Chapter Four "RS"
True to his word, he was waiting outside at midnight, hidden on the roof where Trudy would not see him. In a little while, he heard a back door open and close quietly. Then wheels on the little ramp down to the garden. Marguerite sat in her chair, bundled in a coat, her gloved hands clutching the wheels. He dropped down to the ground and she looked up, hearing his light footsteps in the grass.
"You came." He said, sounding pleased.
"Yes I did."
"Are you warm enough? We've a ways to go."
"Yes I am, I've got a coat and a blanket besides."
"Good, come along then, Daroga will not wait all night."
"The Persian you mean?"
"Yes, he's the one who helped me arrange it all," Erik pushed her chair down the garden walk and out the back gate, shutting it as silently as possible and latching it properly. He pushed her down the sidewalk; none of it seemed as inconspicuous as Marguerite had planned. Erik saw her confusion and chuckled.
"It would look best if we appeared as if to be taking the air before retiring," he said, "We'll be safer this way." True enough, any police officer they passed merely nodded to them or warned of the cold and Erik would nod in agreement. He'd nod to Marguerite, who sat in the chair, saying in the most horribly pronounced French she'd ever heard in her life,
"But you see the wife insisted for the night air, she must have her air you see."
"Ah, good evening to you then," and the officer would go back to his beat, leaving Erik to laugh quietly to himself and Marguerite to scold him for being saucy.
"You mustn't tease them Erik," she said and he smiled underneath his mask. In a little while, they came upon a carriage; the Persian stood in its shadow. Holding the bridle, he spoke quietly to the horse, steadying it as they approached. Marguerite waited patiently as the footboard on her chair was lowered and Nadir helped her to stand. The door of the carriage was opened and Erik held the horses as Nadir lifted her into it.
"I can manage," she said, grasping the sides of the coach, she lowered herself easily to the cushion and Erik situated a lap robe over her. Once he had shut the door and sat down across from her Nadir gave the order for the horses to walk on.
"You're warm enough?" he asked, and she nodded. The carriage was snug, and the lap robes thick. "You brought the key I gave you?"
"Yes, it's here," she pulled it out of her purse, letting him see it. "What is the RS for?"
"The Rue Scribe." He said. Marguerite knew what he meant, the gate that stood behind the opera house, the back entrance. "It's for you to go in and out of, to make it easier."
"But I don't go anywhere. I can't leave the house."
"I beg to differ." He said.
"Yes...but Maman would never let me," she said. "I can't- I can't leave-" the carriage pulled to a stop and Marguerite looked out the window, forgetting she had been in the middle of a protest. The moon was high and the sky was clear, the lamps cast warm glows on the sidewalk. She could see the candelabrum with the quadrant, Erik tapped the roof,
"Go round the back Nadir, we're not to go in the front," The carriage started again. A surmounted balustrade, with eight decorated columns of spurs and ships and twenty-two statues lamps, surrounded the sidewalls. The statues were named Star of the Morning and the evening star, each bearing either a crescent moon or a star in their carved tresses. Their lamps were already lit as they drove past. Passing the carvings of Le Comédie et le Drame, they at last found the gate on Rue Scribe. There Nadir Khan stopped the carriage and jumped down, pulling Marguerite's chair from the back of the carriage. Erik opened the door, motioning to her that he'd be back in a moment to help her. She heard him go over to The Persian
"You've the crutches?"
"Yes under the seat."
"Good." Erik returned and held a hand out to steady her. On her one foot, she managed to hobble over to the step, "Permit me," he muttered and set his hands about her waist, setting her on the ground. The chair was set up and a blanket was spread over her lap once she was seated again. Her eyes drank in the sight of the grand building. Oh she missed it. She found a dull ache within her and she wanted to cry.
"Let me see it," she begged, "I want to see inside."
"Hush now, we cannot, too much noise," her shoulders slumped a little, and Erik wanted to cheer her. "Perhaps another time," he said, "When we've managed a routine." And she nodded.
"Yes of course," and she took delight in the things she was allowed to see. They went through the Rotunda of the Moon and Rotunda of the Sun. The Bibliothèque-museum was locked already but Marguerite could see the shadows of books, the little bits of embossing shining in the dim light.
"Wait," Erik said as Nadir made to turn to a nearby passage. He wheeled her down the hall, and Marguerite felt a dull ache in the pit of her stomach.
Pushing open the carved doors, they wheeled her into the Foyer de Danse. The smell of rosin filled her nostrils; she shut her eyes breathing deeply. They stopped near a bench; she reached over, her fingers brushing against the worn fabric, the tassels on the corners. As Erik began to turn her round, she put a hand on his forearm and he stopped. Slowly, her little hands gripped the arms of her chair, and she pushed herself to her good foot, Nadir and Erik jumped for her, both ready to assist. Marguerite shook them off; she managed to hobble over to what she was so intent on reaching.
Smooth, sturdy, familiar wood. Her hand grasped the barre, standing on her good leg as she would if at a lesson. She began to cry, covering her mouth as she sank to her knees. The barre felt the same under her hand; it seemed to taunt her. Erik's arms came round her waist and he helped her back to her chair.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly, "I hadn't meant for you to cry," he pushed her slowly down the length of the room, letting her put her hand on the barre, trailing the length of it until he said they must go. When they left the foyer, she grasped his hand behind her.
"Thank you Erik," she said and he smiled above her.
It all seemed a blur to Marguerite as Nadir and Erik helped her down the basements and into the waiting boat. Erik saw she was embarrassed and uncomfortable at the necessary assistance, but she said naught. It was a little easier when she was settled on the cushions of the boat, the crutches she had yet to use tucked into a compartment that Erik stood on. They at last arrived at the house by the lake.
It had been seven years since Marguerite had last been in Erik's home. The last time being the night he left for Persia, she wanted to say goodbye and he brought her back with him. It hadn't changed much, a new piece of furniture had been added, a new chaise lounge, mahogany wood, carved claw-shaped feet, the velvet was a stunning royal blue, and olive leaves embroidered in gold floss decorated the edge of it.
"Here now," Erik said and helped her to the chaise, "Sit here, see if my new couch is comfortable."
"I don't know why you bought it," she said "Your other is just as serviceable." He smiled a little
"Is the colour not to your liking?"
"It is not the colour, I am very fond of blue, I only don't understand your want of another."
"I like this one," he said and strode over to his piano bench. Nadir Khan, who had been watching the entire scene, looked at Erik with interest.
"Perhaps," he said at last, "you thought Mademoiselle Giry might prefer this one to the other." Marguerite looked at Erik
"Oh no! You wouldn't go to so much trouble on my account would you?!" she cried "Surely I'm not worth-"
"Tush," Erik said "Now then Marguerite, are you going to play for me or aren't you?"
"You have a harp?" she asked and he nodded, he left the room a moment and returned, this time wheeling a great instrument covered in a tarp over to her. He let her pull off the sheet, and when she did so, Marguerite gave a delighted gasp. There before her stood a painted harp, on the soundboard and box was a pretty garden, orange and lemon trees and pretty roses. Along the pillar and T-brace was the scene of the river, a man on a gondola transporting a young couple. The legs and feet were painted blue, matching the rest of the harp. "Oh..." she breathed, "it's lovely, wherever did you find it?"
"Cadiz." He said proudly.
"Spain? You went to Spain for a harp?"
"I did," Erik said "Now play something for us Marguerite. We've very little time for our visit." She edged herself closer to the instrument, lifting her arms; she poised them over the tight strings, finding her finger placements. In a moment, her hands flew over the strings, plucking out a haunting tune, something by a composer Erik couldn't name, which surprised and confounded him.
"Andre's brought me music from Russia, it's a new piece," she said "or at least I believe it is. I'm horrible about composers."
"You know the notes well enough, you read music?" Erik asked as he picked up several sheets. He took a stand and set them down before her so she could see them
"Yes I can," she said
"Play this then," he said and turned away.
