“Count me in,” Mrs. Quail called over from the organ.
“I’m in,” said Mrs. Gibbs, and another voice spoke out, “Let’s give it a go!”
“Yes, let’s give it all we’ve got!” Mrs. Tilling said cautiously. “Just because we’ve never done something before, it doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try.”
Mrs. B, pouting like a restrained child, wasn’t ready to step down. “Has everyone lost their minds around here?”
“Not at all!” Prim spread her arms wide with pride. “We may be a late entry, but I know that we have what it takes. We have some great voices—Kitty and Venetia are already first-class sopranos, and Mrs. Tilling is the mainstay in the altos. Everyone has a fine voice, but to compete against the big choirs we have to use our finest asset, the one that will mark us out as truly exceptional.”
She looked from person to person. “Music is about passion. It’s about humanity. We need to bring our own passions to our voices.” She wound her baton thoughtfully through the air. “We have to imbue every note, every word, with our own stories. Think of what our members can bring: Kitty’s exuberance, Silvie’s courage, Mrs. Quail’s joviality, Hattie’s gentleness, Mrs. Tilling’s diligence. Even you, Mrs. B., bring a gusto and verve to our singing. Every joy, every pain we are feeling from this war will be put to use in our music.” She paused momentarily. “That plus an extra practice on Fridays.”
Mrs. B. looked annoyed. “Where is the competition to be held?”
Prim leaned forward dramatically, speaking in a theatrical whisper. “Litchfield Cathedral, probably the most spiritual and inspiring edifice of them all. The acoustics are among the finest in the country. And if we win, we’ll be in the finals in none other than St. Paul’s Cathedral in London.”
“That sounds jolly grand.” Kitty beamed. “Let’s try and win, shall we?” She went over to Mrs. B. “Go on, Mrs. B., you’ll help us, won’t you?”
“I suppose I may as well give you my support,” she sniffed petulantly. “Only because it’s for the war, mind you.” I knew she wouldn’t be able to stay away, although she stepped haughtily back to the choir stalls like they smelled of horse manure, shooting Mrs. Tilling a look of disgust.
Prim sifted through a pile of sheet music and began to hand it around. “Righty-ho. We’re going to start with a new piece for the competition.”
The sheets went around, and we all shuddered.
“ ‘Ave Maria,’ ” she began, “is a prayer to the Virgin Mary, calling for her divine help in a time of war. I have arranged the piece especially for our choir. Are we ready to try it?”
We gave it the best shot we could, then she took each part through, first the sopranos, then the altos. I could tell that Prim was delighted.
“You see, you made the most glorious sound. I have no doubts now that, with some more practice, we will make it work wonderfully. We can stand together and strong and be a force to be reckoned with.”
At the end, Prim mentioned that if anyone would like to try a solo, she should step forward to audition.
“There are two verses in the arrangement, so two different voices are required. Do we have any takers?”
Kitty was there in a trice. “I’ll do it!”
I couldn’t let Kitty have all the glory, so I stepped forward, too. “I’m sure I can give it a good go.”
Prim waited a few minutes, then raised her voice over the throng. “How about you, Mrs. Tilling? Don’t you think you have voice enough to share with the world?”
She blushed, picked up her handbag, and came over. “Do you really think I could?”
“Well, that’s up to you,” Prim said. “You certainly have the voice. But do you have the nerve?”
A flush went over Mrs. Tilling’s gaunt cheeks.
Prim went over and had a word with Mrs. Quail at the organ, then returned to us.
“We’re going to hear you sing the first verse one at a time.” Mrs. Tilling looked like she might faint, while Kitty simply couldn’t wait.
“Kitty, why don’t you go first?” Prim said, and motioned to Mrs. Quail to start playing.
Kitty sang like she was on stage in front of several thousand adoring operagoers. She raised her eyes to the ceiling when hitting those tricky high notes, and even did that awful warbling sound. It was ghastly.
“Bravo,” Prim gushed at the end.
And I wondered if she was being tactful until Mrs. Tilling joined in. “What a beautiful voice you have, Kitty!”
Kitty grinned in an infuriating manner.
I was considering backing out, except Prim quickly decided it was my turn, Mrs. Quail already playing the introduction.
I sang as well as I could, stumbling over a few words, and not hitting the top notes quite as well as Kitty. But really, my voice is so much nicer than hers. Much more natural sounding.
At the end, Prim and Mrs. Tilling gave a small round of applause and agreed that I had a lovely mellow voice. Kitty looked smugly on, thinking she’d won.
Then it was Mrs. Tilling’s turn, and we know that she sings terrifically well, has done since we can remember. Without her the choir would have been in a lot of trouble. She sang perfectly in tune, all the words right, never wavering from her enchanting alto tone.
“Wonderful, Mrs. Tilling,” Prim said. “The perfect voice for one of our solos.” Then she looked at me, the inevitable coming. “And I’m afraid, Venetia, that I’m going to pick Kitty this time. We’ll need some extra work, and I imagine she has a lot more time than you do, with the War Office job.”
“Yes, you’re completely right,” I said. “I shouldn’t have auditioned really as I don’t have any spare time these days. Maybe next time.”
And with that, seeing Kitty delightedly jumping up and down in the corner of my eye, I got my coat and walked majestically out of the building.
Since then Kitty’s been lording it over me ad nauseam. Silvie and I had to retire to my bedroom to escape. I did her hair up beautifully while she tried on my lipstick. She’s such a sweet creature.
On that note, I must away to get my beauty sleep. I will let you know how my plan to get Mr. Slater proceeds. Success will be mine.
Venetia
Saturday, 27th April, 1940
The Question of Venetia’s Virginity
Why is it that just when you think you know how everything works, something explodes right under your nose and you have to rethink it all through? There was I, merrily going through life thinking that no one did anything except perhaps one or two kisses before they got married, and then, boom! I see the whole act unfold in front of my very eyes.
Things I would dearly like to know
Was Venetia as pure as the driven snow, as we’ve always been taught to be?
Will she have to marry Mr. Slater now?
Will this mean she’ll stop playing her evil games with Henry?
Does anyone else do this before they’re married?
Will I have to?
First of all, let me state that as far as I was concerned, before I saw what I did, Venetia was still a virgin. Mama told both of us that one has to stay a virgin until one gets married, and I must say it has never crossed my mind to question this instruction. I’ve seen plenty of copulation before, so don’t think I’m naïve—bulls mounting cows in the fields, that time Mr. Dawkins brought his mare over for Amadeus to get her pregnant, and the dogs in the stables are at it all the time. And I know what it leads to—babies. So why was Venetia doing it? She’s not married and, as far as I know, she doesn’t want a baby. It was disgusting.
Then I wondered if she’d done it with anyone else, and a cloud of memories flew into my head like a photograph album of every boy she’s ever toyed with. Now that I came to think about it, she could have done it with any of them: Cecil Worthing, David Tilling, even Victor Lovell or, Heaven forbid, Henry. They’d known each other since they were children, grew up as friends, spent many evenings together at parties, perhaps sneaking out into the night for
a quiet kiss that may have led to more. Maybe this was her awful hold over them.
Could Venetia be a harlot?
Angela Quail is most definitely a harlot. I’m sure she did it with Edmund, as they were always touching each other in a most embarrassing way. I think she wanted to be with Henry, too, because she always seemed odd around him, all fluttery. I wonder if he rejected her and chose me instead because he likes proper girls and Angela wears her depravity like a badge of honor. I suppose being the Vicar’s daughter has made her more unruly.
But with Venetia, Daddy would hit the roof.
It all started after my singing lesson with Prim this afternoon, which had gone particularly well as she told me that I had perfect pitch. I couldn’t wait to tell Silvie, and since she wasn’t at home, I trotted off to the stables to see if she was there. It was such a delicious day, all buttery and golden, and I felt as if the world made complete sense. The cherry blossom was just past its best, and pink and white petals cascaded over me as I crossed through the orchard—it was wondrous, like it was snowing tiny soft cushions.
As I passed through the whiffy stable yard, I thought I heard voices by Amadeus’s door. For a brief moment, I wondered if Venetia had taken a funny turn and decided to pay her old horse a bit of attention—she’s completely neglected him since she stopped dressage.
No such luck.
It was Venetia’s voice all right, but she wasn’t talking to Amadeus. I stood on tiptoe to look through a gap in the wooden door and had the perfect view of Mr. Slater, immaculate in gray suit and tie. He looked incredibly out of place in the stable setting, which smelled of sweaty horses and saddle leather. I would have been surprised to see him there, had it not been for Venetia’s little bet with Angela.
But this didn’t seem like a little bet at all.
She was standing close to him looking up at him in the most ridiculous way, her blond hair swept to the side and over one shoulder. Even from where I stood, the gusto of her peachy perfume overpowered the sinewy whiff of manure. She was wearing a dress I’ve never seen before. It was sunflower yellow and shone like silk, with a flowing skirt and low in the front, exposing her cleavage with startling fullness. A white cardigan was draped around her smooth shoulders, making her look young—playful kitten one minute, conniving minx the next.
“What do you have for me?” she said, standing before him, inches away.
“Do you deserve anything?” he asked with a strange half smile on his handsome lips, one eyebrow raised.
“Maybe,” she giggled, twirling her hips so that the gleaming skirt slunk around his legs for a moment, and then cascaded back around hers.
He slid his hand into his inside pocket and slipped out a package. She took it and stood away laughing, opening it. I wanted her to get on and rip it open, but she wavered and hesitated, opening and then closing, running her forefinger over and under the brown paper packaging in a ludicrous way.
Eventually she pulled out a pair of stockings, holding them up in the dim light. Two sheens of slender brown gauze moving gently in the still air, transparent in the dappled light of the dusty window.
With careful deliberation, she took one shoe off, standing as she was in the middle of the small stable and, casting one of the stockings at him, she slipped the other onto her foot and up over her ankle. I felt instantly uncomfortable, as did Mr. Slater, who turned away, busying himself with folding the stocking he held in his hand.
“What do you think of that?” She prompted him to look as she drew the top over her knee and rucked up her dress to pull it up.
He glanced down, and I saw his eyes engage with her long, smooth thigh, now half-covered with the stocking, beige brown below and pearly white skin above.
“They’ll do well enough,” he said, looking away. But his eyes strayed back to her as she kicked off her other shoe.
“Give me the other one,” she breathed, and he handed her the other stocking.
She unfurled it, letting it cascade down in front of her, and then she raised her foot and slipped it over, shimmying the beige haze up her other leg. Again she rucked up her dress, this time to show a white lace garter, to which she carefully attached the top of the stocking. You could even see a glimpse of her undergarments as she brazenly displayed herself in front of him.
“I don’t think you should be doing that,” he said. He hadn’t turned away this time. He was just standing there watching, immersed.
“I wanted to let you see what they look like. A kind of thank-you gift.” She stood up straight but held the skirt of her dress up so that he could view his gift in full glory. See what I mean about her poise, as if she’s played every step before? Then she slipped her shoes back on and raised her skirt a touch higher, placing one foot in front of the other like some kind of actress or showgirl.
“I told you. You’d better leave me be,” he answered, his voice slipping out of his usual witty, upper-class front, his hand pushing back through his hair. Then he recollected himself and added with a half smile, “Or I might not be a perfect gentleman.”
She smirked, a look of determination in her eyes. This was the problem with Venetia—she could never see herself beaten. She wanted Slater, regardless of the price. She took a step toward him and took his hand. I couldn’t see what happened next as she now had her back to me, but I think she must have put his hand on her thigh.
“Venetia,” he whispered. “Do you know what you’re doing?”
“Yes,” she replied, velvet self-assurance in her voice. “I know exactly what I’m doing.”
“I don’t think you do.”
He lowered his face and kissed her extremely forcefully indeed, his other hand coming around the back of her pale shoulders, pulling her in toward him. They stood locked, writhing like that against each other for a few minutes, and then, I have no idea how, they eased themselves onto the hay without stopping kissing. I couldn’t see them as the hole in the door was too narrow, but I knew what they were doing. Like animals in a stable.
Flinging myself out of the yard, I decided to go back home and do some thinking about what I just saw, which is where you find me now. None of my questions seem to be answered, but I now know some things for sure.
Things I know for sure
Venetia has almost certainly done this before
She might have done it more than once before, too (although didn’t have a baby)
She might have done it with Henry, which is why he follows her around
Angela Quail has clearly done it, Vicar’s daughter or not
Now that I come to think of it, there is a lot more of it going on than I thought
I’m still not going to do it until I’m married
Venetia is more serious about Mr. Slater than I thought (or Daddy thought, for that matter)
Daddy will be furious if he ever finds out
This piece of information might come in very useful
With that, I have decided to close the matter, although the image of her standing there is etched onto my mind. How come she’s got it into her mind she can do these things, when we’ve been told that we can’t?
Then I realized. It’s the war. No one cares anymore about saving ourselves for marriage. It’s all about the here and now, letting everything go, enjoying life while we can. Virginity is old hat because we could be dead tomorrow or, worse, be occupied by the Nazis.
That said, I’m not sure I fancy the idea of doing it that much, so I think I’ll just keep mine for now. I’ll have to perfect my solos so that I can become so famous and successful that I never have to think about Venetia and her disgusting little affairs ever again.
3 CHURCH ROW,
CHILBURY,
KENT.
Friday, 3rd May, 1940
Dear Clara,
You have a champion for a sister! Triumphant is how I am, as it wasn’t easy—like Hercules getting through the ruddy Twelve Labors, except that it was only two screaming babies being swapped. But I wasn’t going to let t
hat reward run away from me. Not this time, Clara. Let me tell you the whole.
After a good breakfast spent watching Mrs. Tilling, smartly dressed in her ghastly green WVS uniform, arrive and then depart from Hattie’s house for her usual morning check, I gathered my black bag and moved into the first part of my plan: feeding Hattie the potion.
“Anybody in?” I called as I knocked at the door and pushed it ajar, putting on the most friendly voice I could muster. “Hattie? It’s me, Miss Paltry. Are you upstairs?”
“In the kitchen,” she chanted in her singsong voice.
I walked in to find her pottering around the tiny room, surrounded by soil-coated vegetables dug up from the garden, a sizable leek in one hand.
“I’m glad I found you in,” I smiled. “I saw a midwife friend in Faversham yesterday, and the most remarkable coincidence. I was telling her about your tiredness, and how there was nothing you could take for it, and she told me about a new remedy. She said she has been giving it out for months and every woman has been so happy that she’s quite run out of the stuff!”
“Can I get it anywhere?” Hattie turned, putting down the leek. “I haven’t been able to get out for days now, and I need to visit the children in Litchfield Hospital. I’ve been giving them extra lessons in my spare time, and—”
“As it happened she received a new box while I was there, and I begged her to let me have some for you.”
“You did? How marvelous!” She took a few steps toward me in eagerness, fixing a thick strand of dark hair that had slipped out of its pins. “How much do I owe you?”
“It was quite pricey, dear, because it’s so much in demand,” I said, putting my head on one side to add an extra cheeriness. “But I’ll give you a special price of thruppence ha’penny for the dose.”
She got some change from her purse and handed me a few coins. I checked the money (it was a ha’penny short, but I decided not to press her for it) and then I took the brown bottle out of my bag, along with a teaspoon.
The Chilbury Ladies' Choir Page 7