Careers for Women in the 1800s

If a woman had the need to work for a living or to help her family stay afloat, there were several positions for her to consider based on her education or lack thereof. She could go into domestic service in the homes of others, becoming maids, cooks, caregivers, or governess to young children. She could become a teacher, particularly when public education started to open in areas of the United States between 1790 and more formally in 1830. In the United Kingdom, public schools did not start until 1890. Before that time, parents who could afford it, paid for their children’s education.

Beyond domestic service and teachers, women took on the roles of seamstresses (second-great-grandmother Elizabeth Davies Williams became a corset maker). Further down the list were stenographers, clerks, farmers and farm laborers, laundresses, merchants, saleswomen, and bookkeepers.

To be a musician, artist, author, or journalist was more of a rarity.

Three of the best-known women artists from the 1800s are Mary Cassatt—who was born in Allegheny City, Pennsylvania, studied at the Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts in Philadelphia—and later moved to Paris; French painter Berthe Morisot, known to the Impressionists, who married the brother of artist Edouard Manet; and another French artist, Rosa Bonheur, known for painting animals.

There were numerous women authors and poets: Jane Austen; the Bronte sisters—Charlotte, Emily, and Anne; Louisa May Alcott; Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley, an advocate for women’s rights, and author of Frankenstein; Mary Ann Evans, who wrote under the pen name of George Eliot; and Harriet Beecher Stowe, author of Uncle Tom’s Cabin.

In the 1800s, upper-class women were expected to learn an instrument, but few achieved fame. Clara Wieck Schuman was a child prodigy taught piano by her father. She was the inspiration for my upcoming novel, The Marquess’ Prodigy. Here is the Prequel, titled “Melodies in the Mist” for you to read:

Chapter One: A Musical Interlude

Sitting at the pianoforte, my fingers lingered absent-mindedly over the ivory keys in the dimly lit parlor. Life has been sweet here in Mayfair, but in the space of one moment, it turned upside-down. As I play, memories from my life sweep into my consciousness like melodies in the mist...

 Memories of my earliest years at my grandmother’s house bring me pleasure intermingled with a raw, deep-seated knot of emotions. Grandmama and Grandpapa lived in a burgeoning London neighborhood, thanks to Grandpapa’s inheritance as the third son of a marquess. He invested wisely in several businesses and gave his family a good life. Most of all, I loved my grandmother. She embodied safety, love, and contagious laughter. She filled my young life with her caring, encouragement, and told me I could succeed in life no matter what it brought to me. She was regal with beautiful thick, white wavy hair piled artfully on her head, and her smiling golden flecked light brown eyes always comforted me.

Her daughter, my mother, was a young widow with dark chestnut hair, soulful brown eyes, and a petite but curvy figure. My father died when I was less than a year old, so I didn’t know him. But one of my earliest memories was standing on tiptoe to plunk the keys on the pianoforte in my grandmother’s parlor.

“Christina, look!” Grandmama called, getting Mama’s attention as she brought the tea tray to the parlor. “Lily is playing on the pianoforte!” I laughed and smiled at Grandmama, even though I could barely talk. “Mama, she is only eighteen months old, goodness! All children will plunk away just to hear the sound.”

“Well, not all little ones can make a tune. I believe she just did.”

For some reason, Mama didn’t seem so happy and sighed, “I don’t want her to become like her father.”

“Goodness, Christina, she is just a babe. I know you won’t let her become like John, but she may have that musical talent in her. After all, she is his daughter. How else did she get his blue eyes?”

A subtle change in my life came when Mama dressed up in beautiful gowns going out for social evenings while Grandmama got me ready for bedtime. It was the start of the debutante season. “This is so strange going to Lady Rutledge’s ball again, five years after I first went,” Mama said with a tinge of sadness in her voice.

“Thank the lord that you can do this again, my dear. I dare say if you were five years older, you would not have this opportunity. Thankfully, you are helping Lucinda serve as her younger sister’s chaperone. With your sweet looks, I’m sure you will have many of those professed bachelors asking to fill up your dance card,” Grandmama replied. We watched my mother leave the house for the evening.

“Doesn’t Mama look lovely, Lily?” I slapped my little hand on the windowpane to get Mama’s attention. She looked back, smiled, and waved at me as she got into a carriage with her best friend Lucinda, and Lucinda’s husband, Lord Edward Dudley.

Before long, Mama met a man and thought she might be in love. By the end of the debutante season, the smartly dressed, Lord Wesley Clayborne, with light brown hair and expressive hazel eyes came to court Mama. At first, Mama kept me hidden from him, afraid I would ruin her chances for a new love life. After all, he was a marquess, which made Grandpapa happy. Eventually, Mama had to let the gentleman know I existed—that the little two-year old girl he saw constantly plunking on the pianoforte—was her daughter.

One of the days that Lord Clayborne came calling, the stern housekeeper, Mrs. Lincoln, let him in and showed him into the parlor, letting him know that Mama “will appear shortly.” Mrs. Lincoln disappeared back to the kitchen to prepare tea and cakes for the occasion. Mama was upstairs in her room putting the final touches on her wardrobe while Grandmama helped put ribbons in her hair. I had been sitting on a chair watching but grew bored. My only thought was to play on the “pana.” I stole away, sliding down the stairs on my belly. When I got to the bottom, I stood up in my now rumpled little dress, and ran to the parlor, climbed up on the “pana” bench, and started to plunk on the pianoforte’s keys, unaware that a man was sitting nearby. I loved the sounds I could make with this big piece of furniture. This brought Mama rushing down the stairs with Grandmama close behind.

“Lord Clayborne, it is wonderful to see you,” Mama said slightly out of breath.

“Mrs. Davenport, it was delightful to be entertained while awaiting your presence.”

“I can explain…” she started to say as I proudly called out “Mama!”

At that moment, Mama did not look pleased. Just then, Mrs. Lincoln entered with the tea tray filled to the brim with tea and cakes, diverting my attention to the cakes on the tray. Grandmama quickly grabbed me and asked Mrs. Lincoln to take me to the kitchen. I did protest being whisked away. That was the day Mama had to explain to this man that I belonged to her.

Being a good man, Lord Clayborne was not deterred from returning regularly to court Mama—and he seemed to be courting me too—he would arrive with flowers for Mama and little sweets for me. He was fascinated by the fact that I seemed able to create tunes on the pianoforte exclaiming, “She has a good ear for melodies.” It wasn’t long before Lord Clayborne would sit with me and show me a tune. He fancied himself as an amateur piano player. I’d copy what he played and the next time he visited I was able to play the tune he taught me. Mama said she did not have to work hard to convince Lord Clayborne to marry her. He told her he could not resist such a wonderful package of two women to love.

Mama married Lord Clayborne in a small wedding ceremony with only a few friends in attendance. His brother, the Duke of Carlisle, refused to come to London for the celebration. At the time, I was too little to understand his family situation.

Lord Clayborne took Mama on a trip to Paris while his new home in the Mayfair section of London was being prepared for their return. This allowed me to stay with Grandmama while they were away. I remember Mama saying they took a few days to visit Lord Clayborne’s family estate, but it had been a strained visit between the two brothers.

After four weeks, Mama returned to claim me and bring me to our “new home.” I was not happy to leave Grandmama and cried my eyes out. Suddenly, I had a governess who was nothing like my Grandmama. I do believe I bit her and got soundly smacked for that. The house was big with both a parlor and a large room for entertaining crowds. I roamed around the first week calling for the “pano.” When I didn’t find a pianoforte, I was ready to go back to Grandmama’s. I suppose I was a bit of a terror at that time, but one crisp fall day everything changed.

❦❦❦

“Little Lillian, come. I have something to show you,” Lord Wesley told me. He picked me up and carried me to the front entrance of the house and we stood by the door as I watched some movers jostling with a huge, covered piece of furniture. They yelled with each other to “move it this way, don’t bang the door frame, watch the legs!” and “where would you like us to set it down, my lord?”

Once they set it in the parlor, another mover brought in the matching bench. I watched as they removed the protective felt blankets covering the large piece and I shrieked, “Pano, Pano!” Lord Wesley laughed, let me down and I ran over, climbed up on the bench, and played one of the tunes he had taught me. The movers were amazed that I could plunk out a tune, especially as I frowned and complained, “Bad pano.” Lord Wesley laughed again and told me a tuner was coming shortly to fix it. Mama came to see the commotion.

I smiled at Lord Wesley, ran over, and hugged him around the legs. Then I looked up and called him “Papa.” He was so thrilled, he picked me up and swung me around. Mama had tears in her eyes and clapped her hands together. She hugged us both. “Now we are a proper family,” my new Papa said.

At the age of three, I started taking lessons on the pianoforte. Papa said he had taught me all he knew but he didn’t want me taking on any of his “lazy piano habits.” At least by that time, he had taught me to call it a piano. The “forte” came later. Papa hired a tutor who had been playing since she was a young lady.

Mrs. Smedley came twice weekly to help keep me occupied. I was so voracious in wanting to know everything, and practicing two or three hours a day became second nature to me. Mama marveled at the fact I could play two-handed and was learning to read music notes on the piano scores.

Papa dismissed the first governess I had when she called me an “irascible child.” It was obvious our personalities clashed. Mama was tired of her unkindness toward me. She approved of a new governess named Mrs. Pennington, who was only with me on weekdays. I enjoyed having her teach me to write my letters although I seemed to get graphite from pencils all over myself, which didn’t make the housekeeper happy. Mama wasn’t ready to have me try my hand at ink. Finally, she got me a smock that I could get as dirty as I wanted if I did not wear it in the parlor or when I visited Papa in his study.

❦❦❦

Unfortunately for me, seven was the age when Mama and Papa decided that I should go to a local “young ladies” school to start learning other things in life, such as history, literature, writing of correspondence, the proper way to sit at table when eating, how to address other members of the aristocracy, and many little niceties I could care less about. Only when I got home to study music did I really care, and then I would go straight to my pianoforte. But lessons with Mrs. Smedley were reduced to once a week and that upset me. I stomped my feet, raised my chin in the air, and declared I would stop playing altogether! Of course, Papa knew that wasn’t going to happen, and it was he who would calm me down.

There were a few girls in the school I attended who acted haughtily and liked to get me in trouble with the head mistress. Mama would say they were jealous of my looks and my talent. Three of them would taunt me about not having a real father and why was my name Davenport if my father was the Marquess of Carlisle? “Was I not a Clayborne? Perhaps I was a bastard child!” One girl named Alice had heard that my birth father was a drunkard and had been killed. That day when Mrs. Pennington came to collect me, I sobbed through my tears that I was never going back there again! Mama set me straight and let me know about my birth father, that she had been married to him and I was born before he died. She said I was truly a gift to her and my present father.Papa went to speak to the head mistress about my being distraught, and how could she allow such bullying from young girls at her school? In the end, I did one year at that school, leaving me to be tutored at home. In addition to pianoforte lessons twice weekly again, another tutor came to teach me history, literature, and writing essays. He also taught me music history, which I devoured, including the history of my beloved instrument. 

I loved studying at home with my tutor and practicing on the pianoforte. I happily practiced three hours daily and more when I had a concert to give. Mama and Papa entertained friends and clients monthly, so I became a fixture in their entertainment plans, not that I minded. The only thing that gave me a sour face was going to the modiste for a new concert dress to wear. I hated having to wear a dress with scratchy lace. It took Mama a while to realize that was a problem.

When my parents went on overnight visits or longer trips, I would happily stay with Grandmama who insisted on teaching me needlework. But the pianoforte I first discovered as a toddler at her house was like an old, welcomed friend. I delighted my grandmother with newer pieces that I had learned. She particularly loved the Mozart variations on his Ah! Vous dirai-je, Maman, a fun piece great for parties, but entertaining my Grandmama was always a delight.

The day came when Mrs. Smedley advised my parents that she had nothing new to teach me, and they should consider hiring a new piano tutor, since my skills were “advanced for my age.” My parents decided if she could help us find a new teacher, they would give her a “finder’s fee” for her troubles. It appeared that Mrs. Smedley did indeed know where to turn, and introduced us to Mr. Jacob Hardy, a pianist who was only eight years older than me. He had also been somewhat of a child prodigy, taught by his father. So, at the age of ten, I started working with Mr. Hardy, who would come twice weekly for two-hour lessons. I really enjoyed studying under him because he pushed me to do more than Mrs. Smedley and was able to teach me more complicated music, while giving me the power to learn longer pieces of music by memory. “If you are going to be a professional musician, you must memorize your music,” he always told me. I also grew in my ability to allow the emotion of the music to flow through my fingertips.

Mr. Hardy introduced me to artists I had never heard of, and he also told me that he had once been tutored by the genius and master of music, Ludwig van Beethoven. Mr. Hardy made sure my fingers were poised properly over the keys, my arms held just so, and my back was perfectly straight and graceful. Besides being teacher and student, Mr. Hardy and I became fast friends. But as a male like my regular tutor, my third and last governess, Mrs. Lavinia Smith, would sit in the parlor knitting or sewing while I had my lessons. How tedious for her, but I do believe she enjoyed listening to me play. Mr. Hardy would tell me all manner of things and people musical. He was a veritable font of information.

This idyllic life continued. A note of sadness came before my eleventh birthday. Mama lost the baby she was carrying. That would have been a little sister for me to teach. That same year, my Grandpapa passed away. As a young girl, I did what I could to help comfort Grandmama, including spending weekends with her to help cheer her and avoid loneliness. Papa suggested she sell her house and move in with us. Mama and I heartily agreed. Papa took care of everything. He was so wonderful with all the financial matters. “As a lady, you should not have to be concerned about finances,” he told her. Grandmama came to live with us, but I could tell she was not the same after Grandpapa passed away. She had several illnesses and then, the winter I was thirteen, she contracted pneumonia, and my beloved Grandmama passed away. We had a service at the house for her, and of course, I played all the music she loved best, while tears streamed down my face. Mama received many visitors expressing their sympathies. Grieving can be strange and brings up all kinds of emotions. Sometimes, I felt her presence with me. Although I missed my Grandmama and thought of her every day, I was never so happy as to have those dark mourning cloths ripped down.

Chapter Two: A Courtly Invitation

In the early spring after I had turned fourteen, Mama and Papa had a dinner and ball for Papa’s best clients. This included his barrister, Lord Cornell Oliver, and his wife, Lady Susannah Randall-Oliver. Lady Susannah was a member of the Queen’s Court. As always, I entertained, showing my command of the full keyboard. Lady Susannah was so taken by my playing of Beethoven’s Sonata No. 14—which was dubbed the “Moonlight Sonata” by a German critic—that she told the Queen about this “amazing fourteen-year-old girl, stepdaughter to one of London’s more powerful marquess, and an outstanding musician” on the pianoforte. As the Queen liked to host small concerts at St. James Palace for select nobles, I was invited to play at one of those events under the assurance of Lady Susannah that I was indeed a very gifted student—a prodigy.

Of course, I was given lessons on the correct protocol for greeting and playing before the Queen, but I was a bundle of nerves beforehand. So was Mama! I had numerous fittings at the modiste’s for an elegant gown to wear. So many that I became quite irritable, ready to sack the whole idea. Mama however, made me see how important this step was to my future, and no other young lady my age had this grand opportunity. Mr. Hardy accompanied me and Mama the day of the concert to be assured the instrument was well tuned. After all, his “star pupil” could not play on an out-of-tune pianoforte.

It was Papa who talked with me solemnly the evening before the concert after I had finished practicing my music. With his wise and kind eyes, he knew how to keep me calm and to utilize my grace and command of my instrument as if I was the “queen” of the pianoforte. How I loved him for that thought. He had me picture myself waiting outside the doors to the Queen’s salon, taking four deep breaths, then letting the air out slowly after each breath, standing tall with a straight back and proud shoulders, and giving the Queen a graceful curtsy and a lovely smile when I first entered the room. This, he said, “will show that you are in command of this concert.”

My gown was a beautiful blue brocade with a small bit of lace coverage for my décolletage, and lace at the end of my three-quarter sleeves. Mama had a lovely necklace with a blue sapphire opal surrounded by tiny diamonds Papa had given her when they got engaged. Mama wanted me to wear it, and I felt like a princess.

As our carriage pulled up on the cobblestones in front of the palace, a footman came and opened the carriage door. I was so nervous, I tripped slightly up the stone steps to the palace doors, but quickly remembered Papa’s advice. Once I was standing in front of those closed doors to the Queen’s salon, with a footman standing on either side in their fancy uniforms, I did exactly as Papa told me. When the door was opened, after one of the footmen had knocked and waited, I swept in with Mama following behind me. Mr. Hardy had arrived earlier to make sure everything had been made ready for me.Lady Susannah arose from her seat to introduce the “Marchioness of Carlisle, Lady Christina Clayborne, and her daughter, Miss Lillian Davenport, Your Majesty.” The Queen nodded and Mama gave her a slight curtsy, then nodded at me, as I gave her a graceful, deep curtsy before sitting at the piano bench and adjusting my seating. Mr. Hardy announced the first piece I would play. I played a total of six compositions. Each piece was played from memory—music by Haydn, Mozart, Gluck, Schubert, Beethoven, and a newer composer, Eybler, with the last two being my favorites. When I finished, the crowd gave me a rousing round of applause as I stood and curtsied. The Queen spoke to a gentleman beside her, and he rose. “Miss Davenport, Her Majesty requests that you play the Beethoven Sonata for an encore.” I curtsied at the piano and said, “I would be delighted to play that again for Your Majesty.” After the concert, we had tea and sweets with the Queen and her guests, as Lady Susannah served as my spokesperson with the Queen.

Mama gave me an enormous hug when we got back into our carriage for the trip home. “Oh Lillian, I am so, so proud of you! You’re playing was spectacular. Papa will be so proud too. How do you feel, my sweet?”

“Exhausted, Mama. My head is in a whirl! I truly wanted to play my best and I think I did. Do you think I will ever be invited to play for the Queen again?”

“Oh absolutely, Lillian. Lady Susannah said this was a small group so you wouldn’t feel uncomfortable. She mentioned the Queen was enraptured watching you play, and she knows you will be invited to play again.” Papa was in his study when we got home, and I practically jumped on his lap. I was so excited to let him know all about my first royal experience. His eyes shone brightly, and he hugged me, letting me know how proud he was of me—his daughter. And, for the next few days, I lived with a euphoria I had never known before. It would never have occurred to me that a concert like this could be such a head-spinning experience. The adulation of the Queen and her court was intoxicating.

❦❦❦

Shortly after this, Lord and Lady Oliver invited Mama and Papa to a dinner at their house, and what was laid out before them was a proposal to have me become a member of the Queen’s Court and live at the palace. Papa must have left fuming. I remember hearing him speak loudly about it once they returned home. They thought I was asleep in my room, but their highly exaggerated whispering as they came up the stairs to their suite had me listening intently through my bedroom door.

“A member of the Queen’s Court! Absolutely not!” Papa said. “Do you know what that even means, Christina?”

“It seems like it would be a great honor for Lillian, Wesley.”

“And more than likely, she would become a mistress to the King, or worse yet, the Prince Regent! She is only fourteen. Do you know how many mistresses they have had? Is that what you would want for our daughter?”

Mama gasped. “Certainly not, Wesley! I had no idea! Do you think that Susannah Oliver has also been a mistress at the court?”

“I would not venture an answer to that question, my sweetness. Just send a note to Lady Oliver and let her know while we are flattered with the possibility, neither we nor Lillian want that for her future.”

“Yes, of course, my love. I will attend to that tomorrow. She has grown with such grace and beauty—everyone is captivated by her talent along with her stunning blue eyes—I can understand why she would be asked.”

“That is why we must protect her at all costs, Christina! Do be careful how you word your note. Lord Oliver is still my solicitor, and Lillian has enjoyed playing for the Queen. I don’t want to sever these relationships. Perhaps it might be best to say that Lillian wants to go the traditional route of the debutante and has high hopes of marrying a duke.”

What! Papa, what are you thinking? Why does he think I want to marry a duke? I am not really thinking of marriage now, I’m only going to be fifteen at the end of summer. I don’t think I want to become a debutante in society until I am at least seventeen or eighteen. I would just have to face those shallow-headed girls from that school once again! Let me just play the pianoforte and learn more music. I enjoy having Mr. Hardy as my tutor and friend. It is so stimulating talking about composers and music! 

However, in late winter, I received a very special request from the Queen.

Mr. Hardy and I were having another lesson and playing music by the newest composer to bring us a concerto, Carl Maria von Weber. We were going over timing for the piece when Mama decided it was important to interrupt us. 

“Oh dear. Lillian! You have received a request from the Queen!”

“What? Excuse me, Mr. Hardy, perhaps I should look at this.” His eyes lit up and he nodded in the affirmative. I took the missive with the Queen’s seal and carefully opened it to read the text. My eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“Goodness, the Queen is asking me to give a special concert for the benefit of the new hospital here in London, her latest project. She plans to have it in one month’s time, right before the hospital is set to open for patients. There is to be a large open room on the first floor for lectures, and she wants to set up the concert there. My goodness! She hopes to have more than 300 members of London’s elite in attendance. She sees this as a great way to start off the spring season here in London.”

“Mr. Hardy, do you think Lillian can be ready in time?” Mama speculated.

“I do believe with the work we are doing now this can be arranged. Lillian, you should respond as quickly as possible and ask the Queen if there are any pieces that she favors you to play and how long should this concert last. Also see if she plans to have any other musical talent play, such as a quartet. It is best to know these things for planning purposes.” I responded as quickly as possible, and in a month’s time, I was ready for the biggest concert of my life till now. Mr. Hardy had been put in charge of the concert.

Seated in the front row, Mama and Papa were thrilled.  I had on a new navy-blue gown that was a lovely brocade on the bodice with velvet skirting, and matching blue brocade shoes with a sweet little curved heel. My dark chestnut hair was done up by my governess, Lavinia, and included hairpins with pearls. I felt like a princess. Once again, I wore Mama’s lovely necklace. Papa gave me his advice on taking deep breaths. “Make it eight if you feel that best,” he advised. A small quartet consisting of a flute, viola, violin, and a cello played the first two pieces. They were musician friends of Mr. Hardy. Finally, I proceeded out on the stage to start my concert. I found the Queen in her special seating area and looked for Mama and Papa sitting next to the Oliver’s. The rest of the crowd was a sea of faces, but I was focused on playing for the Queen and my parents. After the concert was over and all the accolades given, I will never forget Mr. Hardy saying, “I believe this is the start of your career as a concert pianist, Miss Lillian.”

At the age of fifteen, I had been playing for more than twelve years. The pianoforte was an extension of who I am.

The local newspaper even made mention of my concert the next day. I was touted as London’s newest musical prodigy. Of course, the bigger news was that more than fifty-thousand pounds had been raised for the new hospital. Many smaller concerts took over my life in the following two years.

Now, that time seems all a blur. What if I had known that my life was about to change so drastically? Mama and I had started talking about having me introduced as a debutante in the coming spring now that I was seventeen. She was always looking at the latest fashions and colors for debutantes, figuring what balls we should attend, and putting them on the calendar. I smiled and let her have her fun. I was working on learning the entirety of Beethoven’s Sonata No. 8 in C Minor, the Pathetique. Perhaps its’ tragic and expressive nature called to me. What do you do when life brings you such a heart-wrenching change?

❦❦❦

Mama and Papa had been invited to a fall gathering in Lancashire at the home of a wealthy client of Papa’s. It was a week-long affair that included outings, picnics, formal dinners and ended with a lavish ball. Mama had been excited to go but was a bit worried about leaving me for that length of time, which, I thought strange. It was not like they had never done any such thing in the past.

Well, usually, my Grandmama was present to watch over me, but Papa informed Mama that my governess, Lavinia, was quite capable of watching out for me, and our butler and the cook would all be here. “You know she will spend quite a bit of time with Mr. Hardy and her history tutor. You have no need to worry about Lillian, Christina.”

I received a note from Mama by courier the day before their return. She said she was exhausted from all the activities, and they still had a lavish ball to attend that evening. She let me know she was looking forward to getting home the next day, and that she and Papa missed me. Her note put a smile on my face, and I was relieved they would be back soon.

“Watch your tempo, Lillian,” Mr. Hardy, admonished me, as he tapped out the tempo with a wooden pointer. I was playing on the pianoforte in our parlor, studying the third movement of Beethoven’s Pathetique. I loved the emotion and power that man brought to his music.

I felt it deep within my soul. The emotion of the music was the most important aspect to me. Mr. Hardy encouraged me to play Haydn, Handel, Schubert, Mozart, Von Weber, and many others, but Beethoven’s music had claimed my heart. His long interludes building upon each other created an emotional swell that sent chills up my spine bringing a pleasant tingle at the top of my head. This music became my obsession.

Our butler, Mr. Elliott, answered the entry door after a loud knock was heard. Lavinia was knitting as she sat on a nearby parlor chair and arose to see what the discussion was about. I tried to ignore the commotion. The participants moved out of doors to talk.

I was practicing Beethoven’s Pathetique Sonata, that is all I remember. I heard Mr. Elliott, our butler, say something about it would be best for him to seek father’s friend, Lord Oliver. Lavinia agreed. Mr. Hardy, sensing something was terribly out of sorts, tried to keep my attention and concentration on playing.

In the meantime, Mr. Elliott disappeared, and Lavinia decided to sit on a bench in the entry hall. That was a bit strange. Lord Oliver, a rather staunch man with graying hair and dark brown eyes, came with his wife about a half hour later. Lady Oliver was slender and had an air of quiet grace about her, although her demeanor the moment they stepped into the parlor was tentative and nervous.

“Miss Lillian, Lord and Lady Oliver are here to see you,” Mr. Elliott announced solemnly. Mr. Elliott was always proper like most butlers, but I detected a crack in his voice this time. I had not heard him correctly and assumed they were here to see Mama and Papa, even if I was to be included.

“Mother and father should be back shortly from their trip. Lavinia, perhaps we should serve tea in the meantime.”

“I do believe the Oliver’s are here to impart sad news, Lillian,” Lavinia said, her voice not much above a whisper as she wiped reddened eyes with her kerchief. I looked up at her quizzically from my piano bench. A sudden, fearful dread grabbed at my chest, and I gasped while grasping the piano bench tightly, as if I were about to drown.

 Mr. Hardy quickly moved to stand behind me and put a warm hand on my shoulder. Lord and Lady Oliver loomed large as they entered further into the parlor, looking extremely grim. It was Lord Oliver who spoke first, reaching out to take my slender hands in his much larger ones. Bending down towards me, I could see the pained look on his face and deep concern in his eyes.

“Miss Lillian, I am afraid I have tragic news to relay,” he said, his voice cracking.