The Ladder Dancer Read Online Free PDF Page A

servant.
    Mrs Annabella bent towards me. She said, with a significant look, ‘Some gentlemen prefer mature women.’
    Startled, I stuttered a little; I do not regard Esther as mature – at least, not in Mrs Annabella’s sense. But was she trying to hint she had a specific gentleman in mind? I wondered if the gentleman in question had her in mind.
    ‘Do you continue to teach, Mr Patterson?’ Mrs Jenison asked. She sounded anxious, as if a new worry had occurred to her.
    ‘Indeed.’
    ‘Oh, no,’ Mrs Annabella said, shocked, ‘that must be such hard work!’
    Mrs Jenison frowned then smiled graciously. ‘Teaching music cannot surely be described as anything so menial as work . Music is a vocation.’
    ‘An Art,’ I agreed.
    ‘And a delightful one,’ she said, pouring me more tea. ‘It cannot be considered—’ a little shudder— ‘ work to pass on the pleasures of one of the Creator’s greatest gifts.’
    And so, I reflected, any disturbing circumstance can be got over with a little effort. Mr Patterson is a gentleman (now, at least) and gentlemen don’t work. Therefore his teaching cannot be work. I had thought it would go the other way: gentlemen don’t work, Mr Patterson does work, therefore he’s not a gentleman.
    Mrs Annabella, clearly put out at being chastised, snatched at a workbox on the table between the two ladies, pulled out a piece of embroidery and regarded it with furious concentration. She took up a pair of delicate engraved scissors, snipped off a length of thread and reached for a needle. Her nose in the air all the time as if she was above such dull things as everyday conversation.
    The drawing-room door opened. Mr Robert Jenison stood on the threshold. I rose. He nodded, said, ‘Ah! Patterson!’ as if he hadn’t known I’d be there, although the servants must have told him.
    ‘Tea, dear?’ Mrs Jenison asked.
    He visibly recoiled. He was a man of medium height and more and more rotund as the years passed, but he compensated for these imperfections with dull businesslike wigs and sombre clothing that made it clear he was a man of good solid worth. But today he was hesitant, not quite meeting my gaze. ‘And how is Mrs Patterson?’
    I sighed inwardly. ‘Very well indeed.’
    He cleared his throat. ‘Good, good.’ He covered his obvious unease by fumbling in a pocket as if for a lost coin. ‘And to what do we owe this pleasure, Patterson?’
    At last! I put down my dish of tea. ‘I was wondering whether you and Mrs Jenison, and Mrs Annabella of course, would honour me by subscribing to this winter’s concerts.’
    His face cleared. This, his manner said at once, was something he knew how to deal with. He took the subscription ticket from me and regarded it approvingly. ‘Printer’s done a damn fine job, wouldn’t you say?’
    ‘Indeed.’
    ‘This fellow we’ve got coming to sing this year is the real thing!’ he said enthusiastically. He put the tickets down on the table, I noticed, which meant he’d accepted them; now all I had to do was to get him to pay for them. ‘We saw Mr Nightingale in London last winter, did we not, my dear?’
    ‘Oh indeed,’ Mrs Jenison said, without a great deal of warmth. ‘He was excellent.’
    ‘So charming,’ Mrs Annabella said, simpering. ‘So handsome. A fine gentleman.’ Her gaze grew misty again; she let the needlework drop to her lap. I wondered if Mr Richard Nightingale was a handsome figure of a young man, with a pleasing way with the ladies.
    ‘Wasted in London,’ Jenison said. ‘Not properly appreciated.’
    ‘He was so light on his feet,’ Mrs Annabella said, with a reminiscent smile. She put a hand on her heart as if to stop it palpitating. ‘And when he stood on top of the ladder, I was quite afraid he would fall off!’
    There had to be some way to head off the worst excesses of this rapture. ‘But is the Assembly Room ceiling quite high enough for ladder dancing?’ I wondered.
    Jenison frowned. ‘Possibly