The young man remained immobile during the remainder of the performance, but as soon as the last song was completed, he was in motion. He turned abruptly towards Sharon the minute the applause filled the room. He walked briskly past her towards the door she and Dahlia had come through. Sharon looked back down the hall at Dahlia, whose eyes followed the young man. She seemed to note that he went to the corridor parallel to the hall. Satisfied he would be waiting there for her, she turned towards the onslaught of admirers who now approached her.
Sharon considered her young charge. Young though she was, she was very collected and reserved. Since Dahlia’s mother died when she was four years old, she had never seen the child show great extremes of emotion. Thinking on it, she couldn’t remember ever seeing Dahlia cry. Being raised by her father and five older brothers was most likely the reason for that. Men rarely showed much emotion, were discouraged from it, in fact. No doubt tears were not tolerated by the sixth child either, even if she was a girl. This upbringing, coupled with the professionalism that her performances demanded, had very likely been heavy contributors of this aspect of her character and demeanor.
With a last glance at Dahlia, Sharon turned and followed the footsteps of Mr. Kent into the adjoining corridor. As expected, she found him at the front entrance, waiting for Dahlia. He was again postured leisurely, one boot against the wall. He straightened when he saw Sharon approaching.
“Madame,” he said, and bowed. She curtsied in return.
“I am Lady Sweet, a friend of Miss Talbot’s,” she said. “Would you like to meet her?” She saw a flash in his eyes.
“James Kent, at your service. I have already had the pleasure, Lady Sweet, of meeting her after last evening’s performance,” he said. If this woman was indeed a friend, no doubt their meeting had been relayed and he might as well own it. “I’m afraid I was ill prepared for the occasion, so I have come to rectify that.” He indicated the flowers.
‘Smart boy,’ thought Sharon, to guess Dahlia would have recounted the event to her. To him she replied sweetly, “How very gracious of you, Mr. Kent. You must be very fond of music to attend a second evening of the same performance.”
“Absolutely not,” he laughed. “But Miss Talbot’s talent is unique, and although I had a previous engagement earlier this evening, I could not help but try to catch the latter half of her singing.”
Sharon wondered if he had seen her at the back of the concert hall and whether that was why he admitted to arriving late. She was quite convinced of his ability to lie shamelessly when it suited him, but it appeared that he was not lying to her now. “Do I detect a touch of an accent, Mr. Kent?”
“Glasgow, Scotland, ma’am,” he said with an affected Scottish brogue. “My father was English, my mother is Scottish.” Sharon noted the use of his tenses. Fatherless, then.
“And you now live here in London?”
“I am a student at university, studying architecture. I live with my uncle, Lord Telford.”
‘Good family connection,’ she thought. Acceptable. She was about to continue the interview, but he turned the questions on her.
“Have you been acquainted with Miss Talbot long, Lady Sweet?”
“I’ve known her since she was born, her mother and I were close friends.”
“I am as sorry for your loss, madam, as for that of Miss Talbot,” he said with a quick bow of his head. She knew then that he had been making inquiries about Dahlia if he knew her mother had passed. He changed the tone of the conversation immediately. “Have we to thank you for guiding Miss Talbot’s musical accomplishments?”
Sharon laughed. “Of encouraging her, yes, but of guiding her, no! If that had been the case the concert hall would be very scarce of patrons indeed!”
He laughed with her. She even had to admit she liked him, no doubt in part because of his good looks and beguiling manners. It was hard to be on guard with him. “Then we are alike in that – we appreciate fine music, but do not make it ourselves.”
“Yes. But surely you must have other talents?” she prompted.
“None considered laudable by my uncle, I’m afraid,” he chuckled, thinking of his skill in poker and craps, not to mention his popularity at the brothels. He blinked to clear his mind of such thoughts lest the very attentive Lady Sweet guess them. “I’m a fair rider, I’m told.”
‘Oh dear,’ thought Sharon. When Dahlia finds he is an equestrian, she will lose her heart for sure. Best not to inform him of her love of horses. Of course, given Mr. Kent’s ingenuity in discovering information about Dahlia, he most likely already knows of her father’s renowned horse breeding. She decided to test him. “You know of Sir Talbot’s horses, then?”
“I’ve been told he has quite fine breeding stock,” James admitted. “In Gloucestershire, if I’m not mistaken?”
“Yes,” confirmed Sharon, without being more specific.
They continued the game for some minutes longer, each posing questions and giving only what information they wished in reply. James considered Lady Sweet adequately protective of Dahlia and guessed correctly she was a very good friend and confidant to the girl. For her part, Sharon found him to be very amiable, articulate, witty, and well-mannered. Both concluded that the interview was satisfactory.
The door to the music hall opened and Dahlia came through, seeing her friend Lady Sweet first. Sharon thought she detected the slighted hint of disappointment in her face. Then, Dahlia saw Mr. Kent beside her.
“Mr. Kent, how nice to see you again,” she said, looking from the young man to her friend and back again.
“Having heard your divine rendition of the Ave Maria again, I can assure you the pleasure was mine, Miss Talbot. This time, I have brought you the flowers you deserve for another exquisitely perfect performance.” He bowed and offered her the roses. With a curtsy she accepted them with a smile. Lady Sweet smiled, too. She could see the pleasure on Dahlia’s face. It was a grown up gift for the little singer with a grown up voice.
“Shall we go in to take some refreshment? You must be thirsty after all that singing, Dahlia. Mr. Kent, will you join us?”
“If it would not be considered an intrusion, I’d be delighted,” he said, giving both ladies a winning smile. Sharon wondered just how many women had been won with that engaging smile. He held out his arm indicating they should precede him. Sharon went first, followed by Dahlia and Mr. Kent. As they walked towards the door to the suite where her father and friends were, Dahlia felt Mr. Kent’s hand on her back, just below her shoulder blades. It was the slightest touch, a gesture of ushering, surely. Even barely touching her, she felt a warmth from the hand and was acutely aware of its presence. Once through the door, the hand disappeared as James turned to close the door behind them. It did not reappear as he walked by her side as they approached her father.
Sharon introduced James to the Squire. Her father treated the introduction as he would any other - offhandedly. Sharon sighed inwardly. She would have to have a talk with him about the fact that his daughter was now of the age when the introduction to any young man should be regarded as a potential suitor. But the Squire immediately drew James into the conversation he was having with Sharon’s husband, Randal. It appeared political in nature and Lady Sweet grabbed Dahlia’s hand and led her to the punch bowl, leaving Mr. Kent to fend for himself in the lively debate between the two Quartermasters.
“Didn’t I tell you if his intentions were honorable he’d come back to see you?”
Dahlia smiled at Lady Sweet. “You did. I looked for him, but did not see him till the end. What beautiful roses!” She inhaled deeply over the small, elegant bouquet. No one in the vicinity of her neighborhood kept a hot house, so roses in the middle of winter were an anachronism to be treasured.
“I had a nice conversation with Mr. Kent while we were waiting for you in the hallway.”
“Oh? And what is your opinion of him, Lady Sweet?”
Sharon regarded Dahlia. Direct, as always. She did not talk arou
nd things like most girls her age who were being instructed in the art of euphemisms.
“I like him,” Sharon answered honestly – and just as directly. “He made an effort to inquire after you. That is a compliment.”
“Should I have made inquiries about him?” Dahlia asked.
“I have made some on your behalf,” replied Sharon. “He is half-Scottish, half-English, and the nephew of the Chief Justice, Lord Telford. He’s come here from Glasgow to study architecture.”
“Oh,” was all Dahlia said. Apparently these facts were not very interesting to her. “So why is he here?” Frankness again. “Is he just an admirer of my singing then as you said?” She looked over to where Mr. Kent stood by her father. As if he could feel her gaze, James glanced over to her and smiled, before turning back to the gentlemen.
“Oh I think he is quite taken with your talent, Dahlia. But young men do not normally spend two consecutive evenings in a concert hall if there is not some particular attraction there. You are young, but anyone can see you are going to be a beauty when you grow up. This could not have escaped his notice.”
“I have seen many pretty girls here in London. Is that all it takes for a boy to like you?”
Sharon laughed. “That and a nice dowry will take you far.”
“Have I a nice dowry?”
Sharon was surprised by the question, and didn’t know the answer. Squire Talbot’s holdings were considerable and his businesses appeared to afford him a good living, but with five sons she truly didn’t know what, if anything, he was putting aside for his daughter. She made a mental note to speak to her husband about this. It was not the sort of subject she could broach with Squire Talbot directly, but it had to be looked into nonetheless. Since she couldn’t answer the question, she said, “Don’t you worry about that now. You are far too young to be thinking of marriage.”
Dahlia frowned. “I wasn’t thinking of marriage, Lady Sweet. I was just curious as to what made boys like girls.”
“Why do you like certain boys better than others?”
Dahlia considered. “Well, I appreciate good sportsman. Boys that treat their horses and other animals well and are witty.” She thought some more and said, “And those who treat me like they do my brothers.”
Sharon laughed, noting looks had not warranted a place in her list. “And do you like Mr. Kent?”
“Yes,” she said without hesitation.
“Why?” challenged Sharon. “From what you told me of your conversation with him, you have no idea whether or not he is a good sportsman, he didn’t make you laugh, you have no insight into how he treats his animals, and I daresay he has not treated you as he would any of your brothers.”
She pondered the logic of this and shrugged her shoulders. “You are quite right. He doesn’t meet any of my criteria. I don’t understand.”
“No one does, my dear. It’s something illusive that cannot be defined or explained in logical terms. It is just something we feel.”
On the other side of the room, James was feeling trapped in a conversation in which he did not wish to be a part. It was not that his views on politics were decidedly different from that of Squire Talbot and Sir Sweet, for they were in general terms. But the men were not speaking of politics at the national level, but the local level. In his year in London, most of what James knew about local politics was limited to his uncle’s opinions, and he knew nothing of the local politics of Gloucestershire. He longed to be talking about anything at all with Dahlia. Her presence behind him and across the room was a palpable one, and he felt a pull in her direction that he could not indulge at present. Between his resistance to leave and go to Dahlia and the tension of trying to participate intelligently in a conversation to which he had nothing to add was making the time pass very slowly. Only about a quarter hour had actually passed, however, since his introduction to the gentlemen. Luckily for him, SIr Sweet tipped his goblet to find nothing there. He then looked to see if the Squire or James were similarly deficient in libations.
“Good god, man!” He said heartily looking at James. “We didn’t offer you a drink. Come, let’s remedy that immediately.” All three men sauntered towards the punch bowl, where Dahlia and Lady Sweet were talking quietly.
Once everyone had a full cup, James feared the men would again depart and he would not have the chance to talk to Dahlia. He therefore engaged her in conversation immediately. “We were just talking of the local politics in Gloucestershire, Miss Talbot. Do you have an opinion on that topic?” As quickly as he voiced the question, he regretted it. What was he doing asking a 13-year old girl about politics, except to embarrass her?
She surprised him, though, with her response. “I think that all politicians do not understand that you cannot build a reputation on what you promise to do, only on what you have demonstrated to have done.”
“Well put, daughter!” said the Squire, smiling.
“No one can argue that political point,” added Randal. “But that is the entire objective in engaging in political discussions – to argue!” He laughed.
Dahlia smiled. She liked Lady Sweet’s husband as much as she did her friend. “Lady Sweet tells me your uncle is an astute guardian of our laws, Mr. Kent. Does that profession not also involve arguments?”
“It does. But, no doubt, I have had more with my uncle than he has ever witnessed in the court rooms.”
“And what are the sources of these disagreements?”
“Anything from the general disapprobation he has of the younger generation to my feeding his dogs from the table, I’m afraid.”
Dahlia beamed at his answer and gave Lady Sweet a quick look. Credit for treating the dogs well.
James hoped to avoid any further inquiries regarding his relationship with his uncle. “How did you come by your name, Miss Talbot? Surely there is a good story behind such a unique moniker?”
James asked the question of her, but to his surprise her father answered. “Dahlias were her mother’s favorite flower.” His eyes misted slightly, thinking of her. “She used to joke that after five boys, her little girl would be the flower amidst the weeds.”
James hadn’t anticipated the question would touch on the tender subject of Dahlia’s mother. He tried to recolor the somber tint of the conversation. “Well, I think we should all be grateful your mother’s favorite flower was not the dandelion.”
Everyone laughed, and the conversation continued in much safer waters. Time for James sped by without him noticing. He was thoroughly enjoying the company and the opportunity to stare openly at Dahlia. He drank in those eyes, her expressions, the thoughts she shared openly with the group. She was, he noted, quite comfortable among adults and was able to follow and contribute to any and all topics which arose. It was very easy to forget that she was so young. He was reminded of it only when Lady Sweet suggested that they adjourn for the evening as Dahlia was performing at the cathedral the next morning.
As they all donned their coats and hats and gloves, James was finally able to speak with Dahlia alone.
“I have enjoyed this evening more than you know, Miss Talbot. I thank you once again for an unforgettable performance and the delightful company that followed.”
“I thank you for coming again, Mr. Kent. And for the lovely flowers.” She wanted to ask if he would come again, but Lady Sweet had indicated that seeing the same performance twice was unusual. Surely seeing it three times would be out of the question. “We are leaving London in two days. I daresay we will not have the pleasure of your company again during this trip.” The thought of not seeing him again distressed her as she thought this was to be their good-bye.
“Would you like to see me again, Miss Talbot?” He teased.
“Yes,” she said.
“Then so you shall.”
She did not have time to ask where or when, for her father and the Sweets approached and they all walked towards the door. When they were on the steps outside of the concert hall, their breath showing in small wisps of
mist in the cold, James took his leave of the Sweets, then turned to Dahlia with a bow. She climbed into the waiting carriage and sat opposite the Sweets. From the street, James knew only she could see him. He winked and blew a kiss. She smiled at him as the carriage moved forward, a new tune forming in her mind.
Chapter 5
Dahlia was anxious as she dressed for church. She couldn’t explain the way she felt; it was like the day she and her father waited for a new colt to arrive. The colt was the last offspring of the finest stallion in the southwest of England. She had been giddy with the anticipation of seeing the young horse, of taking care of him, earning his respect, training him. Dahlia couldn’t quite explain why she felt like that now. She was just going to church after all. She would be singing three hymns, then they were to go to a cousin of Lady Sweet’s for lunch.
The tune that had begun the night before was assembling itself in her mind, adding notes, adding instruments. She didn’t really know how this happened. It had begun at such an early age that she took it for granted. The music had always been there, in her head. She wasn’t sure how all the myriad permutations and combinations of notes sorted themselves out into such unique patterns. All she knew is the music came, unbidden. Some tunes were happy like the birds hopping around eating fallen grain in the barnyard. Some were mournful like the cry of a wolf. Some were playful like the puppies trying to grow into their big paws while chasing one another in the garden. Each of the horses had a tune that seemed in keeping with their size, temperament, and rhythm of their gait. Even the beautiful countryside around her home in Gloucestershire had its own music.
Dahlia's Music Page 4