I immediately recognised the piece. It was Brahms’ Concert for Violin and Violoncello. Both women had it rehearsed with endearing precision. It may have lacked lightness of touch, but thanks to the goddess-like presence of Lady Darringford, to me it sounded like the sweetest music from heaven.
The bows slid along the strings with a gracefulness that captivated even Holmes. He closed his eyes and listened with bated breath, as though he feared that his respiration might interrupt the music. The other guests were similarly enraptured, including the morose soldier.
Suddenly a false note crept into the mellifluous tones, then immediately another one. Everyone noticed it. The people began whispering among themselves; they had no idea what was happening. The false note had come from the violin, which tried to continue playing for a moment longer, but then gave up its vain effort.
It fell quiet. Lady Alice frowned and Grace lowered her eyes, crestfallen.
“Forgive me, I have a cramp in my hand,” she said, almost in tears.
She vainly tried to make a fist, but the muscle would not budge. She was oppressed by the thought that she had ruined everyone’s evening. I felt sorry for her. Pankhurst wanted to console her, but the detective quickly jumped onto the stage and took charge of the unhappy young lady. He gallantly helped her down and kissed her hand.
“Put a compress on it,” he advised her.
He too had had experience with cramps caused by holding a bow. Then he delivered Grace to her father, smiled at her kindly, and returned to Lady Darringford.
“It would be a shame to deprive your guests of such beautiful music,” he said, picking up Grace’s violin. “Would you permit me to accompany you?”
Lady Darringford pursed her lips, raised her eyebrows and looked at him from head to toe.
“It is a difficult piece. Are you a good violinist?”
“More of a talented amateur.”
“Very well,” she said sweetly. “My friends, your attention please. We will continue!”
The detective bowed, placed the violin under his chin and turned back the pages of the notes to the start of the last movement. He and the lady counted silently to each other and began to play.
The company again listened.
At first everything went smoothly, but then Holmes performed a slight flurry of improvisation. It could be discerned only by those who knew Brahms’s piece well, and by Lady Alice.
She shot him a glance, but continued playing. Then she too improvised. She smiled in triumph at how she had managed to momentarily snap the detective out of his concentration. It was terrific. The concert had turned into a contest!
They carried on this game of improvisation for several minutes. Then my friend tightened his grip on the bow and applied it with such vigour to the strings that he began drowning out the violoncello. Out hostess could not let that pass and perfunctorily increased her volume too.
It was delightful!
But not even Holmes’s mastery could outshine the sound of the violoncello, at least for me. Both musicians put all they had into the performance. Carried away by passion, their foreheads broke out in sweat. The guests remained hushed as they watched this joust between two artists, for whom music had become a weapon.
The pace quickened, but I saw only the woman.
I listened to the enchanting music and allowed myself to be carried away on its waves somewhere outside time and space.
It was love at first sight.
VIII: Nothing Human...
When Holmes and our hostess finished playing loud applause broke out in the drawing room. In my opinion the ovation was richly deserved, and I also applauded vigorously. Lady Alice and the detective were bowing every which way and my companion was being bombarded with congratulations for saving the unexpected situation.
Lady Darringford extricated herself from the cluster of admirers and shook his hand.
“You were a fine adversary,” she said, her bosom heaving.
“I thought that we were playing together, not against one another,” said Holmes jovially.
“It depends on how you look at music and the world, Mr. ...”
“Parker, Cedric Parker. And this is my friend, Dr Watson.”
“How odd, I immediately figured you for a doctor,” said Alice, smiling and looking me directly in the eyes for the first time. “Judging by how you were examining me, I thought you must be either a doctor or a womaniser.”
I turned beet red.
“It is all right, you flatter me,” she quickly added.
She was about forty, perhaps less, but the smooth skin on her face made any estimate of her exact age a pleasant yet fruitless pursuit. Thanks to her coquettishness I did not even feel much older than she, despite the fact that Holmes and I were old enough to be her father.
Pankhurst pushed his way to us with the contrite Grace.
“Alice, it was wonderful!” cried the girl, hurling her arms around her friend’s neck, while the officer greeted Lady Darringoford with a subtle nod of his head. “I was so afraid that I would ruin your performance.”
“Fortunately I was able to replace you,” said Holmes, returning her violin.
Grace thanked him and took back the instrument, but otherwise did not even look at him. It was peculiar. After all, he had helped her out of a tight spot and had saved the evening.
“How is your hand, my dear?” asked the Lady, placing her arm around the girl’s shoulders maternally and leading her young charge away, for all the world as though we had ceased to exist.
“It is better, it was just a momentary indisposition,” said the girl, evidently relieved that Lady Alice was not angry with her.
The two women clearly were very close, just as Pankhurst had told us in the garden. I did not see anything amiss, but was unfamiliar with the details and did not know what opinions Lady Darringford could put in Grace’s head.
“Are you leaving us, my lady?” the detective asked. “I had hoped that we would have time to speak together.”
“My dear Mr Parker, I would also like to get to know you and your kind companion, but you see how many guests I have. It would be rude of me to devote all of my time only to you. You must therefore excuse me now. Why don’t you come tomorrow afternoon for tea?”
“It is agreed,” said Holmes, accepting the invitation on both our behalves.
Alice Darringford floated off nobly. I followed her with my eyes until her peacock feather disappeared into the crowd.
“She knows how to bewitch a fellow,” said Pankhurst conspiratorially. “But don’t get your hopes up. That woman has left a trail of broken hearts!”
I felt ashamed that my glances had been so obvious and tried to laugh it off by waving my hand, but Holmes bristled.
“I do not follow your meaning, my dear fellow,” he said. “The Lady is certainly admirable, I do not deny it; but to attribute any ulterior motive to us is not gentlemanly of you. Dr Watson is a married man!”
Pankuhrst mumbled something about him not being the only one, but did not continue in this vein further, for which I was thankful.
The officer remained in our company a little while longer and then set off in search of his daughter. We stayed at the party another two hours, but did not encounter the lady again, only spying her here and there as she moved among the other guests.
At around midnight we left and our carriage took us home.
As we shared our impressions of the evening it surprised me that Holmes did not mention Lady Darringford even once. It seemed that Pankhurst’s daughter, Grace, had made a bigger impression on him.