Author's Note: Once again, I'd like to add that I do not own Erik, Christine, Raoul, Poligny, etc
The Patron of the Opera – Chapter Three
"Goodness, pardon me!" Rose exclaimed as she walked right into the black shadow. "Forgive me, I didn't see you there, monsieur..." she said as the shape turned towards her; only a white mask and glowing gold eyes were visible. Over his shoulder, she could see Mme. Giry's face lose all of its color and assume a deathlike grey pallor.
Completely unsettled but refusing to show her discomfort, she fixed her face into a smile and amiably approached the two.
"I apologize for disturbing you both. I merely wished to discuss something with Mme. Giry whenever it is convenient for you, Madame. Monsieur," she extended her hand towards Erik, "I am Rose O'Connor. It was a pleasure to meet you."
Her hand had captured his shocked one and she gave it a firm shake as if she were a fellow business associate. She nodded towards Mme. Giry and turned to leave.
Mme. Giry whimpered behind Erik, fearful of a display of his wrath. If anything would've encouraged him to act politely to the Irishwoman, the whimper did - he could not bear being an object of fear to the few people for whom he had respect.
"Mademoiselle...please wait."
She turned to face him with a somewhat amazed expression, as if she did not expect to draw his attention. He swore he could hear the rapid beating of Mme. Giry's heart and worried that the poor woman would hyperventilate should she not control her panicked breathing.
'I will not prove myself to be the monster that they claim me to be...'
He composed himself and walked towards Lady O'Connor and bowed to her in what he hoped was a polite gesture.
"You have not disturbed us, mademoiselle, not at all. I was just commenting to Mme. Giry that you did a remarkable job today. If I do say so, the chorus has never sounded better on the first day."
Flattered, Rose briefly curtsied to him. "I thank you for your praise, monsieur. May I be so rude to inquire after your name?"
Erik, caught off guard, hesitated and Mme. Giry took the opportunity to step between them and started to pull Rose away from the masked opera ghost. "He's just a patron my dear, one of many. And now exactly what was that that you needed to discuss with me?"
She continued to pull on Rose's arm but before she could shepherd the girl away, Rose had turned back towards Erik and boldly asked "You are this 'O.G' fellow, aren't you?"
Mme. Giry nearly fainted and even Erik was shocked at the frankness of this woman. He recovered himself quickly and whispered in a low voice "What on earth would make you think that?" hoping that he could somehow evade discovery from this impertinent woman.
"Well," Rose began, unfazed by the strong reactions of the other two, "everywhere I turn there are people whispering about this mysterious patron who goes by the name of 'O.G.'. And then, I hear about how a patron called 'O.G.' secured me my place as the director of this opera. And most importantly, everyone was saying that O.G. would be watching the rehearsal today and as no other patrons have ever seemed to bother with first day rehearsals and you did, I deduced that it may possibly be yourself. Am I correct?"
"Let me understand something, mademoiselle. You only know this O.G. as a patron of the opera and as nothing else?" Erik asked, examining her face in search of the truth.
"Is O.G. something other than a patron, monsieur?" she countered as Erik became even more flustered. He most certainly did not wish to be discovered by this woman and did not wish to resort to violence to assure her discretion.
'All I wanted to do was to prove that I was no monster and now I might have to kill her to keep her silent...'
But she reacted quite unexpectedly to his obvious agitation as she smiled again at him and again, took his hand in hers. "Forgive me for being completely impertinent, but if you are this 'O.G.' then I am truly indebted to you and would very much like to thank you for your assistance. You have no idea how much Baron Harrington and I appreciate your time and efforts on our behalf. Enoch Ardenson would've appreciated them as well. And if you are not O.G., then I thank you again for the compliment regarding my work with the company."
Her green eyes shone with honest gratitude and with her soft hand resting in his he relented although he was positively certain that he would soon regret his actions.
"I am your 'O.G', mademoiselle and I appreciate your thanks. It is a pleasure to have such a talented composer here at this opera house."
"Oh, I'm not the composer, Monsieur O.G.; I'm merely the producer. Enoch Ardenson was the composer and I try to bring his work to life. "
"Enoch Ardenson? I confess that I was not familiar with that name when I came across the opera. Will we soon be gifted with any new compositions by this composer?" Erik questioned, hoping to shift the subject of conversation off of himself and onto what he considered to be a much safer topic.
Rose pulled her hand away and looked over Erik's shoulder for a moment before answering. She looked over at Mme. Giry, who at this point believed that she was hallucinating as she witnessed the Phantom of the Opera interact with an unknown opera patron. But when Rose's eyes again sought his, they were filled with misery and grief; the likes of which he had never thought possible from a woman so full of life such as herself. "Enoch Ardenson died nearly four years ago, monsieur. He died along with General Custer and his troops at Little Big Horn in America."
"What do you mean by saying that he was killed in battle? This composer was a soldier?" Erik asked, his golden eyes wide with surprise.
"Yes, Monsieur. He was a cavalryman and died before this work was completed. The piece was returned to me and I took it upon myself to finish his work."
"Why on earth would you have been the recipient of this piece? What possible relationship could an Irish noblewoman have had with a poverty-stricken soldier?"
"We were very close friends, monsieur, and the American army takes great pains to return the personal effects of their soldiers, especially when it is impossible to send the deceased back to their families. He had started the opera while still in New York and had much of it completed before he left. I merely had to write the final chorus scene and decide how to end the opera, though I suppose that he would've preferred it to have a happier end for the heroines."
"You expect me to believe that a common foot soldier composed this work and you just happened to be the recipient of it? I should've known that this was a farce." Erik replied coldly, believing that she was lying about the true nature of the work that he had assumed to be a legitimate piece. This was too much for Erik to believe, that the composer of this work had been little more than an uneducated soldier in the American army. He had read and studied this opera before recommending it to the managers and had formed definite opinions on the unknown composer's education and musical ability; no common cavalryman would've had the abilities to compose a piece of this magnitude. In Erik's opinion, knowing in part the dubious reputation of Baron Harrington, he did not doubt for a moment that this woman could possibly have been an accomplice to the theft of this musical masterpiece from its more deserving owner.
Rose looked back into the golden eyes behind the mask and the misery that had filled her eyes had almost instantaneously been replaced by a look of anger and defiance. She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin as she replied in a cold, cutting tone.
"To clear up the rumors before they begin, I'd like you to know that I was in fact engaged to the late Mr. Ardenson. I was not his mistress as some say and have taken it upon myself to finish and perform his opera after his death. I do hope that you have no problems with this information and you shall find that I have always acted with propriety in mind, unlike many other unsavory patrons and noblemen."
"And tell me how an Irish noblewoman such as you would have been acquainted with an American soldier? And why would this American soldier compose an opera in Russian? You must admit, mademoiselle, this story is a little hard to believe."
"His mother was from Russia although his father was an Irishman. And I lived for many years in the cities of the United States before I returned to Europe and met him in New York before he left with the army. He was my music instructor then."
"A noblewoman engaged to a teaching soldier? Impossible!" Erik exclaimed and Rose's eyes shot daggers at him as she took the comment as an insult to her late betrothed.
"Not all nobles are wealthy, monsieur, although I am certain that you may be too ignorant to be aware of that. And Enoch was one of the greatest men I've ever had the honor of knowing, regardless of his position in society. How dare you pass judgments on a man you've never known? And who are you to judge me? How dare you!"
Her voice, which had been loud as she had bullied the prima donna into submission, was now a dark whisper that lent a dangerous undertone to her words. Her eyes burned like gimlets that were set in her perfect, porcelain face. The lack of color in her cheeks gave her the appearance of an angry spirit and she moved forward in a threatening gesture.
His hand unconsciously fell upon the Punjab lasso hidden in his cloak and his fingers curled around the coils of the rope...