PART THREE: OPENING DOORS

21: Mistress and Maids

Their new house, though not huge, had spacious rooms which flowed into one another. Madeleine, guided through by Erik, found it easy to remember the layout, and enjoyed the extra space. They had not over-filled it with furniture, unlike their fashionably cluttered rented house, and having clear spaces where she could walk with confidence gave Madeleine an unexpected feeling of freedom. Erik's music studio was designed as an orangery opening on the garden, with glass panels mounted in white arches, and the promise of fruit trees for the future. The acoustics were all that he had hoped.

They employed a staff of two maids, a manservant and a cook, chosen because all were willing to ignore Erik's appearance, and be helpful to Madeleine. Madeleine had less housework to occupy her now, but instead she had a sitting room with her own piano, so that she could practise and play her simple tunes, without distracting Erik from his work.

After consultation with a local schoolmistress, a girl called Annette was hired to be Madeleine's personal maid. Daughter of farm workers, the teacher had persuaded her parents to let her stay on at school, because she was bright enough to get a good job if she had some education. Now that she was fifteen, her parents were stubbornly insisting that she get out and earn her keep. But to be a lady's maid was a higher-status job than labouring, and Annette was glad to get it. She loved books, and was delighted to find that one of her tasks would be to read to her employer.

Privately, though, Madeleine had doubts about this change in their lives. How would she manage as mistress of such a household? She had been happy enough in the cottage with just the two of them. Of course, some domestic tasks were simply chores, done from necessity, and she was relieved of that now. But there had been an intimacy when she and Erik had done everything for themselves, and that was lost. Still, she could not express this to him. He was, she knew, trying to make life easier for her, and she could not be ungrateful. Besides, he clearly took great pleasure in his new music room, and she could do nothing to tarnish that.

Their first visitors were the Chevalier family, who had been friendly towards them since Madeleine had offered some advice on educating their blind son. The adults admired, the children romped. Pierre played his penny-whistle in the music room, enjoying the acoustics.

"He has three whistles now," confessed his mother, "in different keys. He is beginning to ask what else he might play. We have a piano, of course, but neither my husband nor I are musical, and Pierre can make no sense of it."

"He is very young, and his hands are still small," pointed out Erik. "He could probably hold a piccolo, but he would find it frustrating trying to get a sound from it. It is different from blowing into a whistle."

"Monsieur," began Nicole, the ten-year-old daughter, as she stood by a table where Erik's violin lay in its open case. "May I hold your violin?" She had always tended to avoid Erik, troubled by his face, and this was the first time she had spoken directly to him.

"You may, provided you are very careful with it."

The girl glanced at her hands. They were clean, but all the same she scrubbed them on her skirt, to lessen the chance of fingermarks on the polished wood. Then she picked the instrument out of the case, holding it in both hands and turning it to catch the light. "It is very beautiful." She held it out to him. "Would you play something? I love the sound of violins."

Willingly enough, Erik played a short melody. Something in the girl's wistful face caught his attention. "Would you like to hold the violin, Nicole? Hold it properly, I mean?" She nodded. "Sit here, then…"

He showed her how to hold it between chin and shoulder, placed her right hand on the bow, and guided her first stroke across the strings. Then he let her try by herself. Predictably, her attempt produced an unpleasant scrape. Frowning in concentration, she slightly shifted bow angle and movement, until the sound smoothed out to a recognisable note. She tried bowing different strings, learning how to make a pleasant sound, never reverting to the scrape. Erik watched her keenly, and Madeleine listened in surprise, remembering her own unsuccessful efforts to get anything like music from the instrument.

"That is enough for now, Nicole," said Erik. "Please put the violin back in its case."

"Can I try it?" piped up Pierre.

"Not until you grow," replied Erik. "That is a full-sized violin, and it is really too big even for Nicole."

Later, the children ran around the garden, while the adults had coffee. "Has Nicole played a violin before?" asked Erik.

"No, she has never had one in her hands," replied Monsieur Chevalier. "Couldn't you tell? She was hardly playing music on it."

"Compared to the noises produced by most people on their first attempt, she handled it very well. It is possible that she has a natural aptitude." He thought for a moment. "Madame Chevalier, once when we were discussing Pierre and his whistle, you asked if I ever give music lessons. I said no, rather abruptly, I'm afraid. I was involved in another project, and did not want distractions. But if Nicole should express an interest in learning violin…"

"Erik, you cannot pick favourites with children," Madeleine put in. "If you teach one, teach both. And if one proves to have more talent than the other, you cannot favour that one."

Erik raised his eyebrows. "Very well. I do not wish to cause familial disharmony. Madame, Monsieur, I leave it to you. We can discuss this further if you wish."

O-O-O

One day, Madeleine realised that one of the maids was being clumsy and slow about her work. It was not hard to guess the reason, and she considered how to deal with the matter. Perhaps it was better to be direct; she had always had a practical outlook. So one afternoon, she gathered Annette, the two housemaids and the cook in the kitchen. By previous arrangement, Erik had engaged the manservant in some work elsewhere.

"I have a word to say to you all," she began. "We are all women here, and we know that, some days, a woman is not at her best." There was some uncomfortable shifting among the others. This was not something normally discussed. Madeleine went on, "I have a rule about this. If one of you should come to me and say that you are a little unwell, consideration will be shown. You need not give any further explanation or excuse. 'A little unwell' shall be understood. We will rearrange the tasks, perhaps leave some jobs undone for a day or two, to lighten the load. If you feel the need to lie down or take medicine, that too will be arranged. You are servants and I expect service, but you are not slaves. Remember that I am also a woman, and I can be approached in this matter."

The cook, a brisk woman nearing forty, felt it incumbent on her to reply, as the maids were all pink with embarrassment. "That is very fair-spoken, Madame. Only… well, I know nothing against anyone here. Let me put it this way. Some places I have worked, I have known girls who would take your words as licence to spend one week out of four in bed."

"Yes, you are right of course, Madame Brun. And as I am blind, it is hard for me to judge if someone is really ill, or merely malingering. So, should I ever have the misfortune to encounter such a servant as you describe, my only course of action would be to dismiss her. I would give her as good a reference as I felt able to write, and my personal recommendation that she find a less strenuous employment."

Brun nodded. The lady was not such a soft touch, after all. "Very fair, Madame."

"Madame," began the older housemaid, "I just wondered… are you ever a little unwell?" The cook clicked her tongue critically.

"That question to me is bordering on impertinence, as you well know," Madeleine said calmly. "But since I started this discussion, I shall answer it. Yes, sometimes I may be more idle and fretful than usual, or spend a day in bed. Fortune has smiled on me, but it is not so long ago that I had to work for my living as you do. I was fortunate enough to find an employer who gave me the same discretion that I have now offered you. I appreciated that consideration very much, and never used it unfairly."

Madeleine returned to the sitting room, happy to have made her point, recalling those days when she had worked as Erik's maid beneath the Opera House. She had been there three or four months, and had managed well enough, but one morning she woke clutching at her abdomen. Oh no – it had started, and it was going to be a bad one. She managed to dress and get to the kitchen early, before Monsieur was stirring, to conceal from him how little breakfast she could eat, and how near she came to bringing it back up. She tried to get through her normal tasks, but before the morning was far advanced, he asked sharply, "Madeleine, what is wrong? You look ill."

"Nothing… nothing is wrong, Monsieur."

"You are lying, and if you could see yourself, you would realise how useless such a lie is. Do you need a doctor?"

"No – oh, no. It is nothing, it will pass. I beg you, take no notice."

"I think I understand," he replied more quietly. "Women have troubles which they do not discuss with men. Are you afflicted with such a trouble today?"

She sighed. "Yes."

"Then do not be a martyr. Go back to bed, and leave your work. It can wait until tomorrow, or whenever you feel better."

"I left the bread rising…"

"Very well. I will see to that. Is there anything you can do, anything you can take, that will help you?"

"A hot drink… weak tea. That sometimes helps. I will make some…"

"You will go to bed, now. Make yourself as comfortable as you can. I will bring your tea in a few minutes. Leave your door unlocked so that I can enter."

"You are very kind, Monsieur." Tears were beginning to fill her eyes, and she turned away, but paused in the doorway. "Oh, and Monsieur… I have not locked my door since the first night I came here. I know I am safe here."

She hurried between her room and the bathroom, making herself clean and changing into nightclothes. When Monsieur had sent Jacques' wife to buy clothes and other necessities for her, these needs had been provided for, and she was thankful that she had not had to ask Monsieur or Jacques about such personal things.

Monsieur gave her plenty of time. She was ready before he came, sitting up in bed, a shawl round her shoulders. She leaned back and relaxed despite her pain, taking pleasure in being inactive. She had almost dozed off when he tapped at the door.

"Come in. Oh, I'm sorry, Monsieur, I should have lit a candle for you."

"No need. I brought one. I know that you have no use for light." He put down a tray, which sounded rather heavy, and approached her bed. "I brought a hot-water bottle. Warmth is sometimes a comfort in illness. I shall leave it here by your pillow, and you may use it or put it away on the floor, just as you please." Cutting short her thanks, he fetched the tea, put the cup and saucer on the bedside table, and guided her hand to it. "If there is anything I can do for you, tell me. Otherwise, I shall leave you to your rest."

Madeleine wiped hastily at the tears spilling down her cheeks. "Monsieur… you are too kind, altogether too kind to me."

"No more than you deserve. You are a good girl. Now drink your tea, and then rest." With a brief touch of his hand on her shoulder, he left her.

Madeleine rested, sometimes sleeping, until late afternoon. Then she rose, dressed, and took the tray through to the kitchen. She had not heard Monsieur playing at all during the day, but now he spoke to her from his chair by the fire, and she thought he must be reading.

"Are you feeling better? You look… not well, but less ill."

"Yes, I am better, thank you, Monsieur. I really need to get up for a while, or else I will not sleep tonight. And I would like to get something to eat now."

"Of course. Can I help you?"

"Oh, no… I can do it. Something simple, bread and honey perhaps, and coffee. I will get it."

"As you wish, but bring it here and sit in the armchair by the fire to eat. You may as well be comfortable."

She brought in her tray, sat across the fireplace from him, and leaned back luxuriously in the deep chair.

"Madeleine… I was wondering... As an old bachelor, I have spent little time in the company of women, and yet it has always been my habit to seek to fill gaps in my knowledge. This must have happened before, since you have been here…? But on such a personal matter, I have no right to question you. Stay silent, if you would rather not answer."

Madeleine thought for a moment. "My mother always encouraged me to feel able to discuss such things. It is different, talking to a man. But I don't mind. Yes, this is the… third? fourth? time since I have worked for you, but the others were not so bad. It is only sometimes that it makes me so ill as I was this morning. The first time after I had come here… I welcomed that with relief, because…"

"Because it meant that you had not become pregnant as a result of the attack on you. Yes, I knew that must be on your mind. I am happy for you that you have not suffered that burden."

"Not pregnant, and not diseased. The event was bad enough, but at least I have been spared the after-effects which might have blighted me."

"You mentioned your mother. I know you miss her."

Was that a subtle way to distract her from an even more painful memory? "Oh yes, Monsieur. We were so close… she was my best friend. But she had had griefs in her life, too. She taught me that, when bad things happen, we must pick up the pieces and carry on. To dwell too much on the past is like poking at a wound. It makes the pain worse, and delays the healing. She was very wise." Madeleine finished her drink, took the tray into the kitchen and washed up. Returning to the fireside, she asked, "Would it inconvenience you, Monsieur, if I brought my knitting here?"

"Not at all. I shall be playing the piano for a while, but the click of the needles is no distraction."

So for the rest of the evening Madeleine knitted, listening to the beautiful music. She slept well that night.

O-O-O

Madeleine smiled as she returned to the present. Erik had always been good to her. (She suppressed a memory of chilling rebukes, if she had failed to keep Christine's room perfect. Erik had mostly been good to her…) If he was not good to others, it was a product of his cruel upbringing. What a waste. What a man he might have been, had he been born with an ordinary face, or given fair treatment.

A few days after Madeleine's talk with the female staff, Annette shyly began a conversation with her, initially about how best to manage the problems that came with a woman's monthly illness. When Madeleine answered her calmly and without embarrassment, Annette took heart, and asked more wide-ranging questions. Madeleine soon understood the drift of her talk. Farm-born, Annette had been familiar since childhood with matters of animal mating and breeding. But she was old enough now to start wondering how such things related to people. How did one choose a spouse, what was it like being married?

Madeleine blessed the unorthodox education her mother had provided for her. Odette had found women of experience who were willing to come and talk to Madeleine, and explain matters concerning men and women. There had been midwives, there had been prostitutes… but her most educational visitor had been an elderly widowed neighbour. She had outlived two husbands, and had had lovers between marriages. Enjoying her memories, perhaps boasting a little, she had told Madeleine many things which now helped her in her wish to be a good wife to Erik.

In the same matter-of-fact way, Madeleine explained such things to Annette. She spoke in general terms, not giving intimate details of her life with Erik, but passing on the knowledge which had come to her from her own and other women's experience, good and bad. Annette drank in this information, which her own mother had been too busy, or too embarrassed, to impart to her. She had always liked Madeleine, but now she began to regard her with something approaching awe, as a fount of secret knowledge.

The other staff, too, had gained more respect for Madeleine as they experienced her down-to-earth approach to life. Madeleine began to feel more confident in her role as mistress of a household. This was something she could do, make a pleasant home. Life settled more comfortably into its new pattern.

O-O-O

The day came for the grand charity concert at Notre Dame. Erik and Madeleine sat unobtrusively in the crowd, formally dressed, Erik in a flesh-textured mask. His face did not look quite normal, but nor did he look like the Phantom.

With Christine recovering from a recent injury, it had been uncertain whether she would be well enough to perform, but her name was in the programme, in a prestigious place just before the intermission. It looked like a last-minute insertion, and there was no indication of what she would sing, but they were confident that she would perform the Rainbow song which Erik had written. They waited with what patience they could muster, through the first half of the concert.

Christine walked on-stage, to great applause. Erik murmured quietly to Madeleine that she looked frail, thinner than she used to be, and she wore a wig to conceal her cut-short hair. But she drew herself up, faced the audience with a commanding presence, and began her first song, a popular Mozart aria.

Erik and Madeleine sat with hands clasped. Madeleine had felt the tension in Erik as Christine appeared, then he relaxed as she began to sing. Her voice was as fine as it had ever been, with all the beauty and skill that he had taught her. Madeleine felt tiny movements in Erik's hand as he responded to the music, and she trusted that it was only the beautiful voice which moved him. She had to believe what he had told her, that Christine as a woman no longer had power over him.

Christine acknowledged the applause for her first song, and waited for silence. As the orchestra began the introduction for the next piece, Erik audibly gasped, and for a moment his hand almost crushed Madeleine's. It took a few more bars for Madeleine to recognise it. Christine sang Aminta's aria from the first act of Don Juan Triumphant. It was a beautiful expression of artless innocence, written for stark contrast with the lies and corruption which would come later in the opera. Taken out of context, the loveliness of the song shone out like a flower freed from encroaching weeds. This time the applause was a storm. Erik sat stunned; Madeleine had to nudge him to remind him to clap, and not draw attention by failing to show appreciation.

Then Christine sang her Rainbow song, and in spite of what had gone before, it was a worthy climax to her performance. Madeleine was moved to tears by it. When it ended, the audience paid Christine the tribute of a long moment of silence, before bursting into a standing ovation.

It was the intermission. Erik pressed Madeleine's hand. "She will not sing again tonight. Her voice was tiring by the end, although I doubt if many people realised. May we go home now?"

"Yes, of course."

Erik said very little on the way home. Cab, train, cab again, and finally into their own home. In the drawing room, Erik sat down and drew Madeleine to sit in his lap, his arms round her. Finally, he spoke. "I never… never imagined she would sing anything from Don Juan Triumphant, ever again. I thought she would hate the very memory of it, as I do."

"But that song… that is the most beautiful piece of the whole opera. I remember thinking so when you wrote it, and wishing you would sing it more often. But once it was done, you set it aside, and I never heard it again, until tonight."

"I had to write it. The first act needed that expression of unspoiled happiness. But it was hard for me to do, as I was then, full of hatred and bitter jealousy. And afterwards… after what happened, I threw the whole score in the fire, and tried to forget it."

"Then you threw out the diamond with the dross, but Christine had the good sense to save the diamond." Madeleine slid out of Erik's arms and stood up. "To your desk, Maestro! If you have destroyed your only copy of that jewel, go now while it is fresh in your memory, and write it again! That song deserves a place of honour in your library."

Madeleine sat back on the sofa, dreamily recalling the evening's music, to the quiet scratching of Erik's pen. At length, he asked softly, "What are you thinking?"

"That you are a better composer now than you were then." Abruptly, she sat up. "I'm sorry, Erik. I don't know what made me say that. It's not for me to judge your music."

He came to sit by her. "And yet I would say that you are right. The audience tonight, they felt it too, although they did not know that the last two songs were by the same hand. Aminta's aria was the very best I could do – then. But Rainbow is better. It makes me think that I could do more with my music, if I really tried. I have never completed a symphony or an oratorio, when there seemed no chance that such a large composition would ever be performed. But I should do that, put my abilities to the test, regardless of what happens to the work afterwards. And on a smaller scale, there could be other challenges. Music for children, which would inspire them to learn more. Consolation for the sad, refreshment for the tired, celebration for the happy. Music has many powers which I have scarcely explored. I begin to see new doors opening."

O-O-O O-O-O