The Songbird (45 page)

She blinked as tears filmed her eyes. Why did she always have to ask him? Why was her happiness always tinged with doubt and uncertainty? Her heart told her to believe the words he uttered. Her head told her that she must have a care, or her heart would break.

A month later they crossed to France. Poppy had written to her father to tell him her news, and regretting that there was no time to come home to Hull before she went away. There were rehearsals of her chosen pieces of music, three new songs to learn and a duet with a tenor she had been asked to consider. There was also a wardrobe to prepare, and Mrs Bennett was helping her with this.

The first thing she had suggested was a corset to accentuate Poppy's tiny waist and uplift her breasts, for the two gowns they had chosen for her performances were cut low on the bodice. One was in apple green with diaphanous sleeves of chiffon, the other in creamy white satin with frilled lace sleeves over net and edged with satin ribbon. Both emphasized charm and youthful sensuality.

Charlie had come to say goodbye at Mrs Bennett's where she was staying for the last few days before their journey, and had imparted the news that he was taking on an apprentice.

‘So soon?' she exclaimed. ‘Have you business enough to do that?'

‘Yes,' he'd said enthusiastically. ‘I've promises of lots of work. You remember the young lady who came the day you were there, Miss Amanda Burchfield? Roger recommended her. She's ordered several pairs of shoes, and I went to visit her father who asked me to make him a pair of boots. He's a self-made man,' he added. ‘Has his own carriage and a house full of servants.'

She was pleased for him, of course, but he seemed uninterested in her own plans, although as she showed him out he took her hand and said bon voyage, and that he would miss her. ‘I hope you do, Charlie,' she'd whispered. ‘I shall think of you whilst I'm away, and I hope you think of me, even though you will be so busy.'

He'd kissed her cheek and said that he would never be so busy that he didn't have time to think of her, and she had to be satisfied with that.

The concert hall was packed at her first appearance. The wildly enthusiastic audience had come to hear an Italian tenor who, although Poppy hadn't heard of him, was extremely popular in France. Poppy too was greeted by great applause at the end of her performance. She took her bow and gave an encore.

She and Mrs Bennett had been invited to stay with the French agent, Michel Auber, and his wife whilst in Paris and Mrs Bennett had gratefully accepted on their behalf. They lived in a roomy first floor apartment overlooking the Seine and one of its many bridges. Mrs Bennett told Poppy that they couldn't be too careful in protecting her reputation. When Poppy looked puzzled, she explained that even well-run hotels could be regarded as places for assignations and intrigue, fatal for an innocent female artiste.

Dan had arranged with Michel Auber that he should plan Poppy's schedule over the next few weeks, but told him that he should always discuss the venues with Mrs Bennett first for her approval. After the first performance, reviews were impressive and led to a flood of invitations to sing at private gatherings and salons. These were carefully considered and she accepted three engagements a week for a month. Whilst they were in Paris, they were taken to view the Eiffel Tower, newly built in 1889 for the Grand Exhibition, and the twelfth-century cathedral of Notre Dame, and climbed the steps in Montmartre to reach the heady heights of the church of Sacré Coeur. Then they moved on to the ancient Roman city and university town of Reims.

Two of the other female singers who had shared the billing at Poppy's first appearance, Madame Solari and Mademoiselle Lablanche, were also going to engagements in Reims and Michel Auber suggested that they should travel together, while he made bookings for the three of them to sing at the same venue. Poppy was pleased with the arrangement. They were older and more experienced than she was, one French, the other Italian, and they cushioned any nervousness that she felt at being in a strange country, by having visited the place before and therefore being able to advise her. Marian Bennett too was satisfied with the plan; always aware of social protocol, she felt it was safer and more respectable for them to travel with a party.

A letter was forwarded from Poppy's father, who told her that the shop was once again busy and the coffee shop with its new decorations in a theatre theme was doing well. ‘There's some attraction between Tommy and Mattie,' he wrote. ‘They've said nothing but there's something going on there for sure. Nan has noticed it as well. We'd both be pleased if it came to a proper relationship. She'd be good for him and she's such a help in the shop, full of ideas. I've got very fond of her, and of Nan too. I admit I was foolish, not to have had them both here in the first place. But I was at my wits' end after your mother died and not thinking straight.'

There was also a letter from Anthony, sent on to her by Dan. He had just arrived in Italy where he said he intended to stay for the next three months, in spite of the bitterly cold weather and the snow which had started to fall. He wrote, ‘I'm so proud of you, Poppy. Dan has written of how well you are being received and I'm only sorry that our paths haven't crossed. I seem always to be moving on in front of you. I hope that perhaps one day you will catch up with me. I have written several songs whilst I have been in Europe and the music publisher Schott has shown an interest. I am enclosing one of them. It might not be suitable for you to sing in private salons, but maybe in the theatre.' He signed his letter, ‘Your good friend, Anthony.'

Poppy showed the song to Marian Bennett, who having hummed it through said, ‘He's quite right; it won't do for the salons. The audiences there seem to prefer the old-established songs from operetta, though the themes are similar, of lost or unrequited love.' She gave a little smile. ‘Anthony is such a romantic. He writes songs from the heart.' Then she said wistfully, ‘Such a dear boy. I wish him happiness . . .' She gave herself a shake. ‘But there.' She turned to Poppy and gave her back the song sheet. ‘You could sing it in the theatres. It would appeal to those in an audience who like to shed a few tears, and then have a happy ending.'

When Poppy was alone, she hummed the song softly. It was a yearning lyrical melody suitable for voice, piano or orchestra arrangement.

It's beautiful. I'll sing it tomorrow evening, she mused. And announce it as a new composition by Anthony Marino. She was to sing at a small theatre where Madame Solari and an English tenor, Mr Andrew Richardson, would also perform. Marian Bennett was to accompany her on the piano.

The theatre had a full house and Poppy was the first performer. She wore her green gown and had dressed her hair in a loose chignon with ringlets at the side of her face. She didn't like to wear false curls, as the nearest match to her own was always coarse and gingery and not red and shiny like her own hair. She looked young and fresh as she sang ‘Greensleeves' in her clear crystalline voice and received rapturous applause.

Marian Bennett was beaming as she too took applause from the audience. It was the best reception they had had on the tour. The tenor then portrayed the character Hoffman from
The Tales of Hoffman
– followed by Madame Solari who sang arias from
La Traviata.
A short interval, and Mrs Bennett once more took her place at the piano, a full-size concert grand. Poppy came to stand by it; she folded her hands in front of her and announced that she would like to sing a new composition by the pianist and composer Anthony Marino. She smiled shyly and sweetly at the audience and told them that this was the very first time the song had been heard.

There were appreciative murmurings from the auditorium and as Mrs Bennett began the introduction, emphasizing the phrasing of the melody, Poppy took a breath, clasped her hands against her breast and began.

The audience was hushed as Poppy's voice, soft and low, expressing all the tenderness of unrecognized love, wistfully caressed the poignant passages of the first verse. She charmed them with the evocative chorus, and in the second verse sang lyrically and joyfully of the fulfilment of romantic rapture.

As she finished and bowed her head there was a sudden silence in which Poppy could hear the beating of her own heart. Then, as one, the audience rose to its feet and began to applaud. ‘Bravo! Encore! Encore!'

She stood startled for a moment and then a smile lifted the corners of her lips. What was it Anthony had said? That to perform and hear the applause of the audience was food and drink to an artiste. He is quite right! She came to the front of the stage and gave a deep curtsy. I feel as if I have dined on heady sweet wine. She bowed again and held out her hand to invite Mrs Bennett to take an acknowledgement, and backed away. She remembered something else that Anthony had said, the time he had invited her to join him on the stage at Brighton. Always leave them wanting more. There was no time for an encore in any case. The other singers were waiting. She touched her hands to her lips, threw the audience a kiss and left the stage.

Reviews were ecstatic and hailed her enchanting performance. Flowers and champagne, the speciality of the region, were sent to her at every appearance and offers flooded in. Michel Auber travelled to Reims himself to discuss them and they then journeyed on to spend a week in the industrial city of Dijon, followed by the long journey on to Lyon.

In Lyon Poppy saw for the first time, and was invited to ride in, a petrol-driven motor car. It was, she thought, one of the strangest contraptions she had ever seen. ‘It travels as fast as two horses,' she said excitedly to Mrs Bennett. ‘It bangs and spits and sets off with such a jerk that I had to hold on to my hat.' She remembered being with her father at the theatre in Hull when they saw the trick cyclists on stage with their motorized bicycle.

‘I miss my pa,' she said suddenly. ‘It's such a long time since I saw him.' She didn't know why she felt so homesick. She was having a wonderful time, but she was getting tired. They had been travelling abroad for six weeks and she had been singing several times a week at theatres or salons during that time.

‘I miss my husband too,' Mrs Bennett confessed. ‘We have never been apart for so long during the whole of our married life. But your voice needs a rest, Poppy. I thought you sounded a little husky at your last performance.'

Poppy nodded. It was true, her voice felt strained and reaching the higher notes was no longer as easy as it had been at the beginning of the tour. ‘Should we make Lyon our last stop?' she said. ‘And then go home? We could be home for Christmas.'

She was longing too to see Charlie. She had sent him several letters and topographical postcards of Paris, including some picturing the Arc de Triomphe and the Eiffel Tower, but hadn't received a reply, even though she had included a forwarding address. In Reims she had posed in her green gown, with her red hair flowing to her shoulders, for hand-coloured photographs for
cartes de visite
, which she distributed to admirers, and one of these she had placed in an envelope and posted to Charlie, being careful to address it to Charles Chandler. But still no reply.

Perhaps he has moved to new premises and hasn't received them, she pondered, prepared to forgive his laxity. And I expect he will be so busy he won't have had time to enquire of Dan Damone or my father as to my whereabouts. Nevertheless, she felt rather hurt that she hadn't heard from him.

‘Yes, I think we should return,' Marian Bennett said in reply to her question. ‘There are no forward bookings after Lyon, but you must honour those that are already made.' She smiled. ‘It will be good to go home, though I have really enjoyed being here. It's been such a pleasure to play. Going back to teaching my pupils will seem very dull in comparison.'

Poppy gazed at her. ‘Does that mean that you won't be able to come with me again, if I should return to Europe?' Mrs Bennett had been the perfect companion as well as coach and accompanist.

‘Oh, my dear,' Mrs Bennett said wistfully. ‘I don't know if I can leave my husband again for so long.' She seemed almost shy as she added, ‘We have a good marriage. I wouldn't want to do anything to upset that.'

‘Yes, of course,' Poppy said quietly. ‘I do understand. Mr Bennett will want you with him.'

She sighed inwardly. How wonderful to inspire such devotion. Then she pondered. So if I want to continue travelling abroad, I must find another companion. Not necessarily one who played the piano, for wherever they had been there was always a pianist, violinist or ensemble able to play, and indeed the other singers hadn't had their own accompanists.

But I realize now that I must travel with an older married female or with a theatre party. She had seen for herself when gentlemen had arrived at the theatres and halls, bringing flowers and chocolates and invitations to supper, how easy it would be for a young single woman to give the wrong impression. Whom would I ask? Whom do I know? There was no-one she could think of. I won't worry about it now, she decided. There will surely be someone.