Mr. Ellison's face flushed, but he remained standing. "Then use the date in my own notes."
Matilda placed the dated rehearsal part beside the proof.
Hester's voice was icy: "Copyists make corrections. That does not make them composers."
"No," Matilda said, "it does not." She drew out the manuscript page Beckham had sent her. "This is also in my hand."
Relief flickered across Beckham's face too quickly; Matilda saw it.
"But the later correction is not," she pointed to the darker ink. "That alteration introduces the same technical error that appeared in your printed edition."
Beckham's mouth tightened. "That proves nothing."
"Then perhaps you can explain why my earlier version does not contain the error." She placed the two pages side by side; the difference was visible even to those who knew nothing of music.
Beckham stepped closer. Robert moved one pace forward—only one. Matilda had asked him to prevent evidence from being removed; his presence was enough. Beckham stopped.
Hester rose fully now. "This is absurd! Matilda has spent years copying my work. She knows my style because she has lived inside it!"
Matilda looked at her. "Then you should know the ending."
The room changed; Hester's face lost color.
Beckham spoke immediately: "The orchestra will perform the published version."
"Good," Matilda said. "Let them."
Confusion moved through the audience. Matilda turned to the conductor. "Play it exactly as printed."
He looked toward Beckham, then toward the subscribers, then at Matilda. Finally, he lifted his baton.
The orchestra began. The first movement filled the room. Matilda stood beside the pianoforte and listened to music she had once written alone in darkness while another woman sat beneath public admiration. The themes developed; the violins entered; the cello answered. Every measure carried her memory.
Then the printed score reached its end. The orchestra stopped.
The silence that followed was incomplete; everyone could hear it. The musical question remained unanswered.
Beckham stepped forward. "A provisional ending—"
Matilda looked at Hester. "Then complete it."