The Firebird

She had learnt and remembered those words through the years, but she found she’d forgotten the tune, having heard it just once. And so now she had learnt to play music, as he had advised her to do, and she finally could pick out the notes on the keyboard and play them.

The tune, written down, was a simple one – only the melody, all on its own, and her hand could not capture the lilt of it, but it still brought from her memory the captain’s deep, comforting voice, singing gently to soothe a small girl in the darkness. When she’d played it three times there were tears in her eyes, and to keep them from falling she looked swiftly up from the keys and saw Edmund, who’d entered the house without any announcement, and stood in the doorway.

His head briefly dipped in a gentleman’s greeting. ‘And what song is that?’

He was already leaving the doorway and coming across to the harpsichord, and short of snatching the paper up rudely and stuffing it safe in her pocket again there was little that Anna could do but allow him to look at it.

‘May I?’ He lifted the paper. ‘“The Wandering Maiden”. I am unfamiliar with this one, although I’ve heard some very like it.’ He read through the words. ‘Not a happy song.’

‘Not till the end.’

‘And is this what you’re playing,’ he asked, ‘after dinner? To keep us all well entertained?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘Mrs Lacy has planned a duet.’

Edmund smiled at whatever her face had betrayed. ‘And ’tis plain that you relish the prospect.’

His smile did not mock, but was meant to be shared, which she did in a small way as she replied, ‘I have no skill at this instrument that would allow me to do so. As you will discover.’

‘I’ll stop up my ears,’ Edmund promised. ‘Perhaps I should teach you a trick with the cards. You could do that in silence.’

‘I have no great skill with cards, either, sir.’

‘Right, you did tell me.’ He seemed to have taken more care than he usually did when preparing for dinner. His face had been recently shaved, his hair carefully combed and tied back, yet for all that he still had the air of a rogue. ‘Do you truly not know any card games at all?’

‘I do not.’

‘Come, I’ll teach you one.’ Setting the song sheet back down on the harpsichord, he gave a sideways nod towards the small plush-topped table still set up between two chairs, only a few steps away.

‘What, this instant?’ she asked him.

‘Why not?’

He was clearly not going to sit till she’d crossed to take one of the chairs, so she did.

‘Now,’ said Edmund, removing the cards from his pocket, ‘this game is called “Fives”. ’Tis the game of my country and simple to learn; quick to play. It is how your red shoes were won.’

Anna refused to give in to the charm of that smile. ‘I would doubt that the shoes were won fairly.’

‘Then you’d be mistaken. I played all upon the square for those shoes, so I did, for Mr Morley is an honest man.’

She watched him while he shuffled. ‘Do you not cheat honest men, then?’

‘Honest men cannot be cheated,’ Edmund said. ‘They’ve a conscience that speaks to them, leads them away from a game that might harm them. No, a man who will fall for the play of a sharper must first have the heart of a thief himself, under his fine clothes and all his respectable airs. Very often you’ll find he’s a liar besides, spinning tales to impress you. The thing is, he wants something from you himself, whether it be respect or your money, and right till the end of the game and beyond it he’ll think in his heart he’s the one cheating you. There you are, then.’ He dealt her five cards, and himself the same, then explained how the game worked with its trumps. ‘So, the five of trumps, that’s the best card you can have, then the ace of hearts – which is your own special favourite, as I recall – then ace of trumps, then the knave. Follow that?’

Anna nodded. They started to play. For the first hand, he played along with her and showed her what moves she should make. At the start of the second hand, which Anna dealt in her turn, he quickly looked over her cards and, on seeing that she held the ace of diamonds, shook his head. ‘No, that’s truly the worst card of all you could possibly have. Give it here,’ he said, taking it from her and giving her one from his hand in exchange. ‘There now.’

Sighing, she told him, ‘That still counts as cheating.’

‘Does not,’ was his argument. ‘Not if my intent is good.’

In her third hand, her cards were so perfectly good that she knew he had dealt them on purpose. She looked at him. ‘Stop it.’

‘Stop what?’

‘I had rather play poorly and lose by my own efforts,’ she said, ‘than win by dishonesty.’

‘Sure that’s a very fine sentiment,’ Edmund replied, with his eyes on his own cards, ‘but life does not always allow us to do as we’d please.’

Still, he won both of the following hands, and when dealing the next gave her cards that did not seem to be prearranged. Anna played them with full concentration, unable to guard her own features as closely as Edmund did while he was playing, for she could not help the satisfied smile as she played her last card. ‘I believe I’ve just won.’

Edmund, looking down too, gave a nod. ‘Aye,’ he said. ‘Ace of hearts wins the knave.’ His eyes lifted and met hers and held them, the smile in his own fading slowly to something less readable, though no less warm, as he told her, ‘And that, I’ll allow, you did all on your own.’