"THE LAST ROSE OF SUMMER"
THE day of the concert arrived all too soon for Meg, who would have
liked a little more time in which to perfect her songs, but as she
awoke with the sun streaming in upon her she sprang up with a strong
feeling of exhilaration.
She was not afraid of disappointing her audience, being fully conscious
that her voice was far above the average, and that it would give real
pleasure to those who listened. She had no conceit in her composition;
she simply recognised the truth, that she had been given a remarkably
beautiful voice, and was grateful.
On coming down to breakfast Sheila was struck by the happy expression
of the girl's face.
"I believe that you are really looking forward to the ordeal," she said
laughing.
"Yes, I am," said Meg simply. "I mean to give 'em a treat."
The smile on Sheila's face faded.
"You'll spoil it all if you talk like that," she said.
"What did I say?"
"Didn't you know that you said 'give 'em?' You must be very careful not
to get excited to-day or you will make no end of mistakes."
Meg felt as if a wet blanket had been thrown over her, but she soon
recovered her spirits as the sun was shining and the birds singing, and
moreover she heard in the distance the sound of hammering which told
her that men were already engaged in putting up the platform on the
lawn.
After breakfast she ran out to see how they were getting on. Two men
were engaged on the work; one man's face she knew well as he was often
employed in various jobs about the Court; the other, whose back was
turned towards her, was a stranger; but something in his build produced
a curious sensation of shock in the girl. The head and shoulders were
so remarkably like those of Jem.
She was within only a few feet of the platform and had asked the man
facing her when it would be finished, when she noticed his companion
who did not raise his head.
Meg hastily made up her mind that though the likeness was remarkable it
could not possibly be Jem, or he would have turned round at the sound
of her voice. Nevertheless she was glad to escape into the house again,
as the likeness took away her breath and gave her a strange sensation
of fear.
As Meg turned away the man whom she had noticed looked round and
watched her. His bright blue eyes in a moment took in every item of her
dress, and the fact that the sun was shining on her lovely hair turning
its auburn to gold. Had it not been for her hair and indeed for her
atmosphere, which was unmistakable to the man who loved her as his own
soul, he would scarcely have recognised her, for her voice had changed
and her way of speaking, not to mention the extraordinary difference
that clothes make.
Meg was in a white cotton frock, so white and clean it looked to Jem,
that it had almost the same effect upon him that the sight of angels
wings might have had. He straightened himself when he discovered that
her head was turned away, and gazed wonderingly after her.
"Thank God," he cried in his heart, but the man by his side only saw
the wonder displayed on his fellow worker's face.
"She's a beauty, ain't she?" he said following Jem's example and
watching Meg's hasty retreat to the house. "They do say as how Miss
Dennison picked her out of the gutter; but that's all moonshine. She's
a queen if ever there was one."
But Jem did not hear his companion's words. He was transfixed.
At last he had his reward. Ever since his little brother Steve had died
he had been searching for Meg, getting odd jobs in this town and that
while he made enquiries. He had been in Elminster for a fortnight, and
some gossip he had overheard about the singer at the concert to be held
at Friars Court raised his hopes, and finding that the carpenter for
whom he was doing odd jobs was engaged to put a platform in the garden,
he had been rejoiced at being told that he was wanted to help one of
the workmen at Friars Court.
As he bent over his work his ears were straining all the time to
hear a footfall that he might recognise, and as after two or three
hours he heard a girl's voice and then the sound of footsteps on the
gravel path, his heart beat to suffocation. He could not mistake
that footstep, though when the question as to the time of finishing
the platform had been put to his fellow workman, he would not have
recognised the voice. On hearing the retreating footsteps he had raised
himself, and seeing Meg and learning from her whole appearance that she
was apparently well, happy, and evidently cared for, he thanked God.
It was this that he meant to satisfy himself about. He could not rest
till he knew she was in good hands, Many a time since he had bidden her
goodbye on the heath, he had blamed himself for letting the girl run
such a risk as to tramp to London alone, even though it meant freedom
for her. At night he would lie awake wondering where she was, if she
had managed to reach London without mishap, or if she had changed her
mind and had found a home nearer at hand. Was she starving, or dying of
cold?
He could hardly bear his thoughts at these times, and when poor little
Steve had breathed his last, without a word Jem left his uncle and
aunt, and went in search of Meg, paying his way by doing odd jobs,
generally in the way of carpentering, for which he had a natural talent.
He had traced her from place to place and had arrived at Elminster
meaning to stay only a few days. But a chance word had changed his
mind, and he got work at a carpenter's shop, the owner of which
happened at that moment to be in great need of men.
And now his search had been rewarded. He had found Meg, and had
satisfied himself that she was well and happy—was that to be the end?
As Jem turned back to his work, his next move filled his mind. He had
never thought what the result to himself would be should he find Meg in
comfortable circumstances. It was a new situation; it would have to be
thought out. But he made up his mind quickly on one point; he would not
let Meg know of his proximity until he had settled what steps he should
next take. He would wait and see.
But that one glimpse of the girl convinced him that during the two
years of separation, Meg had travelled far ahead of him. She was no
longer a girl to take care of, but a woman to serve. He felt her to be
so far above him, that he could, hardly imagine himself touching her
hand, or talking in the least freely to her. The knowledge brought pain
with it.
As he put his tools into his bag and made his way, in company with his
companion, out of the Court, a great depression took hold of him. He
felt as if he had buried someone—his hope, on which he had lived ever
since that day of the thunder storm on the heath, lay dead. He had lost
"Meg of the heather" for good, and in her place had found a queen; one
whom he might reverence and serve, but could never possess as his own.
* * * * * *
Sheila was not satisfied with the platform. She insisted on some small
alteration being done and Jem was sent over again from Elminster to do
it. He arrived only about an hour before the concert began.
Meg and Sheila were dressing and he caught no sight of either one or
the other. But knowing that Meg was to sing, after finishing his work,
he lingered about the lanes outside the Court in the hope of hearing
once more the voice which he had loved of old.
As he noticed the carriages and motor cars that continually passed
him on their way to the party, the pain that was gnawing at his heart
became almost unendurable. This then was Meg's world! These her
friends! How could he ever hope for a return of the intimacy which had,
in the old days, existed between them. He paced up and down the road
outside the park trying to work off his feelings; then the strains of a
band attracted him and leaping over a hedge he found himself in a small
plantation from which he could obtain a distant view of the platform on
the lawn. His eyes searched the crowd in vain for Meg. He felt sure she
was not there or he would have seen her at once.
Suddenly he caught sight of a lonely figure moving slowly across the
grass.
Meg wore a pale sea green dress made of a soft clinging material and a
broad brimmed black hat trimmed with ostrich feathers.
She was walking slowly, for remembering Sheila's words that it would
be better for her to be silent than to talk ungrammatically, she had
avoided the guests as much as possible, and did not wish to mingle with
them till the time for singing had arrived. But Mademoiselle Margot,
the violinist, whom Sheila had secured for the afternoon, had finished
her solo and Meg knew that her time had come.
As she drew near she looked at the audience before her; but her heart
did not fail her in the least. She knew she was about to surprise them
and was happy in that knowledge. There was hardly a familiar face
among them, for Sheila had kept her somewhat close, not wishing her
protégé to mix with others till her manner and voice were such that
her own action in adopting her would be vindicated in the face of the
world, for she was aware that in some quarters her action had been
unfavourably criticised, and she intended that the concert should be a
triumph.
The only face that Meg recognized among the audience was that of Peter
Fortescue, who came forward at the sight of her and handed her on to
the platform. His kind smile was encouraging.
"I mean to sing ever so well," she said in a soft voice, "just to pay
back Sheila for all her goodness to me."
"That's right. We are expecting great things. Are you nervous?"
"No, I'm not nervous, I'm going to sing fine."
She was quite unconscious that she had relapsed into her old way of
speaking. Happily Sheila who was to play her accompaniments was not
within earshot.
Meg stood with her eyes raised to the sky and her hands clasped behind
her for she knew her song by heart. No one seeing her for the first
time could possibly have guessed that only two years ago she was
sleeping under hedges, and was thankful if she could find a resting
place in a barn or on straw.
Peter wondered if, when she opened her mouth to sing, her origin would
be betrayed. He felt nervous for her and for Sheila, who, he saw was
rather pale as she took her place at the piano. But the first few notes
dissipated his fears; the tone was pure as a bird's, full and rich; and
the singer, he was aware, was thinking entirely of the music so that
the audience did not alarm her.
People looked at one another with amazement.
The fact that the singer at Sheila's party was to be none other than
the girl who had been a tramp but two years ago had leaked out, and the
audience were in a state of amused expectation as they waited for her.
But when they caught sight of her moving slowly towards them, they came
to the conclusion that the news they had heard could have no foundation
whatever. This lovely girl in the pale sea green dress could certainly
never have been a tramp; and as the first notes escaped her lips they
sat in astonished silence. Such a voice had not been heard for many
years round about Friars Court. Where could she have come from?
Sheila flushed with pleasure as her eyes caught Peter's. That he was
pleased and surprised she saw at once, also that the audience was
entranced.
Meg's song over she took refuge in the drawing-room. She was afraid
of talking after Sheila's advice to be silent, but she felt strangely
excited. She had pleased her friend and had surpassed herself. That
her singing had given supreme satisfaction she could not doubt, and
that this audience had appreciated her voice quite as much if not more
than her former audiences used to do, she was well aware. She had been
thankful too to find that even when she stood up before the fashionably
dressed crowd, she was no more nervous than when she had stood on
the chair in the kitchen that day, which now seemed so long ago. The
feeling of elation of which she was conscious was not born of conceit,
but simply of delight that she had satisfied those for whom she cared.
Sheila and Peter were pleased, that was all that signified.
It seemed to her that only a few minutes had passed when Peter came to
the drawing-room window telling her that they were waiting for another
song.
"They are impatient to hear you again," he said smiling, "and so am I.
I never expected anything like this."
"I'm glad," said Meg, her eyes shining.
She was hardly aware of the clapping that heralded her approach, so
delighted was she at the reception Sheila herself gave her; it excited
her so, that for the first moment her voice trembled as she began
her song, but before many bars were sung, she forgot Sheila and her
audience and was conscious of nothing save the music which she was
making and which delighted her soul.
A murmur of applause broke on her ear as the last notes trembled on the
air.
Sheila had prepared a song for an encore, and Meg was nothing loath to
sing it. But even then those listening were not satisfied, and the girl
without thought and forgetful for the moment of Sheila, broke out into
"The Last Rose of Summer."
It was a song that she had not sung since her tramping days. After
the first moment of surprise that the singer should have chosen an
unaccompanied song the audience sat spellbound; for the extreme pathos
and sympathy displayed in the voice touched them to an unusual degree.
Meg threw out her notes with all the force and feeling of which she was
capable, quite unconscious of the fact of Sheila sitting idle at the
piano with a slight frown of annoyance puckering her forehead.
As for the audience they scarcely missed the accompanist after the
first moment or two, their attention being entirely riveted on the
lovely girl standing before them singing her heart out.
They were entranced.
Then suddenly they became aware of a look of intense and sudden fear
crossing the face of the singer, as her voice faltered.
"It's a case of stage fright," whispered a man to a girl sitting next
to him. "She'll recover in a moment."
But Meg stood panic stricken, as she watched a young man vaulting the
wire fence that divided the trees from the garden and making his way
hastily towards her, his fierce blue eyes blazing in the sunshine and
his tanned face radiant.
Before the audience had had time to recover from their surprise the
song had suddenly ceased and the singer had fled.
Peter, who could not bear to see any living creature in pain, waited
for a moment to see if Sheila was following Meg, and finding that she
evidently had not thought of doing so, and, in fact, was trying to do
what she could to make excuses for her to her guests, he went after the
girl himself.
He found her sobbing on the library sofa.
"What is it?" he asked kindly. "Are you feeling faint?"
But Meg was too overcome to answer. Her face was hidden in the cushion
as she tried hard to stifle her sobs.
"You sang so wonderfully well," said Peter. "You needn't mind in the
least breaking down over 'The Last Rose of Summer.' Everyone will
understand."
"Sheila won't," sobbed Meg almost incoherently.
"Of course she will. Your beautiful singing at the beginning ought to
more than make up for it."
"I wish I'd never sung it," sobbed the girl passionately. "It brought
Jem."
Peter looked mystified and began to wonder if the excitement had been
too much for the poor girl's brain.
"I advise you to think no more about it," he said, "and to rest here
till all the people have gone. I'll tell Elsie to bring you some tea."
Meg looked up again from the sofa cushion and shivered.
"I'm afraid," she said.
"Afraid? What of? No one will hurt you. You are unstrung that is all
that is wrong. Tea will set you right."
"No," cried the girl, "I've done a wicked thing. I've been a coward; I,
who longed to tame lions!" and she broke out afresh into sobs.
Peter thought of asking the country doctor who happened to be one of
the guests to come and see the girl. He was more than afraid that her
brain was affected; but instead he took a chair and sat down by her
side.
"Come, tell me what is troubling you," he said quietly.
"It's just my dream come true. I've been ungrateful and horrid and have
turned my back on my best friend. But it gave me such a start to see
him." And then between her sobs Meg told Peter of the shock she had had
in the morning, and of the realization of her suspicions while she was
singing her song.
Peter was quite at a loss how to act. Was the girl dreaming? Or was it
true, and if true what was to be done?
"I'll send Elsie here with some tea," he said.
Meg sprang from her seat.
"I can't stay here alone," she cried. "Jem may find me and I'm just
ashamed to meet him. I'll go to my room."
Peter went in search of Sheila and of Miss Gregson; but the former was
too put out with Meg to listen to his story, and Miss Gregson was not
to be found; so he decided to wait till the morning to talk the matter
over.