Touch

The sound of rain floods the theatre as the audience applauds.

The show has ended.

Each musician stands and takes a bow. And the rain falls harder, louder. Thunders of ‘Encore! Encore! Encore!’ rumble the theatre.

Dahlia watches another bow take place. She refuses to clap. She is unsatisfied. She wants more. Music should never stop, she believes.

The sound of rain gets lighter and lighter, finally, to the point of a gentle pitter-patter.

The musicians leave the stage. Some leave the auditorium. Some remain.

People of reputation and higher class immediately flock the conductor, filling his cup with flattery. Perhaps they could get a deal, a sponsorship, anything. The conductor is a very famous and successful man.

The string ensemble scatters throughout the theatre, laughing, mingling with the guests, the audience, themselves. Dahlia watches them in satisfaction. While the conductor strains himself and rubs his brow in stress, the string ensemble laugh and dance.

But Dahlia frowns.

The pianist is nowhere to be seen.

“E-excuse me Miss Dahlia, the lady is calling you.”

Dahlia’s maid, Prudence politely beckons to Dahlia. Dahlia quietly sighs to herself. She does not want to leave. Not yet.

“Tell my mother I shall be with her in a moment.”

“M-miss!”

Dahlia knows. She knows it is improper to be unchaperoned, especially at her age. But she cares not. Especially right now, with the pianist missing. She disregards her maid, despite the maid’s consistent pleas. Dahlia’s soft blue eyes swiftly survey the room in vain attempt to find the pianist.

“Lookin’ fer someone?”

Dahlia nearly jumps. She turns around, clutching her pounding heart.

A young man appears before her. He grins. Exposed to his smile, Dahlia knows that this man is very handsome. His clothes disarranged, crinkled and maybe a little improper, but nevertheless a handsome man.

“E-excuse me?”

He clears his throat.

“I said are you looking for someone, my lady?”

Have you seen the pianist?

“No, I am not.”

Dahlia juts out her jaw in defiance. The guy shrugs, but he does not leave. Instead, he makes himself comfortable in her presence, despite the fact that Dahlia is unchaperoned.

“Show wasn’t much of a success.”

“Pardon?”

“The show – Speraccini’s Symphony. Disappointment, that was.”

Dahlia carefully looks at the man. His eyes just peeking under his tousled, somewhat disheveled auburn hair, a smirk playing on his lips with dimples pinching his cheeks. His arms casually folded and he breathed not of a superior countenance.

Conceited.

Dahlia shakes her head.

“I beg to disagree. It was very beautiful.”

“No, I’m afraid not. It didn’t raise much.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Speraccini’s Symphony did not raise much money. No profit, none.”

“It received plenty attention. T’was a full night. Even the government official’s attended.”

“Those stingy bastards, they are. Only attended for appearance. Attending a musical function gives the elusion of class and a hint of superiority, apparently.”

Despite his appearance, this man seems intelligent.

“You can’t measure a musician’s worth from the amount they raise.”

He raises an eyebrow at Dahlia.

“Yes, I can and am. The pianist was the worst. He was quite horrible, really.”

“What?”

“Disappointed, I am.”

“He was not a disappointment! Who are you to speak?! Quite frankly, he was the only reason why I had thoroughly enjoyed the symphony!”

The man chuckles at her, his chuckle gentle and low.

“You’re the daughter of an Earl, miss?”

“That is none of your concern, sir.”

“Then may I have it? Your name, that is?”

Dahlia frowns at the man. Being unchaperoned means there is no one to witness her or this conversation. Given this rare occasion, Dahlia sees this as an opportunity. She dismisses all proper etiquette. She retorts.

“Don’t you have our own?”

Dahlia immediately turns away. She refuses to look at the man. However, in doing that, she misses his brazen smirk, his hazel eyes gleaming with interest.

“Yes, but I’d like to know yours.”

“Dahlia! What on heavens are you doing?!”

It was mother. She is furious. She sees Dahlia without an escort, unchaperoned with a man, a stranger. The shame.

“Worry not, ma’am.”

The man steps forward.

Does he know he is still smirking?

“I was her escort.”

Mother’s eyes narrows at him. She is not so weak or senseless in dealing with handsome men.

“Yet you asked permission not from her guardians. That is unheard of. State your name and title.”

The man shrugs and grins.

Mother gasps, appalling behaviour, this man had. Surely he is nothing more than a juvenile or a nomad. Perhaps both.

“Dahlia! Come now! Alone with this man…”

Muttering in disgust, mother reaches for Dahlia. Pulling her away from the man.

“Sir Sebastian! We have been looking for you!”

Two police officers approach, red faced, puffing.

“You are associated with officers?”

Mother cries to the man. She turns to Dahlia and hisses.

“The shame, Dahlia, that you were rendezvousing with this man!”

Dahlia knows better than to respond or reply. Mother is quite capable of twisting facts when it suited her.

“Sir Sebastian! Speraccini has been calling for you.”

Dahlia turns to the man. The man laughs in good nature, yet his gaze never leaves Dahlia.

“Tell him I’m through. For now.”

“Sebastian, sir, your performance…”

Dahlia stares at the young man as recognition slowly dawns to her. He winks at her.

Mother frowns. Dahlia may be of age for flirting, for courtship, for marriage. But flirting with men with no rank or class is frivolous and shameless. Mother takes Dahlia’s hand.

“Come now, Dahlia.”

Before leaving, the man smiles and murmurs.

“Dahlia.”