My Heart Will Go On
Oh hex, worse than having to play, I definitely didn’t sing. But from the type of music, there’d be nothing but chords if some sound didn’t come out of my mouth.
So singing along it was.
“Mary—” Lydia started.
“I appreciate your kindness in turning the pages,” I said loudly, and before Lydia protested further, I forced my hands onto the keys and plunked out the first chord.
It proved far tougher than anticipated, and my fingers stumbled on the keyboard during the introduction. When the words came, I opened my mouth and sang.
The opening lines sounded off and flat even to my untrained ears.
If only Celine Dion could hear me now. I was sure she’d regret ever allowing such a beautiful song to be made into sheet music for people like me to butcher.
I plowed ahead, each chord a symphony of disharmony with my off-key voice. Everyone in the room probably wished that the Titanic would just sink already and take me with it. The melody was touch and go at best and half of the chords were wrong, but still I played. I hit the keys harder, as if that would somehow make my playing moreaccurate. In order to compensate, I sang louder, belting out the worst song of my life.
When it was over, I sat there, conscious of the stares. Lizzy, across the room, watched horrified. Frank was nowhere in sight. My nerves sparked through my body and Lydia released a huff and began to rise. No! I couldn’t let her get up and make her announcement. I jerked her down next to me. “I’m not done.”
Lydia looked at me in disbelief. I grabbed the next sheet music. What was this one?I Will Always Love you. Great, Whitney Huston level arias.
A knot twisted inside my stomach. Just perfect.
But I needed a plan to stop Lydia. My only recourse, until then, involved belting out old pop songs.
I began plunking out the song. A shuffle of discontent and a collective groan issued from those nearby. I didn’t blame them. This one was so much worse than the first. And yet, I played on while Lydia sat and moved the pages, although she flinched every time I attempted to hit the high notes.
As I grabbed the page for the third song, Lydia moaned and rose to her feet. “I refuse to listen to this parlor trashanymore, Mary. You’re making my ears bleed. Turn the pages on your own.”
I stood and, without knowing what else to do, I bowed. Relief appeared on most faces present, with only a few magnanimously offering polite applause. Caroline Bingley stalked over to the sound system and turned it on, letting the real artists do the singing. The crowd took their attention off Lydia and I. A sense of release washed over me, as if breathing freely for the first time that night.
Determination remained evident on Lydia’s face. She tried to move away, but I blocked her path. “I know what you did.”
Her eyes grew wide for a moment, then narrowed. “You don’t know anything.”
“I do,” I insisted. Although she was right, I didn’t really know what she’d done that might implicate her in Isabella’s death. “And if you tell anyone about Frank, I’ll see to it that your involvement is revealed.”
“So you’d rat out your own sister to protect a childhood crush? Thanks a lot.” She turned and stormed away.
I watched her go, but her eyes no longer reflected her resolve. She stomped over to Kitty. “Come on. Let’s get out of here. This party is so lame.”
“Lydia!” Mom said, aghast.
But Lydia waved her off and, giving me one more scornful glance, yanked a confused Kitty from the room.
“Don’t mind her,” Mom said good-naturedly. “She’s my youngest, and you know how teenage daughters can be. I’m sure it’s simply that time of month.”
An awkward silence filled the room. Not even the music drowned out the commotion my family drew to themselves. Lizzy looked like she was going to be sick. Darcy got up and left. I’d had enough of the limelight and slipped to the side before making my way outside, dead set on never showing my face in public again.
Despite that, a new passion burned in my chest. I’d prove Frank Churchill, and Lydia, innocent. I felt certain neither of them had anything truly to do with Isabella’s death. And I would get to the bottom of what happened.
I had a cemetery to get to.
Chapter 4
Ihurriedpastthegates, exiting the grounds of Netherfield manor. The cemetery lay a few miles from here, but the lonely walk would be most welcome after the social disaster involving my family at the Bingley’s party.
I prayed Frank was okay and that he understood he was safe from Lydia. For now. I had to figure out who truly caused Isabella’s death. Hopefully, she could remember something, some clue that might be helpful.
