Music Master

by Barbara Miller

  “I do not know but you are right,” he agreed.

  “The air smells much better,” Patience said. “Not stale indoor air but warm air mingled with the scent of the pines and the herbs and flowers.”

  Maddie looked toward the fountain. “It’s the sound of the water too and the birds. Leighton, listen, always the same pattern of sounds. Do they repeat?”

  “Yes, I was listening to it at lunchtime.”

  “Could a fountain play its own music?” Maddie asked.

  Leighton smiled. They thought so much alike. “If you designed it right. Perhaps I’ll redirect a channel from the stream and put a fountain in the old courtyard at home.”

  Maddie wrinkled her nose. “Your mother won’t like that.”

  “Mother doesn’t like anything.”

  Patience glanced at Leighton over her pince-nez. “She won’t like you two seeing each other. That’s for certain. She wants Leighton to marry a fashionable lady, not a parson’s daughter.”

  “But your mother was a Gaines. I cannot see why she would object so strongly.”

  Patience glanced away and Leighton caught sight of his new friend looking rather heated. “Murray. You were able to join us after all.”

  “Sorry I am late. I was waylaid by Sally Pierce.”

  “That gossipmonger,” Patience said. “No need to introduce the doctor, Leighton. We are well acquainted.”

  “Then may I present Patience’s sister Maddie?”

  “Two charming names in one sentence,” the doctor said with a bow.

  “Let me help you to tea and bread or some brandy if you’d rather,” Patience said to the doctor, taking charge of the meal.

  “Is it all right if I show Maddie the rest of the garden?” Leighton asked.

  Patience looked over her shoulder. “How far does it go?”

  “Just over to that wall.”

  “Oh, very well.”

  Leighton led Maddie on a tour of the herb beds and whispered. “I think she is softening toward me.”

  “You showing me a garden is not a good ruse. Do you know anything about plants?”

  “No, but she must know that—still she let us go anyway.”

  “You always could charm her.”

  “But not you. You see through me.”

  “Before you went away, I thought I knew you.” Maddie turned and looked up at him. “But Leighton, is this all for real? Are we really to be married?”

  He stared at her, then pulled her hand more securely though his arm. “Absolutely. What gives you such doubts?”

  “When I wake up in the morning I have to convince myself all over again that it really is going to happen.”

  “What can possibly stand in our way?”

  Maddie glanced around the walled garden but did not seem to derive from her surroundings the same sort of serenity they instilled in Leighton.

  “I don’t know. But I have the most awful feeling that something will prevent it.”

  “Well, I do not think it will be your sister. In fact, she seems half taken with Dr. Murray. If we had more separating us from them than a single yew tree I would pull you into my arms and kiss you.”

  “But why, Leighton?”

  “Because that is what engaged couples do.”

  “No, be serious. Why marry me when you know what it will do to our parents?”

  Leighton pulled her down onto a bench still within Patience’s hawklike gaze but small enough that Maddie had to sit thigh to thigh with him. “Because I love you. No matter where I was I thought only of you.”

  “But you were only in London.” Maddie had that slight scowl on her brow that made her look both innocent and serious at the same time.

  “Oh, well…” Leighton realized that there was no need to keep anything from her anymore. “That is not exactly true. I did have to make some trips. I thought I should mention it, in case Dr. Murray lets slip about seeing me.”

  “Seeing you where?”

  “Lisbon or…Madrid?” He said it as a question but that did not stop the storm of resentment he saw brewing on Maddie’s delicate brow.

  “Lisbon, Portugal?” she asked in a fierce whisper.

  “Why, yes.” He could feel his heart thudding in his chest as she digested this information.

  “And just how much time did you spend in the Peninsula?”

  Leighton tried to capture her hand but she snatched it away.

  “Not much above four or five…months,” he said limply. “Perhaps a year.”

  “So all those letters you wrote were lies? How you were too busy to come home? How you had to stay in London?”

  Her anger he could have taken but this tearful accusation cut him to the heart. “Well, not at the drop of a hat. Winters were always slow for campaigning. I was home almost every winter.”

  “You were not even on the same continent most of the time,” she accused. “And that is why it took so long for you to reply.”

  Her flushed cheeks and luminous eyes spoke of a heart about to crack and he could not even take her in his arms to comfort her. “You sound angry.”

  “I am angry,” she said as she wadded her handkerchief in her lap.

  Leighton watched her eyes hunt among the plants and wondered why she was so upset now that it was all over. She should have been glad to have been protected from this worry.

  “And did you stay in the cities? Tell me the truth.” The glare from her green eyes pierced him.

  “Most of the time. I had to make some trips into the interior.”

  “Where the fighting was.”

  He swiped a hand across his brow. “I had no control over that.”

  “For God’s sake, Leighton. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I am telling you.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me while it was happening? I thought you didn’t even care about me, that I was just a bother to you.”

  “I did not want to worry you.”

  “You idiot! I worried about you anyway. At least then my fears would have had a direction, instead of just being a vague unease.”

  “I am sorry. But if you were worried, that means that you loved me too.” Once again he tried to capture her hands but she withdrew them and stood up.

  “Of course I loved you. Now, I’m not so sure. No woman wants a husband she cannot trust.”

  “But I was sworn to secrecy,” Leighton protested. “If I had written to you and my letter—”

  “When have I ever betrayed your confidence?” She folded her arms in front of her, a sure sign he was in trouble.

  “Never and if only you knew how much I needed your help with the codes.” He stood and spoke quietly, hoping to keep their altercation secret from Patience.

  “Codes? What sort of work was this?” She was intently scanning his face.

  “I was helping Scoville. He was Wellington’s code-breaker.”

  Maddie looked into his eyes and apparently found no more lies there.

  “Do your mother and sisters know?”

  Leighton knew it was the wrong thing to say but if she caught him in any sort of lie she might never forgive him. “No, only my brother-in-law.”

  “You told Ross and not me?” Her lips trembled at this new betrayal and she turned away.

  She paced to the pond, staring down at the fish, telling herself that at least he was confessing now, before they went any closer toward marriage. But was that what he thought she wanted, to be shielded? Leighton should know her better than that.

  She heard his boots scrape on the stones of the courtyard. “Maddie?”

  “It figures you would tell another man and not me.”

  “I had to tell someone in case…in case anything happened.”

  She spun toward him. “Oh, so we would know where your body was buried.”

  “Listen to me, Maddie. It was not your discretion I feared but the post. If any of my letters had been intercepted…”

  “You could have written me in code.”

&nbs
p; She thought he looked surprised but then he smiled. “I wish I had thought of that.”

  “But you did not, like so many other things.” She turned and walked toward the table, noting a slight smile on her sister’s face. But whether it was because of her fight with Leighton, or some tidbit the doctor had whispered in Patience’s ear, she could not be sure. She was surprised that her sister was drinking sherry but not at all shocked that the doctor had broached the brandy.

  “Are you ready to go to the Pump Room, sister?”

  “Yes,” Maddie replied. She was in so much inner turmoil she needed some time alone. But one often could find solitude for reflection in the midst of a crowd of people when one could not with just one companion.

  “Dr. Murray will walk us down. No need for Leighton to trouble himself.”

  As they left through the lobby, Maddie glanced back once. When she saw how miserable Leighton looked, she almost went back to him. She would forgive him, of course but they must have an understanding. He could not be hiding things from her. She was not like his mother or his younger sister, always having to be protected. She thought about sending him a note saying as much but she was sure he meant to call again tomorrow even if they did not meet the next morning on Fleet Street. She would have to find a way for them to have a moment alone.

  After that, her moments of reflection in the Pump Room were severely hampered by the arrival of old Mrs. Marsden, her daughter Lady Haddon and her granddaughter Lucy. The grandmother was a patient of Dr. Murray’s, so they fell into instant consultation. Patience renewed her acquaintance with Lady Haddon and Maddie was obliged to amuse Lucy. After half an hour, Maddie had a throb in her head that had nothing to do with Leighton but she had realized one thing. She had always thought of Leighton as perfect, or nearly so. That he had some of the same flaws as other men should have been no surprise to her. But he would have to acknowledge that what he had done was wrong, not argue with her about it.

  Chapter Ten

  Leighton rode Chandros again in the morning, farther into the hills this time, taking some of the side roads and cart tracks. Familiarizing himself with the geography of a place was a habit he had picked up in Spain. You could never tell when knowing where a road led might save your life.

  He then spent an hour touring several of the jewelers’ establishments. Of course, there was the family heirloom ring, an amethyst set in gold but he did not want to try to pry that off his mother’s finger. He was sure Maddie would prefer to chose her own jewelry…if she would still marry him at all, or even speak to him after yesterday’s debacle.

  Yet he could not think that finally confessing his part in the war had been a mistake. He had actually hoped that Maddie would admire him for what he had accomplished. Far from it, she had very nearly ditched him then and there. So why had he tried to defend himself? Clearly he should have owned to his fault and begged her forgiveness. At least that hurdle was past them. And he was glad he had not let the deception run on any longer. Better to confess than have her find out from someone else. Whether anyone else found out now was immaterial. If was only Maddie’s opinion that counted.

  He did not run up against them while shopping, though he had looked for them. Either Maddie was very angry with him or their plans had changed. He had a sensation of being watched that went beyond the residents scrutinizing him with their quizzing glasses as a newcomer. By now Patience would have had time to write to her father. Leighton was going to have to decide what he would do if Vicar Westlake confronted him on a Bath Street and demanded he leave town. He would not leave, of course but such an altercation would not be good for Maddie’s reputation. Patience’s actions did not jump with her tattling to her father but old habits died hard. She had taken Maddie in on command. What if he had also told her to let him know if Leighton showed up?

  When he returned to his rooms, his valet was polishing his evening shoes and handed him a thick packet of papers. It was addressed simply to Mr. Stone, Prad’s Hotel.

  “I didn’t think anyone knew I was here.” Leighton opened the bundle on the small table near the door. There was something oddly familiar about the bold lettering on the outside sheet but his name was not written in cursive, so he could not recognize the hand. He extracted a sheaf of sheet music, some was printed in America, some was in French and as he leafed through, he found one very badly handwritten page of music.

  “Did this come in the post?”

  “No, not the post.”

  Leighton waited in vain for clarification. “From where then?”

  “A servant delivered it.”

  “Whose servant?”

  Tibbs thought for a moment. “I have no idea.”

  Leighton groaned. “There is no return address. Didn’t this servant say anything?”

  “Had an odd accent. If I was to hazard a guess, I’d say he was…American.”

  Leighton knew there was no point in trying to get any more out of Tibbs. The man was still punishing him for dragging him out of London. He turned the packet over and over, looking for some clue to its origin. Perhaps a military acquaintance had been posted to America and had sent him these scores. Certainly the war with America was still in full force. But there was no enclosure letter, which seemed damned odd. And how would such a person know he was at this hotel or in Bath at all? Leighton cast the printed pages aside, then scrutinized the handwritten piece.

  “Tibbs, where’s my cello?”

  He heard a scrape and then saw Tibbs wrestling the cello case through the doorway.

  “You brought it. Good.” Leighton threw the case open on the floor.

  “You did say send only the books to your estate.”

  Leighton ignored Tibbs’ rare example of explicit obedience, removed the instrument and tuned it, then tried to master the notes on the page. He saw Tibbs flinch and got a chill himself from the scraping. This could not really be music. So what was it?

  Leighton laid the cello to rest again. He folded the handwritten piece and put it in his notebook, thinking he might recognize the handwriting when he had more time.

  He had something of a coughing attack on his way down to the courtyard garden as he recalled he had left poor Tibbs to put the instrument away again. He definitely had to treat the man with more consideration if he wanted to keep him.

  He asked the waiter for a brandy and water with his luncheon, got the same table where they had tea yesterday and gave a sigh of relief when the brandy arrived. He couldn’t help wondering if there were any traps in the way of his engagement, other than his mother, Maddie’s father and sister and now Maddie’s anger at him. If only things could be simple. He glanced at the pond. The sunlight on the rippling surface bounced back to the underside of the dogwood leaves, making it look as if there were a thousand suns in the sky playing over the tree leaves.

  The fountain reminded him of that sheet of music, so he spread the quartered page out on the small table and tried to follow the crabbed notes but they had no continuity as he had just demonstrated. And no one could have played such a reach on a pianoforte. As music they made no sense at all. Perhaps it was some amateur’s first composition. In his young days had he produced such ridiculous flights?

  Leighton went back to the puzzle of why it had been sent to him. He could not place the writing, although he was good at that sort of thing. His mind raced back to long sleepless nights spent with Scoville over messages and sheets of decoding. Then he made the sort of leap that usually meant a breakthrough.

  The spring in the courtyard had nothing to do with music but he and Maddie both thought so because they had music in common. What if this piece of paper had nothing to do with music either? And he was the link. But between what and what? It was like an equation with no known factors.

  He laughed and pushed it aside when the waiter brought his food. His mind needed work. Into the vacuum of no work he was trying to create some, to knit up a task out of a nonsense shred of paper. But he lived and worked in a world where everything h
ad a purpose. He was not used to having an unknown, a puzzle piece without a puzzle.

  He pulled the sheet toward him again. He had no idea of its purpose and why it had been sent to him. The war with France was over. They were negotiating a peace. Of course, the war in America was far from over. But this had nothing to do with the Foreign Office. It was not so mysterious in its requests. Who would have sent him such a thing, if it was not a joke?

  * * * * *

  Maddie was furious but this time not at Leighton. As she was driven with her luggage in the Haddon coach up the hill, she gave vent to her frustration by ripping up the cordial note Lady Haddon had sent to Patience inviting Maddie to stay with them until mid-August. It was the second time in the space of two weeks she had been packed up and shipped off as though she were a piece of baggage. She reminded herself that she had thought of seeking such a position. Unfortunately, Lady Haddon was not even going to pay her for playing companion to Lucy. Maddie was there strictly as a houseguest but she felt sure she would be expected to work for her keep.

  Why had Patience done this to her? They’d been in the Pump Room talking to Mrs. Marsden, the grandmother, along with Lady Haddon and her daughter. Maddie had felt obliged to chat with Lucy, though the girl bubbled far too much to suit her. But then Lucy was several years her junior. Suddenly Patience, who had been in a brown study ever since the post had arrived, got the brilliant notion of farming her out to the Haddons.

  When they’d returned to Royal Crescent to pack her things, Maddie had accused her sister of conspiring to put her beyond Leighton’s reach. Oddly enough, that had seemed to take Patience by surprise. But she had grasped at it as an excuse to send her own sister away. She’d said that if Leighton really wanted her, Marsden House would be no bar to him.

  Now that Lady Haddon’s note had been reduced to a pile of very tiny pieces of paper, Maddie did not know what to do with them, so she dropped them into her parasol. What did it all mean? For one thing, the reason she was being sent to the Haddons had nothing to do with Leighton. It was something darker or more serious.