Mary Ann and Miss Mozart (8 page)

There was a door to her right, half open. She touched it, and heard Jenny’s voice: “Who’s there?”

“It’s me: Mary Ann.”

“Ah.” Jenny sounded relieved.

Next moment a candle came alight, and Mary Ann saw the gleam of eyes. Jenny looked beautiful in a red dress, low cut, her dark hair in curls under a little tilted hat with a grey feather.

“Are you ready?” she asked.

“Yes. But can you help me do up my dress?”

She felt Jenny’s hands at her back. “There.” Jenny tied the shawl securely in place over it. “You’ll need your hands free. What a fine pair we are!” She glanced at the window. “My cousin will be waiting – if you’re sure you want to come?”

“Yes. Yes, of course!”

“Right.” Jenny led her to the scullery window. There was a shallow stone sink under it, and a wooden table at the side. They hitched up their skirts and climbed onto the table. Then Jenny blew out the candle and Mary Ann felt her move away, into the sink, and heard the sound of the sash window being cautiously raised. Cool air flowed in.

“Follow me. And try not to make a sound climbing out. Mrs. Price’s window is just above.”

Mary Ann could see enough to know that Jenny was out through the window and down on the paving outside. She’d moved quickly, despite her full skirts, and Mary Ann realized it wasn’t the first time she’d gone out this way. She struggled to follow: found her footing on the edge of the sink, turned, and went out backwards, Jenny’s hands on her waist guiding her down.

Jenny pulled the window back into place, took Mary Ann’s hand, and ran with her up the basement steps, then down the length of the dark garden, keeping close to the wall. She unlatched the tradesmen’s gate at the end, and they both slipped out into Robinson’s Lane.

A man was waiting in the shadows.

“Nick!” Jenny drew Mary Ann round to face him. “Here’s our young lady: Mary Ann.”

Nick was slim and tall, like Jenny. He wore a yellow spotted neckerchief and a black hat and carried a violin case on a strap across his body. He made a hint of a bow to Mary Ann, then said, “Let’s find a boat.”

They went to the waterfront, where the landing stage was thronging with people – to Mary Ann’s surprise, for the hour seemed late to her.

Soon they were in a boat, being rowed across the dark water. Mary Ann shivered, despite her shawl. It was not such a fine evening as on her last visit, and there were spots of rain on the wind. But she grew warmer with anticipation as they came within sight of Ranelagh and saw the gardens lit with thousands of lanterns, the white Temple of Pan gleaming from a distance, and lights all along the waterfront reflected and moving on the river, like stars. She heard music and, as they arrived at the landing stage, a busy hum of voices. People, some already masked, swept past, wafting perfume.

She had assumed that Nick and Jenny had tickets or performers’ passes, and that they would all go in through the same gate as everyone else, but the two of them led her away from the gate, along the towpath and around the perimeter of the gardens, which were bordered by a fence and a high hedge.

There were fewer lights here, and it was muddy. She caught Jenny’s hand. “Where are we going?”

“Ssh! Nick knows the way.”

They stopped, and Mary Ann saw a break in the fence: a paling missing. Jenny at once squeezed through and, with a bit of rustling and a soft curse, disappeared from sight.

It was then that Mary Ann realized, all in a rush, that Nick and Jenny were not licensed to perform at the gardens, as she’d supposed; that they were breaking in; that they’d done this before; and that they could all end up in much worse trouble than she’d risked already by leaving school without permission.

“I don’t think –” she began. But Nick said, “You next, Miss,” and pushed her ahead of him through the gap. She felt the prickly branches of the hedge on her face and arms, and heard Jenny whisper, “There’s a way through here. Bit of a squeeze. Mind yourself on the thorns.”

Nick was behind her, and Jenny caught her from in front, and together they helped her through. No wonder Jenny had told her not to wear her best dress, Mary Ann thought.

They emerged onto a dark path amongst trees, faintly lit by lights farther along.

Nick stood up, adjusted his hat, and said, “Welcome to Ranelagh, ladies. Shall we find ourselves a pitch?”

Chapter Eleven

Masquerade

He took their arms, one on each side of him, and Mary Ann thought: a man has offered me his arm! How jealous Sophia would be! And she felt suddenly grown-up and grateful to Mrs. Corelli for the deportment lessons.

Now that they were inside the gardens, unchallenged, she began to feel less anxious. Nick and Jenny seemed quite carefree, chatting as they walked along the path. Nick struck out confidently towards the lights and movement, and occasionally they passed groups of young men, or couples who whispered and laughed together. Most of them were masked. Some way off Mary Ann could see the Temple of Pan, where a constant movement of people flowed to and fro. Closer to hand, there were other attractions: a juggler, people in fancy dress: a man dressed as Punch, a woman in harem trousers and a flimsy chemise that shocked Mary Ann. All around were little booths with lanterns hanging outside, the candle flames flickering in the breeze. These sold sweetmeats and drinks.

Nick stopped by a natural arbour at the side of the path, where a lantern swung in the branches, and let go of the girls’ arms. “This will do,” he said. He opened the violin case and took out the instrument, and placed his hat on the ground.

Jenny produced masks: a black and gilt one for Nick, sparkling green for herself, and blue and silver for Mary Ann. Once her mask was tied in place Mary Ann felt safer. No one would know her now.

Nick began to play: a sweet, romantic tune. And he looked the part, with his dramatic pose, the fiddle on his shoulder, the yellow neckerchief catching the light.

Jenny took Mary Ann to a stall and bought her a bag of sugared almonds. She also asked for three glasses of wine, and gave one to Mary Ann. “That’ll wet your whistle,” she said.

Mary Ann didn’t like the taste of the wine, but she sipped it, for politeness’ sake, as they walked back.

A few people had paused to listen to Nick’s playing. Mary Ann heard a chinking of coins in the hat. Nick called to Jenny, “A song, sweetheart!” He began to play an air from
The Beggars’ Opera
that Mary Ann knew; and Jenny stood beside him and sang, holding out her arms in dramatic gestures like the ladies at the opera and drawing cries of admiration from the gathering crowd. The gentlemen, who all seemed to go about in noisy groups, cheered and threw coins as the song ended. Jenny smiled and curtsied, the red dress sweeping the ground, her dark eyes shining.

“Encore!” someone – drunk, by the sound of him – shouted. But Jenny turned to Mary Ann and drew her forward. “Sing that dove song,” she whispered. “Tell Nick; he’ll know it…”

Nick did know it, and began to play Galatea’s air, and Mary Ann sang – too softly at first to be heard over the wind and rustling leaves and drunken chatter of passers-by. But then a hush fell, and people listened, and her voice soared clear:

“
As when the dove

Laments her love,

All on the naked spray;

When he returns,

No more she mourns,

But love the live-long day…
”

At the end, as she curtsied, loud clapping broke out, and Mary Ann heard women’s voices: “Such a sweet child!” “Another Miss Mozart, I do believe!”

They called for more – and Nick caught her eye and began to play the tune again.

The hat was filling nicely. When the crowd moved on, Jenny scooped up most of the contents and stowed it away in a pocket hidden beneath a slit in her skirt. Nick laid down the fiddle and put an arm around each of them.

“You were right, Jenny!” he said. “She sings like an angel. And
I
was right to tell you to bring her. The ladies love it!” He turned to Mary Ann. “What else do you know, sweetheart? Could you sing a duet with Jenny?”

They sang a few more songs – Mary Ann joining Jenny in familiar ballads, then one or other of them singing alone. Nick encouraged Mary Ann to sing her “operatic stuff” as he called it. “They like that.” But when she tried to copy Jenny’s extravagant gestures he shook his head at her. “Keep it sweet and simple,” he said afterwards. “Suits you better.”

And the people enjoyed it. The hat grew full, and once more Jenny transferred its contents to her pocket; and Mary Ann sipped her wine between songs and thought the drink wasn’t so bad after all – it made her feel a bit warmer as the night grew cool. Although it was spotting with rain, more and more people were strolling along the paths: groups of loud-voiced young men, or couples arm-in-arm.

When she was not singing, Mary Ann listened to snatches of conversation. She heard women talk of a lighted gondola on the canal, and of a row of little shops selling fans and other finery; and she could hear, from a distance, sounds of an orchestra playing dance music. She turned wistfully in its direction. She was glad her singing was appreciated, and that Nick was pleased with her, and especially glad to see the money dropping into the hat, but it seemed that much more was happening in the main part of the gardens, nearer the Rotunda, and she wished that they could go there. She wanted to see the Chinese bridge all lit up, and the gondola, and the dancers in their elaborate masks. But Jenny said no, they must stay here, and Mary Ann guessed it was because they had broken in and must keep away from any stewards. It was so different from her last visit, and she felt disappointed.

Despite the cool weather the crowds did not lessen, and the revellers were becoming noisier and more drunken. Gangs of men lurched by, and Mary Ann felt afraid when they stared at Jenny in her red dress and shouted coarse remarks. She was sure that only the presence of Nick kept them safe. A fight broke out just ahead of them on the path, and a man, supported by his friends, was left with blood running down his face onto his shirt. Farther off, where the lamps petered out and little winding paths led in amongst dark trees, they heard occasional shrieks and scuffles, and once a young woman burst out and rushed past them, sobbing.

“We should go now,” said Jenny, and Nick agreed. He bent to pick up the violin case – and at that moment two men sprang out of the darkness. Mary Ann saw one of them leap on Nick, and then the other pushed her to the ground. She landed hard, the breath knocked from her body, and hit her hand on something sharp. When she looked up, she saw Jenny grappling with the man, screeching, “Thief!” But he flung her down and scooped up the contents of the hat and was gone, in amongst the trees.

Jenny and Mary Ann both stood up. Nick’s attacker had punched him to the ground and fled. He struggled up, cursing.

“Oh, Mary Ann – Miss! Are you hurt?” Jenny looked panic-stricken at the sight of her.

“No…only my hand – I may have cut it…” Mary Ann was trembling, on the brink of tears. “The money?” she said.

“Gone. But don’t fret. It wasn’t much. Most of it’s here –” She patted her hidden pocket.

She turned to Nick, who had a split lip but seemed otherwise unhurt. “Let’s get out of here,” she said, “before there’s any more trouble.”

They hurried back along the path towards the place where they had come in. Mary Ann was crying now, from shock and fear. They passed several groups of people, but although Jenny looked dishevelled and Nick had a bloody face, no one asked if they needed help. The gardens had become a frightening place. Nick and Jenny hurried her along, and when Nick found the right spot they bundled her quickly through the hedge with its sharp thorns and then out through the gap in the fence onto the towpath.

It was raining harder now, and Mary Ann was cold; her hand hurt and her face and arms smarted from scratches. The few people they passed on the towpath looked either drunk or threatening, and she was glad when they reached the landing stage and found boatmen still plying for hire. What time was it? she wondered. Surely it must be the middle of the night? People were leaving Ranelagh, parties of them coming through the gate, but there were still many more inside.

They climbed into a boat. The boatman looked them over suspiciously and said, “Bit of a scrap, eh?” And Mary Ann saw, in the light of his lantern, that her dress was muddied all down the front and her hands were dirty and one was bleeding. She whispered to Jenny, “How will I get clean? I can’t go to my bed like this…”

Jenny looked at her and frowned, biting her lip. “No. We need to wash those cuts and tidy you up first. Don’t worry. We can use the scullery sink.”

But she looked shaken, and Mary Ann knew that she was worried.

Chapter Twelve