The Ginger Tree Read Online Free Page B

nervous again about when it would be the turn of Mrs Price and me, so I didn’t pay a great deal of attention to Dr Waterford’s performance. It was an extract from The Pickwick Papers by Charles Dickens and spoken in low-class English accents with ‘welly’ for ‘very’ and such things which meant I didn’t understand a lot of it. During the recitation I finished my glass of lemon squash quite quickly and though I was no cooler from it, I did feel less jumpy.
    Though I should have been expecting it, I was still startled to hear the Judge say that now Mrs Price would sing accompanied by Miss Mackenzie at the piano. As I stood up I realised that I had not really looked at the music and also that I hadn’t heard the piano played this evening. For all I knew there might be dead keys. When I sat down the stool was so low it was like trying to reach up to a shelf and the audience, seeing this, began to laugh. I had to get up again and spin the stool almost as high as it would go, and then I could not push it back far enough because, like all the furniture on the ship, it was fastened to the floor against rolling. From the way Mrs Price was looking at me it was plain she did not like people to laugh before she started to sing.
    I played the introductory bars, the sound like an Italian barrel organ. I was too fast, Mrs Price likes to take her time. She sounded as though a bag of small stones were being jiggled on a string in her throat, and no one could have made out one word that she was singing. One of the hooks at the back of my dress gave way. I could feel the gap, but had to play on wondering how many others would go. The Swatow lady was probably wondering that, too. And maybe the men. I was sure that everyone was watching those hooks and eyes, and not Mrs Price.
    The Indian song by Mrs Finden was slow enough but ‘Danny Boy’ crawled. I thought we would never finish. I felt I should have beengrinding the piano slowly with a crank, not trying to get sound from the keys. The worst thing happened then; while there were two stanzas of ‘Danny Boy’ to go, I became suddenly dizzy. For a moment I thought it might be the ship, then I knew it was not, for the smoking-room was moving around me. I could scarcely read the music and if there had been any new notes I could not have finished the piece. I just managed. Then, during the applause and calls for an encore, I knew I was going to be sick in one minute, or two at the most. I got up and walked past all those faces towards the door. I was swaying. I have never walked like that before in my life, as though my feet were going down on cotton wool, not the carpet. I just kept looking at the doors. I got out into the hallway and just managed to reach the deck, but the railing was too far. I had to stop and bend over.
    A lady who could not have been at the concert came out of the drawing-room. I really couldn’t see her face but I heard what she said: ‘Were you drinking in there? A girl of your age? How disgusting!’
    I am writing all this down in my berth above Mrs C, maybe with the idea that if I put everything down and face what happened that way I may be able to forget. Instead I am waiting for the sound of feet on the deck over my head which will mean that the concert has finished and people are out for a last walk. The Lascars will not wash those boards until the morning. How can I face the other passengers tomorrow?
    I don’t know when Mrs C got back to the cabin, her curtains were drawn when I came in. For a long time there was no noise from below at all but now there is a sound that isn’t like her usual snoring. I had better put out this light.

2
Letter from Mary Mackenzie to Mrs Isabel Mackenzie
    Raffles Hotel, Singapore
January 23rd, 1903
    Dearest Mama – I have very sad news. The lady you found to be my chaperone to the Far East has unfortunately died, which has been a great shock to me as it will be to you. Mrs Carswell did not die on board the SS Mooldera