The following morning, the danger returned. A messenger arrived before breakfast with a printed program fresh from the press. Mrs. Albright carried it into the dining room with a troubled expression. "This was delivered for you."
Matilda unfolded it. Robert had been right to leave the score with Mr. Harby; Beckham had moved faster than either of them expected. Across the top of the program, in bold black letters, were the words: A New Fantasia Composed by Mrs. Hester Dracott. Beneath them appeared the date and place of a public subscription concert in York: tomorrow evening.
Matilda read the announcement twice. Then she saw the line printed near the bottom: the work would be performed in full.
Impossible. Beckham did not possess the final variation; Hester could not compose it; yet the program promised a complete performance.
Mrs. Albright sat opposite her. "What does it mean?"
Matilda folded the paper carefully. "It means they are going to perform an ending they do not have."
"Can they?"
Matilda looked toward the window, where the morning light touched the rooftops of York. "They can try."
A knock sounded at the door. Another messenger. This one carried a note from Robert. Matilda opened it. Only one sentence:
Tell me where you wish me to stand.
She read it once, then took up her pen. Her answer came without hesitation:
Where I can see you, not where anyone can mistake your title for my proof.
She sealed the note and gave it to the messenger. Then she turned back to the printed program. Hester had taken her name. Beckham had taken her work. Robert had once tried to take away the danger by taking away her chance to speak. Tomorrow, all of them would stand in the same room. But the complete score rested sealed with an independent solicitor, and the final variation existed only because Matilda had written it.
For the first time, the truth did not depend on whether anyone chose to believe her: it was waiting in silence. And this time, silence belonged to her.
By noon, York had already begun repeating Hester's version of the story. Matilda learned this from Mrs. Albright, who returned from a morning call with two calling cards, one folded note, and the careful expression of a woman deciding how much truth another person could bear at once.
"Tell me," Matilda said.
Mrs. Albright removed her gloves. "Mrs. Dracott has been very busy."
Matilda looked at the printed program on the table. "Of course she has."
"She has told several subscribers that you are a talented copyist who became confused about the difference between helping with music and creating it."
Matilda said nothing.
Mrs. Albright continued: "She has also suggested that His Grace's attention encouraged the confusion."
That part did not surprise Matilda anymore: Hester had found the cleanest weapon available—not scandal, vanity. A woman in Matilda's position might be forgiven for pain; she would not be forgiven for ambition.