She glanced around the room, hoping to fix her eyes on something to steady

herself. The hostess wore a puffy brown dress with wild yellow flowers on it.

Katerina blinked and turned away. The vibrant green of the blonde's gown

assaulted her eyes with its painful brightness. Even the fire seemed to stab at her.

A smell of stale cigars hung in the air, which added to her nauseous dizziness.

In desperation, she turned to the back of the room, behind the seating area,

where the most welcome sight greeted her. A battered pianoforte sat in the corner.

“Do you think,” she asked Christopher, looking intently at the softly

gleaming black of the wood, “that anyone would mind if I played the piano for a

while?” She indicated the instrument.

“Let me find out.” He addressed the room, “My guest, Miss Valentino, has offered to alleviate your boredom with a turn on the pianoforte. Anyone

interested?”

“Oh God, another debutante hammering on the piano,” the drunk

complained. “My dear, have a care. If you play badly, we'll be delighted to eviscerate you in effigy.”

“If I play badly,” she said softly, “I would deserve no less.”

Her comment made everyone gawk.

“Try it.” The young man called Cary urged, and several other guests

murmured in agreement.

Katerina attempted to stand, but the pressure of the corset against the wounds

on her back made the move too painful. “Help me,” she whispered to

Christopher.

He shot her a concerned glance but rose and extended a hand, lifting her to

her feet. Tonight, she had left off gloves, and her bare, icy fingers met his again, this time creating a shock of awareness that left her momentarily even more breathless. Then she inhaled as deeply as she could inside her tight laces and made her slow way to the piano, sinking onto the bench.

“Do you need any sheet music, my dear?” the hostess asked.

“Not at the moment,” she replied. “I have a few favorites memorized. Does

everyone enjoy Beethoven?”

No one objected.

Katerina took another breath, intending it to be deep, but was unable to manage it within the restrictive boning, She blew on her fingers to warm them,

looked a long moment at the keys as though communicating silently with them,

and at last positioned her hands on the keyboard. She closed her eyes and began

a series of minor arpeggios with her left hand while the right began to form the

mournful chords of the famous “Moonlight Sonata.”

Though her eyes remained closed, she hit every note exactly right. To create

tension and drama, she varied the volume and occasionally drew out the tempo.

Piano can be a rather emotionless instrument, but Katerina knew just how to

caress the keys and make them weep. Conversations died around the room,

enveloping her in a silence that allowed her to retreat entirely inside herself. Her overwrought feelings poured into the piano keys, momentarily obliterating her

awareness of her distress.

As the sprightly second movement drew to a close, Mrs. Wilder began to worry.

The first and second movements were rather manageable for a player of

moderate skill. The last was not. Both mournful and dreadfully fast, it was inevitable that a dilettante would hit several desperate wrong notes and the piece

would end in disaster. She almost interrupted the performance at the end of the

second movement to spare her young guest being torn apart by the less polite members of the group, but she hesitated a moment too long.

Katerina, without pause, launched into a rapid-fire delivery of perfectly-

executed notes. She even felt comfortable enough, as she had done in the first movement, to alter the volume and tempo to create more drama.

Amusement gave way to astonishment. I've heard the Moonlight Sonata

played badly; I've even done it myself. I've never heard it played this well outsideof a concert hall.

At last, with a lightning-fast scale that climbed the entire keyboard, the piece