Chapter Fifteen

ADELIA CRAIG WAS HAVING DIFFICULTY with her recitation piece. Each student in the class was to present two verses of the popular poem “In the workhouse: Christmas Day” at the Christmas recital. Adelia had been assigned part of the first verse and the third from last, but the first wasn’t giving her enough scope to use the large dramatic gestures she thought her teacher liked, and the other was so sad she kept wanting to cry.

She tried again. She straightened the strip of carpet, which she had put in front of the piano as her stage. Her teacher, Miss Hamersley, insisted that her students treat every practice as if it were a real recital. This meant the walk onto the stage, the walk is a mirror of character; the recitation itself, and the final bow and retreat. Adelia took a deep breath and assumed an active chest. She widened her eyes slightly and tried to summon a few animated thoughts. Bright face, always a bright face, nobody wants to see a pudding. Adelia usually had difficulty finding lively thoughts as worry was always uppermost; and even though she liked her lessons, they were another source of anxiety. She dearly valued the good opinion of Miss Hamersley, and it was always hard won.

She inhaled deeply, pushing her chest out rather like a pouter pigeon, neck stretched upwards, head gracefully balanced. Her chin tended to recede, and she had to remind herself to thrust forward slightly to compensate. She bared her teeth in a ferocious smile and walked across to the centre of the carpet. Miss Hamersley was critical of Adelia’s walk, which she declared to be too timid and indecisive.

“Your audience wants to believe in you, Miss Craig. They are not going to listen to a young woman who looks as if she is about to turn tail and run out off the stage at any minute. Now, deep inspiration, assume active chest, and proceed.”

First, Adelia took up position one. Her weight was on her left foot, right foot obliquely in front, heel a few inches from the other foot. She remembered to curl her hands gracefully at her sides instead of clenching them nervously as she was wont to do. She began the recitation, her right hand moving to her heart.

Both arms extended horizontally, palms up.

She indicated the paupers as if they were lined up in front of her in a row. Her forefinger and thumb were parallel, fingers slightly cupped.

Skip to the end of the poem. The poor man was denouncing the hypocrisy of those who had denied his wife entrance to the workhouse.

Hands clasped on “cast,” head back and eyes up in supplication. She stopped. How should she move to “lips all bloodless”? Better not to overdo it. Miss Hamersley didn’t like her students jumping round like acrobats, as she put it.

Adelia said the line again. “I knew on those lips all bloodless” - a frown here. Fingers extended, slightly open and touching her lips on “bloodless.”

Hands cupped around her mouth, head turning from side to side.

“Anguish” was not quite as easy to depict as one might think. Miss Hamersley liked them to be original. Finally she decided to show anguish by bringing her right hand, clenched, over her heart and sort of collapsing inward as if she had been hit by a cold wind.

On the final line, she raised her shoulders, stretched out her arms, and slowly brought her hands together in front, pressing fingers together in prayer. She held her position for the count of three, then as the audience burst into rapturous applause, she took her bow. Right foot back into second position, bend forward slightly, bring right toe to the heel of the left foot and bend the knee, pressing firmly against the back of the left knee. She was still in a bow when the door opened and her brother entered.

“Bravo, Leila, bravo.”

Embarrassed, she straightened up.

“Were you practising your piece?”

She nodded.

“When am I going to see it?”

“I told you, at the Christmas recital.”

“Show me now. It will be a good rehearsal.”

Adelia hesitated, not at all sure if James would be a kind audience or not.

“It’s not ready yet.”

“Suit yourself.”

He went over to the mirror and fiddled with his Windsor tie, a new green-and-red-plaid silk.

“My, aren’t we a swell this afternoon,” said Adelia. “A little extra macassar oil, a new cravat, and very shiny shoes. Going calling, are you? Miss Delaney, I assume?”

“Don’t tease me, Adelia, I have no stomach for it today.”

“I’m merely making an observation. This is your typical courting apparel.”

“I would hardly say I’m courting. She is pleasant and I enjoy her company.”

“So you say. On the other hand, you do seem to have a predilection for rather dull farmers’ daughters.”

“She’s not and I don’t.” He frowned at her. Adelia was wearing a green velvet wrapper, and her fair hair was still in a loose bedtime braid.

“It’s late not to be dressed, isn’t it? What if we have visitors?”

“Like whom? The only people who come here are the butcher, the baker, or the candlestick maker, and Aunt Carmel attends to them.”

“I thought you said Mr. Pugh was coming this afternoon.”

“He doesn’t count as a visitor. He wants to sell me some books.”

“The way he was attending to you last week, I had the distinct impression he had more on his mind than Woman: Maiden, Wife, and Mother.”

James came closer to her and whispered in her ear. “On the other hand, maybe that was exactly what he had on his mind, especially the wife part.”

Adelia turned her head away irritably. “That’s a stupid remark if ever I heard one.”

“Leila, come on, admit it. You were quite enjoying his company. You were laughing.”

“He had some clever magic tricks. They were amusing.”

“Suit yourself.” He planted a quick kiss on her cheek. “Well, I’d better be off. I’ll leave you to your practice.”

At the door he hesitated, looking over his shoulder at her. She looked so unhappy, he softened. “Do you want to come then? It might make things more agreeable if you do. Her mother or that lump of a brother are always lurking, and I can hardly get a moment with her alone.”

“Thank you, but I do have a lot more to do.”

“Are you still upset about the other day?”

“Of course I am. I hardly enjoyed testifying in a court of law.”

“You shouldn’t be concerned about that,” he said with a grin. “You were splendid.”

He switched to a girlish falsetto. “Why that old clock is so LOUD, Mamma is always complaining about it. I know for sure my father and brother came into the house at a quarter past eight o’clock exactly.”

She smiled a little. “I did not sound like that. And the judge made me dreadfully nervous. I felt he could see at once I was lying.”

“Of course he couldn’t. Nobody could. You were cool as a cucumber. A lovely English cucumber, I might add. Your lessons are paying off.”

“Just as I was stepping down from the witness box, I caught the eyes of the prisoner, the Murdoch fellow. He looked so afraid. I felt desperately sorry for him.”

James came over and put his arm around her shoulder. “Why is it that everybody in this family is feeling sorry for the man? Save your pity. He’s a murderer. And a brutal one at that.”

She put her hand lightly over that of her brother. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right. But if it will make you feel better, you can go up to the police station and tell them what really happened. ‘I’m afraid I didn’t tell the truth. I did not see my father and my brother at all that night.’ ‘Oh dear, where were they then?’”

“Stop it. I know perfectly well where you were.”

“I’m glad of that. For a minute I thought my own sister suspected me of knocking some poor man over the head.”

“Don’t be silly.”

James looked at her for a moment; then he shrugged.

“I’m off. If Mrs. Delaney invites me to stay for dinner, I shall accept.”

“In which case, I shall see you in the morning. I plan to go to bed early.”

She waited until the door closed after him, then she stood up, moved to the centre of her improvised stage, and addressed the empty chairs in front of her.

For the first time, she raised her voice. The effect was so satisfactory, she did it for a second time then took her bow.