Francis Allenby
The Piano Seat
Lady Violet Heffingam had a high and graceful neck, which was always shown off by her usual dresses to a certain extent, as plunging necklines were forbidden during the Victorian age. As you would expect, things changed a little in the evening, mainly at the Theatre, when décolletage was allowed and authorized.
That was, undoubtedly, her main attraction, and it was evident that she was especially pleased to make a fine display of her focal allure.
Apart from her neck, she was quite insignificant: a relatively dull-looking face, a slim body, though well-proportioned, and an ordinary variety of fair hair.
Yet, unexplainably, when her fair hair was against the light (and she was for the most part of the time) those blonde curls acquired a luminous halo which would draw on her the attention of interlocutors.
Moreover she had fleshy, pink lips and a strange, sly sparkle in her look that intrigued any man, coaxing him to explore some hidden parts of her nature.
She liked very much playing on her fine grand piano; and this was an essential ingredient of her seductive arts, definitely, because she used to receive her suitors sitting on her small seat near the keyboard.
“An extremely valuable instrument.” Jason used to say, referring to that piano which he took care of constantly.
Jason was Violet’s butler, a role remarkably important in that house. Though Lady Heffingam did not give him any importance at all, as that was her inclination, probably that place would have been reasonably different without that man.
The music she liked most was that of Chopin, because it was full of romance, though she played other authors as well.
Because of this remarkable mingling of peculiarities in her person she was courted by a lot of gentlemen, though this was cause for unfavourable comments from nobility and from upper middle class too.
The statement that they usually pronounced was: “I cannot understand what kind of appeal she has: she is neither fish, flesh, nor fowl!”
In spite of all that, the house of Lady Heffingam was, regularly, visited by a single wooer, never the same individual.
This young man was, invariably, a wealthy scion of an aristocratic family, a property and land owner with no financial inconvenience of any sort.
Unchanging was also the look on this lad’s face: adoring and devoted eyes, lost in reverie, completely out of his mind.
On the other hand Lady Violet was always smiling, contented, at her ease.
Of course Lord Calvert didn’t know anything related to Lady Violet’s past, and this was frequent too: none of her admirers was aware in detail of those who had come before him. He, as well as the others, had got only little information relevant to the fact that this Lady was an article in great demand, and this was, probably, the source of all curiosities in relation to her.
Lord Godfrey Calvert was aged twenty-eight, while the centre of his attentions was fairly older, though, as the majority of women, nobody knew exactly how much: some said over thirty, some said even more. Nevertheless, her flesh was still firm and taut and her charm, though incomprehensible, was not diminishing.
And so it was for Godfrey, staring at her playing one of her favourite Chopin’s, with an entranced expression on his face.
As her subtle fingers moved rapidly and softly on the ivory keys she looked more and more like an angel who had come from heaven; she resembled a celestial apparition, a bright fairy from a charmed fable. Or, at least, that was what young Lord Calvert thought, lost in his senseless veneration for that creature, so close and yet so distant.
He had been courting her for months and, during this period, his love for her had grown, as well as the value of his gifts.
He had commenced, in a classic way, with flowers. But then he had suddenly felt the inadequacy of roses and orchids, and had passed from plants to jewels. Gold, gems and diamonds were replaced, after some time, by a country house that he had in the Yorkshire and then by some estates in Dorset and Sussex.
This crescendo seemed rather bizarre and out of the ordinary: people around him were stunned and amazed, but they had not been captured, the way Godfrey had, in Violet’s knots of passion.
He would have done whatever, given whatever to win her heart, and he actually did his utmost to succeed.
Step by step, little by little, Godfrey’s property began to decrease, whereas that of Lady Heffingam began to augment.
Rather perplexing was, in addition, the fact that every single pace he made in that wrong direction meant also a change on Jason’s face: he had the sensation that the servant wanted to warn him about something, but he was not sure about what. There were some enigmatic facets in the nature of that man, indeed.
What's more, though he had tried several times to declare his adoration for her, Violet had always been so astute to divert all his pitiful attempts.
Even so, that very day, Lord Calvert felt in his bones that the good chance had come, at last: Lady Violet was about to accept his devotion and, if things went the right way, she would have become his better half for the rest of his life.
In the meantime the butler had already come to take away the empty tea cups, and had shot at him a glance undeniably haunting.
He could not find any sensible explanation for that look: why did he behave like that?
The afternoon’s sun was lighting Lady Violet’s locks, creating that enigmatic circle of radiance around her head, as Godfrey’s hands were twitching on the chair’s arm.
What was wrong with the butler?
She lifted her face, beaming with composure: ‘How delightful she is!’, he thought ‘She is grace in person…’
But what was the matter with Jason?
“My Lady!” he cried all at once, getting up out of the armchair “My charming Lady…”
He fell on his knees, as in the most obsolete sentimentalism, and grasped her tapered hand.
“My Lady…” he repeated, totally concerned “You see my feelings… you see my yearning: I can’t keep on like this any more… not any more. That is the reason why I am here, now, to ask you: Madam, will you permit me to love you?”
The Lady stopped playing, and just smirked, softly, silently.
Then she addressed him as if it was a great favour: “I am sorry, my dear Sir. I know who you are, and I know you are high minded, but I feel I am not ready to accept your love yet. I hope you will forgive me.”
Having said this, she took the leave of him, after ringing a bell: a signal for Jason of course.
Now the gentleman was alone, puzzled and confused.
“Rather awkward, isn’t it sir?”
Lord Godfrey turned: “Jason!” he said “You saw everything?…”
“No, not everything, sir, I’d say” the butler answered “but it was enough. It’s cold comfort, I know, but I can tell you, you are not the first and, as far as I am acquainted, you will not be the last one.”
“What…what do you mean?…”
“It is as easy as it could be, sir. Our dear Lady Violet is a gracious creature, so sweet and lovable. The fact is that these qualities match her indecisiveness and her capriciousness. But you have nothing to complain about, sir: this is part the nature of women.”
Godfrey became curious.
“Jason, would you mind telling me something more… in depth?…”
The butler had an unfathomable, bitter smile on his face when he spoke.
“If you do insist, sir, I will tell you things in depth, the way you’ve just said. To begin with, you know, for instance, who was Lady Violet’s devotee before you came up?…”
“Wasn’t he Mr. Gascoyne?”
“Correct, sir, Mr. Gascoyne. No blue blood, of course, but a great deal of capital, believe me. Unfortunately he has mysteriously run out of cash and his health…”
“What’s wrong with his health?”
“Oh, he was a stout man, solid and fleshy: the typical gourmet. But after Lady Violet’s refusal, he began to lose his strength and now he is in a sanatorium, poor sod…”
“… Sanatorium?…”
“Yes, sir, sanatorium, hospital. But that’s nothing compared to the misfortune of Lord Habington.”
“What happened to Lord Habington?”
“He was a clever individual, always witty and humorous: a good sport, if you know what I mean. But his funny side deserted him the day he found himself without money and without the love of Lady Violet: he had put a great deal of trust in her agreement, and he was quite sure to get by. Miserable Lord Habington: all his high spirits turned into a savage behaviour. He became like a wild animal, indeed, and if one of his old friends wanted to meet with him he was sure to find him in the worst taverns in town. In the end he was nothing but a drunkard, an alcoholic. One day they found his corpse in the Thames, stabbed to death. A horrible story.”
Godfrey was startled and shocked. He found, all the same, the strength to articulate some words.
“How long have you served Lady Violet, Jason?…”
“I have not been here for many years, sir.” the butler replied “I started only two years ago, just after that awful tragedy which happened to Lord Chase…”
“Lord Chase?…”
“Another unhappy case, sir. And it was worse than the one of Lord Habington, who found his death against his will. The unlucky Lord Chase, instead, committed suicide...”
“Oh, my God!…”
“I agree, Sir: that was really an adverse fate. Lord Chase was one of the best persons in London: lots of people respected and esteemed him. He was too sensitive and delicate to withstand a denial. He dissipated his family’s heritage in a few months – he didn’t care – because she was all he wanted in life. Probably he saw Lady Violet as the ideal mate of his life, and most folks and acquaintances thought it was feasible. That is why their union was supported, more than impeded, by Lord Chase’s friends and relatives. Besides, Lady Heffingam gave them the understanding that she was disposed to make up her mind, once and for all. Sorry to say but, in the end, they all became conscious that it was not dissimilar from the other events. Her answer was very much the same you have just received, sir: ‘I feel I am not prepared to accept your love’. And so it was. Lord Jasper Chase could not abide that bolt from the blue. He went back home, took his gun, and killed himself with a shot in his head.”
Godfrey moved his mouth, but could not say anything.
Jason had a furtive, acrid grin: “Lord Calvert, will you know where Lady Violet is going, right now?…”
Godfrey was helpless. But why in the world was the butler talking about all those fine points?
“Is there anything else I should know?…” he asked.
“Probably it is no more than a superfluous remark, totally unimportant to you, but it is just for the sake of speaking, you know. You might be interested to make out – or not – that our refined Lady is an excessively perceptive human being. The fact that she has to turn down a proposal disconcerts her much more than you or anybody else. This way she has to seek refuge in a peaceful place, like a villa in Oxfordshire, for instance. There lives, by accident, Lady Heffingam’s major creditor: Lord Kirkpatrick. And there she gets the harmony and the freedom from strife she is searching for. Lord Kirkpatrick is her creditor, and probably that’s the raison d'être of Lady Violet’s never rebuffing the donations she is given, but he is also a sympathetic man. He stands by her – very close to her, undeniably – when things get difficult; when she needs a shoulder to cry on, she can rely on him; we can even say he is behind her, for the whole lot… behind her, if you figure out what I signify, sir… behind her, all the time…”
Unquestionably he comprehended things. He could even see in his mind's eye the scene: the Dame, bright and breezy, bending near a table, probably, rather than a sofa, and her knight behind, taking her, gently, by the hips.
Who knows if, in their privacy, the two of them liked joking about Violet’s ‘accommodating’ dimwits? In their nest, or on the train, on their way back. Conceivably Lady Heffingam was accustomed to laugh all the time, while repeating her recurring words “I am not prepared to accept your love, sir”.
“Are you truly using this verbal skill with me too, dear?” could have been the man’s observation, his finger caressing her pink cheek.
“Oh, no, darling…” the successive answer from her “I was just training!…” and there a good laugh.
Lord Godfrey Calvert had disappeared, but the butler was not alone: the moment he was leaving some removal men came in, carrying some furniture.
“Do we have to put this here, as well?” one of the men asked.
It was a parcel, looking like one of those big African drums.
“Just put it there. I’ll take care of it.” Jason responded.
“There was also a letter along with it, sir.” the drudge said.
“Thank you. Give it to me.”
Jason opened the letter and read its contents.
Dear Uncle Jason,
you will find, along with this letter, the article you required. We saw it used no more than a month ago, in Haiti. There was a man sentenced to death in a small village of fishermen. They said he had killed a young woman atrociously after having subdued her to his desire by force. The Leader of the community was also their Witch Doctor and, by his order, the condemned was compelled to sit on it. The man screamed and made some great efforts to break away from his guards’ grasp, in vain. Once there we saw something ghastly as well as disconcerting: the man tried to stand up desperately, crying and behaving like a madman, but it was useless. The more the man moved the more that ‘thing’ seemed to stick under him. By the look of it – and by the sounds he uttered – he was suffering the torments of hell while trying to get rid of that deadly clutch. I must confess that, in the end, we were also moved to pity him. Some of us left the rest of the group – though fiercely held back by the folks next to us – and drew near him. I am a woman, but you know about my brothers and you know how powerful they are. None of them, even if they were two or three, could have set that man free. At last we gave in. As you can imagine he died a lingering death. There was also another episode that I could classify as extraordinary. It happened when we went to a sorceress and we tried to get this ‘item’ from her. We had been informed that it was a difficult undertaking, quite impossible. Nobody in Haiti would ever sell these things to foreigners. That night the old woman looked at us intensely, deeply, as if she was looking inside of our souls. Finally she said: “Your purpose is the right one. Have it. Take it with you to your Country and use it according to justice.” Those expressions were beyond our understanding. And we will never understand, also, the motivation that urged you to leave your castle in Northumberland to become a butler. Of course, we were informed about your grief due to the loss of Jasper: you loved him as if he were your son. You do not need money, indubitably, and your choice could be a kind of a ‘way out’, no different from any other diversion. But why work for that woman? Why for that loathsome creature who was the main cause of Jasper’s death?
But you are my beloved uncle, and you will be for all time. I have no right to ask justification, as you have always been the wisest in our family. I am sure you are conscious of what is good and what is bad.
Take care of yourself.
Love,
Jane
Jason put the letter aside and unpacked the parcel.It was a log, quite big, and the colour of the timber was so clear that it was almost white.
It had been excellently carved and engraved with symbols and shapes, all over its surface.
In the middle the wood got narrower, almost resembling an hour-glass.
“We have finished, sir. Can we go?”
Jason raised his head.
“Before you go, kindly, take away that piano seat, and replace it with this one.” he said pointing at the log. “I’m sure Lady Heffingam will like it better.”
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