Broken Harmony by Roz Southey Page B

you, Patterson.” His voice sounded strained but his face was calm and composed. “I would be grateful for a word; I will not keep you long.”
    I performed my sleight of hand with the door wedge. “I am late for a lesson.”
    He followed me into the room. The grey daylight was somewhat dim (the houses opposite blocked out much of the brightness) but the room was still clearly untidy. I snatched George’s
abandoned blanket from the floor and tossed it upon the bed, then started looking through the volumes on the table for the books I wanted. Demsey did not speak but I was damned if I would prompt
him. But as he continued silent I turned, books in hand. He was staring down at the floor and I saw only the top of his black head and the bow in his hair at the nape of his neck.
    “So,” I said, irritated by his silence, “you’ve come for my help, have you? You want me to speak for your character, against this accusation dreamt up by Nichols?”
I waited but he stood still. “It’s nonsense, man, and everyone will know it. The girl will protest her innocence!”
    He lifted his head but still said nothing. Stung further by annoyance, I said, “You have only yourself to blame –”
    He said in a low voice, “I came to apologise,” turned upon his heel and walked out.
    I sank down upon the bed. I cannot express how poor an opinion I had of myself at that moment. To take out my own frustrations upon him… I leapt up and hurried after him.
    As I started down the stairs, I heard the street door slam.
    A succession of pupils on Pilgrim Street kept me busy until the evening. In this, the smartest end of town, the rich shopkeepers and tradesmen believe that their sons and
daughters will be taught better if their teachers are given a proper sense of their place – that is, if they are kept waiting in a draughty hall for an hour or more. The young ladies and
gentlemen have rarely put fingers to harpsichord or violin since their last lesson and can be heard running furiously through the piece (skipping the most difficult passages). A man has plenty of
time to sit and contemplate how abominably he has behaved. To abandon a friend in need is unforgivable; I could not imagine that Hugh would abandon me. How could I have allowed my own
preoccupations to affect me so?
    So I found myself, not long before midnight, climbing down the hill from Northumberland Street towards Westgate and Harris’s old dancing school. I had no expectation of finding Demsey at
home – even if I did find him, it was unlikely he would talk to me – but I had a note of apology in my pocket to slip under his door.
    The house was quiet as I climbed the stairs to the dancing school. It was that rare thing – an unspirited house. As indeed, now I came to think of it, was Lady Anne’s house. The
silence was almost palpable, and made me uneasy. Such loneliness, such emptiness, seemed almost unbearable. How could Demsey tolerate living here, constantly alone? Even the floor above was silent;
the widow and her children were clearly not at home.
    The door to the school room stood ajar. The lock had been turned but had failed to catch, as if it had been done in a hurry. A stray streak of moonlight laid its finger across the floor and
showed dim shadows of chairs lined against the walls. I bent to pick up a curl of orange peel. Something about the room disturbed me; I stood for several minutes before realising what it was. The
floor was unpolished. Surely it should have been readied for tomorrow’s lessons?
    I climbed to the top floor, almost expecting what I saw. The door to Demsey’s attic room was closed and locked but I knew where the key was kept, prised up a length of broken floorboard
and found it. It turned smoothly; I ducked inside the room, nearly banging my head on the low ceiling. A table, an unsteady chair, a bare bed beneath the oddly shaped window in the eaves –
nothing else.
    Demsey had gone.
     
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    CONCERTO FOR SOLO