on call.
Mirabilis unbuttoned his jacket and glanced ruefully down at his paunch. On its inside were rather large amounts of sorrel soup, salmon trout, Gloucestershire lamb baked with rosemary and served with new potatoes and young carrots, geranium cream and, inevitably, Stilton cheese, together with a couple of pints of audit ale. When entertaining foreign visitors, the Abbot made rather a point of providing only the best English fare. In a spirit of polite response, Mirabilis passed over the offered claret and malmsey in favour of the walnut cordial that, like the ale, was made on the premises. He sipped and looked into the delicate Waterford glass.
'The herb is still a secret?'
'I'm afraid so.' The Abbot spoke with what sounded like real and deep regret, adding in alleviation, 'It grows only in the country hereabouts.'
'Very distinctive... What of his intelligence, my lord?'
'Ah, we think highly of it, Fritz, and I trust I can say we do what we can to foster it. We've put him in company with three slightly older lads, one of them a confounded rogue, but all capable of thought. And his studies prosper, notably his Latin: a safe guide.'
'He seemed to me a little... stolid. Not dull, but not active.'
'That's his looks,' said Father Dilke. 'Poor Hubert-when you first see him it's hard to believe that a quick mind lives in that head, but it does. If I put a point to him at practice, he grasps it before half my words are out.'
'Oh, musically, of course, that's obvious.'
Morley had said nothing in the last few minutes. Now he spoke up with some asperity. 'But musical intelligence is intelligence, master. We should need only the music of Valeriani, for example, to know that he was a most unusually intelligent man. And, in what at the moment is naturally a smaller way, the same is true of Anvil. Perhaps nobody has told our distinguished guest that Anvil, apart from possessing a remarkable voice and remarkable powers of execution and interpretation, is also a composer quite out of the common. Later, perhaps, the Abbot will permit me to play you one or two of Anvil's studies for piano-forte. They will answer all your questions about his intelligence.'
'This at ten years old?'
'Ten or so. He's a prodigy, sir. Could anyone less have come to understand his way from Bach to Wagner in eighteen months?'
'Was hat er gesagt?' muttered Viaventosa.
'Anvil ist ein begabter Komponist.'
'Nein, wirklich?'
'And at the keyboard it's the same, Master Morley?'
'In honesty no, sir. Serviceable and deft, deft enough to guide his compositions, little more. There's no conflict there.'
'But there's conflict here, yes?'
Whether by accident or not, the form of words seemed to fit the fact. Morley looked grim, almost glowering. Dilke faced him, his long fingers pinching repeatedly at the point where his nose met his brows. The Abbot's handsome face was watchful. (Viaventosa was fairly busy with a bunch of hothouse grapes.)
'Have you considered this as I asked you to, Sebastian?'
'Yes, my lord.'
'Say, then, but in short if you will. It must be decided tonight. I should much prefer it so.'
Morley nodded. His red complexion looked redder than ever in the light from fire and candles. 'Anvil would surely prove a composer of repute, an ornament to Coverley and to England and with a place in the history of his art. But-'
'And a credit to you, master,' said Dilke in a friendly tone.
'No, Father. He was there all the time; I was merely the one who found him. Now: if it were to happen that Anvil should continue as composer, it might be that he would go beyond mere repute. He might take—he might one day have taken his place with Weber, Schumann, even Valeriani. I can't give you chances: I'm not an operator. All I can tell you is that it would have been fully possible. Is that short enough for you, my lord?'
'Yes, Sebastian, and thank you. But you speak as if the outcome were already resolved.'
'So it is, my lord.' The harshness of Morley's voice was more than usually evident. He gave the two visitors an odd look, one in which hostility was mingled with something like compassion.
'Are you quite yourself, old friend?'
'A touch of melancholia, my lord-it's my nature. Forgive me, I beg you.'
'Why, of course. What have you to say, Father?'
'Very little out of my own mouth, my lord. Hubert is the finest boy singer I've ever heard as regards both musicianly and physical endowment. But my experience is rather limited. Master Morley's word will stand of itself; mine needs support.' Dilke spoke as one stating a fact. 'And God has seen to it that there are those on hand who can give that support. Master Mirabilis, would you care to repeat to the company what you said to me earlier?'
'Gladly, Father. Indeed, I'll extend it. I state roundly that I've listened to the work of every singer of mark in Christendom, in most cases several or many times: I couldn't live in Rome for twenty-five years without doing so. Your Clerk Anvil surpasses any other of his condition. He has six or seven superiors who have what only the years and experience can bring. And Wolfgang here has something to add to what I say.'
'I heard Fritz when he was ten years old,' squeaked Viaven-tosa, expressing his own sentiments in the terms his friend had coached him in, 'and this boy is better. Not much, but he is better. I remember well. and I am sure.'
