The gondola ride and the long walk to the diva's dressing room were in silence. They came to the mirror entrance and she could see a woman standing in the room, a bundle at her feet.
"That's Madame Giry." Erik said and pressed the mirror, it sprang open and he slid it back. He tugged on a lock of her hair and before she could snap at him, he was gone, the sound of his boots echoing in the passage.
"Come my dear." Madame Giry said and Isabelle stepped into the room. Madame Giry made several tsking noises in disapproval. "Completely inappropriate for a girl your age."
"First Erik now you! What the hell is wrong with my fatigues?" Isabelle asked fiercely, her voice rising. The older woman in front of her banged her cane against Isabelle's knees. "Ow! What the fuck was that for?"
"Foul language will not be tolerated Mademoiselle. You continue to use such words and your knees shall constantly be bruised!"
"You hit me with that thing again and I'm breaking it over my knee."
"You wouldn't dare such a thing." Madame Giry challenged, glaring at her.
"Try me." Isabelle said glaring back and they squared off. It was a battle of wits, the ballet instructor against the soldier. Madame Giry cracked a small, rare smile suddenly.
"Something tells me that we will get along quite well Mademoiselle Knight."
"If we don't kill each other first, Madame Giry." Isabelle said.
"Now get changed into the clothing that I have brought you. The managers of the Opera House will be looking for me, and I have a ballet to instruct." She said and Isabelle grabbed the bundle, going behind the privacy screen to change. When she was done getting dressed, she reached into her bag and pulled out a hair clip from one of the outside compartments. She twisted her hair up and secured it with the clip. She stuffed her clothing into the bag and came out from behind the screen. Madame Giry inspected her long sleeved and high collared ashen gray linen dress. Isabelle tugged at the collar and Madame Giry slapped the back of her hand and got a glare in return. Madame Giry nodded at her receiving the message of 'never do that again' through the look.
"So what will I be doing?"
"Well if you cannot sing or dance…"
"Which I can't."
"Then you will be my assistant, run errands for me."
"Okay. What kind of errands?"
"Get another pair of ballet slippers for a dancer and so forth."
"Alright."
"Now come Mademoiselle Knight, there is much to do."
That night Isabelle lay on the daybed in her new room, her hands behind her head and her eyes fixed on the ceiling. Madame Giry had introduced her to the cast and crew of the Opera Populaire, and she had been automatically sized up by the prissy and extremely spoiled diva Carlotta Guidacelli. She had just perked an eyebrow at her and clucked her tongue, her normal action with a new soldier surprised to find that a woman would command him. Carlotta…her ego being severely inflated over the years had met her eye for eye, challenging her to back down. After several tense minutes Carlotta looked away and Madame Giry had given Isabelle a proud look, making her feel as if she had passed some kind of test.
Meg Giry, Madame Giry's one and only daughter, had been a sweet girl, introducing herself with a polite curtsey and giving her a warm hug, welcoming her to the Opera House. She reminded Isabelle a lot of her self when she was that age, young, innocent and terribly naïve.
Isabelle got off the bed and changed back into her fatigues. She dragged the cushioned seat from her vanity into the middle of the room and laid down on the floor face down, her feet propped up on the seat and her hands under her. She began to do pushups, the muscles in her arms flexing and cording with the effort. The material her fatigue shirt was made of wicked away the sweat leaving her skin dry. She did about two hundred or so before she called it quits, brushing a lock of damp hair off her forehead. There was a knock on her room door and she went to it, opening it and finding children out there, a couple holding steaming buckets of water and a couple holding a large porcelain tub.
"We have brought your bath Miss Knight." The lead boy said and she stepped aside, kicking the seat back under the vanity. They set the tub down and poured the water into it.
"Thank you." Isabelle said and they nodded, leaving, she locked the door behind them. Isabelle noticed bottles on the vanity and opened several, figuring out which one was the shampoo. Disrobing, she slid into the tub and almost groaned. At the barracks, hot water was a rarity, and she often found herself taking five-minute freezing showers. She undid her hair and it fell outside the tub, she pulled it into the water and it pooled around her. Sliding down she immersed her self and slicked back her hair. Reaching for the bottle that she had set down beside the tub she washed her hair and immersed again, getting the suds out of her long locks. She grabbed a small sponge on her vanity and washed her self.
Erik watched through the mirror as she bathed. He was about to visit her to see how she was adapting when he caught her undressing. He stood transfixed on his side of the mirror by the way she was formed. Lithe, strong musculature and long limbs encased in luminous pale skin. After washing her had she had washed her body and he found himself staring at the sponge as it traveled along her arms and legs slowly.
He raised his hand to press the mechanism on the mirror when she stood from the tub, water and suds streaming down her body, weighing down her hair that ended at the bottom of her buttocks. She pulled on a cotton robe, stepping out of the tub and grabbed a heavy handled brush from the vanity, starting to brush her hair.
Getting all the tangles out she put it up again and relaxed on her bed, closing her eyes. He pressed the mechanism and pushed the mirror aside.
"You enjoy the show?" her words stopped him.
"How do you know I was watching?"
"I could hear you breathing. You don't have a cold do you?"
"No. Why?"
"You sounded a bit congested." She said and cracked an eye open to look at him. She snorted at his immaculate appearance. "Don't you ever relax?" in response he stripped down to his shirtsleeves and laid his coat, vest, and cravat on the stool of her vanity, leaving the mask in place.
"Better?" he asked.
"Much." She scooted over on the daybed and patted the spot she made. He lay down next to her, crossing his ankles and she curled up against him, her warm hand sliding into his shirt to touch his chest. He knew he should remove her hand from its station but she wasn't making a sexual advance on him, she was merely getting comfortable.
"Tell me about your time Belle." He said but she had already fallen asleep, pressed against his side.