by Aria Norton
“You went to look for him? Goodness. He must have truly made an impression on you. Usually 'tis people who seek after you, and you run away. I hope that man knew how privileged he was.”
Helena sat back, using her hands to support her. “Oh, Rose, must you think like that? The only people I run away from are those who are intent on boring me or who assume that I am interested in them. I cannot have my ear talked off by a man who thinks he is the Lord's gift to all women.”
What was it about Englishmen that gave them such unwavering confidence? They could be the least handsome of the lot, but they carried themselves as though they were Apollo himself.
“I take it this man did not talk your ear off?” Rose asked.
“No. On the contrary, I did most of the talking. Perhaps I praised him a little too much.”
Did Nathaniel believe that she was insincere? Their conversation had been equally enjoyed, or so Helena had thought, but when Mr Cavanaugh came to speak to her, Nathaniel grew cold. I could almost say that he was haughty. Helena still could not figure out what could have gone wrong.
“I would think that anyone would be pleased to be praised by you. You do not simply give out praises. They must be earned.”
Helena shrugged. "I do not know, Rose. One minute we were talking, and the next, he suddenly changed and withdrew. It was a complete change of character.”
Rose clicked her tongue. "A man who can quickly change his character to suit his mood cannot be trusted. Perhaps it was a good thing that he left."
“Perhaps. However, his cold manner does not take away from his performance. I still have goosebumps today when I think about it.”
Rose tilted her head, regarding Helena with a knowing look. Helena knew precisely what her friend was thinking.
“I am not interested in Nathaniel, so do not even think about it. 'Tis his talent that caught my eye, or rather, my ears. Do not try to make this something it is not.”
Rose took on the picture of innocence. “Did I say anything? You are the one attempting to convince me that this Nathaniel did not leave a lasting impression on you.”
“His talent,” Helena emphasised. “Should I perhaps remind you of a certain gentleman that comes by the house at least twice a week to speak with you? A man called Arthur?”
Rose groaned. “Oh, do not remind me. That man cannot take no for an answer! He reminds me of your Peter.”
“Peter is most certainly not mine,” Helena objected.
“And I am not interested in Arthur.”
"I only brought him up because you insist on creating something that isn't there. Nathaniel did make a lasting impression on me because I was able to complete my painting a day after the opera. I'm busy with my next one, and it's shaping up rather well."
The inspiration she had received from watching Nathaniel play had sent her into a frenzy of creativity. The painting had been sold, and now Helena was sitting with a tidy sum of money to do with as needed.
“Gerald told me that the painting sold for a fair bit of money,” said Rose. “To this day he refuses to tell me where he goes to sell them.”
Gerald, their footman, had contacts he refused to share with anyone. Helena did not mind because she wasn't interested in the who and how only in that her paintings sold and she had the money to help the less fortunate.
"Never mind that, Rose. I'm only thankful that they sell. I do sometimes wonder how they come to be in houses of members of parliament or even the Prince Regent's home, but that's just curiosity. Now, why don't we return to the house for a spot of lunch? I feel a tad famished."
Rose immediately got to her feet, holding out her hands to help Helena up. “Come on, let's go. I'm confident Cook has prepared something delicious. Do you think your parents will be back in time for lunch?”
Her father had been called away on business, and as was customary, Helena's mother had accompanied him. Her parents were seldom apart and preferred to travel together.
“I do not know, but I know they'll return before supper. I think I may have something to ask them.”
Helena had been mulling it over in her mind, but now the need had grown. She wanted to learn to play the violin, but she knew that her parents might not be too keen.
“Do I want to know?” Rose asked. “Is it one of your crazy ideas again? Do you recall what happened last time? You wanted to bake a cake for each poor child in town, and we ended up having to bake forty cakes in one week. I was glad when that came to an end.”
“At least the children got cake,” Helena said defensively. “But this has nothing to do with anyone else but myself. I want to learn how to play the violin.”
"Another instrument? Oh, no, Helena. Do I have to go through hours and hours of you practising? You know how to play the pianoforte, the harp, the flute- what more do you want?"
“The violin. It's completely different from the other instruments, and I think it will be fun.”
Rose looked skyward. “Heaven help us.”
Helena laughed, hugging her friend to her side. “Surely it will not be that terrible? I do have an ear for music. Perhaps I will pick it up in no time at all.”
“Oh, I know that you have a brilliant mind and take to everything like a duck to water, but you still have to practice, which means that I shall have to put up with weeks of screeching instruments until you master it.”
Helena could see that Rose was not looking forward to that, but she wasn't going to change her mind. She wanted to play the violin, and that was that.
That evening, Helena waited until her parents were relaxed and settled in the drawing-room before she launched into her little speech.
“Mama, Papa, I have a request to make.”
Her father looked up from his book, his bushy eyebrows rising. “What is it, my darling girl?”
Helena waited for her mother to look up from her embroidering before she could start speaking. Both parents needed to hear this at the same time and make their decision now. If not, they would discuss it in their bedchamber and grow immunity to her pleas.
“Yes, dear?” her mother asked.
“I would like to take violin lessons.”
Helena's parents looked at each other in surprise. She knew that this request would be met with some resistance, but Helena was determined to stand her ground.
“Violin, you say?” her mother questioned. “Why?”
“Well, I think it a graceful instrument, and it has the precise amount of challenge that I look for in any new hobby.”
Her father put his book down, removing his spectacles. “You already know how to play a fair amount of instruments, child. Why would you want to go through the whole process of starting all over again with a new one? It seems like a waste of time to me.”
“Your father is right, dear,” her mother added. “Why not focus on something else that will not take as much time, or garner the wrong sort of interest from people?”
Helena was waiting for one of her parents to say something like this. She was well aware that female violinists were non-existent, and if they were a few, they did not advertise their ability. For some reason, men believed that women playing the violin was inappropriate, improper, and aesthetically jarring—that annoyed Helena. The violin was just an instrument like any other. Why did it matter what gender played it?
“I do not intend to play the violin in the presence of others,” Helena explained. “I shall do so in the comfort of my own home.”
Setting her embroidery aside, Helena's mother leaned back into her chair. “And if anyone should come to pay you a visit without warning?”
Helena laughed. “Oh, Mama. You know that people are far too polite to do that. Everyone sends little notes and invitations before a visit can take place. I cannot remember a single day when a friend or family member simply arrived at the house without warning.”
"But dear, think of the imagery and opinion surrounding women and the violin," her father pressed. "You're my only daughter, and whateve
r you do, reflects on your mother and I, as well as the family name. Would you do something to jeopardise our reputation?"
Helena's father had a point there. They are becoming too skilled at countering my arguments. However, Helena was not one to give up. She was a master negotiator and mediator, and her parents knew that well.
"I know that people have much to say about the violin, but those opinions belong to men alone. I have heard people compare the violin to the feminine body- is that a woman's fault? Did she create the violin? No, she did not. 'Tis the men's fault, thus they only have themselves to blame."
Helena began to pace as she listed every point of her argument. 'I witnessed with my own eyes that male virtuoso violinists play with great expression and body movement, and people believe that women will exhibit the very same movement. I beg to differ. A woman's body is different from a man's body, and we move differently. Does it not stand to reason that our movements, when playing the violin, will not be as emphasised?"
At this point, Helena paused. Her parents were following her argument, but it would be some time before they acquiesced and gave in to her request.
“Darling, we hear everything you are saying,” her mother said soothingly. “But we really must decline your request. Is it not time to rather work on your image as a proper lady? The London Season is nearly upon us, and you have not mentioned a word about dresses, gowns, shoes, jewellery- all of which we must still discuss. These things take time.”
Helena decided to sit down and mirror her parents' sitting position. She had read somewhere that people were more likely to agree with you if you imitated their body movement.
"That is all your department, Mama. I trust you to make the right decisions regarding my outfits for the Season. Of course, I will be involved, and I shall be the proper daughter you expect me to be, but that has nothing to do with learning the violin."
“What of all the literature surrounding violinists?” her father asked. “You cannot simply make that disappear. There is a reason why you do not find female violinists.”
“Papa, do you truly think that a violin has anything to do with sin, death, and the devil? It's a harmless instrument that emits beautiful sounds, just as the harp or flute does. It's absolute nonsense for anyone to maintain that playing the violin is dangerous for women. We are not as weak as men say we are. Do you think Mama is a weak woman?”
Helena knew that her father would not dare say yes. Her mother, although kind and gentle, was a formidable woman and was not to be crossed.
"Of course, I do not think your mother a weak woman, but there are men who believe that all women must be protected from anything that might entice them to sin. The violin is one of them."
Helena fought the urge to roll her eyes. “Men are just as susceptible to temptation and sin as women are, Papa. There would not be a great number of gentlemen's clubs and brothels if that were not the case.”
“Helena!” her mother scolded, horrified. “Watch your tongue. Who taught you to speak of such things?”
“Forgive me, Mama, but I am only making a point. I am no longer a child who is unaware of the world about her, but a woman who has picked up a thing or two. If anything, I believe that playing the violin will greatly assist me in becoming a better lady.”
This took her parents by surprise. They were not expecting me to say this. This is the last part of my argument. I hope it makes its mark.
“How would playing the violin make you a better lady?” her father inquired.
“Well, it will teach me better form. Mama, do you not complain that I tend to slouch a lot? And it will teach me to be more graceful. Have you ever watched a violinist? Everything about them, from their hand to body movements is graceful.”
Helena continued to give her a list of why playing the violin would actually help her become a proper lady. Finally, and slightly out of breath, Helena sat back and waited for her parents' answer. The couple looked at each other for some time, communicating with just their eyes. Eventually, her father nodded.
“Very well, dear. You may have your violin lessons under the condition that you never play it outside these four walls. Is that understood?”
Helena's smile was quick and vibrant. “I fully understand, Papa. Oh, you won't regret this!” Helena ran to her parents, hugging them both. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
Her parents promised to find her the best teacher who could also be discreet. Her father did not want it getting out that his daughter was learning how to play the violin. After a brief kiss to their cheeks, Helena skipped and hopped to her bedroom pleased and content. She had gotten her way once again.
Chapter 6
One of the great things about sharing a meal with others was the variety of foods to choose from. Nathaniel, Beatrix, and several of their colleagues all sat congregated around a table, sharing out the bounty of pooled lunches. Honey cake, plum cake, tiny triangular sandwiches, cold meats, and fruits were doled out between them, making sure that everyone got their fair share.
Beatrix pushed her two pieces of cake to Nathaniel, grimacing. “I cannot afford to eat any more cake than I have. I do not wish to become fat.”
Nathaniel gave Beatrix a brief once over, frowning. “There's a slim chance of that happening. I'm confident that eating a slice of cake will not impact your weight.”
The woman was as slim as a reed, and could actually do with a few pounds. An unbidden image of Helena came to mind. The woman had been well-rounded but not fat, and it had suited her well. Nathaniel recalled the youthful plumpness of her face and the pleasure of not holding bony fingers. Beatrix was attractive in her own right with her high cheekbones, graceful figure, and piercing dark blue eyes, but Helena was the one Nathaniel often thought about whenever the discussion of beautiful women came about. Of course, Nathaniel felt guilty about it whenever he compared the women because his loyalty lay with Beatrix, but there were simply some things a man couldn't help.
Beatrix smiled, her short teeth showing. “Thank you for saying so, but I shall keep away from it nonetheless. A few of the sandwiches and pieces of fruit will suffice.”
Nathaniel looked at Beatrix's plate, counting two tiny sandwiches and an apple. The woman ate like a bird; no wonder she was able to keep her slender form.
“If you don't want the cakes, pass them over to me,” said Stephen.
A fellow musician and friend, Stephen had an appetite that belied his size. The man was tall and as thin as a beanpole, and yet he ate quantities that should have turned him into a corpulent and rotund man. Nathaniel didn't know where all the food went, but he suspected that it fuelled his friend's ego. Stephen was also a violinist, and one of the best. However, his skill had yet to pass that of Nathaniel.
“I never said anything about not wanting the cakes,” said Nathaniel. “I simply wished to see Beatrix enjoy herself more, to live a little. Life is not all about rules and self-control.”
Everyone around the table paused what they were doing and stared. Nathaniel wondered if he had something on his mouth, so he quickly wiped the sides, but his hand came away with nothing. If there was nothing on his face, what was the matter with them?
“Why are you all staring at me like that?” he demanded. “I know there's nothing on my face.”
Stephen whistled low. "Did Nathaniel Hamlet Baudelaire just admit that life is not about rules and self-control? The strictest man of us all? The one who spends hours rehearsing? The one who refuses to attend social engagements because he finds them frivolous? Did this same gentleman admit that life isn't just about rules and self-control? Well, slap me silly and call me Luther! Where is our friend, and what have you done with him?"