fading under the weight of the thing he carried, but made no move to proceed without his master’s permission. The man had made the mistake, when first he’d arrived, of trying to touch Adrian and move him manually out of the way of a delivery. But he had learned with the sharp rap of a cane on his knuckles to keep his distance and allow my lord his space.
Adrian raised his hands and stepped back to give them room to pass.
There was more grunting, and the sound of the two footmen manoeuvring a piece of furniture, followed by the instructions to a third man to ‘Get the stool as well’.
When things settled down, Adrian folded his arms and demanded, ‘What is it?’
‘A pianoforte, my lord.’
‘A what?’
‘A pianoforte. She said that we might have some difficulty with it, but that it was the smallest one she could find.’
Adrian waved his hands as they began to repeat. ‘Never mind. I heard you the first time. But what the hell am I supposed to do with the thing? The woman must be mad—take it away, immediately.’
‘There is a message, my lord.’ Hendricks spoke from the doorway, for doubtless there was little space left in the room for him.
‘Really. Well, then? Speak.’
‘She said you would likely object to it. And to inform you, when you did, that you needed something to occupy your days, since idle hands are the Devil’s tools.’ Hendricks sounded faintly amused, as he could afford to do, being well out of reach of my lord’s cane.
Adrian glared into the sitting room, then followed in the wake of the servants and the unwanted gift. His lady had been happy enough with the Devil’s tools when he’d left her. Perhaps she was afraid that he would use them on another, if she did not fill every minute of his life. ‘And I suppose, if I send it away …’
‘The note says she will find something larger, since simple presents do not seem to entertain you.’
He imagined her voice, framing those words with a hint of disapproval. ‘If her man is still waiting, tell him that I will be by this evening to deliver my thanks in person. I would go now, but there is a large piece of furniture blocking my way to the door.’
‘Very good, my lord.’
The men cleared away, leaving him alone with his present. And it was as though he could sense the interloper in the room, without even approaching it. He could feel the faint vibrations of the strings inside, for they still hummed with the recent disturbance.
He walked towards it, bumping into the corner and hearing the hollow rap of his cane against its body, running his hand along the side and hoping that she had not wasted money on some gold, heavily ornamented monster of an instrument. It felt simple enough. Rectangular, and with the slightly sticky feel of varnish rather than paint.
So she thought he should keep busy. Clearly, she did not understand what it meant to be a gentleman. His status in society removed the whole point of an occupation. He was not supposed to make work for himself. And many of the things that might have kept him entertained were quite lost to him, now that his eyes were gone. Even gaming had lost its lure. He could no longer read the cards without help, and his need to touch the face of the dice, to feel the spots and assure himself of the roll, was often taken as cheating by his opponents.
He sat down on the bench and laid his hands on the ivory keys, depressing one to hear the tone of it, and depressing his spirit as well. It would need continual tuning, of course. These things always did. But was he expected to know by listening whether it was right or wrong?
He walked his fingers up a scale and sighed, already bored with it in a few short notes. He laboriously picked out a folksong, and then a familiar hymn. The tunes were thin, and he was sure that a talented musician would be searching for seconds and thirds, and chords, finding harmonious combinations by trial and error.
What had he taken from the few music lessons of his youth? Damn little. While his mother had thought it a good idea to give him some understanding of the arts, his father had thought it a waste of time. The clock on the mantel chimed a quarter past the hour. It was just as it had been when he was a boy. He had been sitting at the instrument for only a few moments, and already he was stiff, bored and aching to leave it behind.
‘A visitor to see you, my lord.’ Abbott had entered with the announcement, and Adrian looked up with eagerness, forgetting for a moment that he had not accepted a guest in months as his condition had deteriorated.
‘Mr Eston.’
‘Damn and hell.’ Emily’s brother, and the last man on the planet he wished to see. ‘Put him off. Any excuse you like, I do not care.’
‘He will not be denied. He says that he means to wait in the entry until he meets with you, either coming or going.’
It sounded very like his old friend David, who in comparison to Adrian had both the patience and morals of a saint. ‘Give me a moment, and then show him in.’
When he heard the door close, he hurried across the room to the brandy decanter, filling a glass with such speed that he spilled some on his sleeve. Even better. The smell of the liquor burned in his nostrils, making an attempt at the appearance of drunkenness more obvious. For good measure he dipped his fingers into the glass and sprinkled more of it onto his coat then took a mouthful and swished it about a bit before swallowing. Then he went back to sprawl in a chair by the fireplace with the decanter in one hand and the half-empty glass in the other, barking his shin against the piano bench on the way, then sitting down again just as the door opened.
He looked up as though the hulking shadow in the doorway seemed the least bit familiar, and raised his glass in salute. ‘David, it has been so long.’
‘Over a year,’ his brother-in-law grunted at him.
‘And what brings you to London?’
‘I have come to fetch you home.’
‘Why, my dear sir, I am home.’ He waved the glass to encompass the room, spilling more of the contents in the process. ‘Please, avail yourself of my hospitality. A drink, perhaps?’
‘It is just gone noon, Adrian,’ David said with disgust. ‘Far too early for brandy.’
‘But this is a special occasion, is it not? We have established that you do not visit often. To see you now is a cause for celebration.’ To see him at all would be more of a miracle. But for now, his unfocused gaze and unwillingness to meet his friend’s eye would be blamed on a guilty nature and the glass in his hand.
Eston grunted again, and he did not need eyes to guess the expression of distaste on the man’s face. ‘You celebrate too often, as it is.’
‘There is much reason to make merry, for London is a fine town.’
‘But not so fine that you would bring my sister to it.’
‘I did not think she would enjoy it. You said often enough, before we married, that she was a simple girl.’
‘She is a woman, now. And she is here in town.’ David paused to give significance to the next words. ‘But she is not staying with me.’
Adrian
