by Bell, Julia
As the last note died away, I kept perfectly still and waited. There was silence; a silence that was almost deafening and I closed my eyes as a cold sweat passed over me. The audience obviously didn’t want to be reminded of a war that had taken place in a far-off country in another time and they were showing their disapproval in the only way they could. Dear God, I thought desperately, I hope they don’t walk out.
But slowly the atmosphere completely changed and the effect was astonishing. Clapping started and it rose to a crescendo. People came to their feet and the cheering went on and on. I curtsied and smiled and then Martha passed me the basket of flowers. I threw them into the audience and when every blossom had gone, I left the stage.
“That was incredible,” said Andrew, shaking his head in disbelief.
I slumped into the armchair in the dressing room, exhausted to the point of nausea. “I thought I’d made a big mistake at first. There was no response.”
He chuckled with amusement. “They didn’t respond because they couldn’t. Do you realise you had most of them in tears?” He blew out a breath. “Well, everyone should adore you now.”
“Even the young men who catch my flowers?” I asked cheekily.
He squeezed my hand. “They adored you from the start.”
That was the end of my four days in Birmingham and then we moved on to Coventry for a two-night run. It was shortly after that, that the papers began to call me the Lady of the Flowers. I thought it quite sweet.
After Coventry came Northampton, Norwich and then Cambridge. As I had suspected, the theatres started to blend into one another, the towns and cities just a name on the railway station sign. Miss Rupp and Danny enjoyed themselves and she taught him all she could about the places we passed through. But for me, although I enjoyed my brief time on the stage, I began to tire of living out of a suitcase. What’s more, the tour was not helping to mend my broken heart. If anything, the pain of the last year, of losing Brett had become even more acute.
Yes, I should have known better. It’s a simple fact that heartache cannot be left behind, its annoying presence accompanies a person wherever they go. As my popularity grew, so did the pain and the Lady of the Flowers found she couldn’t think beyond the next town, the next hotel, the next theatre. And all the while Brett’s shocked expression as I had closed the hotel door on him, continued to haunt me like a terrible nightmare that refused to end.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
“Where are we?” yawned Danny, as we hissed through a station.
I smiled and pulled the blanket closer round him. “We’ll be coming into Colchester in about thirty minutes,” I said.
He gave another huge yawn. “After this one, we go to Claythorpe. I’m really looking forward to that.”
“What! You’re looking forward to seeing Abigail again?”
“Yes, I am,” he said defiantly. “Abigail isn’t too bad. Anyway, I think Miss Rupp will sort her out.”
I couldn’t help laughing. We had been on the road for six weeks and I was relieved that Danny would spend the month of May in Hampshire. The weather was beautiful and passing through the countryside was an absolute delight. We followed the contours of the hills and sometimes we saw the frisky spring lambs as they played in the warm sunshine alongside their mothers. The woodlands were filled with bluebells; the meadows with foxgloves and buttercups.
It seemed I was now famous and ever eager to please my audience, my repertoire had expanded to include more popular songs. Andrew had wagged his finger at me and said that he didn’t want me turning into a music hall artiste, but I knew that the people loved the songs that they could sing along to. And the money was mounting up. My bank balance had never looked so healthy. After Colchester, we would say farewell to my son and his governess, while the three of us travelled on to Chelmsford and then Oxford.
I had posted letters to Nan and Diamond and they had sent cuttings from the London newspapers that were following my tour with close interest. I gave them a cursory glance and smiled that they thought it all a great success. ‘The best thing since Jenny Lind’, said The Times. Nan and Diamond had received another letter from Ruth and Gwilym who were docked in Gibraltar at the time of writing and still planned to be home in the summer.
Through the first six weeks, Andrew had been wonderful; taking care of me in a way that softened my heart. Martha warned me once again that he would make me fall in love with him and then I would be married before I knew it. But he hadn’t repeated his marriage proposal for a long time and I was thankful.
The two performances in Colchester went very well and I had established a friendly banter with the audience. The flower throwing continued. It seemed the audience expected it now, although we had stopped buying flowers. I was inundated with bouquets and often my dressing room looked like Covent Garden flower market. The audience also expected me to sing Amazing Grace and I realised that that hymn would follow me wherever I went. The day after the last performance in Colchester, we accompanied Danny and Miss Rupp to the station to catch the train to Basingstoke.
Strangely enough it wasn’t a sad farewell, I was glad to see Danny dropping out of the gruelling timetable, even though he had coped with it very well. But four weeks in Hampshire would be a holiday for him and his excitement at seeing Pegasus again was overwhelming.
As the train pulled away from the platform, I watched his beautiful face peering out at me from the window and we waved until the black smoke from the funnel could no longer be seen.
“They’ll have a lovely time,” said Martha, putting her arm round my waist.
I nodded. “They’ll be back with us by the time we reach Bristol.”
But it was a long month.
The city of Bath was beautiful and although I was scheduled to sing for three nights, we managed to find time to visit the famous Roman baths. A guide showed us around, although his comments that the centurions bathed in the nude, caused Martha to cry out in surprise. We spent a delightful morning sightseeing and shopping and even took tea in the Pump Room.
Andrew was waiting for us when we arrived back at the hotel. “Look what came while you were out.” He waved a piece of paper in front of my face.
“Go on, surprise me,” I said dryly.
“An invitation to sing in Bath Abbey on Sunday.”
I felt stunned. “But why would I want to sing in an abbey?”
“I thought you sang in the chapel back in the Rhondda.”
“That was when I was a slip of a girl.”
He folded his arms and narrowed his eyes at me. “Oh, I get the picture. Miss Emmeline Barri is too high and mighty to sing in a church now.”
My face turned scarlet. “No. What I’m saying is that the timetable is fixed.” I pulled the piece of paper out of his hand. “Are you saying we should break with the timetable and do this?”
“What I’m saying, little songbird of mine, is that it does no harm to stay on God’s side. And besides, we don’t leave Bath until Monday, so you have the time.”
My eyes flicked over the letter. “Oh, this is from the bishop.”
“The Bishop of Bath and Wells?” asked Martha, her face turning ash white.
“The very man,” I nodded.
“Well, that does it, Miss Barri. You can’t turn this invitation down. You’ll be excommunicated if you do.”
Bath Abbey was wonderful and as we walked through it we admired the West Window with its scenes from the Old Testament. The chapels and high altar, the lectern and the early sixteenth century ceiling with its heraldic shields, made us look around us in wonder.
“They want me to sing here?” I asked in amazement.
Andrew nodded toward a man approaching us, who turned out to be the choirmaster. He led us into a small office and in a pleasant but efficient manner asked if I would be so kind as to sing Amazing Grace, with the choir on Sunday. I groaned. I hoped they would ask me to sing any hymn but that one. And then with Andrew and Martha watching me with amusement and bl
ushing to the roots of my hair, I said I would be delighted.
“The Bishop of Birmingham heard about your wonderful rendition, Miss Barri, and told our bishop. And since you are in Bath, we wondered if you’d do us the honour. We have a wonderful choir that will accompany you. You can rehearse with them, so that you’ll feel more comfortable at the evening service.”
I could only nod in agreement.
And I did meet the choir and the organist that Saturday afternoon and I enjoyed the rehearsal. It was lovely to be singing in a place of worship again, especially in one so magnificent as Bath Abbey. Afterwards, I rushed back to the theatre for the final evening performance, before our departure to Bristol.
“You’re going to have to wear something dignified but charming tomorrow,” said Martha, later that night. She pulled out a royal blue skirt and jacket. “This I think, with a pretty blouse and a dainty, velvet hat with the bow at the side.”
I looked up from doing my nails and sighed. I might as well leave it to Martha; she was always right when it came to my dress for any occasion.
We travelled to the abbey in a carriage, since the weather was lovely and mild, the scent of spring flowers drifting on the air. I felt elated that evening and special, as though God had chosen me, even though the invitation had come from the bishop. We entered the huge building through the side door and I was given a seat by the side of the choir, but out of sight of the congregation. I felt very confident even though there were hundreds of people filling the seats. And then the service began.
It was after the Lord’s Prayer that the dean informed the congregation that Miss Emmeline Barri had graciously consented to sing the last hymn and one she had become associated with. I stood and made my way to the front, facing the many people sitting in the nave. I would sing this hymn for Brett, I thought sadly. Perhaps at this very moment, he needed some divine help and comfort. The organ’s deep, rich tones rose to the ceiling and lifting my head and directing my voice to the great West Window and its Old Testament scenes, I started singing.
The words of this well-known hymn seemed to come from my lips as though it was a prayer. And in a way, I was praying. For strength and guidance. And yet I sung it with joy. The choir sang in accompaniment and I knew that the blending of my voice and that of the men and boys of the choir was inspiring.
A feeling of power, of strength surged through me. For some strange reason I suddenly felt that I was being watched. That seems a silly thing to say, since the abbey was packed to overflowing, but this was different. I felt the hairs stand up on the back of my neck.
The hymn came to an end and an appreciative sigh flowed round the abbey. There was no applause, it wasn’t appropriate in a place of worship. I dropped my eyes and then I don’t know how I saw him amongst the multitude of faces that were still watching me. Perhaps it was because he was near the front and once I had seen him, no one else seemed to matter. But there he was and I could see the tender expression in his eyes as he smiled. I resumed my seat next to the choir, my heart pounding like a drum roll, my hands shaking. And at the end of the service, I escaped Bath Abbey as if it was on fire.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
We went straight back to the hotel after the service and dressed for dinner, but my nerves got the better of me and I fumbled with the buttons on my gown and struggled putting silk flowers in my hair. In the end, I had to ask for Martha’s help.
“What is the matter with you, Miss Barri,” she laughed. “I can feel you shaking. Did you see a ghost in the abbey?”
She didn’t know how close to the truth she had come.
Brett had seemed like a ghost, since he was the one person I didn’t expect to see. But a ghost he certainly was not and I wondered what he was doing in Bath. I hadn’t noticed Angelique or Emily and I’m sure I would have if they had been with him. Had he come alone? Had he found out who I was and come searching for me? The only thing I was sure of was that he had been smiling at me and in that smile I had seen that he still loved me.
In the dining room, I found I had no appetite. While Martha and Andrew chatted away, I quickly looked around the opulent glass and gilt room, my eyes searching the tables. But then stupidly, I realised that he couldn’t be staying in the same hotel, since I had been there for four nights and our paths would have crossed before now. I tried to eat, but I found swallowing difficult. I would retire to my room as soon as possible, I decided, and if I received a message that I had a visitor, I would say firmly that I was tired and couldn’t see anyone. It was true. I felt emotionally exhausted and desperately wanted to lay my head on a soft pillow. And once the morning had come, we would catch the train to Bristol and that would give me some breathing space.
It was then I realised I had left my prayer book in the abbey and I let out a groan.
“What is it?” asked Andrew, looking up from pushing the last bit of apple pie on his plate into his mouth.
I shrugged. “I’ve left my prayer book under the seat in the abbey. I forgot to collect it after the service.”
“Get it tomorrow before we set off for the station,” he smiled.
“I’d rather get it tonight. It belonged to my mother and I’d hate to lose it.”
We had finished eating and he threw his napkin on the table. “Then I’ll come with you.”
“Oh, that’s not necessary. It’s only a short walk and it’s not dark yet.”
He shook his head. “No, I’ll accompany you. It’s not safe for a lady to be walking the streets alone at night.”
“In Bath? I think it would be very safe,” I grinned. “It’s full of invalids taking the waters.”
He smiled but I knew he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. Martha said she would retire early and I went upstairs with her, to collect my cape.
When I came down Andrew was standing by the clerk’s desk, holding a piece of paper. He was frowning.
“I’m ready,” I said.
He looked at me blankly. “Pardon?”
I dug him in the ribs. “The abbey, remember? We’re going to search for my prayer book.”
“Yes, quite.” He looked down at the paper again as if bewildered.
“If you’ve changed your mind then please tell me.” I glanced at the letter. “Is it important? By your expression, it seems important.”
He gave me a slight smile and then folding it, shoved it in his jacket pocket.
“Oh, no. Just a confirmation for the booking in Cardiff and Swansea.”
His words made me catch my breath; it was my first visit to my homeland since leaving it ten years before and Andrew had been enthusiastic about including Wales on the list of venues.
“Must give your people the opportunity of seeing you,” he had told me. “They’ll be delighted and proud of their daughter of Wales.” I was looking forward to it very much.
I watched Andrew suspiciously as he tucked the letter away. Perhaps it was from an admirer, a lady who wished to meet him and he was considering the invitation. The revolving doors turned and a tall, well-dressed gentleman appeared in the foyer. My heart almost stopped beating. If I had thought I could escape Brett, I had been sadly mistaken.
He saw us immediately and smiling crossed the floor towards us. I knew my expression showed panic. I watched him as though he was a policeman and I was about to be arrested.
“Good evening, Mrs Asquith. It’s lovely to see you again.”
I cleared my throat. “Good evening, my lord. You look very well.” I turned to Andrew who was staring at him with a dark expression that startled me. I felt uneasy and decided the sooner they became acquainted the better. “Andrew, may I introduce a friend of mine, Viscount Shelbrook. Brett, this is Mr Andrew Perry, my manager.”
They shook hands and although Brett smiled, I could see that Andrew was far from comfortable.
“So, you’re the fellow that’s making Mrs Asquith the toast of England,” Brett chuckled.
“No, Mrs Asquith accomplished that herself,” said Andrew ste
ely-faced. “I’m just guiding her in the right direction.”
Silence fell and I glanced at one and then the other. Brett was all charm and politeness, but Andrew watched him with suspicion. I felt the need to remind him of our errand.
“My prayer book, Andrew. We’re on our way to the abbey, remember?”
“Yes, indeed,” he said slowly.
“Perhaps I could accompany Mrs Asquith,” said Brett. “It’s a lovely night and very mild. The walk would be stimulating.”
Andrew frowned. “I think not, sir. This lady is my responsibility.”
To my amazement, his offhand manner didn’t seem to disturb Brett. “And I appreciate that. However, Mrs Asquith will be perfectly safe in my company.”
Suddenly, I felt like a rabbit being torn apart by two quarrelsome dogs.
“Andrew, you must allow Lord Shelbrook to accompany me,” I said crossly.
“Excuse us for a moment, sir,” said Andrew and placing his hand on my elbow he guided me to the far side of the room. “Isabelle, I can’t let you go off with this man…”
“Gentleman,” I corrected him.
“Very well, gentleman. I don’t know him.”
“But I do.”
“How long have you known him?”
“I met him…the Christmas I visited Claythorpe House. He’s a friend of Lord Waltham.”
Andrew looked over at the man standing patiently by the desk; a man who seemed quite amused at the altercation taking place. “He’s a friend of Alastair’s?” he said slowly.
I nodded. “Yes, and I know I’ll be quite safe with him.” I patted his pocket. “Anyway, haven’t you someone to meet?”
He reeled back as though I had slapped him in the face. He gripped my arm tighter and I winced. “How did you know…?”
“Don’t keep her waiting,” I said quietly. “Ladies don’t like to be kept waiting.”
Andrew gave me the strangest of looks and then sighing in frustration, took my arm once more and led me over to Brett. “Very well, sir. But would you be so kind as to bring her straight back.”