Broken Harmony by Roz Southey Read Free Book Online Page A

very neat,” I said. He still looked uncertain; I tried for a lighter tone – no
point in frightening the boy. “And what do you think of the music itself?”
    The boy’s eyes flicked to mine, then away again. “It’s very nice, sir.”
    Nice . Such a useful word; it may mean anything you choose or nothing at all. I had rather he had condemned it outright.
    A chill in the air greeted me as I hesitated on the doorstep. Perhaps Heron would be the only one to credit the rumours? I could but hope, and seek ways to repair the damage his dismissal of me
would cause to my income. I must begin to make use of George. I turned for the Assembly Rooms in Westgate, low in spirits but determined.
    I was lucky enough to find the Steward of the Rooms drinking a morning bowl of coffee and inclined to be talkative. He has a partiality for scientific instruments and a yearning for good
listeners, and bore me off to an inner room to show me his latest acquisition – a finely wrought orrery. I did my best to admire its workings, and allowed its owner to explain in detail the
movements of the planets before dropping into the conversation the information that I had acquired something new myself – a young but excellent apprentice who might be of use to the dancing
assemblies. The Steward’s face brightened.
    “Indeed?” he exclaimed. “I can be rid of that drunkard Ross at last! Bring the boy to play to me tomorrow. If he’s fit, I’ll take him on.”
    His eagerness for George’s services was the one brightness in the following days. I took George to play for him and the boy was promised a part in the Assembly band. But upon that day and
upon the next but one (the intervening day being the Sunday), I had three more letters in imitation of Mr Heron. I slept but little, lying in bed working through in my mind how much money I had
lost, brooding over how to recoup the loss and pay the next quarter’s rent. On the Monday, I rode out to Shields for a concert given for the benefit of an actress in the theatre company, and
was promised more work by Mr Kerr of the Beehive Inn, who hires his room there for concerts. But I have had past experience of Mr Kerr’s good intentions and knew better than to rely on
them.
    Having arrived home late on the Monday evening, I slept later than usual upon the Tuesday and spent the morning teaching the daughters of Forster the carriage-maker. Forster himself, a lean man
with flaming hair and cheeks, met me at the door of the house and slapped me on the back. “Never mind, Patterson, I know better than to believe such tales.” He meant to reassure me, I
know, but he did not.
    Around lunchtime, I walked down to the Key for a bite at Nellie’s coffee-house, looking about me as I went in, looking for Demsey or any of the gentlemen who had dispensed with my
services, to avoid the embarrassment of having to pass the time of day. I encountered only Lady Anne’s cool gaze as I made my way to a corner and called for a serving maid. Lady Anne returned
her gaze to her paper.
    I drank ale, ate a chop and walked out again upon the Key in a thin chill sunshine that was tempered by a river breeze. As I reached the first of the coal barges bobbing at anchor, a merchant
walked past me; I started, half-thinking I recognised him but no – it was not the fellow from the party I had seen. In heaven’s name, could I not get that incident out of my head? I had
been drunk, that was all…
    “Mr Patterson!”
    Turning, I saw Lady Anne striding towards me with a masculine gait. The river breeze whipped her skirts about her legs and tangled her ringlets. As ever, she was unaccompanied by maid or
footman, and had no hesitation in raising her voice in an unladylike manner.
    “Mr Patterson,” she said again as she came up to me. She was breathing heavily with exertion and her thin chest rose and fell quickly. Her cheeks were becomingly pink.
    “I have heard, sir, that you are accused of an assault last Thursday