What on earth am I doing? she thought to herself for perhaps the millionth time that day, as she waited backstage for her cue. Her butterflies felt more like albatrosses and she was trying hard not to vomit. The house was filling up quickly, which was good news for the coffers of the Society, but it only increased her anxiety. It would have been better to flail in front of a smaller audience. Although, she thought wryly, it'll get around soon enough. She caught a glimpse of Mattie in the center front, but the seat next to her meant for Lucien was empty. She wasn't sure whether or not to feel grateful or annoyed.
In a moment of lunacy or bravado, Jean had agreed to sing at the annual benefit for the Ballarat Mutual Aid Society. Usually, she would be involved as a member of the Dramatic Society, but this year, the Society's choice required fewer actors, which freed up the rest for other entertainments. She had always thought she had a good voice, perhaps more suited for choral singing, but in a moment of weakness she had been persuaded by Evelyn and others, and agreed to sing. A solo. She could practically hear her maiden aunt's voice in her head telling her to know her place.
The last few weeks she had practiced every spare moment, in between gardening and roasts. Most evenings she would practice at the church hall with the accompanist, George, an earnest young man who was trying to get a music scholarship at the university. Lucien had offered to help, but with his unpredictable schedule, it seemed to be easier to leave him out of it entirely. Or at least that's what she told herself. It had nothing to do with the fact that she was singing a song about unrequited love.
The entertainment started, and Jean wished that she had insisted a little harder that she go first, or at least one of the first, just to get it over with. As it was, she was the second to the last act of the evening, so however she did would linger in the minds of the audience. In the meantime, she could only wait, and try not to pass out. She managed, somewhat successfully, to take her mind off her own performance by helping out backstage as small crises arose, as they often did. She didn't have time to obsess over her choice of dress (her best; an emerald green that rarely saw the light of day), when she was busy repairing Susan Tyneman's zipper moments before her scene.
"You'll be great, Mrs. Beazley," said George beside her. She turned to reply when she did a double take…if George was here, who had been playing the piano on the stage? It all came in a confused rush – Patrick introducing her, the audience clapping, and a brief glimpse of a cast on George's arm, as he gently propelled her towards the stage. Transfixed by panic, she stood there for what seemed like ages, but was in reality only a few seconds, before the familiar notes from the piano brought her back. Looking over, she was surprised to see Lucien, looking rather dashing in black tie, as he drew out the introduction so she could get her bearings.
Lucien, for his part, was doing his utmost to keep his nerves in check and to not let Jean down. George had come barreling into the surgery with a broken collarbone a mere two hours before. There had been scarcely enough time to set the bone, get a copy of Jean's music, and dig out his father's tuxedo (which thankfully, while being a bit tight in the shoulders, would do in a pinch), much less locate Jean and let her know what was happening. He had arrived at the theatre with about five minutes to spare. Suddenly thankful in that moment that his mother had insisted on piano lessons in his childhood, he could sight read his way through the music with relative ease, until it was Jean's turn. He knew from the way she fretted about the house this week that she was nervous about her performance, but he was also certain that she would be wonderful. Now if he could just keep his mind on the job and stop getting distracted by her bright eyes and that deep green dress.
It was a somewhat old-fashioned song, full of emotion but not sentimental. It was mostly unfamiliar to him, but reminded him of the music he used to hear as a child from the downstairs gramophone late on a summer evening when he was supposed to be long asleep. It was not an easy song either, and Jean's voice was clear and strong, even through the more difficult passages and he felt ridiculously proud of her.
x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x
Relief washes over her as the final note floats through the air. When she looks over at him again, his blue eyes are shining and she can see him mouth "bravo". Countless people shake her hand in congratulations, and at one point, a bouquet of flowers is pressed into her arms. Both Mattie and George (as much as he is able with his injury) embrace her. It takes her quite awhile to find Lucien in the great crush of people immediately afterwards. She eventually locates him, on the edge of the crowd, unsuccessfully trying to blend into the wallpaper. He's letting her have the limelight, and she loves him all the more for it.
"The hero of the hour, I think," she greets him, and a small grimace appears on his face, until he realizes that she is being absolutely serious.
"I wasn't sure what else to do, and I didn't want you to be let down," he explains, suddenly looking like a lost little boy. She's trying hard to resist kissing him on the cheek in front of all these people.
"Thank you, Lucien. I'm just relieved it's all over. But I'm glad it was you…I don't think I could have got through it otherwise."
Before he can respond, Mattie cuts through the throng towards them.
"There you are! I think a celebratory drink is in order."
"Excellent idea," he replies, "Come on, you lot, off to the Colonist's…the champagne's on me."