Blackmoore(82)

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J u l i a n n e D o n a l D s o n

“Yes.” Herr Spohr stood. “One of my Romantic pieces. Try it. See how it fits with your demon.”

“But I do not know how to play Romantic music.”

He waved a hand, a casual gesture. “Let your demon decide how to play it. There are no rules.”

He began to walk away but then stopped at the door and turned back to me. “I forgot to mention: there is more than one version of Faust’s story. In my opera, he is damned for eternity to pay for his mistakes.

He must fulfill the terms of his bargain. But there are other versions— versions that end well for him. He is saved by the innocent and lovely Gertrude, who pleads his case in heaven.” He gestured at the birdcage and smiled kindly. “Something worth remembering. There may be more than one option to what some would consider a foregone conclusion. And perhaps it was not its restlessness that killed the bird, but the cage itself.”

His words burrowed into my mind, finding room to take root among the miseries there. I stared at the cage for a long time before walking to the pianoforte. I sat on the stool and spread out the papers. I took a deep breath, set my fingers to the keys, and began to play Herr Spohr’s “Meine Kleine Vogel.”

It was not Mozart. It was not like Mozart at all. These notes were not obedient little soldiers marching in their proper ranks. These notes were wild things that flew like rooks above a crumbling tower. My inner demon recognized this music as the dark, unleashed thing it was. And after an hour of playing, my inner demon had whipped itself into a fury. It flew into the banished corners of my soul and swept up the accumulated grief and frustration and anger of years. It whipped it all into a torrent until tears streamed down my face while my fingers flew across the keys.

And my inner demon told me I must fly. It told me I must make a choice now or else I would always feel caged and helpless and powerless and small. I listened to my demon and my heart, until the fury and the torrent had gathered itself into a great surge of courage. Then I stopped playing, picked up the music, and ran from the room.

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Chapter 37


Alice was surprised to have me ring for her in the middle of the day.

I could see it on her face as she rushed into my room. Mama and Maria were with the other guests, no doubt trying to cause another scandal, and I shut the door and locked it behind Alice before turning to her, hope and despair raging within me.

“I need your help, and I am afraid you will not want to help me.”

Her brow furrowed. “What do you need, miss?”

“I need to escape from Blackmoore tonight. I need to find a way to get safely to London.”

Alice’s eyes opened wide. “You’re running away?”

Nervousness pounded through me. I swallowed hard. “I am.” I crossed the room to where my traveling trunk stood, lifted the lid, and took the ivory-inlaid box from within. “I know it is a lot to ask,” I said. “I am sure my aunt will be willing to pay you something for your troubles.

But I also want to pay you. Here.” I held out the box toward her. “It is very valuable. It’s inlaid with real ivory. You can keep it, or you can sell it in London.”

She shook her head, pushing out a hand to reject my offering. “No, miss. I won’t take that.”

My heart fell. “I can pay you something else. I just—”

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J u l i a n n e D o n a l D s o n “No. I’m sorry. You misunderstood me.” A smile crept across her face.

“I will help you. But there are some favors that can’t be bought, and some kindnesses that should only be given freely.”

“But this is a very large favor you are doing for me.” I thought of all the other favors I had bought from others—all the bargains I had made and the mistakes I had paid for. Surely this would cost me as well.

“Aye, but my sisters would not hear of it, miss.” Her reserved face broke into a wide smile.

I gave her a questioning look.

“Mary and Katherine. The girls you gave the sweets to. They told me how kind you were—how you came to the house—how you comforted them in the street, even though you didn’t know them. So I will do for you what I would do for any friend of mine.”

I shook my head and looked down, embarrassed. “It was nothing. Just a few sweets from the bakery.”

“It made you one of ours.” She said it like a declaration—she was claiming me. The words “nobody’s Kate” filled my mind. I banished them. Perhaps they were not entirely true. Tears stung my eyes.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

L

“Will you be returning to India, Mr. Pritchard?” Mama leaned closer to the rude gentleman, whose mustache held the remnants of his dinner.

Mr. Pritchard glanced at her out of the corner of his eye before grunt-ing and nodding his head curtly.

Mama still had not grasped what was obvious to everyone else in the drawing room: the man she had chosen to flirt with had no interest in flirting back.

“Oh, what a shame!” she said. “You really ought to settle down some-where nearby, so that we can become better acquainted.”

Miss St. Claire smiled across her teacup. “But surely, Mr. Pritchard, 252