Darkest of Times [Albert J Moriarty] - Moriarty the Patriot

Act 2, Scene 3 - A Chance Encounter

Taking her leave, Eleanor walks away from Albert as he makes his way back over to the bar. A hand to her chest, rising and falling rapidly, she takes in a deep breath.

Once out of the ballroom, she leans her back against the wall, exhaling her shaky breath and lowering her hands to her sides.

"You're pathetic." She mumbles to herself. "Get yourself together."

With a silent pep-talk taking place in her head, she brushes a hand over the skirt of her dress, striding down the hallway in the direction of her cabin.

She passes a few people, most of the upper class already in the ballroom, and down corridors lined with red carpet. Nearing the quarters, she does a double-take, an eyebrow raised as she stares down the end of the hallway.

Tentatively taking a few steps forward, she looks around, walking closer and closer, reaching a hand out.

Her cold fingertips brush along the open lid of the black piano —shiny and untouched with no previous fingerprints spoiling the surface. She carefully takes a seat down on the bench in front of it, rubbing her hands together, before hovering over the keys.

Her left hand finds its way to the first chord, her eyes glancing to her right hand as she places her fingers down on the keys.

She plays the first chords.

-

"Eleanor, I don't know how many times we've gone over this part," Her mother shakes her head, turning the pages of the sheet music over. "Go again."

Her brows knitted together in concentration, she focuses on the sheet music ahead. It's Chopin's Nocturne No. 20 in C-sharp Minor —a piece she's heard her mother play many times.

Playing the first few chords again, her mother places a hand in front of her daughter's face, sending her a cold look that signals her to stop.

"What does the P stand for?"

Eleanor swallows the lump in her throat. "Pianissimo—"

"—and what does that mean?"

"To play quietly—"

"—yet you're practically slamming your fingers on the keys. Your fingers should glide across the keys, especially in the short glissando sections." Her mother stands up from the bench. "You told me you were ready to show me your progress, yet you've not improved at all."

Lip quivering, Eleanor looks down in her lap. "But Mother, I've been practising, I swear—"

"—I want it ten times, all the way through. Play it how Chopin meant it to be performed."

"But, Mother, what if I still can't play it through?"

Her mother presses her lips into a thin line, hands on her hips. "Then you have no right to be sat at the keys. Play it from the top."

-

The hauntingly beautiful piano piece rings out in the quiet corridor, Eleanor's fingers dancing on the keys as she plays.

She loses all intense concentration she had as she hears giggling and clapping from the floor below. Her hand slips on the keys, a loud dissonance of notes coming from the piano and she flinches.

Sliding off the bench, Eleanor places a hand on the marble bannister, carefully stepping down the flight of stairs. The beautifully ornate spiral staircase stands tall, the bannister curving around and she stares at the column and the angel statue on top of it.