Page 26 of The Songbird of Wychwood

PERCY

Father and I were relaxing in the drawing room on a sunny spring afternoon, both of us reading a copy of the latest edition of The Daily Gazette . Mother had gone to our house in the country and so Blackwood Hall was distinctly peaceful. She was so disgusted that I had denied her a society wedding that she could not bear to be in the same room. Oh well, this was not the first time we had experienced the silent treatment. She would of course return in a month and all would be forgotten! The peace and quiet worked well for both father and I. Father was constantly exhausted due to the mountain of his new responsibilities, and I had my head in the clouds most of the time, dreaming of George, scribbling in my book of poetry as lines of inspiration came to me. A knock at the door pulled my attention from the newspaper.

“Come in Bentley.” The door opened

“Mr. Percival sir, there is a—” he paused and pursed his lips. ”—young lady at the door. She wishes to speak with you,”

“I…I beg your pardon?” I said alarmed. My father let out a hearty laugh, “Has one of your dalliances discovered where you live? You rogue,” he guffawed.

“Tell me about the young lady, did she give a name?”

“She’s French, sir.”

“I say!” My father cocked a curious brow.

“A Miss Georgette D’Ancie, and her ladies companion,” Bentley revealed.

I sat erect, a little alarmed that George had come to my home…and he was disguised as Miss Georgette too. What the devil was going on?

“Show them in, Bentley, and ask cook to provide tea and sandwiches.”

I looked across at my father, who wore a Cheshire cat smile. I met his gaze with wide beseeching eyes and I sighed, “Please, do not tell mother!” Father held his hands up in surrender.

“Nothing to do with me, my boy. I shall greet the young ladies and then take my leave!” he said, an amused twinkle in his eyes. I folded the newspaper and placed it in the rack beside the couch. Then I rose and began to pace, wondering where I could position myself to give the most handsome first impression. Afternoon sunlight was streaming through the glass double doors that led out onto the veranda. I ran my hands through my curls, straightened my burgundy frock coat, and stood with my hands behind my back in a studious pose, looking out into the bountiful garden full of spring blooms. A knock, the door opened and then I heard Bentley say,

“Miss Georgette D’Ancie, and her companion Miss Eloise.”

I turned and my eyes affixed on the vision before me. Miss Georgette looked rather demure. She was wearing a Robin’s egg blue day dress, with a shawl. She appeared very feminine, proper, and decent.

“Hello my dear,” I said unable to disguise my pleasure at having George in my family home.

“Bonjour Monsieur Harcourt, please forgive me for calling on you at such uh—” She paused and looked as if she was confused. “Sorry, you know my English is not so good.” She waited a second before her expression brightened. “—Short notice, yes, forgive me for arriving at such short notice,” Georgette beamed. And I must admit her sultry French accent was making my bawsacks ache. I would have to ask George to speak French to me when we arranged our next tryst.

Taking in the lovely vision I strode towards her. Eloise was standing to Georgette’s left. I’d learned from our evenings at the pub that she was a tricksy kind of girl who loved a prank. I could see she was trying very hard to act like the lady’s companion she was supposed to be, and not giggle. I took Miss Georgette’s lace gloved hand and kissed the back.

“It’s such a delight to see you again Miss D’Ancie. Let me introduce you to my father, Mr. Victor Harcourt.” On cue, father rose from his couch, folded the newspaper, and wedged it under his arm. He stepped forward and took Georgette’s hand and bowed a little as he kissed it.

“Charmed my dear, charmed. Please, call me Victor,” he said with a foxy grin, the suave old dog that he was!

“It is a pleasure to meet you Victor. You have a handsome son, and I like him very much.”

I let out a laugh that sounded a little hysterical. Father turned and beamed at me, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

“That is good to know! His mother would agree! Our Percy is quite the catch!”

I sent father a dagger stare, and he took the hint.

“But I’m afraid; I have some work to do, so regretfully I must take my leave. I do hope to see you again my dear. I’m sure my wife Evangeline would be very pleased to take tea with you when she returns from the country.” Father then bowed and left the room, and if I wasn’t mistaken there was a spring in his step! If only he knew! I closed the door behind him and put my ear to the honeyed timber and listened as his footsteps faded. Then I turned to George and Eloise and in unison they burst out into peals of laughter. Eloise threw herself down on one of the two large couches and between giggles said,

“Your Pa’s quite the looker for an old geezer! I near swallowed my tongue when he looked my way. But it was the way he eyed the two o’ you,” she chuckled, “He’s sure you’re the perfect match! I bet he’s gone to start the wedding invitation list!”

I ignored the playful minx and turned to George. “Much as it’s truly wonderful to see you, what’s going on? Why are you here?”

George sat on the couch opposite Eloise and I sat beside him. Eloise spoke first, “Well, yeah, jokes aside. We need your help Percy. Our boss, Mr. Grayson’s gone and stolen George’s songs, he’s printed them, and said he wrote them himself.”

“Good lord, what was a scandalous accusation!” But before I could continue a maid knocked and then entered pushing a trolley with tea, sandwiches, and fancies upon it. Silence fell while the girl set up the tea service and plates, on the table between the two couches and then left us alone. As soon as the door closed Eloise lurched off the couch and was piling sandwiches and cakes on her plate like someone was going to steal them from her.

“There’s no rush, Eloise, you can have as much as you want,” I said.

“Lou’s got a sweet tooth,” George informed.

“Yeah, and I eat everything I can get me hands on when I’m on me monthly,” she explained. I was confused for a moment. Monthly what? Then a realization hit and I was horrified by the outrageous nature of the comment.

“Women’s business should remain between women!” I scolded, and Eloise just laughed at my discomfiture. I hurriedly poured tea for us all, and then sat back.

“Now, please, from the beginning George,” I said testily.

I’d sipped my tea and listened to a tale that boiled my blood. This Alfred Grayson fellow was a scoundrel of the lowest order. And I was stunned to hear that a mysterious benefactor had ensured George remained living at the theater. It was a very strange business indeed. Clearly, it was beneficial for George to not only have a home, but a profession where he thrived. And my God, how he had thrived. I supposed we should be grateful for the benefactor’s intervention and financial aid because the reality was that George’s situation would have been so much worse when his mother passed away if not for this act of charity.

“So, will you help him?” Eloise asked before stuffing another finger sandwich into her mouth.

“Of course I will. This is an outrage, a blatant, egregious theft. You shall have the weight of Harcourt’s legal department behind you,” I said in passionately fury. “After all, the fellows you performed for the night we met again are lawyers.”

“I beg your pardon?” George spluttered, and then put his teacup down.

“The party of men that night…it was a bachelor’s party. The fellow getting married is one of our law clerks and the rest of the party was mostly from the legal department. My company lawyer, Oliver Simmons is assisting with the contractual requirements for my new publishing business. He told me that for copyright a song must be performed publicly. The whole party bore witness to your performance that night.”

“I didn’t know that, about your party or the requirement for public performance,” George admitted meekly.

“Don’t worry; we shall meet with my good fellow Simmons. He can advise on how to deal with this Alfred Grayson.”

Eloise reached down and picked up the large carpet bag. She opened it and drew out a stack of papers which she handed to me. I looked down at the pile of musical manuscripts.

“Well, you’d best give him these then! George bought them at a music shop near Temple Bar. They’re all his songs, every last one of them. I was there when he wrote some of them and we practiced them together on the piano in his room,” she revealed.

I rifled through the manuscripts and they were indeed for the songs George had sung on stage. I recalled the pages of manuscript notes and lyrics that were strewn on the couch and steamer trunk in his room at the Middlesex.

“Are you planning on going back to the theater?” I was concerned that this Grayson fellow had something else up his sleeve, what with the reportedly troubling recent behaviour.

“Of course. It’s my home. I’ve got nowhere else to go,” George insisted. “And my mysterious benefactor paid up for that room.”

“If you don’t want to stay there and keep bumping into Grayson, you don’t have to. You can stay at mine if you want,” Eloise offered. “It’ll be a bit cramped, but we’ll make do.”

“Hmmm…I suppose that if you move out now he’s sure to realize you’ve cottoned on to his scam. I suggest you go back and continue on as if nothing has happened. But once Simmons has advised on the legal way forward you may have to move in a hurry. So start packing discretely. I don’t think your employer will be best pleased to receive a summons.”

George’s shoulders slumped and he looked so thoroughly dejected. “Pack to move where? I can’t sleep on Lou’s floor. I’ve nowhere else to go, Percy. And what about my job, I love that job, what if I can’t perform anymore, what if Grayson spreads rumors and blacklists me?” Oh dear. Anxiety was getting the better of my dearest.

“Don’t worry, all will be well.” I insisted. “I have an apartment if you need to move quickly. The Middlesex is not the world,”

“It’s my world, it’s all I’ve ever known,” George pleaded. I could understand how difficult change would be as he’d lived in the same room since he was eleven. But George was not a child anymore. He was a kind, beautiful, talented man of twenty-five.

“Let me show you the rest of the world, George. It would be my honour and pleasure,” I smiled, and reached for his hand, unable to hide my deep affection for him.

“Eh! Where’s the latrine? You two need a moment alone,” Eloise decided having finished her plate of sandwiches and cakes. For such a slight, wispy girl she could certainly pack the food away!

“It’s down the hall, the third door on your left,” I directed. Eloise left us and I reached for a napkin. I looked into George’s beautiful whisky eyes as I held his chin up with a finger. Then I wiped the crimson from his lips.

“What did you do that for?” he asked, a little annoyed.

“So that I could do this,” I said as I pressed my lips to his. George opened his mouth sighing his relief into me as our kiss took on a life of its own. I laid him back on my mother’s couch, the couch where she would sit while having her Guardians of the Poor meetings with her devout, prickly ladies. I plundered my lover’s whimpering, hungry mouth, loving how he writhed beneath me, until there was a gentle knock. I was glad Eloise was courteous enough to knock. I pulled back seeing that I’d made quite the mess of Miss Georgette’s make up. George’s gaze was lust drunk and he couldn’t stop grinning. I mirrored his grin as I righted myself. Pacified, George sat up too.

“Come,” I called and Eloise entered with a wicked smirk as she set her eyes on us.

“Good grief. It’s lucky I’ve got powder and lip paint in my bag. We can’t have you leave looking like you’ve been ravaged,” she said with a chuckle, and I was quite relieved she’d come prepared!

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