Harp's Manor

INSTALLMENT XX

July 21, 1928

As summer wears on, it has become excruciatingly hot in the mansion. One would think that, in a place this big, there would be a decent flow of air, but Harp's Manor appears to be faulty in ventilation. Due to this, I have been forced to abandon my stuffy room and search for cooler places to work. My principal new retreat is the library. How Bridget found this out, I don't know, but she has followed me there and has decided that, now that I am not in my room, I don't mind listening to her talk while I write. The company I now find myself with while working, though appreciated, is rather distracting. How am I to write about a Victorian romance when Bridget won't quit yapping about what she ate for lunch?

To avoid this, I have been frequenting the second music room. I hadn't realized there was one, and neither had Audrey, until we stumbled upon it during our search for a less balmy place for me to work. "Well, if I had known about this, our little squabble with Miss Hansen wouldn't have happened, now would it?" she said with her hands on her hips.

This fabled refuge is where Mr. Hobbes conducts his practices. It is a solemn room, much like the other, but with blue curtains instead of red, and no fireplace. He gravitated towards it, I suppose, due to its seclusion and lack of glass flowers on the piano. This way, his work is not interrupted by our foolery, and he has the piano all to himself.

It was by chance that I made my first visit there, after discovering it. It was on Monday morning. I knew Bridget would inevitably track me down in the library, and I'd never get any work done. To avoid listening to her all day, I decided to hide in the music room instead. The curtains are always drawn so no sunlight warms the place, and it is hidden away in a cooler part of the manor, providing the perfect place to relax. Better yet, I wasn't even sure Bridget knew of its existence.

I had just settled myself down and was beginning to type when Mr. Hobbes entered the room. "What are you doing in here?" he asked, somewhat rudely.

"I was looking for a more comfortable spot to write," I said, gesturing to the typewriter in front of me. "It's a magnificent room, with plenty of space for both of us, I dare say."

"Yes; but the airspace isn't. I'm afraid your clacking away on that typewriter is going to disrupt my musical preparation."

"I'm sure it shouldn't bother you that much!" I said. "Besides, your late contemporary Erik Satie wrote in a typewriter for the score of Parade. It's actually a rather musical sound, I think. If you really cannot work with it, I shall leave, but I'd dare say a talented individual like yourself shouldn't be disturbed by the sound of typing."

Mr. Hobbes widened his eyes, then squinted them, a mixture of emotions crossing his face. Without another word, he crossed over to the piano and began playing loudly.

You could barely hear the sound of the typewriter over the piano. And besides, I enjoy listening to him play while I write. Music is oddly stimulating to the brain, and I produced more work than I had all month in that one day. I think he eventually forgot about me, once he became engaged with the piano. I classify it as one of his thinking days, where all he did was mess around with the notes, attempting to form some sort of melody. I could dully hear what he was getting at, but each time he broke off into some other, well-memorized tune, as if he couldn't focus on the task at hand. I don't understand musical composition, but perhaps this is a sign that he has something.

In any case, I don't wish to stretch my luck, and plan on moving to the music room only when Bridget has become intolerable. Who knows; perhaps Mr. Hobbes will have it locked the next time I wish to enter.

Aside from writing, I have made further progress in unravelling the many mysteries surrounding the members of Harp's Manor. The reason for this development lies in my natural curiosity, and Harrison's increased trust in me. I doubt that he ever distrusted me, but we have grown closer together, and now he does not mind sharing his thoughts with me.