Free Duet for Three Hands by Tess Thompson Page A

asked for two roast beef specials. When the waiter left, he turned back to Mrs. Bellmont. “Can you arrange something quickly? Tell him I’m leaving for another tour and want to take her with me?”
    She appeared to think for a moment, folding and unfolding her napkin. “Yes, that will work, I suppose.” She paused as the waiter brought them a basket of bread. “We’ll do the wedding at the lake house. I’ll tell Frank you want only a small affair. Just the family.”
    “Whatever you want, Mrs. Bellmont. Anything.”
    She looked at him long and hard, with searching eyes. What did she look for, he wondered?

Chapter 6
    J eselle
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    T he day afterMrs. Bellmont and Frances returned from New York City, Jeselle finished up the morning dishes while Mama sliced onions at the kitchen table. Mama worked in silence, her mouth still set in a hard line, squinting at the door into the hallway every minute. Sometimes she held the knife, suspended between chops, and cocked her head, obviously listening for something. The juice of the onions was potent enough that Jeselle’s eyes watered, but not Mama’s. She was impervious, it seemed, to crying. Not even an onion could do it.
    Mama looked over at her, pointing the knife toward the pantry. “Jes, stop daydreaming and concentrate on what’re you’re doing. I asked you to look in the pantry for the dried thyme.”
    She hadn’t actually asked her, but Jeselle kept that to herself. No need to poke the bear, as Whit would say. In the pantry, Jeselle climbed up the stepladder to look on the topmost shelf. There were a half-dozen dried herbs in canning jars. The jar of thyme was all the way in the back. She’d have to move the stepladder over a foot to reach it.
    Before she could do so, Jeselle heard a clicking sound on the hardwood floors of the hallway—Mrs. Bellmont’s shoes. She stepped down from the ladder and peeked through the crack in the slightly open door. A moment later Mrs. Bellmont entered the kitchen, closing the kitchen door behind her. She’d changed into a beige linen dress with white lace around the bodice and a sweetheart neckline. Her fair curls were damp and stuck to the sides of her face and back of her neck. She spoke softly to Mama, “Well, it’s done. He’s agreed to the marriage.”
    Mama put down her knife, glancing at the door. “You all right then?”
    “Frank was calm. None of the nonsense.” Mrs. Bellmont brushed her flaming cheeks with the tips of her fingers. Nonsense? It bothered Jeselle to hear the way Mr. Bellmont hurt Mrs. Bellmont described as nonsense. The word was cruel. C-R-U-E-L. The way he hurt his wife, sometimes enough that she had to hide for weeks inside the house for fear someone would spot her bruises, could not be described any other way. Frank Bellmont was a cruel beast.
    “What did you tell him?” asked Mama.
    “I said, as simply as I could, that after the incident last year at Flora Waller’s coming-out party, Frances didn’t exactly have many opportunities for securing a good marriage. I went on to say that this man, Nathaniel Fye, while older, is wealthy and famous, a musical genius, and apparently so in love with Frances he wanted to get married right away and without any fuss, given his upcoming European touring schedule.”
    “He didn’t guess there was a baby coming?”
    “Not a word about it. I don’t think it’s occurred to him.” Mrs. Bellmont’s voice broke, and she took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger.
    Jeselle stifled a gasp. Frances was going to have a baby. That was why she’d been sick.
    Mama pulled a handkerchief out of her apron pocket and pressed it into Mrs. Bellmont’s hand, leading her over to the table. “Set for a minute, Miz Bellmont. No reason you can’t cry. It’s been a shock for you.” She made a clucking sound with the tip of her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “I’ll get you a cup of tea.”
    Mrs. Bellmont sank into a