Music Master

by Barbara Miller

  The house sounded empty and as his footsteps echoed down the dark hall to the great room. The stone walls and ancient arms that were hung above head height were softened by new hangings at the windows and some chairs he did not remember from before. His pianoforte was still in the same corner. It would have sounded better in a wood-lined room but he had no heart to move it.

  He sat down and touched a single key, drawing forth a melancholy note to die in the chilly air. He wondered if he and Maddie would ever come to the place that they could not stand each other as his parents had done. Impossible. He and Maddie had so much in common, whereas his parents had shared nothing. Idly he wondered why his father had ever married his mother.

  He began to play from memory. Thinking of Maddie and the resurrected cat made him smile but that made the scratches on his face hurt. Maddie was different, a practical woman who never let pride get in the way of doing what was right. But there was a thread of wildness in her that escaped at the most surprising moments, like one lock of her glorious brown hair getting loose from under her cloak and hinting at the hidden passions within.

  Leighton was still lost in the music and thoughts of Maddie when he realized that coming toward him down the long hall was the sound of an argument between his mother and younger sister Susan. He resisted the urge to rush to the end of the work so they could not spoil it but he played louder to drown out their dispute over ribbons and yard goods. Consequently the piece ended with a pounding flourish rather than a modest trill. He thought he liked it better that way as though he was having the last word.

  “Leighton, Mother is making me wear ugly dresses,” Susan complained.

  He turned to look at her and noticed her face was still red from crying.

  “Nothing could look ugly on you.”

  “But white?” she complained. She held out the sides of the skirt in disgust. “I look like a giant strawberry perched on a table napkin.”

  Leighton shook his head to rid it of this image but found himself agreeing as he regarded her in the muslin creation. Where his father had passed on to him and his older sister a crisp russet crop of hair, the color had come out in Susan as a startling and unlikely red.

  “Perhaps you could wear a cream-colored shawl.”

  “See, Mother, Leighton agrees with me.”

  “Leighton knows nothing about it.”

  Lady Longbridge threw herself down in one of the new chairs and was regarding her children critically. She wore a light blue gown today and her own blond hair was impeccably dressed. Leighton realized that one who did not know the truth of the matter would never think her their mother.

  “And where did you get those scratches on your face?”

  He winced. “An encounter with an angry cat.”

  “May I go to London to shop?” his sister begged.

  “Yes, of course but what would that solve?” Leighton asked. “Mother would have to go with you.”

  “But she would see what the other girls are wearing. And I could make my come-out next year in style rather than in these provincial rags.” Susan again held her skirt out dramatically.

  Leighton traded uncomfortable looks with his mother.

  “Rags? I’ll have you know I gave two guineas for the goods for that dress.”

  “Well, you wasted—”

  “I have an idea,” Leighton said. “Why not ask Amy if she wants to go with you to London.”

  “Amy has no taste,” his mother snapped. “Look who she married.”

  “She married Ross Hemmings, the squire’s son and a good friend. By the way, Amy and Ross are dining with us tonight.”

  “You are just trying to get rid of me,” his mother snapped. “I suppose you are too busy to come to London with us yourself.”

  “The planting is done and the early hay in, thanks to Ross overseeing our people, I might add. But there are years worth of work to be done on the house, things that have been put off.” He glared at her.

  “You should have been here, rather than socializing in London. Much good it did. You never brought a single eligible man home for your sisters, never an invitation anywhere. I suppose it’s not respectable for us to stay in your lodgings in London.”

  “I let those go. Tibbs is packing up my things and bringing them home. You can stay at a hotel.”

  “Your father would never keep a house in London either. So we are shut out of society in this backwater.” She glared around the expensively decorated great room.

  “This was a backwater before you married him,” Leighton reminded her. “Are we agreed? You stay at a hotel for this visit and we will hire a house next year for Susan’s come-out.”

  “And after that?” His mother looked a challenge at him. “I thought the whole purpose of your long stays in town was to find a wife. Have you given up?”

  “No, I have indeed asked someone to marry me.”

  “Really?” His mother sat up straight. “Well, why didn’t you tell me? She will expect a house in town. Who is she?”

  “I do not think she cares at all about London. I have asked Maddie to marry me.”

  There was dead silence in the room as his mother gaped at him. “Constance Madeline Westlake? The parson’s daughter?” His mother’s outrage pulled her from the chair to her feet.

  “You know she prefers to be called Maddie. I find that I—”

  “Are you insane?” she demanded as she launched herself across the room, all signs of fatigue gone. “Are all my children going to flout my wishes?”

  Susan gave a resigned sigh and plopped down on the piano bench with Leighton as their mother paced the room.

  “Why not Maddie?” Leighton asked. “She is already well acquainted with all our people and the duties of Lady Longbridge, since she has been performing them these last six years.”

  “She is an encroaching dowd. She has managed to convince you she deserves to take my place just by visiting the poor and acting the grand lady.”

  Susan looked up at her mother. “Maddie has not the money to dress well.”

  Their mother stopped in front of them with her hands on her hips. “Well, she has one thing, I grant her, more brains than either of you. She has Leighton ready to marry her because he feels sorry for her and guilty for neglecting his tenants. Just think about this while you are having this sudden attack of conscience. How about sparing a thought for us, your family, whom you have equally neglected ever since you left school.”

  “I came home in the winters.”

  “Oh, yes, when you are needed the least. Meantime I have had all the decisions put on me.”

  Leighton stood up. “I admit that I have neglected my family and my tenants. It’s a poor landlord who feeds them punch and cake once a year when they need meat every week but the managing of the estate is what I pay Ross to do. And it would be a damned sight easier for him if you did not cross him at every turn.”

  “I should have some say about what happens in my own home.”

  “All you ever do is obstruct.” Leighton raised his hands in exasperation as though he were about to conduct a group of players but Susan’s doleful face caught his eye.

  His sister sniffed. “Please stop arguing. I cannot bear it. It’s just like when Father was here.”

  “I have the headache,” their mother announced, as though there was only one headache in the world and she had it. “If I am I supposed to be cordial to the guests you invited into my house tonight, I am going to have to rest.” She swept out of the room and Leighton shrugged and turned to his sister.

  “What about it? Will you be able to tolerate Mother in London for a week or so?”

  “I had rather you were taking me.”

  He shook his head as he pulled at the bow on her sleeve. “What do I know of ribbons and laces?”

  “It’s not that. You would be on my side.”

  “I just came back from London and the whole town has run mad with the peace celebrations. And Ross does deserve a rest.”

  �
�Very well. If Amy and Ross are going, I can manage Mother.” She stood up and smoothed the hated dress down. “Leighton?”

  “Yes?”

  “I don’t remember Father very well but you are like him, that I know.”

  “I argue with Mother as much at any rate.”

  “She is not a happy person. We should accept that. But is she right about Maddie?”

  “You are not a snob. I thought you liked Maddie.”

  “Of course, I do. I mean, are you marrying her because you feel sorry for her?”

  Leighton thought for a moment and shook his head with a sad smile. “No, because I feel sorry for me.”

  * * * * *

  When Ross and Amy arrived for dinner, Leighton had to answer a gantlet of questions about the scratches on his face. Neither of them swallowed the cat story and he was amazed that the truth seemed so unlikely to them. After all, they knew Maddie as well as he did.

  His mother, as it turned out, was too fatigued to join them for dinner, so the four of them could speak freely about farm matters, the repairs to the house that Lady Longbridge had circumvented, or anything else they chose. Even so, they were halfway through the meal before Leighton brought up his plan for the trip to London. Ross seemed agreeable to let Amy go but she was reluctant to leave him when there was so much to be done in the summer. And she did not want to try to manage their two children herself, nor leave them at home.

  “Very well.” Ross’ dark eyes glittered from the wine they had broached for the meal. “I will escort you to the city and get you settled with enough help to keep track of Jules and Robert. If it looks as though you do not need me, I’ll slip back here. Then send for me when you want to come home.”

  “I wish we could all go,” Amy said. “But someone has to watch over the work here.”

  “Leighton is going to offer for Maddie,” Susan said, then glanced at her brother. “Or wasn’t I supposed to tell?”

  He grinned. “Of course you may tell Ross and Amy. Just do not shout it from the housetop until the date is firm.”

  “Congratulations,” Ross said, rising to shake Leighton’s hand. “I always thought you two would make a match of it. You were always at loggerheads when alone but back-to-back in any fight.”

  “I suppose marriage will not change that,” Leighton said with a chuckle.

  Amy smiled at him. “I feel happy that Maddie will finally escape her morose father. We all mourn, but his wife has been gone six years and he is still taking it out on Maddie.”

  “Perhaps it is harder for him to accept, being a man of God,” Ross guessed.

  “That is no reason for him to be such a tyrant,” Amy returned.

  “Well, I still have to face the tyrant at one o’clock tomorrow, so wish me luck.”

  The girls left Leighton and Ross to their glasses of port and Susan promised Amy the ugly white dress if it fit her.

  Leighton turned to his longtime friend, remembering fishing and riding together, while knowing they would someday have charge of their adjoining estates. “Do you mind so much taking them to the city? Ordinarily I would not worry but the populace can be unruly in its celebrations. Besides, you could use a holiday yourself.”

  Ross leaned back in his chair. “I do not mind the country but I like to see my Amy smile.”

  “How are the children?”

  “Right as rain. They could use some neighbors to play with. I am pleased about you and Maddie. I have worried about her. Some say old Westlake isn’t sane.”

  Leighton took a sip of the pungent wine and swirled the remainder in his glass. “His sermons are the most severe I have ever heard as though he is angry at the world.”

  “Puts me in mind of your mother. I cannot say two words to her without putting her in a temper.”

  “Oh and I thought it was only me. I take it the coping stones are still loose and the chimneys still need to be cleaned?”

  “Aye.” Ross sighed heavily. “I hired the men in Hereford and had to pay them a day’s wage when she had them turned away at the door.”

  “I’ll have them here and done while you are still in London.”

  “I’ll give you their direction. She’ll be fit to be tied, you making dust all over the house.”

  “I see the new bridge has not progressed, either.”

  “I got the oaks felled and the tenants, both yours and mine, were desperately glad to get the firewood from the limbs but when your mother got wind of our plans she pitched a fit. We had some dry weather for plowing then, so I let the beams rest where we felled them.”

  Ross stared into the fireplace as though he were seeing the felling of the trees again. Every estate kept an oak grove for building beams and repairs. He and Ross had chosen the ones to make the beams for the bridge at Christmas.

  “It would have been better if they had been skidded into place during the winter,” Leighton mused, “but I’ll have a look at them. It’s downhill to the river. We might get them down there. And if I can construct a crane we can winch them into place.”

  “You’ve got the head for that sort of thing. The planking has been sawed and is drying in the upper story of the barn. I had the men sneak it in there.”

  “I saw it. Good work. If the weather stays clear, we might be able to manage it in a week.”

  “That would be capital. I shiver every time someone drives a loaded wagon over that old heap of stone.”

  “It is not safe. I do not know why Mother persists in thinking it will last forever.”

  “She never let your father get this far. If you get the bridge built, you’re a better man than any of us.”

  “Then if I get the chimneys cleaned, I might be able to have a fire in my room without suffocating in the smoke.”

  Ross laughed, then got a serious look on his face. “Are you ever going to tell her what you really did when you were supposed to be in London?”

  “No.” Leighton emptied his glass and stared at the decanter of port shining darkly red in the candlelight like a beaker of blood. “No one around here knows except you. I think my secret is safe.”

  Chapter Four

  The next day Leighton regretted putting off the interview with Maddie’s father until the afternoon. He finished reviewing the accounts from Ross, well satisfied that the profit from the estate was not at the expense of his tenants. Most of his income was from investments anyway. There would be plenty to bring his sister out in style and for her dowry which was more important.

  He then spent an hour pacing the library, rehearsing his speech and answers to all the arguments Westlake might think of against the match.

  After a large luncheon, the shopping expedition left for London, all of them smiling except his mother, who looked about the courtyard as though she were seeing it for the last time.

  Leighton went back inside to get his riding crop and paused to straighten his neckcloth in the hall mirror, painfully aware of his marked face. He supposed he would have to answer the vicar’s silly questions about the scratches too.

  Nat had driven the family to Hereford in the ancient traveling carriage. The party would change horses there and the groom would be home by nightfall. Leighton went to the stable and saddled Chandros himself.

  As he rode to the vicarage, he owned to being more nervous than he had let on to Maddie. He tethered his horse in the orchard and walked up the back way to the kitchen door past the blooming mock orange bush, which exuded an enticing hint of orange perfume and made the whole garden sweet and fresh.

  At the last moment he realized this more formal occasion might call for his entrance through the front parlor. He walked around the house toward the front, admiring Maddie’s rosebushes and morning glories as they infringed on the bench under the front window. How often he had lounged on that bench, scratching out some bars of music on a slate or doing a Latin lesson while Maddie and Patience had peeled apples, picked flowers or played tag in the front garden. He should have known that he loved Maddie even then.

>   Leighton’s knock went unanswered for some minutes and he pictured his beloved trying to tidy her wanton brown ringlets, smooth her sober dress, or look as if she did not care about the outcome of this interview when actually she loved him just as much. He was sure of it.

  When the door was opened, it was not Maddie who let Leighton in but Westlake himself wearing his professional scowl. As he followed the man into the small dusty-smelling study, Leighton wiped the foolish grin from his face. Perhaps this would not be as easy as he had assured Maddie it would.

  Leighton knew his worth down to the farthing and was prepared to negotiate when his request for Maddie’s hand produced reserve. What he was not prepared for was a flat, emphatic, “No!” from the man behind the desk.

  “You cannot have understood me, sir. I wish to marry Maddie. What makes you speak as though I were suggesting some misalliance?”

  “You have corrupted my daughter, sir. Yesterday she was content to her duties.”

  “Duties? To care for your house?” Leighton gestured around him. “But how can that compare to her duty to marry? Her sisters have done so.”

  “Against my wishes. Well, I tell you, sir. I have but one daughter left and she will not desert me.”

  “But we will be living scarcely twenty minutes away,” Leighton insisted.

  “I tell you, I won’t have it, sir.”

  “I would prefer to marry with your permission but if you deny it, I am prepared to proceed without it.”

  “You will never see her again. I forbid it.”

  “I will see her at church, if nowhere else,” Leighton argued.

  “That you shall not. I knew who I was dealing with.” Westlake rose from his chair and folded his arms with finality. “You are willful, just like your father. I have sent her away, sir and she will stay gone until you are safely wedded to another.”