Chapter 2
We never truly know how rich we are until we face loss. Even as I sit at my desk in the torturous light of a single candle flame casting my eyes over those written words they seem trite. Perhaps, because far too often in this world we take everything so completely for granted. We need to be constantly reminded. Enjoying good health, a loving family, a respectable home, the means to make a living, everything that defines us … we rarely take the time to contemplate how swiftly these elements can become compromised, stripped away. Only in that stark light do we finally observe how precious our lives really are. Outside the window, the winter storm is releasing its fury while the quill in my hand contemplates my uncertain future. Fear has walked beside me before, a companion that drove me onwards to higher heights and to the cusp of my greatest achievements. This time is different. Fear's paralyzing grasp has sent my thoughts back to where this all began, when I was but a naïve fool believing I still possessed limitless power. Had I only opened my eyes sooner, perhaps this may be ending differently. For me now … it is too late.
~Erik
Music. Ever the greatest current throughout my life. Never, in all my existence, did I know a time when my world was devoid of that accompaniment I had come to embrace as my lifeblood. The beauty and splendor of the active creation, whether through the pure voice or the assistance of a beloved instrument, remained unrivaled in the whole of this world. I may have become a man of varied interests and disciplines. But music would ever be the throne of my vast empire. By some miracle of fate, my empire held sway over the grandest crown-jewel music had to offer, Carnegie Hall. A cathedral of music so acoustically perfect as to preserve the faintest pluck of a cello string up to the highest seat in the balconies. Years ago, when the ambitious project had come to my attention, I poured every resource possible into ensuring that my company, Shadowcrest Industries, would gain at least a partial contract. This was an accomplishment I had to achieve. This was a building my hands must construct. This was a gift I would have died to give to the world, a place where the true spirit of music could be worshiped in all her glory. I helped to carve her massive stone walls. I dressed the graceful moldings that adorned her Italian arches. I carved myself into the very structure itself—and nevermore left her halls.
Thus, five years after she opened her doors to the public, I remained a permanent fixture, as much a part of the building as the marble support columns. Director of the arts for the hall and the Symphony Society's concertmaster, it was impossible to define my life without some mention of this place which was a second home to me. Quite accidentally, I had become a public figure in the city of Manhattan. Renowned for my skills of musicianship, these surpassed my reputation as a highly commanded architect and master mason. I would have given up the latter, save for the foundations of my life had been laid in Shadowcrest's stonework. While music provided an active outlet for my creative urges, its effects were fleeting and transient. Stonework provided a lasting mark upon the world. I required both to be truly content in life. Had I even an inkling of the storm that was brewing, I would have been keeping a more weathered eye on my surroundings.
Summer's long daylight still shown in the sky. I should have been on a work site with a chisel and mallet in my hands, but today was special. Today I traded the chisel for my Stradivarius, and the beating rays of the hot summer sun for the concentrated blaze of the limelight. The flick of Damrosch's baton carried through the final measure of Mozart's concerto number five in A major. We had chosen to perform the alternate version with the adagio in E. The full house had been given a real performance as we reached the finale. Beneath my fingers, I felt the vibration of my violin casting her beautiful voice to every ear within the hall. All eyes of the symphony locked upon the solitary Damrosch, waiting for the final release as we held the chord. By his command, in unison, the hall was dashed into silence before an explosion of applause.
With a series of bows, Damrosch covered the entire auditorium before stepping aside to indicate the group behind him. It had been a grand concert, with a gracious audience. At last he held up his hands. "Thank you. Thank you! Now, if I may have your attention for a moment. Today's program has an unlisted performance that requires an introduction. Those of you who frequent our performances here at Carnegie Hall are familiar with many of the members of our Societies. Regardless of such familiarity, I feel honored to recognize the composer of our next piece. Erik, would you please come forth."
Laying my Stradivarius on my chair, I came up beside Damrosch at the front of the stage, the limelight followed my progress accompanied by an explosion of applause. Beyond the washout of the rays I could see very little of the immense hall I knew to dwell there. As the conductor stepped back, leaving the stage to me, I held my hands up to quell the response. "Madames, Mademoiselles, and Monsieurs. I thank you for your warm applause." I had practiced my speech several times over the last day, but now upon the stage the words refused to come to mind. Closing my eyes, I brought my hands steepled before me as though in prayer. Within my chest my heart thundered against my ribs. I drew a long slow breath before I even attempted to open my eyes again.
"Over the past five years you have sat in this hall before this very stage and been enthralled by the sights and sounds we have laid before you." Holding up a finger I smiled. "But today is special. Damrosch has given me the extreme pleasure of presenting a gift upon this very stage for all of you to hear. Four years ago, on this very day, the love of my life gave her heart to me in marriage." With a flourish, I showed the glint of gold on my left ring finger. Since the day she had slipped it on my finger it had never left its rightful place for longer than an hour at a time, and only when absolutely necessary. "On that day I daresay my life became complete and I have never looked back since." Ironically, I glanced over my shoulder and held a hand out to summon the now stunned Christine from the Oratorio Societies risers behind the Symphony. Hesitantly, she came forth, wending her way around the musicians to at last come into my waiting embrace at the front of the stage. On her finger glimmered the ring of diamonds and garnets I had fashioned for her myself for the engagement. Alongside it, the simple band of gold that matched mine. My fingers traced the line of her chin as she gazed up at me. "Christine Daae, I love you more than anything upon this earth. You honored me years ago when you became my wife, words alone fail to express the depth of my gratitude for how much joy you have brought to me. Now, upon this stage, I will honor you."
Breathless, a tear of joy shimmered down her cheek as I withdrew gracefully, leaving her to stand aglow in the limelight surrounded by the curve of the Symphony Society.
Once I had reclaimed my violin, I remained standing, ever so slightly removed from the orchestra. Offering a nod to Damrosch, I placed my fingers upon the strings. "Maestro, if you please."
We had been planning this for months. With the nature of the artistic community, keeping the performance a secret from Christine had proven difficult. More than once I had been forced to discipline a musician for leaving the score carelessly upon a music stand. The rehearsals had to be timed precisely to ensure there was no chance my wife might wander into the hall unannounced. Somehow, we had managed to keep the entire score from prying eyes and ears.
With the wave of Damrosch's baton, the hall sprang to life in the symphony I had painstakingly poured my heart and soul into for her. With every stroke of my bow I lost myself in the music.
Centimeters from her astonishing beauty, I lingered before her, letting the last note quiver in the air before fading into silence. In seemingly the same gesture as lowering my violin, my hand produced a brilliant red rose I had secured within my coat before the concert began. Presenting it to her trembling hands, my eyes looked deeply into hers. "You shall forever be my rose."
She flung her arms around me, pulling me tightly into her embrace. "Erik … " Overcome by emotion she could say no more as I laid my head to rest in the curls of her deep golden hair. The thunder of applause carried on for some moments as we dwelt in the light, uncaring.
It was a celebration for everyone that evening. Though the concert had ended, I found few wanted to leave the hall; the musicians and even some of the audience content to linger in a series of unending toasts to Christine and my health. We had much to celebrate, or at the very least—I did. Four years of incredible marriage to a woman with astonishing strength to endure my peculiarities. In addition, it was a miracle that I managed to still be among the living at my age and given my history. But the most remarkable milestone I secretly toasted with each glass was that I had finally managed to embrace a tentative comfort truly living within society. For once in my long and bitter life, I found myself seeking interaction with others rather than perpetually shying away. I was no fool, I knew that Christine's presence at my side had been the greatest influence.
Within a few short hours I had tipped a glass far more frequently than I was accustomed to. Perhaps the multiple cases of champagne I had imported directly from France for the evening had been a little much for the celebration, but the bottles kept opening. Typically, I shied away from consuming drinks in public, playing a sleight-of-hand trick out of my coat pocket where I would dress up a white wine replacement to resemble what everyone else was consuming; a lack of trust after having survived two poison attempts at parties, events I never wished to endure again. However, since the case had been mine, and the bottle I poured from well observed, I was drinking with great abandon.
I should have known the outcome of the evening, even before the first note rent the air. I should have considered what happens when authentic free flowing champagne is passed around a room that contained some of the best violinists in the city. Sooner or later, someone's ego gets placed on the line. The sound of the bow drawn slow and deliberately across the string dashed the room to silence, the series of notes known well to the violin section.
This was the call. I turned to find Wallbeck, staring down the neck of his violin at me with a cheeky grin on his face. His slow eddy of notes called out the challenge of the circle. It was a game I had introduced not long after joining the symphony. The circle was an old bonfire game, where the challenge was to play the series of songs to the last man standing. One lost by making a mistake: a wrong note, a slow stroke, even a hesitation was enough to end the challenge. The trick was that the song changed after a three time coda, the next song called out by the performer to the immediate right of the last. It was random and often wild when the transitions became dreadfully chaotic. The violinists enjoyed the challenge of the game.
Taking my Stradivarius in hand, I chuckled. "You really want to do this, Wallbeck?"
Both our bows were in syncopation as I echoed his call. "I do, Erik. That throne is still yours, but I will take it from you."
"You can try." I smiled back, reading his slow melody-line and wondering what style he was about to jump into. I knew him better by now then to assume he was showing his hand. "Alright boys, call the circle. Who else is in?"
In a moment five more violins joined in the current; Connolly, Jones, Seambrook, Eastwick, and Lure. Sliding his bow to the end, waiting to tear into the first chord, I saw Wallbeck suddenly hesitate when a dark figure stepped up on my left and played in.
"Walter?" He blinked up at the director.
"Why not?" Damrosch shrugged.
Throwing him a knowing glance, I grinned. "Let us see how long our dear conductor lasts. Your call to circle Wallbeck, shall we have the first piece?"
With a wicked grin, he snapped the bow up and called out, "The Tanner's Jug!"
"No!" Damrosch cried out in immediate frustration as within a three count everyone tore into the melody. Between gritted teeth he growled. "That's a slip-jig!"
"So? The rules don't specify the music style." With a relaxed smile, Wallbeck leaned back. weaving to the disrupted rhythm of the slip-jig. So far everyone was still in.
But Damrosch stared at the strings in deep concentration, struggling with the rhythmic hitch. "It's a violin circle! Not a fiddle circle!"
"Same instrument, different technique." I shrugged as we entered the second coda. "Jones that was you, out!"
With a whispered curse, Jones stepped away into the crowd that surrounded us. A moment later Eastwick pulled back having hesitated on the upstroke and losing momentum.
"Can you even write this style down?" Damrosch asked.
Both Wallbeck and I laughed in unison before he replied. "Yeah, but it looks really strange."
"What's the time signature?"
Throwing a note to the unique beat of the piece, I shot him a glance. "Whatever you feel. If you're trying to throw me off by chatting it will not work. I memorized this piece decades ago." We were reaching the final coda, all eyes looked up to Connolly who was enjoying the Celtic theme of the night.
The Irishman tossed a note to the wind before replying, "Samantha's Wish." I had to respect that. We now not only had to change keys but transition to a jig. Lure failed and fell back. Somehow Damrosch had managed to elegantly slip into the new piece. After a few wild measures, Eastwick's E string snapped leaving him howling from a welt on his finger. Seambrook remained silent, drawing his bow efficiently but I could see he was growing weary and right as we drove into the final coda he dropped out, rubbing his forearm. Beside me, Connolly was watching and waiting. Across the closing circle I saw Wallbeck eyeing me with dogged determination. With Seambrook's withdrawal, the choice now fell to me.
I leveled my gaze down the neck of my violin as I whispered out over the torrential jig. "Devil's Bridge."
"Oh shit!" Damrosch cried out as several shocked glances turned his way.
"Manners, dear Walter!" Chided Wallbeck. "We are in public and there are ladies present."
I had chosen the piece on purpose, Wallbeck had begun learning it a few years ago when he heard me warming up before a concert. Insisting I teach it to him, he could play all the notes, but not at the competitive speed I mercilessly drove the last coda to. He had yet to be able to play the final measures without an off tempo hesitation. I knew his pain, it had taken me weeks to truly master this piece.
Driving back into a complex slip-jig only Wallbeck and I were left smiling. I was surprised that Damrosch had lasted this long, when his bow flung wide and ticked an off string, dashing his chances. "Where did you learn this piece again?" He snapped as he stepped back.
"I stole it from an Irishman at a fair near Novara." My bow was gliding across the strings in a swift succession of dizzying notes. "Watched him play three nights in a row from the side of the stage while waiting for my appointed act. On the forth night, I echoed him."
"I'll wager that went over well!" Connolly laughed.
I could not help but laugh. "Oh yes, I discovered that night it was best to find another fair to travel with!"
A moment later, Connolly conceded when he missed a down beat. A wicked grin crossed my masked face as I heard someone in the crowd calling out. "Just Erik and Adam now. Come on Adam, take him!"
"Shall we race across the bridge?" I goaded him on as we reached the final coda.
"I will catch you!" But I could see the beads of sweat dripping from his forehead, the nervous tick in the corner of his eyes. He knew it was coming.
"Try!" Increasing the speed, I let the notes only hang in the air for a moment before snatching them back. The piece was like an intricate game of juggling notes in various complex patterns. Try as he might, as we drove to the final sequences, he was getting so close—closer than he had ever been before in the circle—just at the flick of the note, he failed the down-stroke and missed the next note.
To his wailed curse, I played the final three notes and thrust my bow in the air to the mixture of applause and commiserating moaning. Every performer knew the pain of a victory snatched so close to triumph.
Chin tucked to his chest, Wallbeck conceded. "Once more, Erik, you reign in the circle."
Throwing an arm around his shoulder, I complimented. "That's the farthest you have made it full speed. You should be proud. Remember Wallbeck, I learned this piece well over forty years ago, the intricacies only truly mastered after years of practice."
He flashed that cheeky grin back at me, crowned with determination. "I will dethrone you one day."
"I have no doubt."
His eyes glanced to the side. "Ahh, young Charles. And tell me Erik, is your son to be the next king of the circle?"
As Charles came beside me, I reached back and ruffled his dark hair. "Only if he begins to practice."
"Father!" He glared up at me. "You always say that, but I never hear you practice."
"That would be because you are sleeping when I do."
Wallbeck burst into laughter. "Your father is right, practice is important to any discipline."
"Not if you're a natural who never has to work at anything." Beside me, Charles offered me a cold shoulder.
He had not counted on Nadir close behind him. Nadir, my dear Persian friend, had been watching over my son during the concert. And by the looks of things, it was time for them to be heading home. I loved Charles, but recently a tension was building between us, the roots of which I could not readily discern. Maybe it was a phase. The boy was thirteen and wearing long pants now. Entering adulthood seemed to be changing the dynamics between us. Where once I could make him laugh with a mere magic trick, now it only earned me a scorned eye roll.
"It's getting late, Erik." Nadir placed a firm hand on the boy's shoulder. "I wanted to let you know we were departing so you weren't concerned when you couldn't find us." Charles muttered something just under his breath about worry that I did not completely catch before Nadir's glare cut him off. "Young Master Charles, it seems, requires his rest to remember his manners."
Shaking my head, I tried to wrap my arm around my boy in a hug, only to see him withdraw roughly. I longed for the not-so distant days when those eyes gazed at me in wonder instead of this concoction comprised of mixed emotions. These were uncharted waters for me. My father's death had precluded my birth. The closest I came to having a father figure in my life had been an old stone mason I briefly apprenticed under when I was around Charles's age.
Christine approached us with a sweet smile, a glass of champagne in her hand. When she gripped my hand with a brief reassuring squeeze, I knew my love had been eavesdropping. "Nadir, Charles, I have barely had a chance to see you this evening in all the flourish of activity."
Nadir glanced at me shaking his head for a moment. It took longer then it should have for me to realize he was staring at the rather large strawberry I had absently plucked from a passing plate. "Erik, it really is a little refreshing to see you eating more than you used to. I swear, since you two married, it's the first time I ever witnessed you with a healthy appetite!"
I felt a finger explore the ribs beneath my vest, a finger that turned out to be Christine offering me a crooked grin. "He eats like a horse these days! Constantly munching or drinking something, we must own most of China for the amount of tea leaves needed for the volume he brews. And yet … " She playfully glared, attempting to pinch my midriff. "He never gains a single ounce. Do you know how much envy that would invoke in most women?"
Nibbling on the strawberry, I shrugged. "I've always been slender. Honestly, I think the only way I could gain weight is by holding a piece of masonry while standing on the scale."
Nadir burst into laughter. "Well, as long as I have known your husband, Christine, he has always presented the same painfully thin build."
"Thank you, Nadir." I gave him a little swat on his belly. "You however, have grown a little stouter in these years. Perhaps I need to provide you with more errands to work off your daily bread."
Giggling into her hand, Christine filled the silence that followed the playful banter. Her eyes settled pointedly upon her son. "Isn't this a nice evening?"
"Wonderful." He muttered in return. Nadir's elbow jabbed him in the ribs and he offered the boy a reproachful glare. After a slow eye roll, Charles turned to his mother and declared, "Happy Anniversary, Mother."
Her arms embraced him as she kissed the dense black hair on top of his head. "Thank you, Darling."
Feeling a little out of the picture, I was left to guard the emotional injury of my son's critical omission beneath my age old stoic veneer. Wallbeck and Connolly came to my rescue when I felt a hand tap my shoulder.
"A fair in Italy?" asked the Irishman with a short laugh. "Tell me what you were doing stealing Irish songs from fiddlers in Italy. This must be quite a story."
With an idle shrug and a sip from my champagne glass, I replied, "That's how I made my living for a while. A great portion of my skill with the violin comes from my time spent among the Romanies."
As I often discovered, when I began to speak of the past, my audience rapidly grew. Damrosch was among those to turn his attention as Connolly laughed. "A Gypsy? Erik, that's hard to believe, you are French are you not?"
"Originally, yes." I replied casually.
"You, a Gypsy?" Seambrook chuckled. "That seems a rather amusing picture."
Holding up a hand, I snatched their attention. "Gentlemen, I was never actually a Gypsy. Foreign blood was never accepted fully into their culture, as was custom. Seeing as how I was but a French boy, I was nothing more than a source of income."
Wallbeck shook his head, wryly remarking. "How did you end up with them? Did they kidnap you, like so many stories from the countryside employed to frighten ignorant, young children?"
"As a matter of fact, Wallbeck, I was kidnapped."
That dashed them all into stunned silence. I had shared hints I had spent time in the Gypsy camp, but not how I had come to be there in the first place.
"I should have loved to have seen you perform on such a stage, surely you would have outplayed any Gypsy peasant!" Damrosch remarked in amazement.
"And you would not have heard me play." With a sly grin I tossed him back his pocket watch. This was a game we had been playing for years and he had yet to see me take it from his pocket—even once. "I was not a musician in their camp, my act was more in the realm of magic. Besides, I could not reveal I had skill with a violin as I did not own one … officially. Mine had been a stolen instrument until Ghert learned where his happened to have vanished to."
"Damn it, Erik! When are you going to show me how you manage that?" Ramming the gold watch back into his pocket he sighed. "One of these days you'll forget to return it."
"And miss the look on you face? Not a chance." I mercilessly teased him.
Connolly fingered the tail of my coat. "So, did you dress like them too? The wild colors?"
Were it not for the mask, they would have known how embarrassed I was at the question. "Regretfully, yes. What choice did I have? Nothing matched, and when I parted company with them I looked every bit the garish Gypsy traveling from fair to fair. Those were not easy years by any means."
Christine touched my arm to gain my distracted attention. "Nadir and Charles are heading home. Did you want to stay?" I glimpsed pleading in her eyes, my Angel was enjoying herself.
"Of course, my dear." I brought my hand down her cheek with a soft caress. "The night is just beginning. There is no need for us to cease the merriment." Looking up, I waved to Charles and Nadir. "Good night, Charles." Not even a backward glance from him as he departed. All Nadir could do was offer me an apologetic shrug. "What did I do to earn this scorn?"
"He loves you, Erik." Christine embraced me. "Please remember that. He's just going through a difficult time. I'm sure when you were his age things were turbulent and confusing."
I winced at the memories, wishing I could forget those years for reasons far different from my son's!
In the course of the evening, the warmth of the alcohol washed over me as Christine and I reclined on a couch in the greenroom, laughing at the drawn-out antics of Wallbeck and Trevor Craster arguing over which instrument held the greater merit; violin or oboe. Many of their remarks common decency forbids me to record. Damrosch could hardly find his breath between laughing fits.
"At least the violin doesn't sound like a goose being throttled!" Wallbeck gestured as though committing the act himself, the mockery of a discordant honk triggering a fresh burst of laughter amongst the crowd.
"Really!" Craster barked back. "The oboe doesn't squeal like a demented cricket when the bow slips across the strings!"
"No," he shot back, laughing. "The oboe only sounds like that when you play it, Trevor! Maybe you should get your reed waxed more often!"
"You don't wax a reed!" Too late the innuendo dawned upon the unfortunate Craster while the rest of us had doubled over, consumed with laughter. My sweet Christine had tears staining her face from the merriment.
"You sick man!" Craster shook his head while fighting the laughter that now overtook him as he flung an arm around Wallbeck's shoulders. "You sick, sick man!"
Damrosch held up a hand. "When it comes to which is mightier, the oboe or the violin … "
"The champagne always wins!" I concluded for him holding up my glass.
At the edge of our merry gathering a quiet figure stepped forward, case in hand. In my present state it took me a moment to place where I had seen him before. Ahh yes, the German from a week ago what's-his-name? Reini- something?
He addressed us before I could recall his name. "Pardon me, Sirs. I do not wish to interrupt. If you remember we met previously, Freidrich Reiniger. Is this a good time for you to hear me play?"
Damrosch wiped the tears of merriment from his eyes, trying to clear them as I held up a hand beckoning the German closer into the circle. "I remember you. In a weeks time you have still not managed to starve to death as was your claim. Thus, you must possess some talent." Narrowing my eyes at this burly gentleman, dressed in the rough wool suit, the same he had presented himself in the time before, I observed he was unmoved by my glare. This man was searching for a challenge. Beside me, I felt Christine relaxing into my shoulder, we had both been drinking in excess tonight.
"I have not starved, but it has been a rough time." He set down his case. I noted a quick hungry glance to my Stradivarius which rested in the open case on the end table within my reach.
A quiet laugh escaped me as I drained the last of the champagne from my glass before setting it aside. "You persist in your wish to play for us, despite being told there is no chair currently available."
Pulling himself up before me he nodded stiffly. "I will play for you and you will realize what you are missing in this symphony."
Lowering my gaze to fix him with a challenging stare through the eye holes of my mask, I let my left hand stray to the case, gently seizing my violin. "Alright, Reiniger, you have my attention. But we shall conduct this under my rules."
"Erik, what are you doing?" Damrosch blinked at me, glancing to the stranger as I gently slid from beneath Christine, resting her comfortably on the couch.
Whispering into her ear, I laid a hand upon her cheek, "Darling, I shall be right back."
"I love you, Erik." She kissed me before I withdrew.
Fixing Reiniger with a hard stare, I gently plucked the strings of my violin, ensuring that it was fully tuned after the previous fiddle circle. I was content to find that this man was intelligent enough to be doing the same. By now, we had gained the attention of most of the occupants in the room. "Here are the rules. We each play the same piece, the best performance trumps of course. If that should be you, first chair and the title of concertmaster is yours." His eyes gleamed brightly in prospect. I brought the bow in a slashing arc before his eyes. I would show this upstart who was master here. "If it is not, you shall leave this hall and conduct your business henceforth in the proper way."
"Agreed." Reiniger's shorter frame stood before me, filled with pride and self assurance. "Only one question, how shall we fairly judge this competition?"
Emitting a dark laugh, I placed a hand on Damrosch's shoulder, the man was practically hyperventilating beside me. I answered the question with a nod. "You think I have not pondered that. Blind judge. With eyes closed and each of us playing from the same point in the room, it will be unknown to him which man is performing. He selects whomever performs the piece better. That is all. Who would be more suited to select than our second chair, Wallbeck."
Wallbeck glanced up. "What? But I … "
With a wave of a bow, I drew him forth from the crowd. "I insist. Now stand here and close your eyes. We shall commence momentarily." Doing as he was instructed, I waited long enough to let the tension build before flicking my bow to Reiniger for him to take my place in the room as I stepped back. I would let him go first, let him select whichever piece he felt would display his talents best. And then, I would simply outplay him. I relished the terrified expression on Damrosch's features as he watched my reckless game commence.
The air was thick with tension as the German brought his bow to the strings, his hard eyes fixing me with a determined glare. The first notes of the piece rent the air in a graceful arc as I placed the very piece. Written by Leopold Damrosch, none other than Walter's father, clearly Reiniger was looking to use that angle to help him win favor. The entire time he played, I did not smile, only watched his fingers work the strings with nothing short of skilled mastery. He was indeed good. All the notes were there, the rhythm and movements accurate to every technical aspect. Yes, he had it. Without a single wrong note or sluggish arpeggio.
When he completed his rendition, I gently flicked my bow to gesture him aside, taking his place before the still blind Wallbeck. He gave the ground voluntarily, smugly observing me as I brought the bow to the strings. It was only then that I let a sinister smile spread across my lips. Had Reiniger ever laid eyes upon Leopold Damrosch's original draft, as I had? There was a certain privilege to having held the handwritten draft in the family's private music library. Familiar with the intricacies of the piece, I locked him with a cold glare before letting the bow fly across the strings to unleash the piece into the silent room. It did not escape my attention that tears rolled down Damrosch's cheeks as I played his father's music, infused with all the passion the piece deserved yet rarely obtained. By the time I reached the final measure, even Wallbeck had tears rolling from his tightly shut eyes. Reiniger stood stiff and cold with his violin grasped tightly in his hands.
Confidently, I withdrew from the circle so as not to be accused of fixing the results. "Wallbeck. Which was it?"
"Oh my God." He opened his eyes wiping them with his handkerchief. "The second one, beyond question."
Casting the German a dismissive glare, I pointed my bow towards the door. "You have your answer. Now go." I did not wait for the furious Reiniger to hastily pack up his violin and depart from the room before I dropped myself, like a reigning king, upon the couch beside my queen of music.
"Erik." Damrosch had mostly recovered his senses as he leaned over me. "What were you thinking promising him something like that! We hadn't even heard him play and yet you offered him a chance at the first chair?"
With an arrogance I could feel, I shrugged to him. "There was never any promise that would come to pass, Damrosch. What were you worried about?"
His eyes widened as he took in the empty bottles of champagne. "We've been drinking too much tonight … you could have gambled away everything."
"I knew I could out play him." I waved my hand.
"And what if you hadn't been able to? What if you were too drunk to be able to out perform a sober man?"
I half closed my eyes, confident in my skills. "Clearly, I am not. I am your concertmaster, more than capable of demonstrating that rank regardless of conditions. Now relax, was this not supposed to be a party?"
"Right, Walter!" Wallbeck put a hand on his shoulder. "There was never any real doubt, was there? Come on. What was that story you were telling me earlier?"
As the party once more returned to a jovial state of chaos I found myself increasingly lost in the swirl of conversations. I vaguely suspect that it had more to do with the effects of the champagne I had been drinking. I do recall at some point in the evening spinning around on a make-shift dance floor with Christine gracefully embraced in my arms to the impromptu music of a few members of the Symphony. As rumor has it, my natural grace is incapable of making up for my utter lack of instruction in ballroom dancing. However, the apparent highlight of the entire night occurred late when, after a considerable number of bottles of champagne, I had apparently removed my coat and tied my cravat about my waist like a belt. Violin in hand, I proceeded to play a wild Gypsy air, belting out the lyrics at the top of my lungs as I pantomimed the tale of a young Gypsy rogue who was the victim of a very young noble lass's affection.
I now knew how much alcohol was too much alcohol.
It was well into the night when we found the last stragglers of our gathering in the foyer, ready to depart for our homes. As I put my cloak on, Damrosch chuckled. "I daresay you shall have one hell of a headache on the morrow." His breath caught for a moment as he tried to suppress a drunken belch. "As apparently shall I. Oh dear, Erik, don't tell me you will be working tomorrow."
"If I am to keep a schedule close to that which I have laid out for myself, then yes. The Ballard mansion has some recently requested modifications, which requires my presence on the site whether I am hungover or not." I shrugged, still feeling pleasant from the drink as Christine tucked herself into my arms. "It matters not to the rest of the world that today was my anniversary."
Pulling out his pocket watch, Damrosch observed the time. "You mean yesterday. It's past midnight."
"Details." I waved it away.
Outside a sharp crack caused every head to turn in unison. There was no storm outside, the entire day and evening had been clear. That could only mean a handful of causes for the sudden disturbance. We darted towards the door. In the flicker of the street light, stretched out in a growing puddle of blood, lay the body of a man in a black suit. Beside him, where he dropped it, lay the violin case. A case I knew well from the rehearsals at the hall. Everyone froze, staring in wordless horror as Adam Wallbeck's eyes gazed heavenward. Less than ten minutes ago, we had all waved to his laughing figure as he had departed the upper foyer, intent to go home to his wife. Hesitantly, I stepped forward. Kneeling beside him, I tried in vain to find a pulse. My heart sank, there was nothing. As I stood once more my eyes shifted up to Damrosch, who searched me for some sign of hope, a sign I could not give him.
"No." He gasped out. "How can this be? What happened?"
I cast my gaze for any sign of what might have occurred, some shadow fleeing in the distance. But the streets were deserted. No sign of the source of the close ranged gun shot which ended Wallbeck's life prematurely, when it blew open the side of his neck. The streets were deserted aside from those of us who had only just been in the foyer. Despite the warm summer night air, Christine shivered in my arms, burying her face into the folds of my coat as I embraced her. Dismally, I replied, "I do not know, Damrosch. But the world has lost an incredible violinist."
Attracted by the sound of the gunshot a policeman was swiftly approaching us. I let Damrosch sum up the evening's events as I talked softly to Christine beside me. "It will be a little longer, my dear. No doubt the officer will require a full report."
Her hands tightened on my coat. "I want to stay here with you. My God, who would want to kill Adam?"
I ran my hand through her tangled hair. "I was going to suggest you stay here with me. For now, for safety's sake."
"Erik." Damrosch was still white with shock as he approached my side. "Can we use your office? He wants to talk with us about the evening."
"Of course." I gesture back inside the building. "Christine, you and Madame Damrosch should wait for us in the main foyer. This should not take long." So I hoped. We left our wives as other police officers arrived to examine the scene. Retreating to the privacy of my office, I sat down behind my desk strewn with musical scores from the upcoming seasons we were planning. The officer and Damrosch each took a seat and began to go through the details of the night. Who was in attendance, what we had been drinking, how much. Nothing either of us could recall seemed to point to any known motive.
"I don't understand." Damrosch paced the room now. "Everybody liked Wallbeck."
My fingers drew circles on the arm of my chair. "He was a jovial man, just a clerk with extraordinary talent on the violin. It was not a mugging as nothing was taken. Who would have wanted to do him harm?"
The officer finished his notes and closed the book with a sigh. "Hard to say, sadly incidences of this nature do happen and we never do find out who or why. But if we do find anything, I will be certain to let you both know as soon as possible. Likewise please report any new information that comes to light. Good night, Gentlemen."
The door shut behind him with a click as Damrosch collapsed into the chair opposite my desk. "He's dead. Adam Wallbeck is dead."
Solemnly, I nodded. "Repeating the statement is not going to change the facts. It seems the Oratorio shall be needed for a funeral. A proper requiem setting shall have to be selected."
Leaning on my desk he cried out. "Erik, our second chair violinist is dead! What are we going to do?"
Observing his bloodshot eyes, it became obvious that he was feeling the effects of the drinking. I did not shift from my pensive posture in the desk chair as I replied slowly. "Now is not the time for us to even consider that problem. It can safely be assured we have both had too much this evening. For now, let us leave the matter of Wallbeck's murder to the police. On the matter of the Symphony, we will think of something when we both are sober. Come. The hour is beyond late and we should be returning to our respective homes."
Reluctantly, he nodded as we rose from our chairs. Wordlessly, we entered the foyer to rejoin our wives. To the flicker of the streetlamps, I walked past the bloodstained cobblestones holding Christine tightly beneath my cloak. There was no stopping the vigilant sweep of my eyes as they searched every possible space for a threat. My manor was only two short blocks from Carnegie Hall, yet in the now ominous night, it felt infinitely further to the safety of my front door. It had been years since I had felt such dread walking through the kingdom of the night. I did not like this feeling at all.
