At the end of breakfast, Mrs.Digby declared she was taking the day off from her memoir project.
“I’ve neglected paying calls on my friends,” Mrs.Digby added.“Xavier is going to accompany me so we can catch up before he goes for a ride.You are free to copy your notes into those elegant finished pages.”She flicked her gaze at Fairfax, then back to Sophia.“Or rest your hand.”She turned her smile from Sophia to Mr.Huntley, Wallace, and Fairfax.“I’m confident you’ll all find a way to fill the day.”
The gentlemen stood as Mrs.Digby departed.
“As the sun has come out after last night’s storm, I’m going to work in the studio with Aunt Agnes,” Wallace announced, offering his arm to a beaming Mrs.Royston, and the pair departed.
Sophia excused herself to work in the library.
Alone, she should have been able to work quickly and efficiently.After she balled up the third page out of five that she had ruined and threw it in the fireplace, she paced the length of the room.She’d had only half the amount of sleep she needed last night.Between finding Mildred in the storm, running into Fairfax in the stables, and then making sure Mildred and any sign of her were gone before Ruby arrived this morning, she’d barely managed a lengthy nap.
How much had Fairfax seen in the stables?Since he was dry, clearly he had used the tunnel to reach the stables rather than crossing outdoors.Good heavens, what if their timing had been worse, and she and Mildred had encountered Fairfax comingoutof the passageway while they were goingin?How could she possibly explain the girl’s presence without giving everything away?
And now he had seen a “ghost” as well.What if he went looking for more evidence?
Yesterday in the cavern she’d almost had an apoplexy when she noticed the puddle of wax on the floor, and Fairfax looking at it.
She stared at the stack of papers on the desk waiting for her to transcribe.How could she possibly concentrate on work now?At least she knew Fairfax was not out investigating the cave.She could hear him practicing the pianoforte in the drawing room.
Mrs.Nelson entered with a tea tray and a small plate of biscuits, and set a folded newspaper on the table beside the tray.“Ring if you need anything else, miss.”
“Thank you,” she replied, pleasantly surprised the staff had thought to serve her even without Mrs.Digby present.
Perhaps her concentration would improve after a biscuit or two and a cup of tea.She justified reading the newspaper as searching for information about Wingfield and perusing the Help Wanted advertisements.She hadn’t sent any job applications in at least two days.
By the time the last of the tea was cold and nothing remained of the biscuits but crumbs, she had not one but two employment queries folded, sealed, and ready to mail.Pleased with herself, she resumed transcribing her notes.
* * *
Vincent scribbled down the notes he’d just played, realized he couldn’t read his own notations, balled up the paper, and threw it into the cold fireplace.After grabbing another sheet from the top of the stack and sharpening the pencil, he tried again.
He wished he could ask Matthew’s opinion but the traitor had left him to go riding.
He hadn’t even had a chance to consult with Matthew about last night’s events.Vincent was fairly sure the figures he’d seen from his window were Miss Walden and Miss Ebrington.The girl was unrecognizable with her windblown hair hanging down her back, wearing a gray gown more fitting for an aged widow than the beautiful miss who had stolen Matthew’s heart, but who else would Miss Walden have been ushering into the secret passageway in the stables?How in the world was being out in the storm protecting her former student?And what was she protecting the girlfrom?
Xavier had given up on learning the overture to theBarber of Sevillein the limited time he had before taking up his new job as curate, and instead had pointed out that Aunt Gert wasn’t going to let up.She was going to keep asking Vincent to play an original composition.
So here he sat.
He wanted to bang his forehead against the keys.
Sampling his favorite sections of an opera and combining them into one piece was simple; he’d arranged dozens of medleys.Singing in four different octaves or playing famous compositions in the style of a different composer were among his favorite tricks to entertain friends and family.
But new music?Entirely of his own creation?Different matter entirely.
An hour later, the floor in front of the cold fireplace was littered with wadded-up paper, and he only had a few sheets left.But he was close.He stared at the painting above the fireplace, this week a winter scene of two soldiers attempting to light a campfire, rows of canvas tents behind them, snow drifting down at twilight.
If they couldn’t even start a fire, they were less than useless in helping him make sense of this muddle of notes.
Vincent tried a different chord progression.No, that wasn’t it either.Maybe he should get Henry to walk across the keys.Domenico Scarlotti was said to have composed hisSonata in G Minor, known as theCat Fugue, after his cat walked across the keyboard.Surely Henry’s paws couldn’t play anything worse than what Vincent had just written.
In frustration, he slammed his hands on the keys.
“Oh dear.”
He whirled on the bench to see Miss Walden standing in the doorway.She was a vision in a light green gown, her dark brown hair pinned up in her ever-present braids, topped with a white lace cap.
“I don’t mean to intrude.But it sounds like you’re taking out your frustration on the poor pianoforte.”A smile teased at the corner of her mouth and her brown eyes twinkled with humor.
