CHAPTER IV. — A Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing.
Alfred Grandison was born in the ancient city of Bristol in the year 1831. His father had been bandmaster in a British Cavalry regiment, but had retired some years previous to the birth of little Alfred, and made a comfortable livelihood by teaching the children of the wealthy residents of Clifton, the fashionable suburb of Bristol. Young Alfred soon gave evidence of great musical talent, and used to amuse himself blowing trumpet calls on his father’s French horn, although the instrument was almost as big as himself; he also achieved considerable mastery over the piano, the flute and the violin, but, though bright and intelligent enough, and always maintaining a creditable position at school, it was evident that nature had intended him for a musician, and that he could never succeed in anything prosaic or mechanical. Accordingly his father taught him not only to play, but also instructed him in the theory and literature of music, and, when he was old enough, had him entered as a chorister in Bristol Cathedral, where, in addition to vocal music, he was carefully taught the art of organ-playing by the Cathedral organist.
The boy soon became able to play quite skilfully, and when his voice began to give way he obtained a position as organist in the church at Shirehampton, performing on a small instrument with one row of keys. From Shirehampton he shortly removed to a more remunerative position in Bristol, and he was not long there before he fell in love with the daughter of a hotel-keeper in one of the suburbs, whom, in spite of the remonstrance of both relatives and friends, he eventually married, although she was both poor and plain-looking, and at least ten years his senior. “A young man married is a man that’s marred” says Shakespeare, and, without venturing an opinion as to the correctness of this theory, we may say that young Grandison had made a great mistake. In a short time his affection, or fancied affection, for his wife became less ardent, and he found himself at the age of twenty-four, married to a woman who had neither taste nor sympathy in common with him, the father of three helpless children, and the recipient of the stupendous emolument of sixty pounds a year. Added to all this his friends, being unwilling to associate with his wife and relations, had, one by one, deserted him, and left him almost alone to brood over his ill-advised alliance.
Whilst moodily glancing at an evening paper he saw an advertisement for an organist who would be willing to go to Canada, and at once seizing at the idea he applied for the post, which he eventually obtained without great difficulty, sailing for Montreal in the spring of 1855, to play the organ and direct the music of one of the leading Episcopal churches in this city. At that time there were, very few musicians of ability in Montreal, and Mr. Grandison soon became quite popular, both professionally and socially. His wife was at first invited out, but, finding that she seldom accompanied her husband on these occasions, her name was, in time, dropped from the invitations, and Mr. Grandison was treated as if he were a bachelor, many indeed being altogether unaware of the fact that he had a wife and family.
Among those who took Grandison by the hand was a certain Mr. Sedley, a professional man of high standing. Mary Sedley, the daughter of the latter was possessed of a remarkably fine voice, and was one of the ornaments of the church choir, so that the family were naturally interested in the advent of a new organist from England, under whose careful training the music of the church was to be developed and improved. It was decided to place Mary Sedley under the special charge of Mr. Grandison, and he accordingly went twice a week to the house to give her lessons in singing, and when there was a special Anthem to be sung his visits were much more frequent. Then the Sedleys gave grand musical parties to which Mr. Grandison was of course, invited, playing Miss Sedley’s accompaniment on the pianoforte, while she entranced the assembled company with her singing; in fact, no gathering of the Sedley family was complete without the presence of the handsome and accomplished Mr. Grandison.
All this, in its way, was harmless enough, but Mary Sedley was a blooming girl of seventeen, and Grandison, as I have said was quite a young man, and from the frequent walking home with her alone from services and rehearsals, and other meetings in society, there arose an intimacy which, though unnoticed by Mary’s parents, and possibly not by the young people themselves, could not be productive of anything in the long run but sorrow and remorse.
One Saturday night when Mary came home rather later than usual, her father (who, though fond of her, was an austere man) questioned her gruffly as to the cause of her delay, when she replied:—“Oh! papa, I am to sing ‘As Pants the Hart’ to-morrow, and Mr. Grandison insisted on my trying it with the organ after practice. It is exceedingly difficult, you know.”
Her father did not know, and was inclined to be very angry. The next day, however, he forgot it all in the delight of hearing his daughter’s voice resounding through the sacred edifice; Grandison was invited to dinner, and everything was once more couleur de rose.
The first winter after Grandison’s arrival in Canada he gave a grand concert in Nordheimer’s Hall, then the principal concert hall in the city. Mary Sedley was the Prima Donna, and bouquet after bouquet was thrown at her feet, as she retired amid the plaudits of the multitude. After the concert Grandison accompanied them home to supper, and about twelve o’clock took his leave of the family.