CHAPTER XX.
AN UNCONSCIOUS TRIAL.
IT turned out, however, that Rollo could not accomplish the object, which he had aimed at with so much eagerness and hope, in the only legitimate way. He could not get his Manager invited to the Deanery. “I don’t think your aunt would like it; I don’t think I could sanction it,” the Dean said, whom he met at his club. Unfortunately the Dean had somewhere encountered the partner by whose aid Rollo expected to make his fortune, and he made it the subject of a little discourse, which Rollo received with impatience. “I would have nothing to do with him if I were you,” his Reverence said; “he is not a kind of man to be any credit to his associates. You can’t touch pitch without being defiled. I would not have anything to say to him if I were you.”
“Nor should I, uncle, if I were you,” said Rollo, with a rueful smile. He was not aware that this was not original; he was not thinking, indeed, of originality, but of the emergency, which he felt was very difficult to deal with.
“Nonsense!” said the Dean; “don’t tell me there are not a great many better occupations going than that of managing a theatre——”
“Opera—opera. Give us our due at least——”
“What difference is there?” said the Dean sternly. “The opera has ruined just as many men as the theatre. Talk of making your fortune? Did you ever hear of the lessee of a theatre making a fortune? Plenty have been ruined by it, and never one made rich that I ever heard of. Why can’t you go into diplomacy or to a public office, or get your Uncle Urban to give you something? You ought not to have anything to do with such a venture as this.”
“My dear uncle,” said Rollo, “you know well enough how many things I have tried. Uncles are very kind (as in your case), but they can’t take all their relations upon their shoulders; and you knew this was what I was doing, and Aunt Caroline knew——”
“Ah! yes; I recollect that was what all the singing was about; but she could not stand that Manager fellow. I could not stand him myself; as for your aunt, you could not expect it. She is very good-natured, but you could not ask her to go so far as that.”
“He is a man who goes everywhere,” said Rollo; “he is a man who can behave himself perfectly well wherever he is.”
“Oh, bless you, she would see through him at a glance!” cried the Dean. “I don’t mean to say your aunt is clever, Rollo, but instinct goes a long way. She would see through him. Miss Despard was quite different; she was perfectly comme il faut. Girls are wonderful sometimes in that way. Though they may have no advantages, they seem to pick up and look just as good as any one: whereas a man like that—— By the way, I am very sorry for the poor thing. They say her father, a disreputable sort of gay man who never should have got the appointment, is going to marry some low woman. It will be hard upon the girl.”
What an opportunity was this of seizing hold upon her—of overcoming any objection that might arise! Rollo felt himself Lottie’s best friend as he heard of this complication. While she might help to make his fortune he could make her independent, above the power of any disreputable father or undesirable home. He could not bear to think that such a girl should be lost in conditions so wretched, and, though the Dean was obdurate, he did not lose hope. But between Thursday and Monday is not a very long time for such negotiations, and the Manager was entirely preoccupied by his Milanese, whom another impresario was said to be on the track of, and in whom various connoisseurs were interested. It is impossible to describe the scorn and incredulity with which Rollo himself heard his partner’s account of this new singer. He put not the slightest faith in her.
“I know how she will turn out,” he said. “She will shriek like a peacock; she will have to be taught her own language; she will be coached up for one rôle and good for nothing else; and she will smell of garlic enough to kill you.”
“Oh, garlic will never kill me!” said the vulgar partner who gave Rollo so much trouble.
In the meantime he wrote to the Signor to see what could be done, and begged with the utmost urgency that he would arrange something. “Perhaps the old Irishwoman next door would receive us,” Rollo said, “even if she has got no piano. Try, my dear Rossinetti, I implore you; try your best.” The Signor was very willing to serve the Dean’s nephew; but he was at the moment very much put out by Lottie’s reception of young Purcell, as much as if it had been himself that had been refused.
“Who is Mrs. O’Shaughnessy, and how am I to communicate with her?” he cried; and he did not throw himself into the work with any zeal. All that he would do at last, moved by Rollo’s repeated letters, was to bid him bring his friend down to the service on Sunday afternoon, when he would see Lottie at least, and hear something of her voice. The Manager grinned at this invitation. He was not an enthusiast for Handel, and shrugged his shoulders at sacred music generally as much out of his line; but he ended, having no better engagement on hand, by consenting to go. It was the end of the season; the opera was over, and all its fashionable patrons dispersed; and St. Michael’s was something to talk of at least. So the two connoisseurs arrived on a warm afternoon of early August, when the grey pinnacles of the Abbey blazed white in excessive sunshine, and the river showed like glowing metal here and there through the broad valley, too brilliant to give much refreshment to the eyes.
As it happened, it was a chance whether Lottie would attend the service that afternoon at all. She was sorry for poor Purcell, and embarrassed to face the congregation in the Abbey, some of whom at least must know the story. She was certain the Signor knew it, from the glance he had thrown at her; and Mrs. Purcell, she felt sure, would gloom at her from the free seats, and the hero himself look wistful and reproachful from the organ-loft. She had very nearly made up her mind not to go. Would it not be better to go out on the slopes, and sit down under a tree, and hear the music softly pealing at a distance, and get a little rest out of her many troubles? Lottie had almost decided upon this, when suddenly, by a caprice, she changed her mind and went. Everything came true as she had divined. Mrs. Purcell fixed her eyes upon her from the moment she sat down in her place, with a gloomy interest which sadly disconcerted Lottie; and so did old Pick, who sat by his fellow servant and chuckled over the conclusion of Mr. John’s romance; while once at least Lottie caught the pale dulness of the Signor’s face looking disapproval, and at every spare moment the silent appeal of Purcell’s eyes looking down from over the railing of the organ-loft. Lottie’s heart revolted a little in resistance to all these pitiful and disapproving looks. Why should they insist upon it? If she could not accept young Purcell, what was it to the Signor and old Pick?—though his mother might be forgiven if she felt the disappointment of her boy. The girl shrank a little from all those glances, and gave herself up altogether to her devotions. Was it to her devotions? There was the Captain chanting all the responses within hearing, cheerful and self-confident, as if the Abbey belonged to him; and there, too, was Law, exchanging glances of a totally different description with the people in the free seats. It was to two fair-haired girls whom Lottie had seen before—who were, indeed, constant in their attendance on the Sunday afternoon—that Law was signalling; and they, on their part, tittered and whispered, and looked at the Captain in his stall, and at another woman in a veil whom Lottie did not make out. This was enough to distract her from the prayers, to which, however, if only to escape from the confusion of her own thoughts, she did her very best to give full attention. But—— She put up her prayer-book in front of her face, and hid herself at least from all the crowd, so full each of his and her own concerns. She was silent during the responses, hearing nothing but her father’s voice with its tone of proprietorship, and only allowed herself to sing when the Captain’s baritone was necessarily silent. Lottie’s voice had become known to the people who sat near her. They looked for her as much as they looked for little Rowley himself, who was the first soprano; but to-day they did not get much from Lottie. Now and then she forgot herself, as in the “Magnificat,” when she burst forth suddenly unawares, almost taking it out of the hands of the boys; but while she was singing Lottie came to herself almost as suddenly, and stopped short, with a quaver and shake in her voice as if the thread of sound had been suddenly broken. Raising her eyes in the midst of the canticle, she had seen Rollo Ridsdale within a few places of her, holding his book before him very decorously, yet looking from her to a large man by his side with unmistakable meaning. The surprise of seeing him whom she believed to be far away, the agitation it gave her to perceive that she herself was still the chief point of interest to him, and the sudden recalling thus of her consciousness, gave her a shock which extinguished her voice altogether. There was a thrill in the music as if a string had broken; and then the hymn went on more feebly, diminished in sweetness and volume, while she stood trembling, holding herself up with an effort. He had come back again, and again his thoughts were full of her, his whole attention turned to her. An instantaneous change took place in Lottie’s mind. Instead of the jumble of annoyances and vexations that had been around her—the reproachful looks on one side, the family discordance on the other—her father and Law both jarring with all that Lottie wished and thought right—a flood of celestial calm poured into her soul. She was no longer angry with the two fair-haired girls who tittered and whispered through the service, looking up to Law with a hundred telegraphic communications. She was scarcely annoyed when her father’s voice pealed forth again in pretentious incorrectness. She did not mind what was happening around her. The sunshine that came in among the pinnacles and fretwork above in a golden mist, lighting up every detail, yet confusing them in a dazzle and glory which common eyes could not bear, made just such an effect on the canopies of the stalls as Rollo’s appearance made on Lottie’s mind. She was all in a dazzle and mist of sudden calm and happiness which seemed to make everything bright, yet blurred everything in its soft, delicious glow.
“Don’t think much of her,” said the Manager, as they came out. The two were going back again at once to town, but Rollo’s partner had supposed that at least they would first pay a visit to the Deanery. He was a man who counted duchesses on his roll of acquaintances, but he liked to add a Lady Caroline whenever the opportunity occurred, and deans, too, had their charm. He was offended when he saw that Rollo had no such intention, and at once divined that he was not considered a proper person to be introduced to the heads of such a community. This increased his determination not to yield to his partner in this fancy of his, which, indeed, he had always considered presumptuous, finding voices being his own share of the work—a thing much too important to be trusted to an amateur. “The boy has a sweet little pipe of his own; but as for your prima donna, Ridsdale, if you think that sort of thing would pay with us—— No, no! my good fellow; she’s a deuced handsome girl, and I wish you joy; I don’t wonder that she should have turned your head; but for our new house, not if I know it, my boy. A very nice voice for an amateur, but that sort of thing does not do with the public.”
“You scarcely heard her at all; and the few notes she did sing were so mixed up with those scrubby little boys——”
“Oh! I heard her, and I don’t care to hear her again—unless it were in a drawing-room. Why, there’s Rossinetti,” said the impresario; “he’ll tell you just the same as I do. Do you know what we’re down here for, Rossinetti, eh? Deluded by Ridsdale to come and hear some miraculous voice; and it turns out to be only a charming young lady who has bewitched him, as happens to the best of us. Pretty voice for a drawing-room, nice amateur quality; but for the profession—— I tell him you must know that as well as I.”
“Come into my place and rest a little; there is no train just yet,” said the Signor. He had left Purcell to play the voluntary, and led the strangers through the nave, which was still crowded with people listening to the great strains of the organ. “Come out this way” he said; “I don’t want to be seen. Purcell plays quite as well as I do; but if they see me they will stream off, and hurt his feelings. Poor boy! he has had enough to vex him already.”
These words were on his lips when, coming out by a private door, the three connoisseurs suddenly came upon Lottie, who was walking home with Mrs. O’Shaughnessy. The Signor, who was noted for a womanish heat of partisanship and had not forgiven her for the disappointment of his pupil, darted a violent glance at her as he took off his hat. It might have been himself that she had rejected, so full of offence was his look; and this fixed the attention of the big Manager, who took off his hat too, with a smile of secret amusement, and watched the scene, making a private memorandum to the effect that Rossinetti evidently had been hit also; and no wonder! a handsome girl as you could see in a summer day, with a voice that was a very nice voice, a really superior voice for an amateur.
As for Rollo, he hastened up to Mrs. O’Shaughnessy with fervour, and held out his hand; and how happy and how proud was that kind woman! She curtseyed as she took his hand as if he had been the Prince of Wales, nearly pulling him down, too, ere she recovered herself; and her countenance shone, partly with the heat, partly with the delight.
“And I hope I see you well, sir,” she said; “and glad to see you back in St. Michael’s. There’s nothing like young people for keeping a place cheerful. Though we don’t go into society, me and me Major, yet it’s a pleasure to see the likes of you about.”
Rollo had time to turn to Lottie with very eloquent looks while this speech was being addressed to him. “I am only here for half an hour,” he said; “I could not resist the temptation of coming for the service.”
“Oh! me dear sir, you wouldn’t care so much for the sarvice if ye had as much of it as we have,” said Mrs. O’Shaughnessy, going on well pleased. She liked to hear herself talking, and she had likewise a quick perception of the fact that, while she talked, communications of a different kind might go on between “the young folks.” “Between ourselves, it’s not me that they’ll get to stop for their playing,” she said, all the more distinctly that the Signor was within hearing. “I’d go five miles to hear a good band. The music was beautiful in the regiment when O’Shaughnessy was adjutant. And for me own part, Mr. Ridsdale, I’d not give the drums and the fifes for the most elegant music you could play. I don’t say that I’m a judge, but I know what I like.”
“Why did you stop so soon?” Rollo said, aside. “Ah! Miss Despard, was it not cruel?—A good band is an excellent thing, Mrs. O’Shaughnessy. I shall try to get my uncle to have the band from the depôt to play once a week, next time I come here.—Thanks all the same for those few notes; I shall live upon them,” he added fervently, “till I have the chance of hearing you again.”
Lottie made no reply. It was unnecessary with Mrs. O’Shaughnessy there, and talking all the time. And, indeed, what had she to say? The words spread themselves like a balm into every corner of her heart. He would not have gone so far, nor spoken so warmly, if it had not been for the brutal indifference of the big Manager, who stood looking on at a distance, with an air of understanding a great deal more than there was to understand. The malicious knowingness in this man’s eyes made Rollo doubly anxious in his civilities; and then he felt it necessary to make up to Lottie for the other’s blasphemy in respect to her voice, though of this Lottie knew nothing at all.
“I shall not even have time to see my aunt,” he said; “how fortunate that I have had this opportunity of a word with you! I did not know whether I might take the liberty to call.”
“And welcome, Mr. Ridsdale,” said Mrs. O’Shaughnessy. “Lottie’s but a child, so to speak; but I and the Major would be proud to see you. And of an afternoon we’re always at home, and, though I say it as shouldn’t, as good a cup of tea to offer ye as ye’d get from me Lady Caroline herself. It’s ready now, if you’ll accept the refreshment, you and—your friend.”
“A thousand thanks, but we must not stay. Mrs. O’Shaughnessy, if you see my aunt will you explain how it was I could not come to see her? And be sure you tell her you met me at the Abbey door, or she will not like it. Miss Despard, Augusta is coming home, and I hope to be at the Deanery next month. Then I trust you will be more generous, and not stop singing as soon as you see me. What had I done?” he cried in his appealing voice. “Yes, Rossinetti, I’m coming.—Not Good-bye, Mrs. O’Shaughnessy; only, as the French say, Till we meet again.”
“And I hope that will not be long,” said the good woman, delighted. She swept along the Dean’s Walk, letting her dress trail after her and holding her head high; she was too much excited to think of holding up her skirts. “Did ye hear him, Lottie, me honey? ‘If you see my aunt,’ says he. Lord bless the man! as if me Lady Caroline was in the way of looking in and taking a cup of tea! Sure, I’d make her welcome, and more sense than shutting herself up in that old house, and never stirring, no, not to save her life. ‘If ye see my aunt,’ says he. Oh, yes! me darlint, I’ll see her, shut up in her state, and looking as if—— He’ll find the difference when he comes to the Deanery, as he says. Not for you, Lottie, me dear; you’re one of themselves, so to speak. But it’s not much thanks me Lady Caroline will give him for sending her a message by Mrs. O’Shaughnessy. I thought I’d burst out in his face, ‘Tell her ye met me by the Abbey door.’ That’s to save me lady’s feelings, Lottie. But I’ll do his bidding next time I see her; I’ll make no bones of it, I’ll up and give her my message. Lord! just to see how me lady would take it. See if I don’t now. For him, he’s a jewel, take me word for it, Lottie; and ye’ll be a silly girl, me honey, if you let a gentleman like Mr. Ridsdale slip through your fingers. A real gentleman—ye can see as much by his manners. If I’d been a duchess, Lottie, me dear, what more could he say?”
Lottie made no reply to this speech, any more than to the words Rollo himself had addressed to her. Her mind was all in a confused maze of happy thoughts and anticipations. His looks, his words, were all turned to the same delicious meaning; and he was coming back to the Deanery, when she was to be “more generous” to him. No compliment could have been so penetrating as that soft reproach. Lottie had no words to spend upon her old friend, who, for her part, was sufficiently exhilarated to require no answer. Mrs. O’Shaughnessy rang the changes upon this subject all the way to the Lodges. “‘When you see my aunt,’ says he.” The idea that she was in the habit of visiting Lady Caroline familiarly not only amused but flattered her, though it was difficult enough to understand how this latter effect could come about.
Rollo was himself moved more than he could have imagined possible by this encounter. He said nothing as he followed his companions to the Signor’s house, and did not even remark what they were saying, so occupied was he in going over again the trivial events of the last few minutes. As he did so, it occurred to him for the first time that Lottie had not so much as spoken to him all the time; not a word had she said, though he had found no deficiency in her. It was evident, then, that there might be a meeting which should fill a man’s mind with much pleasant excitement and commotion, and leave on his thoughts a very delightful impression, without one word said by the lady. This idea amused him in the pleasant agitation of his being to which the encounter at the church door had given rise. He forgot what he had come for, and the rudeness of his partner, and the refusal of that personage to think at all of Lottie. He did not want any further discussion of this question; he had forgotten, even, that it could require to be discussed. Somehow all at once, yet completely, Lottie had changed character to him; he did not want to talk her over with anyone, and he forgot altogether the subject upon which the conversation must necessarily turn when he followed the Signor and his big companion through the groups of people who began to emerge from the Abbey. There were a great many who stared at Rollo, knowing who he was, but none who roused him from his preoccupation. Fortunately the Dean had a cold and was not visible, and Lady Caroline did not profess to go to church in the afternoon—“It was too soon after lunch, and there were so many people, and one never felt that one had the Abbey to one’s self,” her ladyship said.
The Manager went off to Italy the next day, after his Milanese, without being at all restrained by Rollo, who was glad to get rid of him, and to have no more said about the English prima donna. He did not quite like it even, so perverse was he, when the Signor, sitting out upon his terrace, defended her against the impresario’s hasty verdict: “She has a beautiful voice, so far as that goes,” the Signor said, with the gravity of a judge; “you are mistaken if you do not admire her voice; we have had occasion to hear it, and we know what it is, so far as that goes.”
“You dog!” said the jovial Manager, with a large fat laugh. “I see something else if I don’t see that. Ah, Rossinetti! hit too? ”
“Do you happen to know what he means?” said the Signor with profound gravity, turning his fine eyes upon Ridsdale. “Ah! it is a pleasantry, I suppose. I have not the same appreciation of humour that I might have had, had I been born an Englishman,” he said, with a seriousness that was portentous, without relaxing a muscle.
Rollo, who was not aware of the vehement interest with which the Signor espoused Purcell’s cause, felt the Manager’s suspicions echo through his own mind. He knew how entirely disinclined he felt to enter upon this question. Was his companion right, and had the Signor been hit too? It seemed to Rollo that the wonder was how anyone could avoid that catastrophe. The Manager made very merry, as they went back to town, upon Lottie’s voice and the character of the admiration which it had excited; but all this Rollo received with as much solemnity of aspect as characterised the Signor.