Heart Strings (Music of the Heart Book 1)

by Donna Hatch

“Oh, miss.” Martha’s eyes grew as round as the rim of Susanna’s tea cup.

  She’d rather marry an odious monster like Algernon than live as a fallen woman. “I moved the table in front of the door lest he decided to renew his proposition more…forcefully.”

  Martha glanced at the door as if fearing an army would storm the room.

  Susanna finished off her scone. “I’ve endured seven years of abuse and now this. I cannot bear it any longer. The banns will be read Sunday next. If I had anywhere to go—other than to a life of scandal and sin—or any means to support myself, I’d leave now—today—but…” She shook her head.

  “Could you? Support yourself, I mean?” asked the maid in uncharacteristic boldness. She clapped her hand over her mouth. “Forgive me, miss. It’s not my place to ask impertinent questions.” Shoulders slumping, she edged toward the door.

  “It’s quite all right, Martha; I would appreciate if you’d speak to me as you would a friend.” Susanna gave the maid a sad smile. If she could discuss her thoughts with another person, she might happen upon a solution. “I have no one with whom I might discuss ideas. Please, won’t you stay a moment? Please?”

  She probably sounded like a desperate child. Truthfully, she was desperate, and frightfully low on options.

  She gestured to the bed. “You may sit.”

  “If that pleases you, miss.” Martha sat stiffly at the edge of the bed seat.

  “I do not know what kind of position I could possibly obtain. Will you help me think of something?”

  The maid adjusted her frilled cap. “I will help you all I can, miss.”

  “I’m afraid to venture out into the world. Leaving one’s home and family simply isn’t done. I have nowhere to go—my aunt cut off my friends years ago. And I have no living family besides my aunt and uncle. But I cannot bear this any longer. I must leave. I must.”

  Martha’s eyes were full of sympathy. “I don’t understand how they can treat you so poorly. I don’t blame you for wishing to leave.”

  Susanna almost touched the maid but that would probably frighten her away. She settled for a friendly smile. “I thank you for your words. I feel rather naughty for even considering such a thing.”

  Martha smiled timidly.

  “Tell me, Martha,” Susanna said. “What can I do? What kinds of positions do young ladies obtain?”

  Martha’s brow wrinkled in thought. “A governess, perhaps?”

  Susanna nodded. “I’d considered that. I read extensively, and speak French. But my aunt dismissed my governess when I was thirteen so I never received further education in history, or painting, or many other subjects a governess must know. I’m not sure I am educated enough.” She finished the berries and sipped her tea.

  Martha tapped her fingers together. “A lady’s companion?”

  “Yes, I’d thought of that as well. In truth, I do not know if I’m as well schooled as a lady’s companion would need to be—if I understand the rules of etiquette. I have spent very little time outside my home.”

  “Perhaps a nursemaid.”

  Susanna let out a happy sigh and hope dared to rise up inside her. “I do love children.”

  “You’d need references,” Martha said.

  “Oh, dear.” Her hope collapsed. “I have no such thing.” Susanna put a hand to her head. Surely she was not doomed to marry Algernon. There had to be solution. She just needed to think of it.

  “If I may be so bold; what skills do you have?” Martha asked.

  Thoughtfully, Susanna took another sip of tea. “Skills? Very little, I’m afraid. Playing the harp is my only proficiency. Uncle always enjoys my harp music. It was at his pleasure I’d been allowed to continue taking lessons until two years ago.”

  Her uncle. She could appeal to him. He’d never been cruel to her, merely indifferent except when it came to music. He’d always provided a steady stream of new pieces for her to learn and play. Perhaps he might help.

  She disregarded that thought. The few times she’d sought his aid, he’d turned her away, saying she ought to obey her aunt. Uncle either had no interest in Susanna beyond her music or he was so henpecked by his wife that he’d developed a habit of bowing to her every whim.

  After finishing her tea, Susanna sank back down on her window seat. What might she do?

  Martha fixed a focused stare on her. “Do you play the harp well enough to secure a position as teacher or perhaps as a musician?”

  Susanna went still. “Work as a professional harpist? I have no idea.”

  “I don’t have a trained ear, miss, but it seems to me that you have real skills, and you’ve been at it for years, haven’t you?”

  Susanna stood and paced. “I’ve been playing for many years. My last teacher declared me as talented and skilled as any harpist of his acquaintance and that there was nothing further he could teach me.”

  Since then, she played for her own enjoyment—the perfect escape from her present world into a magical world of music where no one reminded her she was backward or dull or ugly or stupid. Music had become her own private sanctuary.

  She mused. “But to play professionally? Most professional musicians are men. I don’t know if anyone would even give me a chance.”

  Martha’s large brown eyes shone. “I went to the opera once and sat in the penny section. I did notice a few women in the orchestra. The opera houses employ musicians. So do some gardens such as Vauxhall. Why, the possibilities are endless. The London Season begins in a few weeks—right after Easter.”

  It sounded like a viable option. Oh, if she could do it, sharing her passion for music with others filled her with exhilaration. Still her confidence wavered. What if she wasn’t good enough? Playing in a drawing room was one thing; playing as a professional was an entirely different matter.

  Martha touched her hand. “The other musicians will recognize you as a member of the gentry and may not welcome you into their circles.”

  Susanna grappled with the information. Martha’s words made sense. From what little she knew of the world, those who were raised as a lady but worked amid the working class were often outcasts no matter where they went. A governess was almost always shunned by servants, yet not treated like members of the family or guests by employers; she existed in a world in between worlds.

  Did such a fate await Susanna in London?

  More importantly, could she do this? What would people think of her? Would she face the same scrutiny as she did from her aunt? She couldn’t bear it if someone were to criticize the one thing left that she loved so dearly. What if she weren’t good enough?

  She folded her arms and leaned over, “If I go, I may not find a position and then what would I do? If I find a position, I may not belong anywhere.”

  Gravely Martha said, “Also, I feel I must warn you that professional musicians and actors are highly competitive. Jealousy is very strong. Some understudies have poisoned stars in order to take their place.”

  Perfect. She might not get a position either because of her gender or her lack of talent. If she did, she might be poisoned by another musician. Could it get any more uncertain and dangerous?

  Susanna weighed her choices. “But staying with my aunt…that would be worse. I’d be forced to marry Algernon or continue to fend off Percy.” She shook her head. “At least in London, I have a chance.”

  Martha nodded. “From what I understand, theatrical productions and operas always have premiers early in the Season. If you are to obtain a position with one of them before the Season begins, you may need to hurry.”

  Susanna’s thoughts raced. “Then I must audition now or all the positions will be filled.”

  Yes, Susanna would leave. Now—before the banns were posted and before Percy renewed his offer more forcefully. More importantly, she’d leave before she lost her chances at making a living as a musician. London beckoned to her, promising a brighter future than any she’d imaged in years. Even if it meant isolation, she must take this chance. After al
l, a great deal of her life had been spent in solitude since her aunt and uncle became her guardians. Whether she could get a position before she starved was another matter. She was willing to take the risk.

  Chapter Two

  Excitement bubbled up inside Susanna at the possibilities that lay before her. “Oh, Martha, I do want to go to London to find work as a harpist. How would I get there?”

  How would she get there? Susanna froze. She must travel alone, unprotected, and in the company of strangers. Still, remaining here seemed infinitely worse.

  Martha frowned. “It doesn’t seem right, a gently bred lady like yourself traveling all alone.”

  “Other people manage somehow,” Susanna said, trying to be brave.

  The maid-turned-confident paused. “That’s true. I came here from London on the mail coach. It took three days. It is an uncomfortable way to travel because it only stops to change horses and drivers. That’s when we stretched our legs and bought food at the posting inns. I didn’t have to worry about paying for a bedchamber. But I’m used to being on my own.”

  Susanna considered. “I know where the nearest posting inn is. But once I reach London, I wouldn’t know where to begin. I don’t know all the theatres, nor how to go about getting a position, nor even where I’d stay.” The unknowns all loomed before her like an endlessly high wall.

  “I can’t help you with getting a position, but I know the theatres.” Martha started counting off on her fingers. “There’s the King’s Theatre, Covent Garden, Drury Lane, Lyceum….”

  Susanna smiled at the sweet maid. What a dear she was for trying to help her! “I can see I should have spoken to you sooner.”

  Martha added, “I still can’t like the idea of you traveling all the way to London alone, miss, but I admire your courage.”

  Courage or desperation? Either way, the more Susanna thought of it, the more determined she was to flee. Fear and excitement and anticipation tugged at her from every side, creating nervous anticipation. She’d never felt so terrified. Or so alive.

  Martha helped her plan her route, told her where to exit the mail coach upon reaching London, and drew her a rough map of various theatres and opera houses.

  “I only wish I could help you with a place to stay,” Martha said. “I have no family and I doubt the missus at my former position would be of a mind to help; she wasn’t exactly charitable by nature. You might try Mrs. Griffin’s boarding house in St. James’s Place. I hear she’s respectable.”

  Susanna smiled. “Mrs. Griffin. I’ll remember.”

  Excited that she had a better idea of what to do now, she and Martha went through Susanna’s clothes, choosing her best ones to sell. Martha suggested Susanna dressed as a poor servant girl to help aid her anonymity, but after viewing Susanna’s clothing, Martha clucked her tongue, shook her head, and declared her clothing shameless for the daughter of a gentleman, but sufficient for her new life.

  Susanna glanced at the clock. “You’d best get back to your duties before you’re missed. If anyone questions you about my disappearance, you don’t know anything about where I went or when I left.”

  “I understand, miss.” Martha nodded eagerly.

  “Thank you.” Impulsively, Susanna hugged Martha.

  Martha hugged her back. “I hope you find what you need.” She backed up, curtsied, and slipped out.

  After Martha left, Susanna spent the remainder of the day scouring her bedchamber for anything which would be of value in a pawn shop, but only came up with her mother’s wedding ring. She put it on her finger and admired it. The gold and sapphire ring glittered, fitting as if it had been made for her. It had been so lovely on her mother’s graceful hand. Susanna hugged it. Could she part with such a cherished possession?

  If it meant her only means of freedom, then yes—not easily, but she could. Mama would understand. Heavy of heart, but resolute, Susanna grabbed her pins and her best clothes, piling everything onto her bed.

  Her parents’ miniature sat on her dressing table, their smiling faces reminding her of a time when she was loved. She used to dream of being as beautiful as her mother—they shared the same abundant dark hair, but Mama’s complexion had possessed an inner glow, and her eyes, the color of forget-me-nots, sparkled with laughter. Susanna was a colorless shadow of her mother. No wonder the only two men who expressed desire for her wanted her for all the wrong reasons. Honestly, it was a wonder they had any interest in her at all.

  Martha returned with a threadbare portmanteau that smelled faintly of mothballs. “I found this up in the attic, miss. And I brought you some more food from the kitchen.” She held out a small cloth bundle. “Cheese and bread and two apples. I took them when the cook wasn’t looking. It won’t last you the entire journey, but it will give you a start.”

  When was the last time someone had shown such kindness? If their situation had been different, she and Martha might have been fast friends. “Martha, what would I do without you?”

  The maid hesitated, her smile turning sad. “I wish I had more to give you.”

  “You’ve done so much already. Thank you.”

  “Good luck, miss.”

  Alone again, Susanna wrapped the miniature in a chemise, she tucked it into the portmanteau. Finally, she packed the letters from her brother, Richard, the only thing she had of him. On top of the stack bound with ribbon lay the letter from the Admiralty informing her of his death and another from his captain expressing his condolences.

  A storm of sorrow and regret, and even anger blew over her. If only Richard had come home sooner, he would be alive, they would have each other, and Susanna would never have had to endure years of her aunt’s abuse. She pictured his lopsided smile, recalled the pure joy in his laugh, remembered the way he used to tug on her hair and call her Susie Bug. He’d taught her to swim. He’d even challenged her to walk into a dark room when she was afraid. If he could speak to her from the grave, he would urge her to take this chance in London.

  She stared at the portmanteau. She was doing this. She was really going to leave her childhood home—the only home she’d ever known. More importantly, she would leave Aunt Uriana’s dominion and have the freedom to pursue her own course, perhaps even choose her own husband—provided any man would want someone like her. It seemed a bit unreal—like a dream.

  To pass the time until she could leave undetected, she curled up in the window seat and pulled out one of her Sweet Memories, a term her mother used to describe those times to cherish and to recall whenever she needed to cheer herself. Today, Susanna immersed herself in memories of sitting in this very window seat, holding a china doll and listening to her mother read to her from a book of Perrault’s Fairy Tales. She had adored the story of the Sleeping Beauty, whose brave prince saved her and her kingdom from an enchantment, and of Cinderella, who had risen from difficult circumstances to marry a charming prince. Most of all, she had loved resting her head on Mama’s lap, listening to her lovely contralto voice paint vivid pictures with her words of magic and adventure and love.

  “Adventure and love,” she repeated with a sigh. Perhaps London offered those as well. She let out a scoff. She’d settle for honest work and a place to sleep.

  Tonight she’d walk to the village, sell what she could, and catch the mail coach. Once she reached London, she’d present herself to every theatre and opera house in London. Surely someone would need a harpist of her skill, or would know of someone who would. Her plan depended on a bit of luck and not a few prayers, but new confidence filled her.

  The very singular day faded into night. Still Susanna waited. Outside, owls hooted and frogs sang in a rough chorus as the house sank into utter stillness. Hours later, the hall clock chimed two o’clock in the morning. Finally, Susanna donned her only bonnet, coat, and gloves.

  Her pulse throbbed. With shaking fingers, from both excitement and trepidation, Susanna unlocked the door and opened it. The hinges squeaked. She held her breath. Moments passed. No sound indicated anyone had he
ard.

  This was mad. What was she thinking? She couldn’t run away in the middle of the night. She would be entirely alone, and had only a few coins in her pocket. Even if she managed to reach London safely, she had no position and nowhere to sleep. Aunt and Uncle and their horrid son and nephew were her only relations. She had been cut off from friends for years—they had probably all forgotten her.

  What choice did she have? Staying here to either marry Algernon or be ravished by Percy was unthinkable. Besides, if she reached London, she could go to the Admiralty and search for more information about Richard’s death. Why she needed the details of his last few moments alive, she could not say, but not knowing had left a hollowness inside her.

  She opened the door and stole out into the corridor with her few possessions, a prayer in her heart, and courage born of desperation.

  Creeping through the house using the servants’ stairs, she entertained the idea of taking something of value to aid in her flight. However, knowing her aunt would view that as theft, she refrained. Susanna stopped in the drawing room. Moonlight spilled in through sheer curtains at the windows, painting pale patterns on the floor and illuminating her harp.

  She moved to the elegant stringed instrument and caressed the curves of its neck. Her friend. Her solace. Now, with a healthy serving of luck, it would be her means of obtaining independence. She couldn’t bring the harp of course—it belonged to her uncle now, along with the estate. Leaving it behind sent a dart of pain through her heart. It had provided countless hours of escape from the misery of her life. It had absorbed her anger, her sorrow, her frustration, her loneliness. It always gave back peace and contentment. It had probably kept her alive. She ran her hand down the harp’s soundboard, tracing the gilded vines and flowers. The knowledge and skill she had gained would remain with her.

  She choked, “Good bye, my friend.” One last time, she covered the instrument, gave it a final pat, and left the room. A piece of her heart remained behind.

  Outside, she hurried along the trees lining the drive, using the shadows to conceal her in the event someone spotted her. A blazingly bright moon lit her path and a breeze cooled her perspiration-dampened hair. Her heart thumped. If she were caught, she would be locked in her bedchamber and lose her chance for escape. Fear kept her running as fast as she dared in the semi-darkness. A stitch in her side slowed her and her arms ached from carrying the portmanteau, but she kept moving, alternating between running and walking. If she had been any less familiar with her surroundings, she might have been afraid. Her imagination painted images of bandits lurking in every shadow. However, this area had been her home all her life.