William left a week ago, and I have not been able to stop crying. I am so miserable even my courses are affected. They are several days—or perhaps a week—late. —from Belle Frost’s diary January 1817 “Try again, Walter.” William smiled as encouragingly as he could. Walter Hutting, the twelve- (or perhaps it was thirteen) year-old son of the Loves Bridge vicar, heaved a great sigh, fidgeted on the pianoforte’s bench, and then started from the beginning of his assigned piece. He mangled the very first note. William cringed—discreetly, he hoped—and wondered yet again how Luntley had managed to survive ten years as the Loves Bridge music teacher with both his hearing and his sanity intact. Of all the man’s students, William had yet to find a single one who showed even a glimmer of talent. “That’s a whole note, Walter. You can’t play it as if it was a quarter note. Slow down.” Walter sighed again and slowed down—a little. Clearly he wanted this lesson over as quickly as possible.
