TMWD [Full Preface].

Lady Bernadette Roberts loved music.

More specifically, she loved playing her harp. The act of practicing her instrument in the up-scale music room within their humble home was gratifying and created a serene atmosphere for Bernadette to hone her talents and craft them in a way that couldn’t be ignored. Sir Roberts, her father, was the one who got her into music and instrumental studies when she was a little girl, still impressionable and always looking for an opportunity to make her parents happy and proud of her. When her father died a short few years ago, Bernadette had been heartbroken at first. She would miss his physical presence in the music room; observing her while her fingers plucked delicately yet haphazardly until they bled and calloused over. Sir Roberts would bound in the room as if hearing the hiss of pain under his daughter’s breath. If he heard the music stop, Sir Roberts would poke his head in through the music room door and check to see if his darling daughter was stuck in musical limbo or if she had injured herself from overplaying.

But Bernadette felt like his presence would always hover around the music room, or even inside it. Sometimes she swore that she could hear her late father playing a transparent melody on the piano that had been his since he went to university. The reason she still practiced to this day was because of Sir Roberts and his everlasting teachings, stretching beyond lifetimes. After her father died, Bernadette felt like she wasn’t making any progress as far as skills that she felt she needed at this point in her musical career. The legacy of her late father must be continued through her, which was her reasoning when trying to convince her mother to allow her to get a music instructor for the very purpose of teaching her skills and crafting the old ones to be more modern.

Bernadette had begged and begged and begged until her mother, Lady Madeline Roberts, finally answered her with a yes. The young girl had already been looking into certain music instructors that were either in or near the town of Rimecrehed, where they lived right now. There weren’t many, unsurprisingly, but Bernadette felt extremely lucky and like it was fate when she found Mr. Stanford Carter; an esteemed music instructor embellished with many awards and certifications of musical integrity. He played a variety of instruments and taught university courses in his free time, along with conducting a strings orchestra. Bernadette wrote him a letter one day, detailing her passion for music and harp playing,

Dear Mr. Carter,

My name is Lady Bernadette Roberts. I’m seventeen years old and I play the harp. I started when I was a little girl because my late father, Sir Gerald Roberts, played the piano and a lot of other instruments during his time at university. He used to teach me but now I’m looking for someone to fill the gap that only an accomplished music instructor such as yourself could do. I’ve already looked through your profiles and talked to my local music shop’s owner to hear of some of your works. I heard that you’ve even written some of your own pieces and played them for people across the country! I aspire to be on that level of musical genius; one you seem to be on so easily and without fail. Naturally, I thought it was only perfect that you teach me.

My family is not very wealthy, due to my mother being a widow and the funeral costing so much. But I can pay you whatever is necessary because I’m engaged to the heir to the textile empire in our town of Rimecrehed. My musical talent will far outweigh the fees that you’ll ask of me, I’m sure. This letter is coming off rather arrogant, isn’t it? Well, I’m just trying my best to get my feelings across to you. I’ve seen your pictures as well and you look similar to my father. Maybe that’s why I feel so inclined for you to be my instructor. Please help me become an even better musician, one that could be like you someday. I’ve known you’ve done it for other students across the country. So why not me, Lady Bernadette Roberts

I patiently await your response, sir.

Sincerely,

Lady Bernadette Roberts of Rimecrehed

She had practically sprinted to the post office right after finishing her signature. Bernadette was in such a rush that she forgot to put the letter in an envelope that sealed it before going. Luckily, the post office workers were kind enough to offer her free envelopes and an official seal to borrow for such a blunder. Bernadette was eternally grateful for them, as without this envelope and seal she would never be able to have Mr. Stanford Carter know she was an option for him to teach to.

Bernadette signed that she would be patiently waiting for the response, but she and her mother, more her mother really, agreed that it was less patient and more anxious. Every day at the crack of dawn, just after the rooster’s crow, Bernadette would throw her jacket on and stuff her feet into the inside of her boots and run down to the post office to see if there was any mail for her yet. Most days, the post office workers hadn’t even clocked in yet. So, they often came across Bernadette sitting on the step leading to the front door of the post office. She was idly looking around at the bustling scenery of early morning workers going to their jobs. Either that or she was tapping her foot anxiously on the concrete steps—which felt like pounding to those walking or strolling by the post office.

It wasn’t until two weeks later when Bernadette finally got a response from the music instructor. Ironically, it was the day that she had come down with a small cold and wasn’t able to wait by the post office. Lady Madeline Roberts was reprimanding her young, naïve daughter about being so childish standing outside in the cold every morning just for a response from an older man who more than likely would never respond to an average girl like Bernadette. As if on cue, the mailman slid some envelopes through the skinny slot on their door, alerting both Bernadette and her mother. When Bernadette tried to get up, her weak body was pushed down by her mother and was promptly tucked tightly into the bed so that she couldn’t make her escape.

Bernadette watched her mother exit the room, shutting the door behind her. She wiggled in a vain attempt to escape the blanket jail that Lady Roberts imprisoned her in, but obviously, to no avail. Her mother came back into the room a short minute later; in her hands were a few envelopes. Most likely just bills and the frequent ads that local grocery stores and farmers would send to them about their products. Bernadette tried again to move while Lady Roberts sifted through the mail slowly as if purposely torturing her anxious daughter who was agonizingly begging her to just find the letter from Mr. Carter.

Suddenly, her mother’s eyes widened drastically. Looking from Bernadette to the envelope, Lady Roberts ripped into it, much to her daughter’s dismay.

“Mother! Is it from Mr. Carter?!” she screeched. Her mother ignored her, perhaps too deep into the letter to hear her daughter. A hand clapped over her mother’s face in shock and tears pricked at the corner of her eyes. Bernadette tried asking once again, but Lady Roberts interrupted her with a softening voice, very uncharacteristic of her by the way,

“Bernadette…I, I can’t believe this.”

“Show me! Show me show me show me!”

Bernadette managed to break her arms free from their soft imprisonment and snatched the parchment paper right out of her mother’s shaky hands. She read the letter with a pounding heart and sweat forming on her brow from anxiety, as well as the cold she had currently probably.

Lady Bernadette Roberts,

I’m flattered that you were thinking of me to complete this slot in your musical career. Right now, I’m working with my strings orchestra on a new piece that will be played at a symphony hall. I think you would enjoy the sound. I’d like to hear you play so that I could gauge what kind of assistance you’ll need. By the way, I appreciate your confidence. I like that elemental personality in my students, as it creates more opportunities for flexible learning. At the start of next week, I will be making a stop in the town of Rimecrehed to stay at an inn and travel towards the symphony hall just beyond the gorgeous, scenic town that you are very lucky to live in.

Because the string orchestra has been practicing, my pupils are in need of more strings as theirs are beginning to fray from the wear and tear of constant practice. I implore and encourage you to come to the local music shop, along with your harp, to show me some of your skills and talent. I will provide you with sheet music for you to play impromptu. It will help with your sight-reading ability, as well as challenge the natural confident nature you have about you. Students like you are my favorite to teach so I expect great things in a week from you.

All the best to you.

Sincerely,

Sir Stanford Carter

Strings Symphonic Conductor

Bernadette burst into tears from excitement, happiness and relief. She was finally going to continue her father’s legacy—as long as this audition of sorts in a week went perfectly. Her mother seemed impressed as well, in her own different way. The two of them made plans for Bernadette’s practice and the young girl willed herself to get over this annoying cold so that she wouldn’t miss the audition in a week.

After about a week, the audition date was front and center. Bernadette had been—most likely over excessively—practicing for this day. She and her harp sat in the music room of her home for hours every day, only coming out when Mother hollered for her to eat something or she’d fall sick again. Bernadette didn’t want that, so she came out and took a break every time. If there was anything else going on around her or in her mother’s life, Bernadette had no idea. After all, she was cooped up in the same place for elongated periods of the day. Her fingers were becoming calloused after the first few days of bleeding profusely if she practiced for too long.

Mother reprimanded her about this, telling her that if she doesn’t knock it off, she will be less than perfect for her audition for Mr. Carter.

Bernadette went to the music shop that morning, carrying her harp with her carefully so she didn’t drop it or break the strings just before they were to begin. The music shop owner had been debriefed on the situation occurring in just a few minutes so he wished her luck and offered her some free extra strings if she were to pass this audition. The two of them waited in the practice room before the music shop owner heard the front door to the shop open. He left the room, leaving Bernadette to wrestle with her thoughts about being perfect and passing this test and making sure to remember everything she’d ever learned about music from her father and from her non-stop days of practicing.

The door clicked open, revealing Mr. Stanford Carter in all of his glory. She felt her heart drop to her stomach when he introduced himself to her, taking her hand and bowing respectfully. Bernadette politely curtseyed, just like her mother instructed her to do.

He sat down in the chair beside her and pulled out some music sheets from his messenger bag, placing them neatly on the music stand in front of her, “Now, Lady Roberts, I’d like for you to play this piece. Reprise and repeat as listed in the sheet, please.”

Bernadette nodded. She didn’t trust her voice right now. Instead, she allowed her harp to do the talking for her. The young girl picked up her bow and began to play the song. It was a rather long one, spanning over ten minutes. Bernadette made sure to focus on every note and how she could make it sound beautiful for Mr. Carter to see how talented she was. If he didn’t, all those times her father taught her were for naught and Bernadette couldn’t let that happen. Not now, of all times in her life.

Finally, Bernadette lowered her bow and allowed the final chord to ring into the air until it dissipated into thin air. She closed her eyes, allowing herself to take this moment of peace and silence to calm herself before Mr. Carter’s inevitable critiques.

“Well Lady Roberts, I must say,” he smiled at her. Bernadette felt a spike of excitement and anticipation run through her body, up her spine and she couldn’t help but mirror his expression. “You are extremely talented. I will teach you. Starting in three weeks, we will be practicing until I feel like you have blossomed into an even better musician.”

Bernadette burst into tears. The man beside her chuckled, offering a supportive pat on the back for her hard work and preparation, as well as congratulating her.

Little did she know that her instructor, Mr. Stanford Carter, would be the source of discomfort and an added source of drama into her life for the next several years into adulthood.