Fault in the Structure

‘Why, what a wonderful idea!’ cried Sybil joyously. There was a general murmur of appreciation from all those who could sing in tune and from some who could not.

‘Perhaps you have a favourite piece in your mind that you would like us to perform,’ said Clarice graciously, as she poised her piece of chalk.

‘Certainly I have,’ Denbigh coolly replied. ‘I have made my own arrangement of tunes for the songs in John Gay’s The Beggar’s Opera, and it would give me enormous pleasure to see how my bits and pieces would sound in the town hall.’

‘Our own composer!’ breathed Clarice ecstatically. She cleaned the blackboard with a dramatic flourish. ‘There is no need to take a vote, I’m sure. However – all those in favour of The Beggar’s Opera raise your hands! Oh, splendid!’

‘Bags I Polly Peachum,’ said Sybil.

‘Oh, but, hang it all!’ protested a man. ‘I do think we ought to vote on all the propositions. What about those of us who don’t sing? Mrs Gavin, you’ll support me, I’m sure.’

‘But I’m sure Laura can sing,’ said Melanie.

‘She can caterwaul, you mean,’ said Laura. ‘Still, I do think, with all respect to Dr Denbigh and many thanks for his very sporting offer, that we ought to keep to the original agreement and vote on the various suggestions. There are at least seven soloists in The Beggar’s Opera, so I’m all in favour of doing it, but I think we ought to vote.’

‘But it will come to the same thing in the end,’ said Sybil, ‘so where’s the sense of going through the entire list? Anyway, Clarice has cleaned the blackboard.’

‘I have made my own list,’ said the secretary. ‘How am I directed from the chair? Shall I read the suggestions one by one?’

‘Oh, Mrs Gavin is quite right, of course,’ said Haynings. ‘However much of a foregone conclusion it may be, we must vote as agreed. Sit down, please, Clarice, and vote with the others.’

‘Very well, Hamilton,’ said Mrs Blaine, seating herself uncomfortably at a very small desk. ‘It is only a formality, this voting, I am sure, but it is as well to leave no loopholes for future criticism.’

‘Although I am to read out the items, I take it that I may vote,’ said Cyril. He cleared his throat and began to read from his list.

There were twenty members present and of these eleven voted for The Beggar’s Opera. There were four abstentions. The rest of the voters opted for straight plays because they could see no part for themselves in a musical production.

As soon as the issue was clear, Denbigh, at the chairman’s invitation, took charge of the meeting. It seemed as though he had anticipated the result of the voting, for his plans appeared to be fully developed and he explained them modestly but with an authority which brooked no argument. So sure of himself was he that his suggestions were received without demur. Even Clarice Blaine remained quiescent for once. Her only contribution was:

‘I shall be stage manager, as usual, I take it, so when next we meet I hope to be told what the opera is about, for I have to confess I have never heard of it. You would hardly call it a classic, I suppose.’

‘That, I think, is because the airs were based originally on popular tunes which would have been familiar to eighteenth-century ears, but are not what we think of as classical music,’ said Denbigh courteously. ‘The piece is called an opera, but there is a considerable amount of speaking interspersed with solos and duets. There is very little chorus work. In fact, a comedy with satirical undertones and including songs might be a more apt way of describing it than referring to it as an opera, Mrs Blaine.’

‘It sounds very pretty and pleasant,’ said Clarice graciously. ‘The Beggar’s Opera! A gypsy rhapsody, perhaps?’

‘No. It is set in a poor part of London.’

‘Really? How very interesting. I trust there is nobody like Bill Sykes in it!’

‘Oh, no. There is nobody in the least like Bill Sykes and, except for a parade of prisoners who are celebrating a stay of execution, all the personages of the drama are clean and well-dressed.’

‘And I can manage the dresses without any help,’ said the blonde, looking aggressively at Clarice. ‘If it’s period, most of ’em will have to be hired, anyway.’

CHAPTER 13

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The false deduction from the twisted facts

‘How did your meeting go?’ Dame Beatrice enquired when Laura arrived back at the Stone House at half-past eleven that night. Laura laughed.

‘We’re committed to The Beggar’s Opera,’ she said. ‘The voting was not unanimous because there were those among us who can’t sing, so, naturally, they knew they were most unlikely to be offered parts. However, by a majority verdict the thing was carried. I’m late because Dr Denbigh, the music lecturer at Chardle College, insisted upon casting the opera then and there. Mrs Blaine is delighted. Denbigh, you see, not only promised us the assistance of the college choir and orchestra, with himself as conductor, but he’s actually arranged the tunes. The idea that we have a local composer as well as a local Caxton has just about made Clarice Blaine’s day. I’ve never seen her so bucked and so much in charity with all men.’

‘Who is Mrs Blaine?’

‘Who isn’t she, you mean. To begin with, everybody thinks she’s too autocratic, not to say infernally bossy; she’s interfering, arrogant, insensitive and the most loathsome type of hypocritical do-gooder on the recording