Songbird (5 page)

“Of
course there’s a great deal to consider and you’ll need time to think it over,”
he said. 

I
looked down at the polished floorboards my thoughts in turmoil.  Twelve hundred
pounds sounded wonderful.  I could do so much with that. 

“You’re
a music teacher?” he asked.

“Yes,”
I answered, without raising my eyes.

“What
do you teach?  Piano?  Singing?”

“Both
those.”

“Can
you sing?”

I
raised my head and stared at the open window, wishing he would show himself. 
“Enough to teach it,” I said.

“Then
let me hear you sing.”

“I
beg your pardon.”

“Sing
me a song.”

I
raised my chin defiantly.  “No, sir.  I certainly will not.”

“Why
not?”

“Because
I’m not here to sing.  If you want singing lessons then I charge one shilling
and sixpence an hour.”

This
time his laughter echoed round the conservatory and I couldn’t help thinking
what a pleasant voice he had.  I wondered what he looked like. 

“So,
my dear.  Do you wish more time to think about it?” said Mrs Holland.

I
nodded.  “Yes please, just a few days.”

“I’m
always at home at four every afternoon.  When you make up your mind then just
call in to see me.”

“But
be warned, Miss Pritchard,” said the gentleman. “We can’t be kept waiting.  If
you don’t turn up after seven days then your application is rescinded.  And
don’t forget that you promised to keep all this confidential.”

That night I
tossed and turned amongst the covers, hoping that my restlessness didn’t
disturb Danny sleeping in his cot.  I reached across and held his tiny hand in
mine.  His birth had been relatively easy, so why shouldn’t a second child be
just as trouble free?  By next summer, financial security could be mine and I
could have the means of entering the academy. 

As
sleep finally claimed me I was heartily relieved that I had removed my wedding
ring and assumed my maiden name.  The gentleman might want to be anonymous but
so did I.  I had to protect my true identity.  It would be a terrible betrayal
of my darling husband and his precious memory.  As I fell asleep whispering his
name, I hoped he would forgive me for what I was thinking of doing.

CHAPTER
FIVE

“C
harity! 
Greensleeves
is a love song.  It’s said that it was written by Henry the
eighth for Anne Boleyn.”

The
young girl sniffed in disgust.  “Didn’t he chop off her head, Mrs Asquith?”

My
fingers rested on the piano keys and I sighed.  “Yes, he did.  But before doing
that, he was very much in love with her and he wrote this song expressing his
love.  It’s supposed to be sung with feeling.”

“I’m
trying to sing it with feeling.”

“Let’s
start again.  But try and imagine that you’re in love.”

Charity
giggled and I found myself smiling.  I suppose eleven is not the age for
imagining you’re in love.  I gave her the introduction once more and she
started to sing.  I cringed with every note and then Mrs Reynard swished into
the room.  She stood quietly, listening and when we reached the end, she clapped
her hands in rapture.

“Oh,
I think she sounds so delightful.”

“Yes,
ma’am,” I said dryly.  There was no telling these mothers.  They were obviously
very hard of hearing or just plain stupid.

I
left the house feeling very despondent.  Three days had passed since my
interview with Mrs Holland and the unknown gentleman.  They had given me seven
days’ grace and my conflicting thoughts had haunted my every waking hour.  What
should I do?  Was it a sin to contemplate such an idea?  What would Mr Price
back in Cwmdare think?  I sighed as I walked towards the house I shared with
Nan.  But then I had an idea and suddenly I was jumping on the omnibus and
heading towards Regent’s Park and the music academy.

Once
there, I stood outside the impressive white building and listened.  It was
another hot day and the windows were open.  I could hear the various melodies
drifting on the slight breeze and my heart longed to be part of it all.  Every
fibre in my body ached for it.  I glanced at the fob watch pinned to my blouse and
before I knew it I was walking back through the park and catching the omnibus. 
Not for home, but for the large house in Gibson Place, Ealing.

It
was only three-thirty when I arrived and conscious of the fact that Mrs Holland
said she would be at home at four, I strolled around the neighbourhood.  It was
such a pleasant part of London, with chestnut and lime trees lining the avenues
and crescents.  It was mostly the middle-class that lived in this area and the
numerous carriages that rumbled along the cobbles gave testimony to the money
spent on the luxurious living enjoyed by the residents.  They were wonderful
vehicles, glinting with brass fittings and polished leatherwork, pulled by two
fine horses.  Drivers sat aloft, in smart livery.  The ladies and gentlemen
riding in them looked smug and self-satisfied.  All about me were nannies
pushing perambulators or servants cleaning windows or sweeping the pavement.

Suddenly
I was filled with disquiet as I wondered if the gentleman who wanted to employ
me, might live close by.  Perhaps he was watching me now, from an upstairs
window?  I glanced around but then my common sense prevailed.  It was unlikely
for him to be a resident of Ealing, since he would want to distance himself
from his intentions.  If he wanted to stay anonymous then he probably lived in
another part of London.

At
four o’clock precisely, I knocked on the door, my hand trembling.  Then I
realised I had forgotten to take off my wedding ring.  I quickly pulled it from
my finger and stuffed it in the leather pouch that held my music.  The maid
showed me into the parlour.  This was a very pleasant room its décor in pink
and white, with vases of flowers on two occasional tables placed against the
wall.  A comfortable couch and two armchairs stood by the richly decorated
fire-screen and all around were the ornaments and photographs associated with
the life of an elderly widowed lady.

Mrs
Holland rose to greet me as I entered the room and I smiled as she kissed my
cheek.  “Miss Pritchard, I’m delighted you’ve come back to visit me.”  I looked
around apprehensively and her rounded frame shook with laughter.  “No, my dear,
he’s not here today, so no need to worry.  Please sit down.” 

I
grinned and sat on the couch.  “I’m relieved to hear that.  It makes me quite
nervous when someone is lurking in the foliage.”

“I’m
glad you have a sense of humour.  It makes the situation a little less
awkward.”  She called to the maid who was awaiting instruction.  “Bring some
tea in, Jane dear.”

“Do
you find the situation awkward?” I asked rather surprised, after the maid had
left.

She
sat down next to me.  “These are unusual circumstances, that’s for sure.  But I
suppose this is what makes life interesting.  It would be a boring world if
everything was predictable.”

I
paused for a moment trying to collect my thoughts.  “I need to ask you more
questions.”

“I’ll
answer those I can, my dear.  But you must understand that I’m sworn to some
secrets.”

“I do
understand,” I said slowly.  I quickly looked round the room, my eyes straying
to the piano in the corner.  I almost imagined a pair of shoes sticking out
from under it.  I glanced towards the curtains and the cabinet against the
wall. 

Mrs
Holland threw back her head and laughed merrily.  “You really think he’s still
hiding, don’t you?  If you wish, you can search the room.  But I assure you, we
are quite alone.”

I
felt stupid and shook my head, smiling wryly.  “This couple.  The gentleman and
his wife.  Are they good people?”

Mrs
Holland seemed taken aback by my question.  “They are a lovely couple.  I’ve
known them many years.”

I
wondered if she had been the lady’s nanny. 

“Would
they make excellent parents?”

“There’s
no one better.”

I
licked my lips nervously.  “And the gentleman.  Is he nice?”

“Very
nice.”

“Handsome?”
I said in almost a whisper.

She
nodded.  “I think him a remarkable gentleman.  Very kind and considerate and
generous to a fault.  He has seen his wife hurting for want of a child and it’s
hurt him too.  I can’t speak too highly of him.”

Of
course, I realised that she was duty bound to say that.  After all, she was
probably being paid for her services too.  But the look on her face seemed
genuine and instinctively I knew she was telling the truth.

“Does
his wife really agree with this?  I mean, it seems an extraordinary undertaking
for a woman to consider.”  A dreadful thought suddenly occurred to me.  “She
does know, doesn’t she?”

Mrs
Holland gave a small chuckle.  “My dear, it was she who had the idea in the
first place.  Her husband was very unsure about it all but she persuaded him
that she could love his child, even though it wouldn’t be hers.”

The
maid arrived with a tray of tea and Mrs Holland poured out two cups while I
contemplated my thoughts.  She offered me a biscuit from a plate.  I took one
and bit into it.

“That
must be a difficult decision to make,” I murmured.  “She must so want a child.”

“She
does, my dear.  More than anything.”  She looked at me over gold-rimmed
spectacles.  “So, what’s your thoughts?  Although please remember you still
have a little more time to make your decision.”

“If I
did agree, then what would happen next?”

She
grimaced.  “This is the difficult part and it’s only right that you know.  It
will help you make your decision.”  Clearing her throat, she added quickly, 
“The lady wants me to verify that you are quite healthy and not already
pregnant.”

I
felt aghast.  “But I’m not!”

“I
assume that, but it’s all part of the agreement,” she said, patting my knee.

I
took another bite of my biscuit and then a gulp of tea.  “How do you do that?” 
I asked innocently.

It
was difficult acting as though I had not had a child and I already had an
inkling of what Mrs Holland would say.  There was only one sure way of
verifying if a woman was pregnant or not and that was the showing or not of her
monthly bleeding.

As if
she could read my thoughts she said,  “When is your monthly bleeding due?”

“Not
for another two weeks.  About the middle of September.”

“Is
it regular?”

“More
or less.”

She
nodded.  “I’m a midwife, my dear.  So, you must put your trust in me.  I will
need you to visit me on the second day of your next monthly bleeding.”

“Why?”
I asked tentatively.

“So
that I can examine you.”

“How?”
I knew that my voice was becoming fainter with each question.

“It’s
a simple procedure and one you mustn’t worry about.  I have to examine your
cervix and verify that all is well.”

I
started to panic.  “But if you see blood, isn’t that enough?”

“I’m
afraid not.  That can be faked.”

“They
don’t seem to have much faith in me,” I muttered.

Thankfully
she didn’t seem offended.  I hadn’t meant to cause offence, the words had left
me unguarded.

“I
understand how you feel, my dear.  Actually, I have a great deal of faith in
you.  I could see that you were a reliable, honest young woman as soon as I met
you.”  I hoped she didn’t notice me wince at that comment.  “And so did the
gentleman, believe it or not.”  I stared at her in surprise.  “Yes, he was
quite taken with you.  However, his wife is taking no part in this.  She will
never meet you and only knows you from what is told to her.  She feels
justified in making certain demands, asking for absolute guarantees.”

I
blew out a long breath.  “I don’t suppose I blame her.  In her position I would
do just the same.”

“I’m
pleased you agree.  Would you like another cup of tea?”  I offered my cup and
she refilled it from a silver pot.  “What is your decision, now that you have
further information?  Would you like the remaining four days to think it over?”

I
thought for a moment.  “All I keep thinking is that in ten months or so this
will be at an end.”

“And
you’ll have twelve hundred pounds in your pocket,” she smiled.

That
seemed to clinch it for me.  “All right,” I nodded.  “I agree to do it.”

Mrs
Holland closed her eyes briefly as though she was relieved.  “I’m so pleased. 
You’re the right person, Miss Pritchard.  And I know everything is going to be
splendid.”

Be
splendid?  There was a long way to go before anything was splendid.  On the
omnibus, I rooted for my wedding ring and found it in the corner of the pouch.  I
slipped it back on my finger and as I did so, tears trickled down my cheeks.  I
tried to brush them away.  I didn’t know why I was crying, it seemed a silly
thing to do.  But on that gloriously hot afternoon, at the end of August, I
felt very dispirited.  I looked around at the passengers travelling with me and
I felt apart from them.  Their happy chatter and laughter only made me more
melancholy.  The young couple in front of me kept stealing kisses and it made
my tears flow faster.  I felt lonely.  And when I arrived home I hugged Danny
as if I had not seen him for months.  He gave me a kiss and patted my cheek.  I
would put money away for his schooling, I thought.  And when I did become
famous, he would want for nothing.  I slept a little better that night.

I don’t know how
I got through the next few weeks.  Sometimes I felt like dashing to Gibson
Place and telling Mrs Holland that I couldn’t go through with it.  And then
there were other times when the lesson I was giving was so torturous, that I
was relieved that an end was in sight.

On
the seventeenth of September I woke up with stomach cramps and a few hours
later my monthly bleeding began.  The rags Nan and I used were old sheets,
towels, or pillowcases, torn into squares.  They didn’t absorb and often the
blood would seep into our underwear.  It was a messy time of the month and we
just had to cope with it, but knowing that I was to undergo an intimate
examination filled me with horror.  I had never been ‘interfered’ with at that
time of the month and I felt angry that it was necessary in the first place.  I
wondered what would happen if I didn’t turn up.  Would they be angry?  But then
I remembered the money and that compelled me to set off the following day to
keep my four o’clock appointment with Mrs Holland.

Again,
she was delighted to see me and her easy manner made me relax.

“You’re
looking very pale, my dear.  Are you in a lot of pain?”  I nodded, embarrassed
and she gave a sigh.  “It’s not a pleasant time of the month.  It must be a lot
easier being a man, don’t you think?”  I had to agree.  “I think we should go
upstairs now and get it over with, don’t you?”  I agreed again. 

I
followed her upstairs to a small bedroom at the rear of the house.  She closed
the door on us and I quickly glanced around.  There was a single bed, its head
against the wall with a cabinet next to it.  A wardrobe stood near the window
with a dresser close by.  The room was obviously unoccupied since it was devoid
of any personal items.  Mrs Holland took a sheet from the dresser, folded it
into four and placed it on top of the quilt in the centre of the bed.