Free Broken Harmony by Roz Southey Page B

properly, &c., &c. But the prospect of losing our only tenor, no matter how erratic his
playing, filled me with alarm.
    “How odd,” I said swiftly. “I was only just reflecting how greatly improved you are upon the instrument.”
    He turned on me a startled expression and a hopeful one. “You think so? I thought, from the way Monsieur le Sac sighs over me, I was as bad as ever.”
    For once, I sympathised with the Swiss. But I merely said, “If I may be so bold as to offer a suggestion?”
    “Yes?”
    “A small alteration in the position of your hand upon the bow-stick.” I demonstrated what I meant; he copied my instructions, then tried it upon the strings.
    “Good heavens! Why, that is much easier!” And he ran off a passage with a great deal more pleasure.
    We resumed and went through the remaining pieces with such ease that we finished long before our usual time. The rehearsal broke up in as high spirits as it had started, though in considerably
better humour. I was even more pleased to be accosted by Jenison just as I was about to leave, and asked to put in a solo of my own.
    “The audience expects some fire, Patterson,” he said. “Play something to take their fancy.”
    Something like Le Sac’s vapid, showy pieces, he meant. Over ale in Nellie’s coffee-house, I contemplated what I might play. I could not compete with Le Sac for virtuosity, and in any
case I would prefer to play something with more heart. Yet a slow piece, no matter how moving, would not please an audience. Finally, I decided upon a piece I had written some years before –
a lightweight piece intended to amuse rather than edify, based upon some popular Scotch tunes. Perhaps, in the audience’s enjoyment of recognising favourite melodies, my lack of virtuosity
would go unnoticed.
    I drank my ale and contemplated the prospect with pleasure. At least Lady Anne’s petty games had produced an unexpected result in my favour. I must make the most of the opportunity and
show the gentlemen there was more than one musician in the town. As for that other matter – well, no doubt there was some perfectly rational explanation. All things are susceptible to
explanation, or so the Steward of the Assembly Rooms insists.
    I had told George to get himself some small beer and a pastry, and to keep out of my way (for I had no wish for company while I considered my music) but I heard a commotion at the door and he
came pushing through the crowd to reach me.
    “Have you heard the news, master? About the dancing fellow?”
    I was seized with a sudden fear. “Which one? Nichols?”
    “The other one, master.” I recognised George’s look, the way he leant upon the table, the way he rushed at his words. The eager gossip. Telling tales that he knows will be
unwelcome, and greedy for the effect he hopes to produce. He really was an obnoxious boy. “You know him, don’t you, master?”
    Even as Le Sac’s apprentice, he must have seen me about the town with Demsey a dozen times. “Slightly,” I said. “Go on.”
    “Caught them red-handed, they did!”
    “A full tale, George,” I said. “And now , before I send you back to your father with a letter like Le Sac’s!”
    He drew back at my vehemence and hurried on. “There’s another word for it, a French one. Mr Sac used to talk about it. Her mother walked in on them.”
    Dear God, what was he suggesting?
    “He was giving a lesson.” The stench of George’s breath washed over me. “A private lesson at the lady’s house. And the young lady’s ma walked in. Kissing and
cuddling, they were.”
    “Rubbish!” I said sharply. “Where was the chaperone?”
    “The what, master?”
    “The governess! The married sister!” Two or three fellows nearby glanced round curiously at my raised voice. I said more quietly, “No one would leave a young woman alone with
any man, let alone one who is personable and unmarried. Where did you hear this?”
    “Everyone’s talking about it,