Broken Harmony (16 page)

Oh God, I thought, the writer cannot refer to me? Other phrases leapt to my attention.
Where Genius can command, it has the power to be generous to those less fortunate
. A reference to Le
Sac clearly, and a less than happy compliment to myself. Yes, and here was the demand for fifteen shillings –
only, we are told, what is commonly offered in London
.

I was reading snatches aloud. Mrs Foxton snorted at references to Genius. George was staring open-mouthed; no doubt he didn’t understand half of the rolling, pompous phrases. The writer
must have spent his entire day on this rubbish, and poor Thomas Saint must have been up half the night setting it in type. Unless, of course… I scanned the column again; there was nothing in
it that might not have been written last week, except for the matter of the fifteen shillings; which might have been inserted at the last minute. But that would imply a well-planned campaign
against Le Sac.

To make such Demands is unworthy of one whose Heart ought to be softened by the divine Art of Musick
… No, no, never mind all that.

The affair of the missing Music Books
[oh God, not that again]
transpired to be a mistake – the books, we are told, were merely mislaid. As for the Violin, we shall doubtless
never know the thief who sent it on its journey south, but the Swiss Gentleman should think twice before he makes Accusations. He should recall that the Instrument was stolen from his own Rooms,
under his very Nose, while he lay ill in Bed; and that the modest young Man he hints about never had access to those Rooms
.

I stopped reading. How
had
the thief taken the violin?

“Go on, master,” George urged.

“Read it all.” Mrs Foxton had moved to the table next the door and gleamed upon the unlit tallow candle. “It is best to know everything, however bad.”

I read the rest of the column, preposterous as it was. “There is much written of Le Sac’s manner,” I said. “It talks of
an insult to the young man
– that is
supposed to be me, clearly –
in not asking him to play at his benefit Concert
.” I stopped, amazed. I had been disappointed, yes, principally for the sake of the money, but how
could anyone say it was an insult when the substitute was Signor Bitti?

As for righting the supposed insult – this letter was more likely to send Le Sac running in alarm to make his peace with Jenison and I would lose my chance to direct the Concerts. I was
seized by a sudden rage and tossed the paper into a corner of the room. “How can anyone write such drivel? It can only make matters ten times worse!”

The letter was signed
AMATOR JUSTICIAE
. Lover of Justice. “Amator Discordiae, more like,” I said in disgust.

I was not left in doubt of Le Sac’s reaction for long. He sent me a note scribbled in an execrable hand and in French so colloquial I understood less than one word in ten. I pondered long
over whether to seek a translation. I could not ask one of the gentlemen of the Concerts in case the note contained wild accusations against me; moreover, I doubted such men as Jenison and Ord
would know any language but their own. Claudius Heron might, I supposed, but after our last encounter I judged it best not to test his good will too much. A pity Demsey was not here; his French was
fluent (and colloquial) to a degree – all those visits to Paris to learn the latest dances.

I was tempted to throw the note into the fire but Le Sac was devious enough to send me a letter I could not understand and then claim he had told me this or that important fact. I had but one
alternative; only one person could oblige me with a translation without exclaiming over the contents of the note. Lady Anne, despite her plottings, or perhaps because of them, would understand any
accusations Le Sac might have made.

I was conscious of the irony in asking Le Sac’s patroness to decipher the threats of her protégé but I felt reckless. I was surrounded by people who wished to take my life
into their control and to use me for their own purposes, and I was not inclined to allow them to do so. I had had enough of mysterious plottings. If I had a quarrel with Le Sac, I would prosecute
it myself.

My first lesson of the day was in the upper reaches of Northumberland Street, almost upon the Barras Bridge. After the lesson, I was walking down towards the town through a stiff breeze blowing
leaves about me from the gardens, when a horse clip-clopped to a halt beside me. I looked up into the face of Claudius Heron.

“Do you go to the Key, Patterson?”

“To Caroline Square.”

“I will walk with you.”

He swung himself down and fell into step beside me, leading his horse and glancing about. Not, I fancied, out of interest in the few passers-by, but as an excuse not to look directly at me. The
embarrassment of that last encounter still hung between us.

“I am very pleased with my son’s progress,” he said. “His harpsichord playing is much improved.”

“He works hard.”

“Of course.” Heron’s profile, which he kept turned to me, was in the classic style, most elegantly proportioned; his figure was trim despite his age (he was forty-one or two)
and his demeanour as cool as ever. “He has expressed a wish to learn the German flute.”

That I doubted but I did not say so. “A very gentlemanly instrument.”

The wind lifted the skirts of Heron’s riding coat and slapped them about his thighs. The horse tossed its head and tugged at the reins. “You will start him on the instrument the next
time you come.”

I was about to speak when he added, “And I will have my lesson first.”

“
Your
lesson, sir?”

“Upon the violin.”

“I had thought –”

“Yes?”

“That you studied with Monsieur le Sac.”

“I am of the opinion,” he said, turning his head to me for the first time, “that music is an art for gentlemen. Monsieur le Sac is not a gentleman.”

“Indeed,” I murmured.

We soon parted, and I turned west to walk down towards St John’s Church and Caroline Square. The prospect of instructing Mr Heron was daunting, and would require every ounce of tact I had;
it was a challenge, however, that I found myself anticipating with some pleasure. What I did not look forward to was Le Sac’s reaction to losing a pupil, especially a wealthy one.

Caroline Square was quiet, touched only by the rustling of the leaves on the trees in the central gardens. I walked boldly across the square towards the house. If the strange events were to
happen again, so be it. Every time they happened, I gathered more information. (Would not the Steward of the Assembly Rooms congratulate me on my ‘scientific’ attitude?) I had learnt
that within those events I could see other people but apparently was not seen by them; I could walk about and touch and hear, and feel the ground beneath my feet. The events could occur as well
within the house as without and no one else experienced such events (remembering Lady Anne’s astonishment at my hints). But wait, had not Claudius Heron felt the chill too? Had he not heard
me shouting?

Still, at least these strange events had never yet threatened me with any danger, merely discomfort and confusion. And today, as on the last occasion, they did not occur at all. I cursed. I had
steeled myself to confront the mystery, to no purpose.

A servant answered the door; Lady Anne, he informed me, was absent on business and not expected back for some hours. I stood irresolute.

“Very well,” I said at last. “Ask Mrs Jerdoun if she will spare me a few moments of her time.”

I was left to wait in the withdrawing room while the servant went in search of Esther Jerdoun. I was conscious of my temerity in approaching a lady with whom I was on bad terms – worse,
one who thought so ill of me – but there was nothing else to do.

She came into the room quickly, dressed in a gown of pale green, with tiny embroidery of white. “Mr Patterson,” she said brusquely, “I must apologise to you.”

Disconcerted, I stuttered. “Apologise, madam?”

“I have been most unforgivably rude with you, and with no excuse other than my own ill humour.”

I was silent, remembering what she believed me capable of. Her cool direct gaze creased into a frown.

“Are you well, sir?”

“A trifle – distracted. No matter.”

“You were unwell the other day.”

That was my opportunity. “There is something about this house –”

She nodded. “My cousin likes it greatly but I confess I feel it has a cold air. I am never quite warm here. Are you sure you are not ill?”

“You have not seen anything
unusual
here?”

She frowned. “Of what kind?”

No, she had seen nothing unusual; I knew that by her puzzled manner. And she had her own preoccupations. When I merely shrugged, she went on. “Do you come about that letter in the
Courant
? I assure you I had nothing to do with it. Indeed, I thought it most ill-judged and told Mr Ord as much.”

Ord! I sighed and explained about Le Sac’s note. She took it from me, exclaiming at the handwriting and frowning over one or two words that are evidently only to be found in the Swiss form
of the French language.

“I suppose we are lucky he did not write in Romance,” she said. “Though I daresay it would still have shown the same poverty of mind, the same ungentlemanly character, the same
conceit.”

“If you could just give me the general meaning, madam?”

She did so, glossing over the worst of it, by her own admission. It was of no moment. Le Sac claimed that I was the author of that ‘scurrilous nonsense’ in the
Courant
and
accused me of being intent, out of jealousy, upon destroying him. In short, he accused me of all the evil designs he himself had conceived against me.

I folded the paper away and rose to take my leave. Mrs Jerdoun asked if I would take tea with her, but I could not regain the easy manner I had had upon my previous visits. Despite her apology,
I could not forget her suspicions of me. I declined. She looked as if she would say something more, then merely nodded. Yet, on the threshold of the room, she paused, hand upon the door.

“Mr Patterson,” she said. “What I am about to say may seem ungenerous, bearing in mind whose house this is, and whose guest I am. But I
must
warn you, sir – beware
of my cousin.”

Our gazes met – my own astonished – and she added, simply, “She is a dangerous woman.”

20

CHORUS

Le Sac’s supporters did not wait for the next week’s paper but instead had a broadsheet printed indignantly refuting Mr Ord’s claims. I read it on the
coffee-house wall at midday; by the time I reached the spot, the paper was already tattered at the corners by the wind. All the insinuations of AMATOR JUSTICIAE were rejected; the paper claimed
that fifteen shillings was not an unreasonable wage for so distinguished a performer and asserted that Le Sac was not in the least motivated by greed or vanity. All these slurs, I read, were put
about by a so-called modest young man who was jealous of Le Sac’s eminence.

There was some truth in this accusation, I had to confess, but none of it was my doing. I could not be blamed if certain gentlemen chose to exert themselves on my behalf, or rather – for I
had no illusion about the matter – if they chose to exert themselves against Le Sac. For the one thing no gentleman will tolerate is hubris on the part of those that are his inferiors.

I went into Nellie’s coffee-house and found a quiet place by the window to drink and muse on my present situation. Esther Jerdoun’s words the previous evening still astonished me.
She had gone on to warn me that Lady Anne loved to make others dance to her own tune, reminded me of the trick she had played on Le Sac the night he came to play and hinted that Lady Anne had her
own aims with regard to the gentleman, and that I was part of her schemes. Nothing of this was new to me.

But the harshness in Mrs Jerdoun’s voice had taken me by surprise. Why should she speak so vehemently against her cousin? Was this merely another game that the ladies were playing against
each other? Many an apparently loving pair of sisters or cousins have hated each other with cold passion.

I drank coffee and idly observed the streets. The mysteries seemed insoluble; if only I could be clear of them… But I knew I did not wish to be clear of Esther Jerdoun at all. In an
effort to distract myself, I pulled from my pocket the list of subscribers for my music. The list numbered more than ninety now and the prospects of publication were increasing. Perhaps this would
be a good day to canvass more support. After all, patronage of my music would imply rejection of Le Sac.

When George and I came to Hoult’s for the concert rehearsal at noon, only half the gentlemen were gathered. I found Mr Ord tuning his violin ineffectually and wondered whether to mention
AMATOR JUSTICIAE. But a fear that Mrs Jerdoun might be mistaken held me back. Instead, I pulled out a copy of the proposal for my harpsichord pieces.

“My dear fellow,” Ord said as soon as he saw the paper. “Of course I shall subscribe. Put me down for six copies – my nieces are wild about all things Scotch and the
music will make delightful presents for them. Heron, my dear fellow, you will put your name down for Patterson’s music?”

The gentleman inclined his head.

“And Jenison – you too.”

So I found myself patronised by Mr Ord and gathered ten names for a total of eighteen copies. All the time, however, I was watching the faces and counting those who did not arrive. It was
inevitable that some of the gentlemen should support Le Sac; Henry Wright, for instance, was absent, which left us with no tenor violin. I had been prepared for that, but the woeful state of the
cellists (only one arrived out of four) left us with almost no bass. We had the instruments themselves, of course, and Mr Ord volunteered to play the tenor, but the defect in the lower parts was
very audible.