Page 84 of The Sisters of Sea View
“Ah.”
She looked across the blankets to where Viola sat near Mamma,veil fluttering in the breeze. Nearby, Emily slowly plucked blades of grass and laid them on Mr. Stanley’s slumbering head, probably hoping he would wake soon and talk to her.
“Viola was the only one of us willing to practice for such long hours,” she explained. “I was too busy and Emily too social and...” Sarah almost mentioned her older sister but bit her tongue.
“And Georgiana?” he asked.
“Oh, I don’t think you can call what Georgie does ‘playing,’ exactly. Playing at, perhaps. She has the least patience for sitting still of any of us.”
As if to illustrate her point, Georgie came running up from the meadow, flowers sailing from her arms.
Sarah smiled indulgently. “Mamma reminds her that accomplished young females are supposed to play music and draw and sing, but Georgie prefers to play cricket and run and explore.”
Although in the present instance, Mamma didn’t protest or even seem to notice as she sat in her chair, softly fanning herself, eyes drowsy.
“What about Effie?” Sarah asked. “Is she musical?”
She glanced over and watched Effie plop down cross-legged beside Georgiana and begin making a flower chain.
He followed her gaze. “Aye. She is coming along on both guitar and mandolin, although she prefers dancing.”
“Sounds like Emily.”
“I want Effie to go to school, but she doesna. When we argue about it, she quotes that book by ‘a Lady of Distinction.’ What’s it called?”
“Mirror of the Graces?”
“Right.” He called to the girl, “Effie, what is that line you toss back at me, whenever I suggest schooling?”
Effie looked up from her chain and recited, “She possessed no more education than what lay in her guitar and in her dancing master; but in these arts she was admirable.”
Sarah chuckled appreciatively, and Effie and Georgiana resumed their handiwork, heads close, sharing whispers and giggles.
Sarah returned her focus to Mr. Henshall. “Well, if a lady of distinction approves of the guitar, who am I to disagree?”
“Would ye like to give it a go?” He lifted the instrument a few inches in her direction.
“Me? I...” She glanced at it, the gleaming wood, the taut strings over the well.
When she hesitated, he leaned forward. “Here...” He twisted his torso toward her and slid the instrument onto her lap.
“I don’t even know how to hold it.”
“I’ll show ye.”
He rose to his knees and shifted slightly behind her, bringing his right arm around her elbow and lifting it to the strings. Then he reached his left hand around her other side, found her hand, and guided it to the instrument’s neck.
Sarah’s heart beat hard. The close position felt startlingly intimate and strangely thrilling.
“Forefinger here. Middle here. Thumb. Right. Now, with this hand, pluck each string and try to forget they are made of animal gut.”
She murmured, “Now you tell me.”
“Let’s try something fairly simple,” he said. “Are you familiar with the old ballad ‘Robin Adair’?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Then press here, then here, and here, to play the chords. And pluck the melody with your right.”
