“Honoria! Honoria! Are you even listening to me?”
Iris again. Honoria tried not to groan. “I’m sure she’ll be here soon,” she said placatingly.
“Are you?” Iris demanded. “Because I’m not. I knew she was going to do this to me.”
“Do what?”
“Don’t you understand? She’s not coming.”
Honoria finally looked up. “Oh, don’t be silly. Sarah would never do that.”
“Really?” Iris gave her a look of utter disbelief. And panic. “Really?”
Honoria stared at her for a long moment, and then: “Oh, dear God.”
“I told you you shouldn’t have chosen Quartet no. 1. Sarah’s actually not that bad on the pianoforte, but the piece is far too difficult.”
“It’s difficult for us, as well,” Honoria said weakly. She was beginning to feel sick.
“Not as difficult as on the piano. And besides, it really doesn’t matter how difficult the violin parts are, because—” Iris cut herself off. She swallowed, and her cheeks turned pink.
“You won’t hurt my feelings,” Honoria told her. “I know I’m dreadful. And I know Daisy is even worse. We’d do an equally bad job with any piece of music.”
“I can’t believe her,” Iris said, starting to pace frantically about the room. “I can’t believe she would do this.”
“We don’t know that she isn’t going to play,” Honoria said.
Iris spun around. “Don’t we?”
Honoria swallowed uncomfortably. Iris was right. Sarah had never been twenty—no, now it was twenty-five—minutes late for a rehearsal.
“This wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t chosen such a difficult piece,” Iris accused.
Honoria stomped to her feet. “Do not try to lay the blame on me! I’m not the one who spent the last week complaining about— Oh, never mind. I’m here, and she’s not, and I don’t see how that is my fault.”
“No, no, of course,” Iris said, shaking her head. “It’s just— Oh!” She let out a loud cry of angry frustration. “I can’t believe she would do this to me.”
“To us,” Honoria reminded her quietly.
“Yes, but I’m the one who didn’t want to perform. You and Daisy didn’t care.”
“I don’t see what that has to do with it,” Honoria said.
“I don’t know,” Iris wailed. “It’s just that we were all supposed to be in this together. That’s what you said. Every single day you said it. And if I was going to swallow my pride and humiliate myself in front of every single person I know, then Sarah was going to have to do it, too.”
Just then Daisy arrived. “What’s going on?” she asked. “Why is Iris so upset?”
“Sarah isn’t here,” Honoria explained.
Daisy looked over at the clock on the mantel. “That’s rude of her. She’s almost a half an hour late.”
“She’s not coming,” Iris said flatly.
“We don’t know that for sure,” Honoria said.
“What do you mean she’s not coming?” Daisy echoed. “She can’t not come. How are we meant to perform a piano quartet without a piano?”
A long silence fell over the room, and then Iris gasped. “Daisy, you’re brilliant.”
Daisy looked pleased, but nonetheless said, “I am?”
“We can cancel the performance!”
“No,” Daisy said, shaking her head quickly. She turned to Honoria. “I don’t want to do that.”
“We’ll have no choice,” Iris went on, her eyes lighting with glee. “It’s just as you said. We can’t have a piano quartet without a piano. Oh, Sarah is brilliant.”
Honoria, however, was not convinced. She adored Sarah, but it was difficult to think of her planning something quite so unselfish, especially under these circumstances. “Do you really think she did this in an attempt to cancel the entire performance?”
“I don’t care why she did it,” Iris said frankly. “I’m just so happy I could—” For a moment she literally could not speak. “I’m free! We’re free! We’re—”
“Girls! Girls!”
Iris broke off midcheer as they all turned to the door. Sarah’s mother, their aunt Charlotte—known to the rest of the world as Lady Pleinsworth—was hurrying into the room, followed by a young, dark-haired woman who was dressed in well-made yet terribly plain clothing that marked her instantly as a governess.