Free The Piper's Tune by Jessica Stirling Page B

– Deo gratias – he had passed on to his daughters, one of whom, Matilda, was presently the Brunswick’s accompanist.
    The choir met for practice throughout the winter months in the assembly hall of St Silas’s School. It gave regular public performances in aid of the Tramways Servants’ Sick & Benefit Society and other local charities in the Boilermakers’ Institute in Partick, which was the venue for the final concert of the season.
    Saturday was warm and sunny and drifted into one of those lovely clear evenings that now and then bless Clydeside. Because of the fine weather, though, the Boilermakers’ was less than half full when, at half past seven o’clock, Mr Perrino shepherded the choir on to the platform to desultory applause. Matilda Perrino, slender and elegant in a black evening gown, took her place at the piano, Mr Perry Perrino his place at the podium. He had a trim grey beard and wavy hair and wore a loose pale grey jacket that, in contrast to the formal dress of the singers, lent him a faintly Bohemian air.
    â€˜Perry’s developing a tummy,’ Mercy Franklin murmured. ‘That ratty old grey jacket won’t hide it much longer.’
    â€˜How right you are,’ Lindsay agreed. ‘Soon he’ll have to wear a bell tent.’
    Mercy chuckled but when her little sister, Pansy, demanded what the joke was tapped the younger girl with her programme. ‘Don’t be nosy. Sit up. Pay attention. Look, there’s Dada.’
    â€˜Where?’
    â€˜With the baritones, back row, fourth from the left.’
    â€˜I can’t see him.’
    â€˜Behind the tall chap. See the tall chap?’
    â€˜Mr Calder,’ Lindsay said.
    â€˜Oh, is that his name?’ Cissie joined in the conversation for the first time. ‘How do you know him? Does he come to the house?’
    â€˜No,’ Lindsay said. ‘I’ve met him at management meetings.’
    â€˜ You go to those?’ said Mercy.
    â€˜Of course,’ Lindsay said. ‘Didn’t Martin tell you?’
    â€˜What on earth for?’
    â€˜To see for myself what goes on at the shipyard.’
    â€˜Rubbish!’
    â€˜All right,’ Lindsay said. ‘To annoy Papa. Is that better?’
    â€˜Much better,’ said Mercy, and chuckled again.
    Having brought the choir under control, Mr Perrino turned to the audience and delivered a brief speech of welcome, all flashing teeth and smiles.
    â€˜Do you know,’ said Mercy from the side of her mouth, ‘I do believe the poor soul is trying to appear cuddly.’
    â€˜Well, he’s not succeeding,’ said Pansy.
    Aunt Lilias’s daughters had been press-ganged into turning out for the last concert of the season and were none too pleased about it. The boys, Forbes included, had gone instead to the Theatre Royal to see the Wilson Barrett Company’s production of Hamlet which, to the Franklin girls, was definitely the lesser of two evils. Even Pappy, seated next to Lilias, showed little enthusiasm when Mr Perrino with a little tap-tap of his baton swept the choir into Robert Lester’s setting of ‘Our Native Hills’.
    Fifty minutes later the first half of the programme had run its course and the choir filed from the platform into the ‘long room’ where refreshments were served. Choir and audience mingled at the trestle tables. Uncle Donald waved but did not approach. Papa, engaged in carrying glasses of fruit squash to a brace of sopranos, did not wave at all. It was left to Mr Calder to approach the Franklin girls and enquire if they were enjoying themselves.
    Lindsay replied politely that she was, and introduced Mr Calder to Cissie, Mercy and Pansy, who were not particularly interested in or impressed by the man. Tom returned to the safety of the choir and, seizing her chance, Cissie drew Lindsay off to one side.
    â€˜What do you make of Forbes McCulloch?’ she said.
    Lindsay was