“What part of London are you from, Mr. Drake?”

“Do you play lawn tennis?”

“What is your business in London, Mr. Drake?”

“Franklin Mews, near Fitzroy Square. And, no, I don’t know how to play lawn tennis, Mrs. Partridge.”

“Pepper.”

“My dearest apologies, I still don’t know how to play lawn tennis, Mrs. Pepper.”

Laughing. “Fitzroy Square, that is near the Oxford Music Hall, right, Mr. Drake?”

“Indeed, it is.”

“You sound as if you know it. You’re not a musician, are you, Mr. Drake?”

“No, not really, peripherally associated, you might say…”

“Ladies, enough questions for Mr. Drake. I think he is quite tired.”

They stopped in a corner of the room, sheltered from the crowd by the broad back of a tall officer dressed in tartan. The Captain took a swift sip of gin.

“I hope you are not exhausted by the conversation.”

“No, I will manage. I am amazed, though, it is all so…reproduced. ”

“Well, I hope you enjoy it. It should be a fine afternoon. The cook is a chap from Calcutta, they say one of the finest in India. I don’t come to these functions regularly, but it is a special day. I expect you will feel right at home.”

“At home…” and Edgar almost added, As much as I feel at home, at home. But a gong sounded in the hall, and the crowd moved into the dining room.

After grace, lunch began. Edgar was seated across from Major Dougherty, an obese man who laughed and wheezed and asked Edgar about his journey, and made jokes about the state of river steamships. At his left, Mrs. Dougherty, powdered and spindly, asked him if he followed British politics, and Edgar answered obliquely by recounting some news about ongoing preparations for the Queen’s Jubilee. When she persisted, the Major interrupted her after several minutes, chuckling, “Oh, my dear, I imagine one reason Mr. Drake came to Burma was to escape British politics! Right, Mr. Drake?” Everyone laughed, even Mrs. Dougherty, who settled back into her soup, content with what little she had pried from the visitor, and Edgar tensed briefly because the question, like a tightrope dancer, had tottered somewhat close to the real reason he had come to Burma. On his right, Mrs. Remington jumped in to scold the Major for laughing about such matters, “It wasn’t idle talk, no, as British subjects, we must know such things, for the mail here comes so late, and how is the Queen now, and I heard that Lady Hutchings had contracted consumption; was that before or after the London Fancy Dress Ball?” “After.” “Well that is fortunate, not for Lady Hutchings, but for the Ball, after all it is so lovely, and how I wish I had been there,” and some of the other ladies twittered and then began a conversation about the last society ball each had attended, and Edgar sat back and began to eat.

They are polite, he thought, To think that in England I would never have been invited to such an affair. Yet he was rather comforted by the direction of the conversation—for what could be further from potentially flammable subjects such as pianos and unusual doctors than the Fancy Dress Ball—when Mrs. Remington asked, innocuously enough, “Did you attend the Ball, Mr. Drake,” and he answered, “No, I didn’t,” and she, “You know so much about it, you must have gone,” and he, “No,” and politely, “I only tuned the Erard grand that was played at the event,” and he realized right away that he shouldn’t have said this, and she, “Pardon, the what-ard grand?” and he couldn’t help himself, “Erard, it’s a type of piano, one of the finest in London, they had an 1854 Erard, quite a beautiful instrument, I had done the voicing on it myself a year before, they just needed tuning for the ball,” and she seemed quite content with this, and was silent, one of those silences that played prelude to a change in topic, except Mrs. Remington said innocently, “Erard…why that’s the piano Doctor Carroll plays.”

Even then the conversation could have been salvaged, for example, had Mrs. Dougherty spoken quickly enough, for she had wanted to ask the visitor what he thought of the Burmese weather and hear him say how horrid it was, or had Major Dougherty spoken about a recent attack by dacoits outside of Taunggyi, or had Mrs. Remington pursued the subject of the Ball, which was far from being exhausted as she still wanted to know if her friend Mrs. Bissy had attended. But Colonel West, sitting to Major Dougherty’s left, who had been silent throughout the meal, muttered suddenly and quite audibly, “We should have dumped that piece of rubbish in the water.”

Edgar turned from Mrs. Remington. “I am sorry, Colonel. What did you say?”

“Only that I wish that, for the benefit of Her Majesty, that infernal instrument had been dumped into the Irrawaddy or used for firewood.” There was silence around the table and Captain Nash-Burnham, who had been engaged in another conversation, said, “Please, Colonel, we have been through this before.”

“Don’t tell me what to talk about, Captain, I lost five men to dacoits because of that piano.”

The Captain put down his silverware. “Colonel, with all due respect, we are all very sorry about the attack. I knew one of the men. But I think the issue of the piano is separate, and Mr. Drake here is our guest.”

“Are you telling me what happened, Captain?”

“Of course not, sir. I was only hoping that there was another time when we could discuss this.”

The Colonel turned to Edgar. “Reinforcements to my post were delayed two days because they had to escort the piano. Did the War Office tell you that story, Mr. Drake?”

“No.” Edgar’s pulse raced; he felt dizzy. In his mind flashed images of the hunt in Rangoon, They didn’t tell me about that either.

“Please, Colonel, Mr. Drake has been briefed adequately.”

“He shouldn’t even be in Burma. It is all nonsense.”

Silence had spread down the table. Faces turned toward the men. Captain Nash-Burnham clenched his jaw, his face reddening. He pulled his napkin from his lap and set it gently on the table.

“Thank you, Colonel, for the lunch,” he said, standing. “If you don’t mind, Mr. Drake, I think we’d best be going. We have…business to attend to.”

Edgar looked at the staring faces. “Yes, yes, of course, Captain.” He pushed himself away from the table. There were whispers of disappointment. There are questions to ask about the Ball, murmur the ladies, He really was a pleasant fellow, Trust the men to bring war and politics to these functions. Nash-Burnham walked the length of the table and put his hand on the tuner’s shoulder. “Mr. Drake.”

“Thank…thank you for the lunch, everyone,” he stood and held his hand in the air in an awkward good-bye.

At the door the finest tabla player in Upper Burma handed a sword to Captain Nash-Burnham, who scowled.

Outside a woman walked past with a large basket balanced on her head. Captain Nash-Burnham dug his toe angrily into the ground. “Mr. Drake, I am sorry for that. I knew he would be here. I should not have brought you. It was a mistake.”

“Please, Captain, it was nothing of the sort.” They began to walk. “I didn’t know about his men.”

“I know you didn’t know. It has nothing to do with this.”

“But, he said—”

“I know what he said, but the reinforcements weren’t due to travel to the Ruby Mines, to join his patrol, for a week. It had nothing to do with the piano. Doctor Carroll brought it to Mae Lwin himself. But I couldn’t argue with him. He is my superior. Leaving early was insubordination enough.”

Edgar was silent.

“I am sorry I am angry, Mr. Drake,” said the Captain. “I often take remarks about Doctor Carroll quite personally. By now, I should have grown used to such comments from some of the officers. They are jealous, or they want war. A balanced peace is a poor fertilizer for promotion. The Doctor—” He turned and looked steadily at Edgar. “Might I say, the Doctor and his music keep them from invading. Nevertheless, I shouldn’t have brought you into this.”