The Violin

by Lindsay Pritchard

  Harriet nodded and smiled approvingly.

  “You see, Mr Hodge, I knew it could be done! Now what about the money?”

  Hodge shrugged.

  “As long as you match the Cazenove offer, the people at the Treasury are minded to go with your proposal. There do seem to be some civil servants with a sense of history. So nine hundred and fifty thousand for that. Costello and Co. would propose to complete their work for a maximum of two hundred and fifty thousand. Then of course there would be the costs of establishing your new school, fitting out, initial marketing, materials, general start-up costs, teachers’ salaries. In total my estimation is that you could have it as a going concern for one and three quarter million pounds.”

  “So it’s manageable then?”

  “Well yes, although that would represent pretty much all your available inheritance. You would need a contingency fund – say half a million – these new enterprises have an unfortunate habit of overrunning on costs.

  “Of course you could raise collateral against the value of your own home but would you really want to pay the interest on a large mortgage? My recommendation would be to seek another partner.”

  Hodge left Harriet to think things over before taking any final decision – a lawyerly counsel that was not unexpected.

  Then another piece of the kaleidoscope fell into place.

  *

  Ruth called to see Harriet, brimming with her news. She recounted the visit of Benjamin Bornstein and the thunderbolt of her bequest from beyond the grave. Every bone of her, given her life to date, had been infused with frugality and caution. Spending liberally on herself was simply not in her nature.

  “Of course I intend to buy a little flat. One where I can welcome guests and have a separate chair for them to sit on. Some new clothes, although I will not pay fashion prices, something hardwearing, easily washable. Of course I have given up my job although I worked till the end of the month so that they could find someone else.

  “I won’t be eating expensive food in showy restaurants asking deluxe prices. After all I have managed quite well with my chicken soup up to now. Although I may loosen the purse strings a little. Benjamin has shown me how I can get a quite adequate income from the money without touching the capital.

  “Most importantly, it will give me a chance to pursue my first love, teaching music. I have never been happier than when I was at Knightsbridge watching all those pupils learn the joys of musicianship, passing their exams and performing in front of parents. So I will be looking for a teaching position. It is not in my nature to sit back and do nothing, or worse, to turn into one of those profligate creatures with no aim in life above buying the latest novelty.”

  Harriet congratulated Ruth on her good fortune and commended her on her good sense.

  The conversation turned to Harriet’s project. She outlined the scheme, described the property.

  “Such a beautiful old place. It would be criminal to watch it be pulled down.”

  She mapped out her proposals for the school, hurrying to fetch photographs of the mansion and the builders’ illustrations of how it would look after restoration.

  “Maybe about a hundred pupils. Of course learning the basics, that is part of getting a licence. But it will all be about music. The children who come will all be keen to learn. And to make sure that children from poor families would not miss the chance, I will have scholarships, bursaries, help with buying instruments and so on.

  “Can you see it? An academy! Those old walls will echo with music again! And, if you wish it, there will of course, always be a place for you as principal teacher.”

  Harriet’s enthusiasm fired Ruth’s imagination.

  “I can see it! Tell me, when you say that Mr Hodge says you need another investor, well, would you consider me? I have the funds and the same dream. Could I be your partner?”

  The deal was struck. Mr Hodge, now happier that there was another substantial equity holder, drew up the paperwork, although both parties knew there was no need really for formalities. Harriet and Ruth had trust and a vision. Those two shared qualities were foundation enough.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  Within two years, the Frankel-Villiers Academy of Music was established.

  Once again Leeward House was alive and loved. In the Great Hall, where Underman had said his dignified goodbyes, a children’s orchestra rehearsed. The servants’ quarters, where Joshua Underman had entertained the staff on his pochette, had serried ranks of pupils learning their spellings and times tables.

  Children wandered around the grounds past the formal gardens and down to the pool where Joshua and Milly Pilgrim’s rash and unwise folly had given life to Faith Cross. Harriet often found herself there. Something in the air, particularly on hot, drowsy days, spoke to her soul.

  True to their principles, Harriet and Ruth ran the Academy as a philanthropic place of learning. Parents who were rich but whose children showed little aptitude or spark were politely dissuaded from pursuing a place in the school. Yet, it was widely known that should a child of poor parents show that they had a gift or at the least an innate inclination then, as with Maundy Cubitt at Dr Prince’s house in Windsor all those years ago, music not money was the deciding factor.

  The Academy took pianists, harpists, flautists, cellists and, of course, Ruth taught the violin with the tones of the Italianate sprinkling magical notes down the halls, compelling those going about their business to stop and listen.

  Georgia had joined as a teacher at the school.

  “Well you know, Hats, that I couldn’t actually get a tune out of a triangle but if you want somebody to teach them the three Rs, then I’m willing and able. Got to do something with my life. Can’t sit around waiting for Sir Henry Fortesque-Fotheringham to turn up!”

  Harriet ran the school as a benevolent Principal but was often called in to adjudicate on potential students, sitting in on auditions and gently quizzing parents and children on their reasons for applying.

  *

  One late morning, in May 1968, Georgia and Ruth prised Harriet out of her panelled office.

  “We think you should come and see this one. Parents have no money. He runs a smallholding down near the coast and can’t leave the livestock today. She’s a housewife and helps in the business. Name of Bulstrode. They have a daughter, Marie, who they say has a little gift.

  “I do know something of the family who came to my attention recently. The little girl is eight years old and seems to have taken to the violin as though she had always played. They’re here in the Audition Room. As well as the girl and her mother, they have brought the grandparents along for moral support.”

  “Can’t you just see them and make the decision?” asked Harriet. “I’ll go with your judgement. I’ve rather a lot of boring paperwork that needs to be done before tomorrow.”

  “Come on, Hats. It’s not about paperwork. It’s about the music. I think you need to meet these people.”

  Something in the urgency of her tone persuaded Harriet. They went to the Audition Room to find a petite curly-haired girl in front of a music stand readying herself to perform. A lady, clearly her mother, stood a few paces behind. Seated by the long windows overlooking the gardens were an older couple, the grandparents.

  All the eyes of the relatives fixed on Harriet as she entered and introduced herself. She felt the fervent clasp of the hands of the mother and grandparents, conveying something deeper than gratitude for the opportunity.

  The little girl played ‘Song To The Moon’, showing technical skill for one of her age and, Harriet thought, no little passion. Harriet smiled warmly at the child throughout by way of encouragement, but noted that the eyes of the relatives were on her and not the child.

  She noticed that Ruth had lent her violin to the child for the audition.

  That’s kind, noted Harriet, they probably don’
t have a very good one of their own.

  The violin rang out, true and resonant as ever with a clear, carrying tone that infused the music with feeling. The synchronicity of the girl’s playing, the emotion in the music and the lingering timbre of the violin made Harriet’s fingertips tingle.

  At the conclusion of the piece, the young girl looked for a reaction and was shyly pleased at the spontaneous applause from all in the room.

  “Well, that was delightful, Marie. I am sure we will be able to help in some way.”

  “Now,” said Georgia archly. “I have something of a surprise for you, Hats. Well, actually, a bit more than a surprise. Maybe even a bit of a shock. Let me introduce you to Marie’s mother, Violet.”

  The two of them exchanged a warm two-handed handshake and Harriet noted again something in the gaze of Mrs Bulstrode.

  “And these are Marie’s grandparents. But before I formally introduce you, can I tell you something you might be especially interested in? The child’s grandfather here has a connection with this actual violin going back some generations. In fact – let me get this right – the brother of his great-great-grandfather was a man called John Johnson, who was a violin maker in Cheapside, London!”

  Harriet, startled, looked at Ruth, who was clearly a party to the surprise.

  “Yes, indeed,” said Ruth. “It seems that this child, Marie, is a distant but direct descendant of the man who made this very instrument all those years ago!”

  “How on earth…?” said a visibly shocked Harriet.

  “Georgia and I found this out while we were doing a little… research.”

  Georgia picked up the theme.

  “Yes, I hope you’re not going to be angry with me, Hats, but Mrs Bulstrode here did not contact us. We did some digging on a certain matter and were amazed at the connection, as I’m sure you will be.

  “We had occasion to visit Mrs Bulstrode’s house down in Sussex and there, on the wall of the living room, was a small portrait, passed down through several generations, of John Johnson himself!

  “And, there is an even bigger shock, Hats. Are you ready?”

  Harriet nodded agreement, wondering what Georgia was talking about.

  “Can I introduce you to Violet’s mother and father. And although you’ve never met them, I really do think it’s time that you did. We’ve taken a bit of a risk here but… Harriet, this is Henri and Nancy Ladouceur…”

  And so the pieces fell into place.

  Somewhere, in the ether of time gone by, John Johnson, looking over the half-rims of his spectacles, shook hands with a smiling Maundy Cubitt.

  And outside, in the clear May morning, a throstle sang.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Thanks to the Arvon Foundation for allowing a little peace and quiet.

  Thanks also to two wonderful reference books – “Stradivarius” by Toby Faber and “The Violin” by David Schoenbaum.