Mary Ann and Miss Mozart (4 page)

“George needs books and new clothes too,” said her mother, “and Harriet must have a whole new wardrobe now she is engaged to Mr. Browne.”

But none of this was a problem. When her father came home, Mary Ann dropped him a perfect curtsy, and he laughed with pleasure and took her hand and then scooped her into a hug. “My little girl! You are quite a lady already!”

He approved a visit to Cheapside for “shopping”, as the ladies liked to call it.

“When the
Calliope
comes in – any day now – we’ll be rich,” he said. “You’ll be in fine feather then, Harriet; more than a match for any son of Walter Browne.” He winked above Mary Ann’s head at her mother. “This’ll show the old lady.”

His wife gave a little shake of her head to silence him. But Mary Ann knew what he meant. “The old lady” was her other grandmother, her mother’s mother, Mrs. Eleanor Causey, who was now a widow and lived in Kensington. Grandfather Causey had been a lawyer, and he and his wife had always disapproved of John Giffard because he gambled and took financial risks. They believed he could not give their daughter the security and respectability she deserved. Susan Causey had married him against their wishes, and had never been forgiven. So the Giffard children rarely saw their grandmother and Mrs. Causey was almost a stranger to them.

Their mother and Harriet began talking about silks and muslins, and which colours might suit Harriet’s complexion. Mary Ann and George went down to the kitchen, chatted to the servants, wheedled some sweetmeats from Cook, and fussed old Bullet. They ended up in the small garden, where George climbed the apple tree and Mary Ann, despite her stiff skirts, followed him. They sat companionably, eating their pastries.

“Papa’s in high spirits,” said George. “Better make the most of it.”

“What’s this ship?”

Mary Ann did not really understand what her father did for a living. There was nothing to see, no merchandise to handle. His dealings involved investments and returns, and sometimes losses, and his mood would go up or down in tune with them.

“The
Calliope
?” said George. “She went out to West Africa last year. I don’t know what the cargo was, but he was persuaded it was a good investment. She’s on her way back from the Caribbean now.”

“From the
Caribbean
?” Mary Ann had been making good use of the globe in her Geography lessons at school. “But you said the ship went to Africa.”

“They buy slaves in Africa,” George explained, “and sell them in the Caribbean. They’re needed to work on the sugar plantations.”

“How cruel – to seize people.”

“They are not seized; not by Englishmen. Other Africans sell them to the traders. Papa told me.”

Mary Ann thought of Lady Fanshawe, who lived at Number Five, Chelsea Walk. She had a black servant, a boy of about George’s age. But that boy was not a slave, was he? He could not be, surely, not in England.

For a while she remained troubled about the
Calliope
, but before long it went out of her mind as she was caught up in a round of social events. They took tea with the Brownes. They went to the Tower of London’s menagerie and saw lions, elephants, camels and a zebra. They went to Cheapside and chose materials to be made up into clothes for Harriet and George and they ordered new summer shoes (pale soft leather with gilt buckles) for Mary Ann. One fine sunny day they made up a party with Mr. Browne and his sisters and walked in Kensington Gardens; and Mary Ann thought of her grandmother, who lived alone nearby, and wondered if she regretted the rift with her family.

The warm weather continued after Mary Ann returned to school. She became aware, almost for the first time, of the garden at the rear of the house. It was larger than the one at home, and laid out with paths and shrubs and sweet-smelling herbs that released their scent when her skirts brushed against them. Some steps there led down to the basement where the kitchen servants worked.

Her friend Jenny always entered the house that way, along with the other servants. But Jenny spent much of her time in the main part of the house, cleaning the rooms, bed-making, folding and sorting laundry.

One hot afternoon, a day or two after their return, when the girls were sketching in the garden, Mary Ann was sent indoors to fetch her straw hat. She ran upstairs. The first floor landing was deserted, but the door to the linen-storage room was ajar, and she saw a flicker of movement inside. That must be Jenny! She knocked, and pushed the door open at the same time.

“Oh!”

Jenny was behind the door, and both girls jumped, startled. But Jenny flushed scarlet – a guilty flush, as if caught out.

Mary Ann took in the scene. There was a basket on the floor – evidently Jenny’s own basket, for her gloves and shawl were inside it. Jenny had been crouching, about to push something – a bundle of linen – under the shawl. She stood trapped, holding the linen. It was obvious that she’d intended to steal it.

Mary Ann, shocked and disillusioned, stared and felt herself going red in her turn.

Jenny unrolled the bundle, revealing it to be two pillowcases.

“Please, don’t tell Mrs. Neave!” she begged.

Chapter Five

Maria Anna

“But – why?”

Mary Ann’s disappointment in Jenny felt like a blow. She’d thought so highly of her. She did not want to believe her friend was a thief.

“It’s my sister.” Jenny folded the pillowcases and replaced them on a shelf. “She’s ill – wasting away – spends most of her time in bed. And our bed linen at home is coarse stuff…”

At once Mary Ann felt both sorry and relieved. Jenny only wanted some comfort for her sister. She was not really a thief – or not such a bad one.

“You won’t tell?” Jenny asked again.

“No…no, of course not,” said Mary Ann, adding awkwardly, “I hope your sister will soon be well,” although she thought “wasting away” didn’t sound hopeful at all.

“Bless you!” Jenny’s face cleared.

Mary Ann remembered her sun hat, and turned to go upstairs. Her faith in Jenny was restored – although since Jenny’s basket was so close to the shelf with the pillowcases on it, she could not help wondering if they would find their way into it again.

But that was not her concern; and she had other things to think of. At the end of the week Mrs. Neave received the tickets and programme for the concert at Ranelagh Gardens. The programme gave details of the music to be played.

“A favourite chorus in
Acis and Galatea
,” she told the girls, “
‘
O the Pleasure of the Plains’.
..
the Song and Chorus in
Alexander’s Feast
…and a surprise, which I think will please you: the two children of Mr. Mozart will perform on the harpsichord and organ –”

She must have known from the intake of breath that went around that this was what interested the girls most.

She read aloud to them from the programme: “The celebrated and astonishing Master Mozart will perform several fine select pieces of his own composition… which have already given the highest pleasure, delight and surprise to the greatest judges of music in England and Italy,” she looked up, “…and they say that Master Mozart is the most amazing genius that has appeared in any age…”

“I cannot wait to see him!” Sophia exclaimed.

The four of them were in their dormitory, trying on their best gowns and considering whether anything new needed to be urgently requested from home.

“And
her
!” said Mary Ann. “I want to see
Miss
Mozart. They say she sings and plays the harpsichord, and she is just our age.”

“I heard she is very pretty,” said Phoebe. “And that Master Mozart is so small he has to sit on a cushion and even then he can scarcely reach the keys.”

“How sweet!”

“And we’ll hear
Acis and Galatea
,” said Sophia. “I love that chorus.”

She broke into song, and Mary Ann joined her:

“
O the pleasure of the plains!

Happy nymphs and happy swains…
”

Mrs. Corelli put her head around the half-open door. “You’re in good voice, girls! Would you like to learn some more music from
Acis and Galatea
before we go to Ranelagh?”

“Oh, yes!” Mary Ann and Sophia agreed. And Phoebe, twirling in her sea-green gown, exclaimed, “Mrs. Corelli, we are
so
excited! Will we be able to walk in the gardens at dusk and see the lights?”

“We will,” said Mrs. Corelli, “if we have fine weather.”

The weather was kind to them. The girls and their teachers, dressed in silk gowns and furnished with fans for the heat in the Rotunda and light shawls to protect them from the evening air, made their way in a chattering crocodile along the riverside path to the landing stage. There they embarked in two boats and were taken to the river entrance of Ranelagh. It was a voyage of less than a mile and took no more than ten minutes, but for Mary Ann, as they approached the famous gardens, it was one she knew she would always remember. She gazed out at the river, glinting in the sunlight and crowded with small boats. They passed the waterfront gate of the Physic Garden and the grand steps and gates of the Royal Hospital, and in no time were in a queue of boats waiting to disembark at Ranelagh.

“Oh!” exclaimed Mary Ann. “The temple!”

Inside the gardens, not far from the gates, a Grecian temple of white stone stood amongst trees. This was the Temple of Pan; the older girls had told them about it. Gentlemen and ladies, festive in bright summer clothes, were strolling along the paths and in and out of the temple.

It took a while for the two boat-loads of girls and teachers – sixteen people in all – to come ashore. Mrs. Corelli drew the girls to one side while Mrs. Neave showed the tickets to the steward at the gates; and then they were inside, walking in pairs – Mary Ann was with Lucy – along a gravel path that led first to the Temple of Pan. This proved to be less mysterious at close quarters. It contained stone seats and was clearly a meeting point, with people coming and going and greeting each other with bows and cries of delight. The path led on beneath shady trees – elms and yews – towards the formal gardens nearer the house. The Rotunda could be glimpsed through the trees, looking like some monument of Ancient Rome. They passed a lawn cut in an odd shape – “an octagon”, said Lucy – and a flower garden full of lilies and roses which Mrs. Neave insisted they stop to admire, although Mary Ann longed to move on.

In front of the Rotunda was an ornamental canal with what seemed to be a Chinese pagoda on it; but as they came closer this was revealed to be an elaborate roofed bridge painted in red, blue and gold and with space for people to gather on or wander about. All the younger girls wanted to cross the bridge, but some of the older ones affected boredom and walked around the path to meet them. The bridge and all the walks were full of people, and Sophia commented continually on the fashions and hairstyles.

“I do so admire that grey hair powder,” she sighed. “I long to have my hair powdered, but Mama says I must wait till I am grown up. Oh!
Mes amies, regardez
that gown!”

But Mary Ann and Lucy were caught up in amazement at the sight of the Rotunda with its great circle of windows, high up, and an arcade running all around the building.

Mrs. Neave ushered them towards one of the grand entrances. They passed between two great pillars into a central space that took Mary Ann’s breath away: a huge circular room hung with chandeliers that sparkled with candlelight, and at the centre a soaring column containing a fireplace – filled with flowers on this warm evening. Tilting her head back, she saw the circle of windows from the inside, high above a double ring of boxes. The orchestra, where the musicians were already warming up their instruments, was across the room. The floor was laid with matting, and this softened the sound of many footfalls as people promenaded, talking and greeting friends. There were smells of perfume, sweat, hair wax, flowers and coffee. The room was filling with more and more people, and Mary Ann felt, all around her, a gathering sense of eagerness and anticipation.

“We have two boxes on the upper tier,” Mrs. Neave said. And she shepherded her charges away from the concourse and up a staircase to a circular gallery with numbered doors.

Each box was big enough for seven girls and a teacher, with a table for their refreshments. Mary Ann was with Mrs. Corelli, who sat with three of the older girls while the younger ones squeezed past to sit in a row at the front: Sophia, Phoebe, Mary Ann and Lucy. From up here they had a view side-on to the orchestra and could see the musicians moving about, some talking, some seated and tuning their instruments. Behind the three tiers of orchestra seats the pipes of the organ rose to the ceiling. There was no sign yet of the Mozart children.

Below, the floor of the hall was full of people walking in sedate circles around the room. But now a few of them were beginning to move towards the ground floor boxes, and Mary Ann saw that the musicians and choir had taken their places and the conductor had appeared. The performers were dressed in bright clothes, the men in powdered wigs and jackets trimmed with lace and braid, the ladies in low-necked silk gowns, their hair powdered in white or grey and entwined with jewels that winked as the light caught them.