Gypsy - Lesley Pearse [55]
It was far faster than she was used to, yet it felt right, the way the fiddle was intended to be played. Her fingers moved like quicksilver on the strings and her bow was making them sing. She moved her whole body in rhythm, closing her eyes and completely immersing herself in the music.
She sensed rather than saw her audience’s appreciation: the foot-tapping grew louder, and whoops of joy came from those dancing. All at once she knew this was what she was made for, to play soaring, happy music that lifted her and all those around her to a better place. She forgot she was on a ship surrounded by grubby, pale-faced people and felt as if she were dancing barefoot across a buttercup-strewn meadow in bright sunshine.
When the tune ended and she opened her eyes again, she saw she had taken everyone to that place too. Their eyes were shining, they were smiling broadly, and sweat poured from their faces.
‘Ah, you’re a little gypsy!’ a man in the crowd shouted out. ‘Sure and wasn’t that the best fiddling outside of Dublin!’
Beth played a few more times before putting her fiddle down and joining in the dancing. It was even more frantic than on their first night, the music louder, and as she was swirled around in a frantic polka, she laughed with sheer joy.
Sam passed her by again and again, each time with a different girl in his arms, and his wide, approving grin at the sight of her enjoying herself made her feel even more elated. It occurred to her that he’d probably harboured doubts that she could ever break out of her prissy ways, and maybe he’d even feared she would be a liability.
She vowed to herself then that she would show him she could be as good as any man in taking the rough with the smooth, and she would throw herself into the big adventure wholeheartedly.
A couple of hours later, the pipe and cigarette smoke and the sheer number of hot sweaty bodies in a confined space with little fresh air coming in, made Beth head for the deck.
As she went up the stairs she realized to her consternation that she was a little tipsy because she found it hard to coordinate her movements. Just as she was about to topple backwards, she felt two hands clutch her round the waist from behind to steady her.
It was Jack.
‘Steady on, girl,’ he said. ‘If you’re sure the deck is where you want to be, I’ll come with you.’
As they finally got up to the top, the cold fresh air felt wonderful. The rain had stopped, the sky was clear and studded with stars and the sea was flecked with silver lights.
‘This is better,’ she sighed, taking deep breaths. ‘How beautiful it all looks.’
‘That it does,’ Jack agreed. ‘The sea looks like black satin, and see that moon!’
It was just a crescent, but it appeared far closer and brighter than Beth had ever noticed back in Liverpool. They found a locker to sit on and stayed there in companionable silence for some time. The band was playing along in the first-class saloon, and now that they were going up the Hudson River it was far warmer than out at sea, so much so that several other couples had come up and were standing further along the deck.
‘You’re a dark horse,’ Jack said, grinning at her. ‘You never said you could play like that. I thought when I saw your violin case you only played that screechy chamber stuff.’
‘It’s an Irish fiddle,’ Beth said with a smile. ‘I don’t think it knows anything but jigs. My mother never approved of it; she always said it was ale-house music.’
‘You’ll never be short of work playing that way,’ Jack said. ‘But where are you going tomorrow? Have you got plans?’
‘I think Sam has,’ she said. ‘What about you?’
‘I’m going to my friend’s place,’ he replied. ‘I don’t think it’s much, a kind of lodging house, but it will do until I get work.’
‘And what will that be?’
‘Anything that pays well,’ he replied. ‘I just wish I had a talent like yours. You’ll surely have people falling over themselves to hire you.’
‘Hire me?’ she exclaimed. ‘To play my fiddle?’
‘Isn’t that