The Lady Tennant

by Cate Morgan

CHAPTER SEVEN

  The house was filled with music. It always had been, even at the worst of times. But Tamsin hadn’t expected it now. Not today. She’d expected silence to fill the world. Surely the world knew, could feel at its core something terribly amiss. Charlie would have referred to it as “a vast disturbance in the force”, because there were still Star Wars sheets on his bed.

  An impromptu musical session had assembled in a corner of the parlor, where there was hardly any room at all. The song in progress was a favorite hers, Charlie’s arrangement of Pachelbel’s “Canon in D”, complete with bongos that gave the tune a playful air. They were having fun with it, certainly, which all of Charlie’s music had been meant to do, but it could also be said there was something missing.

  Charlie’s best mate Trevor danced over to her and pulled her, protesting, into the group to a round of applause. Boisterous as a puppy, just as irrepressible, he’d flirted with her outrageously since the day he’d brought his famous bongos to Charlie’s first garage band. Now he pressed her violin case into her hands.

  Tamsin hadn’t touched it, or even thought about it, since Aunt Jane’s phone call. She lifted her instrument from its case without argument, having reached a point in her exhaustion where fighting was no longer an option. She played without thought or reason, only to release the tension in her body and occupy her mind. She played free of pretension and formal technique, played to stop herself contemplating what might come after, and ending with a flourish that came from somewhere she didn’t realize existed. It was liberating, this playing without caring, without a tangible need for a positive outcome. There was no joy, here—but neither was there pain. She was, simply, numb.

  Applause rolled over her, along with the smell of Aunt Jane’s foul cigarettes. A shift rippled through her audience, as they urged for more. The encouragement filtered away in ragged edges, like an ill-timed orchestra, as a figure—a ghost—presented itself with an uncertain smile. She was lovely, possessed of ethereal grace, strawberry blonde hair, and bright, bright Irish eyes.

  The Faerie Queen.

  Friends and family rippled into silence. What had just been a few minutes of blessed reprieve had been ruined with a vengeance.

  “You play so well,” Moira Hayes said, as though it were only the two of them in the room. “I always knew you would.”

  Tamsin set her violin back in its case with quiet deliberation, before she strangled the instrument to pieces in her bare hands. “Kitchen. Now.” She cut through the crowd, whereupon her outwardly calm demeanor found itself belied when her bow hand slammed hard against the kitchen door, making it swing violently enough to smash against the opposite wall.

  Her mother followed, expression as apprehensive as it was haunted. Her father entered shortly thereafter, followed by her aunts. They all retreated to separate corners, while Tamsin and Moira squared off in the center.

  Tamsin didn’t care for whiskey—terribly un-Irish of her, she knew—so instead she poured wine for the two of them. Her father’s eyes swiveled uneasily between them. His hands clenched on empty air, as though needing the comfort of a glass between them.

  She slid a glass over to her mother, across the counter between them, not looking at her.

  “It should be champagne,” Moira said, lifting the glass in a trembling, elegant hand. “A life should be celebrated with champagne.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Tommy—” her father started.

  “No.” Tamsin raised her head, palms panted on the counter either side of her untouched wine. “It’s been eight years. Even the money stopped coming. We have the right to know.”

  “I called her.” He looked guilty as all but Moira stared at him, then angry. “He was her son.”

  “You knew where to find her? How long have you known?”

  “Not long, a few months. I could see Charlie was getting worse. I thought she should know.”

  “Where were you?” Tamsin demanded, turning back to her mother.

  “Cardiff,” Moira replied, setting her glass down without drinking. “I’ve been teaching in Cardiff.”

  Tamsin fell back against the kitchen sink, gripping it behind her. “So close.”

  “Not for long—only a year or so. Teaching under my maiden name.” Her voice rose with her anxiety. “No one knew who I was that way. No one knew the Faerie Queen could no longer play.”

  For the first time, Tamsin noticed the joints of her mother’s beautiful hands were shiny and swollen. “Arthritis. Like Granda.”

  “There was no money to send. And I was so ashamed. I thought by teaching I could send regular money home again, but I never quite drummed up enough—or my courage, for that matter. I thought it might be too little, too late.”

  “Shame? Courage?” Aunt Mary sputtered. “While we scrimped and struggled to give your children every opportunity? While your son died by inches, wanting things no one could ever give him? He was the best of us and he needed his family—his whole family. And your daughter should have been free to live her life, not sacrifice it to your cowardice!”

  Tamsin stared at Aunt Mary as though she’d suddenly taken up Trevor’s bongos in a fit of uncharacteristic hippy exuberance.

  “I know.” Moira took a shaking breath. “That’s why I approached Vivien Hammond about sponsoring Tommy for Cambridge.

  Tamsin didn’t know how many more surprises she could handle. “I thought it was Mr. McCready who brought me to Vivien’s attention?”

  Moira smiled. “I asked her not to say anything. Leave it to McCready to not question the visit. After all, a student’s successes and failures are also often visited upon the teacher. She took everything he had to say under advisement, of course, but she was most interested to learn my daughter could play. In truth, I think she made up her mind then and there, though she still conducted her due diligence. Recruiting you would be a feather in her cap, after all. I admit, I never cared for her much. She always struck me as being exceedingly…cold.”

  Tamsin smile was bitter. “She doesn’t like me, either. In fact she finally succeeded in getting rid of me.”

  “You must have challenged her. Good for you.”

  “And what will you do now?” Mary wanted to know, in tones that seriously questioned her baby sister’s welcome.

  “I’ve been asked to teach in Dublin,” Moira told her. “At Trinity. Now…” She sighed. “I haven’t decided yet.”

  Tamsin’s mind raced, followed by her heart. Aunt Mary was right: she should have been free to live her life. And now, she realized with stunning speed, she was.

  “Tommy?” Jane called after her.

  She didn't answer. She ran, unheeding, for the back door, hand digging her in her pocket for her phone.

  Robert struggled through the front door of Julien’s flat, where he’d been staying. They still hadn’t told the orchestra and performers the event had been canceled. Instead, they were financing the thing out of their own rapidly depleting pockets.

  “Is that the last of it?” Julien asked, red and shiny in the face from all the lifting. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand.

  Robert set the box of music notebooks and a variety of other paraphernalia on his friend’s piano bench with evident relief, followed by a black garment bag. “It is.”

  “What about the Lady?”

  “Still in a bank vault, as far as I know.”

  “Good. You may have to rob both to pay for all this.”

  Robert snorted, not daring to contemplate the truth of it. “So no luck getting Vivien's guests to attend without her involvement?”

  Julien shook his head. “Sorry, Rob. They’ve closed ranks.”

  He sat wearily. “There must be a way.”

  “Vivien has a firm hold on them, I’m afraid. Breaking it will be a challenge. I mean, what do we have to negotiate with? Music by an unknown Irish composer, now deceased, and maybe the Faerie Queen’s daughter? It’s not much.”

  “You’re
right, of course.” Robert rubbed his forehead, eyes closed.

  “What’s in the bag?”

  Robert turned his head to acknowledge the black garment bag. “I bought it for Tamsin, for the event. It was going to be a surprise.” He would have been with her now, had she let him, but he respected her wishes. He had the impression she wanted--perhaps needed, desperately--to keep the parts of her lives separate from one another.

  What they had was still so new--but would it survive her staggering grief? It was an emotion he knew only too well.

  “Have you told her?” Julien asked gently.

  A shake of the head. “I thought we’d have a solution by now.”

  His phone rang. He almost didn’t answer, unable to scrape up the energy. In the end, he was glad he did.

  “Robert?”

  The sound of her voice galvanized him instantly. He shot up like a jack-in-the-box. “Tamsin? Darling, are you all right?”

  “Best as can be expected.” She took a deep breath. “Robert, did you mean what you said? About a life…after?”

  “Every word. Wherever you want to go, whatever you want to do. Just tell me.”

  “What if I’m not sure?”

  Robert’s stomach turned to stone. “What do you mean?”

  “I’m not sure Dublin is home anymore. And Cambridge isn’t an option. What if—would it be all right if I took time to decide?”

  Stone turned to lead. “Of course. Take all the time you need.”

  “In the meantime, I think I’d like to see what you end up doing.” Her breath shook. “In fact, I think I’d quite like to be with you while you do it.”

  Lead inexplicably transformed into bubbles. Despite this his phone creaked in a sudden death grip. “Come home,” he growled. “Come home to me.”

  Her silence on the other end went on for an eternity. “Where is that? London?”

  “I’m still in Cambridge.” Nothing else in the world mattered but that she should agree. He would do anything, accomplish the impossible, if only she would come back.

  She sighed. “My mother came back. For the funeral. But she might be staying.”

  He settled down a bit, tried to focus on her words through the sudden fire of need coursing through him. “Do you want her to?”

  “I think my father does. Despite everything.”

  He lowered his voice still further, every nerve ending alive and tingling. “Please, Tamsin.”

  First, silence, horrible and heart wrenching. Then, in a whisper--“All right. Yes.”

  As simple as that, it all fell into place. He knew exactly what he needed to do. It was obvious. “Invite your mother. Invite them all. It’s still Charlie’s night, and they should be there.”

  He hung up, a dazed smile on his face.

  “She’s coming back, then?”

  “Yes.” He turned the phone over and over in his hands as an idea began to take form. “I think I know how to save the event.”

  “So I guess there’s only one question left: Do we invite Vivien?"

  Robert’s smile turned feral. He could actually taste the steel in his own voice. “Her name goes at the top of the list.”