Broken Harmony by Roz Southey Read Free Book Online Page B

night upon Monsieur le Sac and his friend the dancing master.”
    “There is no truth in that accusation, my lady,” I said stiffly.
    She nodded. “So Monsieur le Sac has informed me.”
    “Le Sac?” I echoed incredulously.
    “He tells me that you came upon the brawl by chance, as indeed did he. These rumours are all the fault of that prancing peacock Nichols.” She looked at me shrewdly. “Mr
Patterson, I have the greatest admiration for Monsieur le Sac’s musical gifts – he is, as you must know, my protégé. He is also, I assure you, an honest man, if somewhat
vain and arrogant. He has,” she said, forestalling me as I would speak, “many amiable qualities.”
    I thought I detected a note of irony in her voice and did not know quite how to reply. “He has conceived a dislike for me.”
    “No less, I warrant, than you have for him. You are, after all, rivals.”
    “I had rather not be,” I said wearily. We shifted to allow a cart to pass. The wind blew the dry stink of coal towards us, and I thought I heard a spirit call from the water.
“If we are talking of professional matters, my lady,” I said, “there can be no argument in the matter. Monsieur le Sac is a better performer than myself, although I flatter myself
that I am the better composer.”
    She shrugged, the folds of her cloak whispering against the silk of her gown. “I can say nothing in favour of his compositions, certainly. They are meant to show off his gifts, nothing
more.” To my astonishment she took my arm and leant upon it. “Come, Mr Patterson, let us walk and you may tell me exactly what occurred.”
    I hesitated but she was insistent, so as we strolled along towards the Printing Office I recounted my encounter with Nichols. Lady Anne was an excellent listener and I found myself oddly
enjoying the tale. She laughed heartily when I hinted at Nichols’s injuries. “And Le Sac?”
    I told her of Le Sac’s arrival. “A pistol,” she pondered. “I suppose he bought it for his travels in the country. A post-boy was robbed on Gateshead Fell a week or so
back.”
    “I heard the story.”
    “Well,” she said with greater decision in her voice. “I cannot allow you to be blamed so unjustly, Mr Patterson. Do you have any idea who was behind the attack? Was it merely
thievery, or was there some deeper purpose?”
    “I cannot say, madam,” I said carefully. I turned to face her. “Forgive me, Lady Anne, but the last time we spoke on the subject of Monsieur le Sac you gave me to understand,
in no uncertain terms –”
    She laughed; the wind caught her hair and drifted it back from her face. “Give it its true name, Mr Patterson. I was abominably rude to you, for which I apologise. I was in a foul temper
that day. Can you forgive me?”
    I regarded her with some reserve. Her contrition seemed genuine, yet so had her animosity that day in Nellie’s coffee-house. Still, she appeared to be in earnest in wishing to help me and
I would have been a fool to refuse her.
    “We must save your reputation at any rate,” she said, tapping me on the arm and sending me a darting, sparkling glance. “Come, Mr Patterson, let us turn about and take
ourselves out of this cold gale. Walk me back to the coffee-house and I will see what I can do for you. I am a woman who likes to see justice done.”
    And all the way back to the coffee-house she kept me amused with outrageous tales of her late father, who had been a Justice of the Peace and prone to making distinctive judgments. Some of the
stories carried with them a certain oddity, although in what respect I could not quite define; I took it she was merely spinning tales to cheer me.
    We parted outside the coffee-house; Lady Anne turned and drew her billowing cloak about her. The sunlight gleamed on the ringlets that fell across her shoulder.
    “You must drink tea with me, Mr Patterson. I have some new scores from… from a friend, and I think you would enjoy seeing them. The style