bows around the room, some in pieces and some whole, while on the worktable lay a damaged violoncello.
It was this latter on which she was clearly working. He didn’t know all the names for the parts of the instrument, only that a long ebony-looking board with a scrolled top usually held the strings. But this was beheaded, its strings removed and neatly coiled to one side.
Miss Fairweather resumed a task she’d been in the middle of, working with a flat brush and a sliver-thin file. She dipped the brush into an open-mouthed flask, then brushed along the seam of the broken board as she slowly worked the file alongside. That odd right hand of hers, with its short fingers, was as sure and certain as the left, and for a moment he simply admired the steadiness of her progress as she did…whatever she was doing.
“May I ask about your work, or would it ruin your concentration?”
“If it would, you’d have already done it.” She looked up with a smile, so Simon didn’t feel chastised. “I’m using mineral spirits to dissolve the glue so I can remove the fingerboard from this instrument. You see someone broke its fingerboard and neck, and I’ll have to replace the one and repair the other.”
“How do you repair the neck of a violoncello?”
Brush, brush, brush. Pry, pry, pry. “I’ll drill into the sides and place dowels. Sometimes it holds, sometimes it doesn’t. But it’s best to try that first before giving up on the existing part.”
He wondered at the amount of effort. “Is it worth it? Attempting such an extensive repair instead of replacing the instrument?”
“It’s worth it to the owner,” she said simply. “So it’s worth it to me. I always do like to save an instrument instead of giving it up for lost.”
“You like to bring music back to it,” he recalled, pleased when she smiled at him again.
“Exactly. But removing a fingerboard is slow work,” she added, “so I’m glad for the company. Cotton’s deep asleep, so she’s no help.”
With a jerk of her head, she indicated a cushion on the floor that Simon hadn’t noticed. The hedgehog slept atop it, curled into a prickly ball and making little snuffling noises as she slept.
“Is she usually a good conversationalist?” Simon teased.
“She’s a good listener, and I’m a good conversationalist. I can carry on a conversation entirely by myself.” Miss Fairweather looked sheepish. “The maid, Alice, doesn’t tidy in here. I do. So I spend quite a bit of time in the shop even once it closes. Sometimes Nanny—that’s Mrs. Kitt, but she’s lived with the family since long before I was born—comes down here to read to me, but the stairs are difficult for her.”
Simon noticed a book at one side of the worktable. “How to Ruin a Duke,” he read from the spine. He had the sudden urge to fling it out the window.
“If you’re thinking about flinging it out the window,” Miss Fairweather said with uncanny insight, “don’t. It belongs to a subscription library. And I really ought to finish it today, because I promised it to my friend. We share a subscription to a library, and I’ve the first turn with How to Ruin a Duke.”
“Why that book?”
“Because it’s entertaining.” She worked the slim file more deeply into the seam between fingerboard and neck, creating the first small gap. “Don’t you ever want to set aside your troubles for a few minutes? To read about someone else’s woes?”
“Not really. I’d rather not think about woes at all.” Much luck he ever had with that.
She gestured with the brush, flicking drops of white spirits onto the worktable. “That’s the magic of this book. The Duke of Amorous’s woes are nothing like real ruin. I can read it, enjoying knowing the wagers and races and pranks and inebriation will cause no real harm.”
“They’ve caused harm enough to me.” He recalled his original purpose. “Look, I did say I had a question.”
“Ah, yes. To go with the bribe.”
“The problem is, I’ve been targeted by Lord—I’ll just say the husband of the woman who stuffed a note in my horn. As you know, I’ve lost my post giving lessons to his son. Well, he also had me sacked from the Vauxhall orchestra.”
Miss Fairweather’s brows knit. “That’s horrible. How terribly unfair to you. He should sack his wife instead.”
Simon felt too tired for wrath. “It was a foolish action inspired by a foolish note. I hope there won’t be any consequences for her. But