Aydy's Fiddle - The Memory Thief

by Edward Curnutte

  After a few minutes, he backed off and cupped her tear-stained face in his hands.

  “Don’t worry about those visions, Angel. Just please promise me you won’t discuss them with Emma, and that you won’t talk to anyone else about them ever again except me. Promise? Please Angel, you must promise me this.”

  The teary-eyed girl looked at him and nodded twice.

  “All right, Pépé’s violin is gone and everything will be all right,” he said in a comforting voice. “You have your very own violin now.”

  The girl continued crying. “But Papa, I get visions with the new one, too.”

  Chapter 15

  The annual Premier’s Competition was truly a grand event in which aspiring musicians could showcase their talents. It was also the last big musical event to take place before the school year started in September. This year the competition would take place at the country estate of Sir Charles Stanley near London, Ontario, some 100 miles distant. It was a major event which attracted people from all over southwestern Ontario, including the social elite from Toronto, London, and Berlin. This year even the Premier of Ontario himself, Oliver Mowat, would be in attendance along with several other politicians and dignitaries. The prerequisites for participating in the competition were either five years of intensive music study in an accredited musical academy, or a letter of reference from a recognized musical scholar.

  Joseph and Professor Hergicksen were intent on Alexandra going to this event. They both agreed, one with the other, to encourage her to pursue her musical ambitions as far as she wanted or was able. Professor Hergicksen was all too pleased to sign a letter for Alexandra so she could compete. However, she had her own reasons for going. Among them was that she would be able to meet other musicians and get to know her craft better. She loved playing in public and wanted to see if she could play with other musicians. Wouldn’t it be grand, she thought, to be part of a musical ensemble?

  Alexandra was, meanwhile, learning how to tell which visions were important and which ones she could dismiss. The visions about George, Clara and Owen were important, of course, while visions she had of Charlie McKay hauling logs from his farm or Mrs. Labonte singing as she peeled potatoes were easily dismissed. Other visions were even amusing, such as the one she had of Mrs. Tellier as a young girl getting into a fight with a boy, grabbing him by his shirt and pulling off all his buttons.

  She and Joseph reasoned that the visions were only a byproduct of her playing and the music was the only reason she played. Now she had gotten into the habit of making light of any unimportant visions until they became like a dream to her and, as such, were almost always forgotten.

  * * *

  On the day of the competition, Alexandra rose before dawn and went downstairs in a groggy state, rubbing her eyes. She was still dressed in her nightgown and hadn’t even brushed her hair. Her father was sitting at his usual table enjoying the morning quiet.

  “Good morning, Angel, what’s wrong? Are you all right?”

  “I slept badly last night,” she said, “I don’t know, but I think maybe I’m real nervous about the competition.”

  “Just remember that the main point in going is to have fun. If you move your musical career forward then that’s so much the better. Besides, your fans are all going to be there!”

  “My fans? Who are they?”

  “Naturally that would be myself, the Maestro and Emma. A new fan joining us today is Robbie. I presume you know him?” he said, laughing. “Since it’s just a day trip, his parents thought it would do him good. Now let’s have some breakfast.”

  Following breakfast, Joseph excused himself to do some errands and Alexandra went up to her room and began dressing. Then, she sneezed. Then she sneezed again. And again. Hoping her father wouldn’t hear, she tried muffling her sneezes. She knew he would insist she stay home if she wasn’t feeling well, so she tried her best to conceal her illness. For the time being, she was successful.

  Meanwhile, Marcie arrived at work and was busy, as usual, preparing everything in the café.

  Alexandra descended the stairs, violin case in hand. She had chosen to wear a light blue dress with white ruffles around her long sleeves, hem and neckline. She caught sight of Marcie, who stopped in her tracks.

  “Good morning, Vogelein!” Why are you so dressed up?”

  A sneeze was Alexandra’s answer.

  “Oh no! Are you feeling under the weather?”

  “I’ll be right as a trivet, Marcie. We’re all going to London for a music competition. It’s my first,” she sniffled.

  “Are you sure you can go? Maybe you should stay home and get some rest? I’m going to be making my famous pork soup with vegetables today and I can bring some up to you!”

  “Oh, no thanks Marcie. Everything will be fine. I feel … sniff … Better … sniff … Already.” She sneezed again.

  “Alexandra, you can’t fool a woman with six kids!”

  No matter what arguments Marcie could put forward, Alexandra was determined to get to London. Besides, the train tickets had been bought, the letter of reference signed, and everyone was looking forward to going. She couldn’t disappoint them now.

  At that moment the brass bell on the door clanged brightly. Marcie and Alexandra turned to see who it was.

  “Oh, I see you’re ready!” said Emma, wearing her olive dress. “I can’t wait! Can we walk to the train station together?”

  Alexandra looked at Marcie, speaking through sniffles. “Can you tell Papa we’ll meet him at the train station?”

  “I will, though it’s against my better judgment,” said Marcie.

  Alexandra took her violin and set off with Emma.

  Upon their arrival they found Robbie waiting with his father. “Good morning!” said Robbie, looking down at the violin case in Alexandra’s hand. “Did you get a new case for your pépé’s violin?”

  “Not just a new case, but a new violin too,” she said, sniffling. “I gave the other one to Owen.”

  The boy frowned. “But why? Why would you give him your magic violin?”

  “It’s a long story Robbie and maybe I’ll tell you sometime. Anyway, here comes my papa and the Maestro!”

  With all the greetings and goodbyes said, the five boarded the train and took their seats, waiting to depart. Robbie took his seat between the two girls, looking rather dapper with his new haircut and smart looking suit.

  Alexandra sat in her usual place at the window, looking at the goings-on outside; always interested in observing the people milling about and maybe even seeing a ship pass by on the Detroit River. She knew her interest in things beyond the window wouldn’t seem strange to her father, who again was sitting opposite them chatting away with the professor. She was sure he wouldn’t have a clear view of her face.

  “All aboard!” cried the conductor. Alexandra glanced towards the aisle as the final few passengers boarded the train.

  “Good morning, brother,” said a familiar, passing voice. Alexandra diverted her attention again, seeing George, Clara, Owen, and a smartly dressed young man she didn’t know. They were amongst the last passengers to board the train.

  “Morning,” said Joseph.

  “We’re taking Owen to compete again at the Premier’s Competition in London today,” said George, beaming. He scanned the five in their seats, shifting his gaze between the professor and Alexandra. “I heard you’re going there to watch. There’ll be a lot of good talent there, you might even enjoy it.”

  Joseph opened his mouth as if to speak, but the words came from an ill Alexandra. She coughed and sneezed, speaking in a muffled voice.

  “I’m going there to compete, Uncle George, not just to watch. I know I’m very new at this, but I have lots of help and support here with me,” she said as the train started moving.

  “Well! I see the kind of support you have here, Alexandra. You’ve got yesterday’s man here helping you and even the schoolboy weakling. I’m sure you’ll do quite well.” Turning his attent
ion to Joseph, he continued. “Well, brother, you’ll obviously stop at nothing to show off your snotty-nosed little star, won’t you? After all, why let a little cold ruin your plans? However, all is not lost. Perhaps one of her men can wipe her nose while she plays.”

  Owen burst out laughing. He looked scornfully at Robbie, who sat there, his vision locked on Owen while nearby passengers turned their heads towards this strange exchange.

  Clara remained silent, though her face was unusually rosy. This time the professor stood up as if he wanted to say something. He sat back down when Alexandra spoke up.

  “It was my choice to go on this trip, Uncle George. If my father knew I was ill he would not have allowed me to come. I know this. He has helped me through a great many things and he’ll help me through this too.” She dabbed her nose with a handkerchief. “Uncle George, don’t you think it’s important to help a member of your family when they need it most? I mean, could you just stand there watching one of them suffer? Could you stand there coldly while they pleaded and begged you for help and not do anything at all? Could you? Did you?”

  “Alexandra!” said Joseph. “What did we talk about the other day?”

  “I’m sorry, Papa.”

  George stood a moment; an angry redness rising up across his face. He pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes, his vision cutting an unbroken line directly to Alexandra. He stood like that a few moments more before appearing to relax, the redness draining from his face. “Very well,” said George, “I apologize to you all for my rude remarks. They were completely uncalled for. Good luck Alexandra in the competition and I hope you feel better soon. Good day to you all.”

  Alexandra watched her Uncle George and his family take their seats several rows ahead.

  The professor turned to Joseph, commenting to him in a low, gruff voice, yet loud enough for Alexandra to hear. “That man’s audacity and rudeness knows no depth Joseph. I’ve never seen a more disgusting exhibition in all my life!”

  As it was, Alexandra spent the whole train ride nursing her cold, the symptoms of which had now fully developed. She wondered how she could play her violin like that, especially if she had to sneeze.

  “I’m sure the judges and organizers will understand if you withdraw from the competition, Aydy,” said Emma.

  “I think she’s right,” said Joseph. “There’s no shame in withdrawing because of illness, and everyone will understand. We can take the next train home.”

  Alexandra dabbed at her nose with her handkerchief. “Papa, do you remember what I told you not long ago? Believe me; it’s very important that I play. I know you understand what I mean.”

  Joseph looked at her as she blew her nose and slouched in her seat. A look of deep concern crossed his face.

  “Tea with lemon, please,” ordered Joseph when the steward came round. “Actually, make it two teas with lemon.”

  When the train arrived in London some two hours later, the passengers began to disembark. The elder Delmott clan exited first and politely nodded to Joseph et al as they passed down the aisle. All, that is, except Owen. When he walked down the aisle past Alexandra, he tried smirking at her, but she turned her head to look out the window. After a few moments she sensed him still standing there. Eventually prodded by other passengers to move on, Owen continued down the aisle and exited the train.

  Alexandra, sneezing and wheezing, boarded a waiting coach with her travelling companions. The carriage started off, the horses’ hooves clopping along the old cobblestone street, bound for the estate home of Sir Charles Stanley.

  * * *

  A wealthy businessman who made his fortune in the pharmaceutical industry, Sir Charles was about as distinguished as a gentleman could get. Born and raised in Cornwall, England, he had a distinctive accent as well as a pleasant demeanour. He stood almost six feet tall, had a large frame which he filled well, and dark hair which was longer on the top of his head, and closely cropped on the sides and back. On this day he greeted his guests in his top hat and tails.

  Sir Charles’ mansion stood on the banks of the Thames River near London. He often entertained guests in the Great Room of the house. In this large, elegant room the music competition itself would take place. Scattered about on the expansive grounds of the estate were several marquees, their sprawling canvas covers providing shelter for the many guests, as well as places for string quartets to practice and perhaps offer impromptu performances. Waiters roamed about the house and garden offering hors d’oeuvres to the guests.

  As was his custom, Sir Charles Stanley and his wife welcomed each dignitary and performer upon their arrival. George Delmott’s carriage was the first to pull up to the grand estate.

  “Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Delmott,” said Stanley. “Good morning to you too, Owen. I trust you all had a good journey. Your guest?”

  “May I present Franko Bortellini? Franko, this is Sir Charles Stanley. Franko is Owen’s new personal violin tutor and musical mentor,” said George.

  “I’m pleased to meet you Mr. Bortellini, and welcome.”

  “Likewise,” said Bortellini.

  “McLean here will show you all to your places in the Great Room.”

  Everyone followed Stanley’s assistant – except George, who lingered behind. “Stanley, it’s time to collect a favour.” George’s voice was low and businesslike.

  “You’ve been good to me, George and helped me a lot. Of course, just name your favour and it’s as good as done.”

  “Do you remember that concoction you made for me a number of years ago?”

  “Of course.”

  “Good. I brought the rest of it with me today. I need you to administer it to someone,” he said as he produced a small vial and handed it to Stanley.

  “To whom?” said Stanley, accepting the vial and placing it discreetly in his pocket.

  “To that little witch of a niece I have. She’s coming here today to perform.”

  “Little witch?”

  George appeared irritated. “Don’t be so stupid, Stanley. I meant Alexandra. You know – my brother’s daughter. I think she’s twelve. Good fortune has made my task a lot easier because she’s not feeling well and has some sort of cold. I want you to be the gentleman you are and give her that concoction. Tell her it’ll alleviate her suffering. After she takes it, it’ll surely put her out of commission for at least several days.”

  “But George, why? She’s just a child! You know how powerful that is and what it can do! What on earth could she have done to deserve that!”

  “That matter doesn’t concern you.”

  “I’m not going to be party to this, George. Whatever you have against the girl is your own business, but don’t bring me into it. I’ll not be the devil’s hand – favour or not.” Stanley tried returning the vial, but George took a step back.

  “This is no time to be a coward, Stanley,” said George, hardening his tone. “I’d do the deed myself but she’d likely not accept it from me. But from you – the druggist, the healer – it would be perfect. You could get away with it by saying the medication didn’t agree with her system. No one would suspect it. I need you to do this for me, Stanley. Don’t disappoint me. You’re well aware of all the connections I have. Remember, I’ve been working on your legal contracts. I’ve seen your financial statements. I know about your imports and exports and I know you’ve been cheating the government on tax money. You do know that if you get audited they’ll close you down, take everything you’ve got, throw you in prison. So the choice is yours. I’m not asking you to kill the girl, Stanley, just knock her down for a few days. That’s all!”

  Stanley looked at George and nodded, then watched as he walked away.

  Soon another coach pulled up to the grand estate with familiar people aboard. Its occupants soon exited and Stanley, still shaken by his conversation with George, recomposed himself in order to greet his guests in a welcoming and friendly manner.

  “Welcome to the Premier’s Competition,” he said, forcing
a smile. “You must be Alexandra Delmott.”

  Alexandra curtsied. “I am, and I’m thrilled to be here,” she said, sniffling. “You have such a lovely, charming home, Mr. Stanley. It must be very inspiring for artists, musicians, writers, poets or anyone who wishes to have a place in which they can allow their creative minds to wander. This is my first competition and I’m so sorry to attend it with a cold.”

  “Nothing to forgive!” he said before turning to Joseph. “That one’s a charmer. You must be Alexandra’s father.”

  “Yes sir, I am. My name is Joseph, and these are Alexandra’s friends Emma Brindle and Robert Stuart. I’m sure you already know Professor Hergicksen.”