Master Radcliffe held out his arm and I looped my hand in his, indulging in the old-fashioned and chivalrous way he accompanied me down the main staircase. Already, Manderley seemed like a house stuck in time.
He shoved open the doors of the ballroom. I stepped inside, my stomach lurching as my gaze drew up to the crystal chandeliers dangling from the impossibly high ceiling.
“This room is nearly double-height.” Master Radcliffe drew back the velvet curtains, casting a square of grey light across the piano. Outside the towering windows, the forest encroached, trees reaching sinewy fingers toward the windows. “I often imagine the bright parties and balls held in this room, the ladies in their muslin dresses dancing, the dynasties forged and the scandals whispered between gossips. This is my favorite room in the house. As you will soon discover, the acoustics are superb.”
He sat down at the piano bench, crossing his legs and folding his hands on his lap. “Please, indulge me with some of your favorites from your repertoire. It will allow me to see your strengths and weaknesses. If you wish me to accompany you, you have only to ask.” He tapped out the first bar of Bach’sSt Matthew Passion. “I still have a little fire in my fingers yet.”
I rested my violin against my chin and started to tune. Nerves tingled along my spine, and my stomach lurched. For perhaps the first time, I crashed headlong into what it meant to be in a school like this. I knew I would be behind the other students, but I was so focused on Madame Usher’s money funding Mom’s care that I hadn’t considered how it would feel to play for amaestro, to see disappointment etched onto his features.
While I tuned, Master Radcliffe kept up a running commentary about my father. “…most exquisite fingering I’d ever seen. He’d have gone on to be one of the greatest virtuosos of our time, if only he’d—oh dear.” He winced as I made a bum note. “Do you need more time, perhaps?”
I need you to stop comparing me to that bastard.But instead, I smiled. “It’s fine. It’s nice to hear from someone who knew my father.”
Nice like a hole in the head.
“He came to my summer school in its inaugural year,” Master Radcliffe said. “He would have won a full-ride scholarship had he not been so distracted by… social pursuits. He allowed other students to pull ahead of him. I hope you will not make the same mistake.”
“I don’t intend to.” To shut him up, I launched into Brahms’Violin Sonata No. 3.
I loved this melancholy piece and usually played it well, but the weight of my father’s legacy dragged my arm. I knew as soon as I hit the first arpeggio that I was sluggish. My fingers stiffened on the strings. I closed my eyes so I couldn’t see Master Radcliffe’s mouth turn down with disappointment.
Halfway through my fumbling attempt at Vivaldi’sWinter, the door creaked open. All six students slipped in to stand along the wall. Titus was a towering mountain in the corner of the room, his dark energy sucking the last dregs of life from my performance and pummeling them against his bulk. The twins’ expressions were featureless, two porcelain dolls sitting on a shelf, silently judging me. Dorien’s eyes bore into mine, his smile wide and dark and triumphant.
It was a smile that said,I’m going to eat you for breakfast.
My stomach twisted as humiliation burned on my cheeks.They can’t be here. They can’t see me play like this. I’d seen Dorien’s dick in all its glory, yetIwas the one stripped naked.
As I turned my back to the students, my stomach gurgled in protest. Hot bile rose in my throat. I swallowed, but the sensation only grew stronger.
Maybe it wasn’t nerves twisting my stomach. Maybe I was going to throw up.
My fingers wobbled on the strings as I shuddered against the rising bile. A wave of nausea crashed into me, turning me about until I lost what little focus I had left. I fumbled my way through the final movement, not daring to take my bow lest I puke all over Master Radcliffe’s shoes.
When I lowered my arms, my hands trembled. I knew I’d played badly. If I wanted to prove to Dorien and his posse that I deserved my place here, I’d fucked that right up.
“You have promise, but your technique lacks precision.” Master Radcliffe stood up. He took my hand, turning my fingers over and curling them around in an awkward position. I leaned on him more than I should have as another wave of nausea hit me. “That is what comes from having a second-rate education. It may be too late to repair the damage. We will have to work very closely together to transform your technique.”
Behind me, Titus snorted. Master Radcliffe looked over his shoulder, for the first time noticing our audience. “Shouldn’t you be rehearsing your Elgar, Titus?” he remarked.
With a flash of his obsidian eyes, the midnight edges disappearing in the shadows of the ballroom, Titus stood. “Sorry, Master. We were curious about the new girl.”
Dorien stood too. “We won’t disturb you any longer.”
Interesting. Dorien may strut about like he owned this place, but he respected Master Radcliffe enough to listen to him. I stored that information for later. Any potential advantage I had over Dorien Valencourt was going to prove useful.
Not as useful as a bathroom. I grabbed my protesting stomach as the bile reached the back of my throat.
“May I be excused?” I managed to choke out. Master Radcliffe nodded. I tossed my violin on the settee and sprinted shakily from the room.
“She hasn’t even bothered to pack away her instrument,” I heard Heather whisper as I jerked open the door. “Trailer trash like her have no respect for their art.”
Luckily, the ground-floor bathroom was right across the hall. I slammed the door behind me and hurled into an old-fashioned toilet.
As I wiped my eyes and spat repeatedly into the sink, my thoughts spun faster than my stomach.Why do I feel so sick?I’d been fine on the drive, and I’d never had any kind of stage-fright. Nerves, yes, but nothing that would make me physically sick. I’d only started feeling strange after lunch, and it couldn’t have been anything I ate because I cooked it all—
The wine.
I thought it tasted gross, but chalked it up to knowing nothing about expensive wine. I remembered something else – Dorien’s eyes gleaming as he opened a new bottle. Just for me.
