violin nor asked anyone else to do it for me. So was it merely a
simple matter of a thief making off with the instrument? And why did I feel that there was something deeper – something as yet unknown – about the affair?
As to the matter of the house in Caroline Square…
Early on Sunday evening I went out with determination, as if I was merely taking the air, walking with my prayer book in hand to give myself an air of respectability. The ladies were out at
church; I saw them walking sedately down to St Nicholas together. Few of the servants remained, by the look of it, and the square was altogether quiet.
I walked round the square twice. Nothing happened. I walked past the house, turned and went back again, to no purpose. The square remained silent, the chill was merely the chill of the first
hint of frost and the flickering lanterns remained in place. Even the spirit was silent.
On Monday, I received a kind note from a Mr Parry, player of the treble harp, who was evidently visiting the town.
Sir,
Your Name has been mentioned to me as one of the musical Gentlemen of this Town, who may do me the Honour of accompanying me on the Harpsichord at the benefit Concerts I intend holding in
Hoult’s Rooms at the Turk’s Head on the 22nd and 25th Inst. I would of course offer the customary Rates, &c. I would be much obliged if you could send me at the Turk’s Head,
whether you are able or no.
Y r . Ob t . Serv t .
Thomas Parry.
I scribbled a note, dragged George from the copying upon which he was engaged and told him to take the note to the inn. He looked at me with big anxious eyes.
“I haven’t finished the concerto, master.” He was copying one of the pieces from Lady Anne’s book.
“There is no hurry. You can finish it later.”
“I don’t feel well, master. I think Mr Sac passed on his illness to me.”
He was clearly making excuses. “You have nothing to fear from Le Sac, George,” I said wearily. “He cannot make you go back to him.”
He took the note unwillingly and went out, dragging his feet. But he came running back before long, out of breath and more eager than before. “The gentleman asked if I played too, master,
and when I said yes, he said to bring my violin and he’d hear me and say if he wanted me to play! Oh, and he sent this note –”
Parry’s brief note appointed a time on Wednesday the 21st, two days hence, for a rehearsal. I folded the paper into a book where I generally keep such things and George went back to his
copying.
We neither of us slept well that night. As I lay in the darkness, I could hear George wriggling upon the floor, constantly turning over. It seemed strange to me that he should still fear Le Sac.
To be honest, I thought the less of him for it; he must know that Le Sac had no legal hold over him any longer. As for myself, I was preoccupied by puzzles that nagged at me night-long: Demsey, the
violin, the strange room I had seen, the games Lady Anne insisted upon playing. And a growing conviction that all these things were somehow connected.
And – the last thing I recall before an uneasy sleep claimed me, just as the sky was lightening into dawn – that peculiar inscription in Lady Anne’s music book. The elegant
flourish of an unknown signature: Thomas Powell, organist, St Nicholas, 1725…
14
CONCERTO FOR SOLO VIOLIN
Movement II
I woke the following morning in a determined mood. I might not be able to do anything about the strange events I had experienced in Caroline Square, or Lady Anne’s games,
but on some matters I could take action. Fortunately, one of my pupils sent word that she was taken ill, so I had time and leisure to act. George was sullen and sour-faced; I could not bear his
fidgeting and sent him off to Akenhead’s, the stationers, to fetch more paper and ravens’ quills.
In the affair of the violin at least, I could see my way clearly. How could any thief have imagined he might dispose of it? It was a Cremona
simple matter of a thief making off with the instrument? And why did I feel that there was something deeper – something as yet unknown – about the affair?
As to the matter of the house in Caroline Square…
Early on Sunday evening I went out with determination, as if I was merely taking the air, walking with my prayer book in hand to give myself an air of respectability. The ladies were out at
church; I saw them walking sedately down to St Nicholas together. Few of the servants remained, by the look of it, and the square was altogether quiet.
I walked round the square twice. Nothing happened. I walked past the house, turned and went back again, to no purpose. The square remained silent, the chill was merely the chill of the first
hint of frost and the flickering lanterns remained in place. Even the spirit was silent.
On Monday, I received a kind note from a Mr Parry, player of the treble harp, who was evidently visiting the town.
Sir,
Your Name has been mentioned to me as one of the musical Gentlemen of this Town, who may do me the Honour of accompanying me on the Harpsichord at the benefit Concerts I intend holding in
Hoult’s Rooms at the Turk’s Head on the 22nd and 25th Inst. I would of course offer the customary Rates, &c. I would be much obliged if you could send me at the Turk’s Head,
whether you are able or no.
Y r . Ob t . Serv t .
Thomas Parry.
I scribbled a note, dragged George from the copying upon which he was engaged and told him to take the note to the inn. He looked at me with big anxious eyes.
“I haven’t finished the concerto, master.” He was copying one of the pieces from Lady Anne’s book.
“There is no hurry. You can finish it later.”
“I don’t feel well, master. I think Mr Sac passed on his illness to me.”
He was clearly making excuses. “You have nothing to fear from Le Sac, George,” I said wearily. “He cannot make you go back to him.”
He took the note unwillingly and went out, dragging his feet. But he came running back before long, out of breath and more eager than before. “The gentleman asked if I played too, master,
and when I said yes, he said to bring my violin and he’d hear me and say if he wanted me to play! Oh, and he sent this note –”
Parry’s brief note appointed a time on Wednesday the 21st, two days hence, for a rehearsal. I folded the paper into a book where I generally keep such things and George went back to his
copying.
We neither of us slept well that night. As I lay in the darkness, I could hear George wriggling upon the floor, constantly turning over. It seemed strange to me that he should still fear Le Sac.
To be honest, I thought the less of him for it; he must know that Le Sac had no legal hold over him any longer. As for myself, I was preoccupied by puzzles that nagged at me night-long: Demsey, the
violin, the strange room I had seen, the games Lady Anne insisted upon playing. And a growing conviction that all these things were somehow connected.
And – the last thing I recall before an uneasy sleep claimed me, just as the sky was lightening into dawn – that peculiar inscription in Lady Anne’s music book. The elegant
flourish of an unknown signature: Thomas Powell, organist, St Nicholas, 1725…
14
CONCERTO FOR SOLO VIOLIN
Movement II
I woke the following morning in a determined mood. I might not be able to do anything about the strange events I had experienced in Caroline Square, or Lady Anne’s games,
but on some matters I could take action. Fortunately, one of my pupils sent word that she was taken ill, so I had time and leisure to act. George was sullen and sour-faced; I could not bear his
fidgeting and sent him off to Akenhead’s, the stationers, to fetch more paper and ravens’ quills.
In the affair of the violin at least, I could see my way clearly. How could any thief have imagined he might dispose of it? It was a Cremona
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