"The printer has what is necessary."
"That was not my question."
Beckham's smile remained, but only just. "Mrs. Dracott's work develops across several copies. There is rarely one definitive first version."
"How modern," Robert said. "A work without a beginning."
Matilda had to lower her eyes to hide the brief curve of her mouth. Hester saw it. The look she gave Matilda was small and sharp. Robert noticed that, too.
He changed the subject before Hester could retaliate in public. "Perhaps I should hear the piece properly before pretending expertise. Is there a rehearsal this afternoon?"
"There is," Hester said. "Though Matilda should rest."
"I can play," Matilda said.
Hester turned toward her. "Your foot—"
"My hands are unharmed."
Robert studied her for a second. "A useful distinction."
The rehearsal began after luncheon in the music room. Matilda sat at the pianoforte in plain black shoes borrowed from Mrs. Canning. The orchestra was smaller than the evening before—only five musicians—but the missing parts still required adjustment. Robert stood near the windows, apparently occupied with a letter. Beckham sat beside Hester with a stack of proofs.
Matilda began the first movement. Halfway through, the second violinist hesitated. "Miss Dracott, should that entrance be one measure later?"
"Yes," Matilda said at once. "After the descending phrase in the cello."
Beckham looked up. "No, the printed copy shows the present entry."
Matilda turned toward him. "The printed copy is wrong."
Silence. Beckham's expression cooled. "The printed copy follows Mrs. Dracott's score."
Hester lifted her chin. "Naturally."
The violinist glanced between them. Matilda could have yielded; she had done so before. Instead, she said, "Then the score contains an error."
Beckham's smile disappeared.
Robert folded his letter. "How inconvenient for the score."
Hester gave him a strained laugh. "Matilda is very particular."