I Hold All the Keys

[Hecate Moody]

Open to either of @'Ottaline Moody' (@'Annette Fontaine') or @'Hortensia Moody' (@'Imogen MacFusty'). Or both! XD

13th July, 1887
Post Tigerpocalypse

The strains of Für Elise were not the most terrible sounds to awoken by, even if they were not, by her standards at least, particularly extraordinary. Hecate had been roused by far worse in her time though and without a backwards glance to the bed she left behind – or indeed the person inside it – she wrapped her dressing gown around herself, being careful of her tender arm and left to investigate. There were only a handful of people who would dare to wake her after the few days she had endured and if she found anybody at the piano that had not come out of her then she would be displeased.

Even more displeased than she was when she heard a missed note and scowled. Was it so very hard?

She followed the music in the dim morning light, frightening a servant out of her way with a look as they scurried past, and found herself outside the dining room that housed the piano.

“It’s a tad early to abuse Beethoven so much is it not my dear?” She said clearly from the doorframe, waiting for a break in the melody that came when her daughter hit another dull note. “A bad workman blames his tools but I believe in this case it’s with some justification. That piano has needed tuning for weeks.”

  

[Ottaline Moody]

One, and two, and three- and one, and two, and three- and one, and t- damn.

Tilly’s hands dropped from the pianoforte in frustration as the wrong note rung out, as plain as a sore thumb in the morning quiet. The debutante had no natural talent for the instrument and her playing was always emotionless at best, but through sheer obstinacy she practiced till the music was threadbare and she was technically, at least, flawless. For each piece she had mastered, however, there were many morning spent frustrated at the pianoforte she hated so much.

She rested her fingers on the keys and began again, not even making it to three before repeating her mistake and nearly jumping out of her skin when her Mother’s voice came from the doorway.

“Mama.” Tilly jumped to her feet as if the piano had scalded her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.” She said hastily, raising her eyes to search her Mother’s face for the ire she had grown to fear even more since coming out.

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   Hecate Moody

[Hecate Moody]

“And yet, you did,” Hecate said habitually though truthfully she was a little too worse for wear to give her words the usual bite she imbibed them with. She had shook off any attempt at being helped by healers yesterday, refusing to show any outward sign of weakness to the rest of the world and only allowing them to strap up her arm and give her the appropriate medicines.

She had allowed her maid to tend to her a little more tenderly but what she did in private was no one’s concern but hers. Not even her children needed to know quite how affected she truly felt and how many different aches and pains she could still feel. There had been a rogue claw that caught her shoulder, cutting deeply and though it had been healed by salves and potions she could still feel the stretch of the newly healed skin as she stood with her usual upright bearing.

“It’s of no matter. I have barely slept all night,” which was a lie. She had been out like a light the moment her maid had dimmed the lamps. “It had been a trying few days my dear, a poorly played piece of music will hardly see me off.”

  

[Ottaline Moody]

Instinctively the girl looked at her feet as she was chided, every picture of the younger girl who had stood the same way in her pigtails and pinafore years before. Tilly wrung her hands for a moment, before remembering to stop before she gave herself wrinkles, and settled for curling her toes up as tightly as she could in her boots. How had Josie dealt with this without even being able to confide her fears to any of them?

She murmured her apologies again, then paused before glancing up slightly. “Of course, Mama, you must be feeling so terrible. Is there anything I can do?”

  

[Hecate Moody]

Mumbling was a pet peeve of Hecate’s – one of many, this one largely because she was concerned about her hearing going and the embarrassment that frailty would cause – and she narrowed her eyes briefly at her daughter before she had the sense to speak with a little more clarity. She shook her head, easing herself into an armchair as rigidly as she could though she could not help the wince as pain shot through her body again.

It was ludicrous and the loathed the weakness. There must be a potion that would make this go away with the lack of control laudanum would cause?

“Unless you’ve become a healer in the last week I doubt there is anything you can do that my maid cannot.,” Amy also did a number of things she would probably kill her daughter over if Hecate ever found out she had done. Even once she was married. Frankly, especially once she was married.

“Why are you up so early? I’m going to assume it is not worry for my health.”