Chapter 16 #2
“How kind of you to invite us to dinner!” said Lady Compton, handing her furred cloak to Polly in the entrance hall.
“But of course,” said Ralph. “We wanted to show off our new cook.”
“And let us see the other new arrival, eh?” said Sir Anthony. “The whole village is buzzing with talk about a ‘delivery’ at the guest house.”
“My pianoforte,” said Helena shyly. “It arrived from London earlier this week.”
“I am almost sad to hear it,” said Lady Compton, “for our own instrument was the lure that brought you to Carham Hall. Now that you have your own, you shall have no reason to visit.”
“Not at all,” said Helena. “Your good company and counsel are more than enough reason for me.”
Ralph urged the whole party to relocate from the entrance hall to the parlor and view the instrument in question.
“I see it is a Clementi,” said Lady Compton. She nodded at the gold lettering on the frontispiece of the instrument.
“Yes,” said Helena, “and quite difficult to replace since Clementi’s factory burned down last year.”
“So that’s why you didn’t simply purchase another one in Newcastle,” said Sir Anthony. “Thunder and turf! I wondered if you’d gone mad, Aldine, paying the portage from London for such a large parcel.”
The conversation continued in the parlor until Polly announced with a quick curtsy that dinner was served.
Then they went into the dining room and amused Sir Anthony and Lady Compton with their unorthodox placement at the long table, the plates for four of them clustered at one end rather than spaced about the table with host and hostess at either end.
“I decided that I had rather not shout at my wife over the fish course,” said Ralph.
“A newlywed’s prerogative,” said Sir Anthony. “I suppose it’s easier to hold hands this way too.”
Helena turned a bright shade of pink. She had never considered holding hands with Ralph at the dining table, but it was true that they were close enough here for his thumb to trace a pattern over her wrist, if he should attempt it.
Mrs. Mabley’s cooking did not disappoint, and Lady Compton congratulated Helena on her choice of cook.
“I was not sure, my dear, if you would choose the most precisely trimmed biscuits or the most deliciously flavored when we made a trial of it. But I am glad you have chosen substance over appearance.” She gestured to the half dozen platters on the table.
“Not that Mrs. Mabley’s appearance is too shabby, for this roast beef looks as good as it tastes. ”
After dinner, the gentlemen lingered over their port at the long table while the ladies removed to the small parlor once again. “Well, it seems the mystery of why your husband went to London last month is solved,” said Lady Compton.
“Solved? What do you mean?” asked Helena.
“Why, it’s clear as is a summer’s day, that he went to town to retrieve your pianoforte.”
“Do you really think so?” Helena was taken aback.
She had assumed Geoffrey had sent the instrument on his own instigation, but now that Lady Compton mentioned it, she realized that Ralph must have had some hand in the matter.
For clearly, the pianoforte had not been shipped to the north before Ralph had arrived in London.
As kind a brother as he was, Geoffrey was doubtless preoccupied with his own upcoming nuptials.
“Ralph never mentioned that the pianoforte was his idea.”
Lady Compton looked at her sharply. “I think you’ll find that your husband does not crow loudly about any of his deeds or virtues. He is a humble man, Mrs. Aldine. But you must not mistake humility for unworthiness.”
The redoubtable lady straightened her back and looked around the room.
“Now that you have the pianoforte, I think perhaps a change should be made to the draperies. They are too dark to set off the wood of the instrument to its best advantage. That will give us a project. We must go into the village this week and order new fabric for the curtains. Cream, I think. Or silver might be more in fashion.”
“Oh, of course,” said Helena, happy to acquiesce to her older friend’s decorating whims. If she could summon up half the industry of Lady Compton, she would consider herself very diligent indeed.
“I’m surprised you and Sir Anthony have not visited London this season.
You would love the color and the gaiety. ”
“Hmm, well, yes, but we don’t want to leave Gerald here in Carham without our constant guidance, and Sir Anthony thinks it best to keep Gerald away from the metropolis.
I’m inclined to agree with him. London holds so many dangers for a young person.
I don’t believe Mr. Whitmore, strict as he is, would be able to hold Gerald in check.
And the thought of trailing about London keeping up with Gerald is exhausting, even for me.
” She turned at the sound of the parlor door opening.
“Ah, here are the gentlemen! Just in time, for I believe Mrs. Aldine is getting restless to play for us.”
Helena took out an aria by Mozart and sat gracefully on the bench.
It was delightful to engage in an activity where her rounded belly offered no hindrance.
She began the introduction to the piece, and then, surprising herself with her own boldness, began to sing.
“Voi che sapete che cosa è amor, donne, vedete s'io l'ho nel cor.”
“Charming,” said Sir Anthony, with a little catch in his throat. He turned his face away from his neighbors as the first verse concluded while Helena played the interlude leading to the next verse. His hand went up to his face to wipe something from his eye.
“Our daughter used to sing and play,” explained Lady Compton quietly, but determined not to dwell on such a maudlin topic, she forged ahead to a new question. “Do you know Italian, Mr. Aldine?”
Helena’s fingers continued to move without a stumble, but her heart skipped a beat as she waited for Ralph’s answer. She had practiced this aria yesterday when he had gone out for a walk. The words themselves were warm ones, but she had counted on Ralph being unable to understand their import.
“No, I never learned it,” said Ralph. Helena let out a soft exhalation of relief.
“Your Latin might help you guess at what is being said,” replied Lady Compton mysteriously, “and if I were you, I should like to know.”
Helena began the next verse, her high soprano soaring above the piano accompaniment. When she had finished, she modestly received their applause and then played the Irish air Ralph had chosen for her and another two pieces, these ones purely instrumental.
“What an addition you make to Carham society,” said Sir Anthony, kissing her hand as the evening concluded. “I declare, we’ve no need to go to London with such talent here in the country.”
“You’re too kind,” said Helena, feeling more gratified by this elderly gentleman’s praise than she ever had by the flattering applause in London.
She gave a curious glance at her husband and saw a glow of pride on his face.
Apparently, he was pleased as well. Not only had they successfully served a sumptuous dinner to their landlords but also entertained them in the bargain.
Was this why Ralph Aldine had married her?
To provide an air of elegance and respectability to his life?
To be an ornament to his table and his home?
They made their goodbyes, and then after the door had closed behind the Comptons, returned to the parlor momentarily to let the fire burn down before they retired to separate rooms for the night.
“Helena,” said Ralph thoughtfully. “I suppose I am woefully ignorant not to know the story of Mozart’s operas or the words to that song. What did it say in English?”
“In…English?” repeated Helena, inwardly aghast that he wanted her to translate something so shockingly frank in sentiment. One could sing anything one liked in Italian, but to translate it into the common tongue was too daring by far. “It was just a love song.”
“I suspected as much from the word amor. Just a love song?”
“Just a love song,” said Helena firmly. She gave a faint yawn. “But how late it is! I cannot keep town hours like I used to. I am for bed. Good night, Ralph.”
“Good night,” said Ralph, taking her hand. He held it a moment and looked at it. “Such long, beautiful fingers you have.” He ran a thumb down the length of her forefinger and then, lifting her whole hand, pressed it to his lips.
“Good night,” she answered, liquefying inwardly, but willing herself not to melt outwardly in the crucible of his grip.
When she could stand it no longer, she pulled away her hand.
She felt his eyes on her as she moved to the parlor door.
Then, glancing back, she saw him move toward the piano, leafing through the music containing the Italian aria she had sung.
He would know what it meant soon enough, for beneath the bold black notes was the sensual Italian libretto and beneath the Italian libretto was the amorous English translation.
Tell me, fair ladies, trained in love’s art
Oh, is this love then, wakes in my heart?
Strange new emotions, stirring within
Oh, pray describe it! Where to begin?
First full of pleasure, tremulous desire,
Then full of suff’ring, freezing ice and fire.
Sighing and moaning, all against my will,
Heart trips and trembles, palpitations thrill.
No peace inside my thoughts, neither night nor day
Yet I find enjoyment in feeling this way.
Tell me, fair ladies, trained in love’s art
Oh, is this love then, wakes in my heart?