by May Burnett
“I shall have it sent to the Hall tomorrow,” his daughter endorsed this suggestion. “Mother warned me it is difficult to learn, when she advised me to choose the piano instead. I am not sure how far you can get on it without a teacher, Margaret. If you like the flute, as far as I am concerned you are most welcome to keep it.”
The Vicar nodded approvingly. “Indeed, here it merely gathers dust.”
Miss Bellairs looked pleased. “Thank you, Mr. Langley, Vanessa.” William approved of the easy way the two girls called each other by their first names. Margaret needed more youthful friends.
“With so many eager musicians in temporary residence, we should arrange a musical evening – a small concert with refreshments,” Lady Milldale suggested. “Would all of you young people be willing to perform? Maybe at the end of next week? Then we could enjoy the duet as well as Margaret’s lovely playing. I suppose we must also have Ruth Harris sing, and I might play a short piece myself, if I find I am not too rusty.”
“It sounds like an excellent notion. Maybe some of the gentlemen might be persuaded to sing a ballad?” the Vicar suggested. “What about you, Mr. Trey, your voice sounds like a basso to me?”
“Yes, though I can sing baritone too,” William admitted. “I can carry a tune, but prefer to sing with others. I particularly enjoy choir music.”
“We must have a sample of your singing after dinner, Mr. Trey,” Miss Langley said. “I had no idea you were hiding your light under a bushel.”
Miss Bellairs looked at him thoughtfully. “I am also looking forward to hearing you sing. Here we have talked so often, and you never mentioned it!”
William shifted uncomfortably. He did not want the other guests, or her mother, to get the wrong idea. Gossip could arise out of the most innocent remark. “That is because we have mostly been discussing the repairs to your Hall, Miss Bellairs.”
Sir Reginald turned to William. “Talking of that, how are those works progressing? Are they taking up all your time?”
“The roof is done, and the indoor work is progressing well. We should be able to finish everything in two more weeks, apart from the gardens, which will take longer. I am not strictly needed all the time; my assistant is perfectly competent to supervise the actual work, once I give detailed orders. Miss Bellairs contributed excellent sketches that help to show the men what is expected.” In fact he had been hanging around the site far longer than the work strictly required, for motives that were anything but professional.
“Good, if you have time at your disposal, I would like to consult you regarding the old dower house on my property. It has not been used for two decades, and I need to decide whether to tear it down or restore it, if the structure is still sound enough to make it worthwhile.”
“It would be my pleasure to inspect it and advise you,” William replied. While he would not charge anything for such advice, additional work was always welcome.
“It would be a terrible shame to tear the dower house down,” Margaret said. “We played there as children. As I remember, the proportions are pleasing. With a little modern embellishment, it could be a perfectly attractive dwelling.”
“That remains to be seen,” Sir Reginald said. “I shall feel a pang if it has to be torn down, but if the foundations should be humid, or anything like that is found, it will not do to be sentimental.”
Margaret looked abstracted, a hundred miles away in her thoughts. William guessed that in her mind, she was picturing the old house as she would embellish it, if given her head. If it could be reclaimed, he would request her to sketch what she had in mind.
“Have you identified any suspect for the burglary at Bellairs Hall yet, Sir Reginald?” the Vicar asked. “I worry about these ladies, protected only by a dog and servants that sleep at quite a distance.”
The baronet scowled at the reminder. “No, worse luck. I want to recover that necklace, and I am keeping a close eye on some fellows, but without the slightest proof or reasonable suspicion I cannot go searching any houses.”
“It would be futile,” Mrs. Bellairs stated. “I am convinced that the theft was committed by our own servants. It was against my strong protest that Margaret recruited two of them from the workhouse.”
“Really? I wonder if that was advisable,” Lord Laxeley murmured.
Margaret’s eyes flashed. “How are people there ever to improve their lives, if nobody will trust them enough to provide respectable employment? I have had a taste of poverty, Lord Laxeley, and it is not pleasant, I can tell you. I do not wish it on anyone.”
There was an awkward silence at this speech. William wanted to chuckle at the scandalized expressions on the older faces. Trust Margaret to upset their notions of modest womanhood with her passion and strong opinions. It was like setting a tiger cub amongst a flock of sheep. They would never truly understand her.
“Have you searched the servant quarters?” Lady Milldale asked Mrs. Bellairs.
“Margaret will not hear of it.”
“I will do that only if I have any reasonable grounds for suspicion,” Margaret declared. “That window was broken from the outside. Our servants aren’t devious enough to create that appearance on purpose.”
Chapter 19
The next morning brought yet more correspondence; a letter from Emily to her mother, and separate letters from Lady Amberley to Mrs. Bellairs and Margaret.
Dear Margaret, the Countess wrote,
I have received word from your sister that we shall have the pleasure to see you all at Amberley in November. However, Emily also writes that you have forsaken town and sought the rural solitude of your native village. It occurs to me that she cannot yet have had time to consult you, and that your mother and you may have formed other plans in the meantime. If so, do let me know!
Rural solitude? Nothing could be further from the truth. It pleased Margaret, however, that she had received an invitation of her own, and was not after all completely taken for granted.
I confess I hope that is not the case. I have chosen our house party carefully, so as to offer up at least two gentlemen that may please you better than your previous suitors.
Margaret sighed. Marianne meant well, but the prospect of being inspected by marriage-minded gentlemen, and inspecting them in return, did not entice her at all. More of the same… it all seemed so calculated and cold-blooded. Though that might be unfair; only her mother had pressured to accept any of the men who showed an interest in her. Emily, Anthony and Marianne were more subtle and tactful.
“I want to know all about the treasure you found – you lucky girl! And if you could bring yourself to play in company, just now and then, I would be most obliged. To tempt you properly, I am enclosing notes for three pieces by a Mr. Schubert of Vienna that I hope will please you – even if you only play them for yourself. A friend of George’s recently brought them back from the Austrian capital.
Please let me know how you are going on in Derbyshire, and what you think of these romantic songs. In the meantime, I sign with affection, as your friend
Marianne.
Margaret eagerly checked the enclosed scores, already hearing the melodies in her head as her eyes ran down the pages. She could not wait to play them. She had not intended to accept the Milldales’ invitation to practice on their instrument, but this gift changed her mind.
“Marianne is all that is amiable,” Mrs. Bellairs said, looking up from her own letter, “she wanted to ensure that we had not made other plans for November, as she is inviting some gentlemen that might court you. I shall write back today. I assume the letter to you said the same?”
“Yes, and she sent me some music sheets. We do not have any other plans, do we?”
To her surprise, her mother hesitated a few seconds before shaking her head. “No. But I am in no great hurry to leave Bankington, now we are back among old friends. If the repairs should take a bit longer, I would not greatly mind.”
That was unexpected. Willing to stay on, despite the noise an
d dust, and not one word about missing the most crucial days of her grandchild’s growth?
“If you are hoping that a few extra days will make a match with Lord Laxeley more likely, I must disabuse you.”
Her mother did not reply, and Mrs. Carney shook her head. What was going on? Since she herself was in no particular hurry to depart, Margaret said nothing more, and went back to studying the scores.
“I want to try these out right away. I shall walk to Milldale Manor with the dog,” she announced. Instead of the expected encouragement to spend time with Lord Laxeley while there, to try to fascinate him, her mother only said distractedly, “Oh, good. Give my regards to Lady Milldale.”
Unable to reconcile her parent’s behaviour with her previous conduct, Margaret looked questioningly at Mrs. Carney, but only encountered a bland smile. Had the companion prevailed upon Mrs. Bellairs to leave her daughter in peace? She had never managed to do so before.
As Margaret downed the last of her tea, a servant from the Vicarage arrived with a parcel. It contained the promised flute and a short note from Vanessa. This seemed to be a day for musical gifts. Margaret blew into the flute right away, “to see if there is any dust inside,” – but the result led to immediate, vigorous protests by the older ladies. Mrs. Carney tartly informed Margaret that while she was always pleased to hear her on the piano, it was uncouth to subject helpless victims to a beginner’s attempts on a new instrument.
“I did not realize that flutes were quite so loud,” Mrs. Bellairs added plaintively.
Margaret begged their pardon, and went to fetch her pelisse and Berry’s leash for the walk to Milldale Manor. She would return to her experimentation with the flute when the other ladies went out in the afternoon. Her mother had mentioned yet another meeting with the Vicar, to interview a local stonemason. It was really amazing how much consultation her simple project required. But then Mrs. Bellairs had never been known for especial quickness and efficiency. Just as well that she had found something to keep her busy.
***
Though the lady of the house was absent, the Milldales’ butler had received the proper orders. After the dog had been entrusted to a groom’s care, he immediately led Margaret to the deserted music room. She put off pelisse and hat, stripped off her gloves, and placed Marianne’s Austrian scores upon the instrument. Moments later she was lost in music. Emotions and inchoate memories welled up and were dispersed by the familiar magic, only to be succeeded by other feelings for which she had no name.
A tricky passage tore her out of the near-trance. Margaret replayed it several times, but was still not entirely satisfied. Though she had mastered the technical difficulty, the expression was not up to her usual standard. If she was going to perform this piece in public by next week, she required two or three additional practice sessions.
After playing for some indeterminate time – two hours? More? – Margaret heard a rustling sound and turned. Lord Laxeley was leaning against the wall near the music room’s entrance. She had not even noticed the door open and close.
“Forgive me, Miss Bellairs, for intruding on your practice,” the Viscount said. “I was merely fetching my cello, to carry to the Vicarage; but I could not resist staying to listen. I will not disturb you further.”
She was slightly irritated, but strove not to show it openly. “It is of no consequence, Lord Laxeley. You will hear these pieces at your aunt’s musicale, when I have better control over the phrasing.”
“It already sounded perfect to me.”
Margaret could have pointed out that this impression betrayed his lack of true mastery, but why bother? She stood up, leaving the sheets of music on the piano, ready for her next session. “For today, I think I have played enough. When you see Miss Langley for your duet practice, would you transmit my thanks to her, for the flute she sent me in the morning?”
“Gladly. She is a most charming young lady, as well as an excellent hostess. You are friends?”
Were they? Not quite yet, but getting there. “I hope so, though we do not yet know each other all that well. Miss Langley is two years my junior. In childhood that meant more than it does today, when we are both out.”
She watched approvingly as Laxeley packed his cello into the padded case with care. It spoke well of him that he performed the task himself, instead of entrusting the instrument to a servant.
As they emerged from the music room a footman was waiting, to conduct them to Lady Milldale. She had returned from her calls and was entertaining Mrs. Harris and the twins in her drawing room.
“Ah, Miss Bellairs, I am happy that you took such prompt advantage of our offer to use the piano. Would you like some tea?”
“No, I shall have some when I get home. Thank you once again for the use of the instrument, Ma’am. I am not truly happy without music. And today I received new scores from a friend, in the mail, that I could not resist trying out. I left the notes on the piano, – I hope you do not mind, Lady Milldale. If I am to do these new pieces full justice by next week, I shall require at least two more practice sessions.”
Lady Milldale smiled graciously. “Every day, whenever you like; our piano is entirely at your disposal. I myself am not going to perform after all, since both the Misses Harris have kindly offered to entertain us instead. Miss Ruth will sing a French ballad, and Miss Betty promised to play a sonata she has been practicing for just such an occasion.”
“The ballad is entirely respectable,” Mrs. Harris hastened to add. “Even if it is French.”
“So I should hope,” Lady Milldale said. “You know how much I abhor anything fast or improper.”
“I look forward to your performance, Miss Harris,” Margaret said to Ruth. “I like French ballads and from the other evening, I remember that your voice is very expressive.”
Ruth beamed at the compliment.
“You speak French?” Lady Milldale asked Margaret.
“Of course she does,” Betty Harris said before Margaret could reply. “Miss Bellairs is perfect, and can do anything at all, better than anyone else.”
Ruth gasped at her sister’s snide tone. Lady Milldale frowned, and Lord Laxeley threw the girl a scornful look.
“Betty!” Mrs. Harris expostulated.
Betty shrugged unrepentantly. “Will you excuse me, Ma’am?” she asked Lady Milldale, and flounced out, head high.
There were a few moments of awkward silence after the door had closed behind her. Mrs. Harris harrumphed, as though choking on an apology for her daughter’s lack of manners, but said nothing; the look she directed at Margaret was a mixture of regret and dislike.
Acting as though the small scene had never occurred, Margaret replied to Lady Milldale in a calm voice. “I am indeed fairly fluent in French, as well as Italian. During our time abroad, this proved very useful. On the continent French is understood far more often than English.”
“It cannot have been easy for you, having to deal with all those foreigners every day, and in their own language yet,” Lady Milldale said. “They are not even Protestants. Papists all, I do believe?”
“The differences are not as great as you might imagine,” Margaret said, but desisted when she met a look of blank incomprehension. Religion was frowned upon as a subject in drawing rooms, for good reason. Well, she had only come for the piano, and had no desire whatsoever to linger and dispute Lady Milldale’s prejudices about life in other countries.
Her thoughts must not have been hidden as well as she thought, for Lord Laxeley said, “Naturally your travels will have given you a wider perspective of such matters, Miss Bellairs. I wonder if it is your time abroad that gave you that special polish, and admirable poise?”
Was that intended as a compliment? Poise or not, Margaret felt subtly uncomfortable. She disliked receiving such remarks in the presence of another, ignored young lady, though Ruth Harris did not seem to mind.
She quickly took her leave and retrieved her dog from the Milldale stables. Berry must have been rolling in t
he straw, for several bits were clinging to her fur, even after she had thoroughly shaken her body and scratched behind her ears.
As Margaret walked homewards, she wondered how Mr. Trey would like the new music. Whatever praise he gave would not make her uncomfortable, or lead her to doubt his sincerity. Would he be at the house, supervising the work, when she got back?
Insensibly her steps quickened, to Berry’s delight. The dog longed to see if there were any treats waiting for her in the kitchen.
Chapter 20
Informed by the kitchen maid that supplies were running low, the next day Margaret walked to the village on foot to place orders with the local shops, with Berry for company and protection. She ended with the butcher – “that big animal does not feed itself”, the kitchen maid had complained in no uncertain terms. The dog was adapting to the leash, but now and then would still stop to sniff at a particular tuft of grass or heap of fallen leaves. Margaret let her indulge these canine pleasures, within reason, as she was not in any particular hurry to return.
The day was windy and cool; she was glad of her warm woollen pelerine and leather gloves. Had her hat not been firmly pinned on, it might well have been carried away by the wind that impatiently tugged at its rims, and made the fallen leaves dance under the chestnut trees on the village green.
Margaret was just turning homewards when Mrs. Dorringley, Mrs. Harris and Mrs. Buckley came walking in the opposite direction. When she greeted these ladies, all three ostentatiously turned their faces away and refrained from any response.
Margaret stopped in dismayed surprise. What could be the matter? Had she just been cut dead? Despite all the troubles she had already lived through, such an experience – or rather, she amended her thought, such an insult – was new to Margaret. Even when her father lay dying and they were hounded by his creditors, the extent of his ruin becoming more appallingly clear by the day, the neighbours had at least returned her salutations. How dared they behave so? Mrs. Dorringley, who had cruelly wronged her with her lies, and Mrs. Harris, whose daughter had only yesterday been impertinent and jealous to Margaret’s face? Who did these women think they were? Margaret felt a flush of anger rise, and her breath came fast as she walked homewards, tugging on Berry’s leash in her impatience. The dog quickly understood that this was no longer a time for aimless sniffing.