Another chapter to come shortly.
It wasn't until the harsh winds hit her face that she realized she'd reached her destination and had to backtrack a little to go the the stables. She'd need a horse to get to the graveyard as it was a mile or two outside of town.
She gently shook the stable boy awake. "I'm taking Cocoa, I should be back within a couple of hours, okay?"
The boy gave her a cold stare, even through his grogginess. She rolled her eyes and fished some coins from her coat pocket and put them in his open hand. Without another word, he dropped them into his pocket and went back to sleep.
How ridiculous, she thought. But, nevertheless, if anyone found out she took the horse, she'd be in huge trouble. Grabbing a blanket and a minimal saddle, she went into the third stall on the left and readied the horse. Cocoa was a sweet-tempered chestnut bay mare with a good strong gallop but she was almost only used for stage work, so she wouldn't be missed.
Once finished, Janice led her out of the stall and closed it quietly behind her, then did the same from the huge service door before mounting her and walking her very slowly over the cobblestones. Each step reverberated loudly in the empty alley, so she kept firm control of her speed until they were far enough into the street that they wouldn't be heard quite so well. She then tapped the horse with her heel to urge her into a brisk trot.
As they lumbered out of the damp city and onto the dark, wooded, dirt path, now soaked with the melted snow, her mind began to wonder. It fell to the Phantom, as it so often did. She could feel the weight of his book on her thigh and it warmed her inside.
His mind was simply astounding. As she'd read through the pages, she found set designs, architecture equations, bits of music, small synopses of stories and ideas for plays and operas, not to mention the occasional diatribe about Christine. His passion was so intense and his longing was so deep she should feel it flowing from every word, every sketch, every layout. Yet, she could also sense his pain, his bitterness and his cynicism. How could people be so cruel to him when he had such an invaluable wealth of knowledge and creativity? Good God, so what if he was deformed? He wasn't a leper. People's intolerance was infuriating. And not just people...her. How could she reject him so harshly? He worshipped her. So what if the Vicomte was rich? What did he really have to offer? He's so vapid and bland, like dry toast.
After a few minutes, she left the main road and cut through the open field. The path curved up and away from the cemetary to avoid the uncertain terrain and wrap around to the front of the grounds. Her mother was near the back among the mausolea. Even though her father was a worthless labourer with a gambling problem and therefore no money for a proper grave, he loved his wife very dearly. When she died, he bribed a gravedigger to put her in amongst the rich folks. Not in any way to disrespect they or her mother, but he didn't want her out amongst the random graves in the mud and dirt. The cemetery was watched after, cleaned, kept and enclosed which was much more befitting of a woman of her personality stature.
She mindlessly guided Cocoa through the weeds and brambles as her mind continued to wander. Ever since the New Year's ball, they'd been rehearsing Don Juan Triumphant. The choreography was so different and the story was so scandelous. It was such a flagrent bearing of his true soul. So dark and fiery. The songs were so moving and passionate. They were already familier and almost like a lullaby for her. Thankfully, the thrill of dancing for him kept her energy high enough to ignore the soothing effect the music had on her. And yet, even in her rapture, she was painfully aware of the distaste and downright hatred the rest of the company felt towards the production. Carlotta had even had the gall to say that it wasn't even real music! How dare that despicable wretch insult him in such a way. Thankfully, Madame Giry had defended him.
"Would you speak that way in front of the composer?" she had said.
"The composer is not here! And even if he were, I would..."
"Are you quite certain of that, my dear?" Madame Giry interrupted. Carlotta bit her tongue at that and her eyes flew around the room like a wild animal trapped in a cage. Madame had secretly grinned to herself when it became clear that she had put the idea into her head.
Janice had giggled as well, as she did now at the thought of it. That gaudy woman deserved to be put in her place. They all did. Especially Christine.
Janice mused to herself how her demeanor had changed so drastically in such a short time. She used to be so sweet and kind...and naive. She'd admired Christine and the other favourites of the house. Now she had nothing but bitterness and resentment for their flippant attitudes, insipid interests and intrigues. It amused her how one of the pieces in Don Juan had been an obvious insult to Christine and her newfound shallowness.