Chapter 26 Magellan
Magellan
When Magellan woke, her fever had broken.
It took some effort but she got out of bed and tried to walk.
She had to sit back down several times. Mary had given her a simple gown made of brown wool.
The fabric itched her skin, but she was grateful for it.
Mary had also lent her a hairbrush and ribbon to tie her hair back.
Magellan put her arm into a makeshift sling to keep it cradled and made her way downstairs to see if she could offer to work in exchange for a meal.
Mary had been taking care of her for days without payment, and she needed to reimburse her somehow.
The tavern was almost empty. It was between mealtimes, and only a few stragglers were about.
Mary put a hearty plate of roast beef, potatoes, and green beans in front of her. When Magellan broached the subject, Mary said, “I’ll not be putting ya to work just yet, love. But what are ya good at?”
“I’m actually a musician.”
“Are ya now? A wee girl like yourself?” A teasing glint came into Mary’s eyes. “What instrument do ya play?”
“Anything,” Magellan said simply. “What would you like me to play?”
“With that arm, I’d say nothing today.” Mary wiped down the counter and called out to the three young people eating at a table near the stage. They were two young men and a woman, all with bright red hair and freckles. “We’ve got another musician here who says she can play anything!”
The three perked up. One of the young men grinned at Magellan. “Even the fiddle?”
Magellan smiled back, realizing. “Are you the musicians who played last night?”
“We are.” The other young man stood up and gave her an exaggerated bow. “The Lucky Horseshoes, at your service.”
Magellan laughed, delighted by their name. “You’re very good. I enjoyed listening from upstairs.” She didn’t tell them their music literally had saved her life.
“We’re even better when you’re downstairs,” one of the boys teased.
The young woman beside him elbowed him and told her, “Don’t mind him. I’m Nessie. These are my brothers Tim and Oliver.”
They all looked to be the same age, and Magellan’s mouth parted in surprise. Triplets.
Tim explained, “Mary’s our aunt. She lets us play here in exchange for her delectable food and fine ale.” He said it loudly enough to reach Mary, who snorted from behind the bar.
Oliver asked Magellan, “You really can play the fiddle?”
Magellan nodded. A fiddle and a violin were no different except for the way they were played, and she could play any style of violin.
“But you’re a woman.”
For a moment, Magellan had forgotten the time she was in—a time when the violin was deemed unsuitable for a woman to play and some even said indecent.
The violin was considered too sensual, too erotic.
No thanks to Paganini’s dramatic and sexually charged performances.
The violin was likened to a woman’s body being strummed.
The parts of the instrument were even named like a body: the belly, the neck, the ribs.
Many in this era believed only a man could “master” the instrument.
Magellan could count on one hand the number of female violin players who were recognized before the 1900s, and they all encountered great resistance.
Regina Strinasacchi, Catarina Calgano, the sisters Milanollo, Wilma Norman-Neruda, and the trailblazer Maud Powell, who traveled the world with her violin at the turn of the twentieth century.
Oliver or Tim, she couldn’t remember which, said, “But women aren’t supposed to play it.”
“Well, I do.” Magellan didn’t try to hide her irritation, although it wasn’t his fault women were not given the simple freedom yet to play a violin. She was itching to play, even with her injured arm. Fingering the strings might hurt, but she still had mobility. “May I?” she asked Mary.
“Not today, ya won’t.” Mary cast her a stern look. “That arm’s still healin’. But ya can stay downstairs tonight and have a listen. Just stay close to Curtis so no one gives ya trouble.”
Curtis was Mary’s son, big as a bear. He was the one who’d carried her that night and whose gentle hands had held her down while her wounds were stitched.
She had no idea where Mary’s husband was or if she had one.
The Hen House was the name of her tavern, and she ran it like a tight ship.
Everyone walking through the door seemed to know Mary.
The Hen House had clean rooms, good food, and hospitality known far and wide.
That night Magellan sat by the bar, drinking ale and enjoying the Lucky Horseshoes’ show.
They were even better in person. Oliver and Tim kicked up a musical storm as they dueled each other with their fiddles, while Nessie played a small guitar and a flute.
People were yelling and singing and dancing on tables.
Magellan felt the music loosen the knot of despair gripping her since she had left Hereford Manor. Today was the first day she began to feel a glimmer of hope. She’d lived through a nightmare and still had music surrounding her, lifting her up.
Then sometime during the night a way to London presented itself. It came about while the band was taking a break over a cup of ale. The triplets were arguing about what song they would play in an upcoming competition in London.
Magellan perked up. “You’re going to London?”
Oliver nodded and leaned closer, his face flushed from an evening of playing. “We’re entering a competition in Covent Garden. There’s a large purse for the winner.”
“When do you leave?”
“In two days’ time.”
Magellan’s mind raced. Two days didn’t give her much time to convince the band to let her come along. But she had to get to London right away, so she made a plan. Tomorrow would be the equivalent of an audition.
That night when she went to sleep, she allowed herself to think about Rhys, though it hurt.
She replayed their kiss in the labyrinth over and over until the longing inside her felt close to physical pain.
Then she tucked him away like a treasured memory and steeled her heart.
Her time at Hereford Manor was over. Now she had to get to London and find Fanny Mendelssohn.
She fingered Garesh’s ring on her hand, trying to draw strength from it, and envisioned the song in her mind.
She had the symphony’s opening—the first part of the first movement. Now she needed to find the rest.
The next day she woke up feeling stronger.
She wiped down with water from the basin as best she could, then braided her hair and tied it back with the ribbon.
When she came downstairs, Mary was bustling about, preparing for the lunch crowd.
Magellan offered to clean all the tables, convincing Mary she could do it with her good arm.
By the afternoon the Lucky Horseshoes were setting up, and it was time to audition. Magellan flexed her hand. The stitches still burned, but it wasn’t enough to keep her from playing. The band kept spare instruments by the back wall in case they broke a string during a performance.
Magellan joined them and nodded to one of the extra fiddles. “May I?”
Oliver laughed and gave her a gallant bow. “It would be our pleasure, my lady. Do your worst.”
Magellan removed the sling holding her injured arm and tucked the instrument under her chin, savoring the feel of the chin rest. She warmed up with a series of tricky strokes and scales.
Her arm immediately started to throb, but she pushed past it.
Now in the zone, she transitioned to a flashy progression to make sure she had the band’s attention, crossing strings and playing long bows with a speed and mastery no other violist could emulate.
She looked up to realize everyone in the tavern had stopped what they were doing.
Tim, Oliver, and Nessie stared at her with stunned expressions.
She gave them an impish wink, one only a fellow musician would understand, and they all laughed and picked up their instruments to play together.
As she suspected, Oliver and Tim didn’t care one whit if she was a woman. They only cared if she was good.
The Lucky Horseshoes launched into one of their songs, and Magellan easily followed along.
She knew all the music from the previous nights.
As if to prove a point, she playfully sped the tempo up, forcing Oliver and Tim to do the same.
Soon it became a war of the fiddles, while Nessie stayed constant on the guitar, cheering for Magellan.
Oliver began to circle Magellan in a flirtatious challenge, playing faster and harder.
Magellan laughed out loud and took the dare, splaying the melody over three octaves, her fingers flying.
Round and round they went. Magellan didn’t notice the people clapping.
She didn’t know how long she played until her arm hurt too much to ignore.
At the end of the song she gracefully bowed out with a curtsy, and the crowd went wild.
She left the stage to rousing cheers. Reluctantly, the triplets moved on to their next number without her.
Magellan took a seat at the band’s table, now an honorary member.
Her arm was killing her, and she’d give anything for a bottle of ibuprofen, but it’d been worth it.
Mary came over beaming with a mug of ale.
Magellan carefully wrapped her arm in the sling again and sat back to sip her ale and enjoy the rest of the show.
She stayed up late into the evening, drinking ale and eating sausages with the band.
The siblings could not believe a woman could play the fiddle so well.
They were talking over each other in excitement as they said they were heading to London tomorrow and begged her to come with them.
With her playing, they’d be the talk of the competition.
Fleetingly, Magellan thought of Rhys, knowing she was traveling farther and farther away from him. But she could not go back. She told the band it would be an honor to go with them, because London was exactly where she needed to be.