19
At breakfast there was excited talk of the soirée, and especially the prospect of a meeting with Beethoven. Justina, seated next to the Darcys, could hardly contain herself.
‘How clever of you, Mr Darcy, to charm the count into granting such a favour.’
‘It was Miss Bennet’s doing.’
A grin at Elizabeth. ‘Then congratulations, dear Lizzy, on finally achieving some useful purpose.’
Lady Selborn frowned. ‘That was uncalled for, dear.’
‘How is this to be arranged?’ Lord Selborn demanded.
Darcy answered. ‘Count Rasumovsky will extend an invitation on our behalf, and if Herr Beethoven accepts, will bring him here.’
‘Can we not call?’ Justina said.
‘Herr Beethoven depends on patronage, and can afford only a small house with few servants.’
‘I’m busy this afternoon,’ Lord Selborn said, with a hint of impatience. ‘But my presence is hardly necessary.’
‘What was discussed at your table in the salon?’ Lady Selborn looked at her husband, then at Edmund Lindale.
Lord Selborn shrugged. ‘Poland. The Jewish question. But mostly, the weather.’
Justina stood up, with a sniff suggesting she did not welcome this change of topic. ‘I will resume my practice.’ She leaned on Elizabeth’s shoulders and planted a kiss on her cheek, before sauntering away to the music room.
‘Why the weather?’ Elizabeth asked. ‘Did you prefer to postpone political issues to later discussion?’
‘Unfortunately the weather is very much an issue,’ Lord Selborn said. ‘Around the table we had reports from many countries. Everywhere the same. Cold. Wet. The dreadful prospect that crops all over Europe will fail.’
‘Surely this cannot last,’ Lady Selborn said. ‘We have July and August. Time for the sun to return and the corn to ripen.’
‘That is what most leaders say.’ Lord Selborn looked at Edmund Lindale. ‘We are not so sure.’
‘It is not just the rain,’ Lindale said. ‘There are reports of fogs, and reddish-brown snow falling out of season. We have had poor harvests for several years, but nothing like these strange anomalies.’
Darcy frowned, and Elizabeth realised he was truly worried, perhaps for the first time. He said, ‘Can we not import grain from the Americas?’
‘Perhaps,’ Lindale said. ‘But there are reports of similar conditions there.’
‘If so we must plan,’ Darcy said to Lord Selborn. ‘Use our existing stocks frugally. Ensure the poor are fed.’
Lord Selborn nodded. ‘Else there will be riots, looting, and insubordination all over Europe: the last thing we need while trying to stitch the continent back together.’
It occurred to Elizabeth that the breakfast table held far more bakeries than necessary—but by now she had learned not to voice such thoughts.
Count Razumovsky, it transpired, was far from destitute, despite having lost nine-tenths of his fortune. His palace had been rebuilt with help from the Tsar. He had remarried only months ago, and when he called at 3 p.m. he brought his wife along with the famous composer.
Elizabeth had viewed portraits of Beethoven, daunting with their brooding gaze and leonine hair. The actual man was affable, gracious, but careworn. He was shorter than she expected, broad and powerful, with a rough complexion and abundant hair beginning to grey. His clothes were well-worn but of good quality: dark coat, white shirt, with a bulky warm red scarf at the collar. They offered refreshments first, in the drawing room, where the composer ate sandwiches during a conversation he could not follow.
As if sensing his impatience, Lady Selborn suggested a transfer to the music room. The party included Justina and the Darcys, but not the other gentlemen, who were keeping official appointments.
Beethoven looked at Lady Selborn. ‘Dois-je improviser?’
‘Ask for a recent composition,’ Justina said.
Count Rasumovsky pencilled a note and handed it to Beethoven, who withdrew some sheets from a folder and handed them to Justina. Georgiana ran over to look, and on joining them Elizabeth saw the words Klaviersonate in A-Dur heading a scribbled score with so many corrections she could scarcely read it.
Justina placed the score on the piano rack, only to have it given back as Beethoven began playing from memory. It was lyrical, tender even, before a contrasting second movement in march time. Half way through, Beethoven broke off, and waving his arms said, ‘Und so weiter.’
‘And so forth,’ Count Rasumovsky translated.
‘Continuez s’il vous pla?t,’ Justina cried, circling her hand as a gesture.
The composer laughed. ‘à votre commande, mademoiselle.’ He resumed for a while, then broke off with a sniff of distaste and began again.
‘It’s not finished,’ Elizabeth whispered to Justina. ‘He’s making it up this very moment.’
Justina nodded. ‘Shush!’
They watched, in awe that the creative process was happening before their eyes, including decisions that might become part of the published version.
The movement ended, and Beethoven turned.
‘Autre chose?’ Something else?
Everyone looked at Justina, who stood at the piano and played what Elizabeth recognised as the first few bars of the Waldstein .
‘Magnifique.’ Beethoven pointed to his ear. ‘Quel dommage que je ne puisse pas …’
Justina offered the sheet music, which she had brought from England, but he shook his head and began playing from memory again. Immediately grabbing a pencil, Justina ran to a seat, listening intently and occasionally marking the score. Elizabeth knew that the whole sonata would last 20 minutes or more. She joined Miss Darcy, taking care not to disturb Justina in her work.
Behind them a whispered conversation began between Lady Selborn and Countess Rasumovsky, at which Justina turned and hissed, ‘Shush.’
The countess spread her palms. ‘He hears not.’
‘I hear!’
The two ladies retreated to the next room, leaving Elizabeth shocked that Lady Selborn would forgo such a precious opportunity merely out of politeness to the countess. She observed Darcy, who was attending with a rapt expression, but on closer examination it was not Beethoven that fascinated him, but Justina.
Was Darcy falling in love with her?
The perceptive Lady Selborn thought so …
A chill enveloped Elizabeth, like a premonition of disaster. Surprised, she told herself not to be foolish. She had renounced any interest in Darcy. Justina was her friend …
She tried to push the thought aside and listen to the music. The experience of a lifetime was unfolding before her. Back in England, people would marvel at her good fortune. Yet she was losing precious seconds fretting about Darcy!