The Musician (Emerson Pass Historicals 5)

When we returned to the sitting room, the guests all had glasses of wine. Smoke from cigarettes gathered near the ceiling and scented the room with an unpleasant odor. I opened several more windows to bring in fresh air. I’d found a stack of plates that could almost fit in the palm of my hand in the cupboard as well as appetizer forks that we would have used at home for our first course but were for hard cheeses here.

Most of the evening passed in a blur. The novelist, Sebastian, was not only a pontificator but also quite full of himself and his talent. He spoke with an affected accent with elongated vowels and nary an r sound to be heard. An accent I’d never heard anywhere in the States and suspected didn’t exist. His athletic wife, who wore no makeup and had her nondescript brown hair cut into a boyish bob, seemed like a nice Midwestern girl, quick to laugh and seemingly oblivious to her husband’s ridiculousness. Oh and that husband! I began to count every time he took a drink of wine but stopped when I reached the count of twenty.

Mr. West was my favorite of them. He was dashing, as Mama had pointed out. His hair, wiry in texture, hung in waves over his forehead. A slightly bent nose in no way detracted from his handsomeness. His smile, however, took him from ordinarily nice-looking to devastatingly so. I was fascinated by the way his unlined face transformed into three arcs from his chin to his eyes. His laugh was like a tickle. One couldn’t help but laugh with him.

After drinking a glass of Bordeaux, I found that instead of listening to what everyone else seemed to find dazzling and riveting conversation, I drifted away. I imagined Cym or Jo here with me and what they would say about the gathering. Would they begin to compare each of them to farm animals as I did now? James West was a russet-colored retriever, enthusiastic and friendly, and really nice to have to curl up next to on the couch. Sebastian was even easier to cast. A rooster, even though his coloring was more of a brown hen. Paula was a racehorse, well-bred and monstrously strong yet fated to be put out to pasture. The girl who referred to herself as Sandwich, which by this time I’d learned was a nickname for Sandra, seemed like a socialite from New York City or Boston, and, as I’d thought earlier, was a whippet or greyhound, thin and white. And the artist Saffron and her companion? In her messy clothes and cropped hair that sprang out of her head in coiled-back springs, Saffron was a fat and satisfied barn cat, in contrast to her lithe, slick Spanish husband, who reminded me of a ferret.

It was nearing midnight, and I yawned as if my head might split in two. The cigarette smoke had made my eyes scratchy, and I longed for bed. Fortunately, James noticed my weariness and rose to his feet. “We mustn’t keep you any longer. This was most generous, Lord Barnes.”

Everyone got up then, in various states of drunkenness. I moved to stand next to Papa and Mama at the door to say goodnight to our guests. James West was last to go, lifting my gloved hand to his mouth for a kiss. “May I call on you, Miss Barnes?”

“You may call me Fiona,” I said. Did I want him to call upon me? No, I wanted Li. The comfort of his familiar face. However, he didn’t want me. I was here to begin a new part of my life. “That would be lovely, thank you.”

He turned to Papa and held out his hand. “Lord Barnes, thank you again. I’m one of the titled poor, left over from another time; however, it would be a great honor for me to look after Fiona while she’s here. You can leave tomorrow knowing she’s safe and well-cared for.”

“I’m much obliged,” Papa said. “Thank you.”

I collapsed against Papa’s side the moment they were gone. “I thought they’d never leave,” I said quietly.

“It’s the French way,” Mama said. “Staying up until after midnight and rising long after sunrise.”

Papa gave my shoulders a squeeze. “Off to bed, love. Do sleep late tomorrow. We don’t have to be to the train station until the afternoon.”

I kissed and hugged them both, all the while fighting the lump in my throat. I didn’t want tomorrow to come. Would I be frightened all alone in this apartment? “This place will seem big and dark without you.”

“You’ll have the piano to keep you company,” Mama said. “And remember, it’s not for long. You’ll be home before you know it.”

“We’ll be back for another visit in only a few months,” Papa said. “Time will fly.”

From his mouth to God’s ears.

On a morninga few days after Mama and Papa had departed, I was playing piano and practicing my vocal scales when a knock on the door distracted me. Gabriella scurried out of the kitchen to answer. I heard her soft voice speaking French and then the voice of a man.

James West. He’d come to visit as promised. Would he expect anything from me? Other than friendship? I hoped not.

I walked out to the foyer, tidying my hair. He stood there with his hat in his hand. “Hello, Mr. West.”

He bobbed his head. “Please, call me James.”

“Hello, James.”

“I wondered if I might ask for the pleasure of dining with you this evening?”

I remembered what Henri had said about James’s financial situation. Perhaps it would be better if he were to dine here with me?

“I’d not like to cause you distress,” I said.

“Distress?”

“Of a financial nature.”

The flush of his cheeks matched the copper tones in his hair. “You mustn’t worry about that. I always find a way.”

“Would you rather dine here with me? Gabriella can fix us something simple. She’s a very good cook. Before we dine, we could take a walk along the river. You’d be doing me a favor to walk with me, as I’m too nervous to do so by myself.’

“It would be my honor.”

“Come around five? I have my first lesson with Mr. Basset this morning.”

A shadow passed over his face. “Yes, Mr. Basset. He has quite the reputation.”

“He does?” I squeaked. What did reputation mean? Would he be an ogre or tyrant?

“Yes, it’s another reason I wanted to stop by this morning. I didn’t want to say it in front of your parents, for fear they’d worry.”

“Worry?”