Dahlia's Music

by Caitlyn Quirk

  “Mr. Kent! What are you doing here?”

  “Didn’t your brother tell you I was coming?”

  “Yes, yes. I mean what are you doing with the Roma – and dressed like one!” She stepped back and took in his appearance. Dressed in the big white shirt and with his dark curly hair, he could almost have passed as one of the Roma, except for those eyes. She could not have thought it possible for him to look any more handsome than usual, but dressed as he was he cut a dangerously dashing figure.

  “It was our good fortune young Master James came upon us yesterday,” said Isabel, watching Dahlia’s reaction to the Englishman. She guessed there was some partiality on Dahlia’s part that coincided with what she had perceived from James the evening before when the conversation had turned to the girl. The girl, however, was indeed becoming a woman. Isabel looked at Dahlia appraisingly and noted significant differences in her from last year. Of course she was taller, but the more adult cut of her dress emphasized her widening hips and bust. Her face had lost some of its roundness, replaced with more prominent cheekbones that set off her pale green cat’s eyes. Those eyes did nothing to dispel the Roma’s opinion of her as a witch. Isabel watched as those eyes seemed to drink in the appearance of the Good Samaritan who had joined their company. For a moment, she felt disappointed for she had always fancied having Dahlia as a daughter-in-law, even though she knew that would mean leaving a son at the Talbot estate. The heart, however, would not take direction from outsiders; it set its own course like a compass that always pointed due North. Isabel suspected Dahlia’s had already affixed on its chosen destination. She was comforted by her observations of Mr. Kent which indicated their path was focused in the same direction. There was nothing more painful than witnessing a person’s love pointed one way and the recipient’s attentions pointed elsewhere.

  “He helped us out of a very sticky situation, at great expense to his attire.” Alfonso and Christina joined their mother and told the story of the wagon trapped in the mud.

  “So you see,” said James. “I wanted to meet the Roma and was rewarded with the good fortune of having the pleasure of their hospitality first hand. I am tempted to write my uncle and tell him I am running away with them.”

  Dahlia laughed. “That would never do for an architect – the Roma do not like any ceiling but the night sky! It would be better for you to come stay at the house as planned and enjoy the Roma hospitality during the day!” She said it lightly, jokingly, but she sincerely hoped he was not intending to stay encamped with the Roma during his entire visit.

  “Wait till you see our new colt, Dahlia!” Chimed in Alfonso, oblivious to the true intent of her comments. “You will be the one to sleep under the night sky – right in his paddock!”

  Dahlia’s eyes widened and she clasped her hands together. “The colt! Yes – I want to see him right way!” Isabel almost felt sorry for the young Englishman who, despite their mutual affection, would have to fight for her attentions to a horse.

  James seemed to take it in stride, turning towards where the colt was tethered. “Wait till you see him, Miss Talbot. I imagined you riding him like a queen. What a picture that would be!”

  When Dahlia saw the black horse, she stopped and stared. Its coat shone in the sunlight with a hint of blue highlights. It raised its head proudly and looked right at her. The eyes were intelligent, appraising. It gave a short whinny but did not move.

  “He’s magnificent!” breathed Dahlia, slowing advancing towards the creature. The world around her disappeared except for the colt and she heard the colt’s music – stately but invigorating, fast yet disciplined, power under tenuous control. She approached the young stallion, holding out her hand so he could sniff it, then blowing gently into his nostrils. His nostrils flared slightly. Dahlia’s father had taught her that this was the way horses greeted one another in the wild, and good horse trainers had to understand and approximate equine behavior if they were to communicate with them effectively. The colt seemed to acknowledge the greeting, stamping his foot and nodding his head. She put a slight hand on the strong neck and rubbed the satiny coat, crooning soft words.

  Several paces away, Alfonso shook his head. “I’ve never seen anyone treat with horses the way that girl has always done.”

  James took in this new aspect of Dahlia he had heard about, but not witnessed. “There is no fear in her. My father always said that horses reflect our own emotions. If you are angry with a horse, they will be angry right back at you. If you are fearful, they will smell it and distrust you. If you are calm and respectful, they will do anything for you.”

  Alfonso nodded his head. “You father is a fine horseman.”

  “Was,” said James without looking at his new friend. Alfonso glanced at him, then across the camp at his father. He could not imagine life without his strong but quiet father. He had better manners than to probe James about this loss, but felt a moment of compassion for his journey into manhood without the guidance and love of a father.

  Not wanting to outstay her initial encounter with the colt, Dahlia slowly moved away from it towards Alfonso and James. Her face showed such absolute delight that James wished he was a painter, to capture that look on canvas for eternity.

  The three walked back towards the Talbots’ carriage, talking animatedly about the colt. Alfonso informed them he was a yearling, the last offspring of the grand stallion Salazar. “He’s a mind of his own, that one,” continued Alfonso. “Always worries me when a horse gives signs of being more intelligent than his handlers.”

  This only fueled Dahlia’s immediate love of the young horse. She never liked dull-witted horses that just plodded along aimlessly. She liked horses with spirit and personality and this one had both in abundance – she could tell by the look in his eye, and by his music.

  As the Roma prepared their camp, the Talbots and Matty headed back to the house in the carriage, with James riding alongside. Steven and Tom took James on a tour of the house and showed him his guest room, while Dahlia went to the conservatory and sat down at the piano.

  James heard the distant sound of music from somewhere in the large country house. The brothers took no note of it, but James thought it must be wonderful to have a house filled with music such as that she was playing. When his tour finished in the conservatory, they found Dahlia still playing and Michael in a nearby wingback reading a medical text. Steven and Tom continued their conversation with James, who found it distracting to his ability to listen to the music. How could her brothers be so immune to the joy that filled the air as her hands swept over the keys? He wondered whether the music had anything to do with it or if he was just happy to be staying in the same house with Dahlia. No, he concluded. Dahlia and her music were one and the same. He never enjoyed music so much before he heard her play or sing, and it was part of her mystique – her very being and her beauty.

  At length, the song finished and Dahlia turned to join in the conversation. Happy to be able to address her directly, and hoping to pry some time alone with her, James said, “Miss Dahlia, I understand the Sweets live nearby. Will I see them during my stay?”

  “Of course. They are but five miles away. They have already invited you to lunch tomorrow. We will ride over together. They will also be coming here for the banquet with the Roma two nights hence.”

  The Talbots explained that the Roma always held a banquet for the local families, mainly the Quartermasters’ families and a few others.

  “There will be dancing and singing and more wine than you can imagine could possibly be transported in their caravan!” exclaimed Steven. “It’s the highlight of their visit.”

  Dahlia and Tom both disagreed with their older brother. “Not true! The highlight is the fair – riding exhibitions, races, entertainment, all the Roma selling their wares and trading with folks coming from all over the county and sometimes further. It’s an all day event,” explained Dahlia.

  “That goes well into the night,” continued Tom. “The banquet will be
tame compared to the fair.”

  “Well,” said James. “Having never experienced either, I look forward to them both!”

  They all talked until called for dinner. James looked up, surprised. “Should I change?” he asked hesitantly.

  “Good god man. You’re in the country now,” laughed Tom. “We don’t bother unless we’re dressed in work clothes or expecting company. You won’t think less of us for our less than formal ways?”

  “Are you kidding?” laughed James. “In London I feel like I spend half my life changing perfectly clean clothes for every meal. No, it’s just that I’m still in the clothes Alfonso lent me.”

  “Dahlia,” said Steven. “Does Mr. Kent’s attire assault your delicate sensibilities?”

  They did, but not in the way her brother meant. “Of course not,” she said, looking straight at James. “You look perfectly acceptable to escort me to dinner.” Dahlia smiled as he stood up and offered her his arm. She thought the girls in the Gaggle would have been very proud of her for that maneuver.

  James was perfectly at home at the large, crowded dinner table and thought again of how he missed his own big family. How different this was to the cold, quiet dinners with his uncle. Even the additional conversation that occurred when Lord Stanmer visited was nothing to the laughing, joking and sometimes very loud dinner companions he had tonight. Despite the jokes of their being country folk, Squire Talbot had obviously taken pains to ensure all his children were well educated, as evidenced by the wide array of topics on which they all conversed well. Humor, the highest form of intelligence it was said, was abundant. Even Michael, who James guessed was a bit of a bookworm, had a sly sense of humor and interjected well-timed quips and puns that had everyone laughing until their sides hurt.

  The food was as good as any London household, and the wine was exceptional. Their manners may be somewhat relaxed, but the quality of how the Talbots lived was in no way diminished because of their location in the country. After an exceptional soufflé, the family moved to the library. Squire Talbot offered the boys brandy and everyone settled into comfortable leather chairs and sofas. James could tell that everyone had their favorite spot and this was likely a nightly ritual. Matilda joined them with tea for herself and Dahlia, and she sat down on the hearth with her back to the fire.

  As was his habit, Squire Talbot let everyone get comfortable, then said, “Have you a story for us tonight Matty?”

  She smiled and asked the usual question back. “Are we in the mood for a romance or a fairytale?” The consensus was an Irish fairytale, preferably, per the request of Tom and Steven, one with a very gory end for a very disagreeable creature. She obliged them by launching into the story of Tuan mac Cairill.

  James sat among the Talbots completely contented, listening to the singsong Irish lilt of Matilda weaving her tale. He looked over at Dahlia, sitting comfortably with her legs tucked up beneath her on the couch, scratching behind the ears of a hound. The firelight danced on her face and gave her hair the appearance of a halo. He thought he would be perfectly happy spending every evening for the rest of his life just as he had tonight.

  Chapter 29

  James and Dahlia walked to the stables in preparation for their ride to the Sweets. His architect’s eye noted the stone walls were very old indeed. Dahlia informed him that the foundations were left from the Romans before their departure from Britain, then built upon by subsequent inhabitants of the region. The stable yard was a tidy as the rest of the estate despite what appeared to be a very small support staff. James was surprised to see Dahlia don a thin overcoat and begin to get her own tack ready. She reached for some brushes to groom her horse and James stepped forward.

  “Don’t you have a groom to do that? Here let me,” he offered.

  “Nonsense. I don’t need a groom to do what I can do myself. Besides, father always taught us that a relationship with a horse begins with the care of them. You have to establish a rapport with them, know their bodies so well you can see or feel swellings or tenderness when you groom them. Did your father not teach you the same?”

  “Yes, naturally. But I just thought that…”

  “That because I’m a girl the rules did not apply to me?”

  “Well, yes, perhaps. Forgive me,” he said, and went about grooming his own horse.

  “As the only girl in a family of six men,” Dahlia explained from the stall next to his. “Most rules that would normally apply to girls were forgiven in my case.” She said with a touch of bravado, but then she knew a moment of uncertainty and stepped around the partition. “Will you…that is to say, are you put off by that?”

  James stood with an arm on his horse’s back, his other on his hip, staring at her. He was not used to girls second guessing themselves or asking such opinions – they were usually exceptionally proper or willfully blatant in their rejection of convention for which they wouldn’t think of apologizing.

  His hesitation in answering her question led Dahlia to believe he was indeed put off by her behavior, although she was trying to remember what exactly she had done that was so tomboyish or inappropriate in his presence. She had taken the regular saddle – not the sidesaddle down from the rack to use today, but she had not yet made that indiscretion of riding astraddle in front of him. She quickly put down the brush and went to switch the saddles.

  “Lady Sweet and Miss McElroy have been trying to coach me in becoming a lady, but I’m afraid I’m a little behind in that aspect of my education,” she said quickly.

  When she turned from the saddle rack, James was standing right in front of her. “Oh,” she said, stopping short.

  James took the saddle from her, smiling that smile that lit up his eyes and personified charm itself. “No, I am not put off by you in any way, Miss Talbot, by what you do or what you say. A lady is not defined just by her own actions, but by how others treat her. The more I am in your company, the better I know you are well loved and well respected by everyone in your acquaintance.” He looked down at the sidesaddle in his arms. “If,” he said, “you were to use this sidesaddle today, as most might think appropriate to visit Sir Randal and Lady Sweet, all good and well. But I should think no less of you to ride astraddle when you show me the cross-country course around the mountain that I have heard so much about.”

  “A compromise I can accept gladly,” Dahlia replied, relieved.

  James replaced the regular saddle with the sidesaddle and the two completed the grooming and tacking of their horses. They walked out to the stable yard and Dahlia was about to mount her horse when she heard James clear his throat. She turned to look at him, questioningly.

  “May I give you a leg up?” he suggested.

  “Oh, yes. Yes of course,” Dahlia was quickly making a mental list of all the things she should allow a gentlemen to do for her that heretofore she would do herself.

  She swung up easily with his help and adjusted her skirts to lay properly across the saddle and down the one side while James mounted.

  “Ready?” Dahlia nodded. “Lead the way, Miss Talbot.”

  Off they went, at a stately walk. Dahlia looked very fine on her chestnut horse whose coat nearly matched the color of her own hair. Once again he wished he had the talent to paint. Without it, his mental catalogue of pictures he wished to always remember was rapidly increasing in size.

  Dahlia was a good guide as she pointed out landmarks and provided interesting notes about the history of the surrounding area. James told her of the countryside around Glasgow and how Cirencester reminded him of it. He also told her of the contrast to the highlands of Scotland where his mother’s family lived.

  “It is much more rugged and mountainous with lots of rocky crags. More forests, but then you come across an exceptional glen where livestock do very well.”

  “It sounds very beautiful.”

  “It has a beauty of its own,” he said, remembering. “Its mountains and peaks are filled with magic.”

  “Magic?”

  “
Yes, magic. You can feel the old religions there with various sites with standing stones, and sacred places with stone cairns for remembering the dead.” James saw Dahlia looking at him with interest, so he continued. “They are not just markers from a time when headstones were too expensive or the remote areas did not have the skilled masons to create them. Prayers and wishes are said over each stone by loved ones as they place them on the spot. The fact that the cairns stay in place century after century had lead to the belief that the prayers and wishes bind them together as if they had mortar between them.”

  Dahlia smiled at the thought, and the fact that James spoke of the cairns with such respect. She would not have thought him sensitive to such superstitions, or a belief in magic. She liked this aspect of his character. In fact, the more she learned about James, the more she liked him.

  The journey to the Sweets was never so short, and for the first time ever, Dahlia regretting arriving there so quickly.

  Lady Sweet was on the terrace waiting for them. She smiled at the handsome couple as they approached, pleased that Dahlia had chosen to ride sidesaddle. Good girl, she thought. She took the hand of her toddler son, who had just started walking, and the two approached the stone steps of the entrance to greet her guests.

  After the formal greeting given by the young couple, Dahlia went to scoop up Randy. “How is my sweet Baby Sweet?” She kissed him on both cheeks and was rewarded with a sticky hand in her hair.

  Sharon took the baby and handed him to the governess who was always hovering close by. “Time for his nap. I’ve been keeping him very busy this morning so that he would go down during your visit. He thinks he is quite too big for naps and has started giving quite a fuss. I’m hoping I’ve tired him out enough he’ll go without a fight today!”