Then she remembered that she had no reason to believe he did love her. A lost piano-playing puppy, she reminded herself firmly, and the image even conjured up a faint smile.
She turned to practical matters. Whom should she approach in her search for a job? Richard had described to her all the musical societies and theatre orchestras in London, not that there were any great number. The London public was not notably enthusiastic about serious music, and most professional musicians eked out a livelihood that was meagre at best by playing at dances. Momentarily the thought struck her that she might not be near so talented as her kind and partial critics had led her to believe. She put the doubt behind her. Dwelling on the possibility could only sap her courage and self-confidence.
She decided to go to the leader of the orchestra that had played at the Duchess of Devonshire’s musical evening. She had received glowing reports of their performance from both Richard and Lady Annabel. How wonderful it would be to play with them a concerto by Herr van Beethoven, whose sonatas she had been practicing assiduously since she had found them among Lucy’s music books! Such passion and fire, quite unlike anything she had played before. She would play one of them for Mr. Runabout, the concertmaster. If she could find him and if he would listen to her.
In her severely practical mood, she made up her mind to tackle these new problems as they came along. For the first, she would consult Mary. The girl was as much a stranger in London as Miss Fell herself, but she had a characteristic Yorkshire shrewdness and might be able to suggest a way to go about finding an orchestra. Miss Fell knew Mary had given in to James’s pleading and allowed him to escort her about the city in her spare time. She could hardly know less of it than did her mistress.
She rang the bell. When Mary appeared with a luncheon tray, she realized that several hours had passed.
“Cook’s made your fav’rites special, miss,” announced Mary. “Cold chicken an’ some mushroom fritters an’ macaroons”
Miss Fell burst into tears.
It was not long before Mary had heard the whole story, excepting only Richard’s proposal. She did not presume to question Miss Fell’s decision to seek employment.
“Now don’t ‘ee fret, miss,” she said soothingly. “Tha’s sure to get a job piano-playin’, an’ you an’ me we’ll find a nice place to live an’ tha’ll go an’ make music an’ I’ll do for ‘ee an’ mebbe take in washing if it be needful.”
“Oh, Mary, even if I do find a position, I cannot suppose I shall be able to pay you.”
“Who said owt
o’ brass?” Mary queried belligerently. “A fine critter I’d be if I s’d abandon my mistress a’cos o’ a few poun’s”
“Lady Annabel is your mistress.”
“Her’s got servants aplenty. Come, miss, eat thy lunch an’ we’ll be off to find this Maister Runabout. Just so be he’s not a-runnin’ too quick for us.”
Miss Fell obediently tackled her tray, thinking that it would be time enough to persuade the loyal maid when she had found a post.
“What we s’ll do,” explained Mary as Miss Fell ate, “is take a hackney. Them jarveys know where everyone in London is, near as makes no odds.”
“I have no money to pay for a hackney, Mary.”
“Money, money, money! And haven’t I a few sovereigns put aside? I knowed ‘ee mought be facing trouble one o’ these days, not but what us in t’servants hall did think…but ‘twas not to be, seemingly,” she sighed.
Miss Fell blushed and hoped she had misunderstood. Of course, they probably simply wished that she might find her own family. It was kind of them to wish her well.
“Well,” said Mary, “if tha’s done, I’ll take t’tray an’ get my wrap an’ see if t’coast’s clear. Do ‘ee get thysen ready, miss.”
She returned in a few minutes.
“Mr. Richard’s still out, an’ my lady an’ Miss Lucy went shopping. Let’s be off while t’going’s good.”
Miss Fell, amazed at Mary’s understanding of her unwillingness to meet the family, followed her downstairs.
James was at the door. “I got ‘ee a hackney, miss,” he announced. “Made sure t’driver knows this Runabout fella.”
She thanked him, wondering if all the servants were privy to her private affairs. Bell was nodding at her in a stately but reassuring way from the far end of the hall.
Noting her bemusement, Mary explained as the hackney set off through the busy streets. “We wasn’t a-goin’ to tell t’London servants, miss, but that Molly as can’t keep her mouth closed let it drop. Don’t ‘ee worrit, they’re all on your side.”
Miss Fell was torn between amusement and a strong desire to burst into tears again. She saw Mary feeling in her pocket for a handkerchief and laughed.
“How kind you all are. Do you all know everyone’s business?”
“Oh, aye. We’m all rooting for Miss Lucy’s major, too. Maybe he been’t good enow for a Carstairs but Miss Lucy loves him an’ that’s enough,” she said firmly. “I hadn’t ought to’ve said that. We don’ discuss t’gentry’s affairs wi’ t’gentry in general, only I’d not want ‘ee to think we was just nosing into thy business.”
“H-how reassuring!” Miss Fell gasped through her laughter.
Mr. Arthur Runabout lived in a tiny flat on the third floor of a most respectable building, the ground floor of which was occupied by a music shop. His sitting room was
filled, almost to the exclusion of all other furniture, by a huge walnut grand piano, beautifully polished. Miss Fell and Mary heard it long before they saw it, as he was playing something very fast and loud with all his windows open. They were no longer surprised at the jarvey’s knowledge of his address.
Miss Fell grew nervous as they climbed the stairs. Had Mary not been right behind her she might well have turned back. However, when Mary’s brisk knock on the bottle-green door was answered, Mr. Runabout appeared just as nervous as she, or more so. He was a tall, thin, cadaverous man, wearing a coat of the same shade of green as his front door. Appalled at the prospect of permitting two young women to enter his room, he stuttered in alarm, “W-what c-can I d-do for you?”
“I wish to speak with you on private business,” answered Miss Fell soothingly.
Mary was making slight shooing motions and they had the desired effect. Mr. Runabout moved aside out of the doorway.
“Well, well, I suppose you h-had b-better come in,” he invited, his voice somewhat tremulous with doubt.
Miss Fell explained her errand.
“Oh dear,” exclaimed the musician. “We seldom need a pianist, and when we do, I generally play myself. And I know of no one else in the business who is looking for one. However, they do need someone who can play a little to work in the shop down below. Perhaps you noticed it?”
“I had not considered working in a shop,” said Miss Fell unhappily. “I…I think I had better look about a little more. Thank you for your time, sir.” She turned to leave.
“Wait a bit, young lady! I had quite forgot. There is a Herr Umlauf in London who is looking for musicians for the orchestra of one of those foreign princes—Prince Esterhazy, I believe, who was Haydn’s patron, or his son perhaps. I wonder if he would be interested?”
“Are you acquainted with the gentleman, Mr. Runabout? Perhaps you could introduce me?”
“Well, well, I cannot do that unless you are an exceptional player, ma’am. Would you be so good as to let me hear a little something?”
Miss Fell sat down at the instrument and played a couple of scales. It had a superb tone and deserved a far grander setting than the cramped little room. She began the
Moonlight Sonata
—as
always, losing herself in the music. At the end of the first movement she looked up. Mr. Runabout gestured to her to continue, so she played on to the end.
“Delightful, my dear. I have seldom heard it as well done. Well, I think I may safely recommend you to Herr Umlauf. Shall you not mind living in Austria? Have you no family to prevent your removal?”
“No, sir, none.”
“Well, well, well. Well, I shall send a note to Herr Umlauf at once. I am not certain how long he will be in the country. Where shall I send his reply? And, my dear young lady, I do not believe I have your name.”
“Clara Fell. I…should you mind if we waited here a little for the answer to your letter? Or perhaps in the music shop, or I could return tomorrow?”
“By all means stay a while. I shall request an immediate answer.”
He went to a tiny table, which evidently served many purposes. The note was soon written, and to Miss Fell’s fascination, he went to the window and shouted in stentorian tones, “Boy!”
A moment later he opened the door to an urchin of nine or ten.
“Well, boy,” he said, “take this letter to a certain Herr Umlauf at Grillon’s Hotel and wait for an answer and you shall have sixpence.”
“Airoomlowf? Wot sorta name’s that?”
“Well, well, we shall say Mr. Umlauf then. Run quickly, boy.”
The child caught sight of Miss Fell and Mary. “Ooh, lookee! A real lady. Cor, she ain’t ‘alf pretty. Red ‘air an’ all!”
“You will be doing the young lady a favour if you will just take this letter, boy.”
“Yessir! Corblimey if I don’ ‘ave ‘er a anser inside of ‘alf a hour, if I ‘as to write it meself.” The latter part of this came floating up the stairwell.
“It is very kind of you to let us remain here, sir. Pray do not let us interrupt your occupation,” said Miss Fell.
“Not at all, not at all. I have no engagements before six o’clock. May I offer you a cup of tea?”
“I should like it of all things,” said Miss Fell, “if it is not a great deal of work.”
“I always have a cup about this time myself,” he assured her, setting the kettle on the hob. He was taking down a large teapot and a canister of tea when Mary said, “Don’t ‘ee trouble thysen, sir. I s’ll do it in a jiffy.”
“Well, well, a Yorkshirewoman!” cried Mr. Runabout in delight. “My mother was from Yorkshire.” He questioned her eagerly until he found out that her village was not twenty miles from his late mother’s hometown. Miss Fell was concerned lest he should connect her also with Toblethorpe, but he did not appear to do so.
“Well, bless my soul, it’s a small world,” he said at last.
The kettle started whistling merrily; tea was made, poured and consumed. Miss Fell managed to avoid those of his questions that she could not answer, a problem she had not considered. The boy at last returned with a heavily sealed missive, received his sixpence and a smile from Miss Fell, which he treasured equally, and was dismissed. Mr. Runabout struggled with large blobs of still soft sealing wax and finally managed to open the letter.
“Well, well,” he said, peering at it. “I find this Germanic hand extremely hard to read. Where are my spectacles?”
They were found, after a brief search, on a pile of music under the pianoforte. Even with their help, it took Miss Fell’s assistance to decipher the Gothic script.
“Well,” declared Mr. Runabout cautiously, “it seems to me that Herr Umlauf will hear you play tomorrow morning at nine, at his hotel. I trust you will be able to attend him at that time?”
“Oh, yes, I should not miss it for the world. Herr Umlauf invites you also, as far as I can make out. Shall you come?” Miss Fell asked timidly.
“You would like me to be there? Well, then, I shall meet you in the lobby shortly before nine. My dear Miss Fell, it has been a pleasure meeting you and I look forward to hearing you play once more. Mistress Mary, I bid you good day.”
The boy was waiting below to see the young lady again, and he willingly found them a hackney. Miss Fell was touched by his evident admiration and persuaded Mary to give him a penny instead of the farthing she had fished from her purse.
“Cor
,
ta, miss,” he thanked her with a grin.
Miss Fell apologized in the cab. “I quite forgot it was not my money, Mary. When I am a famous pianist in Vienna, I shall pay you back every ha’penny.”
“I dunno as how I can come to they furrin parts wi’ you, miss. Why, I heard tell as they don’t even speak English like.”
“I shall not expect you to come, Mary, if I obtain the position, which is by no means certain. Indeed, I cannot think it wise that you should leave the Carstairs, even should I remain in London.”
“Well, well, we s’ll not argufy about that now, miss. There, if I haven’t catched Mr. Runabout’s way of speaking!”
Miss Fell laughed, but she was pensive the rest of the way to Cavendish Square. She had not had time to consider the difficulties attendant upon removing abroad, and now they loomed large. When the hackney pulled up before the Carstairs’ house, she dismissed them from her mind. Time enough to worry if she was offered the post. Now she must decide what to say if she met Lady Annabel or Lucy. About Richard she did not dare to think.
Bell opened the front door to her and bowed as he took her pelisse. Not by so much as a quiver of an eyelid did he betray any curiosity about her errand. She supposed he would find out the result soon enough from Mary.
She met no one else on the way to her chamber. Mary helped her change out of her walking dress, and then brought her a tray, but she found she could not eat much. After a couple of hours of trying to distract her thoughts with a book, she went to bed. She dreamed she was trying to waltz with Richard around Vienna to the strains of the
Moonlight Sonata.
She woke early, and she and Mary slipped out of the house before any of the Carstairs arose. They reached the hotel at half-past eight and had to wait an endless time, enduring the impertinent stares of maidservants and early risers, before Mr. Runabout joined them.
Herr
Umlauf was informed of their arrival and came downstairs to greet them. He was a dark, suave gentleman and Mary, prejudiced by Herr Doktor Holzkopf, was astonished to hear his clipped, correct English. He ushered them into the hotel’s Grand Salon, as it contained an adequate pianoforte, at which he had been conducting auditions.
“I desire to hear you perform, madam, before I say anything concerning the position,” he informed Miss Fell. His manner intimidated her as much as Mr. Runabout’s had put her at ease. He was perfectly polite, yet there was something sneering in his tone. Feeling uncomfortable with his penetrating eyes on her back, she sat at the instrument, played some scales to loosen her fingers, and then launched into the
Pathétique
sonata. As the notes flew from beneath her hands, she forgot her nervousness. She would have played the whole piece, but Herr Umlauf, who had been surreptitiously glancing at his watch, stopped her at the end of the second movement.