“What if”—Harriet bit her lip—“what if I forget how to play?”
“If you get lost, you can just stop, and then start over.”
“From the beginning, or—?”
“From anywhere you like. And it might feel awful. But just try again, and keep going. Because here’s another secret...” She leaned close. “The audience wants to see something interesting. And if you play very well, that’s interesting. And they’ll clap for you. But if you hit a wrong note, or lose your place—if you have to stop and start over and try again—if you make a mistake but keep going and then make it to the end anyway...” Sophie smiled. “They’ll clapeven harder. Because if you play perfectly, you’ve conquered a piece of music. But if you play imperfectly, and still finish, you’ve conquered fear itself. And every audience in the entire world wants to see that.”
“They’ll clap harder?” Harriet asked.
“I’ve heard them,” Sophie said.
Harriet gave a small smile, and her music didn’t rattle quite so hard in her hands.
Mr. Roseingrave grinned at his daughter. “Are you ready to create a sensation, my dear?”
Sophie straightened her shoulders. “As ready as I can be.”
“Then let us begin.”
Mr. Roseingrave cleared his throat, moved to the front, and raised his arms. The audience chatter faded away into silence as he strode into the bright lights of the small stage. “Ladies and gentlemen...” he began.
His introduction was mercifully brief, and at the end he resumed his seat in the audience, his wife patting his knee. Jasper and Julia were up first, the crowd cooing over their matching garb and improbable confidence. They raised their violins—Jasper gave a silent count—and the duet began. Sophie had heard it a hundred times as they practiced at home, but here in this space it sounded unfamiliar, as though it had been created just for this moment.
As soon as the first notes sounded, Mrs. Money walked into the room. Her Pomona green gown bore rosettes of bright gold on the bodice, and no fewer than three tiers of flounces along the hem. She made her way along the side, unseen.
Sophie marked time by watching Jasper and Julia, who were outdoing themselves. Soaring strings and small, quick fingers, and two instruments that were fortunately in good tune: the audience applauded so much at the finish that Jasper’s grin nearly split his face, and even bold Julia looked surprised and slightly shy at such a wealth of approval.
While everyone applauded, Mrs. Money slipped into the empty seat in the front row, clutching at her purse as though she feared to lose it.
Now it was Harriet Muchelney’s turn on the program. She turned half-wild eyes to Sophie.
Sophie nodded briskly and smiled. “It’s up to you now.”
Harriet’s spine straightened, and she nodded back. If her walk to the piano bench was a bit of a martial march, well, that was only to be expected.
Sophie held her breath. Despite her bold words to the girl, Miss Muchelney’s success was a test for her teacher as well. This was Sophie’s first student in Carrisford, and her ability to attract others would hang on what happened in the next few minutes.
The piece Harriet had selected (with Sophie’s help) was a simplified version of a waltz in A minor: she only had to worry about the white keys, and it sounded dramatic and eerie and sinister in a way that had called to the girl’s fierce soul. Miss Muchelney sat on the bench, wiped her hands on her skirts, and reached for the keys.
Sophie had to remind herself the human body needed to breathe. She sucked air in, conscious more than she had ever been before of the way her lungs expanded in her chest, and the muscles that moved all of it in and out.
Harriet launched into the waltz as though declaring war.
It wasn’t graceful, it wasn’t lyrical, and half the audience reared back in polite surprise at the volume—but her rhythm was good, the sound filled the hall to the corners, and she wrung every feeling she could from the melody. It was bloodthirsty, somehow, and brave, and it threw caution absolutely to the wind.
She played every note perfectly, if emphatically, and reveled in the small bits of showiness at the end.
Before the notes of the last chord faded from the air, the applause was already deafening.
Harriet rose and bowed, her cheeks flushed, her lips parted, the wonder of it clear on her face: this applause was all for her. From the back came the sound of her brothers yelling her name; she flushed and gave them a little wave, and laughter rolled over the applause.
Sophie had fallen in love with performing herself in just this way—albeit with a much smaller audience—and from the wings she clapped until her hands stung, fit to expire from mingled relief and pride.
In the front, Mr. Giles turned to murmur a few words to Mrs. Money, and she held up a quelling hand, peering suspiciously around at the audience.
Mr. Frampton and Miss Slight followed, playing one of Spohr’s sonatas for harp and violin. The bell-like tone of the harp and the voice of the violin were an exquisite combination, and Sophie managed to soothe her nerves a little in the shiver of the strings.
She peered out at the audience again when the sonata finished, and spotted Maddie Crewe for the first time. Maddie was across the aisle from Mrs. Money; her gown was a silvery gray color that brought out the rosy tones in her skin and the auburn in her hair. Starlike spangles were scattered along the neckline and down the skirt. They sparkled as she clapped, her eyes diamond bright. She flicked a quick glance across the aisle, where Mr. Giles sat, not even applauding, clearly so caught up in his dreams of unearned success that he was unwilling to evenpretendto enjoy the performance. Waiting for the important part—which is to say, the part of the evening that involved and affected him.
