And surrendering.
He’d finally met a force greater than himself.
Right. How odd that word was. “Right.” So many shades of meaning. So odd, so antithetical to who he’d always thought he was—but surrendering was the right and only thing to do.
And at all of these townhouses, he was consequently greeted by variously unshaven, irritable, hungover, terrified, or burningly curious members of the elite. All of whom would appear for the unveiling of a portrait or a statue.
He didn’t threaten or cajole.
He simply, finally, asked all of them for something in return.
Sergeant Massey and his wife, Emily, smiled encouragingly at Delilah and Angelique, who stood at the entrance of the ballroom behind a beautifully flower-bestrewn table. The program was due to begin in ten minutes.
They peered into the ballroom past Delilah and Angelique.
“Oh my. It’s beautiful. I suspect it has lovely acoustics...” Mrs. Massey enthused.
“stics... stics...”
They all gave a little start at the echo. The ballroom was resoundingly empty. They were the first paying guests to arrive.
Delilah, radiant in deep red silk, and Angelique, glowing in gold, smiled at Mrs. Massey somewhat weakly.
The drunk man who usually leaned against the building two doors down (and who used to lean against The Grand Palace on the Thames, until they persuaded him otherwise) had officially been the first to arrive. He now lounged in a chair, gazing up at the ceiling and the stars. “Am I inside or outside?” he wondered aloud. “That is the question.”
Suddenly a young man sporting a riot of dark curls and a modest dark suit appeared in the doorway. In his hand he gripped the neck of a cello.
Delilah and Angelique stared at him, dumbstruck.
The violinist on his heels almost collided with him when he stopped abruptly. They knew he was a violinist becausehishand was gripping the neck of one.
Huffing on the heels of the violinist was another violinist.
Delilah craned her head to see how many stringed instruments would appear.
“Where would you like us to set up?” the first young man said briskly.
“I beg your pardon?” Angelique managed.
“Where would you like us to set up?” he repeated patiently. “We’ve been paid to play for Miss Wylde. We know the songs she intends to include.” He fished something from his pocket. “We’ve a program!” he said cheerfully. “And we’ve played for her before at the theater. She knows us.”
Angelique and Delilah stared at him wordlessly.
Then turned to regard each other in bafflement, which they attempted to disguise.
“Why don’t you stand next to the pianoforte?” Delilah finally suggested. “And... perhaps play some Bach while we wait for our guests to arrive?”
She felt a bit as though she were commanding a character in a dream, and that there would be no telling what they would do now. Transform into dragons. Disappear in a puff of smoke.
But off they cheerily went.
“Didwepay for them?” Delilah asked in a low voice. “We’ve been so frantic these past few days, it might have slipped our minds.” She was half joking.
“Never,” Angelique said. “When has our budget ever slipped our minds?”
Upon tuning, the musicians at once launched into Bach’sConcerto for Two Violinsin D minor.
The night was turning out to be everything they’d dreamed. And therefore quite puzzling.
