Gypsy - Lesley Pearse [6]
Turning away from the window, she looked around the parlour. It was her mother’s pride and joy; everything, from the patterned square of carpet and the china dogs sitting either side of the fireplace to the stiff, uncomfortable button-backed armchairs and the heavy tapestry curtains, were copies of things Alice had seen in the big house when she was a scullery maid.
Wanting a piano was part of it, and it had to be hauled up through the window by six men. Neither of her parents could play the instrument, but to her mother it was a sign of refinement, so Beth had to learn. She had no doubt her mother hoped it would wean her off the fiddle, an instrument she saw as ‘common’.
Although Beth often felt hurt by her mother’s attitude to her beloved fiddle, she was very glad when she found Miss Clarkson to give her lessons on the piano. She might have been a thirty-year-old spinster, with grey hair and a cast in one eye, but she was an inspiring woman. She not only taught Beth to read music and play the piano but she introduced her to a whole new world of books, music and ideas.
For five years Miss Clarkson was her ally, friend, confidante and teacher. She loved to hear Beth play her fiddle as well as the piano, she would bring books with her she thought Beth should read, she taught her about all kinds of music and sometimes took her to concerts too. Yet what Beth liked best about her was that she didn’t have the same narrow outlook as her mother. Miss Clarkson felt strongly that women should have equal rights to men, be that to vote, to have a good education or to work at anything they pleased.
Beth wished Miss Clarkson was still in Liverpool now because she was the one person who might have been able to help her and Sam understand why their father had done such a terrible thing. But she had emigrated to America because she said she felt stifled by the hypocrisy, class system and lack of opportunities for women in England.
‘I shall miss you, Beth,’ she told her with a resigned smile when they said their last goodbyes. ‘Not just because you are my most accomplished pupil, but because you have a lively mind, a stout heart and boundless enthusiasm. Promise me you won’t marry the first suitable man who asks you, just so you can have a home of your own. Marriage may be considered by most to be a holy state, but not if you pick the wrong man. And keep up your music, for it lifts the spirit and allows you the freedom of expression a girl like you needs.’
Beth had found Miss Clarkson was right about the music. It transported her to a place where her mother’s repeated instructions on mundane domestic matters couldn’t reach her, a world where fun, freedom and excitement weren’t frowned upon.
Sadly, she knew Mama had never understood that. She had always liked to boast to the neighbours of her daughter’s talent, but she didn’t actually listen to her playing the piano and she resented the fiddle. Papa had listened and liked nothing better than to sit and hear her play the piano on a Sunday evening — Chopin was his favourite — yet he also enjoyed it when she played and sang popular music-hall songs. Even for him, though, the fiddle had been a slight bone of contention, perhaps because it was a reminder of his childhood and he feared the wild Irish jigs his father had taught Beth to play would draw her into bad company.
Hearing Sam coming up the stairs, Beth began sewing again. She heard him go in to see Mama in her room down beside the kitchen, and a few minutes later he came into the parlour.
He looked pale and drawn, his brow knitted in a frown. ‘The Coroner is releasing Papa’s body tomorrow,’ he said wearily. ‘He didn’t find anything to explain why he did it, he wasn’t sick. But at least we can bury him now.’
‘Did you tell Mama?’ Beth asked.
Sam nodded despondently. ‘She was crying still. I don’t think she’s ever going to stop.’
‘Maybe she will after the funeral,’ Beth said with more optimism than she felt. ‘I must fit this dress on her soon. I hope she won