Chapter XIV: "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.