Читать книгу The Clayhanger Trilogy (Consisting of Clayhanger + Hilda Lessways + These Twain) - Arnold Bennett - Страница 128

The music began to engage Edwin’s attention. It was music of a kind quite novel to him. Most of it had no meaning for him, but at intervals some fragment detached itself from the mass, and stood out beautiful. It was as if he were gazing at a stage in gloom, but lighted momentarily by fleeting rays that revealed a lovely detail and were bafflingly cut off. Occasionally he thought he noticed a recurrence of the same fragment. Murmurs came from behind the piano. He looked cautiously. Alicia was making faces of alarm and annoyance. She whispered: “Oh dear! ... It’s no use! ... We’re all wrong, I’m sure!” Tom kept his eyes on the page in front of him, doggedly playing. Then Edwin was conscious of dissonances. And then the music stopped.

“Now, Alicia,” her father protested mildly, “you mustn’t be nervous.”

“Nervous!” exclaimed Alicia. “Tom’s just as nervous as I am! So he needn’t talk.” She was as red as a cock’s crest.

Tom was not talking. He pointed several times violently to a place on Alicia’s half of the open book—she was playing the bass part. “There! There!” The music recommenced.

“She’s always nervous like that,” Janet whispered kindly, “when any one’s here. But she doesn’t like to be told.”

“She plays splendidly,” Edwin responded. “Do you play?”

Janet shook her head.

“Yes, she does,” Charlie whispered.

“Keep on, darling. You’re at the end now.” Edwin heard a low, stern voice. That must be the voice of Hilda. A second later, he looked across, and surprised her glance, which was intensely fixed on himself. She dropped her eyes quickly; he also.

Then he felt by the nature of the chords that the piece was closing. The music ceased. Mr Orgreave clapped his hands. “Bravo! Bravo!”

“Why,” cried Charlie to the performers, “you weren’t within ten bars of each other!” And Edwin wondered how Charlie could tell that. As for him, he did not know enough of music to be able to turn over the pages for others. He felt himself to be an ignoramus among a company of brilliant experts.

“Well,” said Mr Orgreave, “I suppose we may talk a bit now. It’s more than our place is worth to breathe aloud while these Rubinsteins are doing Beethoven!” He looked at Edwin, who grinned.

“Oh! My word!” smiled Mrs Orgreave, supporting her hand.

“Beethoven, is it?” Edwin muttered. He was acquainted only with the name, and had never heard it pronounced as Mr Orgreave pronounced it.

“One symphony a night!” Mr Orgreave said, with irony. “And we’re only at the second, it seems. Seven more to come; What do you think of that, Edwin?”

“Very fine!”

“Let’s have the ‘Lost Chord,’ Janet,” Mr Orgreave suggested.

There was a protesting chorus of “Oh, dad!”

“Very well! Very well!” the father murmured, acting humility. “I’m snubbed!”

Tom had now strolled across the room, smiling to himself, and looking at the carpet, in an effort to behave as one who had done nothing in particular.

“How d’ye do, Clayhanger?” He greeted Edwin, and grasped his hand in a feverish clutch. “You must excuse us. We aren’t used to audiences. That’s the worst of being rotten amateurs.”

Edwin rose. “Oh!” he deprecated. He had never spoken to Tom Orgreave before, but Tom seemed ready to treat him at once as an established acquaintance.

Then Alicia had to come forward and shake hands. She could not get a word out.

“Now, baby!” Charlie teased her.

She tossed her mane, and found refuge by her mother’s side. Mrs Orgreave caressed the mane into order.

“This is Miss Lessways. Hilda—Mr Edwin Clayhanger.” Janet drew the dark girl towards her as the latter hovered uncertainly in the middle of the room, her face forced into the look of elaborate negligence conventionally assumed by every self-respecting person who waits to be introduced. She took Edwin’s hand limply, and failed to meet his glance. Her features did not soften. Edwin was confirmed in the impression of her obdurate ugliness. He just noticed her olive skin and black eyes and hair. She was absolutely different in type from any of the Clayhangers. The next instant she and Charlie were talking together.

Edwin felt the surprised relief of one who has plunged into the sea and discovers himself fairly buoyant on the threatening waves.

“Janet,” asked Mrs Orgreave, “will supper be ready?”

In the obscurer corners of the room grey shadows gathered furtively, waiting their time.