Jasper couldn't help thinking that they had chosen a wretched time of year for a christening. If they had but waited until after Easter, they could have had flowers. But instead it was the hungry end of Lent, when mad March winds whistled through the West Door and all the colour was outside in the Close, mocking the stern interior of the cathedral with insolent petals of tulip and hyacinth.
But Mr and Mrs Bud were clearly oblivious to their poorly-made election, Rosa holding that very bundle of white lace he had seen over the chair in the nursery room just over a year before. Now, though, it contained a baby, and a highly indignant one at that. Beneath the cap of finest Brussels lace, the child's cheeks were flame red, her tiny face screwed up with rage.
Jasper supposed he would feel the same, if somebody had dipped his head into a bowl of cold water. Nobody had ever told him of his own baptism, but it was probably not much different to this. The church smaller, and the service officiated over by Reverend Crisparkle, but other than that…who were his godparents? He resolved to ask Meg after the ceremony.
But now he had to perform. Rosa had requested that he sing the Agnus Dei from Mozart's Coronation Mass, which he had to do unaccompanied, standing as they were at the back of the church, a way away from the quire and the organ.
He raised his eyes to the medieval arches above and opened his mouth. The first notes came out, clear and perfect.
The baby began to scream.
Rosa walked up and down, jiggling her in her arms, trying to soothe her, but it was too late. Edwin began to cry too. It was a relief to reach the part where the choir would come in, signalling the end of this impromptu solo version – all the same, those minutes seemed like weary hours.
"Wonderful, quite wonderful," rhapsodised the canon who had performed the service, and the rest of the congregation nodded and smiled their approval, but Jasper felt cross all the same, and as if his performance had been traduced by the infantile chorus against which it had had to pitch itself.
He looked at Meg, who was guiltily feeding Edwin lemon drops.
She met his eye with a quick smile before looking away. She was thinner than ever. Next to Captain Drood, who had come back from Egypt especially to declare himself as godfather to the baby, she was a wraith.
The new member of the Cloisterham congregation continued to bawl her displeasure until the assembly was broken up, at which point she abruptly ceased and fell into a sighing sleep on her mother's bosom.
Jasper, unsure as to whether he was permitted to mingle with the guests, looked over his shoulder in the direction of the vestry. He was pre-empted in flight by Mr Bud, who caught his attention with a jovial, "Marvellous set of pipes, Jack. One could be tempted to bargain with the fellow downstairs for such a gift. Not that I should be saying so in church, eh?" He laughed and Jasper, who liked Bud despite his being the luckiest dog in the world for having Rosa, granted him a faint smile.
"Thank you, sir," he said.
"Sorry about the littlest Bud on the branch – not a music lover as yet, eh? Still, not much wrong with those lungs." He laughed again, but Jasper was not so keen on the joke this time. Stupid babies, with their disregard for high art. "We'll make a singer of her yet, Jack. Perhaps you could teach her, eh?"
"I'm a little young yet, sir."
"Ah, ha, quite take your point, Jack. As is she, my boy, as is she. Anyway, I came over to invite you to partake of a few dainties with us back at the Grange. What do you say? Least we can do to thank you for your stupendous contribution to the festivities."
Jasper looked around for an authority figure to ask permission of, but there were none to be seen.
"I suppose it's all right," he said doubtfully. "I should probably ask Mr Linney, but…"
"Oh, it's just an hour or two. I'm sure they can't possibly object. Eh, Rosa?"
His wife had come to join Mr Bud, the baby having been taken outside by her nurse.
"Oh yes, you must come," said Rosa. Motherhood seemed to have had the opposite effect on her as it had on Meg. She looked more radiant and blooming than ever. "You are Rosy's godmother's brother. Does that make you something?" She pondered. "A god uncle?"
"I dislike being an uncle," said Jasper. "But I should not mind having a god-niece. Or perhaps a little sister."
"Then that is what Rosy shall be," laughed Rosa. "My goodness, she shall not want for big brothers to care for her, what with Eddy and now you."
Jasper privately doubted he would see a great deal of the newborn Bud unless she became the first infant girl to enrol in the choir school, but the idea pleased him all the same and he was in more buoyant spirits as he followed her parents out to the cathedral steps.
"I say, where are you going with Jack?" demanded Drood, waiting for his carriage with Meg, Edwin and Edwin's nurse.
"He is our honoured guest," laughed Bud. "But perhaps you would like him to travel with you?"
"No, no, you keep him," growled Drood.
"You sang beautifully," said Meg, blurting it as if to nullify the dampening effect of Captain Drood's words. "So beautifully."
"Humph," said Captain Drood, picking up Edwin. "Made you cry, didn't he? Hey? Poor Neddy. He likes to hear the dogs bark and the guns go boom, doesn't he?"
Jasper, mildly sickened by this display, followed Mr and Mrs Bud down the steps to their carriage with as much silent dignity as a nine-year-old boy could lay claim to.
Jasper was asked to play the piano while the guests mingled, which he did without demur, enjoying the opportunity to show off his progress to those who might be impressed by it.
Most impressed of all was little Ned, who wandered over and put macaroon-sticky fingers on the keyboard, introducing an unwanted bass E into the Clementi piece to which Jasper was treating the room.
"Go away," he snarled, trying to persist, though the correct sequence of notes began to escape his memory as his attention wandered.
"Me want to play," complained Ned, banging his fists on the keys now.
"Must you ruin everything?" cried Jasper, his cheeks heating with passion.
Captain Drood was at the instrument in an instant, scooping up the toddling boy.
"Stay away from that boy," he said, so fiercely that Ned began to cry. "Bad boy. Nasty boy."
He cast Jasper a murderous over-the-shoulder glare as he took the child out of the French doors into the back garden, despite the stiff March wind that blew.
The piece was ruined beyond repair and Jasper sat trying to compose himself while sundry guests murmured to each other over sherry and pastries.
He stood abruptly, slammed down the lid and went to find Meg, who was amidst a group of unfamiliar ladies all decked out in bright print gowns as if these might lure the spring onwards and flutter away the bluster and cloud outside.
"Johnny, aren't you playing any more?" she asked vaguely. "Everyone was so charmed by your skill at the piano. And your lovely singing."
It had been so long since anyone had called him Johnny that he almost wondered to whom she spoke.
"Your son would not leave me be," he said.
The ladies all inhaled sharply and regarded him with suspicion.
"Your nephew," said one disapprovingly.
"What a little darling he is," clucked another. "Such a sweet-natured boy."
"Neddy only wanted to see what his big uncle was doing," said Meg. She wasn't even looking at him. She gazed out towards the garden, where Captain Drood and Edwin were chasing around with the Bud dogs. "He meant no harm. Come outside, Johnny, and let us make friends again."
She took his hand and he reluctantly allowed her to lead him out into the garden. The wind whipped his curls into his face and tossed them all over. The fashion for long hair had its inconveniences, Jasper often thought.
"It was kind of Rosa to invite you," she said on the way across the lawn. "Please don't cause her to regret her forbearance."
"It was not kindness," said Jasper. "She wanted a singer. I am a singer."
"Johnny, must you be so…" She broke off, sighing and turning her palms up to the cold cloudy sky. "Go and make your peace with Ned. Tell him you are sorry. Do you want him to fear you?"
Jasper was tempted to reply that it was of no consequence to him, but something in Meg's eyes prevented him. Instead he cut through the gambolling dogs and approached the male Droods, father and son, both of whom turned to stare at him with no friendly aspect.
"You're not wanted here, Jack," said Drood gruffly. "Get back to your piano. We are for manly pursuits out here, aren't we, Ned?"
"Yes, Papa," lisped Edwin, clapping his tiny hands.
"Johnny has come to apologise," called Meg, following Jasper at a distance. "Please don't allow ill-feeling to fester. He was merely annoyed at being interrupted in his music – as you are annoyed when interrupted at your pipe-smoking."
"A pipe is a man's refuge," grumbled Drood. "It ain't the same thing at all. Music is for the ladies."
"Handel wasn't a lady."
"And he ain't Handel, nor ever likely to be."
"No, but he is a musician. Please, Edwin…"
Captain Drood sniffed and took up little Ned's hand.
"What think you, my boy? Shall we like young men who sing like ladies - and wear dresses to do it - to join us at our game?"
Ned giggled and squealed, "Papa!" He hid his face in his father's trouser leg and refused to look at Jasper.
"Get the boy back indoors," said Captain Drood. "He's upsetting Ned."
"Please don't set them one against the other," said Meg, almost in a whisper.
Drood roared, so unexpectedly that Jasper jumped backwards.
"And what's it to do with you, eh, madam? What right have you to try and stop me giving my own son what protection I can?"
"He does not need protection from Johnny," said Meg, weeping now.
"No, but from you, eh, madam? From you and your whorish ways." He had strode up close to Meg and raised his hand as if he meant to strike her.
She cowered and sobbed and Jasper placed himself between them.
"Leave her alone," he cried. "You, who call yourself manly."
There was a dread moment during which Jasper was quite sure Drood meant to knock him out, but he was saved by the appearance of Rosa Bud at the French door.
"Are you all happy out here," she called. "Dear Lord, this wind is very stiff. Won't you come back inside and take another glass of sherry, Captain Drood? Meg?"
Captain Drood released a breath and nodded, turning back to his terrified son. "Ned, come on. Let's find you another macaroon."
Meg disappeared to lie down in a darkened room, pushing Jasper away from her when he offered his company.
Instead he turned to Rosa.
"Are you all right, dear?" she asked, putting her soft, light hand on his shoulder. He wished it might stay there always.
"No," he said. "For Captain Drood treats my sister cruelly."
"Dear Jack, do not say so. Please do not say so."
"You must know it. You are her friend. She has no others."
"She will always have me as her friend, you may count on that."
He granted her one of his rare smiles.
"Your baby will play with hers," he said.
"Yes, Ned and Rosy will be like brother and sister. I am very fond of the idea of my little Rosy having a big brother to care for her – for she will be an only child for all of her life. But I have said more than I meant to. Come to the table, dear, and let me find you something to drink."
It was all very odd, Jasper thought, this business of marriage and children and how both were considered desirable for the complete and contented life.
Yet they seemed to make so many people miserable. If his parents had wanted children, why did they never have anything to do with him?
He thought back to the muttered conversation of the servant girls that memorable Christmas, whispering of bastards. He knew now what that meant – certain topics of dormitory conversation had confirmed its definition as the child of unmarried parents. But his parents were married, so what on Earth could they have meant by referring to him as one? Had they meant somebody else entirely? Or perhaps they had married after his birth – but surely not, being clergy. These questions revolved in his mind on a regular basis, but he had never quite summoned the courage to ask Meg about it, lest the answer should shake his already fragile sense of himself.
"Don't you want more children?" he asked, accepting a glass of fruit cordial.
Rosa's stricken expression showed that he had spoken injudiciously once more.
"Not that I understand," he continued hurriedly, "why people should want any children. I'm sure I shouldn't want them. What noisy creatures they are."
"Oh, Jack," she said, half-laughing again, in a damp-eyed kind of manner. "You cannot know these things at your age. I hope you do have children, and that you rejoice in them. And that you marry a very lovely wife. These are all blessings, you know."
"People seem to think so, and then they behave in quite another manner."
"I have a wonderful husband and beautiful daughter and you can believe me when I say that I feel very happy with my lot. I could wish for more children, but God has not granted me that privilege, which is well within His rights."
"How do you know what God thinks about you having children?"
"Hush, don't be blasphemous, Jack."
"Does God think my sister should have a mean bully for a husband too?"
"I won't listen to another word of this foolishness. Where is my little Rosy? Has her nurse taken her away to feed her?"
"What does whorish mean?"
"Hush now!" Rosa was genuinely shocked, staring at him as if he had kicked her in the shins.
"I sensed it was not a compliment," he muttered, shrugging and trying to get away from the mortifying scene. He had made Rosa think ill of him and he could hardly bear the knowledge.
He sought out Meg, only to be told that she had ordered the carriage to be brought around to return him to the choir school.
"I do not like to leave you with that brute," he said, looking over at the tea table where Captain Drood stood, throwing Edwin into the air and catching him to make him laugh.
"He returns to Egypt tomorrow," she said flatly. "I have my friends the Buds for company and Ned to keep me in good cheer. Do not fret for me."
She no longer made any attempt to defend her husband, he observed. The façade of a decent marriage had crumbled beyond maintenance.
"Why do you let him speak to you so?"
"He has every reason to be as disappointed in me as I am in him," said Meg. "But go. The carriage waits."
He avoided saying goodbye to Rosa or anybody else and made a stealthy exit from the side door of the house.
Back at the choir school, the other boys had already congregated in the hall, preparing for a dash to Evensong beneath the hard, sharp rain that had started during his journey.
"Where the devil have you been, Jasper?" asked Mr Linney, observing proceedings from the open door of his study.
"At the christening party," he said, finding his usual spot. "The one I sang for."
"Why was I not asked permission?"
"Oh, I thought you were, sir," said Jasper innocently. "By the Buds. Was I mistaken?"
Linney frowned and then seemed to think better of pursuing the matter, since Dr Cross was marshalling the crocodile into a semblance of order, ready to cross the Close. He retreated into his office without further interrogation.
Jasper sighed his relief and, somewhat accidentally, smiled at his partner in the line, a boy named Walsh.
"The grub must have been good at that Christening," Walsh said, grinning back. "I declare, lads, Jasper just smiled."
A flurry of interested head turns and chuckles ensued, quickly terminated by Dr Cross leading them out into the rain.
Chanting praises to God in his seat in the front row right hand side, Jasper cancelled out the words in his head as he sung. God was not glorious and he was not merciful nor any of the other charitable things that were said of Him.
How long would it be before this nasty character was unmasked and seen for what He was? A fraud, nothing more. A remote wizard given to acts of random cruelty and kindness, just for the fun of it. He waited to be stricken down for having such thoughts, but the psalm sailed sweetly on without a single lightning bolt from above.
See, Jasper thought with grim satisfaction. Who can say if you are even real?
He took a breath and sang the final 'Amen' then sat down with the rest to join in the prayers.