The Complete Mapp & Lucia (166 page)

“‘Twould be a gran’ sight,” said the Padre, quite distinctly seeing himself in the procession.

“I think Tilling would appreciate it,” said Lucia thoughtfully. “Then about the service: one does not want it
too
long. A few prayers, a Psalm, such as ‘I was glad when they said unto me’: a lesson, and then, don’t you think, as we shall be dedicating my organ, some anthem in praise of music? I had thought of that last chorus in Parry’s setting of Milton’s Ode on St. Cecilia’s Day, ‘Blest Pair of Syrens’. Of course my organ would accompany the psalm and the anthem, but, as I seem to see it, unofficially incognito. After that, the Bishop’s address: so sweet of him to suggest that.”

“Very menseful of him,” said the Padre.

“Then,” said Lucia, waving the Samian bowl, “then there would follow the dedication of my organ, and its
official
appearance. An organ recital—not long—by our admirable organist to show the paces, the powers of the new instrument. Its scope. The
tuba,
the
vox humana
and the
cor anglais:
just a few of the new stops. Afterwards, I shall have a party in the garden here. It might give pleasure to those who have never seen it. Our dear Elizabeth, as you know, did not entertain much.”

The Mayor and Corporation welcomed the idea of attending the dedication of the new organ in state, and of coming to Mallards just before the service and conducting the Bishop in procession to the church. So that was settled, and Lucia, now full steam ahead, got to work on the organist. She told him, very diffidently, that her friends thought it would be most appropriate if, before his official recital (how she was looking forward to it!), she herself, as donor, just ran her hands, so to speak, over the keys. Mr. Georgie Pillson, who was really a wonderful performer on the pedals, would help her, and it so happened that she had just finished arranging the first movement of Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata” for the organ. She was personally very unwilling to play at all, and in spite of all this pressure she had refused to promise to do so. But now as he added his voice to the general feeling she felt she must overcome her hesitation. It mustn’t be mentioned at all: she wanted it to come as a little surprise to everybody.
Then
would follow the real, the skilled recital by him. She hoped he would then give them Falberg’s famous “Storm at Sea,” that marvellous tone-poem with thunder on the pedals, and lightning on the
Diocton,
and the choir of voices singing on the
vox humana
as the storm subsided. Terribly difficult, of course, but she knew he would play it superbly, and she sent him round a copy of that remarkable composition.

The day arrived, a hot and glorious morning, just as if Lucia had ordered it. The lunch at Mallards for the Bishop was very
intime:
just the Padre and his wife and the Bishop and his chaplain. Not even Georgie was asked, who, as a matter of fact, was in such a state of nerves over his approaching performance of the pedal part of the “Moonlight” that he could not have eaten a morsel, and took several aspirin tablets instead. But Lucia had issued invitations broadcast for the garden party afterwards, to the church choir, the Mayor and Corporation, and all her friends to meet the Bishop. R.S.V.P.; and there was not a single refusal. Tea for sixty.

The procession to church was magnificent, the sun poured down on maces and scarlet robes and on the Bishop, profusely perspiring, in his cope and mitre. Lucia had considered whether she should take part in the procession herself, but her hatred of putting herself forward in any way had caused her to abandon the idea of even walking behind the Bishop, and she followed at such a distance that not even those most critical of her conduct could possibly have accused her of belonging to the pageant, herself rather nervous, and playing triplets in the air to get her fingers supple. She took her seat close to the organ beside Georgie, so that they could slip into their places on the organ-bench while the Bishop was returning from the pulpit after his sermon. A tremendous bank of cloud had risen in the north, promising storm: it was lucky that it had held off till now, for umbrellas would certainly have spoiled the splendour of the procession.

The choir gave a beautiful rendering of the last chorus in “Blest Pair of Sirens,” and the Bishop a beautiful address. He made a very charming allusion to the patroness of organs, St. Cecilia, and immediately afterwards spoke of the donor “your distinguished citizeness” almost as if Lucia and that sainted musician were one. A slight stir went through the pews containing her more intimate friends: they had not thought of her like that, and Elizabeth murmured “St. Lucecilia” to herself for future use. During the address the church grew exceedingly dark, and the gloom was momentarily shattered by several vivid flashes of lightning followed by the mutter of thunder. Then standing opposite the organ, pastoral staff in hand, the Bishop solemnly dedicated it, and, as he went back to his seat in the Chancel, Lucia and Georgie, like another blest pair of sirens, slid on to the organ-seat, unobserved in the gathering gloom, and were screened from sight by the curtain behind it. There was a momentary pause, the electric light in the church was switched on, and the first piece of the organ recital began. Though Lucia’s friends had not heard it for some time, it was familiar to them, and Diva and Elizabeth looked at each other, puzzled at first, but soon picking up the scent, as it were, of old associations. The scent grew hotter, and each inwardly visualized the picture of Lucia sitting at her piano with her face in profile against a dark curtain, and her fingers dripping with slow triplets: surely this was the same piece. Sacred edifice or not, these frightful suspicions had to be settled, and Elizabeth quietly rose and stood on tiptoe. She saw, quite distinctly, the top of Georgie’s head and of Lucia’s remarkable new hat. She sat down again, and in a hissing whisper said to Diva, “So we’ve all been asked to come to church to hear Lucia and Mr. Georgie practise.”… Diva only shook her head sadly. On the slow movement went, its monotonous course relieved just once by a frightful squeal from the great organ as Georgie, turning over, put his finger on one of the top notes, and wailed itself away. The blest pair of sirens tiptoed round the curtain again, thereby completely disclosing themselves and sank into their seats.

Then to show off the scope of the organ there followed Falberg’s famous tone-poem, “Storm at Sea.” The ship evidently was having a beautiful calm voyage but then the wind began to whistle on swiftly ascending chromatic scales, thunder muttered on the pedals, and the
Diocton
contributed some flashes of forked lightning. Louder grew the thunder, more vivid the lightning as the storm waxed fiercer. Then came a perfectly appalling crash, and the Bishop, who was perhaps dozing a little after his labours and his lunch, started in his seat and put his mitre straight. Diva clutched at Elizabeth, Evie gave a mouse-like squeal of admiring dismay, for never had anybody heard so powerful an instrument. Bang, it went again and then it dawned on the more perceptive that Nature herself was assisting at the dedication of Lucia’s organ with two claps of thunder immediately overhead at precisely the right moment. Lucia herself sat with her music-face on, gazing dreamily at the vaulting of the church, as if her organ was doing it all. Then the storm at sea (organ solo without Nature) died away and a chorus presumably of sailors and passengers
(vox humana)
sang a soft chorale of thanksgiving. Diva gave a swift suspicious glance at the choir to make sure this was not another trick, but this time it was the organ. Calm broad chords, like sunshine on the sea, succeeded the chorale, and Elizabeth writhing in impotent jealousy called Diva’s attention to the serene shafts of real sunshine that were now streaming through Elijah going up to heaven and the witch of Endor.

Indeed it was scarcely fair. Not content with supplying that stupendous
obbligato
to the storm at sea, Nature had now caused the sun to burst brilliantly forth again, in order to make Lucia’s garden party as great a success as her organ, unless by chance the grass was too wet for it. But during the solemn melody which succeeded, the sun continued to shine resplendently, and the lawn at Mallards was scarcely damp. There was Lucia receiving her guests and their compliments: the Mayor in his scarlet robe and chain of office was talking to her as Elizabeth stepped into what she still thought of as her own garden.

“Magnificent instrument, Mrs. Lucas,” he was saying. “That storm at sea was very grand.”

Elizabeth was afraid that he thought the organ had done it all, but she could hardly tell him his mistake.

“Dear Lucia,” she said. “How I enjoyed that sweet old tune you’ve so often played to us. Some of your new stops a little harsh in tone, don’t you think? No doubt they will mellow. Oh, how sadly burned up my dear garden is looking!”

Lucia turned to the Mayor again.

“So glad you think my little gift will add to the beauty of our services,” she said. “You must tell me, Mr. Mayor, what next—Dear Diva, so pleased to see you. You liked my organ?”

“Yes, and wasn’t the real thunderstorm a bit of luck?” said Diva. “Did Mr. Georgie play the pedals in the Beethoven? I heard him turn over.”

Lucia swerved again.

“Good of you to look in, Major Benjy,” she said. “You’ll find tea in the marquee, and other drinks in the
giardino segreto.”

That was clever: Benjy ambled off in an absent-minded way towards the place of other drinks, and Elizabeth, whom Lucia wanted to get rid of, ambled after him, and towed him towards the less alcoholic marquee. Lucia went on ennobling herself to the Mayor.

“The unemployed,” she said. “They are much and often on my mind. And the hospital. I’m told it is in sad need of new equipments. Really it will be a privilege to do something more before very long for our dear Tilling. You must spare me half-an-hour sometime and talk to me about its needs.”

Lucia gave her most silvery laugh.

“Dear me, what a snub I got over the election to the Town Council,” she said. “But nothing discourages me, Mr. Mayor… Now I think all my guests have come, so let us go and have a cup of tea. I am quite ashamed of my lawn to-day, but not long ago I had an entertainment for the school-children and games and races, and they kicked it up sadly, dear mites.”

As they walked towards the marquee, the Mayor seemed to Lucia to have a slight bias (like a bowl); towards the
giardino segreto
and she tactfully adapted herself to this change of direction. There were many varieties of sumptuous intoxicants, cocktails and sherry and whisky and hock-cup. Grosvenor was serving, but just now she had a flinty face, for a member of the Corporation had been addressing her as “Miss”, as if she was a barmaid. Then Major Benjy joined Grosvenor’s group, having given Elizabeth the slip while she was talking to the Bishop, and drank a couple of cocktails in a great hurry before she noticed his disappearance. Lucia was specially attentive to members of the Corporation, making, however, a few slight errors, such as recommending her greengrocer the strawberries she had bought from him, and her wine merchant his own sherry, for that was bringing shop into private life. Then Elizabeth appeared with the Bishop in the doorway of the
giardino segreto,
and with a wistful face she pointed out to him this favourite spot in her ancestral home: but she caught sight of Benjy at the bar and her wistfulness vanished, for she had found something of her own again. Firmly she convoyed him to the less alcoholic garden, and Lucia took the Bishop, who was interested in Roman antiquities, to see the pieces of Samian ware in the garden-room and the scene of her late excavations. “Too sad,” she said, “to have had to fill up my trenches again, but digging was terribly expensive, and the organ must come first.”

A group was posed for a photograph: Lucia stood between the Mayor and the Bishop, and afterwards she was more than affable to the reporter for the
Hastings Chronicle,
whose account of her excavations had already made such a stir in Tilling. She gave him hock-cup and strawberries, and sitting with him in a corner of the garden, let him take down all she said in shorthand. Yes: it was she who had played the opening piece at the recital (the first movement of the sonata in C sharp minor by Beethoven, usually called the “Moonlight”). She had arranged it herself for the organ (“Another glass of hock-cup, Mr. Meriton?”) and hoped that he did not think it a vandalism to adapt the Master. The Bishop had lunched with her, and had been delighted with her little Queen Anne house and thought very highly of her Roman antiquities. Her future movements this summer? Ah, she could not tell him for certain. She would like to get a short holiday, but they worked her very hard in Tilling. She had been having a little chat with the Mayor about some schemes for the future, but it would be premature to divulge them yet… Elizabeth standing near and straining her ears, heard most of this frightful conversation and was petrified with disgust. The next number of the
Hastings Chronicle
would be even more sickening than the excavation number. She could bear it no longer and went home with Benjy, ordering a copy in advance on her way.

The number, when it appeared justified her gloomiest anticipations. The Bishop’s address about the munificent citizeness was given very fully, and there was as well a whole column almost entirely about Lucia. With qualms of nausea Elizabeth read about Mrs. Lucas’s beautiful family home that dated from the reign of Queen Anne, its panelled parlours, its garden-room containing its positively Bodleian library and rare specimens of Samian ware which she had found in the excavations in her old-world garden. About the lawn with the scars imprinted on its velvet surface by the happy heels of the school-children whom she had entertained for an afternoon of tea and frolics. About the Office with its ledgers and strip of noiseless indiarubber by the door, where the
châtelaine
of Mallards conducted her financial operations. About the secret garden (Mrs. Lucas who spoke Italian with the same ease and purity as English referred to it as
“mio giardino segreto”
) in which she meditated every morning. About the splendour of the procession from Mallards to the church with the Mayor and the maces and the mitre and the cope of the Lord Bishop, who had lunched privately with Mrs. Lucas. About the masterly arrangement for the organ of the first movement of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata, made by Mrs. Lucas, and her superb performance of the same. About her princely entertainment of the local magnates. About her hat and her hock-cup.