She applauded more loudly than anyone when Signor Marchesi finished, and did she imagine that he looked directly at her and grinned? No, more than that: the great castrato who had thrilled Europe and entertained kings looked at Lucasta andwinked.
He was enjoying being the centerpiece of the concert, and he accepted Lucasta’s undisguised admiration as his due. She had scheduled him to sing again, opening the second act after their intermission, so she hoped mightily he would not be put out by the sudden change to the program. She was sure he was preparing an encore as well, fully expecting that some fans in the audience would call for his return at the end. He had even suggested he might sing her English arrangement of the Italian solo he had performed at the end ofIfigenia, to Lucasta’s great delight.
She pushed Benedicta’s chair to the keyboard of the great organ, for the girl had designated herself the turner of pages. The girls who were singing took their places, and Hester, tallest among them, filled her lungs with air. She had a short solo at the end of the next song, an honor she had fought for fiercely.
Lucasta played the opening chords of the hymn they had rehearsed and the vibrations of the great organ blasted away the fog that had descended around her heart. She was where she belonged, and she knew it. As her darling foundlings lifted their voices in the first verse, all of them singing their hearts out and most of them in tune, she didn’t even try to stop the tears that traced down her face.
Oh yes, she would miss Jeremiah Falstead. That loss would be a constant ache. But she had her friends, she still had some family, and she had her music. It was more than any woman had a right to dream.
Benedicta sang mightily into her ear, turning pages at just the right time, and as soon as she could steady her voice, Lucastajoined them in song. And in blending her voices with theirs, drawing the full-throated sounds from the organ that vented straight to heaven, Lucasta felt she stood in one of the moments of complete enchantment that came so rarely in life, but made an impression on the memory that would never fade. Whatever else she lost or was denied in her life, she had this perfect, fleeting happiness.
The time came for Hester to sing the last verse, and the girl froze. She turned wide and terrified eyes on Lucasta, her voice a thin and nearly inaudible thread. Fabric rustled as people shifted on the benches, and Lucasta, without thinking, leapt into the breach. She repeated the measure and began the verse, smiling in encouragement, and the girl’s eyes shone with relief. Hester relaxed and they sang together, Lucasta’s stronger voice twining and lifting around the girl’s younger, untrained one. The poignant beauty of the stanza and the soft sounds of the organ carried the rich sound throughout the room.
The applause when their piece ended was nearly as enthused as it had been for Signor Marchesi, and the looks of amazement on the faces of her foundlings turned to delight as they realized the accolades were for them. Whatever the society papers had to say about the evening, for her and for her orphans, the night was a success they would never forget.
Jem was wrong to put so much stock in what thehaut tonhad to say. Lucasta understood that his livelihood depended on pleasing his customers, but she couldn’t live to please others. She wanted to uplift people through her music, of course, but the music she created would be her own. This she had learned from Laurence Lithwick and Miss Gregoire. She would live by her own light and take the consequences as they came.
Eliza stepped forward to bring Lucasta the violin and bow, trailing one hand along the railing until she reached the center of the gallery. The room fell completely silent and, as she turned toface the audience, the girl’s face went white. She had taken care with her gown and her neckcloth was neatly tied, and one of the older girls had done her hair up in curls beneath the plain white cap.
“There are an awful lot of people here, Miss Lithwick,” Eliza whispered.
“Yes, we have sold a great number of tickets,” Lucasta whispered back. “And if some of them make extra donations, as the governors may request, just think of the benefit to the Hospital. And you, my dear, have a part in it.”
“I shall do my best, then,” little Eliza said, and lifted her chin.
Lucasta tried to focus on the girl, but the tune was a simple one she could play in her sleep, and her eyes wandered over the audience, as much of it as she could see. Jem and his family were out there somewhere.
Eliza’s voice was small but lovely. Lucasta saw a few people, realizing the girl was blind, nudging their neighbors and pointing. But the audience maintained a respectful silence, listening, and the applause when Eliza ended her simple tune filled Lucasta’s heart. Eliza gave a brief curtsy, then took Lucasta’s arm to walk away. The girl’s face glowed with delight.
“I did all right, Miss Lithwick?” she whispered as she took her seat.
Lucasta swallowed down a rush of tears. What a watering pot she was tonight! But her heart swelled to see the audience so generous and attentive. No one had booed Eliza or thrown fruit, as often happened in the theater houses. They were being kind.
If this night was even a moderate success, which was as much as she dared hope, Lucasta would have the beginnings of a reputation upon which to start her conservatory. She would have some chance at the future she was meant to have, a future in music.
The audience murmured as a vision of operatic splendor swept onto the balcony. Margaret Kennedy, who on stage was often consigned to play breeches roles because of her singing range and her build, had chosen to wear a gown overwhelming in its ornateness. A green bodice and overskirt shot through with silver thread caught the candlelight and shimmered as she moved. The intricate embroidery covering the overskirt matched that of the satin underskirt, thick with gold, red, and blue. The arms of the gown were lavishly covered with rosettes and ribbon, and three ostrich feathers atop her head, dyed gold, red, and blue, added at least a foot to her presence. Once she’d paused at the balcony to assure she was the cynosure of all eyes, the famed actress turned and sought Lucasta.
“Before I begin,” she said in her thick, purring contralto, “I wish to thank Miss Lithwick for giving me the opportunity to appear before you in women’s garb. I was not sure I would remember how to sing in a frock.” Murmurs of delight and some laughter met this remark. “Miss Lithwick,” she asked curiously, “was that your voice accompanying our little friend in the last verse of ‘Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing?’”
Heat scorched her face as Lucasta nodded. Every eye that had been contemplating Mrs. Kennedy’s splendor was now focused on her.
“Well, my dear!” the actress said. “When I retire, Covent Garden may be in need of a new contralto. I hope they will think of you when the time comes.”
Lucasta, too overcome to speak, nodded again. The very idea robbed her of speech. Mrs. Kennedy had performed at the Haymarket Theatre, the Royal Opera House, Ranelagh Garden, and Vauxhall as well as Covent Garden, and she was in demand for festivals around the country at other times of the year.
Lucasta might never be as well-known as Mrs. Kennedy, but to at least try for a place on these stages— That was the reason she had denied Jem.
The actress signaled her accompanist and launched into “A-Hunting We Will Go,” a song from John Gay’sBeggar’s Opera.She had created quite a stir playing the lead in that play—a woman in a man’s role!—and the fuss had drawn curious audiences for weeks. Mrs. Kennedy was not a woman who bowed to society’s dictates. Lucasta would not, either.
Jem would never know this pleasure, this freedom, of defying expectation. The thought was a slice to her heart, just as the thought of him would be, she supposed, for a long while. Ears attuned to Mrs. Kennedy’s performance, she scanned the galleries and the pews below for sight of the Falstead family, sure she would be able to pick out Judith and her siblings among the crowd. But there was no sign of any of them.
Jem would not have persuaded them to forego the concert altogether, not even if he resented her rejection. But she might never see his beloved face again. Her heart twisted until she thought she might not be able to breathe through the hurt.
When intermission came and Mrs. Kennedy swept regally away, Lucasta turned to her self-appointed stage manager. “Benedicta, who requested the change to the…program…”
Jem stood next to Benedicta’s wheeled chair. The girl stared up at him adoringly.
“Him,” she said. “The governor as comes to hear us sing when you’re there.” Her cheeks turned a delicate pink.
