Her ears were attuned to it, the promise of Simon Thorn’s unexpected arrival. For several days, they’d been crossing paths at random times. She, to and fro from tuning pianofortes. He, popping in to change the shop window’s display and share new bookings gathered from his meanderings through the orchestra pits of London’s theaters.
“A caller for you. Time for me to go to bed, that’s what that knock means.” Nanny winked.
Rowena blushed, then pretended she hadn’t. “It could be the fishmonger’s boy. Alice will check.”
“Twelve hours late, he’d be.” Nanny heaved herself from her seat, grimacing as her knees and ankles popped. “I can tell you’re not in the mood for The Necromancer. Maybe we’ll read more tomorrow.”
Rowena had to agree with this. She couldn’t keep her mind on fiction. After kissing Nanny on the cheek and bidding the old woman an early good-night, she gathered up the pieces of her work and descended the stairs, laying out the fingerboard and bridge on her worktable before she passed into the foyer.
It wasn’t Simon that Alice had admitted to the shop, wide-eyed and nervous-handed. It was their landlord, Mr. Lifford.
The maid’s nervousness was entirely due to the man’s role, not his demeanor, for Mr. Lifford had a gentle appearance. A man of perhaps forty years, he had been a clerk for years until he had the great good fortune of inheriting several properties along New Bond Street. He was prematurely stooped and gray and shortsighted, seeming still to carry the scents of paper and ink. But he was not meek, despite his mildness, and was never late in collecting the rents arranged by his ancestors with the ancestors of his tenants.
“Thank you, Alice.” Rowena asked the maid to make tea, and Alice scurried off.
Lifford raised a thin, long-fingered hand. “No need for refreshment. I apologize for stopping by after hours. I did call earlier, but you were out.”
“I’ve been out a great deal lately,” Rowena explained. “Business has been good.”
“I’m glad to hear it. I would very much like for you to keep this address.”
“As would I.” Rowena took a breath, plunged in. “Mr. Lifford, I have been thinking of how that might be possible. I cannot pay you in one lump sum, but I would be happy to pay you quarterly. Or even weekly, at three guineas per week. That would equal one hundred fifty-six guineas per annum.”
He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Miss Fairweather, that won’t do. I’ve been offered three guineas and a shilling per week for the space. If you can match that, very well. If you can pay me one hundred fifty per annum in a lump sum, now, that saves me the trouble of collecting each week.”
Her heart plummeted. “I see.”
Only an extra shilling each week, but what a difference it would make. A shilling a week represented any number of small luxuries: sweets and a library subscription and clean-burning beeswax candles for the workroom.
Could she afford it, those three guineas and that extra shilling, without cutting her lifestyle to the bone? If she did nothing but tune pianofortes…maybe. Yes, maybe she could. But then she wouldn’t be a luthier anymore. She wouldn’t repair instruments, and she’d certainly never build anything of her own.
She tried again. “Could I let only the ground and first floors? Would you be amenable to splitting the property?”
Lifford frowned. “No, I’ve no desire to run a rooming house, no matter how trustworthy the tenants. I’m afraid this building rents as a single unit. Besides, if I agreed, you’d still need a kitchen, and anyone in the attics would have to walk up through your shop.
“So,” he concluded, “it has to be all or none.”
All or none. All or nothing. Success or failure.
Save the shop. Run it as I’ve taught you, and all will be well. I’m relying on you. We all are.
Her father had entrusted her with his legacy. Surely he hadn’t realized it would become a millstone.
“I will consider the weekly rate,” Rowena said, even as her stomach felt icy and nauseated. Three guineas and a shilling every week; a financial burden every seven days. “Thank you.”
“You’ve till the end of the month, but no longer. That’s a week from now. At that time, I will either need payment or for Fairweather’s to vacate this address. It’s very desirable, and I’ll have no trouble leasing it.”
Yes, Rowena knew. She knew all that.
By the time Alice returned with a tea tray, Lifford had bid Rowena good night and let himself