Chords and Discords Read Free

although no hint of it appeared in his cool face. I had been right; some disaster was about to befall me.
    “The lady,” Jenison said, with the air of being determined to quash all opposition, “is willing to accept a single sum for the Race Week concerts and for the winter series.
Providing, of course, that she is granted a benefit on both occasions.”
    Nothing rankled with me more than the question of a benefit. It is usual to grant the musical director of the band a benefit at the end of a concert series; the profits would have kept me in
comfort over the summer. But Jenison had wanted to stage a concert that had been cancelled for snow in January and that took up the last available week before Lent began. So I had had no benefit,
and now had no money.
    “In fact,” Jenison said, “the lady will sing for as little as one hundred guineas.”
    A hundred guineas! How did the gentlemen think the concerts could bear the cost? There were also the other professional players to be paid, the hire of the hall, the cost of coals and candles,
and the remuneration of the Steward for opening up the rooms – at a very quick and rough estimate, something like a hundred and fifty subscribers would be necessary to pay the costs alone.
And how many subscribed last year? One hundred and two.
    “Well worth the money,” Jenison was saying with satisfaction. Other gentlemen nodded, and Jenison cleared his throat. “And the lady has a husband who is, I am told, an
excellent violinist.”
    My heart skipped a beat. I risked a quick glance at Claudius Heron but he was as still-faced as ever. Here it came – the blow.
    “We have agreed,” Jenison said, avoiding my gaze, “that he will have direction of the concerts next year. And in Race Week.”
    I was speechless with rage. Last year I rescued their concert series from disaster and near dissolution and now I was to be thrown over in favour of some Italian who had the good fortune to be
married to a singer Jenison lusted after!
    “But in recognition of your sterling service to the concerts last season,” Jenison said, clearing his throat, “we would like to express our gratitude. We have therefore decided
that you should be paid more than the common run of musician. Instead of the two shillings and sixpence per concert enjoyed by the general players, we are pleased to offer you three
shillings.”
    Enjoyed? I thought savagely. Can anyone enjoy himself on three shillings for a day’s work? Would gentlemen consider such a wage enjoyable? And as musical director, I had had ten shillings
and sixpence per concert.
    I glanced at Heron; he responded with an almost imperceptible shake of his head. I swallowed my rage. It would not go away but I would not show it or give them the satisfaction of knowing how
keenly I felt the insult. “I am most grateful, sir,” I said, stonily.
    If I could have afforded to resign from their concerts, I would have.

2
    We hear that conditions for travel are good at this season, despite the inclement weather. The London coach yesterday arrived several hours early.
[Newcastle Courant, 2 March 1736]
    I was at the door to the street when I heard Heron call my name. He never needs to raise his voice; somehow there’s a note in it that stops you in your tracks. But at
that moment a carter in the street dropped some barrels with a clatter; I stepped out and strode off up Westgate, pretending I had not heard. I could not bear to speak to anyone just now. I could
not have been civil.
    I stalked up the street. Women were walking home with empty baskets and pockets jingling with coins; children were shrieking at their games. I ignored them all. I turned into the alley beside
the clockmakers, into a door, up a narrow flight of stairs. Past the dancing-school door, up again past the widow’s lodging, where I heard her speaking sharply to her children, and up to the
attic where lives my good friend and dancing master (beloved of all the young ladies),