Chapter 3
Later that day, I was situated in my new home, a small, but comfortable room off the costume department. Set back off from the main corridors of the opera house, it was private and relatively quiet. My meager belongings, my clothes, and the necessery items for my toilet were arranged about the room. My wardrobe hung in the small closet, my hair pins, brush, mirror, and scented lotions were atop the tiny vanity, and a little vase that I had since childhood sat empty upon the nightstand. A comfortable, but narrow day bed took up the majority of the floor. Madame Lefevere had supplied me with several blankets and instructions that should I want a bath, the running boys could supply me with a tub and hot water. My eyes had widened at that bit of information. Even at the boarding house I'd stayed at after the divorce, my only option had been a half bath tin tub and cold water with the coarsest of soap. It had been soo long since I'd soaked in hot water, and I found myself looking forward to it with near glee.
I also found that employees had access to free meals at the Opera kitchen. My meals of late had been scant indeed. Bread and a bit of fruit had been my staple for a long time and as a result I had dropped every pound of pampered curves that my body had possessed as a noblewoman. I couldn't count how many times I had been forced to take in the bodice and waist of several of my dresses. A corset was no longer even necessary.
As Madame Lefevre was preparing to go and leave me to my new surroundings, she turned with a curious look on her face.
"Genevieve, did you ever have any children?" She came and sat beside me on the daybed. I shook my head, a familiar and soft pang of hurt inside me at the mention of children.
"No, it was yet another matter between Armand and me. He very much wanted an heir. God knows we, he, tried hard enough to get me with child, but it never happened." He had hated me for it, blaming me, never considering the fact that he was brutal in all of his intimate dealings with me, and that that brutality had probably damaged my ability to conceive his child. He had beaten me many times for not providing the Bouvieux line with longevity. Thank me, Armand. You know have the chance to sire a child with another.
"I'm sure that having children would have made the divorce that much harder to justify."
I sighed, brushing back a loose of strand of hair. "Yes, it would have. I would have lost them if the divorce had been granted. A woman has no right to her children."
"No, my dear, and a pity that is, for no man can seem to appreciate them. Well, I must go. If you need anything do not hesitate to call for someone." She stood, patting my leg. "We'll start tommorow on the new costumes that will be needed. Tonight, why don't you get acquainted with the Opera and its people and I shall see you bright and early tommorow morning. Good night, dear." She gave me a last smile and left.
I looked about me biting my bottom lip and then stood and walked to the full length mirror that covered one wall. This place seemed to be covered with these large, ornate looking glasses. There seemed to be one in every room.
"I shall get tired of looking at myself," I spoke to the room at large. I glanced back at myself and noticed that my hair was coming loose. Damn. The heavy curls of my hair were near impossible to keep up in the severe chignon that I wore it in in order to alter my appearance. I had to take my hair down and redress it sometimes two to three times a day. I hated having to bind it so tightly, but when married, my hair had always been my crowning glory and I had always received numerous praises for it. It was not easily forgotten and should one of my former acquaintances see me and recognize me, and run into Armand and make mention of seeing his former wife and where, he would come for me, to punish me for making a fool of him. It was a chance simply for vanity's sake that I would not take.
I dug my hands into the mass until the pins began to loosen then pulled them out one by one, plunking them on the vanity, until the last one came out and my heavy curls fell at my waist. I closed my eyes, moaning softly in the back of my throat as I massaged my throbbing scalp. The excuriatingly tight chignon pulled my hair in several directions and taking it down felt better than anything I could imagine at the moment. Sighing with relief, I bent at the waist and let my hair tumble over my head, still rubbing the sore spots.
As I worked my fingers through my curls, a soft sound came to me, much like the swish of fabric that I had heard through the wall in the costume room. I quickly straightened tossing my hair over my shoulders and strained to listen. It came again and I realized it was behind the mirror.
Rats? No, much larger than rats. The sound came from above even my head and seemed to travel to the floor. I stepped closer to the mirror and lightly touched the cool surface.
"Hello?" I whispered softly. Immediately the sound stopped and all was still and quiet in the room. I immediately felt foolish. It was probably just a draft blowing through the opera house, after all how could something large be moving behind the mirror, it was solid stone in the back.
Shaking my head at my silliness, I quickly went to redressing my hair before someone knocked on my door. I decided to braid it and let it hang down my back, a slightly looser style than the torturous chignon, but still severe with no loose curls around my face. After I approved of what I saw in the mirror, I decided it was time to humor my stomach and go find something to eat, besides dry bread and fruit.
I sat at the Opera cafe, an empty plate that had contained delicious roasted chicken and an assortment of flavorful vegetables, feeling very contented and satsified. It had been too long since I'd ate what one could consider a real meal.
As I took a sip of white wine, I felt a peculiar sensation between my shoulder blades. I turned to meet the steely gray eyes of an older woman dressed in black with only a richly embroidered shawl as a relief to the starkness of her appearance. She smiled slightly and and gestured to the chair opposite me.
"May I?" she spoke in a low cultered accent that I did not immediately recognize.
"Of course, Madame, please do." I straightend, feeling as if I should be on my best behavior in front of this woman, odd indeed considering I was thirty years old. She sat across from me and smiled that mysterious smile again.
"You are new here, are you not? You were not here before the closing last fall?" She looked away from me a moment to raise her hand imperiously to a passing waiter. He quickly jumped to attention and came over briskly.
"A cup of tea, Madame Giry, no sugar no cream, a hint of lemon?"
"Yes, Marius, and be quick about it." Her firm tone sent him off quickly again in the direction of the kitchen. She turned back to me and raised a brow.
"Yes, this is my first day here. I am the new assistant seamstress. My name is Genevieve Devereaux." I spoke quietly, carefully, keeping my voice quiet, somewhat submissive. I wanted to give noone here the impression that I had been borne of any higher station than they.
"You are the replacement for Anna Toudore, an altogether foolish woman, running off and leaving her post of so many years merely because of a slight shove." She looked at me closely, a smile still playing about her lips, but her eyes very serious. "Let us hope that you show more sensibilty than her."
I lowered my gaze, gathering my thoughts. What an altogether disconcerting woman this Madame Giry was. Who was she in the Opera and what right did she have to prematurely scold me over my reactions. I raised my head, keeping a soft smile on my face.
"I can assure you, Madame. I am a very practical woman, not given to flights of fancy or fits of the vapors over a fright. I do not believe I will be shoved by the Opera Ghost any time soon." I let aslight tinge of hardness come into my voice, that part of me that had kept me alive and running since leaving Armand.
A glimmer of...approval?...passed over Madame Giry's eyes, then faded back into the cool depths. Her tea appeard at her elbow and she took a small sip before raising her eyes to mine. "You may not be shoved, Mademoiselle Devereaux, but you may be leaned upon. All of us are, at some point or another." She sipped her tea again, keeping those cool eyes upon mine.
I was about to ask her what that cryptic comment had meant when a clear, sweet voice rang out across the marbled cafe.
"Maman!" I looked up to see a lovely petite girl running toward us, dressed in a frothy skirt of tulle and the quilted bodice of a dancer, her tiny feet clad in pointe slippers. A mane of golden hair flew behind her and she was flushed with her exertions. "Maman!" she flew up to the table and grasped Madam Giry's shoulder.
"Meg Giry!" the older woman's voice cut across the air like glass. "You forget yourself."
"Oh, forgive me!" She gave me a quick graceful curtsy. "Mademoiselle," she breathed, then turned back to her mother. "Jammes and Lisette are sneaking into the attics to catch a glimpse of the Opera Ghost. Jammes claims she saw him only last week up there, dashing from one rafter to another, and they are making the most awful fuss. They're drawing the attention of everyone in the hall..."
"Meg, go wait for me in the corridor and tell those foolish creatures that unless they want to be put through combinations all night, they will cease at once, and report in the dancer's common room. Go, girl, now!"
With another quicky curtsey to me, Meg Giry flew off once more, her feet pattering on the floor.
Madame Giry rose from her chair. I rose as well, still perplexed as to what her "leaning" comment had meant. But she gave me a last mysterious smile and then turned, striding off gracefully.
I stared after her, my brow furrowed. Who had they all been leaned upon by and why would this person choose to lean upon me?
That night, after brushing out my hair, washing my face, and changing into a thin cotton shift, I laid down upon the daybed and gazed at my still, white face reflected in the mirror. The Opera House lay around me silent and peaceful. I was so very tired.
I sighed into the darkness and willed myself to sleep, but found I could not. So many thoughts tumbled through my head.
Can I do this? Can I actually live this life, alone? Can I really be sure that I will suceed in this venture to start over? All my life, I'd been spoiled. First by my parents, then by Armand. He had been unspeakably cruel in our private life, but I had never wanted for anything materialistic. I'd never had to defend myself alone. The day that I had done what very few, if any women had done, especially of my circle, and divorced my husband, I'd signed away any chance of having a normal life ever again. I'd escaped from cruelty and abuse, but had ran into a life of constantly looking over my shoulder, never being able to trust again. Armand would pay to find me, and pay well.
Madame Giry's comment had frightened me. What price would I pay to this unseen person who might choose to...lean.. upon me.