know and young Mr Templeton and his
friend will perform the quarrel scene from Julius Caesar , Brutus and
Cassius—such wonderful poetry!’
Zanthe was visited by one of her sudden
impulses and made no attempt to resist it. ‘It is going to be a splendid
concert, dear Miss Cholmondeley, but perhaps you require another singer, not to
be compared with the Signora, of course, but to, shall we say, prepare the
ground for her? Miss Fallowfield sings a little, and I’m sure she would be
delighted to help in such a good cause.’
Miss Cholmondeley clasped her hands
together in an ecstasy of gratitude. ‘Oh, dear Lady Brookenby, how did you know
we were just wishing for another songstress? It would be delightful for, of course,
Signora Villella will appear last, as befits our prima donna. And I must admit
there is perhaps just a little too much non-musical entertainment in the first
half of the programme. If Miss Fallowfield would honour us—you will? Oh, Miss
Fallowfield, how very kind!’
Zanthe glanced up and caught the full
blast of fury in the Signora’s narrowed eyes. She merely smiled and shook her
head a little. As the Cholmondeleys got up to leave, she said, ‘Signora
Villella, will you stay a moment longer? I need—er—that recipe—for—er—’
‘ Zuppa alli Pomidoro ,’ interposed
Susanna, composedly.
‘—yes, that one—that you were kind
enough to promise me.’
The prima donna sat down again with a
great rustling of silk. ‘Very well. I stay.’
Miss Cholmondeley showed a marked
inclination to linger and hear the recipe but was ushered from the room by
Margery and her brother. There was a short silence.
Then the storm broke: ‘What—what I
say—are you thinking of? Are you mad? You think I want my Susanna to sing—in
front of these— volgari ! Was it for this I bring her to you? This is the
respectability you swore to—’
‘Yes, it is. There could be no better
way of bringing her to the attention of Society. A virtuous, pretty young woman
taking part in a charitable undertaking in company with ladies like Mrs Preston
and the Weatherspoon girls is just what will bring her the right kind of notice.’
She saw that the Signora was suddenly looking thoughtful. ‘And,’ she said in the
tone of a clincher, ‘young Mr Templeton is extremely wealthy and well-born. You
know, Ma’am, as well as I, the intimacy that a venture of this nature engenders
among the participants.’
The Signora nodded. ‘True, very true. It
was well thought of.’ She turned to her daughter. ‘You shall sing Marzelline’s
aria from Act One of Fidelio . It is a novelty still, here in England,
and you sing it very well. You shall be dressed all in white and wear camellias
in your hair, and this Mr Templeton will fall in love with you at once.’
Susanna merely smiled her secret, little
smile, very well pleased at the prospect of singing in public and quite
uninterested in the possibility of being fallen in love with.
It was at this moment that a smart rap
was heard at the front door and a gentleman’s voice asking for Mr Sidney
reached their ears. A few moments later, the morning-room door opened, and Sir
Marmaduke Carlyle was ushered into the room.
Sir Marmaduke was a man of a good height
and was exceptionally broad in the shoulders and chest. He had a handsome face,
very dark and with a high colour that betokened an over-indulgence in claret.
His abundant side-whiskers were glossy, curled, and scented with pomade. He was
dressed in the height of fashion, with very high peaks to the shoulders of his
coat and a wasp waist to draw attention to his athletic physique. He had a good
leg for a pantaloon and wore highly polished hessian-boots. Despite all these
attributes, Zanthe, surveying him critically, thought he did not look quite the
gentleman.
She arose from her chair, smiling, and
held out her hand. ‘Sir Marmaduke, you have come to call upon my poor brother.
This is so very kind of you. He has told me so
friend will perform the quarrel scene from Julius Caesar , Brutus and
Cassius—such wonderful poetry!’
Zanthe was visited by one of her sudden
impulses and made no attempt to resist it. ‘It is going to be a splendid
concert, dear Miss Cholmondeley, but perhaps you require another singer, not to
be compared with the Signora, of course, but to, shall we say, prepare the
ground for her? Miss Fallowfield sings a little, and I’m sure she would be
delighted to help in such a good cause.’
Miss Cholmondeley clasped her hands
together in an ecstasy of gratitude. ‘Oh, dear Lady Brookenby, how did you know
we were just wishing for another songstress? It would be delightful for, of course,
Signora Villella will appear last, as befits our prima donna. And I must admit
there is perhaps just a little too much non-musical entertainment in the first
half of the programme. If Miss Fallowfield would honour us—you will? Oh, Miss
Fallowfield, how very kind!’
Zanthe glanced up and caught the full
blast of fury in the Signora’s narrowed eyes. She merely smiled and shook her
head a little. As the Cholmondeleys got up to leave, she said, ‘Signora
Villella, will you stay a moment longer? I need—er—that recipe—for—er—’
‘ Zuppa alli Pomidoro ,’ interposed
Susanna, composedly.
‘—yes, that one—that you were kind
enough to promise me.’
The prima donna sat down again with a
great rustling of silk. ‘Very well. I stay.’
Miss Cholmondeley showed a marked
inclination to linger and hear the recipe but was ushered from the room by
Margery and her brother. There was a short silence.
Then the storm broke: ‘What—what I
say—are you thinking of? Are you mad? You think I want my Susanna to sing—in
front of these— volgari ! Was it for this I bring her to you? This is the
respectability you swore to—’
‘Yes, it is. There could be no better
way of bringing her to the attention of Society. A virtuous, pretty young woman
taking part in a charitable undertaking in company with ladies like Mrs Preston
and the Weatherspoon girls is just what will bring her the right kind of notice.’
She saw that the Signora was suddenly looking thoughtful. ‘And,’ she said in the
tone of a clincher, ‘young Mr Templeton is extremely wealthy and well-born. You
know, Ma’am, as well as I, the intimacy that a venture of this nature engenders
among the participants.’
The Signora nodded. ‘True, very true. It
was well thought of.’ She turned to her daughter. ‘You shall sing Marzelline’s
aria from Act One of Fidelio . It is a novelty still, here in England,
and you sing it very well. You shall be dressed all in white and wear camellias
in your hair, and this Mr Templeton will fall in love with you at once.’
Susanna merely smiled her secret, little
smile, very well pleased at the prospect of singing in public and quite
uninterested in the possibility of being fallen in love with.
It was at this moment that a smart rap
was heard at the front door and a gentleman’s voice asking for Mr Sidney
reached their ears. A few moments later, the morning-room door opened, and Sir
Marmaduke Carlyle was ushered into the room.
Sir Marmaduke was a man of a good height
and was exceptionally broad in the shoulders and chest. He had a handsome face,
very dark and with a high colour that betokened an over-indulgence in claret.
His abundant side-whiskers were glossy, curled, and scented with pomade. He was
dressed in the height of fashion, with very high peaks to the shoulders of his
coat and a wasp waist to draw attention to his athletic physique. He had a good
leg for a pantaloon and wore highly polished hessian-boots. Despite all these
attributes, Zanthe, surveying him critically, thought he did not look quite the
gentleman.
She arose from her chair, smiling, and
held out her hand. ‘Sir Marmaduke, you have come to call upon my poor brother.
This is so very kind of you. He has told me so
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