Symphonies in E Minor

Chapter Six: The Opera House (Part I)

The book is utterly repulsive. It's called Northanger Abbey, and it is utterly repulsive.

Perhaps that is an exaggeration, but it's certainly how it feels to Aaliyah, sitting in her bedroom with her thick stockings on by the fire, working through the book. Despite the book being relatively thinner than most novels she's seen, it's nearly impossible to get through the chapters. As best as she can describe it, she tells her aunt and uncle that it's terribly boring. Too much nothingness happens and there's nobody in the world who should be inspired by such a dreadful novel.

Her uncle, Adonis, tells her over dinner, "Well, it inspired that lad, didn't it?"

That lad. He's talking about Harry as if he's some commoner and not a well known composer who she strives to be just like. If it were possible, she'd like to be his clone, but she decides to keep that information to herself. There are a few things that embarrass her after all, and normally she wouldn't hide her admiration for the composer, but upon returning from her second lesson yesterday, her aunt had pulled her aside and reminded her of a few things.

"He's a man," she told him while helping her niece out of her corset. She undid the laces and smiled when Aaliyah took a desperate, comical breath in. "At the end of the day, that's what he is."

"Dinna ken what you're saying, auntie," Aaliyah said.

Her aunt had sighed and said, "I know you aren't naive, my dear. It's very rare that a man and a woman can be just friends, especially not two young, attractive people like yourselves."

Aaliyah had suddenly become very warm. "Mr. Styles and I are not friends."

Her aunt didn't say anything after that, nodding instead, and then turning around when Aaliyah began changing into her regular clothing. She shivered as she shoved her head through her sweater.

"Lunch will be ready soon," her aunt had said, and then left.

Since then, Aaliyah has had time to think about what exactly the older woman meant, and it reminds her of the picture in her head of the man she'd waltz with while listening to the composition. But later that night when she's thinking about it once more, she tells herself that the idea of dancing with the man came to her because of her recent appearance at Lord Ahman's ball, and she'd only imagined her instructor because he's the only man she's been around recently. Mr. Lewis and Lord Ahman certainly don't count.

So there. That's the explanation.

She can't always say what's on her mind, and having to keep her thoughts about Harry private only results in her thinking about him more. Especially when she reads this dreadful novel.

It certainly doesn't help when Catherine, the character in the book, spends much of her time in ballrooms and drawing rooms with attractive men.

She continues the story anyways. All the way to the end. And then she drafts a letter to send to Harry, sending it off the following morning:

Dear Mr. Styles,

What have I done to deserve such a cruel punishment? I would rather be illiterate than read something like this again.

Sincerely,

Aaliyah Kincaid.

***

"There's someone outside for you, Liya," Uncle Adonis says, returning from his walk the next day, going straight for the coffee Aaliyah has just made. She'll never understand why her uncle insists on going for walks so late in the afternoon, and then heads to the hottest drink possible. The cold must affect him, but he doesn't even seem ruffled. His head is uncovered, neck exposed, with the only winter accessory on his body being his thick winter boots. But he only has those because she bought them for him upon arriving in Britain. Before that, he was simply walking around in the snow every year. No wonder he got frostbite three separate times. She'd laughed about it when his letter would arrive in Scotland, but now she doesn't think it's so funny. Now, she wishes she could buy him all that she could to help him keep warm.