CHAPTER XI
Diana to the Rescue
Next morning the postman arrived quite laden with parcels and lettersaddressed to "Miss Diana Hewlitt". As Mrs. Fleming had prophesied,everything came at once, and her young guest spent a busy and ecstatichalf-hour opening her various packages. Scent, French chocolates,Parisian embroideries, gloves, ribbons, and other dainty vanities suchas girls love were raved over and spread forth on the table, while Dianadevoured the contents of her letters. From one large envelope she drewforth a photograph of a lovely lady in evening-dress.
"It's Mother! Oh, how perfectly sweet! And the very image of her, too!"she cried, handing the photo to Meg for admiration.
Her fit of the blues had utterly vanished, and she was in arose-coloured mood to-day. Meg, leaning over the table, deeplyinterested in the parcels, looked critically at the picture of thebright-eyed lady with the soft coils of fair hair.
"She's not like you, Diana."
"No. A thousand times better looking than I am!"
"I suppose you're like your father?"
"Yes, so people say, though I can't see it myself."
"How pretty she is--and how young! She might almost be your sister. Andyet I suppose she must be middle-aged."
"What do you mean by 'middle-aged'?" demanded Diana sharply.
"Why, anything over thirty! I call _my_ mother middle-aged."
"Do you?"
"Of course!" (Meg was still examining the photo.) "What a perfectlyglorious dress to be taken in! And I adore her necklace. She's like thepictures one sees in _The Queen_. It must be lovely to have a prettymother."
Diana was looking at Meg with an unfathomable expression in her greyeyes.
"Don't you call your mother pretty, then?" she asked.
"Oh, yes! she's a darling; but she's had her day. She's not a societybeauty, is she?"
"N-n-n-o, I suppose not," said Diana thoughtfully.
The boys came into the room just then; the conversation was interrupted,and Meg probably forgot all about it. Diana, however, did not. Atlunch-time she critically studied her hostess's features, and mentallycompared them with those of the photo which had arrived that morningfrom Paris.
"I don't believe Mrs. Fleming is really any older than Mother," shedecided. "She's been very pretty some time, but she's let herself go.It's a pity. All the same, I could shake Meg!"
An impression that had been gathering in Diana's mind ever since shearrived at the Vicarage now shaped itself into definite form. She didnot like the attitude of her friends towards their mother. They weredevoted to her, but their love lacked all element of admiration. Mrs.Fleming had made the common mistake of effacing herself utterly for thesake of her children. She had dropped her former accomplishments, eventhe music in which she had once excelled, and made herself an absoluteslave to her household. So long as Meg and Elsie wore pretty frocks shecared nothing for her own dress; she never bought a new book or took aholiday; her interests were centred in the young people's achievements,and she had become merely the theatre of their actions. Going awayseldom, and reading little, had narrowed her horizon. She often felt herideas were out of date, and that she was not keeping up with the modernnotions her children were imbibing at school. They always spoke withmore respect of their teachers' opinions than of hers, and would alludeto subjects they were learning as if they did not expect her tounderstand them. Sometimes they assumed little airs of patronage towardsher. Among themselves they occasionally referred to her as "OnlyMother!"
Diana, thinking it all carefully over, raged mentally. "I guess I've gotto make those Flemings admire their mother!" she said to herself. "Justhow to do it beats me at present, but I don't give up. I'd like to fixher hair for her if I dared. She strains it back till she looks like askinned rabbit, and her dresses were made in the year one, I should say.She's a dear, all the same, though. If she could only be cured offeeling on the shelf, she'd grow ten years younger."
Having set herself the surprising undertaking of rejuvenating Mrs.Fleming, Diana went warily to work. It would certainly not do toreproach Meg, Elsie, and the boys for lack of appreciation of theirmother; they would simply have stared in utter amazement. Somehow, byhook or by crook, she must be made to shine, so as to command theirhonest admiration. Diana catalogued her personal attractions:
1. A really quite classical nose.
2. A nice, neat mouth.
3. Good teeth.
4. A pretty colour when she gets hot or excited.
5. Quite fascinating brown eyes.
6. Hair that would be lovely if it were only decently done, instead of scooped away and screwed into a tight knob at the back.
Anybody with these points might make so much of them, if they only knewhow to use them properly. Diana wondered if it would be possible to buya book on the secrets of fascination. It was just the element that waslacking. Putting personality aside, she began probing into the extent ofher friend's mental equipment. She induced her to bring out thewater-colour sketches of former years, and even wrung from her a halfpromise that some day--when the weather was nice, and if she hadtime--she would paint a picture of the church.
"The boys would each like a sketch of their mother's to take to schoolwith them," decreed Diana. "Monty would have his framed and hang it inhis study, and show it to all his friends as _your_ work."
"Why, so he might," said Mrs. Fleming, looking much surprised. The ideahad evidently never occurred to her before.
From painting, Diana passed to other accomplishments. Mrs. Flemingrendered the accompaniments to Elsie's violin pieces and Meg's songswith a delicacy of touch that revealed the true musician.
"I wish you'd play something to me," begged Diana one day when thegirls' practising was over and their mother was rising from the piano.
"_I_, my dear child! I never play now."
"Why not?"
"I gave up my music long ago, when I got married."
"You haven't forgotten it, though."
"Well, not altogether, of course. I'm a good reader still."
"Please!" urged Diana.
And, to content her impetuous visitor, Mrs. Fleming gave in. She pulleda volume of Chopin from the stand, and began the twelfth nocturne. Itwas years since she had played it, but as she touched the keys the oldspirit crept back into her fingers, and the notes came rippling outdelicately and easily. Diana, sunk back in the recesses of the longbasket-chair, listened fascinated. She loved music when it was of asuperior quality, and she did not often get the chance of hearingplaying such as this.
"More! More!" she begged, when the nocturne came to an end.
The ice once broken, Mrs. Fleming, as much to her own astonishment as tothat of the family, actually revived her interest in the piano. Shehunted out her old pieces and began to practise them. She said it was toamuse Diana, but it was evident that enjoyment was mixed with herphilanthropy. As a girl she had studied under a good master, and she hadmuch natural talent. She would improvise sometimes, and even composelittle things of her own.
"Why, my dear," said her husband, peeping into the drawing-room oneevening just at the conclusion of the "Moonlight Sonata", "this takes meback to the time when we were engaged! I've been sitting listening in mystudy."
Diana, squatting on one foot in the corner of the sofa, clapped herhands softly. She liked the Vicar, but she thought his antiquarianresearches monopolized the conversation at meal-times. It was quite niceto hear him express appreciation for some other line than his own. Dianahad a scheme in her mind, and, when she judged the time was ripe, sheproposed it suddenly and boldly in the face of the whole united familyof Flemings. It was nothing more or less than that Mrs. Fleming shouldplay a solo at the concert which was to be held at the schools on the10th of January. In vulgar parlance, she "shot her bird sitting",plumped the idea upon her, and dragged forth an acceptance before--asthe poor lady afterwards protested--she had time to realize what she wasundertaking.
"Certainly. Why not?" confirmed her hu
sband. "We badly want some moreitems on the programme. I shall put you down for two solos."
"But what _can_ I play?" remonstrated Mrs. Fleming.
"Oh, Mother, you know heaps of things! Don't be absurd!" reproved Meg.
"I guess we'll have a rehearsal to-night, and choose your star pieces,"said Diana, with shining eyes.
So far, so good. Her plot had answered admirably. The family took italmost as a matter of course that "Mother" was to perform at theconcert, though it had never occurred to any of them to ask her to doso.
"She's a very good pianist," said Meg airily to Diana.
"Glad you think so!" rapped out Diana, with an emphasis that made Megstare and whisper afterwards to Elsie that she couldn't quite somehowget at the back of "Stars and Stripes".
It was a mighty matter to select the two solos. Mrs. Fleming, flusteredand bewildered at this unexpected dive into publicity, hesitated amongmany pieces. As she could not make up her own mind, Diana made it up forher.
"We want the 'Moonlight Sonata' for one, and Chopin's 'Ballade in Aflat' for the other," she decided. "They're classical, but they're soexquisite that I guess even the old women will enjoy them. Then for theencores you could play----"
"Encores!" gasped Mrs. Fleming feebly.
"Why, of course there'll be encores! Schubert's 'Hedge Roses' for one,and that nocturne of your own for the other. It'll just about take thehouse!"
So Mrs. Fleming, with an extraordinary feeling that she had somehow beenwhisked back to her school-days, sat practising in the drawing-room,with Diana, curled up in the corner of the sofa for audience. It was adream-world for them both. Diana had been reading _Stories of the GreatComposers_, and now she knew the hearts of the musicians she could entermore fully into the meaning of their music. She had fallen, utterly andentirely, under the magic spell of Chopin; the lovely, liquid melodiesthrilled her like the echo of something beyond her earthly experience,and seemed to go soaring away into regions she had not yet explored,regions of breathless beauty, though only entered by the gates ofsorrow. She would read Alfred Noyes's poem on Chopin as she satlistening to the haunting, bewitching rhythm of the "Ballade in A", andthe ring of the poetry merged itself into the glamour of the music, sothat ever afterwards she connected the two.
"'Do roses in the moonlight glow Like this and this?' I could not see His eyes, and yet--they were quite wet, Blinded, I think! What should I be If in that hour I did not know My own diviner debt?"
or
"Wrapped in incense gloom, In drifting clouds and golden light; Once I was shod with fire, and trod Beethoven's path through storm and night: It is too late now to resume My monologue with God."
"I don't wonder Chopin had his piano carried out into the fields!" shecommented. "I don't believe he could have composed in the house. Youhear the wind blowing through his pieces, and see the tassels of thelaburnum-tree he was sitting under swaying about in it."
The concert was an annual gaiety which most of the people in theneighbourhood attended, and was generally much above the average ofvillage performances. North-country folk are musical, and this districtof the Pennines had produced many voices that passed on to cathedralchoirs. Instrumental music, also, was appreciated and understood, andbefore the war there had been quite a good little orchestra in theparish. When Mr. Fleming drew up his programme, he knew the audience forwhom he was catering, and did not fill it entirely with coon songs andragtimes. Diana, to whom the affair loomed as the main event of theholidays, discussed at the Vicarage the eternally feminine question ofdress.
"No one ever comes very smart," Mrs. Fleming assured her.
"But one likes to see the performers in something pretty," pleadedDiana. "It makes it so much more festive, doesn't it?"
"Mother, you intend to go in evening-dress, don't you?" said Meg.
Mrs. Fleming had intended nothing of the sort, but urged on by thegirls, she took a review of her wardrobe. She shook her head over theresult.
"I haven't anything at all except that grey silk, and it's as old as thehills. Why, I got it for my sister's wedding, when Roger was a baby!"
"But fashions come round again," said Diana, who, with Meg and Elsie,had been allowed to watch what came out of the big ottoman in the sparebedroom. "Why, this dress is the very image of the picture of one inthat magazine Mother sent me from Paris! It only wants the sleevesshortened and some lace put in, and the neck turned down to make itlower, and then a fichu put round. Here's the very thing! I'd fix itfor you if you'd let me. I'd adore to do it."
No one knew exactly how Diana managed to work matters, but for thisoccasion she took over Mrs. Fleming's toilet, and that astonished ladyresigned herself into her hands. She was a natty little person, withexquisite taste, and by the aid of some really good lace, which theottoman yielded, she managed to transform the grey silk dress into avery creditable imitation of the Parisian fashion-plate. She even daredto venture a step further without offending.
"I often help Mother fix her hair when she's going out, and she calls meher little _coiffeuse_. I'm crazy to try yours, if I may."
"'In for a penny, in for a pound,' I suppose, you young witch!"acquiesced Mrs. Fleming, letting her enthusiastic guest have her way.
So on the evening of the concert Diana shut herself up in her hostess'sbedroom with a pair of crimping-irons and some curling-tongs. Shecovered up the result with a light gauze veil.
"Don't let them see you till you get to the concert," she implored,helping her friend to put on her cloak. "I want them to get a realsurprise. I guess it will make them sit up!"
The parish hall was quite full that evening, and the platform wasprettily and appropriately decorated with flags and plants in pots.There was a sprinkling of local gentry on the front benches, and MissTodd, who had returned after the holidays, and was entertaining somevisitors at the Abbey, brought her whole house-party. The villagers hadturned up in full force, thoroughly prepared to enjoy themselves. TheFleming family sat at the end of the second row, and watched as theaudience filed in.
"Where's Mother?" asked Elsie.
"She's in the performers' room, talking to Miss Watson," vouchsafedDiana, chuckling softly to herself.
Then the concert began. There was a madrigal by the choir, and a gleefor four male voices, and a duet for soprano and mezzo, and then camethe item for which Diana was waiting:
The Moonlight Sonata, ....... _Beethoven_.
MRS. CARISBROOK FLEMING.
The curtain at the back of the platform was drawn aside, and a ladyentered--a lady who was palpably nervous, but oh, so pretty! Her browneyes shone like two stars, and her cheeks were the colour of the knot ofcarnation ribbon that fastened the lace fichu of her dress. Her lovelybronze hair was parted on one side, and rippled lightly over herforehead; it looked the very perfection of glossy fluffiness. She wore amoonstone pendant set in dull silver that matched the shimmering grey ofher dress. The piano had been drawn to the front of the platform, andshe took her place. Then the magic music began. Diana knew her friendcould play well, but she had never heard her reach this pitch before.The audience listened as if spell-bound, and, when the last note diedaway, broke into a storm of applause. There was no question about theirenthusiasm, and an encore was inevitable. They stamped heartily, indeed,for a second encore, but Mrs. Fleming refused to return to the platform,and sent on the next performer instead. The "Ballade in A flat", in thesecond part of the programme, was an almost greater success, andproduced shouts of "Brava!" from the back of the hall. Pendlemere peoplecould appreciate good music, and showed their approval withnorth-country heartiness.
The Fleming family sat during the performance gazing as if they couldscarcely believe the evidence of their own eyes and ears. Diana hadcalculated upon giving them a surprise, and she had certainly done so.Apparently it was a very pleasant one, to judge from the expression ontheir faces.
As the crowd filed out from the benches at the close of the concert,Di
ana found herself walking behind Meg, who was speaking to a friend.
"That 'Moonlight Sonata' was beautiful!" Ada Davis was saying. "And Mrs.Fleming looked so charming to-night! How nice to have such a pretty,clever mother!"
"I'm _awfully_ proud of her!" agreed Meg, with unction.
"Humph! High time you were!" sniffed Diana behind.
At the door the Vicar was helping his wife into her cloak. He put itround her with quite a gallant little air, and offered her his arm asthey stepped out into the starlight together.
"I hardly know you to-night, Sylvia. You excelled yourself!" heremarked.
"'Sylvia'!" Diana triumphed inwardly. "That's the first time I've everheard him call her anything except 'Mother'. If _I_ get married, I'llwant my husband to call me 'Diana', even if I've a dozen children to be'Mother' to! I guess Mrs. Fleming has hopped off the shelf to-day, and Ijust hope to goodness she'll never go back."