Miss Wilton's Waltz

by Josi S. Kilpack

  Lenora did not smile in response. For the first time, she felt as though she and her aunt were on opposite sides of an issue. Lenora did not like the isolation of it, and yet she had to hold her ground or risk stepping into quicksand that would swallow her up.

  “So,” Aunt Gwen said, but didn’t continue, as though waiting for Lenora to fill in the blanks.

  “So,” Lenora repeated.

  “Have you had enough, then?”

  That Aunt Gwen would let her quit after the first day spurred an odd stubbornness in Lenora, bringing back all the lessons she’d been taught about being a woman of her word and following through on her promises, no matter how difficult or miserable. Catherine Manch, of all people, would not be the reason for Lenora’s lack of character, though the offer was tempting.

  “I said I would do two weeks and I will do it. I explained to Catherine that she would get two warnings for bad behavior each day, and then I would leave. That is what I did, and I am prepared to do it again every day for two weeks. I gave my word, and I will keep it.”

  “She did not mention the implementation of a warning system either. She said you were peckish and harsh and then walked out on her because she wasn’t doing well in her reading.”

  Lenora said nothing. She didn’t need to. Aunt Gwen was not defending Catherine; she seemed to have an objective view of the situation, which helped lower Lenora’s defenses.

  “I will speak with her and enforce your stipulations.”

  “And tell her to make no mention of her uncle.”

  Aunt Gwen sighed. “Lenora, dear.”

  Lenora braced herself for a lecture she did not want nor feel she deserved.

  “Do you think that perhaps you are being a bit hasty in your determination to avoid Mr. Asher completely, and without letting him explain himself? He does not share affection for this woman and has—”

  “You mean his fiancée?” Lenora kept her chin high, her stubbornness strengthening her resolve again. She would not bend on this either. Mr. Asher had fooled her, and she would not condone his actions nor make herself vulnerable to further embarrassment and heartache.

  “It was an arrangement based on the sole purpose of providing stability for Catherine. He has written to the woman and expects her response and agreement to break the engagement any day.”

  “He did not tell me he was engaged, Aunt Gwen. He took advantage of my not knowing and entertained himself at my expense. He is not someone I can or will ever trust again.”

  “You have been sneaking out of my house for months and did not tell me. Should I not trust you?”

  Lenora looked at her hands in her lap. “Did learning of what I’d done break your heart, Aunt?” She looked up. “Did it cause you to plan out your future in one direction only to be left empty and abandoned when you learned of the deception? Not that my night walks were right—they were not—and I am very sorry for having deceived you.”

  “It did not break my heart, but it did make me feel rather foolish, and sad that you couldn’t confide in me.”

  Lenora was not sure what to say about that. Her river walks had been lost in all the mayhem that followed Catherine’s letter to Mrs. Henry. But she had been going behind her aunt’s back, which she knew was wrong of her. Still, her poor behavior did not reach the level of Mr. Asher’s deception. To say nothing of the fact that she’d lost her river and her position and her reputation. Mr. Asher had lost nothing and gained a feather in his cap and private tutoring for his niece.

  “If something had happened to you on those walks to the river, have you any idea how I would have felt?”

  “If I had told you, you would have forbidden it.”

  “Yes, and if Mr. Asher had told you he was engaged as a matter of course? What would you have done? Not allowed him to escort you to the river?”

  Lenora had no answer. “I would not have felt foolish when I learned of his engagement from Mrs. Henry. I would not have felt that he had kept the information from me and taken advantage of my . . . hopes.”

  “Yes, I suppose that is difficult to argue,” Aunt Gwen said. “You do not trust easily, and you did trust him. I was not there that night—no one was but the two of you—and I have little experience with . . . midnight trysts. If he kissed you with full thought and intention, then yes, he should have divulged his situation beforehand.”

  What she didn’t say was obvious—if Lenora was the one who kissed him, then he’d not have had the chance. He’d said her name; the word had sounded breathless and full of the same desire she’d been feeling. Had his tone also held regret? Had he been about to tell her when she’d silenced his words? She gave herself a mental shake, afraid that acknowledging the possibility might unravel her further. She needed to be strong, impenetrable, and self-preserving.

  “I need Catherine to not mention her uncle. She uses him to distract from her frustrations and turn the tables. Any mention of her uncle in any context will be counted as a warning for the day’s lesson.”

  “I think that is a reasonable request,” Aunt Gwen said, standing. “And thank you for not giving up.” She let out a heavy breath and raised a hand to her forehead. “How on earth did I get in the middle of a situation like this?”

  For the first time, Lenora smiled. “I believe it was your idea.”

  Aunt Gwen laughed. “Touché.”

  Lenora started Tuesday where they’d ended on Monday, and when Catherine’s irritation began to rise, Lenora suggested they do some French recitations. Pure memorization would help build Catherine’s confidence since she was skilled at that type of learning. They conjugated verbs for nearly an hour. When they returned to reading and Catherine became tense again, Lenora suggested an early tea, wishing Aunt Gwen was there to displace some of the ever-present awkwardness. Unfortunately, Aunt Gwen was visiting a friend that afternoon and unable to join them.

  Once the tray arrived, the silence only increased the discomfort, forcing Lenora to find a solution other than critiquing the girl’s etiquette, which was not on the list of duties she’d agreed to fulfill. Two afternoons a week, Catherine attended Mrs. Henry’s school for needlepoint and etiquette, relieving Lenora of those topics.

  After a few minutes of strained silence, Lenora attempted ordinary, polite conversation as she would with any other student. “When did you start to play the pianoforte, Catherine, do you remember?”

  Catherine gave Lenora a cautious glance as she blew on her tea, as though Lenora’s question was not to be trusted.

  Lenora counted a full minute before she took another uncomfortable step in the conversation. What she wanted to do was simply maintain the silence—she was very good at that—but she believed this “relationship” would not last the month, so she had nothing to lose in making attempts. Perhaps she would look at it as practice for the new life she would need to make after she had fulfilled what she felt she owed her aunt. And maybe, just maybe, she could do Catherine some good.

  She wished she did not feel so nervous and took a moment to look at the teacups, the silver tray, and Catherine’s shoes, then felt the warmth of the cup in her hand and the cushion of the chair before inhaling the earthy scent of the tea. Centered, she made another attempt.

  “I started to play when I was four years old,” Lenora said as though that had been the question she’d asked. “My mother plays—Aunt Gwen does, too, did you know?—and Mother was teaching my older sister. I remember I was playing with something—dolls, maybe—in the corner of our parlor during my sister’s lesson but was distracted when I realized the sounds of the keys were different from one another. When they left the room, I went to the piano and started hitting the keys, trying to make the same sounds they had made. Without realizing it, I played the same melody my mother had been teaching my sister—a simple version of ‘Come, Thou Almighty King.’ My mother came back into the room and helped me finish the melody line wi
th my right hand. I played it back almost perfectly my third time through.”

  Catherine was watching her, but didn’t speak. She took a sip of her tea.

  Lenora had never relayed her story quite like this. She gave the basics to her students every year, that she’d started at four and grown up playing hymns by ear, but never these details. Saying it out loud replaced some of her discomfort with pride. She had a gift, she’d always known it, and she had pursued it relentlessly. That was something to take righteous pride in.

  “My mother instructed me until I was eight years old, at which point I surpassed her ability and began taking lessons—both organ and pianoforte—from Mrs. Bombshaw. She was the church’s organist and did not read music either. Everything she played was memorized.” She looked up to see if Catherine was paying attention. She was, and so Lenora continued.

  “My mother had taught me the staff, but most of what I learned was by ear—the way you play. By the time I was eleven, I played two dozen of the more popular hymns well enough that I became Mrs. Bombshaw’s relief when she was unable to play. By the time I was fourteen, I played the organ every other Sunday and knew every song in the hymnal by heart. I had also realized how much easier it was for me to be with an instrument than it was for me to be with people.”

  As soon as she’d said it, she regretted sharing something so personal and hurried to think of something to put on top of the information in hopes Catherine would not hone in on the vulnerability.

  “Mr. Thompson moved to our village about that time. He was a professional musician—I think he played twelve different instruments—but he had been taught music note by note. He was intrigued by my ability and asked my parents if he could teach me to read music, impressing upon both of them how essential it was for me to progress beyond the hymns.”

  Lenora smiled, thinking back. “How I hated his lessons. He made me start with simple notes and childish songs I’d mastered years ago. He made me read the music I played, which meant I made mistakes.”

  She thought back to those years, remembering how frustrated she had been, but she avoided contention at all costs and hated displeasing anyone so much that she studied the music sheets Mr. Thompson gave her the way other people studied books. She would go over the sheets until her eyes crossed or the candle burned out at night.

  “I had to transcribe every piece of music, then read the notes aloud like a book before he would let me play it. If I didn’t get every detail right, he would rap my knuckles with a ruler, then tear up the sheets and order me to start again. I would spend weeks playing the same notes until they echoed in my head every minute of every day. I could easily memorize a piece, but he would not let me play from memory. He forced me to look at every note—read every note—until the piece was perfect, then he would take the music away, and I could finally enjoy playing. For a long time, reading music felt like a punishment.”

  Lenora suddenly wondered how different things would have been if she’d had a temperament similar to Catherine’s. Would she have rebelled against the lessons, insisted she would not do them, stomp on Mr. Thompson’s foot, and run from the room? If she had, she’d have never learned what she knew.

  “And then, Aunt Gwen sent me my very own sheet music—The Wanderer Fantasy by Schubert, a new composer my teacher did not know nor want to learn about. He wanted to expand my classical repertoire and had no use for modern composers who, he felt, polluted the music with unusual timings and harmonies. I was so upset that he would not let me practice the gift from my aunt, but then realized I could read it and therefore figure it out myself. I spent months, literally, learning that piece without Mr. Thompson’s knowledge. I practiced two hours for his lessons, and at least two more on my own.”

  “Every day?” Catherine asked with heavy skepticism.

  “Every day except Sundays. My father is a vicar, and the Sabbath was a day of rest, though I still played the organ for church. I played and played until the piece was perfect, and then I mustered all my courage and played it for Mr. Thompson. When I finished, he sat back in his chair, and we both knew that I was done with my lessons. I had exceeded him, the master, and could not be content with only what he wanted to teach me any longer.”

  Lenora smiled at the memory, at how proud she’d felt, how proud she felt now to remember it. Learning that piece and playing it for him had been the bravest thing she’d ever done to that point. She looked at Catherine and wondered why she would give the first telling of such a story to her, of all people. Lenora picked up another shortbread from the tray.

  Catherine took one as well. “Did you not feel completely pathetic that you had nothing else to do in your life but play the pianoforte for four hours every day?”

  Lenora leveled her gaze on the girl and shut off all the warm feelings she’d allowed to bubble up. It was her own fault; she knew that Catherine would use anything she could to feel powerful. Interestingly enough, though, Lenora’s feelings were not so very hurt. Perhaps upon later reflection, Catherine would better understand what Lenora had been trying to teach her.

  Lenora would not be as proficient as she was if not for a natural ability similar to Catherine’s, but she would also not have reached the level she had without learning to read music; it had opened up a whole new world. If Catherine chose to take advantage of the opportunity Lenora was offering, she might very well become the best student Lenora had ever taught.

  “This is your first warning. We’ll resume lessons in ten minutes.”

  Catherine lit up whenever Aunt Gwen was present, sparking jealousy in Lenora, though she wasn’t sure who she was more jealous of—Catherine for being so happy to see Aunt Gwen, or Aunt Gwen for getting such a warm welcome from Catherine.

  Lenora watched how her aunt interacted with the girl, but when she attempted the same type of techniques, Catherine would become obstinate and argumentative. Lenora stopped trying to imitate anyone and walked out of their lessons after only forty-five minutes on Wednesday when Catherine brought up her uncle again and refused to read aloud.

  Lenora skipped reading on Thursday and instead opened a history book about the early Spanish campaigns. As it turned out, Catherine loved history. They made it through the entire five hours that day with only one warning. Lenora was lifted by the success and could sense that Catherine was pleased as well, though she would not say as much, only commenting how glad she was when their lessons were over.

  On Friday, Lenora began teaching Catherine how to read the music staff, curious to know if the same difficulty the girl had with letters would translate into music notes; it did not seem to. Catherine found it frustrating to read notes on a page, but Lenora had anticipated that and did not spend too much time on that first lesson, content to teach the bass and treble clef and where on the staff each note was located with its accompanying key on the pianoforte.

  Then Lenora taught Catherine a duet she had been taught by her mother years ago. It was simple, but because it had a split melody, it took some effort on Catherine’s part to master her portion, especially when Lenora was playing her part. Because Catherine’s skill was essentially mimicking, she had to concentrate on what she remembered rather than what Lenora was playing.

  By the second hour, Catherine had learned her part well enough that she and Lenora performed it for Aunt Gwen after tea. Aunt Gwen applauded, and Lenora received her first thank you from her student. She had not anticipated how validating it would feel to receive any amount of gratitude.

  “You are very welcome, Catherine,” Lenora said as she stood from the chair she had pulled alongside the piano stool. “You have an amazing gift.”

  That evening, Catherine went to the theater with some girls from the school. She would return to her uncle’s apartments for the weekend after the event. Lenora and Aunt Gwen enjoyed the fire in the parlor without Catherine’s usual prattle, which was always directed at Aunt Gwen, of course. The silence was wel
come and reminded Lenora of how things used to be when it was just her and her aunt in the evenings. She wished she felt as light as she did then, however, and that thoughts of Mr. Asher did not continually fill her. She missed being a part of the school, missed the sense of purpose, belonging, and independence she’d found through her position. Now, she felt trapped in her aunt’s house, struggling to teach a difficult student. It had been nearly two weeks since she’d seen Mr. Asher. Two long and mournful weeks.

  “Will you attend the Roman Baths with me in the morning?” Aunt Gwen asked once she’d finished reading the day’s newspaper. She always read it at night before bed.

  Lenora was working on one of her transcriptions. “No, thank you, Aunt.” She might still live in Bath, but she did not feel like one of them anymore. She’d lost her place here as assuredly as she’d lost her place at Leagrave the last time she was embroiled in an engagement-centered scandal.

  “I missed your company last week, and people will ask after you if you miss a second week.”

  “I cannot abide the gossip, Aunt. Please understand.”

  “That is what I am attempting to say, Lenora—no one is talking. I think Mrs. Henry’s agreement to accept your leaving so that you might teach private lessons prevented the gossip you feared.”

  “I appreciate your kindness, but the truth rarely stems such juicy gossip and you know it.” Lenora set down her music sheets. The transcriptions had been a good distraction these past weeks. She only had a few more pieces left to copy before she could send the music back to the school.

  Aunt Gwen smiled. “I always befriend the most atrocious gossips so that I am always in the know. If there was talk, I would have heard it by now. I have been asked about your resignation from the school so early in the term, but I explained that you had been retained as a private tutor by Mr. Asher, and that was that.”

  Hearing his name sent a shiver through her. “Then it is only a matter of time.”