Mary Ann and Miss Mozart (7 page)

“Oh! This is wonderful!” She sighed. “I wish I might do the same!”

“It did not last long,” said Mrs. Corelli. “We had some good years. But now, you see, I am a widow, and my voice and looks are not what they were, and my home is this little room…”

“I
love
your room!”

Mrs. Corelli laughed. “So do I, my dear! It’s my haven. But you know, the stage is a difficult life without much reward for most people. And to achieve even a small success you must work hard, and practise daily, and above all be ready! Never give up hope.”

A bell rang far below, and she stood up. “We shall practise again on Wednesday, and you will be in good voice and dry-eyed. Is that agreed?”

“Yes, Mrs. Corelli.”

She went out. The bell meant it was time for the afternoon break, and the girls would be gathering in the dining room for lemonade. Well, she didn’t need any; she’d had tea! She went into the dormitory and sat on her bed and pulled out the Ranelagh ticket from its crack in the panelling. She gazed at the nymph in her swirling drapery and Pan playing his pipes, and imagined just such a ticket announcing her own appearance as the nymph Galatea.

Mrs. Corelli had cheered her up and made her feel that anything was possible. She saw now that she needed to work to make her own fortune. If her parents could not pay, she must find the money for next term herself in the only way she knew: she must sing for the money.

Chapter Nine

Plans

“I guessed, the first time I saw her!” declared Sophia, when Mary Ann told the other three about Mrs. Corelli having been on the stage. “I said so to you, did I not, Lucy? I said, ‘You can see from the way she moves that she is an actress.’”

“But you haven’t been inside her room,” said Phoebe enviously. “You haven’t seen the portrait of Mr. Corelli.”

“No… We must find a way to be invited, all of us.”

“Lose our voices?” joked Lucy.

They laughed. But they were jealous. Mary Ann knew it was not a good time to share with them her idea of singing to raise money for her fees. She had thought, at first, about a concert organized by the four of them, but she soon foresaw the difficulty of finding either an audience who would pay or a place to stage it. Even if it were allowed, it would be humiliating to perform at school and let everyone know that her parents could not afford the fees. She realized that she needed to do this by herself. She remembered the ballad singers she always liked to hear in the streets of London. Those women would have a hat on the ground, or an assistant who went in amongst the crowd asking for money. They must do well on market days.

But ballad singing was unthinkable. She was a merchant’s daughter. She could not stand in the street and sing.

It was the next day, when she glanced out of the window during a Geography lesson, and saw Jenny hanging out washing in the garden, that the answer came to her. Surely Jenny would help! She sang in a tavern; she’d even sung at Ranelagh, with her cousin.

She waited until the next time she saw Jenny going into the laundry room alone, then followed her in and closed the door.

“Oh, Miss!” Jenny turned round. “You startled me!”

She’d had a slightly guilty manner ever since the affair of the pillowcases.

Mary Ann spoke quietly. “Jenny, I need your help. Will you be singing – performing – again soon?”

“Oh, yes, Miss!” Jenny’s face cleared. “I’m going with my cousin to Ranelagh on Saturday week.”

“To Ranelagh!” This was even better than Mary Ann could have hoped. Surely at Ranelagh, among so many wealthy people, she would earn enough money to keep her here at least one more term?

“It’s a masquerade night,” Jenny explained. “Everyone will be masked, even the stallholders.”

“Masks!” Mary Ann was enthralled. “Will
you
wear a mask?”

“Oh, yes – to blend in! It should be a good night: dancing and all sorts of entertainments going on till the small hours of the morning.”

“Take me with you!” Mary Ann begged. “Let me sing too!”

“
You
, Miss?” Jenny looked horrified. “Oh – I couldn’t – no, not you. It’s not suitable… I’d be in trouble. And Nick, my cousin – he’d never agree.”

“Please, Jenny,
please
! You know why. I need eight guineas for next term. There’s no other way for me to earn it.”

“You’d never get eight guineas, Miss.”

“But I’d get something! It would be a start. And it would be secret. The masks. We’d be disguised.” It seemed a chance she could not forgo.

“No.” Jenny’s face was set. “No, I daren’t do it. I’m sorry.”

“I helped
you
,” Mary Ann said. “I never told anyone what I saw. Those pillowcases…”

She hated herself even as she spoke. It was wrong: blackmail. But it worked. Jenny looked wary.

“I’ll ask Nick,” she said. “I’ll see him on Sunday. But it’ll be up to him, Miss, and I reckon he’ll say no. Indeed, I’m sure he will.”

Mary Ann waited. She was in a fever of impatience for the rest of the week, and could not attend to her lessons or to the gossip of her friends. But when she went for her next singing lesson with Mrs. Corelli she managed to put her anxiety aside and worked hard at the songs. These were important. Mrs. Corelli had told her that she must be ready at all times, and she was determined she would be: ready for Ranelagh. Mrs. Corelli was surprised and pleased, and praised her.

On Sunday Mary Ann was restless, biting her nails in church, wondering when Jenny would be back and when the two of them would have a chance to talk.

At last, when they were going in to supper, she caught a glimpse of Jenny in the back part of the house. Jenny saw her, and flicked a glance upwards, and Mary Ann broke from her friends, saying, “I forgot my handkerchief!” and darted upstairs.

Jenny, meanwhile, had hurried up the back stairs. They met on the first floor landing, near the linen room.

Jenny was breathless. “He says – yes!”

“Oh!” Mary Ann was so pleased that she flung her arms around the maid and hugged her.

Jenny seemed rather less delighted. “Fool that I am, I told him what a sweet voice you had, and he says the folks there will love it, a young one like you singing. But we need to get you out, and back again, without Mrs. Neave knowing. And that won’t be easy.”

Mary Ann hadn’t even thought about the mechanics of her plan; gaining Jenny’s agreement to it had been what obsessed her. Now she realized that she would be breaking the school rules by going out unauthorized and at night. She could be in serious trouble if Mrs. Neave found out – expelled, even. But then she had nothing to lose. Unlike Jenny.

“You must not tell your friends,” said Jenny. “If you give even a hint to those tattle-boxes, we’re finished. Do you understand? Promise?”

“I promise. Thank you, Jenny.”

It would be a long week, she thought, keeping such a secret to herself.

Chapter Ten

Out at Night

It was Saturday morning – the day of the masquerade at Ranelagh Gardens.

“We’ll go to Ranelagh after dark,” said Jenny. She was folding sheets in the linen room, with an eye open for Mrs. Price, whose voice could be heard downstairs. “About half past ten.”

“So late!” Mary Ann was always in bed by nine.

“Oh, people will arrive late,” said Jenny, “and stay till morning. These grand folk keep strange hours!” She lowered her voice still further. “Can you slip out without the other girls seeing?”

“I think so.”

“Don’t let them in on this. I’m risking my place. You know that.”

“Yes.”

“Come down the back stairs and I’ll be waiting. I’ll make some excuse to stay late in the kitchen. The doors will be locked, but there’s a window we can get out of.”

A window! Mary Ann felt nervous. She’d never done anything like this before, but Jenny spoke as if climbing out of a window was an everyday occurrence. She nodded.

“I’ll bring a mask for you. Wear something pretty.”

“My best dress!”

“No, not that! But a bright colour. You’ve got a rosy pink one, haven’t you? And have some lace and ribbons about you. But don’t wear a hoop under your skirt. And you’ll need sturdy shoes – not those.” She glanced down at Mary Ann’s light-soled fabric slippers.

Mrs. Price appeared at the top of the stairs. “Jenny, are you –” She stopped in surprise at sight of Mary Ann. “The young ladies are all at their lessons, Miss.”

“I – lost a book…” Mary Ann said, and darted away downstairs, terrified that their plan would be discovered. She slipped into Mrs. Neave’s English lesson with a curtsy and downcast eyes, murmuring a similar apology, and receiving a reprimand.

“What are you up to?” Sophia demanded afterwards. “I saw you with Jenny. You keep chatting to her.”

“No, I don’t!” Mary Ann’s heart hammered. “Well, not often. But she’s my friend; you know that. She’s kind.”

To distract the others, she suggested a visit to the Bun House that afternoon. There were always teachers or older pupils willing to supervise a Saturday outing there. On the way they stopped at a haberdasher’s, and Mary Ann bought some pink ribbon for her hair.

Later, after supper, she made an excuse of tidying the gowns hanging in the cupboard, and put her rose-sprigged cotton gown within easy reach, with a fringed shawl draped over it. She placed her shoes, with stockings rolled inside them, where she could find them in the dark. The cupboard door squeaked when you opened it, so she left it ajar and hoped no one else would close it.

The girls sat about in their chemises and combed their hair and talked about their day. They reminisced happily about the sugary buns they’d bought and the array of ribbons and lace at the haberdasher’s. Mary Ann was quiet, but hoped the others would put it down to her unhappiness at the thought of leaving them all. If only she could tell them! But she’d promised Jenny, and probably it was safer this way.

“Let me comb your hair, Mary Ann!” Sophia begged; and Mary Ann agreed, and let Sophia twist it into curls and tie the new pink ribbons in it. She planned to leave them in at bedtime, as if by accident.

The clock on the first floor landing had just struck nine when Mrs. Neave put her head around the door and said, “Into bed now, girls.”

“Oh, Mrs. Neave, it’s still light outside!” protested Sophia.

“Then draw the curtains, child. You don’t want to be tired for church tomorrow.”

She went out, closing the door, and Sophia giggled and said, “I might as well be. I always sleep through the sermon.”

“
So
dull!” agreed Phoebe.

But they allowed Mary Ann, who was nearest the window, to draw the curtains, and all wished each other goodnight and got into bed.

Mary Ann lay waiting. Sophia fell asleep quickly, as she usually did; her breathing soon became slow and steady. Then came the little snuffling sounds that Phoebe always made in her sleep. Lucy was quiet. But she was on the other side of the room, near the door, and Mary Ann knew she was a light sleeper. She dared not move too soon.

She heard the clock strike ten. Was Jenny downstairs, in the kitchen? Probably all the servants were still there. She lay wide awake, waiting a while longer, to give the maids and teachers time to go upstairs to their rooms. She heard creakings, low voices; but at last the house seemed to be still, full of a soft breathing quiet.

She slid out of bed, went to the cupboard, and glanced at Lucy: dark hair on the pillow, face turned away. She took her gown off its hook, picked up her shoes, then opened the door. It made a faint click. When she looked back, Lucy had turned over, but she seemed to be asleep. Mary Ann crept out, closing the door softly behind her, and padded barefoot across the landing to the back stairs.

The stairs were pitch dark. She felt her way down a few steps, then stopped and put on her stockings and shoes. She slipped the dress on over her chemise and draped the shawl around her shoulders. The dress had a boned bodice and did not require stays, but she’d need Jenny’s help to do it up.

The stairs creaked alarmingly as she moved down: one, two, three flights. And at the bottom there was a cold stone floor underfoot, and a chilly draught. She’d never been in the basement before. This was where the kitchen staff spent nearly all their time.