Read Online Mary Ann and Miss Mozart by Ann Turnbull - Free Book Online

whispered and laughed together. Most of them were masked. Some way off Mary Ann could see the Temple of Pan, where a constant movement of people flowed to and fro. Closer to hand, there were other attractions: a juggler, people in fancy dress: a man dressed as Punch, a woman in harem trousers and a flimsy chemise that shocked Mary Ann. All around were little booths with lanterns hanging outside, the candle flames flickering in the breeze. These sold sweetmeats and drinks.
    Nick stopped by a natural arbour at the side of the path, where a lantern swung in the branches, and let go of the girls’ arms. “This will do,” he said. He opened the violin case and took out the instrument, and placed his hat on the ground.
    Jenny produced masks: a black and gilt one for Nick, sparkling green for herself, and blue and silver for Mary Ann. Once her mask was tied in place Mary Ann felt safer. No one would know her now.
    Nick began to play: a sweet, romantic tune. And he looked the part, with his dramatic pose, the fiddle on his shoulder, the yellow neckerchief catching the light.
    Jenny took Mary Ann to a stall and bought her a bag of sugared almonds. She also asked for three glasses of wine, and gave one to Mary Ann. “That’ll wet your whistle,” she said.
    Mary Ann didn’t like the taste of the wine, but she sipped it, for politeness’ sake, as they walked back.
    A few people had paused to listen to Nick’s playing. Mary Ann heard a chinking of coins in the hat. Nick called to Jenny, “A song, sweetheart!” He began to play an air from The Beggars’ Opera that Mary Ann knew; and Jenny stood beside him and sang, holding out her arms in dramatic gestures like the ladies at the opera and drawing cries of admiration from the gathering crowd. The gentlemen, who all seemed to go about in noisy groups, cheered and threw coins as the song ended. Jenny smiled and curtsied, the red dress sweeping the ground, her dark eyes shining.
    “Encore!” someone – drunk, by the sound of him – shouted. But Jenny turned to Mary Ann and drew her forward. “Sing that dove song,” she whispered. “Tell Nick; he’ll know it…”
    Nick did know it, and began to play Galatea’s air, and Mary Ann sang – too softly at first to be heard over the wind and rustling leaves and drunken chatter of passers-by. But then a hush fell, and people listened, and her voice soared clear:
    “ As when the dove
    Laments her love,
    All on the naked spray;
    When he returns,
    No more she mourns,
    But love the live-long day… ”
    At the end, as she curtsied, loud clapping broke out, and Mary Ann heard women’s voices: “Such a sweet child!” “Another Miss Mozart, I do believe!”
    They called for more – and Nick caught her eye and began to play the tune again.
    The hat was filling nicely. When the crowd moved on, Jenny scooped up most of the contents and stowed it away in a pocket hidden beneath a slit in her skirt. Nick laid down the fiddle and put an arm around each of them.
    “You were right, Jenny!” he said. “She sings like an angel. And I was right to tell you to bring her. The ladies love it!” He turned to Mary Ann. “What else do you know, sweetheart? Could you sing a duet with Jenny?”
    They sang a few more songs – Mary Ann joining Jenny in familiar ballads, then one or other of them singing alone. Nick encouraged Mary Ann to sing her “operatic stuff” as he called it. “They like that.” But when she tried to copy Jenny’s extravagant gestures he shook his head at her. “Keep it sweet and simple,” he said afterwards. “Suits you better.”
    And the people enjoyed it. The hat grew full, and once more Jenny transferred its contents to her pocket; and Mary Ann sipped her wine between songs and thought the drink wasn’t so bad after all – it made her feel a bit warmer as the night grew cool. Although it was spotting with rain, more and more people were strolling along the paths: groups of loud-voiced young men, or couples