Broken Harmony (10 page)

“Mr Patterson,” said Bedwalters formally, “I must again ask your indulgence but I am investigating a most serious matter.”

“What is it this time?” I asked wearily. “More music disappeared?”

“
Mon violon!
” Le Sac cried hoarsely.

My heart turned over. I think there are few people in this world who can understand the attachment a musician has towards his instrument. That black violin of Le Sac’s would have been worn
to his hold, fitted snugly upon his shoulder. His fingers would instinctively have known their places upon the strings; his ear would recognise its every tone. It would have travelled with him from
town to town and country to country, lying on the seat by his side like a companion; its surface would have been polished lovingly by his hand. To lose it would have been like losing a child. I
know the fondness I have for my own fiddle, though I am principally by nature a keyboard player. How much more violent then must have been Le Sac’s emotions?

He was shaking and red-faced; by the light of Phillips’s wavering lamp, I could see sweat dripping down his round cheek. Even from this distance, I could feel the heat burning from him.
“You have it stolen,” he croaked. “You want I should leave this town. I
will
leave – only give me back my
violon
.”

I knew it was not a bargain he would keep, even if I had been in a position to agree to it. Once he had the violin in his hands again, he would refuse to go. And, oh God, why had I not thought
of it before – the violin was gone and
Demsey
was gone. Had he stolen it, in some obscure plan to punish Nichols by attacking his friend? Or did he intend to trap Nichols as Nichols
had trapped him with the young lady? Would the thing be found hidden in Nichols’s lodgings? No, surely not. It made no sense. But my tired, befuddled mind was beyond making sense of
anything.

Bedwalters was regarding me mildly. “I regret to have to ask you this again, sir, but it would be most amiable of you to agree that your rooms be searched.”

“
I
cannot agree!” snapped Mrs Foxton.

“See – he has it!” Le Sac cried and fell at once into a fit of coughing so loud we had to wait until the fit died away before we could hear each other speak.

I was too weary to argue. “Come up, then,” I said. “Have your search and be gone. I need to be up early tomorrow.”

We climbed the stairs, Le Sac panting and wheezing like an old man. By the time we reached my room, he was a flight behind us and Bedwalters stood at the banister with a candle to light his way.
I rapped upon the door and a sleepy voice said, “Master, is that you?”

“Yes. Let us in.”

I heard the soft pad of footsteps and the click of the wedge being removed from the inside of the door. The room was in darkness and little of Bedwalters’s light from the landing seeped
in. I felt my way across to the table. It took me three attempts to make a spark from the tinder-box but when the candles were alight, they showed me George, seated upon the edge of my bed, yawning
widely, his feet kicking at the rumpled blanket on the floor. Then his eyes widened and he scrambled back upon the bed towards the corner of the wall.

“He’s come for me!”

“You!” Le Sac declaimed from the doorway. He stood with one hand upon the jamb, a picture of scorn. “What use are you to me? You have no musical Genius! Give me my
violon
and I will not care if I ever see either of you again.”

“I haven’t got it!” George quavered. Tears squeezed down his face, glittering in the candlelight.

The search did not take them long. A glance in the few cupboards, a turning over of the mattress, a shifting of the books on the table. George huddled in a corner, shivering in his nightshirt,
while I leant against the table and tended the candles to prevent them from being blown out by the draught of their movements.

“I don’t have your violin,” I said at last as Le Sac prowled restlessly about the room. “I am sorry for its loss – ”

“Hypocrite,” he spat and turned on his heel.

By mid-morning, the theft was posted all over the town; Le Sac must have persuaded Thomas Saint to open up early to print the bills. I first came across a copy on the wall of
Barber’s bookshop in Amen Corner behind St Nicholas’s Church, and stood reading it in the spit of a cold rain that was already staining the paper.

The matter of the violin and Demsey’s disappearance weighed heavily on me all day, so I walked down to Caroline Square in an uneasy state of mind. I was not inclined for company, and I did
not trust Lady Anne not to spring another surprise. But it was undoubtedly true that her favour could do me great service professionally; and I found myself anticipating with some pleasure the
opportunity to talk again with Mrs Jerdoun.

Still there was that other matter, which endlessly troubled and mystified me. At the entrance to the square I hesitated, looking across to the house with elegantly proportioned windows, sweeps
of expensive curtains just visible through the glass. I did not wish for the repetition of the strange events that had happened to me there, yet I found myself thinking that perhaps only by such
repetition would I find out their true significance. If such an event did occur again, I resolved I would face it in a rational manner, calmly looking for an explanation. So I hesitated, but went
up to the house with resolution.

Nothing happened.

The footman showed me to the library to await the tea tray. I occupied the few minutes I was kept waiting by browsing through some of the volumes absentmindedly, still distracted by the one
puzzle when I came upon another – an inscription in a commonplace book, in manuscript. The book looked very much the sort of thing an organist might keep to record short pieces or to note
down the works of other composers. In the front was inscribed:
Thomas Powell, organist, St Nicholas, 1725.

I had never heard of such a man. Unless, of course, the name of the church misled me. There was also a St Nicholas church in Durham, but surely it had no organ. The book was much the same size
as the book Lady Anne had lent me and I stood for a moment, fingering the cover, wondering. And then, inexplicably, shivering with sudden cold.

I looked up and saw in front of me a door standing open into a small room, very elegant in pale golds and blues, the sort of room in which a lady might sit. A book was laid closed on a small
table, needlework beside it as if the lady had only just laid her work down and got up. I stared blankly at the room, knowing it had not been there before. Taking a deep breath, I moved forward.
The carpet was thick beneath my feet; the delicate scent of dried herbs drifted from a bowl on a mantelshelf over an unlit fire. I reached down and opened the book on the table. It was a prayer
book, of the kind often used for private devotion, and inside the cover had been listed the names of children with the dates of their births. Lady Anne was there, but not Mrs Jerdoun. The old paper
was darkened where fingers had stained the pages.

A glimpse of movement in the corner of my eye. I glanced up and saw, through the window, a carriage pass down the street.

For a moment, I stared out into the street where there should have been a square. Then I thought I heard a voice; I turned and went back into the library. And as I passed through the door
between the two rooms I shuddered again, as if with cold – and turned to see no door, no blue and gold room, only a wall behind me.

The ladies came out of dinner together, amiable and talkative, although I sensed some constraint on Mrs Jerdoun’s part. Lady Anne was anxious to ask after my health, having heard from Mrs
Jerdoun that I had felt unwell on my last visit to the house. “I do trust,” she said wickedly, “that you have not caught Monsieur le Sac’s chill.”

“Not at all, my lady,” I returned, choosing not to rise to her bait. “I have been admiring your library. I had no chance to look closely on my previous visit but I had thought
there was another room, there.” I indicated the wall behind us. “In that corner of the library.”

She stared at me, astonished. “No, never. Only the servants’ stair. Are you certain you are quite recovered?”

Somewhat irritated, I reassured her. She then asked after my apprentice, whose playing at the concert she commended. “Though I fancy, if he intends to make a living out of his skill, he
will need to grow up a great deal more handsome than he promises to.”

The lady herself, of course, was exquisite as usual, the splendour of her gown and jewels and the subtlety of her rouge almost making me forget that she was remarkably plain. Something in the
animation of her face and the glow of her skin in the brilliant light of many candles was infinitely becoming.

Esther Jerdoun said consolingly, “Children often grow out of spots. Once he does, he may not be so bad.” She too was elegant in a silvery white gown and her fair hair glinted in the
lights. Her manner was cooler than her cousin’s; I both preferred it and trusted it more. There was a frown between her eyes as she regarded me, before flicking her gaze towards the corner of
the room I had indicated. I was tempted to raise the matter again, but Lady Anne was already speaking.

“If Mr Patterson can but persuade the boy to wash more often, I shall be pleased. Tell me, sir, what do you make of this business of the stolen violin?”

Suspecting Demsey as I did, I did not wish to discuss the matter. I made some bland remark about how grievously musicians feel such losses.

“That must be it, then,” she said thoughtfully. “I offered to buy him another but he rejected the idea so vehemently I feared for his health!” There was an edge to her
voice which suggested she had not liked Le Sac’s manner. “Well, Mr Patterson, this may work in your favour. You may yet direct more concerts.”

“I would dearly love the chance to direct the Concerts, madam, but I would like to earn the place through merit, not at the cost of another man’s misfortunes.”

“Regrettably,” Mrs Jerdoun said, “we often prosper at other people’s expense.”

Lady Anne laughed and tapped my arm. “That is a jibe at me, sir. I was very ill when I was a girl, and if I had died Esther would have inherited my father’s wealth.”

Flustered by her frankness, I glanced at Mrs Jerdoun. “My cousin likes to tease, Mr Patterson,” she said imperturbably. “She is fond of games.” And I fancied she cast me
a warning glance.

What the devil was I to do about Demsey, what indeed
could
I do? The more I considered the matter, the less likely it seemed that he would have taken the violin. His
quarrel was with Nichols, not Le Sac; if his intention had been to place the blame on Nichols (by secreting the violin in his rooms, for instance), surely something would have been heard of it by
now? But if it had been an attack on Le Sac, the only enemy I could attribute to the Swiss was myself; and I had not taken the violin nor asked anyone else to do it for me. So was it merely a
simple matter of a thief making off with the instrument? And why did I feel that there was something deeper – something as yet unknown – about the affair?

As to the matter of the house in Caroline Square…

Early on Sunday evening I went out with determination, as if I was merely taking the air, walking with my prayer book in hand to give myself an air of respectability. The ladies were out at
church; I saw them walking sedately down to St Nicholas together. Few of the servants remained, by the look of it, and the square was altogether quiet.

I walked round the square twice. Nothing happened. I walked past the house, turned and went back again, to no purpose. The square remained silent, the chill was merely the chill of the first
hint of frost and the flickering lanterns remained in place. Even the spirit was silent.

On Monday, I received a kind note from a Mr Parry, player of the treble harp, who was evidently visiting the town.

I scribbled a note, dragged George from the copying upon which he was engaged and told him to take the note to the inn. He looked at me with big anxious eyes.

“I haven’t finished the concerto, master.” He was copying one of the pieces from Lady Anne’s book.

“There is no hurry. You can finish it later.”

“I don’t feel well, master. I think Mr Sac passed on his illness to me.”

He was clearly making excuses. “You have nothing to fear from Le Sac, George,” I said wearily. “He cannot make you go back to him.”

He took the note unwillingly and went out, dragging his feet. But he came running back before long, out of breath and more eager than before. “The gentleman asked if I played too, master,
and when I said yes, he said to bring my violin and he’d hear me and say if he wanted me to play! Oh, and he sent this note –”

Parry’s brief note appointed a time on Wednesday the 21st, two days hence, for a rehearsal. I folded the paper into a book where I generally keep such things and George went back to his
copying.

We neither of us slept well that night. As I lay in the darkness, I could hear George wriggling upon the floor, constantly turning over. It seemed strange to me that he should still fear Le Sac.
To be honest, I thought the less of him for it; he must know that Le Sac had no legal hold over him any longer. As for myself, I was preoccupied by puzzles that nagged at me night-long: Demsey, the
violin, the strange room I had seen, the games Lady Anne insisted upon playing. And a growing conviction that all these things were somehow connected.