She wasn’t due to teach a music lesson until later that morning. She was worried about the young ladies. Blanche had been so quiet last evening, and Belinda so distraught.

She had time to help her father. Though when she’d find the time to work on the Christmas carol commission she didn’t know.

She was mostly happy to be the amanuensis who transcribed his music, who made him hot tea, and kept him fed and clothed when he worked on his music day and night, consumed by the creative process. Most days she was happy to be the one who helped facilitate the birth of his creative brilliance.

And then there were the days when her own music called to her, asking to be written, begging to be born. She’d try to find time this evening to work on the carol. She hadn’t found a poem to use and had decided to attempt to write lyrics of her own.

She shoved those thoughts to the back of her mind and helped her father for several hours, before going next door to help the ladies practice for the musicale.

“Oh, Miss Beaton,” Belinda wailed when she saw her. “We’re the scandal of the Season and it’s only just begun.”

“I’d say Miss Chandler is the scandal of the Season,” Viola replied.

“Society doesn’t think that way.”

“I suppose they are herd animals,” Bernadette agreed. “Our brother, who was already seen as a man of no moral fiber whatsoever, inadvertently caused the scandal and therefore we, as his sisters, are also to blame. We mustn’t take it personally, Belinda, it’s in their nature. They’re too small-minded to go against the herd.”

“They’re like lemmings,” said Betsy, “and we’re the cliff.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Belinda asked.

“That’s a myth, Betsy,” Bernadette said. “Lemmings have such a large population that sometimes a smaller herd will break off and migrate to a new home and if they encounter an obstacle, such as a river, they will all jump in together to swim across. Some of them don’t make it, but that doesn’t mean they committed suicide.”

“And why anyone should know something like that, especially a lady, is beyond me.” Blanche sniffed, entering the music room. “Miss Beaton, thank you for keeping our brother out of the gaming hells last evening.”

Do not blush. “Of course.”

“We must do our best to impress upon him the need for a complete and total reform,” Blanche continued. “No more gambling, drinking, or profligacy.”

“What’s profligacy?” Birdie asked, joining them with a sheaf of staff paper rolled under her arm.

“Never you mind,” said Blanche. “The day after a ball we are supposed to have suitors ringing our bell, bringing us flowers. And not one suitor has arrived.”

“Lord Flanders paid you a call this morning,” Bernadette pointed out.

“He doesn’t count.”