Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Author’s Note
Chapter One
“I always feel a little sad when the last of the blossom fades.”
“Elizabeth Turner! Only you could feel sad about the coming of summer!”
Juliet tweaked her younger sister’s 1dark curls affectionately, before sliding her arm through Bess’s and snuggling a little closer to her, shivering.
“I, for one, will be only too pleased when summer arrives. There is still just enough of a nip in the air for me to doubt spring is even truly here, blossom or no!”
The two young ladies were walking the short route that had lately become a favourite of all the Turner family, winding across fields and taking them towards Castleford, the new and rapidly-growing spa town that had become something of a fixture in the lives of those who lived locally.
“What a pity we could not persuade Louisa to come with us!” Bess said, taking a deep lungful of the sharp spring air, which served to energise her almost as much as it chilled her sister. “It is not so very long a walk...”
“It is quite long enough!” Juliet cried, in a perfect imitation of the youngest Turner sister, who abhorred the notion of walking anywhere when one might take a carriage and had declared both of her sisters mad for persisting to walk when rain was threatened. Bess lifted her eyes to the skies, squinting to see if she could make out the grey clouds that Louisa had claimed were only moments away, and liable to drown them all before they could make even half the journey to Castleford. They were nowhere to be seen.
“I do not think it will rain at all.”
“Of course it won’t! Miss Idle invented them solely to benefit her wish to keep lounging before the fire like a cat, waiting to be called upon by someone more interesting than either you or I could ever hope to be.” Juliet’s expression, which had grown stern about the absent Louisa, relaxed as she winked at Bess. “You know Louisa only has eyes for Mr Weston, and as he made some mention of accompanying Edmund on his habitual afternoon call at home, no promise of any sort of adventure could ever have persuaded her to leave.”
“Oh, I did not realise!” Bess frowned, stopping in her progress and forcing Juliet to look at her and answer her directly.” You ought to have said! I would not have dragged you out if I knew Edmund planned to visit.”
“Edmund Gale has never planned anything in his life!” Juliet said, scornfully. “And if you think I wish to wait around at home on the off-chance he should care to call....!” She coloured, lifting her chin against the icy breeze. “In any case, I have no great desire to see Edmund at present. He is better served by calling on Louisa. You know that she plays host much more prettily than I ever can.”
Bess let this self-deprecating comment slide, although she doubted every word of its veracity. Juliet could be quite competent as host when she chose to be, and when she was pressed to do so - a circumstance that occurred with increasing regularity now that the oldest Turner sister, Maddy, was married.
“I am sure he will be disappointed to find you not at home,” was all Bess said, determined to offer a word on behalf of her friend and neighbour. It had long been obvious to almost every member of the Turner family that their neighbour, the young Mr Edmund Gale, was quite in love with his childhood friend. Only Juliet stood resolutely opposed to the notion of anything other than friendship existing between the two and more often than not, even that was stretch. The two were at odds as often as they were together and their friendship consisted now of bickering and competition in much the same way as it had when they were children. Bess nursed her private hopes for Juliet and Edmund but would not dare breathe a word of it to her sister. Contrary Juliet would doubtless take such a confession as a challenge and marry someone else just out of stubbornness.
“Perhaps he will be persuaded to join us in Castleford,” Bess continued, as they reached the crest of the hill that would give way to the outskirts of the new town. “You know he is rarely eager to forego an excuse to visit.” She huddled a little closer to Juliet. “Then we might not be forced to walk home, but take his carriage.”
Juliet frowned, her regret plain for half a moment. She shook her head.
“We do not need Edmund to bring us a carriage. We might order our own just as easily!”
Bess nodded, the ghost of a smile tugging at her lips at the sight of her forthright sister, standing atop her hill with her hands on her hips like some sort of reborn Boadicea.
“Oh!” she glanced up, as a fat raindrop landed square on her head, followed by another, and another. “What was that you were saying about Louisa’s fictional rainclouds?”
“Come on, Bess,” Juliet said, lifting her skirt and shooting her sister a mischievous glance. “I can see the tea room from here, where we may wait out any amount of rain in perfect comfort. Let us race!”
She began to run before the words were even out of her mouth, leaving Bess no option but to scoop up her skirt and run after her, dodging raindrop after raindrop and squealing as her feet almost disappeared out from under her.
“WHAT HO, NEIGHBOURS!”
Mr Edmund Gale was so used to calling at 6House that it did not so much feel like a call at all, merely running from one home to another. That particular afternoon he and Nash had not been required to run even the short distance between the two estates, for the dark clouds had appeared so thick and menacing that Edmund’s better sense had taken hold of the situation and compelled him to equip the carriage, albeit for a journey that scarcely seemed worth it Still, Nash was even more of a clothes-horse than he was and would not thank him for ruining both of their wardrobes for want of due care.
“Edmund!”
Mrs Turner beamed genially at him from her seat by the fire. He crossed the room and dropped a polite kiss on her thin cheek.
“Good afternoon, Mother Turner!” He gave an appraising glance to the embroidery in her lap and nodded, approvingly. “I see you are making progress on yesterday. I suppose without your daughters here to distract you, you get on capitally well.” He sank into a chair near her, stretching out his long legs at the ankle and tugging on one cuff. “Where are they all on such a day as this?”
“Where is Juliet, you mean?” Mrs Turner’s eyes twinkled and she attended to her stitching with a little more vigour. “She and Bess have gone out, but Louisa is at home. Mr Weston, do come and sit down, won’t you? You mustn’t stand on ceremony here, I would have thought you had been long enough in Edmund’s company to have learned that!”
Nash bowed, before sitting with rather more care in a chair on Mrs Turner’s other side, his back ramrod straight in utter contrast to Edmund’s lolling. Feeling a little wary of comparison, Edmund wriggled himself into a less comfortable but more respectable position and drew in a breath.
“I hope when you say out you do not mean of doors,” he remarked, nodding towards the window, which was already steaked with rain. “I do not like their chances of returning home unscathed in weather such as this.”
“Oh dear!” Mrs Turner said, biting her lip and struggling to restrain a smile. “They shall be wet through. They have gone as far as Castleford, and I do not suppose there will be any way for them to return that won’t leave them caked in mud, even if the rain is
short-lived.”
“Aha!”
Louisa’s voice reached the occupants of the parlour before she did and Edmund had just enough time to see Nash leap to his feet, raking his hair into place as she danced into the room.
“Did I not tell them it would rain, Mama? And Juliet laughed at me. Well! I shall be the one laughing now - oh, good afternoon Edmund!” Her lips quirked, and she took a demure glance at Nash, who seemed to be holding his breath, his chest was so painfully puffed up. “Mr Weston. I did not realise you were here.”
“Did you not?” Mrs Turner asked, her eyes fixed on her sewing so as not to betray her.
Edmund swallowed a laugh, thinking it likely that Louisa had vacated the parlour the very instant she heard the gentlemen arrive, purely so she might make an entrance with an audience, and an admiring one at that.
“Will you join us, Miss Louisa?” Nash asked, gesturing to the very seat he had given up. “It is quite warm here, by the fire.”
“You are very kind,” she said, perching demurely on the edge of the chair. “How pleasant it is to have company, Mana, do not you think?”
Mrs Turner said nothing but attended to her sewing.
“I am surprised you did not wish to go to Castleford, Louisa,” Edmund remarked, and the youngest Miss Turner darted a glance over to him as if surprised to notice that he was even there. “Are not you fond of spending time in town, admiring all of the delights Castleford has to offer?”
Louisa scowled momentarily, before hurrying to smooth out her features lest Nash catch a glimpse of her. Edmund smirked. He had spent so many years teasing and being teased by the Turner sisters it was as if they were sisters of his own and he was loathed to give way to formality, even with his friend present.
“Do you object to my being here, Edmund?” She pouted, feigning disappointment. “You wish I were absent as well. You came all this way to call on an empty house.”
“Indeed I did not,” Edmund countered, his voice as light and teasing as hers was. “I came all this way to call on your Mama, and what a pretty picture she makes, sewing diligently by the fire. Tell me, Mother, how fares the new Mrs Hodge?”
“I am quite sure you know better than I do,” Mrs Turner remarked. “Juliet is the correspondent of the family, and it is to her that most of Maddy’s letters are addressed.” She smiled, but Edmund sensed that this was not without effort and that Mrs Turner rather resented being forgotten by her eldest daughter since her marriage.
“Oh, you know Juliet!” he said, with a grin. “She adores keeping secrets. Even more so if they are secrets I am not privy to.”
He made light of this, but it did rather niggle him that Juliet continued to keep so much close to her chest. He prided himself on knowing her well. Indeed, she was a better friend to him than any one of a hundred other young ladies of his acquaintance, much to his own mother’s despair. Yet, since Maddy’s marriage, there had been a strange sort of distance between them. He knew better than to exert any sort of possessiveness over her, nor to claim her time or attention for his own. All too often any attempts were met with rebuke. It was almost as if she blamed him for her sister’s wedding, yet how could that be? They had both been positioned to engineer suitors of their choosing with the goal of Maddy’s happiness. It was no more his fault that she chose for herself in selecting Mr Robert Hodge than it was Juliet’s. And nobody could deny the happiness of the match. Indeed, Edmund thought, stroking his chin. I cannot recall a happier wedding!
“I am sure Juliet will be disappointed to miss seeing you,” Louisa declared, with a sly smile. Edmund’s expression shifted, realising she had been watching him carefully and drawing her own conclusion as to the direction of his thoughts. This was the one downside in their friendship. He might know each of the sisters well, but they knew him equally and could read him better than he gave them credit for.
“Oh, Edmund,” Mrs Turner said, setting down her sewing and folding her hands delicately in her lap. “I am a little concerned. Just look at that weather! Poor Juliet will be soaked to the bone. And Bess, you know how easily she takes cold...”
“Fear not, Mother!” Edmund declared, sliding into his usual role of gallant helper with aplomb. “Nash and I stand on hand to offer our services, don’t we?”
“Eh?” Nash’s attention had been fixed on Louisa, an adoring smile resting on his handsome features. “We do? That is - yes, we do.” His voice sounded injured, heavy with regret at being forced to leave. He had well and truly lost his heart to Miss Louisa Turner, and Edmund despaired of ever being rid of him. Nash had only intended on staying with him a week, but had been resident three months at 8Gale House and showed no signs of leaving soon.
“Oh, stay here,” he muttered, deciding he would rather make the short journey to Castleford alone than with the lovelorn Nash at his side. “You will take good care of him, won’t you Louisa? I wish to find him still in one piece when I return. Nash, make yourself useful and do not get in the way.”
Nash grinned, taking Edmund’s comment for the teasing it was only partially intended to be.
“I’ll ride out to Castleford now and see if I can find them.” Edmund stood, glancing apprehensively out of the window to the blackened skies. “I suppose I might have some idea where they have gone...”
He knew Juliet well enough to know that no visit to Castleford would be complete without a stop at the tea room and prayed he would find his quarry easily. Whilst he had no objection to playing the hero and rescuing both Juliet and Bess from their watery fate, he did not relish the thought of tramping around the town getting sodden searching for them. He smiled grimly and bowed his farewell to the ladies and Nash.
“To Castleford!” he declared, and, with a flourish, was gone.
Chapter Two
“Every clock in this wretched house ticks out of time. It is enough to drive a rational man to distraction!” Christopher Cluett declared, shoving his manuscript paper aside. He pushed his chair back from the table that served as his desk, pulled up close enough to his piano that he might hop easily between writing and playing. He had managed very little of either that particular day. He stalked across to the window, glaring up into the heavy clouds as if they had gathered only to torment him.
“...And it’s raining!”
“Dear me, the universe is conspiring to plague you today, isn’t it?”
His sister, Rosemary, had a habit of perpetually sounding moments away from laughter. Ordinarily, her gentle teasing was enough to shake Christopher out of such a melancholy mood as this, but today her smile served only to infuriate him further.
“It is impossible to work with such constant distraction!” he declared, throwing himself down on a sofa with a thump. His eyes fluttered closed and he lifted one hand to his head, smoothing his brow as if he might just as easily smooth away his disappointment at another wasted morning. He had devoted hours to his composition that day and had nothing to show for it. No progress, not even half a bar of a melody.
“Yesterday it was impossible to concentrate in the silence. Today, everything is a distraction. Tell me, brother, what reason will you invent tomorrow to keep you from working on your symphony?”
Christopher opened one eye a crack and glared at his sister.
“I am not inventing reasons.”
“Oh. Then you have some themes already committed to paper? A line or two I might hear? You know I always do love to hear your pieces when they are still in the throes of being pulled together.”
Christopher let out a groan. Nobody else would dare to speak to him the way his sister did, but, by virtue that she was his sister, he was at a loss to counter her.
“Nothing I can yet share,” he admitted, through clenched teeth. “I am sure you will be only too delighted to share your opinion when I do though.”
“If it will be helpful.”
“Do you know what would be helpful?” he asked, raising in his seat and brushing an invisible line of dust from his shoulder. “Get
ting out of this house for an hour. Surely I might persuade you to join me in taking a walk.”
“A walk?” Rosemary laughed. “A moment ago you were berating the very sky for daring to rain, now you suggest we ought to go out in it?”
“We might make it to the pump room without getting too wet,” he persisted, not entirely sure that this was true but feeling like a caged lion, liable to lash out and damage either himself or his sister if he was not permitted an hour or two to roam free of these four walls and the silent piano that continued to taunt him, the incessant ticking of clocks sounding like a hundred critics putting him down before he had even put pen to paper. Derivative! Nonsense! Noise!
“Well, I intend to go anyway.” He stood, striding towards the door. “If you prefer to stay at home...”
“No, I am coming!” Rosemary hurried to her feet, smoothing her skirts and then her hair as she flew to his side. “Perhaps you are right and a little fresh air might help us both.”
She frowned, and for a moment Christopher forgot his own pressing concerns, turning to regard his sister with concern.
“Is something the matter with you? I do not suppose your muse has escaped to the Continent and left you bereft of inspiration or a single musical thought in your head?”
“I do not suppose anybody would care if she had,” she remarked with a sigh. “There are hardly patrons lining the streets to invest in a female composer, nor crowds of people caring to hear what she may have to share.” She shook her head. “No, there is but one musical genius in this family, Christopher and it is not me.” She reached up to smooth a lock of his brown hair back from his forehead. “You need not try so hard to force it, though. That is not the way genius reveals itself. You must relax, and let the music find you.”
“Oh, is that what I must do?” Christopher asked, smiling a little despite himself. His unorthodox sister had been his support and constant companion since his first performance as a pianist in a dingy little concert hall in Paris. She had been by his side as he caught the attention of other musicians and impresarios and was, at last, pressed to write his own music, then to perform it. She had been on hand to boost his spirits when the inevitable criticisms came, early and often. She had been on hand to trip him, when he became too puffed-up, believing the praise that was heaped on the young musical prodigy. How could he bear to disappoint her now?
A Spring Serenade Page 1
