Chapter 3
Carlynda read the newspaper the moment it arrived. She was beyond relieved to see her name wasn't inside, anywhere. A little calmer, she set the paper on the table for Madame Giry before heading off to her café.
Madame Giry was beyond angry when the girls had walked in last night. Meg felt the brunt of her mother's ire because there really wasn't much Madame Giry could do about Carlynda. Not only was Carlynda of age to make her own choices, but she also wasn't Madame Giry's daughter. However, the older woman did dig into her for getting her daughter into such a situation as walking home at night by themselves. Carlynda really did feel ashamed. Madame Giry had been very kind to her the past few years and was even allowing her to live with them. The least Carlynda could do was be a good influence for Meg and watch out for her. She felt like she failed her duty by losing track of time and spending a stolen moment with Monsieur Geroux, not that that was entirely her choice.
Carlynda worked the day away with a plastered smile on her face, but as the time clicked closer to the delivery of the evening paper, she felt her heart racing nervously. What if her name appeared in the evening paper?
When the evening paper came out, she asked the first person she saw with it if she could look at it. She was beyond relieved when she didn't see her name at all. There was barely any mention of the opera house, just this small article to inform the public when construction was predicated to be finished, which was as soon as a month.
She stood there, holding the paper in amazement. "How did he do it so quickly?" she whispered to herself in wonder. She didn't think he would be able to stop them from putting her name in the paper when he only had a few hours to stop it.
Right after closing time, she locked up the place and went straight to the opera house. She paused across the street, knowing she couldn't just walk in. It was still early enough for the construction workers to be still there. They were just finishing up for the day, as they could only work with the light of day and it was fading into sunset. She bit her lip in thought. She didn't really want to stand there until they have gone. What if Monsieur Geroux wasn't there? Madame Giry seemed to be in the belief that he basically lived and breathed the opera house, but surely he had a home close by. He couldn't spend all of his time at the opera house, could he? However, he did tell her that he would look over everything the construction crew did right after they left.
To pass time, Carlynda walked over to the jewelry shop window. She frowned in disappointment when she found the necklace was no longer on display. Curiously, she walked into the shop. The owner was cleaning the top of his counter, but looked up when she entered. He was an older man with a friendly face. He smiled at her. "Ah, customer. You made it just in time. I was just about to close shop for the night."
She returned the smile. "It's a bit early, isn't it? You were open quiet late last night." She leaned forward on the now clean counter.
"Yes, well, good thing about owning the place. I choose when to close. My granddaughter came into town this afternoon. I'm off to see her," he answered with an excited gleam in his eye.
"Oh, sorry. I promise I won't take long." She leaned back. "I was just wondering. Yesterday, you had a necklace at the display window up front. It was a green teardrop pendant."
"Oh, that," the elderly man said with a slight frown. "I am very sorry to say, mademoiselle, that was…umm…sold," he answered with a questioning look on his face. His bushy white eyebrows narrowed in question and his head tilted slightly to the left, as if he wasn't sure that was the word he wanted to use. "It was sold last night."
"Last night?" she questioned. "But when I walked by your shop last night, monsieur. It was still there. You were closing for the night. I saw you through the window packing all the jewelry away. Was it stolen?"
"No, mademoiselle, not really. Someone paid for it, more than it was worth, actually. It just happened after hours." He huffed as if frustrated, but she was sure it was the situation and not her questioning that frustrated him. Who wouldn't be a little upset to learn someone could break in at any time and take expensive jewelry?
"Someone broke in and took the necklace, but left money in its place?" she clarified.
The elderly man nodded. "The only reason I didn't get the police involved. I don't even know if it would be called a theft, if the thief paid for it."
She chuckled and shook her head. "I'm not sure either. Anyway, thank you for your time, monsieur."
"Sorry, I couldn't help you, mademoiselle."
Feeling disappointed, she left the shop owner in peace to finish closing for the day. She didn't know what she would have done had he had the necklace. It wasn't like she was able to pay for it.
By the time she made it back to the Opera House, the workers had all left. She walked up to the door and wasn't surprised to find it locked. She stood there for a second, wondering if she should just turn back or knock. She raised her hand up to the door and hit her fist against it. "Monsieur?" she called. "Are you there, monsieur?" She knocked again, a little harder. "Monsieur?" She waited for a minute before sighing in disappointment.
Just before she was about to walk away, the she heard the familiar clicking sound of the lock turning. She smiled in relief before pushing the door open and walking in, closing the door behind her. The inside was dark. The windows must have been covered for the very little light left from the last few minutes of day didn't penetrate through the windows. "Monsieur?"
"Is this going to be a nightly occurrence, mademoiselle?" His voice came from beside her and she turned to face him in the darkness.
She smiled when she heard his amusement in his voice. "I'm sorry, monsieur, to bother you."
"I never said it was a bother," he interrupted.
She bit her lower lip, trying to keep back another smile. "I…I just wanted to thank you. I don't know how you did in such short notice, but my name did not appear in the paper today and I thank you for it."
"Yes, Monsieur Debree was very apologetic when I saw him last. I don't believe he would be a problem again. He had decided a country life would suite him better."
"A country life," she said dreamily. "I dream of a country life. I wouldn't mind a life away from the sounds and smells of the city. Some place miles from the closest town, away from people. Of course I'll have a small cabin, nothing too fancy, but modest, with flowers and horses." She bit her lower lip and felt her face warm up. "Sorry, monsieur. You don't want to hear that."
"What would you do?"
"Pardon?"
"With your country life. What would you do there?"
"Oh, well, I…" She paused in thought, surprised by his curiosity into her dreams.
His fingers touched the back of her hand, hesitantly. "Come. Let's sit." She turned her hand and willingly allowed him to take it. He led her into the darkness. "Careful, mademoiselle. The workers left their tools lying around the room. Careless, very careless of them." His tone suggested repercussions for their carelessness.
"Carlynda. Carlynda McBeth."
"Pardon? Watch yourself," he added leading her to the side to avoid a hidden obstacle.
"My name, monsieur. I just realized we never fully introduced ourselves." She waited to hear him introduce himself, but there was only silence on his end.
"We reached the stairs. If you don't mind sitting on the steps. I don't believe there are any chairs in this room."
She reached out her foot and felt the rise of the first step. She carefully lowered herself down as she said, teasingly, "You able to see in the dark, Monsieur Geroux?" She purposely used his last name to remind him he had yet to give her his name.
She heard the rustle of his clothes, then felt his presence beside her. "No, Mademoiselle McBeth, but I do have better eyesight in the dark then others."
It didn't fail her that he didn't introduce. He either didn't catch her little nudge or he simply ignored it. She was leaning towards the latter.
"What would you do with a country life, mademoiselle?"
"You may call me Carlynda, monsieur. I believe it's less of a mouthful," she said with a chuckle. "And why are you so curious about my dreams? That's all they are and will ever be—dreams."
"Can't I ask simply to satisfy my curiosity? Must there be a reason?"
Carlynda chuckled again and she was reminded about something Madame Giry had once said years ago. She told her he had almost a child-like need for company. Was this it then? Was he just asking questions to keep her around for companionship? If so, she was all too willing to let him. No one should feel lonely. Loneliness could lead to dark thoughts and deeds. It was part of the reason for her situation several years ago.
"And why, I must ask, mademoiselle, are you avoiding answering my question?" His voice sounded closer to her and amused. She could almost imagine a smile tugging at his lips and wished she knew what he looked like to picture it more clearly.
She gave a half-amused gasped. "Avoiding? I'm not avoiding the question. What makes you think I am?"
"The lack of an answer is a dead giveaway."
She turned her head to face the direction his voice was coming from. "And what makes you think I will tell you my dreams. I do, after all, barely know you, monsieur. You might laugh at my dreams. They are pretty silly."
"No dreams are silly as long as you keep in mind some dreams are impossible." There was something in his tone that suggest experience with impossible dreams, a deep sadness, a hidden pain.
To distract him from his forlorn thoughts, she kept her voice light as she spoke, as if she didn't noticed the turn in his mood. "If I tell you one of my deep dreams, then it is only fair if you tell me one of yours." She pointed a stern figure in his general direction and narrowed her eyes. "And you can't tell me it's to see this opera house at its most wondrous because that is obvious to me that is one of your dreams. Tell me a dream I don't already know, but something interesting and current. I don't want a boyish fantasy of wanting his own pony when he was seven. Do we have a bargain, Monsieur Geroux?"
She heard him move and suddenly felt his breath against her cheek and she could feel the heat of his body against her side. "You drive a hard bargain, Carlynda." He whispered her name like he was caressing the petals of a rose, gentle and soft, like any roughness would tear it apart.
Her heart began to beat wildly and her face heated up like it was suddenly on fire. She backed away slightly as something occurred to her. Was she being coquettish? And was he actually responding to her flirtation? She hadn't even realize she knew how to flirt.
He leaned back. "But I accept your terms."
She took a second to calm her heart and collect her thoughts. She smiled teasingly and stood up. "Tomorrow night, monsieur."
"Pardon?" She heard his movements as he stood.
"Tomorrow night I'll tell you, but right now I should go before it gets even later." She really shouldn't be encouraging late night meetings with a man. It was not proper and she was raised upon proper etiquette.
"Until then, mademoiselle." He reached for her hand, this time he wasn't timid about it. He was growing confident, she realized. He raised her hand up and she felt something warm touch the back of her hand and send tingles up her skin. It was brief, but it got her heart pounding again. He had kissed the back of her hand. "Come. I'll lead you back to the door."
Once they reached the door, she opened it, but paused before leaving. She turned to face his general direction. She could now see his outlined figure standing rather close beside her. "You have gotten quite bold, Monsieur Geroux," she teased with a hint of a smile. "Most may consider it unwise to return."
He seemed to lean slightly closer to her, his body towering over her shorter form. "So I have," he said, disregarding her second statement. "The question is, mademoiselle, are you worth it?"
His question caught her off guard. With the unwanted memories of her past at the forefront of her mind, she shook her head and stumbled over her words. "I…well, no…no, I don't think I am." She glanced at his silhouette figure from beneath her eyelashes.
There was a second of silence before he said, "I'll be the judge of that." He took a step back and bowed. "Goodnight, mademoiselle."
Feeling breathless, she returned his goodnight and walked into the night air. Once again, on the walk home, she swore she heard someone following her in the shadows, but, once again, she made it safely back to Madame Giry's home without incidence.
The next night, Carlynda went straight to the opera house after work and waited for the workers to leave for the night before trying the door of the building. She wasn't too unsurprised to find the door unlocked this time. She slipped quietly in, closing the door behind her. "Monsieur?" She glanced around, but couldn't see anything. There was a light on somewhere down a corridor beside the staircase, but it wasn't enough for her to see the entrance hall clearly.
"Mademoiselle McBeth."
She jumped at the sound of his voice close to her ear. She raised her hand to her beating heart. "You, monsieur, know how to frighten a lady." She turned to face the direction his voice came from.
There was a chuckle, this time from behind her. She spun around as she was reminded about that night all those years ago. Monsieur Geroux hadn't been the only voice she heard that night. There were the whispers. How could she have forgotten about the whispers? She seemed to have forgotten all about them the moment they stopped. No, not forgotten, but pushed them aside to deal with the more pressing issue and never thought to think of them again.
"I must apologize for frightening you, mademoiselle." His voice was now in front of her, completely unaware of her momentary elapse into the past. "It's hard to break habit. Come. I'll lead you back to the staircase to sit."
He took her hand without hesitation again. She smiled as he led her. "Did the workers leave their tools out again, Monsieur Geroux?"
She heard a chuckle in front of her. "No. I made sure they knew how pleased I was."
She let out a chuckle at his obvious sarcasm. "I do hope you weren't too hard on them."
"Watch your step, mademoiselle. We made it to the stairs."
Like last time, Carlynda used her foot to find the first step before lowering herself down. Monsieur Geroux sat beside her, his body heat warming her instantly. She started to lean closer to him before forcing herself to stop. For, despite her strangely flirtatious nature she had around him, she did barely know him.
"Your dream, mademoiselle?"
She let out a short laugh in amusement. "You really want to hear about my dream, don't you, monsieur?"
"And you, mademoiselle," he said with obvious amusement as well, "are determine not to tell me."
She leaned back on the staircase and raised her arm to cushion her head on the third step. The edges of the other steps dug into her back, but not uncomfortably so. She stared up at the darkness above her. "I suppose, I should say my dream is typical," she started.
She heard him move, but couldn't tell what position he moved into, not until he spoke. "How so?" His voice was close to her ear and she knew he had followed her example and leaned back against the stairs, but, instead of facing the darkened ceiling, he was facing her.
"I want to marry." Her faced heated up. "Have children with my husband, who I love and who loves me." Her cheeks were on fire. "We would live in a cabin an hour walk from any village. I would have a little garden with flowers, just flowers, and horses. Two, maybe three, horses. I would tend to the house and children, of course, but my husband would respect any advice I give him with his work. I would to be equal with him, not a possession in his eyes." She smiled dreamily. "I guess that's what I truly, deeply dream about, a husband who loves me and sees me as having equal standing to him and not a possession to use as he pleased. He wouldn't condemn me for my past and he would love his children as much as I will. I want a happy family." She glanced to the side, away from him, embarrassed from her own dreams. "As I said, silly and typical and just a dream. One of those impossible dreams you've mentioned last time."
There was silence for a minute and in that silence she firmly believed he was trying to gently tell her she was right, silly and impossible.
"That is not a silly dream," he finally said. "Nor do I see how it is impossible for you."
She turned her head to him. "Do you not remember how we met, monsieur? What man wants a spoiled woman? It is a foolish dream."
"If he loves you, it wouldn't matter." There was something deeper in his statement. She sensed it, but couldn't pick up what it was.
"Are you the type that believes love conquers all?" she asked almost bitterly.
"No," he answered simply. "I'm the type who would like to believe that, but circumstance and experience taught me otherwise."
"But you believed it will for me?"
"I don't see you as flawed or completely broken. I don't see why some lucky man would not be able to look pass your past."
"You don't know your own gender, then, monsieur. I am unmarriageable, used, and spoiled. I am going into my late twenties now, making me a spinster on top of being used. No man wants a wife like that.
"So, monsieur," she said, quickly changing the subject, "what about your dream? We did have a bargain."
"So we did."
She waited, but he didn't say anything. She shifted to face him, the edge of the stairs now digging her into her side. "Well, monsieur?" she urged.
"My dream is not so dissimilar to yours. I, too, would like a spouse to see me as me and not what I've done in the past, not my…" he paused before changing his sentence, "I want her to love me despite everything. I would love to have a true family. That is something I have never experienced with before. Unlike you, however, my dream is impossible. I've tried and failed. People are too vain to deal with someone like me."
"That doesn't sound impossible to me."
"That is because you are innocent to all I've done. You know nothing of it and of my fa…I am not pleasing to women. There are things about me that you don't know and I don't ever want you to know. Things that will frighten you. It makes it very improbable for me to find a wife."
"Improbable is not impossible, monsieur."
"If you are going to say that, mademoiselle, then I'm going to have to say it back to you. Improbable is not impossible. Your dreams are possible."
She grinned gravely. "Look at that, two of us doomed to be spinsters. Broken and filled with improbable dreams," she said, stressing the word 'improbable'. It was, after all, better then impossible. "What are we going to do?" She gave out a chuckle that lacked humor.
She felt him lean closer to her, felt his breath on her lips. She froze, but her body heated at his close proximity. "I'm sure we can find something to do with our lonely situation. It's never too late to find comfort with someone who shares the same…"
She perked up. "Late? Oh dear." She quickly stood. "How long have I been here?" She heard him sigh before standing as well. "I need to return home before it gets too late."
He led her to the door where they exchanged pleasantries. Just as she was about to walk out, he stopped her with a hand on her arm. She turned back, but he kept himself hidden from the streetlamp lights. "Are you returning tomorrow night? Should I leave the door unlocked?" He asked softly, as if afraid she wouldn't.
"I…I don't know. I really shouldn't." He slowly let go of her arm and took a step back, farther into the darkness surrounding him. "I might," she quickly deflected. "I said I shouldn't, not that I won't."
"Then the door will be unlocked for you. Just in case."
She smiled before leaving. This time, she wasn't sure if someone followed her home that night. She didn't hear anything this time, but she swore she felt someone watching her. However, she did return home unharmed. And the next night, she found herself back at the Opera House.
Honestly though, who doesn't dream of love?
Anyway, please review!
