Madame Flirt
"Well now, let me take in the clothes an' we'll have a dish o' tea an' a
bite and then you shall sing your song."
"Yes, and I'll help you with the clothes."
Lavinia's offer pleased Betty, and the two were soon busy pulling the
various garments and bits of drapery from the lines and gathering from
the grass others that had been set to bleach in the wind and sun. This
done they entered the cottage. The window was small and the light dim. A
white-haired old woman was warming her hands and crooning over a wood
fire.
"Eh, mother," cried Betty, "I've brought someone to sing to ye. 'Lodgin'
on the Cold Ground,' do ye remember that old ditty?"
"Do I mind it? Why, to be sure. But who sings it now-a-days? Nobody."
"Well, ye're going to hear it, and ye'll have to say if this young miss
here trolls it as well as Moll Davies used to."
"What stuff ye be talkin', Betty," retorted the old woman. "Nobody can.
I can remember my mistress a-singin' it as well as if it was only
yesterday."
"Do ye hear that--I've forgotten what name Hannah told me yours was?"
"Lavinia Fenton. But please call me Lavinia."
"So I will. Now sit ye down, Lavinia, and talk to mother while I brew
the tea."
Lavinia was rather dismayed at finding she was to pit herself against
the fascinating Moll whose charms had conquered the Merry
Monarch--possibly no very arduous task.
The old lady was past eighty, but in possession of all her faculties.
When she said she remembered Moll Davies' singing perfectly well she
probably spoke the truth.
Tea was over. Betty cleared away and Lavinia at her request--to be
correct--at her command, sang, keeping her eyes fixed on the old lady
and so to speak singing _at_ her.
Before long the aged dame was mopping her eyes, and when Lavinia had
finished the pathetic ballad she stretched out both her wrinkled hands
towards the girl and in a quivering voice said:--
"Thank you, my dear. Lor' ha' mercy, it takes me back sixty year. I
haven't heard that song since Mistress Davies sung it, an' lor' bless
me, it might be her voice as I were a-listin' to. Aye, an' you're like
her in face, though not in body. She was short an' a bit too plump, but
she was the prettiest of wenches. Moll's singin' brought her luck and
maybe yours will too."
Lavinia heard the old lady's praise with delight. Betty could say
nothing. She was gazing spellbound at the nightingale. The charm of the
girl's melodious and expressive voice had swept away all her prejudices.
Lavinia should have a lodging and welcome. Betty went further. She did
the laundry of Mrs. Palmer, the wife of the director of the concerts at
the Great Room, and she undertook to tell the lady of the musical
prodigy living in her cottage, and promised Lavinia to beg her ask her
husband to hear the girl sing.
CHAPTER XXIII
"HALF LONDON WILL BE CALLING YOU POLLY"
And so it came about. Lavinia was sent for by Mr. Palmer, and she sang
to him. He was highly pleased with her voice, but he was afraid her
songs would not be to the fancy of his fashionable patrons.
"One half are mad to have nothing but Mr. Handel's music and t'other
half cry out for Signor Buononcini's. Your songs are like neither.
There's no taste for English ballads. They're out of fashion. Scales,
ornaments, shakes and flourishes are now the mode. For all that, I'd
like to make the venture with you just for once."
"Thank you, sir. If the people don't care for my songs, there's an end
on it. I'll have to wait as best I can till Mr. Rich opens his theatre.
I may have a singing part in Mr. Gay's opera. Mr. Gay has promised me.
Have you heard about his opera?" cried Lavinia eagerly.
"Oh, it's being talked of in the coffee houses, I'm told. But if Mr.
Rich has his way, it won't do. Maybe he'll cut out the songs. Mr. Rich
knows nothing about music. He can't tell 'Lilibullero' from 'Lumps of
pudding.' Still, it's something to be taken notice of by Mr. Gay."
Palmer was evidently impressed by Lavinia's talk, especially after she
had mentioned that she had sung to Dr. Pepusch at Mr. Pope's Villa. It
occurred to him that though Lavinia Fenton might be unknown now, a day
might come when she would be famous, and he could then take credit for
having recognised her talents.
Besides, the manager happened to know that Gay and Arbuthnot were at
that moment staying at Hampstead to drink the waters--the first to cure
his dyspepsia, and the second to ease his gout. Palmer decided to send
word to the poet-dramatist intimating that a young lady in whom he had
heard Mr. Gay was interested was about to sing at one of the Great Room
concerts and begging for the honour of his patronage. But he said
nothing to Lavinia about this. All he remarked was that she should sing
at his concert on the following Wednesday, and Lavinia went away in a
dream of pleasurable anticipation.
The eventful night came. Lavinia was full of enthusiasm but horribly
nervous. She felt she was competing with the two greatest composers of
music in the world. What if the audience hissed her? Audiences, as she
well knew, were not slow to express their likes and dislikes--and
especially their dislikes--in the most unmistakeable fashion.
The difficulty of her dress had been overcome. Palmer was shrewd. He had
an eye for contrast. He would have no finery and fallals, he said.
"Your songs are simple, so must your gown be. If the people take to you
in the one they will in t'other."
So Lavinia made her appearance in a plain dress, apron, mob cap, and of
course prodigious hoops. Her hair was arrayed neatly and not powdered.
There was powder enough and to spare on the wigs of the beaux in front,
and on the elaborate head-dresses of the belles.
Lavinia's unadorned dress suited her natural and easy carriage and made
her doubly attractive. Not a hand was raised when she bowed, but she
could see that every eye was turned upon her with expectancy and
curiosity. But there was also a certain amount of indifference which
provoked her. It could hardly be supposed that anything out of fashion
would be of interest to such modish folk.
Lavinia chose her favourite--"My lodging it is on the cold ground."
There were not a few aged bucks, painted and powdered and patched, aping
the airs and graces of younger gallants, who could remember Charles II.
and Moll Davies. They were startled when they heard Lavinia's liquid
notes in the old ballad--they felt that for a brief space they were
recovering their youth.
As for the rest, they were conscious of a pleasant surprise. Against the
simplicity and pathos of the old ballad Buononcini's stilted
artificialities sounded tame and monotonous. When Lavinia finished
applause filled the room. She had to sing again.
"You've caught 'em, my dear," said Palmer enthusiastically. "Before a
week's over you'll be the talk of Hampstead. You must stay here and sing
whenever I want you. Not every night--that would make you common. Only
now and again, just as a novelty. Do you understand?"
Lavinia knew the ways of showmen quite well. She smiled and nodded, and
her eyes wandering towards the door of the ante-room in which she and
Palmer had been talking, whom should her gaze light upon but Mr. Gay!
Palmer was very well acquainted with Gay by sight, and hastening towards
the visitor made him a low bow.
"I am highly honoured, sir, by your presence here to-night," said
Palmer, "I hope you did not think my sending you a ticket was taking a
liberty."
"Tut, tut, man! 'Twas very polite of you," returned Gay good-humouredly.
"I'm glad to be able to congratulate you on the success of your new
acquisition, especially as the little lady interests me greatly--as,
indeed, you mentioned in your note, though how you came to know of that
interest I'm at a loss to conceive, unless she told you so herself."
"Not directly, sir, I confess. But she chanced to remark that she had
sung to you and to Dr. Pepusch, whom I am fortunate in numbering among
my friends."
"Aye, aye. Well, she _can_ sing, eh? What d'ye think?"
"Admirable, sir, admirable. She has been gifted both by nature and art."
"And those gifts should put money in her pocket and yours too, Mr.
Palmer. I hope you'll reward her on a liberal scale."
"Why, certainly, sir. I shall be happy to oblige you."
"Oh, obliging me has nothing to do with the matter. But we will talk of
that later on. Pray pardon me."
With a slight bow Gay turned away and walked to where Lavinia was
standing, her cheeks glowing and her eyes glistening with pleasure at
the sight of the genial poet who had done so much to encourage her.
"Why, Polly," said Gay, extending his hand, "how came you here? I left
you making your way on the stage, and now I find you a songstress.
Faith, my dear, are you thinking of going back to your early days when
you did nothing but sing songs?" he added laughingly.
"Not quite that, sir, but I always did love singing, as you know. And so
do you, sir, or you would never have persuaded the good duchess to spend
so much money on me."
"Oh, maybe I was thinking of myself all the while," rejoined Gay. "I
admit I saw in you the very young woman I'd had in my mind for a long
time, for Polly Peachum in my opera. Did I not call thee Polly from the
very first?"
"Yes, indeed, sir. I've never forgotten it. I hope you'll always call me
Polly."
"Make your mind easy as to that. Why, if my dreams come true, half
London will some day be calling you Polly, too."
"I don't know what you mean, sir."
"Of course you don't. I'm not always sure that I know what I _do_ mean.
But never mind. Let us take a stroll on the heath. On such a summer
night as this it is a shame to be cooped up betwixt four walls. Besides,
I want to talk with you."
Manager Palmer bade Lavinia good-night with an air very different from
that with which he met her earlier in the evening. Her success and Gay's
evident friendship had worked wonders. He was quite deferential.
As Lavinia and Gay passed through the dimly lighted vestibule to the
entrance a man from among the audience stole after them. He was very
pale and his pallor accentuated his projecting cheek bones and the
hollows above, from the depths of which his large eyes gleamed with a
glassy light. Evidently in ill health, he could hardly have kept pace
with the couple he was shadowing had they not been walking very slowly.
"Everything is in our favour," Gay was saying. "Fortune has sent you
here at the right moment. You can act and you can sing. _I_ know it, but
John Rich and the Duchess of Queensberry must know it as well. Both your
acting and singing must be put to the proof, and you must show her grace
that she hasn't wasted her money."
"That's what I'm most anxious to do, sir."
"Aye, aye. Well, to-morrow I shall bring you some of the songs you'll
have to sing in my 'Beggar's Opera'--that is if we can talk that
curmudgeon Rich into the ideas that I and my friends have in our minds.
Are you lodging in Hampstead?"
"Oh, yes. I'm staying with Hannah's cousin. You remember Hannah, don't
you, Mr. Gay? I told you what a good friend she was to me and how she
saved me from my wicked mother and the designing fellow I was so silly
as to run away with. I shall never forget my mad fancies--never!"
"Best forget them, my dear, though I fear you'll be apt to drive out one
fit of madness by taking on another. 'Tis the way love has, and----"
"Oh," interrupted Lavinia hastily, "I don't believe it. I'm not going to
bother about love any more."
"Every woman has uttered those words, and has had to eat them. How many
times have you eaten yours, my pretty Polly, since last you resolved to
forswear love?"
"Not once. I've learned my lesson. I know it now by heart."