by Aria Norton
Helena picked up her new violin, plucking the strings. She had read in a book that each string played a specific note: E, A, D and G, with E being the highest, and G the lowest. Helena couldn't wait to start playing real music, to hear a beautiful noise coming from the instrument. The lovely S-shaped holes on either side of the bridge emitted the violin's melodious sound, a wonder to her. Should she tighten the hair of the bow now? Or should she wait for her tutor?
“You seem to be thinking a lot,” Rose commented. “What makes this instrument so different from the rest? Not even the harp has thrilled you as much as the violin, and the harp is far more beautiful and graceful.”
“Oh, you wouldn't understand.”
Rose had not been there; she had not seen Nathaniel play. The man had been a magician, creating sounds that seemed otherworldly. Ah, I see why literature associates the violin with sin, death, and the devil. It can be rather eerie, but 'tis also magical. Perhaps 'tis the human version of a siren's call.
“Whether I understand or not is not my concern,” Rose shrugged, ever straight forward. “I have come to see if you need anything else. Should I bring the gift in here?”
Along with getting the best violin that money could buy, purchasing and reading several books about the art of playing the violin and learning about the most celebrated violinists throughout the ages, Helena had also purchased a gift for her tutor. She was not sure if the man was a composer, but she assumed that he did write a little music at least. So, she had purchased a leather-bound journal in which to put in his music, and a beautiful quill to write.
An image of a violin had been etched on the cover, and on the inside, she had written a brief message of gratitude to him. It was a personal gift, and one Helena hoped her tutor would readily accept. She had thought about painting a slightly abstract version of her memory of Nathaniel, but she would not have had the time to complete it.
It was only just yesterday that Helena's parents had informed her about the tutor, and so it had been a mad scramble to find a gift.
“I think you can bring it here. Have you wrapped it?”
"Yes, I wrapped it this morning in brown cloth and tied a black ribbon around it. Is that acceptable?"
“That sounds beautiful. The cloth and ribbon match the colours of the journal and violin. I do hope my tutor appreciates the gift.”
“I'm sure he will,” Rose assured. “I'll just go and fetch it.”
“I'll come with you and help arrange the refreshments in the parlour. I'm certain my tutor is nearby and might be a little parched from the journey. I would offer a little brandy or wine, but there's no telling whether it will distort his mind. There's nothing worse than doing a lesson with a man who reeks of alcohol. Or a woman for that matter. Do you recall Madame Pousson?”
Helena's French tutor had kept a flask of whiskey on her person throughout the day, taking sips here and there. By the time evening came, the woman would be incoherent. Once, Helena and Rose decided to get hold of her flask, empty out the whiskey (which was likely contraband since whiskey was not exactly legal in England) and fill it up with apple juice with just a little apple cider vinegar. It tasted nothing like whiskey, but they had wanted to see if the woman would notice. She didn't. Oddly, the woman still became 'drunk' that day, affirming that the human mind could trick your body into being drunk. I wonder if that would work in other situations?
Rose stifled a snicker. “Indeed, I do. Madame Pousson was an interesting creature, wasn't she? I was glad when she decided to return to her homeland. She had terrible manners.”
Rose was a stickler for politeness and good manners. Helena had never met a more upright person in her life.
“Passing wind at the table, digging her nose,” Helena remembered, pulling her face. “I once caught her biting her nails. Toenails, that is.”
Rose made a retching noise, holding her belly. “Oh, please. Do not remind me of that. I did not eat the entire day when I saw a rather large toenail sitting on her heaving bosom.”
Laughing, Helena linked her arms with Rose and set off for the parlour.
Helena was still in the upstairs parlour when she heard a carriage pull up outside. Her eyes lit up.
“Do you suppose that's my tutor?”
“Why not go to the balcony and look?” said Rose. “Just make sure you are not seen. People do not appreciate any peeking at them. Least of all old men.”
“Noted.”
Helena thought to walk to the balcony, but her excitement had her running. Her golden hair bounced about her face, and she impatiently pushed it away.
“Oh, for the love of short hair! I must tell Rose to stop doing these ringlets. I would be better off with all my hair pulled back into a plait or a bun.”
It wasn't the fashion of the day, but it was preferable to dealing with hair in your eyes or mouth. Once, Helena had taken an absent-minded bite of plum cake (it really should have been on a plate instead of her hand) and had taken a mouthful of hair as well. Needless to say, she had not eaten the cake for some time to come. Nobody liked hair in their food, even if it was their own hair.
Looking down, Helena waited for her tutor to emerge from the carriage, hardly able to keep still. When she did eventually see him, she paused. Brow furrowed, Helena peered closely at the man, not understanding what on earth was going on.
“Nathaniel?”
Where was her old seasoned violinist? Was Nathaniel her tutor? He had to be because he had arrived with their carriage. Did she mind that he wasn't what she had expected? Oddly, no. Helena was actually pleasantly surprised. Nathaniel was the reason behind her motivation to learn the violin, so he might as well be the one to teach her. But what about his cold manner at the end?
I hope that doesn't affect our student-tutor relationship.
It probably wouldn't- the man was a professional, wasn't he? Dismissing her doubts, Helena ran downstairs, coming to a stop when Nathaniel entered the hallway. He paused, his jaw-dropping as he took a step back. Was he going to run off? Surely not! Helena quickly moved forward, holding out her hand.
“Nathaniel! How lovely to see you again!”
Nathaniel straightened, his face becoming a mask of cold indifference. “Lady Barclay.”
He briefly shook her hand, fisting his hand by his side when he let go. Helena first stared at her hand, wondering if she had something on it. She didn't, just as she thought. Well, I suppose his attitude has not improved from the last time. What on earth was the matter with him, anyway? I am somewhat surprised but amused at the same time. What drives anyone to behave in such a manner?
“How are you, Nathaniel? Or should I call you Mr Baudelaire? Or is it Monsieur Baudelaire?”
“Monsieur Baudelaire is fine. Thank you. Shall we start?”
Helena slightly tilted her head as she regarded her cold tutor. This lesson could go one of two ways: I could act just as cold and ruin my day, or I could try to win him over. I really don't want his attitude to put a damper on my excitement, neither will I let him affect how I treat him. I'm not like that. Nathaniel was undoubtedly a challenge for her, one that she looked forward to winning. I'll make a friend of him yet.
“Of course! But before we get right into the lesson, why don't we have a little refreshment?”
"No, thank you. I prefer to get started with the lesson, if you don't mind."
Helena wanted to tell him that she did, in fact, mind. Cook and Rose had gone out of their way to prepare the refreshments, making several little eats if her tutor turned out to be a little fussy. Never mind, perhaps today was not the right day for refreshments.
"Very well. I see that you're a man who likes to get straight to the point. Shall we go? The music room is right this way."
Helena walked ahead of him and was tempted to look behind her to see if his facial expression had changed. Once she got to the room, she quickly turned around, losing her balance.
“Oh!” she cried, feeling herself going down.
Eyes sh
ut tight, she expected herself to meet the floor, but she didn't. Instead, a pair of strong hands held her about the waist. Nathaniel helped her up, letting go as soon as she was stable.
“Are you all right, Lady Barclay?” Nathaniel asked.
“I am now that you have caught me,” she smiled, adjusting her dress. “You are rather quick on your feet, Monsieur Baudelaire. Thank you.”
“Anyone would have done what I did. May we please enter?”
Oh, how stuffy of him! Helena bit back a laugh. “Yes, of course.”
Biting on her bottom lip, she led him into the music room, taking him to some chairs. Will he sit down? His back is so ramrod straight he may not be able to! Choking on a laugh, she coughed. Oh, stop it, Helena.
“Please, would you sit down?”
It looked like he would refuse, but to her surprise, he nodded and took a seat. Well, that's a start.
"Monsieur Baudelaire, I would like to present you with something. I'm much obliged that you have taken time out of your day to come and teach me, so I would like to show my appreciation to you."
His eyes widened for a moment. Ah, I seem to have surprised him.
“That is not necessary,” he said. “Your father is paying me to be here.”
He is making this rather challenging. My smile may drop just a smidgen by the time this lesson is over. It took a lot for anyone to make her stop smiling when she put her mind to it.
"It is necessary for me, sir. Please, just a moment."
Helena took the wrapped journal from behind the pianoforte, studying Nathaniel's face as she presented the gift to him.
“My thanks to you, sir. I am excited to be starting this journey with you.”
He had better take this gift, or I might have to force him. Nathaniel frowned as he looked at the object in her hand. It seems he wants to reject it.
“It would be awfully rude of you to reject a gift, Monsieur Baudelaire. I put much thought into this.”
Helena's watched as Nathaniel's jaw worked once before he took the gift from her with a murmured word of thanks. 'Tis about time! Perhaps the gift will warm his heart.
“Would you please open it? I would love to see your face once you see what it is.”
“I shall open it once I return home.”
Oh, no, you don't. “Please, Monsieur Baudelaire. It would warm my heart to see you open it.”
Nathaniel pursed his lips, nodding. Carefully, he undid the black ribbon, laying it across the armrest of his seat. He is relatively slow about it. This might take the whole day at the rate he's going. Helena leaned into the pianoforte, linking her hands together as she continued to stare at the man. I could paint another picture while he unwraps the gift. The thought amused her, and she let out a little chuckle. When he glanced sharply at her, she pretended to cough.
“Excuse me, I seem to have a tickle in my throat. Do continue.”
Eventually, after what seemed like hours (but was likely three minutes), Nathaniel uncovered the journal and quill pen. He stared at it for some time, brushing his hand against the etching of the violin.
“Thank you, Lady Barclay. This was thoughtful of you.”
It seemed that the gift had somewhat warmed his cold exterior. Pleased, Helena clapped her hands once.
“I'm so happy that you like it! Do you compose music? I thought that perhaps you might, hence the gift. You can put down all your ideas into that journal.”
“Yes, thank you.”
He's not forthcoming with his words, is he? That didn't mean that she had to stop asking him questions.
“Have you written any music yet? Have you played it for anyone? I would be privileged to hear anything that you have composed. I absolutely adored hearing you play the other day, and would like to repeat that experience. Do you play anywhere, in particular, Monsieur Baudelaire?"
“If you don't mind, Lady Barclay, I would like to start the lesson. We have just one hour, and I still have many errands to see to today.”
I guess that told me. Disappointed, she nodded. “I understand perfectly.”
Nathaniel stood up, putting his gift on his chair. “Do you have a violin? I think it best we start with knowledge of the instrument.”
Helena wanted to tell him that she knew all that already, but it would be better for her to prove her knowledge. She fetched her case, taking the beautiful violin and bow out. It indeed was a sight to behold. Her father had bought it for her some days ago in anticipation of her lessons. Well, she was anticipating the lessons, and he was merely humouring her. Helena's parents did a lot of that.
They understood that she grew easily bored and liked to do and learn many things that others might find useless. Helena couldn't stop learning because her brain soaked up information like a sponge. Science, history, biology, philosophy, mathematics- it didn't matter what it was, she wanted to study it. The only downside was perhaps being too knowledgeable about everything and having no one to discuss it with. Rose humoured her as much as she could, but even she grew tired of Helena's constant jabberings.
“I have my violin right here, sir.”
“Good-” he said, abruptly coming to a stop.
Nathaniel's eyes widened as he stared at the violin. What was the matter? Perhaps he is impressed by my readiness and eagerness to begin our lesson. Rather than a smile, the man's mouth tightened until he looked pinched in the face.
"Put that away, Lady Barclay. We will not need it just yet."
“But-”
“But nothing. If you wish to be successful, then you best listen and not argue with me.”
Helena pulled her head back. She didn't care for his attitude. Not at all. Fortunately for him, Helena was not one to snap at people; she saw no need for such behaviour.
“Very well,” she said brightly. “Whatever you think is best, sir.”
This friendship was going to take long to form, wasn't it? Helena wondered what could have happened to the man she had first met. That Nathaniel had been sweet, engaging, and friendlier. This one...well. He was a completely different kettle of fish, wasn't he? But a challenge was a challenge, and Helena loved those. I will win you over one day, Nathaniel.
Chapter 8
What were the odds? The very same woman he had met at the opera was the one he was teaching today. Of course! Lord Pembroke. Why didn't I remember before? Nathaniel could have kicked himself for forgetting that name. It was all coming back to him now. Mr Cavanaugh had asked Helena how her parents were, and he had used the name Pembroke. How on earth did I forget it? I remembered everything else about her!
The woman on his mind sat bent over the book she was writing in. Serves her right that she has to do such tedious theory. Nathaniel could see theory on the cards in the foreseeable future. He smiled, feeling somewhat smug. This should make up for all the worrying Nathaniel had had to put up with from the moment Monsieur Debussy told him he was going to tutor Helena. He didn't know it was her at first, and now he wondered if that was, indeed, the best thing.
“I might have packed my belongings and taken myself back to France.”
Helena looked up, frowning. “Sorry, sir? Did you say something?”
“No, continue with your work, Lady Barclay. There is a lot of material to cover today.”
The woman smiled, but it was a tad strained. That'll teach you for sending your parents to find you a violin tutor. What had the woman been thinking? Just because she saw him play at the opera, did not mean that she could one day be like him. Nathaniel had no doubt that his performance had been the driving force behind Helena's wish to learn to play the violin.