THE MAGIC TOUCH (Historical Romance) (14 page)

After a while Hope stood up to stretch herself. She had grown quite stiff. Walking
to the window, she espied the brougham. The driver’s head lolled on his chest as if he was asleep and the footman was walking up and down the pavement – even the poor horse looked weary. How long had she and Beaumont been ensconced in his drawing room? Too long was surely the answer to that question. She consulted the watch which Aunt Constance had given her permission to wear even though it was a present for her papa. “I must go,” she said. “Would you like to keep the list we have made? Or shall I take it and see if I can add to it?”

“
Add to it? My goodness, if things are added to its enormous length I can see none of it coming about. We must start simply, Hope. As you said, one piece at a time. Although you’ve given me a new idea. We could teach people to tell the time. It would be very useful. Not everyone can, you know. Even if one is able to form letters and read words it does not mean they can understand the concept of numbers. Now there’s another thing. The possibilities are endless. There is so much we have to organise. So many ideas to develop.” Beaumont was already scribbling things onto the paper and reaching for another sheet.

“When shall we meet again?” she asked him, gasping as she realised her question could be misinterpreted. “What I mean is, meet to discuss the projects we have in mind.”

“I should be delighted to meet you at any time, Hope. But if we are to progress with our plans, then I’m not sure if I should be near you. You are very distracting to say the least.”

Hope frowned. She couldn’t understand how she could be off-putting; she had tried really hard to order her thoughts and be business like. After all, it was an important step they were both taking. Then she realised the implication of his words and felt her heart beating wildly. Was
it sensible to be working closely with Beaumont? Her mother wouldn’t mind at all, she was sure, but what about Aunt Constance? And what if Lady Padstock found out! Whatever would happen then? All of a sudden she didn’t care at all about anyone’s opinion except her own and Beaumont’s.

On the way home, Hope firmly put aside thoughts of being with Beaumont. Instead she
considered what he had said concerning her writing. If she could get something else published there would be more money to invest in the school. Reference and workbooks would have to be purchased and although she was sure Papa would endorse her activity and even bestow money towards it, she wanted to be more independent. What could she write? A complete book would take a very long time, she estimated. There were only so many articles she could write as she had little detailed knowledge or learning. Perhaps a slim volume of short stories would be acceptable. But where could she send them? Who would be able to advise her?

At last the b
rougham carriage arrived at Aunt Constance’s house and she was now in a calmer state to greet her mama and aunt.

“Was the exhibition enjoyable?” asked Hope as she entered the drawing room. The two older women were chatting animatedly and seemed barely aware of her presence. It was good to see them getting on so well together and excellent that Aunt Constance was still in good spirits.

Prudence looked up. “It was remarkable, darling. You should have come with us. You would have been enthralled.”

Hope smiled as she recalled her own enthralling time with Beaumont. There was so much to think about, to plan, to consider. All she really wanted to do now was to be on her own and recapture their afternoon together. But she must remember her manners. “I am pleased you enjoyed it. Perhaps I could go another day.
Do tell me all about it.”

They showed her pamphlets they had brought from the gallery
. The pictures were truly remarkable.

“It would be an achievement to paint like that,” sighed Mama. “If I could only do half as well
...”

“I have seen your wor
k, Prudence. You must not underestimate your talent,” Constance admonished. “There is still a little time before the concert, why don’t you paint something for that? Something in keeping with the music to be arranged.”

“A pair of spoons, you mean?” laughed Prudence.
Giggles escaped the three of them. “It is an excellent idea. But I have no easel, no paints. I couldn’t do it in the time available.”

“Mama, indeed you could do it. I have paints, you have the ability. What is the theme of the concert to be?”

“After much thought I decided that it should include light music. Something people can relax with. I have selected several songs, some quite witty. Works by Gilbert and Sullivan of course will be included and I have a singer who will surprise us all I feel sure.”

“Oh do tell us who it is,” said Constance, her eyes alight
.

“No, it’s to
remain a secret,” replied Prudence. “Hope, I shall accompany you to your rooms and see what paints you have, if you will excuse us, Constance.” Prudence put her arm through her daughter’s and led her towards the door. “Thank you for a lovely afternoon, Constance. I trust I haven’t fatigued you too much.”

* * *

When Hope was finally alone in her rooms she dwelt on the events of the afternoon. Her time with Beaumont had been blissful, but now she wanted to concentrate on the days ahead. Several things needed to be accomplished: the library, the school and the concert. Hope knew how her mama behaved when she was painting. She was oblivious to anything else and it would fall to Hope to finalise the details of the concert, she felt certain. Hope would have to ascertain the plans her mother had made. There was still a little time before she need change and go downstairs again, so Hope put everything else out of her mind and started writing a short story which had come to her a couple of days ago.

A knock at her door startled her. Edna entered. “Hope, Her Grace and Her Ladyship are waiting for you.”

“I was writing and didn’t notice how the time has flown by.” Hope put down her pen and stretched her fingers.

“What are you writing?” asked Edna, her eyes darting towards the pages. “
Such a lot of words. Is it a letter? Oh, do forgive me, I don’t mean to pry. The talk below stairs is of reading and writing and suchlike. Mr Stevenson and the housekeeper have taken to reading bits from the newspaper to us. When Her Grace has finished with them, of course.”

“This is a story which I would like to be published.”

“What sort of a story is it? A nice romance? Or a gory tale?”

“It’s a tale of adventure
,” said Hope, “but you have given me an idea for a further story. I shall dedicate it to you.” She jotted down a few notes so she wouldn’t forget her thoughts. “I must get changed. Mama will be cross with me, although I’m surprised
she’s
remembered it’s dinner time.”

When Hope entered the drawing room dressed for dinner her mama han
ded her a parcel with paint-stained hands. “I forgot to give this to you earlier. It is from your papa.”

Hope ripped off the brown paper to reveal
a small box. It was labelled ‘You can’t please all the people all the time’. “Here is a letter.” She read it out, “My dear Hope, since hearing of your fascination with magic lanterns I have been searching for a gift for you. I believe the slides I am sending are quite old, but will please you. If you are able to spare her, please send your dear mama back to me. Your loving Papa.” She held the series of slides up to the light. The story about the ass, the man and his son trying to please everyone made her giggle. Hope longed to rush to Beaumont’s house to show him the slides and have the opportunity to see them projected using the magic lantern. It would be disappointing if he already had the same ones.

Stevenson appeared and announced that dinner was served. Hope almost skipped into the dining room and then remembered how selfish she was being. She had completely forgotten to enquire how her mama’s painting was coming on.

“Mama, you will believe me to be as observant as Sherlock Holmes, but I deduce you have started on your latest work of art.”

Her mama studied her hands. “
I always was messy. You are right. I haven’t had much time, but have started work on the painting for the concert. I am afraid your papa will have to wait for my return to the continent. There are lots of things to do here. I wondered if any of the servants would like to produce some art work. We might have a small exhibition as well as a concert.”

Constance sighed. “Where will this end? There is one new idea after another.”

* * *

Although tired, Hope felt too
distracted to go straight to bed after retiring to her room. She sat at the escritoire and pulled her journal towards her.

It has been the most marvellous day. There are so many exciting things happening. The concert and exhibition, the library and school and the book I wish to publish. It is little wonder I feel unable to lie down and sleep. And then there is Beaumont. It is quite astounding he attempted to make tea for us. I am sure Papa has never done such a thing. I doubt Papa has even been in a kitchen.

How does Beaumont regard me
? Am I simply a like-minded soul or does he have deeper feelings? The kiss we shared seems to have happened in another life. It was such a long time ago.

Should I visit him tomorrow in order to show him the slides and continue with our work or should I wait for him to call on
, or write to, me? I will finish now and go to bed and hope to dream of Beaumont, the man to whom I’ve lost my heart.

* * *

The evening of the concert arrived and again the lively chatter of the servants filled the room, but this time the event was taking place in the drawing room rather than the servants’ hall. Before settling themselves on the rows of seats the servants were being encouraged by Prudence to study the exhibition of art work which had been arranged in the dining room.

Hope was seated near the back and tried to concentrate on the programme in her hand, but couldn’t resist constantly turning round to see if Beaumont had arrived. They had seen each other several times in the previous days, but there had been too much to do to have time for any
thing of an intimate nature to pass between them. He had promised he would be there and she was disappointed when the first item started and there was still no sign of him. Hope knew she should not fidget, but she couldn’t help her fingers caressing the beautifully soft silk of her dove grey dress. The purple trimmings were adorable and the gown fitted her well. She had dressed with Beaumont in mind. Now it seemed as if her efforts had been in vain. But, she reminded herself, this concert was not for her to further her acquaintance with Beaumont. With a sigh, she abandoned her selfish thoughts and tried to concentrate on the entertainment.

The audience was appreciative even when the performers were overcome by the grandness of their surroundings and the imposing piano they were expected to play or be accompanied by.
One of the footmen had been inveigled into making the announcements.

“And now,
Your Grace, Your Ladyships, Ladies and Gentlemen, what you have all been waiting for, Mr Stevenson on the spoons.”

Huge cheers went up a
s Stevenson stepped forward his face slightly flushed. To his credit, he made a good tune from the instruments. Hope hid a smile as she imagined him practising late at night. Perhaps he concealed himself in a cupboard to muffle the noise. She clenched the insides of her cheeks to prevent laughter escaping. As he came to the end of his piece, applause rang out and Stevenson took two bows. He even managed a full smile and looked quite handsome, Hope thought. She cast a glance towards her mother and aunt, both of whom were looking happy and clapping enthusiastically. The evening was going to be a huge success. But where was Beaumont?

The next performance was a song accompanied by the piano. It
was a comic piece and following that was a romantic song delivered with barely-concealed embarrassment and laughter by Edna and one of the footmen. Hope was happy to hear Edna’s clear voice ringing out through the drawing room. She clapped loudly at the end of their performance and then her mind was on Beaumont again. Where was he?

She turned towards the hallway, but there was still no sign of him. He wouldn’t let her down, would he? Perhaps he’d been taken ill, or had been summoned to his business after all.
She waited impatiently for the interval, knowing she should put more effort into the proceedings, but now she was preoccupied and hardly heard the introduction to the next act. The programme twisted in her hands and fell to the floor. As she bent to retrieve it, she heard a melodious voice from the front of the room. Someone was singing and doing it in style. Raising her head, she craned her neck to see who it was. Her intake of breath was audible she was sure. But what a surprise to see and hear Beaumont. His rendition of ‘Fair Moon to Thee I Sing’ was splendid. Prickles ran up and down Hope’s bare arms as she listened. His voice had an overwhelming effect on her, so much so that even after the singing had stopped and the applause died down, she sat in her seat unable to move.

“Hope, Hope, are you all right, darling?” It was Mama. “It’s time for the refreshments. We must circulate, come along. Wasn’t Beaumont impressive?”

As if in a dream, Hope followed her mother and oversaw the food and drinks. The servants would feel awkward and shy eating in front of their employers. Hope gave herself a shake and smiled at Molly. “Take this plate and help yourself,” she encouraged. “I can recommend the salmon mousse, but remember to leave room for the cakes. They look completely delectable.” She was rewarded with a smile and a thank you from the young girl who proceeded to help herself, inhibitions seemingly forgotten.

“My lady, it’s a wonderful evening.” Edna was by her side with a plate full of
treats from the refreshment table. “May I get some food for you?”

“That is most kind, Edna, but I will help myself when everyone else has a plateful. You are here to relax and enjoy yourself.”

“It’s a perfect evening. I shall remember it always.” She drifted away with a dreamy look on her face.

“And will you remember it always?” Hope didn’t need to turn around to know to whom the voice belonged.

“I shall indeed,” she replied. “I had no idea you could sing as well.” She faced him and felt her cheeks grow warm.

“As well as what?” Beaumont’s eyes twinkled as he gazed down at her.

Hope was lost for words. At last she managed, “As well as your other talents such as projecting slides and narrating your shows.” Changing the subject would be a helpful option she surmised. “I think the concert is a success so far. Everyone seems to have entered into it with zeal.”

“And are
you
to entertain us a little later on?” Beaumont enquired. He took a plate from the diminishing pile and helped himself to items from the table.

“No, I shall not, but there is a full programme. Will you stay until the end?” Hope held her breath, wishing with all her might that he
would say yes.

“Yes. And there is someone I should like you to meet. A friend of mine.
I asked Constance if I could invite him as I needed some moral support before my performance.” He busied himself with the food, forking some of the sliced roasted meats into his mouth.