Even from the outside, she could tell something was different. She knocked, and heard Sophie’s call of “Just a minute!” from inside. She had time for several long breaths to help her racing heart to settle before the door was pulled open, and Sophie’s small, eager self was there to greet her. “Come in,” she said, and stepped back.
Maddie followed her into the shop—and gasped.
A few scattered candles like stars gave a faint, fey light to the space. The tables and shelves of sheet music and smaller instruments had been moved out against the walls and windows, making room in the center of the shop for a lone chair with a cushion. One small table stood beside it, bearing a tankard that was sweating nearly as much as Maddie was. The chair faced a piano, one Maddie hadn’t seen before, pale wood shining gold in the candlelight. The piano was placed at right angles so that the person in the chair could see the musician’s hands and profile as they played.
She turned to Sophie, amazed. “What is this?”
“What else?” Sophie ducked her head, but couldn’t hide the glee in her expression. “It’s a concert.”
Maddie’s jaw dropped.
Sophie’s eyes flicked up, then away again. “I thought since you were going to be so busy on the night, that you might... that I...” She sighed, and straightened, and visibly gathered her courage. Chin lifted, hands clenched tight, eyes daring. “I wanted to play this piece for you all the way through,” she said. “Just once. I wanted to do it when you were able to pay attention. Not when half your mind was running through how to wrap things up with Mr. Giles and Mrs. Money and—and...” She buzzed like a tuning fork, vibrating with anxious energy.
Maddie took a seat in the chair, spreading her skirts out with a regal flourish, and picking up the tankard. She held the cool metal in both hot hands like a chalice, took a sip of her favorite cider, and asked: “What’s the piece?”
“I call it: ‘The Hellion’s Waltz,’” Sophie said solemnly, before her smile burst out again in helpless pride. “And it’s the best thing I’ve ever composed.”
Such a frank, plain statement, where Maddie knew Sophie must have been painfully tempted to deflect and demur. ThoseIt’s just tunesorI’m sure it still needs workmust have been so difficult not to say. But instead Sophie was offering Maddie her honest thoughts on her own work—even if they sounded overproud or boastful.
That was a boldness she knew must have cost Sophie.
Maddie’s heart threatened to overflow, fizzing like the cider on her tongue. She set the drink aside, pressed her hands to her knees, and nodded.
Sophie shook out her hands, stepped up to the piano, and took a seat. Her fingers fluttered briefly over the keys, and she closed her eyes for a moment. She opened her eyes, breathed in, and struck the first notes.
Maddie trembled as the waltz filled the room. Light at first, a flirt of a melody with sinister undertones beneath. A second tune came in, low and persistent, chasing after the first. They circled one another, closer and closer—until finally they fell into a harmony that was all the more glorious for being unexpected.
Maddie gasped silently as she realized: this was abouther. Sophie was telling their story through music, in a way that people could understand, but without any words to expose or condemn.
And all of Carrisford would hear it.
The waltz’s rhythm picked up, more notes pouring from Sophie’s flying fingers. The two melodies danced faster and faster, grace notes and trills popping up like sparks. Maddie was agog, leaning forward in her chair, fearful it was all going to come tumbling down. How could human hands do anything like this? Up and up, higher and higher—the tune grew breathy with altitude—they were going to run out of piano soon—Maddie herself felt like she teetered on a precipice, faint with vertigo—but Sophie paused on the peak and then brought everyone gently, carefully back to earth with a long glissando that ended on a chord like a sigh of spent pleasure.
She pulled her hands from the keys and looked over at Maddie, eyes shining.
Maddie burst into wild applause, clapping so hard her hands ached with it.
Sophie blushed a deep rose and wrapped her arms around herself.
Applause was insufficient. Maddie was up and out of her chair before she knew it, striding over to Sophie, her hands cupping the composer’s face and thumbs tracing away the teardrops that had yet to spill down Sophie’s cheeks. “That was the most incredible thing I’ve ever heard,” she said. She bent and kissed her, her body blocking anyone outside who might see, heedless of anything but the one truth pulsing through her like a heartbeat:
Anyone who could compose a waltz like that deserved to be kissed, as often and as thoroughly as possible. If Maddie had to spend the rest of her life making sure this particular precept was fulfilled, then so be it.
“Thank you for playing for me—thank you for writing such a gorgeous, wild piece of music.” She felt Sophie’s lips curve beneath hers, and echoed the smile. “You could kill someone, writing waltzes like that. How on earth did you fit all those notes in?”
Sophie broke away with a sputter of a laugh. “It’s not nearly as out of control as it sounds, I assure you.” Maddie’s skeptical expression must have said enough, because Sophie turned back to the instrument and began picking out one of the threads of the final melody on the keyboard—slowly, all the tones precisely in place. “A performance is really just a trick,” Sophie said. “It’s supposed to feel natural and expressive, even magical. None of the effort or the hours and hours of practice are supposed to show.”
“How long have you been working on this?” Maddie asked.
Sophie’s eyes were bright with reflected candlelight. “Since shortly after I met you.”
Maddie threaded wondering fingers through the errant locks of Sophie’s brown hair. “So you chose to write a waltz for a woman you’d only just met?”
Sophie leaned into the caress. “No—the waltz suggested itself.” Sophie’s smile widened in pure, honest pride. “Ichoseto make it as good as I possibly could. A slight shift of melody here, a slight tweak there. Small choices add up.” She ran through a couple variations, showing how the tune had shifted over time. Then her fingers slowed. “I went to Mrs. Narayan’s shop for a gown for the concert.” A few more notes, a minor key. “She told me you’d given her your mother’s silk for the copy gowns.”
Maddie traced one finger down the side of Sophie’s neck. “I saved it for something important,” she replied. “What’s more important than family?”
“What indeed,” Sophie murmured.
