CHAPTER IV
JANE VOLUNTEERS
The duchess plumped down her basket in the middle of the strawberrytable.
"There, good people!" she said, rather breathlessly. "Help yourselves,and let me see you all wearing roses to-night. And the concert-room isto be a bower of roses. We will call it 'LA FETE DES ROSES.' ... No,thank you, Ronnie. That tea has been made half an hour at least, andyou ought to love me too well to press it upon me. Besides, I nevertake tea. I have a whiskey and soda when I wake from my nap, and thatsustains me until dinner. Oh yes, my dear Myra, I know I came to yourinteresting meeting, and signed that excellent pledge 'POUR ENCOURAGERLES AUTRES'; but I drove straight to my doctor when I left your house,and he gave me a certificate to say I MUST take something when I neededit; and I always need it when I wake from my nap.... Really, Dal, itis positively wicked for any man, off the stage, to look as picturesqueas you do, in that pale violet shirt, and dark violet tie, and thosewhite flannels. If I were your grandmother I should send you in to takethem off. If you turn the heads of old dowagers such as I am, whatchance have all these chickens? ... Hush, Tommy! That was a verynaughty word! And you need not be jealous of Dal. I admire you stillmore. Dal, will you paint my scarlet macaw?"
The young artist, whose portraits in that year's Academy had createdmuch interest in the artistic world, and whose violet shirt had justbeen so severely censured, lay back in his lounge-chair, with his armsbehind his head and a gleam of amusement in his bright brown eyes.
"No, dear Duchess," he said. "I beg respectfully to decline thecommission, Tommy would require a Landseer to do full justice to hisattitudes and expression. Besides, it would be demoralising to aninnocent and well-brought-up youth, such as you know me to be, to spendlong hours in Tommy's society, listening to the remarks that sweet birdwould make while I painted him. But I will tell you what I will do. Iwill paint you, dear Duchess, only not in that hat! Ever since I wasquite a small boy, a straw hat with black ribbons tied under the chinhas made me feel ill. If I yielded to my natural impulses now, I shouldhide my face in Miss Champion's lap, and kick and scream until you tookit off. I will paint you in the black velvet gown you wore last night,with the Medici collar; and the jolly arrangement of lace and diamondson your head. And in your hand you shall hold an antique crystalmirror, mounted in silver."
The artist half closed his eyes, and as he described his picture in avoice full of music and mystery, an attentive hush fell upon the gaygroup around him. When Garth Dalmain described his pictures, people sawthem. When they walked into the Academy or the New Gallery thefollowing year, they would say: "Ah, there it is! just as we saw itthat day, before a stroke of it was on the canvas."
"In your left hand, you shall hold the mirror, but you shall not belooking into it; because you never look into mirrors, dear Duchess,excepting to see whether the scolding you are giving your maid, as shestands behind you, is making her cry; and whether that is why she isbeing so clumsy in her manipulation of pins and things. If it is, youpromptly promise her a day off, to go and see her old mother; and payher journey there and back. If it isn't, you scold her some more. WereI the maid, I should always cry, large tears warranted to show in theglass; only I should not sniff, because sniffing is so intenselyaggravating; and I should be most frightfully careful that my tears didnot run down your neck."
"Dal, you ridiculous CHILD!" said the duchess. "Leave off talking aboutmy maids, and my neck, and your crocodile tears, and finish describingthe portrait. What do I do, with the mirror?"
"You do not look into it," continued Garth Dalmain, meditatively;"because we KNOW that is a thing you never do. Even when you put onthat hat, and tie those ribbons--Miss Champion, I wish you would holdmy hand--in a bow under your chin, you don't consult the mirror. Butyou shall sit with it in your left hand, your elbow resting on anEastern table of black ebony inlaid with mother-of-pearl. You will turnit from you, so that it reflects something exactly in front of you inthe imaginary foreground. You will be looking at this unseen objectwith an expression of sublime affection. And in the mirror I will painta vivid, brilliant, complete reflection, minute, but perfect in everydetail, of your scarlet macaw on his perch. We will call it'Reflections,' because one must always give a silly up-to-date title topictures, and just now one nondescript word is the fashion, unless youfeel it needful to attract to yourself the eye of the public, in thecatalogue, by calling your picture twenty lines of Tennyson. But whenthe portrait goes down to posterity as a famous picture, it will figurein the catalogue of the National Gallery as 'The Duchess, the Mirror,and the Macaw.'"
"Bravo!" said the duchess, delighted. "You shall paint it, Dal, in timefor next year's Academy, and we will all go and see it."
And he did. And they all went. And when they saw it they said: "Ah, ofcourse! There it is; just as we saw it under the cedar at Overdene."
"Here comes Simmons with something on a salver," exclaimed the duchess."How that man waddles! Why can't somebody teach him to step out? Jane!You march across this lawn like a grenadier. Can't you explain toSimmons how it's done? ... Well? What is it? Ha! A telegram. Now whathorrible thing can have happened? Who would like to guess? I hope it isnot merely some idiot who has missed a train."
Amid a breathless and highly satisfactory silence, the duchess toreopen the orange envelope.
Apparently the shock was of a thorough, though not enjoyable, kind; forthe duchess, at all times highly coloured, became purple as she read,and absolutely inarticulate with indignation. Jane rose quietly, lookedover her aunt's shoulder, read the long message, and returned to herseat.
"Creature!" exclaimed the duchess, at last. "Oh, creature! This comesof asking them as friends. And I had a lovely string of pearls for her,worth far more than she would have been offered, professionally, forone song. And to fail at the last minute! Oh, CREATURE!"
"Dear aunt," said Jane, "if poor Madame Velma has a sudden attack oflaryngitis, she could not possibly sing a note, even had the Queencommanded her. Her telegram is full of regrets."
"Don't argue, Jane!" exclaimed the duchess, crossly. "And don't drag inthe Queen, who has nothing to do with my concert or Velma's throat. Ido abominate irrelevance, and you know it! WHY must she have herwhat--do--you--call--it, just when she was coming to sing here? In myyoung days people never had these new-fangled complaints. I have nopatience with all this appendicitis and what not--cutting people openat every possible excuse. In my young days we called it a goodold-fashioned stomach-ache, and gave them Turkey rhubarb!"
Myra Ingleby hid her face behind her garden hat; and Garth Dalmainwhispered to Jane: "I do abominate irrelevance, and you know it!" ButJane shook her head at him, and refused to smile.
"Tommy wants a gooseberry!" shouted the macaw, having apparentlynoticed the mention of rhubarb.
"Oh, give it him, somebody!" said the worried duchess.
"Dear aunt," said Jane, "there are no gooseberries."
"Don't argue, girl!" cried the duchess, furiously; and Garth,delighted, shook his head at Jane. "When he says 'gooseberry,' he meansanything GREEN, as you very well know!"
Half a dozen people hastened to Tommy with lettuce, water-cress, andcucumber sandwiches; and Garth picked one blade of grass, and handed itto Jane; with an air of anxious solicitude; but Jane ignored it.
"No answer, Simmons," said the duchess. "Why don't you go? ... Oh,how that man waddles! Teach him to walk, somebody! Now the question is,What is to be done? Here is half the county coming to hear Velma, by myinvitation; and Velma in London pretending to have appendicitis--no, Imean the other thing. Oh, 'drat the woman!' as that clever bird wouldsay."
"Hold your jaw!" shouted Tommy. The duchess smiled, and consented tosit down.
"But, dear Duchess," suggested Garth in his most soothing voice, "thecounty does not know Madame Velma was to be here. It was a profoundsecret. You were to trot her out at the end. Lady Ingleby called heryour 'surprise packet.'"
Myra came out from behind her garden hat, and the duchess nod
ded at herapprovingly.
"Quite true," she said. "That was the lovely part of it. Oh, creature!"
"But, dear Duchess," pursued Garth persuasively, "if the county did notknow, the county will not be disappointed. They are coming to listen toone another, and to hear themselves, and to enjoy your claret-cup andices. All this they will do, and go away delighted, saying how cleverlythe dear duchess, discovers and exploits local talent."
"Ah, ha!" said the duchess, with a gleam in the hawk eye, and a raisingof the hooked nose-which Mrs. Parker Bangs of Chicago, who had met theduchess once or twice, described as "genuine Plantagenet"--"but theywill go away wise in their own conceits, and satisfied with their ownmediocre performances. My idea is to let them do it, and then show themhow it should be done."
"But Aunt 'Gina," said Jane, gently; "surely you forget that most ofthese people have been to town and heard plenty of good music, MadameVelma herself most likely, and all the great singers. They know theycannot sing like a prima donna; but they do their anxious best, becauseyou ask them. I cannot see that they require an object lesson."
"Jane," said the duchess, "for the third time this afternoon I mustrequest you not to argue."
"Miss Champion," said Garth Dalmain, "if I were your grandmamma, Ishould send you to bed."
"What is to be done?" reiterated the duchess. "She was to sing THEROSARY. I had set my heart on it. The whole decoration of the room isplanned to suit that song--festoons of white roses; and a greatred-cross at the back of the platform, made entirely of crimsonramblers. Jane!"
"Yes, aunt."
"Oh, don't say 'Yes, aunt,' in that senseless way! Can't you make somesuggestion?"
"Drat the woman!" exclaimed Tommy, suddenly.
"Hark to that sweet bird!" cried the duchess, her good humour fullyrestored. "Give him a strawberry, somebody. Now, Jane, what do yousuggest?"
Jane Champion was seated with her broad back half turned to her aunt,one knee crossed over the other, her large, capable hands clasped roundit. She loosed her hands, turned slowly round, and looked into the keeneyes peering at her from under the mushroom hat. As she read thehalf-resentful, half-appealing demand in them, a slow smile dawned inher own. She waited a moment to make sure of the duchess's meaning,then said quietly: "I will sing THE ROSARY for you, in Velma's place,to-night, if you really wish it, aunt."
Had the gathering under the tree been a party of "mere people," itwould have gasped. Had it been a "freak party," it would have beenloud-voiced in its expressions of surprise. Being a "best party," itgave no outward sign; but a sense of blank astonishment, purely mental,was in the air. The duchess herself was the only person present who hadheard Jane Champion sing.
"Have you the song?" asked her Grace of Meldrum, rising, and picking upher telegram and empty basket.
"I have," said Jane. "I spent a few hours with Madame Blanche when Iwas in town last month; and she, who so rarely admires these modernsongs, was immensely taken with it. She sang it, and allowed me toaccompany her. We spent nearly an hour over it. I obtained a copyafterwards."
"Good," said the duchess. "Then I count on you. Now I must send asympathetic telegram to that poor dear Velma, who will be fretting athaving to fail us. So 'au revoir,' good people. Remember, we dinepunctually at eight o'clock. Music is supposed to begin at nine.Ronnie, be a kind boy, and carry Tommy into the hall for me. He willscreech so fearfully if he sees me walk away without him. He is so veryloving, dear bird!"
Silence under the cedar.
Most people were watching young Ronald, holding the stand as much atarm's length as possible; while Tommy, keeping his balance wonderfully,sidled up close to him, evidently making confidential remarks intoRonnie's terrified ear. The duchess walked on before, quite satisfiedwith the new turn events had taken.
One or two people were watching Jane.
"It is very brave of you," said Myra Ingleby, at length. "I would offerto play your accompaniment, dear; but I can only manage Au clair de lalune, and Three Blind Mice, with one finger."
"And I would offer to play your accompaniment, dear," said GarthDalmain, "if you were going to sing Lassen's Allerseelen, for I playthat quite beautifully with ten fingers! It is an education only tohear the way I bring out the tolling of the cemetery chapel bell rightthrough the song. The poor thing with the bunch of purple heather cannever get away from it. Even in the grand crescendo, appassionata,fortissimo, when they discover that 'in death's dark valley this isHoly Day,' I give then no holiday from that bell. I don't know what itdid 'once in May.' It tolls all the time, with maddening persistence,in my accompaniment. But I have seen The Rosary, and I dare not facethose chords. To begin with, you start in every known flat; and beforeyou have gone far you have gathered unto yourself handfuls of known andunknown sharps, to which you cling, not daring to let them go, lestthey should be wanted again the next moment. Alas, no! When it is aquestion of accompanying The Rosary, I must say, as the old farmer atthe tenants' dinner the other day said to the duchess when she pressedupon him a third helping of pudding: 'Madam, I CANNOT!'"
"Don't be silly, Dal," said Jane. "You could accompany The Rosaryperfectly, if I wanted it done. But, as it happens, I preferaccompanying myself."
"Ah," said Lady Ingleby, sympathetically, "I quite understand that. Itwould be such a relief all the time to know that if things seemed goingwrong, you could stop the other part, and give yourself the note."
The only two real musicians present glanced at each other, and a gleamof amusement passed between them.
"It certainly would be useful, if necessary," said Jane.
"_I_ would 'stop the other part' and 'give you the note,'" said Garth,demurely.
"I am sure you would," said Jane. "You are always so very kind. But Iprefer to keep the matter in my own hands."
"You realise the difficulty of making the voice carry in a place ofthat size unless you can stand and face the audience?" Garth Dalmainspoke anxiously. Jane was a special friend of his, and he had a man'sdislike of the idea of his chum failing in anything, publicly.
The same quiet smile dawned in Jane's eyes and passed to her lips aswhen she had realised that her aunt meant her to volunteer in Velma'splace. She glanced around. Most of the party had wandered off in twosand threes, some to the house, others back to the river. She and Daland Myra were practically alone. Her calm eyes were full of quietamusement as she steadfastly met the anxious look in Garth's, andanswered his question.
"Yes, I know. But the acoustic properties of the room are very perfect,and I have learned to throw my voice. Perhaps you may not know--infact, how should you know?--but I have had the immense privilege ofstudying with Madame Marchesi in Paris, and of keeping up to the marksince by an occasional delightful hour with her no less gifted daughterin London. So I ought to know all there is to know about the managementof a voice, if I have at all adequately availed myself of such goldenopportunities."
These quiet words were Greek to Myra, conveying no more to her mindthan if Jane had said: "I have been learning Tonic sol-fa." In fact,not quite so much, seeing that Lady Ingleby had herself once tried tomaster the Tonic sol-fa system in order to instruct her men and maidsin part-singing. It was at a time when she owned a distinctly musicalhousehold. The second footman possessed a fine barytone. The butlercould "do a little bass," which is to say that, while the other partssoared to higher regions, he could stay on the bottom note if carefullyplaced there, and told to remain. The head housemaid sang what shecalled "seconds"; in other words, she followed along, slightly behindthe trebles as regarded time, and a major third below them as regardedpitch. The housekeeper, a large, dark person with a fringe on her upperlip, unshaven and unashamed, produced a really remarkable effect bysinging the air an octave below the trebles. Unfortunately Lady Inglebywas apt to confuse her with the butler. Myra herself was the first toadmit that she had not "much ear"; but it was decidedly trying, at amoment when she dared not remove her eyes from the accompaniment ofGood King Wenceslas, to have called out: "Stay w
here you are, Jenkins!"and then find it was Mrs. Jarvis who had been travelling upwards. Butwhen a new footman, engaged by Lord Ingleby with no reference to hismusical gifts, chanced to possess a fine throaty tenor, Myra felt shereally had material with which great things might be accomplished, anddecided herself to learn the Tonic sol-fa system. She easily masteredmi, re, do, and so, fa, fa, mi, because these represented the openinglines of Three Blind Mice, always a musical landmark to Myra. But whenit came to the fugue-like intricacies in the theme of "They all ranafter the farmer's wife," Lady Ingleby was lost without the words tocling to, and gave up the Tonic sol-fa system in despair.
So the name of the greatest teacher of singing of this age did notconvey much to Myra's mind. But Garth Dalmain sat up.
"I say! No wonder you take it coolly. Why, Velma herself was a pupil ofthe great madame."
"That is how it happens that I know her rather well," said Jane. "I amhere to-day because I was to have played her accompaniment."
"I see," said Garth. "And now you have to do both. 'Land's sake!' asMrs. Parker Bangs says when you explain who's who at a MarlboroughHouse garden party. But you prefer playing other people'saccompaniments, to singing yourself, don't you?"
Jane's slow smile dawned again.
"I prefer singing," she said, "but accompanying is more useful."
"Of course it is," said Garth. "Heaps of people can sing a little, butvery few can accompany properly."
"Jane," said Myra, her grey eyes looking out lazily from under theirlong black lashes, "if you have had singing lessons, and know somesongs, why hasn't the duchess turned you on to sing to us before this?"
"For a sad reason," Jane replied. "You know her only son died eightyears ago? He was such a handsome, talented fellow. He and I inheritedour love of music from our grandfather. My cousin got into a musicalset at college, studied with enthusiasm, and wanted to take it upprofessionally. He had promised, one Christmas vacation, to sing at acharity concert in town, and went out, when only just recovering frominfluenza, to fulfil this engagement. He had a relapse, doublepneumonia set in, and he died in five days from heart failure. My pooraunt was frantic with grief; and since then any mention of my love ofmusic makes her very bitter. I, too, wanted to take it upprofessionally, but she put her foot down heavily. I scarcely everventure to sing or play here."
"Why not elsewhere?" asked Garth Dalmain. "We have stayed about at thesame houses, and I had not the faintest idea you sang."
"I do not know," said Jane slowly. "But--music means so much to me. Itis a sort of holy of holies in the tabernacle of one's inner being. Andit is not easy to lift the veil."
"The veil will be lifted to-night," said Myra Ingleby.
"Yes," agreed Jane, smiling a little ruefully, "I suppose it will."
"And we shall pass in," said Garth Dalmain.