Page 15 of Twice Shy
‘They may do so at Mr Escott’s offering, but it will be from pain at hearing poetry mangled. At least he is not opening the proceedings.’
79A harp was being placed in the centre of the space set aside for the performances. Elizabeth folded her hands in her lap and tried, valiantly, to concentrate merely upon the music. After a while she did relax a little, and when Mr Escott had not appeared by the time that refreshments were being served, she had even begun to hope that he might have lost his voice, or suffered an attack of nerves and bolted. This was not, however, the case, and as everyone settled for the next performances, Amelia dug her cousin in the ribs.
‘He has come, Elizabeth, after all, and goodness me, what has he done with his neckcloth?’
Mr Escott was formally attired as befitted an evening party, but was advertising his bohemian credentials with an arrangement of muslin that he considered ‘original’.
‘It is perfectly ridiculous. It is lopsided, limp and looks likely to collapse at any moment. I would swear it is not fully starched. Well, if he looks a figure of fun, perhaps people will not actually listen to what he says.’
However, after a very melodic Italian aria, Mr Escott was ushered to the front. He had in his hand a scroll of vellum, from which, after clearing his throat three times, he began to read in his heavily accentuated manner.
‘My Queen thou art, as Gloriana named,
As Faerie Queen to this poor Spenser stand.
Let my poor lips address thy soft white hand
And offer thee my poet’s heart inflamed.
Elizabeth, such syllables alone …’
‘If he has an inflammation of the heart, he ought to consult a physician,’ whispered Elizabeth to Amelia from80behind her fan, as that damsel fought to control a fit of the giggles.
‘You should be flattered, Cousin.’
‘No, he should be flattened. There are sixty lines of this pretentious drivel to sit through, and I have already seen Hyacinthe Consett smirking at me. I shall never live it down, never.’
‘He looks like a town crier, holding his poem like that.’
‘What a pity he is not in a town somewhere far away,like Truro.’
There was a stifled snigger, which turned into a gasp of pain as a young lady received a rap across the knuckles from her mama’s fan, and then Elizabeth noticed Lady Rendlesham. She was smiling, not at Mr Escott, but at her, and it was the smile of one enjoying her acute discomfort. Elizabeth fought the rising blush, and her hands gripped each other tightly as if for mutual support. Lady Godmanchester, seeing this, placed her own hand lightly upon her friend’s arm. ‘It will soon be over and forgotten, you know.’
‘Yes, by all except those who wish to recall it for their own ends. Oh, Helen, this is ghastly.’
It seemed interminable, but eventually he drew to a close.
‘… And at your feet, for nimble dancing formed
I lay my vocal tribute thus, and part.’
There was silence, and then Lady Cowper applauded, encouraging her guests to a polite but not over-enthusiastic response. Mr Escott beamed, and bowed as if he had just performedHamlet.
81‘I think,’ muttered Elizabeth, ‘I would rather have a tooth drawn than listen to him again.’
‘You know, I am not at all sure he will get further invitations to perform his verse in public, Elizabeth. Lady Cowper is a connection of his mother’s, and must have thought it a generous act, but …’ Lady Godmanchester gasped. ‘Oh dear, he is coming this way.’
Mr Escott was indeed threading his way towards them, and made his bow with an exaggerated flourish. ‘As I said, O Muse, I lay my offering at your feet.’
‘Where I may tread upon it. How convenient.’ Elizabeth’s lip curled.
‘Fair Cruelty, you do not mean it. Your Words are Barbs, but I see your Intent, which is to spur me to better and greater things. You are right. A Poet must always be seeking Perfection and not rest upon His Laurels. I think I strained a metaphor in the fifth stanza.’
Amelia dropped her fan, and bent to pick it up, thus concealing the biting of her lip.
‘Do your … efforts take you many hours, Mr Escott?’ Lady Chalford feared that even one as confident of his self-worth as Mr Escott might realise he was being laughed at by her daughter and insulted by her niece.
‘Dear ma’am, I am Inspired by the Moment, but perforce Refashion and Sculpt the lines until they sit Felicitously upon the Page. When I am Unhappy at the Result I may lose my Appetite for a Whole Day. It is most Distressing.’
