Rhapsody for Two by Theresa Romain

Author:Theresa Romain [Romain, Theresa]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

“‘I neither could thank my benefactor,’” read Nanny to Rowena, “‘nor inquire how I was to repay him. I could not help feeling some inward sensations of horror.’”

“That’s not what I’d feel if a mysterious man tossed bank drafts at me.” By lamplight in the parlor, Rowena was sanding a new fingerboard for the broken-necked violoncello. The whole day had gone in travels about London, in tuning one pianoforte after another, and her repair work still remained. “‘Inward sensations of horror’? Please! I’d kiss him on the lips.”

“Hush,” Nanny chastised. “There’s going to be a necromancer soon. The title says so.” Pulling the great magnifying lens to a handier spot, she continued, “‘Having recovered from my amazement, I went to the table, took up the papers, and saw, with astonishment, that each of them was a draft for a hundred dollars.’”

“Only dollars? Not pounds? It might not be enough.” Rowena squinted down the length of the fingerboard, holding the instrument’s bridge beneath it. The curve of the latter would have to fit perfectly beneath the former, or the strings wouldn’t lie properly.

“I can read this to myself if you’re not interested,” Nanny huffed.

“I’m too interested. More than I should be. I’ve been doing too much to forget the lease on the shop.”

At the end of the month, the money would come due, or Fairweather’s would cease to exist. The work of a century and more, gone under her guardianship.

She couldn’t allow that to happen. She sanded harder.

Through the open doorway, she heard a knock at the shop door. Her ears were attuned to it, the promise of Simon Thorn’s unexpected arrival. For several days, they’d been crossing paths at random times. She, to and fro from tuning pianofortes. He, popping in to change the shop window’s display and share new bookings gathered from his meanderings through the orchestra pits of London’s theaters.

“A caller for you. Time for me to go to bed, that’s what that knock means.” Nanny winked.

Rowena blushed, then pretended she hadn’t. “It could be the fishmonger’s boy. Alice will check.”

“Twelve hours late, he’d be.” Nanny heaved herself from her seat, grimacing as her knees and ankles popped. “I can tell you’re not in the mood for The Necromancer. Maybe we’ll read more tomorrow.”

Rowena had to agree with this. She couldn’t keep her mind on fiction. After kissing Nanny on the cheek and bidding the old woman an early good-night, she gathered up the pieces of her work and descended the stairs, laying out the fingerboard and bridge on her worktable before she passed into the foyer.

It wasn’t Simon that Alice had admitted to the shop, wide-eyed and nervous-handed. It was their landlord, Mr. Lifford.

The maid’s nervousness was entirely due to the man’s role, not his demeanor, for Mr. Lifford had a gentle appearance. A man of perhaps forty years, he had been a clerk for years until he had the great good fortune of inheriting several properties along New Bond Street. He was prematurely stooped and gray and shortsighted, seeming still to carry the scents of paper and ink.

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