He managed the piece in its entirety, with only one or two minor fumbles which, had they come from the fingers of a less accomplished pianist, might have gone unnoticed. Christopher recognised them all, though, and turned to his sister, already braced for her criticism. He did not expect to see tears streaking down her face.
“Was it so very bad?” he asked, a strangled laugh escaping his lips. He clasped his hands together, rubbing some life back into the fingers that felt tense and awkward, even now.
“No,” Rosemary smiled, dabbing at her cheeks. “It is just that piece...that was Richard’s favourite.”
Christopher’s heart sank. Richard. How could he have forgotten his friend, the very reason that Rosemary was here by his side every day instead of the mistress of her own home, wife to the man she had loved so deeply and well. Climbing from his seat he crossed the room and dropped a kiss on his sister’s forehead.
“Don’t cry, dear,” he said, with a tenderness he did not often use with his sharp-witted, clever sister. “I can spare an hour or two from working this afternoon, and the weather is brighter today. What say you to the idea of a walk? You might show me all the places you have found in Castleford that are your particular favourites and I promise to admire every one!”
Chapter Five
Bess was the first of all her sisters to be ready for their evening at Northridge Place. This was not an unusual circumstance in itself, for of all the sisters it was Louisa who devoted the most time to her appearance. What was unusual was that Juliet was not already in the parlour waiting when Bess tiptoed over the threshold.
Surprised to find the room empty, she sat still for a moment, eager not to crease her dress or come to some misfortune. The ticking of the clock struck her as absurdly loud, though, and she soon tired of sitting still and silent. She crossed lightly to the piano, perching on the stool and picking out a scale. This soothed her nerves, for whilst she knew Edmund well and liked him, she could not help but feel a little anxious at the prospect of an evening as a guest in his house, particularly under the watchful eyes of his Mama, who had been an intimidation to Bess since she was a young child.
Scales soon gave way to music and Bess found herself playing something entirely new, a composition based on a piece she had almost abandoned mastering. It was inspired by something of Mr Cluett’s last work, but she took it and made it her own, slowing down certain pieces, stripping out the melody and rearranging it until nobody could deduce its source but her.
“That is a very pretty piece, dear!”
Bess startled, fumbling a chord, and spun in her seat, surprised to see Juliet standing a few feet away from her, fussing with the neckline of her dress.
“Oh, you must not stop on my account!” She looked up from her task and smiled encouragingly. “Play a little more. I do not recognise it, is it something new?”
“Yes,” Bess stammered, feeling an uncomfortable heat prickle in her cheeks. “Do you like it?”
“I liked what I heard of it,” Juliet said, with a merry laugh. “Play a little more, then I shall give you a fuller opinion of it.” Smoothing her skirts, she took a step closer to the piano. “You were certainly fully engaged, I do not believe you heard me come into the room!”
Bess did not answer, turning back to the piano and settling her fingers over the keys. She played tentatively at first, gaining in confidence as she traced the melody she had made her own. When she finished, she turned to her sister with an anxious expression and was satisfied to see the broad smile on Juliet’s face.
“It is a charming piece! You must play it this evening, so that Edmund may hear it.” She nodded, forestalling Bess’s protest. “You know he always requests that you play something when we dine there, and he will like this as much as I do, I am sure. Who is the composer?”
Bess murmured her answer, dropping her chin to her chest in hopes that Juliet would neither discern it nor pursue it. She was not so fortunate, though, and Juliet leaned closer, angling her head to meet Bess’s gaze.
“Your sister,” Bess confessed, quietly. “I made it up. That is, it was based on something I was practising, so I do not suppose I can take credit for the whole.”
“Nonsense!” Juliet clasped her hands together in delight. “You composed it? You did, Bess? Oh, well, then no wonder I liked it so much. How clever you are! I always knew my sisters to be the best and most talented of all the young ladies in England and now I have evidence. You must certainly play it for Edmund tonight and just you wait and see how I will brag that I know the composer personally! He may trot out his fancy London connections all he wishes, but I do not suppose even Mr Cristopher Cluett showed such prodigious talent - oh!”
She clamped a hand over her mouth, a picture of frustration, and her next words came out muffled.
“It was supposed to be a surprise and here I have almost spoiled it myself!”
“What was?” Bess frowned, wondering what on earth her sister could mean.
“Nothing!” Juliet’s expression switched almost immediately and she leaned over to smooth a loose curl on Bess’s head. “Nothing at all. Pay me no mind. I am all scatter-brained for this evening, as it has been a day at least since I saw hide or hair of our mischievous neighbour and you know how Edmund Gale exists only to plague me.” She pulled a face and Bess sighed.
“I thought you and he had made friends again. What has happened now to upset you?”
“Not a thing!” Juliet’s eyes sparkled with fun. “Yet. I am just readying myself for his next blunder, for you know it is only a matter of hours before he tries my patience in some way or another.”
Bess frowned.
“You are too harsh on him.” She liked Edmund and would stoutly defend him against Juliet’s current position, where she seemed to not only expect but rejoice in anything he did that was not to her taste. “You act as if he is not entirely in love with you - and you are not with him.”
This last had been blurted out only because Bess heard footsteps on the stairs and before Juliet could summon a response the door flew open and Mr Turner stepped in with an appraising smile.
“Ah, my two sensible girls are ready, of course. Now we only await your Mama and Louisa before we may make our way up the hill to dinner.” He pulled a face. “It may be some time yet, my dears. I do hope you are not very hungry...”
Bess slipped out of Juliet’s grip, ignoring the shocked expression that her sister still struggled to wipe from her face, and stood on tiptoe to press a kiss on her father’s thin cheek.
“I shall go and help them, Papa. Do not fret. I am sure they shall not be long!”
“I DO NOT SEE WHY THE Turners are not capable of hosting their own guests.”
Mrs Gale was sitting quite peaceably with her son in the Northridge Place parlour, waiting for their dinner guests to arrive.
“I am sure they are, Mama,” Edmund replied, calmly examining his fingernails. He had not missed the note of challenge in her voice but refused to rise to it. Lifting his head, he smiled. “On this occasion, because the guests are ours, the dinner must be also.”
Mrs Gale sniffed and for one brief, shining moment Edmund dared to believe she would let the matter lie. A moment was all the peace he was afforded, however, for she soon began to tug at the thread of her irritation once more.
“This Cluett. Do you know him well? Why is it, then, that I have never heard his name mentioned before this evening?”
“That I cannot tell you, Mother.” Edmund got to his feet, walking over to stand before the fireplace. He raked a hand through his curls. “By all accounts, he is quite the most sought-after musician in the country at present.”
“And yet he chooses to debut his next composition in Castleford?”
This time Mrs Gale did not even attempt to conceal her derision. She had made no secret of how little she approved of the creation of a new spa town so close to her own home. It promised an influx of people, certainly, but not people belonging to the type of society she
most admired.
This was not the only reason she remained so ill-tempered, Edmund knew. She had not quite forgiven him for shunning Miss Drew, the young lady she had selected for a daughter-in-law, and successfully thrust before his eyes on more than one occasion in the past few months. At last, news had reached Northridge Place that the delightful Miss Drew had announced her engagement to another, freeing Edmund from her consideration but securing his mother’s wrath for his carelessness.
“I suppose all the Turner daughters will be in attendance this evening?” Mrs Gale asked, after another moment of quiet.
“All that are at home,” Edmund replied. “The new Mrs Hodge is still travelling with her husband, but I should warn you now that I shall have no hesitation in inviting them to dine upon their return.”
His mother sniffed again, and Edmund resisted the urge to comment on it. Are you unwell, Mama? Do take care not to do yourself an injury... He smiled to himself, gaining almost as much satisfaction from imagining the interaction than from having it.
The door flew open and Nash strode as confidently into the parlour as if he owned it, which attitude had lately begun to grate on Edmund’s nerves. His friend seemed oblivious to the very idea of outstaying his welcome, however, and after a cursory nod in Edmund’s direction, turned the full extent of his attention on Mrs Gale, who blossomed at praise from this particular young man, almost deliberately seeming to prefer his company to that of her son. Edmund tried not to mind it, for he knew that the only way to truly win back his mother’s regard at present was to renounce any affection, any friendship, with Juliet Turner and that was not a concession he was willing to make.
If only you could know her as I do, Mother, you should be sure to love her as well!
This impassioned plea had been Edmund’s when first he considered proposing to Juliet. She had refused, and he still could scarcely believe she had truly understood that he meant his proposal, thinking she took him for a joker. He was determined to prove the truth of his love, the depth of his affection for her, certain that if she only knew him to be deadly serious in his quest for her heart she would accept his suit and they would marry, at last.
Then Mrs Gale would have no choice but to accept her son’s choice, and she would come, in time, to see how happy Juliet made him. In the meantime, he would bear with her moods and not seek to antagonise her further.
“Nash, tell Mother how honoured we ought to be at the notion of having Mr Cluett to dine here. She considers him a stranger and not worthy of notice.”
“But, my dear Mrs Gale! You considered me a stranger until quite recently. Worse still, a mere reprobate friend of your son. I dare to hope now, upon closer acquaintance, your opinion is at least a little changed?” He beamed rakishly at her and Mrs Gale struggled to keep from smiling at him in return.
“Believe me, this Cluett is the toast of London! I assure you there are a great many fine noses put quite out of joint by the news that he is to play his new symphony at Castleford instead of London. Indeed, he is but lately returned to England, I believe, after touring Europe and playing in some of the finest concert halls in France, Germany, Italy...” He leaned a little closer, dropping his voice to a staged whisper belying the sharing of a confidence. “Mrs Gale, I am quite surprised that your son managed to secure his presence at all. Who knew he had such sway with people of consequence!”
Edmund rolled his eyes but let the slight pass, for it seemed to work its magic on his mother, who let out a sighing breath and permitted a tight smile in his direction.
“I suppose I must defer to your instinct in this case, then. I have not heard the name but if you both are assured of his talent then I dare say I shall be pleased to know him. It will make for good conversation upon our return to London, won’t it, Edmund?”
Edmund’s eyebrows raised. This was not the first time his mother had alluded to a return to town, but certainly the first in a long while, and the first time she had suggested that they might both make the journey.
“Are you to quit Northridge Place?” Nash asked, glancing over his shoulder at Edmund as if he, too, was surprised by this news
“Oh, yes!” Mrs Gale laughed. “You cannot expect us to remain here all year. I have friends I long to resume an acquaintance with, and poor Edmund is sorely lacking for company.” She patted Nash gently on the arm. “Not that he is not well-served by having a friend such as you here under the same roof.” She shrugged her thin shoulders. “I am sure you both would profit more by a spell in London where you might be once more among other young people.”
She weighted these words, and Edmund understood her meaning only too well. She wished him to return to London, to be ushered into the very centre of an elevated social circle where he would surely find a more suitable bride than the one he currently had his sights set on.
“Let us get through this evening, Mother, before we think of relocating across the country. Oh, I believe I hear a carriage. I wonder who shall be the first of our guests to arrive?”
Chapter Six
“What a fine house this is!” Rosemary murmured, as she followed her brother through the opulent entrance hall to the Northridge Place parlour to greet their hosts.
“Do not waste such observations on me, Rose,” he replied, with a swift grin. “Save at least some of your praise for our hosts. That is sure to eat up at least a few moments of painful conversation - ouch!”
Too quick to be avoided, Rosemary had reached out to pinch her brother on the back of the hand, a swift, silent reminder to behave himself and be gracious, both habits he found rather more difficult in the houses of strangers. He drew a breath and had just enough time to rearrange his features into a smile when they were presented to the rest of the household, seated at equal intervals in a large, elegantly furnished sitting room.
“Mr Cluett!”
A handsome young man jumped up to greet them, sweeping down in a bow and rising with a smile. Despite his reservations, Christopher recalled and liked him immediately, from the rumpled dark curls to the clear, open smile he offered to each of his guests in turn.
“And this must be...?”
“My sister, Rosemary,” Christopher said, sensing movement to his side as Rose dipped in a polite curtsy. “This is Mr Gale, Rosemary. We met in London, I believe -”
“We did!” Mr Gale’s smile grew. “I am amazed you recall our meeting.” He glanced over his shoulder. “You see, Nash? What did I tell you?”
“One is not often in the habit of dining with strangers, Mr Gale,” Christopher began.
“Nonsense. I have it on good authority that you are in rather high demand as a dinner gust. I consider it a point in my favour that you should choose to dine here and not elsewhere in Castleton. Miss Cluett, allow me to introduce you to my friend Mr Weston, and my mother, Mrs Gale. Mr Cluett, can I offer you something to drink?”
Edmund Gale was gifted in the art of hospitality, for almost without realising it, Christopher found himself and Rosemary swept into seats and conversing with the other residents of Northridge Place. He was just explaining to a rapt Mrs Gale his most recent performance in Paris when the door opened again to admit more guests.
These must be the “few friends” Mr Gale mentioned, Christopher thought, wrapping up his recitation quickly and turning to greet the newest arrivals. Rosemary must have seen something he had not, though, for she forsook Mr Weston almost entirely, hurrying forward to shake hands with a mousy-looking young lady.
“Oh, good evening! I wondered if we would ever meet again!”
The young lady’s wide eyes grew wider still and she glanced anxiously from Rosemary to Christopher and back again, before turning helplessly to Edmund, who had witnessed this interaction and leapt up to intervene.
“I did not realise you were acquainted with my neighbours, Miss Cluett! May I present the Mr and Mrs Turner, of Aston House. That charming young lady who strolled in as if she owned the place is Miss Louisa, this is Miss Turner and I see you hav
e met Miss Elizabeth already.” The corners of his eyes crinkled. “Pray, do tell where your paths crossed?”
He exchanged a glance with the eldest of the Miss Turners, who shrugged her shoulders almost imperceptibly. Christopher was quite as confused as his host. It ought not to surprise him that his sister was well-equipped to make friends, for she was amiable and outgoing, always eager to meet new people, but the young lady she claimed to know remained rooted to the spot, her cheeks pooling with colour.
“Bess?” The elder Miss Turner asked, stepping forward and placing a light arm around her. “Is something the matter?”
“No,” Elizabeth said, at length, her voice strained. She tried to smile, managing an expression that was little more than a grimace. “You are Miss - Miss Cluett?” she squeaked, darting an anxious look in Christopher’s direction. “Then you must be - must be -”
Then, Christopher remembered. Of course, they had met - although barely - at the pump rooms. This was the young lady who had exhibited such enthusiasm about seeing Mr Cluett perform his heretofore unfinished symphony. She had not known that she addressed her praise to the very person of Mr Cluett himself and his sister. No wonder she looked rather sickly at present as if she hoped the ground would open up and swallow her whole.
“Rose -” he began, ready to caution his sister who, not being shy herself, had a propensity to be careless around those that were.
“Of course, we did not introduce ourselves.” Rosemary beamed, leaning forward to take the hand that Elizabeth did not quite offer, but was not quick enough to remove. “You must call me Rosemary, and I hope you do not blame me for misleading you the other day.” She had the grace to look a little ashamed. “It was not intentional and I assure you, had we spoken any longer, the truth would soon have come out. But you see my brother was having a difficult day and so to meet someone, a stranger, and one with such evident appreciation for his work was such an encouragement for him. I fear it would not have had quite so cheering an effect if you had been aware ahead of time who it was you spoke to.”
A Spring Serenade Page 4