Hester ignored him. "Matilda, play the nocturne first. Lady Penrith praised it particularly."
Matilda opened the score. The title page bore Hester's name again. She began to play.
Halfway through the second page, she saw Robert glance toward the margin. There, in brown ink, appeared the same descending figure he had seen in the Fantasia. A small rhythmic turn followed it, then another. Matilda had used that pattern for years without thinking; it was the musical equivalent of a signature, a shape her mind returned to whenever she wrote from instinct.
Robert heard it. She knew because he looked from the page to her left hand, where her smallest finger tapped the same rhythm against the edge of the keyboard while she waited through a violin rest.
Hester did not notice. Beckham did. His expression changed.
"Again, from the beginning," he said abruptly.
Matilda stopped. "Was there an error?"
"No. I simply want it cleaner."
Robert looked at him. "How fortunate. For a moment, I feared someone had recognized something."
Beckham did not answer.
Hester rose before the silence could deepen. "Enough. We will return to the Fantasia." She turned to Matilda. "And this time, please remember that the final variation must be finished tonight."
Matilda looked at the pages before her. "It is not ready."
"Then make it ready."
"Music does not improve because a program requires punctuality."
Hester's face hardened. Robert's brows lifted slightly. Matilda heard her own words and felt the shock of them: she had contradicted Hester openly—not loudly, not dramatically, but she had done it.
Before anyone could respond, a footman entered carrying a silver tray. On it lay a freshly printed announcement. Hester took it first; satisfaction returned to her face. "At last!"
She passed it to Beckham, who smiled.
Robert extended one hand. "May I?"
Beckham gave him the card. Robert read it once, then looked at Matilda. Something in his expression made her stand. "What is it?"
He handed her the announcement. Across the top, in bold engraved letters, were the words: The First Public Performance of Mrs. Hester Dracott's New Fantasia. York. Three Weeks Hence.
Matilda read it twice. Then she looked at Hester. "It is not finished."
Hester smiled. "Then you had better finish it."