"Hmm, and here I was thinking that fools were the music players." Henry was grinning a bit, his eyes twinkling in amusement as he chuckled and pulled her to her feet. The woman was blushing fiercely at the moment, and the musician couldn't really blame her -one after another, her mouth fumbled and slipped up, and things spilled out that were could easily be taken... in an entirely different manner. However - he wasn't one to mercilessly tease Yvonne. She wasn't one of his 'siblings' after all, he didn't know how she might react to barbs and quips. Mayhaps in time, if they got to know each other better, he would be more comfortable with teasing her, but that was a consideration for the future. For now - he would let her request for music stand.

"I have to say, I'm probably not a very good teacher, in honesty. Music came naturally to me, always has, and I've learned that that makes it difficult to pass music on to others who don't have the same knack. Everyone has their own talents after all, and music is mine." He gave her a warm smile, and nodded his head back towards the hall. "There's a few rooms towards the other side of the orphanage where I can play for you without bothering the others. Mother Matilda has a strict rule about playing near the little ones when they're trying to sleep." As he let her recover her balance - mentally, more than physically at the moment - Henry strode over to where he had hung his pack, and deftly removed his fiddle from its case on the side of his bag. A moment later the bowstick slid out as well, and he turned back to her with a patient smile on his lips. She seemed to have recovered while he was turned around, and was now watching him with those enigmatic silver eyes.

So, she preferred soft, sentimental music, hope and warmth spoke to her. Well - Henry tended to prefer energetic music himself, but he had no problems at all with playing something a bit more sedate. Blue eyes sparkled with an inner warmth as he bowed slightly, gesturing for her to follow him before he started walking, at a slow, steady pace as his fingers nimbly danced along the instrument, caressing it as he checked it over. Knobs twisted, strings tightened and loosened under his expert touch, and as the two of them walked he gave the strings a few experimental plucks, making the fiddle begin to hum. Soft notes filled the air - not enough for a melody, and certainly not how a fiddle was properly played, but small, pleasant sounds bouncing gently around the two of them as they walked.

The room that Henry led the way to was a fair bit of a walk away - Mother Matilda was actually rather firm about playing music away from where people sleep, if you were going to play after the small children were put to bed, and had designated rooms on the other side of the mansion from the bedrooms, as he had said. She had then paid to have thick material put in the walls, to muffle the sounds of music - really, to keep the children from using it as a reason to stay up. Not that Henry complained - he had often used these rooms to practice late at night, when he was unable to sleep for one reason or another, and having somewhere he could go and not disturb others had frequently been useful.

So the door that Henry opened was thick and heavy, and lead to a room that had clearly seen use over the years. Well-worn furniture sat around the room - chairs at various heights, with small stands scattered about. Against one wall hung a large cabinet, currently shut firmly, and beside it stood a simple piano. In one corner was a standing harp, which was clearly older than the other objects in the room - and the frame was crafted from metal, mixed and built so that the light from the hall scattered along it. The musician blinked when he realized that the room itself was dark. He knew where things were mostly from memory, but the light from the doorway showed that things had been moved about since he was last here.

“Ah, whoops. A moment. I need a bit more light than this to play.” He chuckled sheepishly and moved a bit further down the hall, and shifted his bowstick and fiddle into one hand so that he could bring one of the small lanterns back with him. He carried this into the room, and set it on one of the chairs in a corner of the room - the light casting dancing, flickering shadows about the chamber as he turned and gestured to one of the chairs. “Here now, take a seat Miss Yvonne. Sadly, my lap isn’t available.” He grinned - he couldn’t help that one - then tucked himself up onto one of the taller chairs, long legs folding up underneath him onto one of the rungs of the chair. His fiddle was placed atop his shoulder and he closed his eyes as he sorted through the tunes in his head. Finally he settled on one and, and took a deep breath before letting it out slowly.

Fingers began to shift - and instead of immediately setting the bow to the strings, the musician instead softly plucked, his fingers making the chords dance out. The stick would come in later - not yet, not yet. Soft steady, and a bit mournful to begin with, but he thought she might enjoy it.




[Linkage: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rn_rznQkJjY - the song he's playing begins at 37:30, a rendition of the Skye Boat]