Broken Harmony by Roz Southey Read Free Book Online

of emotion I had seen upon him. “The gentlemen would buy, certainly – they
always buy the latest novelties – but they would laugh at you in private. And the writers in London…”
    The mention of London stung. I saw he knew it as soon as he uttered the word. Try as I do, I cannot forgive the ignorant lords and ladies who give acclaim to the worst of the musicians there,
providing they be foreigners. To their own, they give nothing but indifference.
    “I believe I am capable of judging my own work with some discernment,” I said. “You will see the notice in the paper when I do choose to publish. Damn it, Hugh, do you not even
consider what this affair tonight will do to my reputation if it gets about?”
    “ Your reputation?” he repeated.
    “If Nichols or Le Sac should spread the tale… No one wants a drunkard and a brawler to teach his children!”
    “I see,” he said, then lost his temper and roared at me. “ Your reputation, your pupils!” I tried to interrupt; he raised his voice louder. “And you
lecture me on selfishness?”
    “I won’t lose my livelihood because of your stupid pranks!”
    “What about my livelihood?”
    “To the devil with your livelihood,” I said recklessly.
    “I see,” he said frostily. “In that case, there’s nothing more to be said.”
    “No, there is not,” I said and slammed the door behind me.
     
    8
    BATTLE PIECE
Movement III
    Someone was talking to me from a great distance. I mumbled and turned over, not wanting to wake, or to leave the bed. Oh God, that argument with Demsey, that ridiculous scheme
of his! The encounter with Le Sac, Nichols’s accusations – it all returned to me with force.
    “Master!”
    Groaning, I struggled up. My head ached. How long had it been before I slept, turning over and over and listening to George’s snores? Now George’s poxed face hung over me, bleeding
from the middle of his cheek; I must somehow persuade him not to scratch. His breath was sour too; ale, I fancied, and rather stronger than one normally allows youngsters. He was holding out a
letter, and I took it without knowing what I did. “What time is it?”
    “Nearly nine, master.”
    “What!” I struggled from my bedclothes. “Bring me water. Quickly!” I started hunting under the mattress for my clothes. “I’m late.” I had lost a lesson
the previous night and now I was late for another. And for Master Thomas Heron too! “Did you take those messages?”
    “Yes, master.” He was scratching at his neck now.
    “Stop that! And get that water.” At least the fond parents would have received my excuses for not turning up last night and perhaps they would not be too offended. I found myself
still holding on to the letter. “Who is this from?”
    “Mr Heron’s servant left it, sir.”
    George scuttled out of the room as, with foreboding, I broke the letter’s seal. The elegant lines of copperplate were brief and to the point. Mr Heron was always careful to regulate the
persons who came into positions of influence with his son and did not choose to allow him to associate with those who had connections with ruffians, &c, &c. I crumpled the note and tossed
it down upon the table. Claudius Heron was a fastidious man and where he led, others would no doubt follow. Damn Demsey.
    George came back into the room with a ewer of water. I splashed it on to my face and aching eyes, dragged on my clothes. Should I see Le Sac and ask him to correct the impression that had got
about? There was no point in seeing Nichols; the man would simply gloat over me.
    “Will it do, sir?” George asked anxiously.
    I realised that I had been unwittingly staring at the table and a neat pile of manuscript paper. George had evidently been assiduous in his work the previous day; four or five sheets were copied
out with painstaking neatness – one of my concerti for violins.
    George was nervously shrinking back. I wondered if Le Sac had been generous with blows. “It is