Workhouse Angel Page 5

  There were footsteps outside the door and a middle-aged gentleman with untidy greying hair hurried in.

  ‘Apologies, my dear young ladies! I was delayed at my last lesson.’ He looked around. ‘Now, you must be Miss McBride. I was told to expect an extra pupil. How do you do?’

  ‘How do you do, sir,’ Angelina responded, with a small curtsy.

  ‘Now,’ Mr Latimer was already unpacking items from a large leather bag, ‘let us not waste any more time. Sit down, if you please. Miss Pearson, I know this is your usual place, next to me, but for today I think it will be better if our new student sits here. Bring that blue jug over here, if you please.’ Mary turned aside with a haughty shrug, clearly displeased at being displaced, and Mr Latimer fetched the jug himself. ‘Come, Miss Louisa, leave the kitten alone and come up to the table, please.’

  For the first time Angelina noticed that the younger sister had picked up a black kitten from a basket and was cuddling it. She felt a stab of envy. She had never been allowed a pet, on the grounds that animals were unhygienic and caused a distraction.

  Sheets of paper and pencils and paints had been laid out in readiness and the teacher was busy arranging a branch of holly and some trails of ivy in the blue jug.

  ‘Now, we are going to draw what is called a still life, a picture of an assemblage of objects such as this. Let me see what you make of it.’

  Mary set to work immediately, her expression suggesting that something so simple was almost beneath her. The image of the vase and its contents grew rapidly under her pencil. Angelina tried to emulate her, but somehow the two sides of the jug never seemed to be symmetrical and the holly branch, to be in scale, would have had to extend beyond the margins of the paper. It took Mr Latimer some time to cajole Louisa into putting down the kitten and taking up her pencil and then she demanded his full attention to every line. Mary leaned across the table to look at Angelina’s efforts and gave a high-pitched squeal of laughter.

  ‘Oh dear! Mr Latimer, do look at Angelina’s drawing! It’s all lopsided.’

  The teacher came over and gave Angelina a new sheet of paper and showed her how to correct the proportions of her drawing, but it was too late. She had decided that she hated the whole business and had no wish to try any further. By the time Lizzie came to collect her she was in a sulk, and had to be prompted with difficulty to thank him and say a polite goodbye to her two young hosts.

  ‘I’m not going back there again!’ she declared as they walked home.

  ‘Whatever makes you say that?’

  ‘That Mary Pearson is hateful! She thinks she is brilliant and Mr Latimer just agrees with her. And Louisa is a spoilt baby. And they have a kitten! Why cannot I have a kitten?’

  ‘Well, who knows,’ Lizzie said gently. ‘If you please your mama and do your lessons well, she might let you have a kitten as a reward. But if you refuse to go back, I think that is very unlikely.’

  ‘But I can’t draw!’ Angelina burst out, on the verge of tears.

  ‘You have only just started to learn. It will come, if you persist. And I’m sure Mary and Louisa are quite nice really. You just need to get to know them.’

  Next morning, Mademoiselle Duchovny arrived to give Angelina her first French lesson. She was a small, grey woman: grey hair, grey dress, with a permanent expression of weary resignation. Angelina, still disgruntled from her experience of the day before, was not in a compliant mood.

  ‘Bonjour, ma petite,’ Mademoiselle began. ‘Now, you must say “bonjour, Madame”.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because that is the French for “good day, madam”.’

  ‘Why can’t I say it in English?’

  ‘Because a French lady would not understand you.’

  ‘You understand me.’

  ‘That is because I have lived a long time in England. But if you went to France you would not be understood.’

  ‘But I’m not going to France.’

  ‘Nevertheless, it is regarded as an essential accomplishment for a well-educated young lady to be able to converse in French. Now, repeat after me: Bonjour.’

  ‘Boojoo.’

  ‘No, try again. Listen carefully: Bonjour.’

  ‘Bong joo. It sounds silly. I don’t want to say it.’

  At the end of the hour Angelina had reluctantly managed to get her tongue round half a dozen words and Mademoiselle Duchovny’s expression was wearier than ever.

  ‘French is stupid,’ Angelina declared when Lizzie came in with her luncheon. ‘People just ought to learn English.’

  Lizzie shook her head and sighed but said nothing.

  As they reached the front door, ready to go out for their usual walk, they found their way blocked by three men who were struggling to fit a large, unwieldy object through the doorway.

  ‘What is it?’ Angelina asked.

  ‘I think it must be the piano your mother ordered so you can learn to play. You are a very fortunate girl, you know. Such things cost a great deal of money.’

  Angelina tossed her head. ‘Oh, that’s all right. Papa has plenty of money.’ Then she caught the look on Lizzie’s face and thought that perhaps she should not have spoken so dismissively.

  The men eventually succeeded in getting the piano through the door and carried it into the drawing room, and Lizzie and Angelina set out for their walk. The weather was milder and there were more people about and before long Angelina’s attention was attracted by excited shouts. A short distance ahead a group of children were darting among the bushes around a small clearing. She saw three or four girls about her own age and a small boy. Nearby, two young women in nursemaid’s uniforms sat on a bench chatting. One of the girls took up a position in the centre of the clearing with her hands over her eyes and began to count aloud.

  ‘What are they doing?’ she asked.

  ‘Playing hide and seek by the look of it. Would you like to join in?’

  ‘I’m not sure. I don’t know them.’

  ‘I expect that can be arranged. Come along.’ Lizzie took her hand and led her over to the bench.

  ‘Good afternoon. My name is Elizabeth Findlay and this is Miss Angelina McBride. I was wondering, could she join in the game with the other children?’

  One of the nursemaids got up with a smile. ‘Of course she can. Grace! Come here a minute.’

  The children had scattered among the bushes but now they were reappearing, one by one, as they were found. The tallest girl responded to the summons and came to join them.

  ‘Grace, this is Angelina. She would like to play with you. You wouldn’t mind if she joined in, would you?’

  ‘Of course not.’ Grace held out her hand to Angelina. ‘Come on.’

  Angelina allowed herself to be led into the clearing where the others were assembled.

  ‘Whose turn is it to be “on”?’ someone asked.

  ‘Georgie,’ came the reply.

  ‘No,’ Grace said. ‘He’s too young. It will take him ages to find us and we’ll be frozen before he does. Prue, you do it.’

  ‘Oh, very well.’ The girl thus addressed took up a position in the centre and began to count. The others scattered again, leaving Angelina gazing about her doubtfully.

  ‘Come on!’ Grace called. ‘You have to hide.’

  She followed the others into the bushes and saw them secreting themselves under overhanging branches or behind tree trunks. It took her a while to find a place that was not already occupied but she finally settled on a spot in the middle of dense group of rhododendrons. She crouched down and suddenly the strangest feeling came over her. She had been here before! This had happened before, a long time ago. She could not remember the occasion, or who else might have been involved; but the sensation was deeply unsettling. Without waiting to be found she broke cover and ran back to Lizzie, who was chatting to the nursemaids.

  ‘I don’t want to play this game! Let’s go on with our walk.’

  Lizzie looked at her with a frown. ‘What a strange little
creature you are, to be sure. Come along, then.’ She turned to the other young women with a shrug. ‘Sorry about that. She’s not used to having anyone to play with.’

  When they got home, an unexpected sound arrested them as they crossed the hall. A single, clear note, repeated two or three times on a slightly varying pitch; then a ripple of other notes and the single note repeated again.

  ‘What is it?’ Angelina asked.

  ‘I think the piano is being tuned. Shall we look in and see?’

  In the drawing room stood a gleaming piece of furniture with an open lid propped up by a stay and a keyboard of black and white notes. A small man was stooping over it, pressing the keys and peering into the interior. Angelina tiptoed over to him.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  He looked round with a start. ‘I’m tuning it, miss. After it’s been moved around the notes are sure to have gone out of pitch.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  For the next twenty minutes or so Angelina listened, fascinated, as he showed her how the notes were sounded by a small, felt-covered hammer striking a string and how that string could be tightened or relaxed to alter the pitch.

  ‘Now,’ he said at length, ‘here’s a test for you. Listen to this.’ He produced a tuning fork and tapped it on the side of the piano, producing a ringing note. ‘Now, can you tell me if this note I’m going to play is the same, or is it a bit higher or lower?’

  He struck a note. Angelina listened hard. ‘It’s a tiny bit higher.’

  ‘Well done, you’ve a good ear. It’s what we call a bit sharp, so I need to ease the string a tiny bit. Now, is that better?’

  ‘Yes. It’s right now.’

  ‘Good!’

  The door opened and Mrs McBride swept in. ‘Angelina! What are you doing in here? Lizzie, she should be in the schoolroom, not bothering this man and stopping him getting on with his work.’

  The piano tuner straightened up. ‘She’s not bothering me, ma’am. It’s good to see someone taking an interest. You’ve done well, if you’ll forgive me saying so, to get this little lady a piano. She has a good ear. She will make an excellent musician, given time.’

  ‘Oh, well, I’m glad to hear it.’ Mrs McBride was mollified. ‘But you must run along now, Angelina. You will be able to play the piano tomorrow when you have your lesson.’

  ‘Did you like that?’ Lizzie asked, as they made their way up the stairs.

  ‘Yes, I did.’

  ‘So, are you looking forward to your lesson?’

  ‘Yes, except those horrible Pearson girls are coming too. I don’t want them to play my piano.’

  ‘You mustn’t be selfish. After all, they let you share their art lesson.’

  ‘That’s not the same. It’s only paper and pencils.’

  ‘Well, remember you are extremely lucky to have such a fine instrument. The Pearsons may not have a piano at all. I expect you will be allowed to practise on it every day.’

  ‘Shall I? And they won’t be able to, if they haven’t got a piano, will they?’

  ‘I imagine not.’

  ‘That’s all right, then,’ Angelina said with satisfaction.

  Mary and Louisa Pearson arrived promptly the following afternoon. Angelina greeted them graciously.

  ‘And this is my new piano. My papa has bought it specially for me. I talked to the man who came to tune it yesterday. He says I have a very good ear. Have you got a piano at home, Mary?’

  ‘No, but I expect we will have soon.’

  Mrs McBride ushered in a plump lady in a purple dress and a turban, decked out with a plethora of ribbons and scarves and feathers.

  ‘Girls, this is Madame Corelli, who is going to teach you music. I’m sure you will all give her your full attention.’ This last with a meaningful glare at Angelina.

  ‘I am sure we shall have a delightful afternoon,’ Madame Corelli responded. She moved to the piano. ‘But what a splendid instrument. You are indeed fortunate.’

  She sat down on the piano stool and ran her much beringed fingers over the keys, producing a succession of chords that made Angelina clap her hands in delight. Mrs McBride, finding herself no longer attended to, took herself off.

  ‘So – ’ Madame turned towards the three girls ‘– who do we have here?’

  ‘I’m Mary.’ The oldest girl was quick to seize the initiative. ‘And this is my sister Louisa.’

  ‘So you must be Angelina, the fortunate owner of this lovely instrument,’ Madame said, turning to her with a smile.

  ‘Yes, I am,’ she responded smugly.

  ‘Well, let us see what sort of voices you have. Listen.’ She sang an ascending scale. ‘Doh re mi fa so la tee doh. Mary, you first.’

  Mary took a deep breath and sang the first four notes, then had to be prompted.

  ‘Well tried. You have a strong voice but you were slightly flat. Now, Angelina, you try.’

  She repeated the scale and Angelina sang it back to her. Madame Corelli clapped her hands. ‘But such a lovely little voice! As true as a bird. You will do very well.’

  Angelina looked at Mary and Mary glared back.

  Louisa, persuaded with difficulty to take her finger out of her mouth, sang in a breathy whisper.

  ‘Courage, my child!’ Madame encouraged her. ‘No one is going to bite you. Now let us see how you all get on with the piano.’

  She showed them how to play a simple scale. Mary went first again.

  ‘No, no! There is no need to thump the keys so hard. You are not kneading bread!’

  ‘I’ve never had to knead bread.’

  ‘Try to remember the piano is not your enemy, to be beaten into submission. Now, Angelina.’

  Angelina laid her fingers on the keys. For the first time in her life her whole attention was engaged and as the first note sounded she felt a shiver of pleasure.

  ‘Bravo! You have the right touch. Try it again, a little faster.’

  By the end of the lesson Angelina could play the whole C major scale with both hands. Mary tried to emulate her, but she tried to play too fast and constantly hit wrong notes. Her temper grew progressively worse as the hour passed. Louisa was permitted to stick to the simple five-finger exercise and paid little attention to what the other two girls were doing. Finally, Madame Corelli taught them a simple little tune and left them with instructions to practise every day. ‘Mary can’t practise,’ Angelina said. ‘She hasn’t got a piano.’

  ‘Perhaps she could come here,’ Madame suggested, to Angelina’s dismay.

  ‘I shall not need to,’ Mary said grandly. ‘My papa will get me a piano of my own.’

  Angelina went to bed humming the tune and insisted next morning on going down to the drawing room to practise before she started her lessons with Lizzie, much to the annoyance of Jane the parlourmaid, who was waiting to clean the room.

  Five

  Friday was the day of Angelina’s first dancing lesson. She had viewed the prospect with some trepidation, but after her triumph of the previous day she felt ready to attempt anything that involved music. Her confidence was reinforced when her mother came up to her room and ordered Lizzie to dress her in the pink satin she had been forced to take off a few days earlier.

  She then took the care of Angelina’s hair into her own hands – an attention unknown in recent years – and dressed it in a mass of ringlets. Even more surprisingly, she came with them to the dancing class.

  Mrs Fairchild had turned a large room at the top of her house into a dance studio, clearing it of everything except a piano and a row of chairs along both sides. Those on one side were occupied by half-a-dozen fond mamas. Eight girls, including the Pearsons, and six boys sat along the opposite side, the girls giggling together and admiring each other’s dresses, the boys fidgeting awkwardly in their best suits.

  Mrs Fairchild clapped her hands. ‘Now, children, let us begin. Since we do not have even numbers, one of you girls will have to take the gentleman’s part. Mary, you are the tall
est. You had better be a man for now. So, gentlemen, take your partners for the schottische.’

  The boys came forward and it was clear that most of them had regular partners who were waiting for them. They made awkward bows and offered their arms. Only Angelina and Louisa were left for Mary and the one remaining boy to choose between. Angelina saw Mary look from her to her sister and shrug disdainfully. She cringed as Mary came towards her, but before she reached her the boy stepped forward.

  ‘May I have the honour?’ The expression of fury on Mary’s face was enough to convince Angelina that this was a triumph. Blushing deeply, she made a curtsy and took his arm.

  They took their places on the floor and Angelina whispered, ‘I don’t know how to do this.’

  He smiled at her. ‘Don’t worry. Mrs F. always goes over the movements before we begin.’

  It was true, and Angelina picked up the simple steps very quickly. When the teacher seated herself at the piano and they went through the dance to the music, she felt her pulse quicken with pleasure. When it was over, her partner, who told her his name was John, led her back to her chair and thanked her with another bow.

  ‘Now, gentlemen,’ Mrs Fairchild said, ‘choose a new partner for the polonaise.’

  Angelina looked around, afraid that she might find herself having to dance with Mary, but another boy came forward and led her onto the floor. As they passed the assembled matriarchs, she heard one whisper to her mother, ‘Such a pretty child! Why haven’t we seen her before?’

  After the polonaise, Mrs Fairchild instructed one of the other girls to take Mary’s place as a gentleman, and when she announced the next dance, Angelina saw Mary cast a coquettish look towards John. He ignored it and asked Angelina to dance instead.

  The next dances were a little more complicated and Angelina made some mistakes. As they passed Mary and her new partner, she heard her say condescendingly, ‘Oh, she is doing quite well, poor thing, considering the fact that her mama has never let her out of the house before.’ In the next interval she drew two other girls into a corner and they giggled together and cast glances across the room in Angelina’s direction. Angelina could not imagine what they were laughing at, but she felt her face burning with embarrassment.