Author's Note: Erik and Co. ain't mine…but the rest of the fellows are!
The Patron of the Opera – Chapter Five
Baron William Harrington was truly enjoying his stay in Paris, city of lights, love, and lust. He spent his days indulging himself in the luxuries of noble life; the late morning lie-ins, breakfasts in bed, and warm bubble baths were a necessary part of the nobleman's life given the late evenings filled with entertainment ranging from the most refined art displays to the most debauched drunken revelries. At the moment, he was stretched out in a bubble bath heated to his favorite temperature while his manservant shaved away his beard and shaped his blond mustache.
Normally he considered this to be the most relaxing part of his day, but this morning he was unable to shake the feeling that he had forgotten something horribly important.
"Tell me, Jacques, did Mrs. Ottenburg wake Lady O'Connor this morning?"
The small manservant swallowed uncomfortably and brought his razor to the stubble on the baron's neck. "I believe, my lord, that Lady O'Connor did not return to the estate last evening."
"What!" the baron shot up in the tub, barely missing the shaving blade with his throat. "She didn't even send word and stayed there un-chaperoned?"
"I believe, my lord, that she did send a message but you had already left for the evening..."
Sighing and shaking his head sadly, William muttered "Damn this to hell, Jacques. I honestly don't know how much longer I can bear with this."
"Forgive me for saying this, my lord, but you do encourage her. Perhaps if you refused..."
"How could I refuse her this, Jacques? I cannot refuse her something so small that makes her so happy. I couldn't bear to deny her anything."
"But, sir, she is crazed with determination! She is more in love with a dead man and his music than she is with you and..."
"You forget your place, Jacques!" William slammed his fist down on the porcelain of the tub.
"Sir, you hated Ardenson and the woman you desire is in love with him!"
"Damn you, Jacques! Damn you!" The baron stood up in the bath, water splashing all over the polished tile floor. The manservant stumbled to the door, eyes wide with fear as the baron threw the glass soap dish at the wall above his head. Shards flew in all directions, embedding themselves in the walls and doorframe.
"Get out of my sight this instant!" The manservant rushed from the chamber as William stood with the water running off of his body. He stood there until his breathing had calmed and then sat back into the tub and let the water relax his shaking limbs.
'Damn him for reminding me...' he thought bitterly as he let the water soak into his hair. But Jacques was right; he had loathed Ardenson from the first day that he had met him. He had been visiting a then 17 year old Rose in New York when he was introduced to her music professor. Even then, he had considered Ardenson to be a lecherous old man with inappropriate designs on a young woman of beauty and breeding who was nearly half of his age.
It pained him horribly to acknowledge that Rose, the woman who he adored, was in love with such a monster and that he was forced to watch as she repeatedly went to extreme lengths to keep his memory alive.
But the pain was not enough to stop him from financing each of her projects, for each time she completed one of the productions, she became more of the person she had been before she had lost her heart to Ardenson.
After he was pronounced dead, Rose had sunk into a depression that had lasted for weeks during which she refused all visitors, even himself. The only thing which had aroused her from her apathy was the arrival of Ardenson's personal effects which had included his unfinished opera.
What she did not know was that the only reason why she had received anything other than the telegram was solely due to William's efforts on her behalf. Upon hearing about the death of her fiancé, he had rushed to her side only to be sent away after she sealed herself up hermetically in her tiny room in a lower-class boarding house in New York. Anxious to help her, he had taken it upon himself to travel from New York to the unmapped country of Montana where, using multiple monetary bribes, he was able to locate the remnants of the regiment in which Ardenson had been a soldier.
He had cringed at the fate that had befallen his rival when he learned that not a soldier had survived the massacre. Upon hearing that the soldiers' remains had been mutilated by the natives due to their religious beliefs, he had been disheartened by this turn of events; he had sorely wished to be able to return to Rose the body of her beloved, but he dared not given the state of the corpse.
Instead, he had found Rose's salvation in a wounded man in the camp by the name of Gregory Simmons. Simmons had ridden as a scout along with Ardenson and Custer's Indian scouts, but instead of death, had been captured and brutally tortured by the savages. He had been rescued by Reno's men when they regrouped their forces and was still recovering when William came to him seeking any information regarding the unfortunate Enoch Ardenson.
Three years prior...
William walked into the sweltering hospital tent where several men writhed on their pallets in agony as flies and mosquitoes swarmed about them. He looked around for one of the men who seemed calmer than the rest and asked him about a Lt. Enoch Ardenson. The corporal had rolled his eyes at the request and motioned with his free arm, his other being held in a sling, towards a bed at the end of the tent. William had gone to the bed and saw a man lying there with bandages covering most of his body. The man was staring at pieces of a broken mirror on the floor when he caught the reflection of the British nobleman behind him and swiftly turned his bandaged head to face him.
"What do you want? The man rasped through his bandages. His voice, though muffled by the bandages, was sloppy and inarticulate as though he were missing parts of his mouth. William refused to be shocked by this and forced down the feelings of disgust that had risen as he examined the broken man on the bed. "I am looking for information on a Lt. Enoch Ardenson. I was told that you might have some answers."
"Ardenson is dead. There should have been a telegram to that effect sent out weeks ago." the man slowly spoke, as if forcing himself to pronounce each word as clearly as he possibly could. William could not help but cringe when he thought of what possible injury lay behind the bandages. Pressing on for her sake, he stated "There was a telegram sent to Ardenson's fiancée. I come on her behalf."
At this, the man's black eyes widened behind the bandages and he forced himself to sit up against the pillow of his hospital bed. "What about her?" he asked in the same slow, painful voice. "Is she well? Is she alright?"
William looked away briefly from the soldier, fighting the instinctual impulse to answer that 'all was well in the world' that he normally fed to people in every situation. Meeting the eyes of the other man, he sadly admitted "She has shut herself away from society. Nothing and no one can comfort her. She has been in mourning ever since the telegram arrived and refuses to see anyone, even an old family friend such as myself. I am quite worried about her health; she is not herself."
Concern flashed across the eyes of the soldier and he looked at William as if about to say something. As he lifted a mutilated hand to his forehead to wipe away perspiration, he suddenly stopped in the middle of the motion and stared at the bandaged appendage as if he had just noticed it for the first time. His gaze fell to the pieces of broken glass on the ground and William could've sworn that he saw the man blink away tears. Softly and slowly, the soldier muttered "Why are you here then, and not with her? This is your chance to have her, Harrington."
William had started quite sharply at this acknowledgement of recognition and it showed in his face. The soldier took note of this and shrugged his shoulders, a brief flash of pain flittering across his eyes when he made the movement. Taking a breath, he continued. "I know all about you, Harrington. He…he told me all about you and about his fiancée. He loved her very dearly, you know."
"I imagine that he did." William replied sharply.
"And you love her too, or else you never would have come. What did you hope to achieve by coming here? Did she ask you to come? Did she send you?"
William stiffened, uncomfortable with the direction of conversation. "She is unaware of my actions. I had hoped to bring his remains home so that she might take some comfort in putting him to rest and be able to move on with her life."
"With you at her side, I imagine..."
William's eyes flashed with anger. "How dare you..."
"I did not mean to insult you." The soldier interrupted as quickly as his broken mouth would permit. "But you love her. You love her as he did. You would take her as a bride, as your wife?"
"I hardly see where this is any concern of yours."
"I…I am close to h…him. I was close to Ardenson. I…I know that he loved her. He would not want her to be alone. I know that he would...he would want this. He would thank you for watching over her. You know that you cannot take his remains to her now. You mustn't let her see..." he gestured with one of his mutilated hands towards the battlefield.
"I'm well aware of that. Is there anything that I might take to her to comfort her? His personal items, perhaps?"
"He didn't ever have much to offer her, only his love and his music." The man looked away from the baron and shook his head sadly, his few free fingers twisting the thin blanket. Suddenly, as though heartened by a thought, he faced the baron and whispered to him "Can I trust you to take something to her? He always spoke of her, how he loved her so..."
"You can rest assured that whatever you give me will find its way into her hands."
"Bring me that knapsack at the foot of my bed. I'd get it myself but..." he gestured to his bandaged leg. After being handed the sack, the soldier fumbled with the knot as his hands were deprived of their thumbs and forefingers. William lent over, tugged at the knot and pulled it loose so that the man could rummage through the contents of the sack with lesser difficulty. After two tries, the man secured a large, leather bound stack of pages in his hands and offered it to the baron, his eyes shining with emotion.
"This is his opera. He had been working on it for years and it was meant to showcase her voice. It was to be a gift to her. Please take this to her." The man looked away from the baron, blinking at the sudden moisture in his eyes.
William saw this and dismissed it as a result of the heat; sweat was pouring steadily into his eyes as well and he couldn't even imagine how the man could bear to be stifled behind his thick bandages.
"This was to be their future. It belongs to her now. Please…tell her...tell her that he never would've forgotten her. Tell her that he loved her..."
'Tell her that he loved her...'
William was forced to admit that perhaps the damn bastard had truly loved her. It was undeniable that she had loved him and still did.
While William would've preferred that Rose had loved him first, rather than his rival, he knew that he would be blessed to win even a small part of her heart. He refused to have her gratitude, there was to be no sense of obligation in their relationship. Thus, he arranged that the effects be returned to Rose by a soldier the day before he announced his arrival in New York as if he were merely returning from a brief summer vacation away from the heat of the city.
The effects contained almost every item in the knapsack that Simmons had kept at the foot of his bed; William had decided that some of Ardenson's belongings, like his carving knife and leather tool kit, would do Rose no good. He had silently concluded that the unfortunate Simmons would profit by keeping them instead; they would fetch a decent price at the very least and might possibly help the broken man on his return to his kinfolk.
The opera was the largest of the things to be returned, but also enclosed were a few well-read letters and a pearl brooch which had been purchased by Ardenson as a bridal gift. William knew that Rose had worn that brooch every day since and even three years later continued to adorn herself only with pearls.
Slowly, Rose had regained part of herself with each performance of Ardenson's opera. She even ventured into society with William at her side and attended small dinner parties and dances. He sorely missed the days when she would be comfortable in attending and performing at a ball, she had often done so at the gatherings she had attended in New York and in London. But with each run of "Czarina Catrina", she gained more of her soul and more of her spirit. Her embraces now held more than just friendship; they now held the promises of love. 'She can learn to love me' he thought to himself. 'If only I continue to assist her in her dreams, I will reap the rewards. She will love me in time...'
He truly hoped that this performance in the city that Ardenson had longed to conquer would be enough to completely win her heart. He had done everything to ensure its success and hopefully, the Parisians would be enthralled enough by the tragic story to make it the legend that Rose hoped it would be. 'Perhaps this time, it will be enough to win her love.'
The water had grown cold during his musings and he stepped out of the tub and onto the cold tiles. 'I shall go to her today to give her my support...surely she shall appreciate that...'
Grabbing his robe, he walked out the door and to his chambers, ignoring the pains of the glass shards in his feet. The pains of his heart cut him sharper and more painfully than any glass shard ever could.