Of Tempests and Teacups by Rebecca Diem

Author:Rebecca Diem [Diem, Rebecca]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Woolf Like Me Publishing

The crowd in the grand hall was milling about in their Sunday best, jostling for a view of the stage set up under a soaring atrium. Clara took her seat in the small reserved section, nodding to Mrs. Branson-Honeycutt in the next row. The chatter quieted somewhat once the speeches began—a lengthy introduction by the chief curator, Mr. Hodgson, and brief remarks acknowledging the historical occasion by Chancellor Seacole—but it was Trick’s performance that spelled the room into silence.

He took the stage and bowed to the orchestra, the audience, and the dignitaries in attendance before raising his bow. The delicate gears and bearings of his prosthetic arm shone as he struck a pose and began to play at the conductor’s signal.

His compositions had taken on a new depth since his injury. Clara’s breath caught as he drew the haunting strains from his instrument, a song of loss and despair and the resilience to move on. The violin pierced the air and made the hearts of all who listened soar. When the last note trembled to a close, the room paused, held in rapture, before breaking into applause. Those who were not already standing rose from their seats.

Trick took their accolades in stride, bowing to the audience with a graceful flourish of his bow. Then, with a dashing grin, he launched into the next song, a raucous, uplifting caper.

Clara was clapping along with the rest when a hand gripped her elbow. She was startled, and immediately reached for the pistol concealed within her skirts.

“It’s me, Clara,” Nessa whispered into her ear.

Clara’s heart caught as Nessa spoke the words she had been waiting to hear: “They found him.”

Overcome with emotion, she struggled to maintain her composure.

“If we leave now, we can be there by nightfall,” Nessa continued. “I’ve sent word ahead to Himmat to meet us, but we must not tarry.”

“But Trick, Archie…we can’t just leave,” Clara said, gesturing to the stage, where Trick was still in the middle of his performance. Then she remembered her promise to Archie that today would be a day for celebration.

“Mrs. Branson-Honeycutt,” she called as she turned around in her seat, grateful that Trick had chosen to perform some of the more boisterous numbers in his repertoire. “I have a personal matter to attend to, could you kindly tell my brother and Mr. Killarney I’ve been called away?”

“Of course, dear. Where shall I tell them you’ve gone?” the socialite asked, leaning forward in her seat.

Clara’s mind raced as she considered her options. Could Mrs. Branson-Honeycutt be trusted? She looked to Nessa, who nodded in silent agreement.

“Home. Tell them I am going home.”

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