Chapter 28
"Get out!" I screamed, crossing my arms over my breasts, sloshing water over the tub. I moved as far away as I could get from him. How dare he just come in here while I was bathing!
His eyes reflected a pained emotion for a moment, then cleared. He didn't move away but lifted his right hand. My soap was in his palm. I grabbed it from him, avoiding touching his skin. I sunk down in the water as far as I could, turning my knees away from him. I pointed toward the door. Then realized, and pointed toward the mirror instead.
"Go!" I shrieked, my temper rising steadily. He had respect for me, no respect for my privacy. He believed this whole damned opera his domain, where he could go where he pleased. I knew that he had probably been behind the mirror many a times when I'd bathed before, but he'd never dared come into the room while I was in the act. And after his murderous rage toward me last night upon the stage, if he believed that I would willingly accept him in my room while I was in a state of undresss, he was sorely mistaken. Even though my heart was pounding at the sight of him in his flowing shirt and ungloved hands, his hair mussed as if he'd ran his fingers through it all night long, I would not make a ninny out of myself and forgive him for what he'd done and this horrendous violation of my privacy.
His face hardened, his eyes flashing and he lunged at me, tearing the soap out of my hand.
"Genevieve! You are going to have a difficult time of it washing your hair and you do not need to be submerging your head with that temple so badly swollen. You could easily have a concussion..."
"Thanks to you!" I raged at him, my eyes throwing sparks as fiercely as his. I kept myself covered with my right arm and reached for my soap, but he held it out of my grasp.
"You do not," he growled, his expression turning murderous, "need to be submerging your head underwater. You will let me wash your hair for you and I will hold you down to rinse the lather out." He dipped his hand into the water, dampening the soap and began to roll it between his hands, creating a thick lather. I stared at him incredulously.
He expected me to accept his aid after nearly killing me? He was mad!
"I will not let you wash my hair! I can manage on my own perfectly well. I don't need your meaningless assistance!" I turned away from him, looking into the mirror, my breathing becoming harsh with my anger and my sorrow. In the reflection of ourselves, I watched as he closed his eyes and breathed deeply, then reached for my shoulder, his soapy hand curving about mythroat and turning me toward him gently but firmly. I resisted.
"Genevieve. Please. I won't be able to live with myself if I know that you fall unconcious in this water and drown, which is a very real possibility..."
I turned to him, and stared coldly at him.
"I know not how you live with yourself as it stands."
If I could have taken it back, I would have. But once the words had left my mouth, there was nothing I could do. I didn't even think about the fact that he might mistake my comment for being one about his deformity. The pain that overcame his beautiful eyes made me feel that I was a wretched creature, indeed.
He made to stood, his throat working, but I reached up and took his hand.
He looked down at me, his hair hanging over his mask slightly.
"Please. Come back, Erik. I didn't mean it as such. I only spoke of your violence last night." I pleaded with my eyes. I would never insult him for his disfigurement which he had no control over.
He nodded tightly and sunk back down beside me.
I was still for a moment, then finally I reached with one hand and pulled my wet hair over one shoulder and slid close to him beside the tub.
"This does not mean I am no longer angry with you, I want you to realize."
If only my voice could reflect the strength of my feelings.
He reached for my hair and began working his hands through the heavy, wet mass, the sounds of the lather spreading through the curls the onlysound in the room besides my clock.
His hands were gentle, massaging my scalp lightly, being very tender over my right temple and my face. I had never had my hair washed by a man or had any of my toilet assisted by a one. Armand would have never lowered himself to the role of servant: my maids had always aided me if I was injured and couldn't bathe myself.
Each time his bare fingers brushed my skin, I shivered slightly. My traitorous body wanted nothing more than to have him join me in the tub. I felt myself flush at the images that were conjured in my head. Our damp bodies moving togetherslowly, the water sloshing overthe side...No! Thankfully, he was behind me and could not see the scarlet staining my cheeks. I did not want him to get the impression that I would willingly forego my anger and submit to his touches again.
I felt his hands leave my hair and they slid up my back to cup my shoulders.
"Lean back," he murmured in my ear.
Keeping my hands firmly across my chest, I did as he said, one of his hands coming under my back, the other staying on my left shoulder and he lowered my head back into the water and worked his fingers through the strands, rinsing out the soap.
When he finished and quietly told me to sit back up, I obeyed, watching him over my shoulder ashe stood, then went to my bed, and lifted my dressing gown off the coverlet and came back to me and held it open for me to step into. I felt my cheeks grow warm.
"Please turn your head," I asked, turning my legs in the tub to stand up. He sighed, and turned his head, closing his eyes. I braced a hand on the side of the tub and stood, dripping the cooling water everywhere, shivering, and stepped into the robe he held out. He shifted his hold on it as I slipped my arms into the sleeves. His arms came around me frombehind as he closed the dressing gown over my waist. I waited with baited breath for him to remove them from around me, but he tied the sash for me, then stepped closer. My eyes sank closed as his arms tightened about me, his right hand on my left hip, his left coming up and closing about my right shoulder. He buried his face into the crook where my shoulders and throat met, breathing deeply. I felt his entire body tense.
"You have to leave now," I whispered. "Madame Giry will be here soon to check upon me."
We both knew that her impending presence was not the only reason he needed to go.
"I never..." he whispered into my throat, "I didn't...Genn...I didn't think when I..."
I pulled away from him pushing my damp hair out of my face, and walking towards the bed and sitting, staring at my bath wrinkled fingers. I wanted so badly for him to continue holding me. It was a precious contact that I had grown to love over the last days until last night, but I couldn't do it.
"No, you didn't think, Erik." I said quietly. "Now, you must go. Thank you for washing my hair. I assure you I'll be fine."
I didn't look up as he silently left.
That evening after I taken a nap in my dressing gown for a couple of hours, I rose finally and dressed. I decided to wear my dark green velvet skirts and black chiffon blouse over laid with a velvet fitted jacket of the same forest color that I'd found in the costume room discarded underneath a pile of old garments no longer worn. I'd taken the piece and stitched in roses along the lapels and the flare of the hem in black glistening thread. It would do nicely for a evening ensemble to wear to the performance, the dinner and the garden walk afterwards. A perfect, conservative piece for a spinster seamstress withscant funds. Very unlikely to draw attention. I coiled my hair up into an elaborate chignon and secured it with some pins I'd added black beads to for decoration.
Madame Giry had brought me some stage paint to cover the bruises. The steam of my bath water had caused the swelling to go down a great deal and I now only looked slightly off kilter. I carefully applied the paint until my skin was only slightly darker in shade over the damaged side of my face. It wouldn't be noticeable unless someone called attention to it. My headache had diminished some, though if I moved too fast, the room would spin.
Donning my spectacles, gathering my reticule, and fetching my cloak, I left the room to head for Box Four, where I was to meet the Chagnys and Meg for the performance.
They were already seated when I quietly closed the door to the box behind me. Meg turned, looking radiant and enticing, but tastefully so, in her new gown. Her smooth golden hair was piled high in an elaborate coiffure, a mint ribbon threaded throughout. I smiled at her and kissedthe cheek that she offered. She nearly returned the gesture on my bruised side, but then thought better of it and kissed my left instead.
"Meg, you look stunning, dear. I do think you made the right choice in that particular gown." I squeezed her gloved hand. She smiled brightly and fingered the stitched roses on my jacket.
"Did you do that?" she asked. "I remember that jacket, I wore it once."
I looked down at the black stitching.
"Yes, I'm afraid I didn't have anything more suitable to wear, so I improvised."
"Well, the result is lovely." I looked up at Christine's voice as she came toward me and took my hands, kissing my uninjured cheek. "I have some rather plain gowns and jackets that I do love, but they're so ordinary. Perhaps I can bring them to you and you can think something up?" She lifted her brows questioningly.
I nodded and agreed that she would have to bring them to the costume department one morning and let me have a go at them. I studiedthe gown she wore tonight. It certainly didn't lack for any embellishment. It was an off the shoulder piece, with small, elaborately ruched sleeves across her arms and a scooped neckline. In a rich hue of sapphire, it set off her dark curls piled high and her rose tinted cheeks perfectly, providing an elegant frame for her delicate white throat and shoulders. She wore a tasteful necklace of sapphires of the same dark color, and her hair was adorned by a strand of the same jewels. Her face was positively radiant: pregnancy suited her well.
"I do hope we find you feeling better, Mademoiselle Devereaux?" I turned to Raoul, who was turned out perfectly in black superfine, his cravat snowy white to match the satin brocade waistcoat he wore. His hair was tied back in black satin que.
He took my hand and bowed very correctly over it.
"Thank you, my lord, for your concern. I do feel much more the thing tonight. My head still spins a bit, but otherwise I am much improved."
He offered his arm and guided me to a seat in front, then lead Meg and Christine to sit on either side of me. He took my cloak and reticule and placed them upon a small round table in the corner of the box along with the other two ladies' belongings, then seated himself behind us. Christine was a very lucky young woman. To find a handsome, young nobleman who also conducted himself as a true gentleman ought to was very rare. So often in men of the higher class, one encountered much gloss and polish over an undesirable true character. Raoul de Chagny was not one of these.
We assumed our seats just in time. The auditorium fell dark and the curtains swept open, revealinga forest set against a moonlit sky.
Beside me Meg sighed happily and placed her hand through my arm.
"It is so very nice to watch for once and not perform. And I can pick on the others tommorow about how abominable their performance was." She snickered.
Christine turned to her and they began whispering about their days as dancers together, about which girl was the worst on her feet and which had only acheived their solos by prancing about privately for the managers and patrons.
I turned back to the stage and simply enjoyed the sights and sounds. The Opera had never been enjoyed upon the arm of Armand for his constant pandering and socializing. My parents had seldom gone and when they did, I was often towed after them to meet marriageable sons. This was truly the first time that I would be able to enjoy an opera in its entirety.
I found myself scooting to the edge of my seat and crossing my arms upon the edge of the box, resting my head upon them. Behind me I heard Raoul chuckle at me and I turned back with an embarassed smile for him. He grinned and gestured for me to turn back and enjoy. I laughed softly and turned once more to the performance.
Beside me I thought I heard a low growl of anger, but it must have been my imagination.
The perfomance ended and I shook myself out of my enchantment and returned to reality.
Meg and Christine were chatting happily and retrieving their cloaks and reticules. I stood, and stretched slightly, momentarily holding my temple as the box spun just a bit. Raoul came to me quickly and offered his arm. I took it with a grateful smile and we exited the box.
I heard the low angry sound once again, and knew it wasn't my imagination.
Throughtout dinner as we chatted and dined, I thought about that growl. Erik must have been hiding in the pillar beside of us, which I knew also connected to Box Five, which had been let out tonight. But had he been furious at Christine in the presence of Raoul and looking as heartrendingly lovely as she had, or at me for smiling and treating Raoul kindly and he I. Would he be waiting in my room tonight, once more the vengeful master come to punish his chosen slave?
But I found I could not dwell upon it long as my three companions claimed my attention and asked me about the chance of myself assuming the position of Madame Lefevere when she retired.
"We've discussed it," I said, placing my salad fork down. "Her hands are beginning to ail her from age and such tedious sewing, and she's mentioned several times that I might soon have to assume her duties for her."
"Would you be interested in such an elevation?" Christine asked me, taking a bite of her salad.
I nodded and picked my fork back up and speared a toasted crouton. "Very much so. I absolutely relish the work. Madame has given me a great deal of responsibility already. She all but handed Le Baudelaire to me except for the finaldesign and even thenshe only changed a slight number of things." I ate the crouton, enjoying the rich buttery garlic flavor. I hadn't had food this delicious since my marriage had ended. At first I'd declined their invitation for dinner, but Raoul had insisted, saying that Meg and I were taken care of.
"Has she discussed any plans forthe new costumes for Aida yet?" Meg asked, taking a sip of her wine.
"Yes, she insists that she wants me to have full license for Aida. The Opera hasn't performed Aida in quite some time, apparently, and needs all new costumes. Something very rich and colorful, I think. A lot of golds, burgundies, and greens." I had yet to start sketching but the ideas were already blooming to life in my mind.
The waiter appeared beside us and asked if we had finished with our first course of soup and salad. We agreed and he took our plates and bowls with a promise that our meals would be on the table shortly.
We were sitting in a private box of the restaurant, much to my relief. A great deal of the patrons at the tables were familiars of mine. I doubted any of them would recognize me dressed as I was with my hair so tightly bound and spectacles on my face, but never the less, being out of their sight was a comfort.
The waiter returned shortly andset a covered plate in front of me, then removed the silver cover with a flourish, revealing adish of steamed, flaky salmon, small red potatoes glistening with butter and spices and a pile of brightly colored sauteed asparagus. I leaned over and inhaled and nearly moaned at the wonderful smell.
Across the table Raoul chuckled at my obvious delight in the food. "Well, I'm glad to see your appetite has returned. I imagine you could not eat for quite a while after striking your head so hard."
"No, I couldn't. It was a chore trying to finish the juice and croissant that Madame Giry brought up to me this morning. This is the first real meal I've had all day." I eagerly cut into the fish, which fell apart at the first touch of my fork, and ate a small piece. This time, I wasn't able to restrain my eyes sliding closed and purring in ecstacy at the wonderful flavor of the impeccably cooked salmon.
Christine giggled and patted my hand. "My, you are a responsive woman, aren't you? I never believed it under that oh-so-conservative exterior."
I met her eyes and blushed.
"You've no idea."
The walk in the moonlit gardens of the Jardin de Tuilleres was chilly, but beautiful.
Christine and Raoul walked ahead of us, arm in arm, he in a long, elegant black coat with a white scarf about his shoulders, she in a fur lined velvet cloak in a deep shade of wine. I had the hood of my cloak pulled over my face as far as it would go, hiding the right side which had begun to show black and blue again as the paint faded and wore off. Meg walked beside of me, in a deep green cape that she'd borrowed from the costume department, a simple muff over her hands. I'd pulled on my black wool gloves over my mineto shield them from the cold.
Our breath plumed on the night air, forming clouds in front of our faces. The gardens lay silent about us, the mechanical swans swimming soundlessly on the black lake. I had been here many a time in the daylight, but never at night. The garden was beautiful in a completely different way with the moon gilding all the lawns, trees, and lake.
Raoul and Christine were chatting quietly, their voices low and murmuring back to us. He bent and kissed her cheek under her hood and she laughed and leaned into him.
I turned to Meg. "They're so very much in love, aren't they?" I whispered. Meg sighed wistfully.
"Oh, yes. I am so envious of her. She's such a lucky chit, having a vicomte as a husband. She has everything she wants." She stared longlingly at the rich velvet of Christine's cloak.
I studied her face in the moonlight. She seemed to be a great deal more enamored of the thought of riches over love. I felt I had to warn her, knowing what marrying for wealth usually guaranteed a woman, though certainly not in Christine's case.
"Wealth is not everything, Meg. It can't guarantee that you will be treated well or loved. Or that your spouse will be faithful to you. All it will guarantee is comfort and a well appointed roof over your head." I gazed out at the lake. "I would choose to be loved over being rich. At the end of day, gold cannot hold you, cannot whisper in your ear of longing, cannot comfort you and bring you relief." I fell silent, thinking of the sensation of Erik's arms around me that morning.
"Are you in love with someone, Genevieve?" Meg asked the question innocently enough, but I felt my breath catch in my throat.
I didn't speak for a while, our footsteps echoing quietly upon the cobblestones.
"I think that I am. But my feelings are not returned. Nor will they be." I blinked back the hot tears that threatened to fall. Would it ever stop hurting?
"Is he in love with another woman?"
"Yes, one infinitely more beautiful and more deserving of his affections than I am. He loves her with absolute devotion that I'll never overcome." I didn't dare try.
"I'm so sorry, Genevieve." She slipped her arm through mine. "I've never been in love so I do not pretend to know what you are going through. I imagine that loving someone and not having them love you back is very painful."
I sighed, nodding, watching my boots as they peeked from beneath my skirts every step.
"The poor Phantom of the Opera," she whispered.
My head whipped up, staring at her. Did she know!
She looked startled at my aghast expression. "Is something wrong?"
I shook my head, feeling a bit foolish. "No, I just haven't heard that name mentioned in quite a while."
"Christine told me how he had looked at her that night when she left with Raoul, after she gave him her engagement ring to remember her by. She cried so hard when she spoke about the hope that had come across his face when she returned to give it to him, before he knew she meant to leave him again. He loved her a great deal apparently. He cried, she said. I didn't think it possible to feel sorry for so wicked a man, but I did, when she told me that."
We were silent once more. I turned away for several long moments, willing the night air to dry the tears on my cheeks.
The evening ended pleasantly with a ride in Raoul's elegant barouche back to the Opera House to return Meg and I. We said our goodbyes on the steps and the dancer and I parted company to go to our seperate wings.
I unlocked my room and slipped quietly inside. The room was in utter darkness and was freezing. I sighed and made my way to my dresser to turn up my small lamp.
I was grabbed harshly and spun around, slamming into a solid body. I gasped and raised my hands to defend myself, but they were grasped tightly by gloved hands and I was pushed into the wall, my head thumping slightly.
I heard the distinctive sound of palms slapping the wall on either side of my head. The smell of spice and candlesmoke wreathed my senses.
"Did you enjoy your little evening, my dear?"
I had been correct. He was waiting for me.
