Song of Songs

by Beverley Hughesdon

  ‘Well, they’ve shot a Hapsburg now, in Sarajevo – it’s not on.’

  Uncle Arnold shrugged. ‘But Sarajevo’s in their own Empire – I don’t see how they can blame Serbia for that.’

  ‘It says here this feller, this assassin, was a Serb, a Serb Orthodox – they’ll blame Serbia all right.’

  Lady Maud joined in. ‘Quite right too – it’s time they were taught a lesson.’

  Eddie stabbed his bacon. ‘Not another war in the Balkans, it’s not fair, they have all the luck – one a year.’

  Papa put down his paper. ‘Well, Serbia’s nothing to do with the British Empire, I’m glad to say – we’ve got enough problems with Ireland.’ He began to talk about the real crisis, in Ireland, but it flowed over my head unheard. I sat in a happy dream. This time next year I would be entertaining my brothers at my own breakfast table – and perhaps even leaving them briefly for a visit to the nursery? I blushed and blushed and dreamt my dreams.

  Gerald wrote to say that he would not be coming back to Hatton until the beginning of the following week. I felt dismay as I read his small neat handwriting – his letter was brief, he would be spending the weekend with a friend in Leicestershire – but he said Moira Staveley had been delighted by his choice and would be writing to me. He was having the ring altered and would bring it with him. The ring! I looked down at my left hand, and then almost ran to the music room. I played and sang Schumann’s Frauen Liebe und Leben with a full heart. But I did not sing the whole song – and for a moment the last stanza with its ominous message of loss darkened my joy – so I put it from me and dwelt instead on the time when I would hold him to my heart and tell him of the coming cradle: the cradle from which his image would smile up at me. I remembered how I had first learnt to sing those words in Munich, with an impossible wish in my heart – and now that wish had come true.

  It seemed almost an anticlimax to go off to smoky, dirty Manchester for my singing lesson, but Madame Goldman was expecting me. My brothers said they fancied an outing and drove me there in their new Sunbeam. Just as they came back to collect me a very ruffled Wally Jenkins burst in. ‘Madame, whatever shall I do? That little wretch Flo Morten has gone down with a bad throat – she can’t possibly sing tonight – and we’re booked for the Ainsclough and District Co-operative Society’s annual concert!’

  Madame Goldman was soothing. ‘Do not fret so, Waltraute, we will find someone else.’

  Wally gave an emphatic shake of the head. ‘We won’t find another soprano who can sing the Barcarolle with me – you know there’s no time to rehearse it properly – and it was to be the highlight of our programme!’ Then her mouth opened in a round ‘O’ and she stared at me before looking back at Madame Goldman; their eyes met, and Wally moved purposefully in my direction. ‘Lady Helena, you can sing the Barcarolle – we rehearsed it lots of times last year – we could have a short practice this morning, if Madame is agreeable?’ Madame Goldman inclined her head. ‘There! And I know you can sing most of Flo’s programme – we can always change the odd item – but the Barcarolle, we must have the Barcarolle, it was a special request.’

  I burst out laughing. ‘Oh Wally! How can I possibly sing at – where was it? The Ainsclough and District Coop’s concert? Mother would have a fit.’

  Eddie broke in, ‘Mother wouldn’t know. Anyway, you sang at Hammersmith, didn’t you?’

  I gaped at my traitorous brother. ‘But Eddie, that was quite different – it was an amateur group. This is a paid concert – I couldn’t possibly take a fee!’

  ‘Then put it in the plate on Sunday.’

  ‘Eddie, that’s not the point – there’s Gerald, suppose Gerald found out? I couldn’t, I couldn’t.’

  It was Robbie who said thoughtfully, ‘You could go in some sort of disguise, Hellie – obviously if you walk up on to the platform in a silk creation from Mirette’s and are announced as The Lady Helena Girvan, then there would be a sensation – but you don’t have to do that, for goodness’ sake.’

  I protested weakly, ‘But…’

  Wally’s face was alive. ‘I could lend you one of my sister’s dresses, Lady Helena.’

  ‘And you could call yourself Miss Girvan,’ Eddie jumped in quickly. ‘I know, Miss Nellie Girvan, the aspiring young soprano! Well, that’s settled – we’ll dine early in Manchester and run you both up there ourselves. Can’t say fairer than that, can we Robbie?’

  Robbie nodded, his eyes alight with mischief. I was still protesting when Madame’s accompanist struck up the first bars of the Barcarolle, then I gave in and began to sing.

  I borrowed a dress and coat from Liliane, though I wore my own string of pearls – I did not think the honest burghers of Ainsclough would come near enough to judge their quality. Eddie made our excuses to Mother and we set off. As we turned out past the North Lodge I felt a sudden rush of excitement; we were a group of naughty children playing truant, and Lady Helena Girvan would be left behind at Hatton Park – Miss Nellie Girvan would sing in Ainsclough tonight! Ainsclough – I did not even know where it was.

  Wally was waiting for us at the Royal Exchange. As soon as she had climbed into the car she said to me, ‘Now, don’t open your mouth more than you have to, Lady Helena.’

  ‘But how can I…’

  ‘I mean off the stage, of course. Folks do expect singers to speak differently, but not with your accent.’ ‘Accent – I don’t have an accent, Wally!’ I was indignant.

  ‘You’ll have one to Ainsclough and District Co-op, my lady. Take the left turn for Bolton, Mr Girvan.’

  I sat astounded – how could I have an accent? Servants had accents, even the middle class gave their origins away, but we, we spoke correctly!

  We bumped over the setts of Bolton and out into open country. The Sunbeam growled as Robbie changed gear for the long pull up over the empty moorland. We climbed through small stone villages and up on to the rounded tops until at last we began to run down a steep hill and saw before us a small smoky town, in a valley which sprouted high black chimneys instead of trees. So this was Ainsclough, the scene of Miss Nellie Girvan’s first – and last – performance. I began to giggle to myself.

  The dignitaries of the Ainsclough and District Cooperative Society welcomed us warmly, with moustaches brushed and quivering, oiled hair plastered down over their round heads and broad smiles on their ruddy faces. ‘Glad you could come along at such short notice, Miss Girvan – it were right good o’ you. Now don’t be frightened, lass – Miss Jenkins here says you’ve not sung often in public – but we’ll not eat you.’ The chairman bared a row of gleaming china teeth.

  I smiled and shook sweaty palms but said little, as Wally had instructed, and in a very short space of time we were on the platform. I felt a sudden devastating shiver of nervousness, then the strings began to tune up, the conductor raised his baton and the orchestra embarked briskly on Balfe’s Siege of La Rochelle overture; I forced myself to concentrate.

  In a dream I rose to my feet, smiled to the pianist and waited for my cue. When it came I parted my lips and launched into Edward German’s ‘Daffodils’. As my last pianissimo, ‘growing’, died away over the packed hall, I felt a surge of sheer joyous light-heartedness sweep through me – I was intoxicated by the occasion.

  The tall thin tenor sang ‘O vision entrancing! O lovely and light’ to the accompaniment of the orchestra. The pianist followed with a Mendelssohn solo and then it was Wally’s turn. As I listened to her full, rich voice singing del Riego’s ‘Slave Song’:

  Bright bird, light bird,

  Bird with the purple wing,

  Do you bring me a letter,

  Or do you bring me a ring?

  I thought that never had the world been so fair a place – even Ainsclough Co-op Hall seemed a gilded palace tonight.

  It was my turn again, Arline’s song from The Bohemian Girl. With a delicious sense of the ridiculous I sang: ‘I dreamt that I dwelt in marble halls’ – for though Ainsclough Co-op Society co
uld never guess, I did dwell in the marble-pillared hall of Hatton – and soon I would be boasting of an even higher ancestral name. But then the sentimental words caught hold of me, and with a rapturous longing in my heart I sang:

  ‘But I also dreamt, which pleased me most.

  That you loved me still the same,

  That you loved me, you loved me still the same,

  That you loved me, you loved me still the same.’

  We were a success; the applause for the concluding Barcarolle was deafening. All our encores had been demanded before a radiant Wally led me off the platform.

  In the Sunbeam afterwards Robbie suddenly burst out into a roar of laughter. ‘Oh Hellie’ – he wiped his eyes – ‘I’ll never forget it, never as long as I live – you up there singing,’ he produced a squeaky falsetto and parodied: ‘“And I dreamt that one of that noble host came forth my hand to claim,” and little did that solid Lancastrian audience guess that one of the noble host already had made his claim – and it was the future Marchioness of Staveley who was entertaining them in the guise of a humble singing lass! Your face, you looked just like a hen who’s laid a double yolker!’ He laughed and laughed, and Eddie joined in so that his hands shook on the steering wheel and we veered dangerously for a moment; then we settled down to the long pull out of the grimy little valley and back to civilization.

  Chapter Eight

  Hugh and Alice arrived the day before Gerald came back: Alice was profuse in her congratulations. ‘Just think, Hellie, you’ll outrank Mother – how delicious! Oh why did I make do with a boring old barrister instead of waiting for a dashing cavalry officer to sweep me off my feet and carry me away on his black charger – straight to his ironstone quarries in Northants! Oh, you are lucky!’

  Hugh stood behind her, looking very serious; I hoped that Alice’s careless words had not hurt him.

  In the drawing room later he drew me on one side. ‘Forgive my asking, Helena, but are you in love with Prescott?’ I stared at him in amazement and he reddened. ‘I mean – you didn’t accept him just because you were flattered – an older man, distinguished war record, title and all that?’

  I was deeply wounded. How could Hugh accuse me of such a thing? ‘I fell in love with him the first time I ever saw him, when I was only fifteen. And I’ve never changed since.’

  Hugh’s face was scarlet now. He patted my shoulder awkwardly. ‘I’m sorry, Hellie old girl, I suppose I shouldn’t have asked that, only – you’re so young and innocent, and well, I’m dashed fond of you, you know – I do want you to be happy.’

  My face was glowing as I raised it to him. ‘I will be, Hugh, I will be.’

  That afternoon I wandered out into the garden, dreaming of Gerald. Without thinking I found myself outside the entrance to the maze. I stopped abruptly – I had scarcely been inside it since that summer evening which had resulted in my being sent to Munich; I certainly did not want to go in now. How badly I had behaved that night, and how thankful I was now that Mother had arrived when she did. I remembered Conan’s searching hands and probing tongue and trembled. I loved Gerald, I was betrothed to him – yet we had not even kissed. Our love was pure and spiritual, not a greedy, thoughtless, tangling of bodies.

  The next day Gerald arrived back only just in time for dinner. I had lingered downstairs as long as I could but Alice finally chased me up to dress with a laughing, ‘You want to look your best, Hellie,’ and of course I did. When Liliane had piled my hair up high I peered into the mirror and thought it made my neck look longer than ever, so I suddenly tugged it down and told her to dress it low at the back instead. Her fingers moved swiftly but the second bell had sounded before I flew downstairs, and I only had time for a brief greeting before we went in to dinner. At the table he talked of his journey, and asked if I had been singing while he was away. I remembered my excursion to Ainsclough and became tongue-tied – I barely stammered a reply. Mother glared at me and asked him his plans for hunting next season, Alice chipped in and the conversation became general. I sat back in relief and watched him; he looked very pale and tired.

  After dinner my brothers and Papa quickly joined us, but Hugh and Gerald stayed on in the dining room. I hung around the tea tray, fiddling with the tea spoons, until Mother told me sharply to sit down. When Gerald finally came in with my brother-in-law I felt so shy I scarcely dared glance at him, but I saw Hugh nod in my direction before he moved over to Alice. Gerald marched straight across the room to me, his face very determined. My heart thumped.

  ‘Helena, it’s such a fine evening – would you care for a stroll on the terrace?’ Without a word I stood up and took his proferred arm. We stepped out of the long window and into the balmy night air. A shaft of light shone out from the house behind us and I risked a glance up at him: his mouth was tightly set and he was staring grimly ahead. My stomach lurched; what had he and Hugh been talking about for so long? Why had Hugh questioned me? And where had he been this past week? I had never seen him with a woman in Society but there were other women – men became entangled with them – the twins had dropped hints about Guy. A black wave of jealousy engulfed me, my chest heaved and I gripped his arm and dragged him to a halt. He turned, startled. In a voice that was ragged with fear I demanded, ‘Lord Gerald – you must tell me – is there, is there another woman in your life?’

  For a long moment we stood facing each other; my heart seemed to stop beating. Then he said, very gently, ‘No, Helena – I can assure you of that. There is not, and never has been, any woman but you. And there never will be.’ His voice was completely decided. My knees gave way and I threw myself against him, clinging to him, burying my hot face in his shirtfront. His strong arm supported me as he gently stroked my hair in the dark garden. I began to cry. ‘No tears, sweet Helena, no tears. Come, it’s time I kissed you.’ Slowly I raised my face and his soft lips pressed against mine. Then he drew back his head and said, ‘I will be a true and loving husband to you, Helena, I promise.’

  As he spoke the crescent moon shone in the black velvet sky and carved his face in ivory. ‘Hold out your hand, my love.’ The Prescott betrothal ring slipped easily over my knuckle. I raised myself on tiptoe and kissed his cheek in thanks, and knew I would love him forever.

  The next morning Alice and Hugh were moving on to Yorkshire, leaving Hugo and William behind at Hatton. Nanny brought the children down to see them off; William stomped out and climbed on to the running board, saying, ‘Me go on train – me and ’Ugo and Nanny on train.’

  Alice was impatient. ‘Oh, don’t be such a silly boy, you can’t possibly come with us.’

  His small face crumpled and Gerald spoke quickly, ‘Lady Alice, Helena and I could escort them to Manchester, and see you on to the York express, if you’re agreeable.’

  William, scenting success, ran to Gerald and wrapped his short arms round his long leg. My heart turned over when I saw the expression on Gerald’s face as he looked down at the child. I called to my sister, ‘Yes Alice, we’ll come with you to Manchester. Nanny, I’ll ring for your hat and coat – there’s plenty of time.’

  Nanny grumbled a little at the hustle but I could see she was pleased at the idea of an outing with Gerald and myself.

  We waved Alice and Hugh off at Victoria. Hugo gazed wistfully after his father’s diminishing hand and William’s lower lip trembled ominously. Gerald squatted down beside him. ‘I say, old man, how about coming and having a look at one of those engines – you’d like that, wouldn’t you?’

  William’s mouth became a round O. ‘Yes please, sir.’ Hugo was eager.

  I glanced across at Nanny. She said automatically, ‘Nasty smelly things,’ but there was a beatific smile on her face as she looked at Gerald. I could see that the nursery at Bessingdon was enlarging before her eyes.

  Gerald led us down the platform to a waiting black monster. The driver was agreeable so Hugo scrambled up the side like a monkey; behind him Gerald swung William safely up into the strong hands of the young firema
n, seized the rail, and climbed lithely up on to the footplate. High-pitched boys’ questions received rumbling replies. I reached out a hand to stroke the burnished steel hand rail and Nanny said, ‘Don’t touch, my lady – you’ll dirty your nice clean gloves.’ To tease her I simply peeled them off and clasped the shining rail with my bare hand. Gerald’s sapphire blazed blue fire in a shaft of sunlight. I gazed at it, smiling to myself.

  A voice spoke above my head. ‘I enjoyed your singing – at Ainsclough last week.’ My head jerked up; as the grimy seamed face of the engine driver smiled down at me, my face flamed.

  Nanny was peering anxiously up at the chimney. ‘Just look at those nasty black smuts – do take care, my lady.’ My title seemed to ring out, and I saw behind the driver’s head the broad, sweat-streaked face of the fireman; his blue eyes were alight and his mouth was one wide white grin. They both glanced down at the winking sapphire on my left hand, then the driver gestured over his shoulder. ‘Don’t you worry lass – us’ll not let cat out o’ bag.’ He ducked back into the cab and I was left for a moment looking into the young fireman’s blue eyes, then he winked and turned away. I stood, taking deep breaths, trying to cool my burning cheeks as Nanny chattered on.

  Gerald climbed down first, guiding Hugo. The fireman vaulted on to the platform after them, held up his brawny arms for William and swung him safely down in turn. Gerald reached into his pocket; there was the clink of coins and the fireman’s large fist closed round the silver; with a ‘Thank you, sir’ and a touch of his cap he sprang back on to his engine.

  Hugo and William chattered on to Gerald about fire boxes and brick arches as we walked up the platform; I felt a giggle welling up inside me – Miss Nellie Girvan had been exposed, by a grimy-faced engine driver! I could hardly wait to tell the twins – how they would laugh.

  On the train back to Hareford, Gerald lifted William up on to the seat and held him firmly, so that he could look out of the window. William pointed at the horses in the streets and the cows in the fields, and asked endless, repetitive questions. Gerald painstakingly answered every one, until Nanny leant forward and said to said to me in a loud whisper, ‘There’s not many gentlemen have the patience of my lord here when it comes to the nursery.’ I saw the pink flush rise in Gerald’s fair skin as his arm steadied William’s chubby body. Perhaps by this time next year? A matching blush rose in my throat.