I wish you could have seen her. Such a well brought-up and talented child. It is a desolation that there is no one to love and guide her.”
He felt his hand gripped by Verity and she breathed something.
“Are you there, my darling? Did you say something?”
Maundy leaned in close. After taking as deep a breath as her disposition allowed and summoning all her strength, Verity murmured,
“Take… her… in.”
Maundy checked what he thought she had said.
“Did you say, ‘take her in’?”
She breathed assent. Maundy, surprised at the thought, continued.
“Well I never! I suppose it is possible to give a home to one of the foundlings. It never entered my head. I suppose if anyone can give her succour and inspiration to continue with her music then it is us. Yes! That is just what I will do, Mrs Cubitt. I will make enquiries of Governor Falaise tomorrow and we will bring her home.
“And as soon as you are well enough, my dear, I will get her to come up and play some lively music to lift your spirits. I would never have thought to consider it. You are such a kind and thoughtful body. We can give her sanctuary. I can give her lessons and we will do what is right for the child. Well I never! Such a plan!”
Maundy smiled to himself and gave Verity’s hand a confirmatory squeeze. He spoke more of the concert, of Faith, of his plans for them all once she was well. He spoke of the forthcoming summer and how the flowers were already showing. He told her again about his violin, its purity and tone. He told her to be strong and to trust in God. He told her he loved her.
*
He woke with a start by the hand of Dr Chevalier on his shoulder. He looked at the doctor. He looked at Verity. He looked again at the doctor who shook his head sadly. Maundy disentangled his hand and Chevalier placed her arms in a cross on her chest.
“I suggest a brandy my good fellow.”
“No,” said Maundy. “Just leave me with her for a little while,” and the doctor, slowly nodding, retired from the room.
Maundy looked at her lifeless form.
“It was just like you, Mrs Cubitt, to have your last thought about someone else’s welfare and not your own. I will respect your wish. I will take the child in.”
He sat with her for a while then, as the day dawned over the rooftops of London he sadly set about the necessary arrangements.
*
A month or so later, in an office in the Foundling Hospital, with a bright June sun slanting though the window, Maundy spoke with Governor Falaise.
The Governor, whilst warm to Maundy’s proposal, exercised due caution.
“I can see that she would flourish under your tutelage, Cubitt. But,” he made a respectful gesture mid-speech, “with your wife gone, how would you care for the little one?”
Maundy acknowledged the question but gave his considered reply.
“Well, she would be leaving your care in a year or two in any case, probably to enter service. In my household, we have sufficient servants to tend to her needs, food, clothes and the like. As for her remaining education, I will tutor her at home. And if I do not miss my guess, she will be a fine student of the fiddle. And may I just add Governor,” here he fixed Falaise with a direct look, “it was my wife’s dying wish that we take her. It is a great sadness to me that they will never meet. But she entrusted me with this duty and I must not let her down.”
His voice wavered a little until he regained his composure.
“Very well,” said Falaise, standing and proffering his hand. “Although you will understand that Coram is responsible for the welfare of its charges for the rest of their lives. Nevertheless, I can think of no better way to secure her future.”
He rang a small bell on his desk and a woman dressed in uniform appeared.
“Ah Rose, would you summon Faith Cross, please?”
Consulting his fob watch, he continued.
“I believe the midday meal will be over now. Please bring her to my office forthwith.”
The child appeared. Ordinarily, a summons to the Governor’s office was a disciplinary matter. Faith stood, eyes wide in her upturned face, hands clasped behind her brown serge dress, looking concerned. Cubitt sat at one side of the room while the Governor came out from behind his desk and, leaning on it, addressed the child in a gentle voice.
“Faith, you have been with us some eleven years. Soon it will be your turn to follow the path of all Coram children and make your way into the world. Well, I have been talking to Mr Cubitt here,” he gestured in Maundy’s direction, who smiled. “He would like to take you into his home and for you to be his pupil and charge. Do you remember him from the concert?”
Faith looked across at Maundy then back to the Governor. She nodded assent.
“Mr Cubitt is a fine teacher and violinist and believes, having heard you play, that you have the makings of a musician. But he would also wish that you live in his household and be in his care. I have decided that it is in your best interests that we do so.
“Therefore I will be asking Mrs Slade to make the necessary arrangements. You will be leaving tomorrow. Now, Faith, I know I can rely on you to do your best and to be dutiful and obedient to Mr Cubitt. Do you understand?”
Faith looked back and forth between the Governor and Cubitt.
“Yes, sir. I will do my best, sir.”
Maundy stood, unfurling his elongated frame, smiling his customary half-smile. He touched her on the shoulder.
“You will be safe with me, child. When you played for us after the dinner I could see that you were gifted. It will be my duty in life to coax that talent and to make a musician of you.”
Faith gave a half-bow. Governor Falaise rang the bell and gave Rose instructions to prepare the child and her bundle of belongings for the following day.
“And don’t forget the pochette!”
CHAPTER EIGHT
“How is the girl, Constance?” enquired Maundy anxiously as he swept in from his schedule of lessons.
“Well she’s a polite little party, I’ll give her that. But she sits in that bedroom, her little feet dangling over the bed, and can’t be coaxed down.”
Faith’s unease at being plucked abruptly from the familiarity, rituals and fellow foundlings at Coram’s had translated into a trance-like inertia. She did not wish to displease the new household and, in her naïve ten-year-old mind, felt that the best policy was not to make a mistake. And not making a mistake largely meant sitting still and being quiet unless told to do something specific by an adult. This was her way of trying to do her best.
“Bless me,” said Maundy. “She has been here – what? – almost two weeks now, and it’s difficult to get a chirrup out of the child. Well, set the table for dinner, Constance, and bring her down.”
Faith duly appeared, steered by Constance, into the dining room and onto a high-backed chair opposite Maundy. She kicked her legs nervously and her eyes examined the linen and cutlery.
Maundy, aware of his responsibility for initiating any interaction, gave a good-humoured account of his day: the pupils he had seen; a visit to the bank; the new hat he had purchased from a gentleman’s outfitters near Covent Garden. All of this was explained with his customary half-smile. Faith listened and nodded at the correct intervals, stealing a look at the master when not inappropriate. Maundy told her of his difficulties on teaching the piano to
“John Bultitude. The little devil is eight years old and his parents, who are better blessed with money than with common sense, employ me twice a week to try and bridge the awful gap in piano playing between John and Mr J.S. Bach. And do you know what happened when I told the young oaf to play a particular passage capriccioso? The dolt fell completely off his piano stool and landed squarely on his large rump with a loud squeak!”
Faith could not help but laugh, which delighted Maundy.
“I am so glad, my child, that you can still be merry. I have been wondering how we might enfold you into our little household. I know it is only me now. You never knew my wife, Mrs Cubitt, God bless her, but she would have done a great deal better than me. She would have known what to say to make you feel welcome.”
Maundy became wistful.
“I miss her every day. I feel her spirit here but there is a dark hole in my heart
. I shall have to bear this cross since it was the Lord’s wish that she be taken. Do you know, it was her doing that you are here and I must be true to that wish. It is my responsibility to instruct and guide you now as if you were my own child.
“Tomorrow we will commence your lessons. You will learn some Latin and Greek. Of course, a little French. Logic and History will be part of it. But your principal education shall be in music. I have heard your playing and there is a good ear there and you play with spirit. But studying music is like building a fine church. Good foundations are required before we add the stained glass windows and the steeple.”
Faith nodded courteously as to a visitor at the Foundling Hospital.
“Thank you, sir I am most grateful.”
Maundy wagged a finger in gentle admonition.
“Not ‘sir’. You may call me Father, for that is what I am to be to you.”
“Yes, sir,” came the unwitting rejoinder from Faith.
Constance was summoned to clear the table. Faith tried to help.
*
From that day on, Maundy made it his business to educate the girl and tapered his schedule of pupils accordingly. Each afternoon, following an hour or two of academic studies, he would teach her the fundamentals of musical notation, rests, tempos, and signatures, how to bow and finger up to three notes, how to shift position.
In time, andante, allegro, sforzando and diminuendo became second nature and she quickly learned to read a piece on sight. Maundy took as his text The Art of Playing the Violin by Francesco Geminiani and it was not many months before Faith could play all twenty-four exercises faultlessly and with interpretation. Her talents flourished under Cubitt’s patient tuition and the shy and shade-favouring aconite began to establish roots in the household and blossom in the warm sun of security.
The Violin Page 5