emerged at the country estate? Send Hugh to fix them. Papa engaging in bad behaviour again? Dispatch Hugh to set him straight.
All that was at an end. Ned must attend to his property now and their father would no longer trouble anyone. Hugh was free.
Or would be, if his sight returned.
He made a fist and struck the keys of the pianoforte again. The sound was as discordant as his emotions. His freedom was dependent upon his eyes. What if they did not heal?
He straightened. Enough self-pity.
He drummed his fingers on the keyboard and made more pleasant music.
For want of anything else to do, he sat at the pianoforte’s bench and felt the keys, hearing his sister’s endless scales that echoed through their house for so many years. He found middle C and played the simple C scale, which pretty much exhausted his knowledge of playing.
He played the scale again. And again. And again until his fingers moved smoothly from note to note and the novelty wore off. He tried picking out a tune, an exercise in trial and error, but he kept at it.
He picked out the tune for the military bugle call that signalled the end of the day—or the end of battle.
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