by Aria Norton
I am not at all looking forward to being bombarded by men all looking to marry Lord Pembroke's daughter. I think I must walk around with a sign above my head that advertises the wealth and prestige a man would obtain by marrying me. Helena could quite happily avoid the entire Season and stay at home while the Ton exhausted themselves on the countless frivolities available at their fingertips.
Pushing the Season aside, Helena's mind drifted to the painting that lay unfinished upstairs. I hate that my creativity has come to a dead end. There was nothing worse than a stagnant imagination, but Helena could do nothing about it. She just needed something to stimulate her once again and bring her mind to life. Helena could not recall any other time in her life where her creativity had simply ceased, and it worried her. Was she losing her joie de vivre?
“You've gone quiet all of a sudden,” Candace commented, reaching for another biscuit. “Are you not excited about the London Season? I am sure you will receive a great many offers for your hand. Not only are you beautiful, but you are also Lord Pembroke's only daughter.”
That was just the problem, wasn't it? “I cannot be excited about something I have never been to. Mama and Papa have attended countless Seasons, and have told me often enough about it, but it doesn't appeal to me in the slightest. Perhaps I'll change my mind once I get to London.”
That was unlikely to happen. Helena knew precisely what London was like, and she could appreciate its uniqueness lifestyle and pace of life, but she preferred the countryside.
“Must you always be so odd?” said Sophie. “If I were in your position, I would take full advantage of it. Could you imagine how many suitors would vie for my attention?”
Helena shook her head when Sophie's face took on a dreamy expression. Her friend was far too preoccupied with thoughts of the opposite sex and was by far the more forward of them. Sophie wasn't against a little flirtation with a handsome gentleman, but Helena often had to rein her in when the gentleman's interest took a turn for the worse. Candace was the wallflower of their group, but with a little nudging she could gain just as much attention as Sophie did. Both women were pretty and would do well at the London Season.
Helena frowned when she heard scratching at the door. It took her a moment to realise it was likely her little Jack Russell wanting attention. The puppy usually stayed in the kitchen where it was warm, but every now and then it sought Helena out and demanded to be cuddled on her lap.
Leaving her seat, Helena opened the door for the little creature. “Hera,” she cooed. “Have you come to say hello?”
Helena scooped the animal into her arms, laughing when the puppy licked her cheek.
“Another puppy?” Candace asked, somewhat amused. “You might need to start an animal sanctuary at the rate you're going.”
“There is plenty of space on the estate,” Helena assured. “And Hera is such a sweetheart that everyone falls in love with her immediately.”
Sophie eyed the dog distastefully. “Not me. I cannot understand anyone's fixation on animals. They are simply dirty, stinky, and loud creatures that should be kept outside.”
Sophie had had a bad experience with a neighbour's dog and now apparently had a phobia about all animals.
“Perhaps you should give them a chance,” Helena suggested, stroking Hera's velvety head. “You might be surprised.”
“No, thank you,” Sophie affirmed. “Oh! I almost forgot to tell you that Father has arranged a box at the next opera performance. I know that Candace is not fond of theatre houses, but perhaps you would like to attend with me?”
“Oh? Which performance is it?”
Sophie scrunched up her face in concentration. “I don't quite recall the name. I know that it's a love story. The performance has received high acclaim in London, and now they are in town to give a few performances. I, for one, do not wish to miss it. What if I am asked about it once we get to London? The other women would think me uncultured if I cannot discuss it in great detail. Promise me that you'll attend with me, Helena? The box is so close to the stage that you can see everything!”
It had been a while since their town had hosted an opera performance despite having one of the best music conservatoires and opera houses in England.
“When will this performance take place?” Helena inquired.
“About a week from today, I think. So, will you accompany me?” the woman pressed. “It will be great fun!”
Opera performances always tended to invoke a lot of emotion within a person. Perhaps if Helena attended it, she might find a solution to her dried-up well of creativity. I would do anything at this point to gain some inspiration and complete my painting.
“I would very much like to accompany you, Sophie. Will we arrive in separate carriages?”
Sophie's eyes gleamed with excitement. “Indeed? You will come? Splendid! Oh, we could take your carriage as it is the fanciest. I remember we received much attention the last time we were all together in the same carriage.”
“Your life seems to revolve around gaining attention,” Candace remarked.
“While yours revolves around food,” Sophie bit back.
“Oh, dear,” Helena sighed. “It seems that the two of you are back at it again. Will I have to suffer your quarrelling for the remainder of the afternoon? Do warn me now. I am certain that neither one of you would want a potential suitor to know that you argue over petty things. Men do not like that sort of behaviour.”
That seemed to get through to the women. Candace's face coloured as she stretched for another biscuit, but Sophie, ever the stubborn one, merely sipped her tea as though she were not to blame. Life is certainly never dull with these two around.
Chapter 2
Other than playing the violin, Nathaniel believed that musical training was his calling. His class had improved in leaps and bounds, surpassing even his expectations of what would be achieved before the summer season began. Nathaniel's students were hungry for knowledge, and the prestige that music would bring.
The hard truth was that not everyone would attain the heights of Mozart, Beethoven, or even Handel. He knew this only too well because he had yet to reach the acclaim of musical geniuses before him. One day, my talent will be noticed by the world, and my name will be added to history books.
At twenty-three, Nathaniel felt ready to take on the world and prove to everyone that he was someone to be recognised. However, until that moment happened, he was content to teach music to a class of eager students.
“Sir?” a student called.
“Yes, Mr Russo?”
"The class and I would appreciate it if you would play something for us. We feel that it will give us the encouragement we need to excel and possibly reach great musical heights."
Nathaniel hesitated. He wasn't one to deviate from a lesson plan, preferring to keep to a schedule.
“I don't know about that, Mr Russo. We have a sizeable amount of theory to cover today, and I would hate for my class to be behind the others.”
The musical teachers had an ongoing competition that no one spoke about but was known by everyone. Each teacher wanted their class to produce the highest amount of musicians who will go on to attain some kind of attention for their art. Nathaniel was currently leading, but that could change at any moment.
“Please, sir,” the student pleaded. “We promise that we will make up for any lost lesson time. We'll
stay in after everyone leaves if that is what it takes.”
Nathaniel looked at his students' eager faces, torn between completing the lesson and giving in to their pleas. I suppose they do deserve something for all their hard work.
“Very well,” he acquiesced. “Which instrument will it be?”
“The violin, of course!” another student called out.
Nathaniel smiled. That was his preferred instrument; the one that had started his musical career. He remembered his grandfather handing him an old violin and telling Nathaniel to make use of it. To everyone's surprise, Nathaniel
had played something from memory without a bit of formal instruction in sight. Of course, the musical piece had not been perfect- far from it- but his ability to pick up music at the tender age of five had not gone unnoticed. From then on, the violin became a significant part of Nathaniel's life, and although he learnt to play other instruments, he always came back to his beloved violin.
A ruddy-faced student brought Nathaniel's violin, holding it in reverent awe. Non-musical people would mock this man's respect for the art, but Nathaniel used it to flame his students' passion for music.
The same student brought a stool to the front of the class, using a handkerchief to remove imaginary dust. Smiling, Nathaniel sat down, positioning the violin on his left side, resting his chin on the chin rest. He flexed his fingers once, twice stroking the smooth wood. Eyes closed, Nathaniel drew the bow against the taut strings, creating a symphony of sound that seemed to flow from his very body.
He played one of his own pieces, one of the few he allowed others to hear. Some of Nathaniel's music was far too intimate, baring parts of himself that no one was privy to. He wouldn't call himself a composer just yet, but that was precisely what he was doing during his free time- composing music.
The piece Nathaniel played was dark, brooding, and angry. It was a taste of the feelings he kept hidden away; emotions that he blamed on his father. Nathaniel didn't know the man personally, but James Maxwell, Viscount of Brooklyn, was undoubtedly a man known by most.
Opening his eyes, Nathaniel witnessed the effect his music was having on his students. Some looked horrifyingly spellbound, while others appeared to be sorrow-filled. Grimacing, he decided to end his personal piece and play a more jovial one by Vivaldi. The mood of the classroom immediately brightened, and Nathaniel could see his students come alive. Perhaps I should reserve the heavy pieces for my own ears.
Finishing off with a flick of his bow on the E string, Nathaniel stood up and bowed as the class clapped and cheered for him. He set the instrument aside, calling his class to order.
“Settle down now. We wouldn't want Monsieur Debussy to come in here and give us all a sound scolding.”
Nathaniel's students immediately calmed down, but their smiles remained. Glancing at his pocket watch, he calculated they had ten minutes left of the lesson. I don't think I will be able to convince them to do theory when they can hardly stay in their seats. There was nothing worse than being abruptly kicked off one's high mood.
“Monsieur Baudelaire, would you permit us to ask a few questions?” said Mr Russo.
I suppose that's an idea to while away what's left of our time. “That depends on whether it's musical based.”
“It certainly is,” the young man assured.
“Very well. What is it you wish to know?”
“When were you discovered as a musical prodigy? I heard you were quite young, and it was wholly by mistake.”
Nathaniel could answer this question. “I was five when I was handed the violin. The rest is history.”
Another hand shot up. “Sir, your mother was once a highly acclaimed opera singer. Can you perhaps sing as well?”
Was? “She is still a highly acclaimed opera singer, Mr Kenneth. She is simply retired. And to answer your question, I can somewhat sing, although my mother might think differently.”
The class laughed. What Nathaniel said was true enough. Claudette Baudelaire-Collette was a puritan when it came to music, and if a person did not meet her standards, then they could not call themselves a musician. While Nathaniel's talents lay with musical instruments, his mother had tried to push his singing abilities. However, he had fallen short of her expectations and was labelled a croaking bullfrog.
Nathaniel almost didn't hear the heavy knocking at the door amidst his class's excitement, but fortunately, he was close enough to the door to catch the end of it. And just as well he did because his employer stood on the other side of the door. The sixty-something-year-old stood with his hands behind his back, his bushy moustache twitching.
“Monsieur Debussy!” Nathaniel exclaimed. “To what do we owe this pleasure?”
Had the man heard the class commotion? I hope this will not be a slight against my reputation as a professional. I should have never let the class talk me into playing something for them.
“I need to speak with you in my office, Monsieur Baudelaire.”
That didn't sound good. “Right now, sir?”
“That is what I said. Kindly follow me.”
"My class has mere five minutes left of their lesson, Monsieur Debussy. Shall I come once I have dismissed them?"
The older man's eyebrows lifted a fraction. “Can you not elect someone to keep them in line? Are they so boisterous that they cannot be left for even five minutes?”
“No, sir. Please, one moment while I inform them I'll be leaving the class.”
The man nodded. “Go ahead.”
After quick instructions about their coming lesson and what to prepare, Nathaniel hurried after his employer, his stomach in knots. I have never been called to his office during a lesson. What can this mean for me?
The man entered his office, not bothering to look backwards as he ordered Nathaniel to close the door. Polite manners do not hurt anyone, but his man seems beyond such common courtesy.
“Take a seat, Monsieur Baudelaire. I have much to tell you.”
Nathaniel did as he was told, but he kept to the edge of his seat. Monsieur Debussy linked his hands on his desk, his breathing a little heavier than necessary. Nathaniel found that men with thick moustaches tended to breathe louder than most as though their facial hair was some sort of obstruction.
“I have wonderful news for you, Monsieur Baudelaire. The town's opera house has approached me with a plea to help them with their upcoming show.”
What did that have to do with him? “That's wonderful, sir.”
“Indeed, it is. But you see, I need your assistance in order to help them.”
“Mine, sir? What can I do to help?”
The man smiled, putting a little fear into Nathaniel. The master of the Olivier Bizet School of Music was not a man who showed much emotion other than that of distaste and anger.
“I was hoping you would say those very words. You see, their main violinist has suddenly taken ill and can no longer be a part of the orchestra.”
Nathaniel could see where this was heading. “That is a shame.”
"For the man, yes, but for us, it isn't. The opera house is in need of your skill to make the performance a success."
“Which performance is it?”
“Giulio Cesare.”
That stopped Nathaniel cold. “I beg your pardon?”
“Giulio Cesare. I know that you are familiar with it.”
Nathaniel was more than familiar with it. This was the same performance where his mother had been the prima donna and had played the role of Cleopatra. This was the same time she met and fell in love with Nathaniel's father, only to have him leave her for another woman whom he soon married. It didn't matter that his mother had been five months pregnant at the time. The only thing that had mattered to Nathaniel's father was marrying a woman with the right family, status, and power. As far as Nathaniel was concerned, the performance was a curse for his family.
“I'm afraid I cannot do it, sir.”
Monsieur Debussy was clearly taken aback. “I do not understand what you are saying. Are you attempting to turn down this once in a lifetime offer?”