Shadow Music

by Elisabeth Rose

  In the kitchen Martin started making tea while Nina searched the bookshelf for her one-volume encyclopaedia.

  “There are lots of Goldens,” she said. “Golden Age, Golden Hind, Golden ferret…good grief, look at that.”

  He read where she pointed, and snorted with laughter. “But no Golden Dawn.”

  “We’ll have to go to a library and get on their internet.”

  “I can do that tomorrow while you’re at work. And I need a haircut.”

  Nina regarded him thoughtfully. She hadn’t concentrated much on his appearance before, beyond registering an instant attraction when he appeared in the shop. “I rather like your hair. Such lovely curls.”

  He touched hers with light fingertips. “I rather like your hair. So glossy and soft.”

  The gesture was more intimate than the hug or the kiss. Those were shared through solidarity, this was on a whole different level. Personal. Did he see her as a woman apart from Shadow Music? He’d given no other sign. Would that be desirable? She’d known him about twenty-four hours, didn’t know him at all, yet she trusted him with her sanity. He trusted her with his. There was no room for more. She had Piers.

  “Where’s a library?” He poured the tea into mugs.

  “Come over to North Sydney later in the morning and we could go to the library together at lunch time.” Nina sat down, this time in the armchair he had occupied the first night, cradling her mug in both hands. “I thought something more might have happened.”

  “We both heard other voices. Do you know a cellist?”

  Nina looked up sharply. “Bring in someone else, you mean? But it’s…” She wanted to say “our music” but Martin interrupted.

  “Dangerous? I don’t think so. The worst that will happen is the cellist hates it like Sylvia did.”

  “I suppose I could ask my brother. He used to play.”

  “We could tape him on his own and play with the recording by ourselves. Then he wouldn’t be involved too much. How good is he?”

  “He could have been really good but he didn’t work at it. He’s at Uni doing economics. Still has his cello though.”

  “Call him.”

  Nina reached for the phone and dialled. “I’m supposed to be checking up on him anyway while Mum and Dad are away.”

  Jason answered almost immediately. “Oh, it’s you. Are you doing your inspection?”

  “Nice to talk to you, too.” She laughed, catching Martin’s eye. Green eyes flecked with brown, surrounded by laughter lines. First impressions proved right—kind, gentle, and calm in the face of this simmering, indefinable something. An inner strength she could rely on.

  “Sorry. I’m expecting a call. I’m fine, the house is in one piece, and Ringo is still alive.”

  “Glad to hear it. If Mum came home to a dead cat your days would be numbered. Listen Jason, I want to ask you a favour.”

  “Oh, yes?”

  “It’s not a big one. I want you to play something for me on your cello. It’s a piece of music and we want to tape it.”

  “Who’s we?”

  “A friend. Martin. You don’t know him.”

  “Yeah, I guess. When? Can I look at the part first? How hard is it?”

  “We can come over whenever suits you. I don’t think you’ll need to practise. It doesn’t look difficult to me.” Nina gave Martin a grin and he did a thumbs up. Attractive lines round his mouth when he smiled.

  “How about Sunday afternoon straight after lunch ʼcos I’m going somewhere at three.”

  “A girl?” Nina couldn’t resist.

  “You’re as bad as Lucy. Pair of snoops.”

  “Well? Is it?”

  “Yes. Her name’s Andrea.”

  “See that was easy, wasn’t it? Thanks, Jason. We’ll be there about one.”

  “I’ll go and find my cello.”

  “And dust it. See you.” Nina hung up and smiled at Martin.

  “Marvellous.” He suddenly sounded terribly English as he continued. “Nina, is it all right if I stay with you? Do you mind? I realise I’m a total stranger who’s just appeared out of the blue and I’m more than happy to go to a hotel if you’d prefer.”

  Something akin to panic slammed Nina in the belly.

  “I don’t want you to go anywhere! Since you came I’ve felt solid ground under my feet for the first time since I found that music. You’ve got to stay. Please. Unless you want to be on your own…if you do then go…but…I’d really like it if you stayed…but don’t because of me…if you’d rather not…” She finished in hot confusion, breathless, wide-eyed. Maybe he didn’t want to stay but didn’t know how to say it.

  He leant back on the couch and exhaled. “Thank you. I want to stay with you too. I’ll pay my way of course,” he added.

  She could almost taste the relief. What would happen if he left didn’t bear thinking about. But if she kept smiling at him the way she probably was, he’d get completely the wrong idea about her reasons for wanting him to stay.

  “Good.” A yawn caught her by surprise. “I think I’ll go to bed. Good night.”

  “Good night. I’ll stay up a while. My body clock’s not right yet. What time do you leave?”

  “I catch the ferry at eight-fifteen so I have to leave here by five-to at the latest. They go every hour and you get off at McMahon’s Point where there’s a bus or Milson’s Point where you’d have to walk. Do you remember where the shop is?”

  Martin nodded. “Sleep tight. If I don’t see you in the morning I’ll come to the shop at lunchtime.”

  “I’ll take lunch when you get there. About one.”

  For the first time in weeks Nina went to bed with a sense of purpose, looking forward to the next day, relieved to be found sane. Martin had brought with him a glimmer of hope that this nightmare might one day end.

  “Meet me.”

  “Why don’t you come to call?”

  “No. It would not be prudent. I am not a respectable visitor for a young lady. Your father would not approve.” He chuckled softly and his lips scorched hers again. A current of molten passion coursed through her body. Ethan’s kiss was that of a bumbling boy compared to this man’s. She would follow him anywhere, do anything he asked, anything.

  The crunch of footsteps sounded on the gravel and Ethan’s voice called softly, “Miranda? Are you there? Miranda.”

  Piers touched her cheek gently and disappeared into the blackness like a wraith. She pressed shaking hands to hot cheeks, body trembling, staring into the bushes where he’d vanished. The hot night air closed in on her, and the ground heaved beneath her feet like an animal. Ethan caught her as she stumbled, head reeling.

  “Miranda! What is the matter? Are you faint? Perhaps you are still weak from your illness?”

  She clutched him for support as the world regained its equilibrium.

  “It’s so hot, Ethan. I came out for some air…maybe I am still recovering…”

  The orchestra started up and Piers’ violin soared over the other instruments with its strong, vibrant tone, speaking directly to her, she knew. The violin was his voice, reminding her, calling to her.

  “Perhaps you should go home,” Ethan’s concerned face loomed close, peering anxiously. “Your father should examine you. The fever you had was very dangerous. We were all terrified we would lose you.”

  Leave here? Leave Piers? Miranda laughed. “No, no. I am perfectly well now. I am ready to dance again.”

  Ethan smiled albeit uncertainly, and tucked her arm in his to lead her through the rose garden to the ball room.

  Chapter Six

  Cutting Marsh, August 1892

  The Summer Ball approached. Miranda and Mrs. Bowden had fussed and fiddled endlessly over the patterns and fabric for her new gown, much to the amusement of her father.

  “I don’t see why you can’t wear one of your old gowns,” he said but she knew he was teasing and was glad to see her happy and recovered from the fever. He didn’t even grumble overly much about
the expense of the pale blue watered silk and the lengths of French lace and ribbon.

  “She’ll need many more gowns and all manner of garments when she marries Mr. Ethan,” Mrs. Bowden said, not for the first time. “She can’t go to the manor wearing her old clothes.”

  “Ethan hasn’t asked me to marry him, yet,” said Miranda. Perhaps he never would; perhaps he and his parents had their sights set on a more fitting bride than the daughter of the local doctor, however much regard they may have for both her and her father. After all, the Broomes had been at Broome Hall for centuries and the family was part of the rich social fabric of the country. Broome’s had married into many of the other aristocratic families over the generations and the squire was in fact an Earl although he chose not to use the title much.

  But Ethan loved her, and she loved him with a certainty forged over years of friendship. Mrs. Bowden echoed her thoughts.

  “He will. Everyone knows you two are meant to be together and have been since you were children. Isn’t that right, Doctor?”

  “Women know better than a doctor about these things,” he replied. “I shall be back in time for supper, Mrs. Bowden.” His laughter rang down the passageway as he went off to visit a patient on one of the outlying farms.

  Mrs. Bowden’s sister was an expert dressmaker in nearby Plymouth and Miranda, all couture decisions made, had gone several times to her rooms for fittings. Despite his good-natured rumbling her father had paid what Miranda considered an exorbitant sum for the new silk gown, his only proviso being she choose something demure and suitable for an innocent young woman.

  “I trust you Mrs. Bowden, to keep Miranda’s enthusiasm in check.”

  He couldn’t complain about the skirt of palest blue trimmed with French lace and white ribbon, the small puff sleeves, the gently scooped neckline and the neatly fitted bodice. She’d never had a gown so elegant and beautiful. Ethan would be stunned when he saw her in it. He may just be given the push he needed to propose.

  Just the thought of his expression made her laugh. She couldn’t wait for the days to pass. Everyone who was anyone in the surrounding area would be there. The Squire’s Summer Ball was the social occasion of the year.

  Tyler was looking forward to it, too. Even her father would attend although he maintained at dinner two nights prior to the big event he’d rather stay peacefully at home.

  “Too much noise and too crowded. Everyone talking at once and musicians playing…such a racket it makes my head ache. And in this heat it will be unbearable.”

  “The heat wave may have broken by then,” said Tyler.

  “But you enjoy it, Papa,” Miranda said. “You know you do.”

  “So long as Mrs. Meadows doesn’t start telling me about her indigestion and describing her symptoms.”

  “Perhaps she should eat less,” said Tyler.

  Miranda caught his eye and giggled.

  “I have tactfully and not so tactfully suggested that.”

  “If she corners you, Tyler or I will rescue you,” said Miranda.

  “Don’t you worry about me, my dear. You enjoy yourself.”

  “I will.”

  “Maybe Emily Sturgess’s baby will arrive three weeks early,” he said hopefully.

  But for Miranda the last days just would not pass fast enough.

  ****

  The Squire, accompanied by Mrs. Broome, elegant in a deep rose red gown trimmed with dark lace and flowers around the hemline, greeted their guests at the entrance to the ballroom. Ethan hovered nearby, resplendent in a tail coat which showed off his broad shoulders to perfection. When his gaze landed on Miranda, his face immediately relaxed into a relieved smile which turned, as she’d expected, to astonishment as his eyes travelled to her dress and her figure displayed so nicely by the new gown. Mrs. Bowden’s sister had given the services of her maid Sally to do Miranda’s hair earlier in the day and now soft curls piled on her head with ringlets artfully wisping her neck and cheeks, all held in place with a fancy tortoiseshell comb.

  “Welcome, Doctor. Good evening, Miranda.” The Squire shook her father’s hand. Miranda curtsied.

  “Good evening, sir.”

  “What a beautiful dress, my dear,” said Mrs. Broome. “You do look lovely tonight.”

  “Should do, she’s been preparing for over a month,” said her father.

  “Papa!” Her cheeks burned.

  Their hosts laughed and turned to the next arrivals. Ethan stepped forward.

  “Good evening Doctor. Hello Miranda. You look simply…”

  “Lovely,” supplied her father and chuckled. “Hello, Ethan. Take care of her. I see Colonel Muffat. Must have a word.” He disappeared into the throng.

  “You do look lovely. More than that. Exquisite,” Ethan said.

  “Thank you, Ethan.”

  He took her arm and led her through to the main ballroom. The room had been cleared of furniture save for the chairs arranged along the walls for the comfort of weary dancers or those who preferred to observe the activities. Already the large high-ceilinged room was crowded with beautifully attired people.

  Miranda recognised a few faces but for the most part the guests were strangers. An attack of nerves suddenly had her in its grip. This elegant crowd was chatting to each other with an ease the upper classes managed effortlessly. The women’s gowns were beautiful and far richer and more fashionable than hers despite the newness. She would appear the dowdy country girl beside them but the men, sophisticated and confident glanced her way with appreciation in their eyes which gave her ego a small boost.

  “There are so many people, Ethan,” she said. “I hardly know a soul even though I’ve lived in Cutting Marsh most of my life.”

  “You know my cousins, the Redpaths. Come and say hello.”

  Ethan nodded and smiled as he threaded his way through the throng.

  Miranda had met Lucinda and Harriet Redpath on more than one occasion at Broome Hall and even though she hadn’t found them particularly scintillating companions she was delighted to greet them now. Harriet wore a buttercup yellow gown which set off the deep auburn of her hair beautifully. Lucinda, an awkward, ginger-haired, pale-skinned girl wore a pink ensemble which made her look even more insipid and sickly than usual.

  “Hello, Miss Templeton,” they chorused, then giggled at the coincidence.

  “Good evening to you both. Please, call me Miranda. I’m sure we know each other well enough by now.”

  The sisters tittered and exchanged glances.

  Ethan said, “Miranda, I must leave you with my cousins for a moment. I promised mother…”

  “Of course you go and do your duty.” Miranda smiled.

  “Save me the first dance.”

  “I will.”

  “The first dance,” said Harriet when he’d departed. “Whatever will Miss McCusker say?”

  “Miss McCusker?”

  More significant looks but no giggles this time. “Miss Valerie McCusker. She is the daughter of an American financier. Pots of money.”

  “And she has her eye firmly fixed on our cousin.”

  “Ethan?” said Miranda in astonishment. A rival for his affection had never entered her head.

  “Those Americans do love a title.” Lucinda smiled happily at the prospect.

  “But what does Ethan think?”

  “It’s not really a case of what he thinks more a case of what Uncle and Aunt Broome think.” Harriet pursed her lips.

  “But he’s never mentioned her.”

  “To whom?” inquired Harriet with some acerbity. “He doesn’t need to mention her. We all know her.”

  “Oh, look, there’s Cecil Arbuthnot.” Lucinda and Harriet fluttered their fans and simpered. “Is he coming this way?”

  Miranda gave a cursory glance about. “I couldn’t say, as I don’t know the gentleman.”

  “Fair hair, very elegant and a refined manner.”

  Miranda swept the crowd and spotted a blond young man chatting to an elderl
y couple. “He’s talking to someone.”

  “The Percivals,” whispered Lucinda, snatching a quick look. “They’re down from London.”

  “So is Cecil,” said Harriet. “In fact most of this crowd is.”

  “They like to get out of London to the country in this heat.”

  “It’s just as hot here, I imagine,” said Miranda. That’s why she hardly knew a soul. Why hadn’t Ethan mentioned the American heiress? How familiar were they with each other?

  “It is unbearable. Makes one feel as though one could do something quite mad.”

  Both girls giggled again.

  The orchestra began warming up their instruments at the far end of the ballroom. Miranda craned her neck but couldn’t see the musicians. The dancing was about to begin but where was Ethan to claim the first dance?

  The orchestra launched into a rather sedate waltz. Cecil Arbuthnot approached and bore Lucinda off to the dance floor. Harriet smiled knowingly.

  “He’ll ask for her hand by summer’s end.”

  “Will he?”

  “Definitely. It’s a very good match.”

  “Do they love each other?”

  Harriet raised an eyebrow. “They like each other, that’s more than enough.”

  “I couldn’t marry a man I didn’t love.”

  “I suppose you don’t have to worry too much about who you marry.”

  “What do you mean?” Was that a slight coming from this young woman she thought of if not as a friend, then a friendly acquaintance, Ethan’s cousin?

  “People in our situation have an obligation to marry well whereas you…”

  Miranda met the cool blue eyes and saw only disdain. A flush crept up her neck. Harriet turned away with a sociable smiled plastered on her lips as a gentleman appeared to claim her hand. He nodded briefly to Miranda.

  “My dance I think, Miss Redpath?”

  “Yes indeed, Mr. Taylor.” Harriet inclined her head and took his hand.

  Miranda, left alone, edged toward the wall where the more elderly guests had taken up positions on the chairs ready to view the proceedings and discuss who was who and who was likely to marry well. Judging by Harriet’s comment she was not included in the likely brides list because no one here would regard her as a good match. Harriet as good as said she was not worthy of marrying Ethan.