A Second Chance

by Shayne Parkinson

  Lily’s daughter Emma was a good deal better. She played two pieces, which were met with lively applause, then helped Rosie and Kate pass round plates of biscuits. Benjy had settled down again during Emma’s playing, and now sat contentedly gnawing at a biscuit.

  ‘Emma’s good on the piano,’ Frank said to Lily, who was sitting beside him. ‘She takes after you.’

  Lily smiled. ‘Thank you, Frank, that’s very kind of you. I think she does have something of a gift, and she’s very good about practising whenever she gets the chance. Those were simple pieces, though—I really can’t spend enough time teaching Emma to be able to take her much further.’

  ‘Bring her as often as you like. You know you’re welcome to come and use the piano any time.’

  ‘Oh, you’ve always made that clear. And I’m very grateful to you and Lizzie. But…’ She cast a quick glance at Arthur and Edie; Maudie was currently keeping them busy fussing over Lucy. ‘I can’t leave Father and Mother alone, you see,’ Lily said in a low voice. ‘Mother gets so forgetful now, I’m afraid she’ll burn herself or leave something on the range. And before Emma finished up at school, Father had a fall one day when I happened to be outside and he tried carrying the tea things. Bill’s very good, he insists on watching them himself at least once a week so that Emma and I can come here together, but the rest of the time either she or I need to be at home with them. I don’t mind,’ she said, seeing Frank’s expression. ‘They’ve been so good to me over the years, I don’t begrudge them the attention.’

  It seemed a shame, Frank thought, that his piano should sit idle most of the week, while Lily had to make do with snatched opportunities to play.

  Kate appeared at Lily’s side, and tugged at her skirt. She was a quietly-spoken child, easily hidden in Rosie’s shadow. ‘Can I play my song, Aunt Lily?’

  ‘When you’ve learned one, dear,’ Lily said, smiling at the five-year-old. ‘I’m going to start teaching you next year.’

  ‘But I know one already,’ Kate insisted. ‘I learned it by myself.’

  ‘Did you really?’ Lily said, gently amused. ‘Well, we’d better hear it—if Papa says that’s all right,’ she added, looking at Frank.

  ‘It’s the first I’ve heard about you playing the piano, Kate,’ said Frank. ‘Let’s hear you, then.’

  Kate clambered onto the piano stool, which was rather too high for her. She screwed up her face in concentration, then slowly but quite recognisably picked out the tune of “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” with her right hand.

  Benjy had escaped from Lizzie’s lap and made his way over to Frank, using various pieces of furniture and the occasional human leg for support along the way. He balanced himself against Frank’s chair while Kate played, listening with interest. Frank gathered the little boy onto his own lap, and Benjy nestled in comfortably.

  When Kate finished, there was a good-humoured burst of clapping. Benjy clapped his own chubby little hands and sang the last few notes, raising a laugh from his audience.

  ‘Did you learn that all by yourself, Kate?’ Lily asked.

  Kate nodded solemnly. ‘I learned it in my head. Then I tried and tried and tried it till it was right.’

  ‘Why, Lizzie,’ Lily said, still amused, ‘I do believe your two little ones are the most musical of them all. Kate’s obviously got an ear for music, and Benjy appreciates it as well. Perhaps I’d better start teaching them both!’

  Benjy recognised his name, and knew he was being talked of. He giggled delightedly, and sang a few more notes.

  ‘I never thought about getting any of the boys to learn piano,’ Lizzie said thoughtfully. ‘I don’t think the rest of them would’ve been any good at it. I expect Benjy would be, though.’

  ‘Well, let’s wait till he’s a bit older—perhaps when he starts school,’ Lily said, her tone suggesting that she was taking the idea seriously, though Frank caught the twinkle in her eye.

  With the children having performed, Lily at last allowed herself to take a seat at the piano. She started with a few familiar Christmas songs, playing them from memory, then arranged some sheet music on the stand. Frank was seated close enough to have a clear view of her face, and he could see from her expression that this was a piece she had been looking forward to playing.

  Lily had barely finished setting out the music when Bill came to her side.

  ‘I think we’re going to have to take Pa home,’ he said, keeping his voice low so that there was no risk of Arthur’s hearing him. ‘His leg’s playing up.’

  Frank looked around and saw Emma hovering near Arthur, attempting to adjust the cushions on his footstool. Arthur was insisting there was no need for anyone to be fussing over him, but his expression made it clear that he was in some discomfort.

  Lily at once began tidying away her music. ‘Of course. I’ll be ready in just a moment.’

  ‘Sorry, love,’ said Bill. ‘You didn’t get the chance to play any of your fancy stuff.’

  ‘Oh, I could do with practising that one a little more before it’s fit for public performance,’ Lily said, determinedly bright. ‘Don’t worry, Bill. It’s high time we left, anyway—Mother and Father will be getting sleepy before long, they often have a doze around now.’ She closed the lid of the piano and allowed her hand to rest on it for a moment; Bill’s eyes followed the gesture.

  Lily sent Emma out to find her brothers and tell them to bring the buggy around. Arthur deigned to allow Bill to help him out of his chair and pass him his walking stick, and Frank’s family saw the Leiths out to the gate.

  ‘Tell Beth we were sorry not to be able to see her today,’ Lily said as Bill helped her up into the buggy. ‘I thought we might call in on her, but we’d better get straight home. How’s she keeping?’ she asked, too quietly for the children to hear.

  ‘She has her ups and downs,’ said Lizzie. ‘She wouldn’t be up to seeing you all at once, anyway.’

  ‘Poor dear,’ said Lily. ‘She’ll be so glad when it’s all over.’

  ‘We all will be,’ Lizzie said; Frank agreed whole-heartedly.

  *

  At Jimmy’s club, the food was excellent and the company for the most part congenial. He often found it preferable to his own home as a place to pass the evening, though it had to be admitted it was not an inexpensive choice. But Charlotte had been indulging in one of her weepy moods lately, when she took to fretting over how far she was from her father and brothers back in Melbourne. There was a time when such moods had usually included laments over her childlessness, but that seemed to have ceased over the last few months, for some reason.

  He studied the brandy glass in his hand, and idly considered what he might do with the rest of the evening. Luck had not been with him at the card tables earlier; nothing he considered serious, but perhaps it would be better not to seek expensive female entertainment tonight.

  The deep armchairs were comfortable, and the brandy had given him a pleasant feeling of languor. Perhaps he would spend another hour or two here, then go home. With luck, Charlotte would have gone to bed by then, and he would not have to hear her complaints.

  ‘Ah, Taylor, there you are,’ came a hearty voice. Jimmy looked up to see the portly figure of the club’s manager, Mr Ballard, standing over him. ‘Can we have a word in my office, if you have a moment?’

  Jimmy swallowed the last mouthful of brandy and hauled himself upright. The room gave a disconcerting tilt as he did so; he reached out and grabbed at the back of the armchair, hoping Ballard had not noticed. There had been a particularly fine claret served with dinner that evening; he had perhaps had a little more of it than was his wont, especially as he had enjoyed one or two glasses of port at the card tables afterwards. He found himself having to watch his footing as he followed in Mr Ballard’s wake, and briefly considered whether it might not have been wiser to have stopped at one brandy once he had settled in to the lounge.

  Still, there was no use worrying about that now. He followed Ballard into a small but well
-furnished room, and hoped the man would not be too tedious over whatever it was he wanted to ramble on about.

  Mr Ballard closed the door behind them, sat at a desk and indicated the chair nearest it. ‘I’ve just been going over the accounts.’ A large book lay open on the desk; he patted it with one pudgy hand. ‘You seem to have overlooked settling up for a while, Taylor. I know these things can slip one’s mind,’ he said, smiling benevolently. ‘But when they start to mount up, it’s best to put matters back in order.’

  ‘Oh, certainly,’ Jimmy said, making an effort not to show his irritation. The man had dragged him from a comfortable chair for this nonsense. ‘Yes, I’ll look into it when I get home. Must have mislaid the account, eh?’

  ‘You must have mislaid a few of them, old man. These are dating back some time now. Accounts from the bar, and the dining room—and your membership fee is well past due, I see.’

  ‘Really? I can’t imagine how that got missed. Yes, I’ll look into that tonight.’

  ‘That’s the way. Wouldn’t want to think you weren’t going to pay, would we? We wouldn’t want to eject you, ha ha!’

  The man was becoming impertinent. Really, as a member of the club Jimmy was more or less his employer. He had no business taking that tone.

  ‘I should think not,’ Jimmy said sharply. ‘Not with my connections.’

  Rather than appearing chastened, Ballard looked amused. ‘Connections? My dear fellow, with the greatest respect, I wouldn’t call them anything out of the ordinary.’

  ‘No? You wouldn’t call Sarah Millish out of the ordinary?’ Jimmy snapped, his own words taking him by surprise. He had not quite intended to mention Sarah by name. He had been treading carefully since their last rather heated meeting the previous month. He had made no further attempt to call on her, aware that it might take some time for her to settle down after having got herself in such a state.

  The girl certainly had a nasty temper on her. The way she had spoken to him! Her own father! It was almost beyond bearing. Why the devil couldn’t she have inherited more of Amy’s nature? It was a damned shame that Amy hadn’t stayed in Auckland longer, and not only for the possibilities it might have offered Jimmy. It had been on the tip of his tongue to tell Sarah she really should have Amy to stay again, and soon: she could do with her mother’s influence.

  Well, the words were out now, and he had the satisfaction of seeing that they had taken Ballard aback.

  ‘Miss Millish? May I ask what your connection is with her?’

  ‘Shall we say… both business and personal,’ Jimmy said, affecting a lofty tone.

  To his annoyance, Ballard looked sceptical. ‘Personal, eh? I won’t ask you to be indiscreet, then. I’d have thought she was a little young for you, Taylor.’

  ‘I’m certainly not referring to anything improper!’ Jimmy said, outraged at the suggestion.

  ‘I’m pleased to hear it,’ said Ballard, though in rather too salacious a tone to appease Jimmy. ‘So what did you mean by a business connection, then? Hmm?’

  ‘I mean that such trifling matters as the odd bill I’ve run up here will soon be of no consequence,’ Jimmy said, stung once again by Ballard’s superior manner. ‘I have expectations of gaining access to considerable resources. Resources I’m perfectly entitled to, but there are matters of some delicacy involved.’

  ‘Are you implying that Miss Millish owes you money?’ Mr Ballard asked, regarding Jimmy with rather more respect.

  Jimmy considered his words. ‘Yes, she most certainly does,’ he said after a moment. ‘A substantial amount.’ After all, he reflected, there could hardly be a greater debt than owing her very existence to him.

  ‘Well, that does put a different complexion on things. And when are you expecting payment of this debt?’

  ‘Oh, quite soon now,’ Jimmy said airily.

  ‘Is there a particular date it’s due?’ Mr Ballard probed. ‘I’d like to see your account with us settled before too much longer, and if it’s waiting on this matter…’ He turned a quizzical expression on Jimmy.

  ‘Well, it’s all somewhat delicate,’ Jimmy said, trying not to sound as if he was floundering for the right words. ‘So it may take a little longer yet. It’s not quite… it’s not exactly in writing, as such. You might say it’s more a matter of honour.’

  Mr Ballard frowned. ‘Just a verbal agreement, then? Hmm, that can be a ticklish business. One ends up relying on the other party’s being honorable—which I’m sure Miss Millish is,’ he added hastily. ‘If things have got a little awkward, Taylor, I’d be more than happy to act as a go-between. I flatter myself that I have certain skills when it comes to handling negotiations.’

  ‘No, no, there’ll be no need for that. No, just leave it in my hands. Miss Millish and I are on the verge of getting everything sorted out. Goodness, is that the time?’ he said, pretending concern as he glanced at the clock in one corner. ‘I need to be off home, we’re expecting guests this evening. Good night to you, Ballard.’

  He rose and left the office, and soon after went out into the street to hail a cab. There was no chance of a peaceful evening at the club with Ballard hovering about making a nuisance of himself, so he might as well go home. It was unfortunate that the guests he had referred to were entirely fictitious; he would have to make do with Charlotte’s company.

  *

  Sarah was working in her study when Alice informed her that a gentleman was in the hall. Sarah studied the card the maid had brought in, puzzled as to what the man might want. She knew that her father had belonged to this club, though his visits to it had been rare. But she had no association with it herself, and was not likely to, given that it excluded women.

  ‘You’d better show him in, Alice.’

  Alice soon ushered in a rather red-faced man with a large moustache. He was breathing heavily; Sarah suspected that the walk uphill had been more vigorous exercise than he was used to.

  She extended her hand to be shaken by a somewhat clammy one. ‘Ah, Miss Millish. Delighted,’ Mr Ballard said, beaming at her. ‘I knew your late father, of course—sadly missed—but I’ve never had the pleasure of calling on you till now.’

  ‘And to what to I owe the honour of this visit?’ Sarah asked, withdrawing her hand as soon as she politely could.

  ‘Oh, the honour is all mine, I assure you. But I decided to call just to see if I could be of use in certain matters. I realise it must be very difficult for a young lady in your position to keep on top of things.’

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t follow you, Mr Ballard,’ Sarah said, quite aware that she was being patronised, but mystified as to what the man might be referring. ‘I have no connection at all with the Empire Club, as I’m sure you know.’

  ‘Ah, yes, we’re deprived of such delightful company as yours. But I’m aware that you’re acquainted with one or two of our more fortunate members—in a business sense, that is,’ he added hastily. ‘And I learned recently of a certain involvement with one particular member that seems to have become somewhat confused. In such cases it can be useful for a third party to become involved. That’s why I’m here to offer my assistance.’ He sat back in his chair and smiled benignly.

  Sarah thought rapidly, unpicking Ballard’s words to find the sense that she was sure must be hidden there. The man was somewhat pompous, but he was unlikely to be a fool. Awareness dawned, and with it an anger that she kept tightly under control.

  ‘Could I ask the name of the person to whom you’re referring?’

  ‘Certainly, Miss Millish. I’m speaking of Mr Taylor.’ He nodded knowingly. ‘And if for whatever reason you’d prefer not to speak directly to him over this matter, I’m more than willing to act as agent for both parties.’

  ‘I find myself at something of a disadvantage, Mr Ballard. I don’t know the nature of the “matter” to which you refer. I must ask you to be more precise.’

  ‘Ah, dear lady, I realise this is all rather delicate. And I certainly don’t wish to probe int
o your personal affairs.’

  ‘Oh, please have no compunction on that score,’ Sarah said, aware that her voice had become sharp. ‘I’d like to have the details of whatever is going on here.’

  ‘Well,’ Mr Ballard said, studying her somewhat apprehensively, ‘I understand from Mr Taylor that a sum of money is owed him. I gather there isn’t a formal contract as such, but there was an understanding that funds would be forthcoming. That’s certainly how Taylor seems to have seen it, and… well, to be frank, Miss Millish, he appears to have found himself a little short of ready money as a result. I get the impression that he’s understandably somewhat reluctant to broach the subject with you, so I thought I’d help matters along if I could, just to save any awkwardness on either side.’

  To save himself from the embarrassment of having allowed a debt to be run up by an untrustworthy party would be a more accurate statement, Sarah suspected. But that was Mr Ballard’s problem, not hers. This was no struggling tradesman who had been unlucky enough to fall into Mr Taylor’s path, and trusting enough to believe him.

  ‘Unfortunately, Mr Ballard, you are under a misapprehension,’ she said crisply. ‘Any debt owed by me to Mr Taylor exists only in his own imagination. There is no contract, verbal or otherwise. No agreement, no handshake, and certainly no obligation on my part. Mr Taylor has simply taken it upon himself to claim an association with me to further his own interests. I’m sorry to say it’s not the first time he’s done such a thing, though I believe it will be the last.’ She fixed Mr Ballard with a hard gaze. ‘I value my good name, and I won’t allow it to be abused in this way—not by anyone.’

  She had the satisfaction of seeing his composure slip. ‘I assure you, Miss Millish—’ he began, but Sarah pressed on as if he had not spoken.

  ‘If Mr Taylor has incurred a debt with you, I advise you to take whatever measures are at your disposal to retrieve it, so long as such measures don’t involve insulting other parties by implying less than honourable dealings. And I would advise you to take care against repeating slander.’