Chapter Four

The passage from Calais to New York was relatively uneventful for Erik, who stayed in his cabin for most of the journey, only venturing out late at night. Money was an amazing thing that helped him buy the discretion of a porter who saw to his needs without question. Not only did the young man take care of everything Erik needed, he also offered to connect him with his cousin in New York who would be able to help secure him lodging not far from the new Metropolitan Opera House with equal discretion.

Upon arrival at Ellis Island, Erik was afforded an easy and quick run through customs due to his first-class passenger status. There was no hiding his appearance, but the officer asking the standard questions didn't so much as bat an eye at his mask. As a matter of fact, he provided Erik with the perfect excuse. After getting his initial information, he said, "Reason for visit? I'm assuming medical?"

Erik blinked for a moment but quickly recovered, answering, "Yes."

The man nodded in sympathy. "All right, Sir. You're good to go. Welcome to America." And just like that, Erik entered the country.

As he exited the doors, the porter who had taken care of him aboard the ship met him with another gentleman dressed finely all in black. "Monsieur Leroux, as promised, here is my cousin, Patrick. He specializes in helping upper class folks like yourself get situated here."

Erik sized up the man before him. Small in stature, Patrick nevertheless had an air about him that could best be described as assured. The man bowed his head to Erik.

"Good afternoon, Sir. If you will permit me, I can take your luggage and we can be on our way. Mickey tells me you're interested in staying close to the opera house. I think the Phillips Club might suit your needs: very private and discreet due to their clientele."

Erik nodded, "I will certainly take your suggestions into consideration. Thank you. Perhaps you also know of some craftsmen I can utilize. I will need a tailor and some other services such as a banker and a shop where I can purchase toiletries and such."

Patrick collected Erik's trunk and bag and led him to his carriage. "I can indeed, Sir. If you don't mind answering a few questions on the way to the club, I'll be able to better see that your requirements are met. Right this way."

True to his word, Patrick was able to set Erik up with all he could think of for the time being. By the time it was getting dark, he'd procured a small yet lavish suite at the Club, set up banking procedures with a personal representative from Brown Brothers Bank, and had been visited by a tailor who had only the finest materials available when he measured Erik for new clothing. He also promised a visit from a cobbler the next day.

Patrick was so good at what he did that Erik, impressed with his knowledge and ability, requested his continued help on a weekly basis. The Phillip's Club provided him with a personal valet he could call on at any time who, like Patrick, was a discreet and utmost professional. What struck Erik the most was everyone's complete lack of reaction to his mask. It was almost unnerving. Having spent so much of his life accustomed to facing shock, fear, and automatic hatred, dealing with so many people who seemed nominally interested at most, was a welcomed relief. Yes, a few people had looked twice, but he was never met with any whispers or jeers. After three days of such behavior, he finally broke his silence and asked his valet, Arthur, about the odd situation.

"Monsieur Leroux, I don't know what Parisiennes think is acceptable behavior, but I assure you that higher class Americans do not base a man's merits on his appearance. There are many war heroes who have suffered devastating wounds that have left them missing an arm or a leg or have left them disfigured such as yourself. We appreciate their service and fortitude. Most will assume you were injured in war. Even though that may not be the case, you are in a far higher social circle now. Here in America, we don't have counts and dukes and such. Here, your financial status is what opens doors first. Other things like professions and artistic interests will move you further along."

Erik had been astounded. He was still trying to wrap his thoughts around his new situation one night when, as he came back into the lobby from a walk around the neighborhood, he saw a cleaning woman exit a room to one side. He hadn't noticed the door before and, as he went to the front desk to retrieve any messages from the tailor or banker, he asked the older gentleman behind the desk about it.

"Oh. That's the small music room for our patrons. Generally the wives like to avail themselves of the piano in there, but you are more than welcomed to do so as well."

Erik needed no further urging. It had been weeks since he'd played and now, for the first time, he felt the need to do so. He cautiously opened the door but due to the late hour, no one was there. The large, highly polished, obsidian piano sat in the corner of the room by the window. Erik sat down and raised the cover to expose shining ivory keys. He lightly caressed the keys without making a sound and then, wondering how well-tuned they kept it, played a quick arpeggio up and back down. The notes of the Steinway rose and fell gloriously and Erik sighed in relief before losing himself in music that poured from his soul through his hands and into the magnificent instrument.

He had lost track of the time when, as he finished a particularly painful strain, he heard a small gasp behind him. Engrossed in his music, he had not detected the opening and closing of the door that heralded the woman's entrance. He turned his left side to her in an effort to hide his mask and saw her sitting in an oversized chair.

"I beg your pardon, Madam. I was unaware of your presence." He tried to be polite, but he was annoyed at the intrusion: more so that it had gone so long unnoticed.

"Please, Sir. It is I who should be asking your pardon. I heard the music and only wanted to listen at the door but...my God! I swear I felt under a spell and found myself coming in and sitting down. I don't know what came over me! I am never so rude!" Here, the woman stood up, smoothing her skirts, and came across the very dark room to Erik. She wiped tears that were still flowing freely down her face and then wiped her hands on her skirt. "I never seem to have a handkerchief! My husband would be appalled at my lack of manners." She stuck her hand out to Erik. "My name is Sarah: Sarah Brokaw."

Erik hesitated and then took her hand and lightly brushed his lips awkwardly to it, his mask making it difficult. She didn't seem to mind and instead, kept hold of his hand. "Your music...it was yours, I'm sure...was so...so...soul wrenching. I've never felt so much emotion from a composition before. I literally felt like my heart was breaking. Your music, Sir, is nothing short of breathtaking. Please, do tell me your name!"

He was an extremely private man for obvious reasons and felt awkward receiving praise. "My name is Erik...Erik Leroux." The name came off his tongue awkwardly. He was so unused to formal introductions.

"You're new here. I've never seen you and my husband and I have kept accommodations here for the last two years," Sarah remarked. "Are you also new to New York?"

"I am new to your country. I've lately arrived from Paris and will have to ask your forgiveness as I am not yet familiar with the customs of America. I'll admit, I find myself at a bit of a loss."

"My dear Monsieur Leroux, this is a most fortuitous meeting then! I can assure you that my husband and I can help introduce you to the right people here in New York! But, as it is late and I'm sure Robert is wondering where on Earth I've disappeared to, I will take my leave. I promise you, though, to find you later this week. There's a private get together later and I think you will be very happy making our friends' acquaintances."

Erik nodded uneasily, but was encouraged by this open woman who seemed so unphased by his appearance. "I will look forward to it."

The moment she left the room, Erik felt the tension leave his body. He was so unaccustomed to carrying on any kind of extended conversation with people. But, he also felt oddly exhilarated that not only had yet another person seemed unphased by his mask, it had been a woman. And she had understood his music. He was astonished and, for the first time ever, hopeful.