"What happened here?" Clara asked, gesturing at the stain.
"Incident with port, a cat and possibly a small fire."
"Pray tell! All at once?"
"It was an eventful evening."
"When?"
"Two years ago? Three? Time blurs together when you're slowly taking leave of your senses.”
Clara paused in her scrubbing. “Are you taking leave of your senses?”
“It is quite probable. Yet, would you observe the change?”
“I daresay you might be a far more agreeable companion if you had lost your wits.”
He entered the room properly, ghosting around the edges like he was afraid to disturb the dust she hadn't gotten to yet. His fingers trailed over surfaces, leaving marks in the grime.
"My mother loved this room," he said suddenly. "Called it her sanctuary. She'd play the piano for hours while Father was at Parliament."
"Did you inherit her musical ability?"
"I inherited her inability to suffer fools gladly. The musical ability went to my sister."
Clara straightened. "You have a sister?"
"Had. Scarlet fever. She was seven."
"Gabriel, I'm so…"
"It was a long time ago. Before you and I even met."
But Clara could see the loss in the way he looked at the piano, like it might start playing ghostly melodies if he stared hard enough.
"Play something," she said impulsively.
"I don't play."
"You just said…"
"I said I didn't inherit the ability. I didn't say I never learned."
“Pray,favour me with a melody.”
"The piano's probably out of tune."
"So are you most of the time, but we endure you."
He shot her a look that was part annoyance, part amusement. "That doesn't even make sense."
"Play something, Gabriel."
"Why?"
"Because this room has been silent for too long. Because your mother would want it filled with music again. Because I'm asking you to."
"The last one's not a reason."
