Author's Note: Salut. I was going to say that anything you recognize is not mine, but some of you might recognize some of these people now that you've been reading for a while so there goes that method of stating 'what's mine is mine'…
The Patron of the Opera – Chapter Nine
The New Year's masquerade ball was at its peak of excitement. The elaborate costumes danced in a rainbow of colors with exotic fabrics and jewels gleaming in the candlelight. Those waltzing swept along the floor to the musical climax of the piece and the sound of laughter and enjoyment echoed throughout the rooms.
Off in a shadowed corner, a tall man in his robes and black mask stood watching the crowd with his golden eyes. Usually on this night he took perverse pleasure in being able to pass through the crowds unnoticed. But after the episodes of late, he was unable to shake the feeling of doom that he felt penetrating to his bones. He had stood in the shadows for nearly an hour and a half when he heard a soft familiar voice whisper in his ear
"I knew that you would come tonight, Monsieur le Fantome."
Turning immediately towards the sound, Erik found Enoch Ardenson dressed in a similar suit and cloak standing to his left. His face was completely covered by the same brown leather mask which left only his eyes visible. His hands were also gloved in the same brown leather as before.
"I apologize, Monsieur; I had no desire to startle you. I noticed you standing over here alone and wished to thank you again for your discretion that evening and that of the gala night. It has been a long time since I was able to attend a gala performance. Being able to attend and to see...it was...it meant more to me than you could possibly imagine. You have my gratitude, monsieur."
It seemed that the muffled sounds Enoch made when he spoke were forever present in his speech. Erik swallowed very uncomfortably, not wanting to wonder after the cause of them. Swallowing again, he regained his composure and whispered back "Why are you here? You have no connection to the opera company so why have you come to this ball tonight? Why not confront her and have it done with?"
In his muffled voice, Enoch whispered "I am here tonight because I can feel alive tonight. Surely you can sympathize with me...I find it pleasurable to walk through a crowd without notice and what better chance do I have than at a masquerade? And I only wanted to see one more time before I...just once more, you understand...if there was even the smallest chance that she...I had to come...I just wanted to see..."
"Her? My God, you're stalking her! Let her know or have it done with once and for all!"
The other's shoulders began to tremble and with an audible sniff and quick intake of breath, he raised his head and looked directly into Erik's golden eyes with his own black. In a barely audible choked voice, he replied "I wanted to see her...is that so wrong?"Erik simply stared at him, frozen with pity for the man in front of him.
The black eyes were filled with tears and only utter despair and pain could be read in their gaze. With a shuddering breath Enoch continued; his voice raspy and thick with emotion. "Is it truly an evil wish for me to desire to see her? I've kept my distance as I should, but is it cruel for me to long for just a glimpse of her? She knows not that I am here, which is how it should be...she must never know that my loathsome gaze has touched her...it is how it must be. I mean her and her...lover no harm. I just wanted to see her. To see her one more time before I..." but he broke off then with a gasp and with his left hand, clutched at his chest as he fixed his eye on the entry stairs of the room. Erik also turned his gaze to the stairs and immediately found what it was that had caused the other to respond so violently.
A tall, masked blonde man in dressed in a white satin groom's suit styled after the garments of Louis XIV stood on the steps. But it was not he, but his consort who had gained the attention of the two men in the shadows as well as several of the others in the main hall. She was dressed as a bride, in a gown of the finest flowing satins and laces. Unlike many of the costumes in the hall, her gown was of the modern styles, although obviously an American adaptation. Her face bore no mask but was shrouded in her veil and at her throat she wore the pearl broach which had been purchased for her for this exact ensemble. Although she was seen from a distance, there was no mistaking who she was even if the auburn hair peaking out from under the veil didn't give her identity away.
Erik was amazed that she and the baron had actually attended - shocked beyond belief was more like it given the former's reputed aversion to such gatherings. As they descended the stairs, arm in arm, they were nearly intercepted by Poligny and Cusset but with a hearty laugh from the baron and a quick move from the bride, they side-stepped the managers and continued to the dance floor. Turning back and laughing, the bride announced in her Irish lilt "We are here to dance tonight, not to discuss business, gentlemen!"They refused to speak to any before they reached the dance floor and quickly stepped into the waltz that had already been playing.
Erik finally tore his gaze from the couple and looked back at the man next to him. Enoch stood there as rigid as stone except for the tears that poured steadily from his eyes and down the dark brown material of his mask. His arms were wrapped tightly around himself as if to keep himself from breaking apart and his left hand grasped the edge of his cloak in a death's grip.
Black eyes met gold as the man voiced the comment which was hardly more than a rasp "Her dress..." He turned away and broke into quiet sobs, accentuated only by the soft suctioning sounds which accompanied his speech and breathing.
Erik grabbed his shoulders and turned Enoch towards him again.
"For God's sake, what is it? What on earth..."
"Don't you understand?" He rasped. "Don't you know? Haven't you heard the rumors? That was to be her wedding dress! The dress and veil which had been commissioned by me...and the pearls...oh God, I never thought she could possibly look any lovelier...but now..."
He broke off and turned his head to face the dancers where the stunning white satin of two dancers stood out brightly among the whirlwind of colors as the fast-paced waltz came to an end.
Erik shook Enoch's shoulders violently and harshly whispered "Confront her or have it done with! What on earth is stopping you from going to her?" Both he and Erik looked back over to the dancers where the baron had in fact been cornered by Poligny and Cusset. She however was nowhere to be found.
As if on queue, a light Irish lilt spoke up from the shadows behind the two "Bon soir, Monsieur Garfunkle. I was wondering who would be keeping to the shadows in such a lovely ball as this one and was wondering if I might have a word with you."
Both men whipped around to face the direction of the voice and beheld the Lady Rose O'Connor in her bridal finery. The green eyes behind the veil were smiling and she continued speaking.
"I merely wanted to stop by and thank you for your assistance last week, Monsieur." Erik's eyes widened behind his mask as the woman before him bobbed in a quick curtsey. "Your help that evening was greatly appreciated and I am in your debt."
Smiling and leaning toward him, she stated in a laughing tone "The managers have been trying to discuss the opera with us ever since the night of the gala...poor William was too slow for them this time though! But if I stand still for too long they'll intercept me as well, so I was wondering if you would care for a dance."
Erik choked; his eyes opening wide at her request. "I am afraid that I am unable to, mademoiselle" he finally replied.
Rose tossed back her head and laughed; her eyes twinkling with amusement.
"Oh, that problem! Well, I assure you it is quite simple to remedy. They'll be playing a reel soon but the waltz is quite simple if you'd prefer to learn it first. But I apologize, I've been inexcusably rude. I have not introduced myself to you, monsieur." she said to the man in the brown leather mask.
"There...there is not need for an introduction, my lady. Any man here would be a fool not to know the name of the most...beautiful woman here tonight."
"Yes, well I'm sure that you know her name, monsieur, but my name is Rose O'Connor!" she replied with a laugh, her eyes shining with merriment.
"My lady, I meant that as a compliment..."
"You flatter me, monsieur. And I would be honored to know the name of one who pays such compliments." she replied, offering her hand to him.
Enoch froze when he saw her outstretched hand. He stared at it for a small period of time and then, with an awkward gesture, took it gently in his gloved hands and brought it to the lips of his mask. After a moment he brought it down again, but did not release his hold when she would've pulled her hand away.
"My...my name is...Simmons, my lady. Gregory Simmons...of Charleston."
Her hand was still cradled awkwardly in his and he continued to stare at it as he held it between them. Rose watched him as he showed no inclination to relinquish his gentle hold on her hand. She swallowed and willed the uncomfortable moment away with another laugh.
"Well, a Charleston man then! That definitely explains the lovely compliments and impeccable manners! Surely, Mister Simmons, you don't mind if I call you Mr. Simmons if you're American, do you? I find Monsieur to be so formal and with too many letters in the spelling! You're familiar with the Virginny Reel, are you not? I've yet to meet a Charleston man who couldn't dance a good reel and I find that I am in desperate need of a partner for the next set."
He started and dropped her hand as he whipped his head up to look into her face. His stuttering voice was thick with emotion as he backed away from her slowly.
"My lady...I...I cannot possibly...you see, I...I cannot...I was...injured with the...army and haven't...I haven't danced a reel in...in years, my lady. I couldn't possibly...I'd likely step on your feet, my lady...I'm no fit partner for one so graceful and...beautiful..."
She smiled sadly behind her veil; her eyes losing some of their sparkle as her mood grew more somber.
"I once knew another soldier in your army, Mr. Simmons. And again, your Charlestonian manners flatter me. But you must dance the reel with me as you are the only partner I shall have. Only a Southerner can do justice to the reel and I would be honored if you would partner me, regardless of how many times you may step on my feet. Just walk through the steps with me, would you please, Mr. Simmons?"
He stared at her and swallowed sharply. He consented, nodding his head at her and she smiled brightly; her eyes gaining more of their sparkle.
"I am honored, Mr. Simmons, to share this dance with you." she said with a slight curtsy. She offered him her satin-clad arm which he took hesitantly. Turning back towards Erik, she smiled again and with a laugh said "Don't you go thinking that you're off the hook now, Monsieur! You'll be the waltzing king by midnight, I promise you!"
The two continued to the dance floor where they took their places among the French dancers brave enough to try out their reel steps in public. With a curtsy from the ladies and a bow from the men, the fast paced music began and soon, the two were lost in the crowd of laughing dancers.
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Enoch Ardenson had never intended to abandon his love. She was his soul, his reason for living, and he found that after he had left, he was unable to live his life without her. During his time with the army, there was never a day that he did not dream of her. Despite the horror of his days, the nights were filled with dreams of his angel.
His angel, a young woman barely older than a child who claimed to love him despite his many deficiencies. His muse, without whom his music held no meaning and his life no purpose.
He had been forced to leave her in order to provide them with a future together. And he had promised that he would return to her. Without the threat of the Confederates, he had never anticipated not being able to keep that promise. He had considered his war days over with the end of the Civil War and it was this rashness that had led him to accept the foolhardy position of a scout for Custer's men. It was due to this rashness that he was still alive today.
By accepting the position of a scout, he was entitled to slightly higher pay and an earlier discharge date. As a result, he was not among Custer's men at the Battle of Little Big Horn that would've undoubtedly cost him his life. Instead, he had ridden ahead of the troops with the other company scout, Gregory Simmons, and the two had been captured by an Indian family after the battle had already taken place.
Their captors had lost a son in the battle and were not kind; Simmons had been tortured to death before the end of the first day. Enoch had not been that lucky; he was stronger and healthier than the other and as a result lasted longer and provided the infuriated savages with more enjoyment. He stayed three days in their camp before the youngest daughter had taken pity on him and helped him to escape.
Truth to be told, he really remembered quite little of those days in captivity. It was just a memory of excruciating pain and it was not until two weeks later when he regained the use of his faculties in the hospital of the U.S. Army that he realized the extent of the damage inflicted upon his person. The doctors had done their best, but nothing could ever completely repair his ruin of a body.
His legs had been broken in numerous places; apparently, he had dragged himself from the camp to the site where he had been discovered by Reno's men. They had broken his ribs and his left arm as well and his entire body was covered in cuts and scrapes. Years later, his left arm was significantly weaker than the other and he walked with a pronounced limp that was worse in cold, damp weather.
The damage to his head, however, was severe. He had been partially scalped and had lost his left ear; it was a miracle that he had survived at all due to the threat of infection. His face had been sliced apart and had even been burned in places. His prominent nose was no more; only a small nub remained of what had once been the most definitive feature of his face.
They had broken his jaw so badly that the doctor had been forced to remove part of it entirely. Years later, he still could not speak clearly and was unable to eat anything that required any great amount of chewing. His previously thin lips were now so twisted that they barely resembled lips at all and merely blended in with the mottled flesh that composed the rest of his face. Surprisingly, they had left his eyes undamaged. When he had been permitted to see the extent of his injuries, he had thrown the hand-held mirror to the floor. He had believed that that day would be the worst day of his life.
He was wrong.
His face was horrible, monstrous to look at. But it was definitely not the worst thing that he had suffered. Upon awakening in the hospital, he had stretched out his right hand to take that of the chaplain who sat praying over him. He had found that his hands had been heavily bandaged and that he was unable to grasp the hand that fingered the Rosary beads at his side. The day after his face was revealed, the bandages on his hands were changed and he discovered the truth; his hands, his precious hands, had been mutilated. On both hands, he was missing his thumbs and forefingers and the bones in his left hand had been shattered almost entirely.
To him, there was nothing worse than the loss of his hands. Never again would he be able to play the violin which he had cherished so dearly, never again would he be able to span over an octave on the piano, an ability which Rose had always envied and he had relentlessly teased her about. His career as a musician was over and he would be unable to start anew. And just when he believed that nothing could possibly get any worse, William Harrington walked back into his life stating that Rose was unwell.
When he had believed that his injuries had only been to his legs and face, Enoch had fully intended to return to Rose and allow her to decide for herself if she still wished for the marriage to take place. However, with the loss of his livelihood and the knowledge that William loved Rose nearly as much as he did himself, Enoch willingly relinquished his claim on Rose's affections. Believing himself to be a burden to her, he took the name of the unfortunate Simmons and pronounced himself dead so that Rose would be free to marry a man who also loved her and who was able to provide for her. William returned to Rose with all of Enoch's possessions except the locket and Enoch was left alone. After he recovered enough to live on his own, he was honorably discharged and went to Charleston in the hopes of finding some kind of work to keep himself occupied until his death.
It was there that he heard the first stirrings about the opera by an American cavalryman and learned that Rose had taken it upon herself to finish and produce the piece. He began to follow her and William around the world, keeping to the shadows and taking menial, laborious jobs to earn enough money to get by. Soon, his life consisted of days gutting fish or cleaning the blood from butchers' cutting blocks. Nights were spent waiting in the shadows for a glimpse of Rose so that he could continue to reconcile himself with his decision. She was better off without him.
He had taken a position cleaning and preparing fish for sale when he came to Paris and spent thirteen hours a day at his job. He tried to ignore the constant jeers from his fellow workers who laughed at the way he awkwardly handled the knives and brushes with his poor hands and how his twisted mouth mispronounced their language. He slept under the bridges of Paris among the beggars and prostitutes of the city. Every night, he went to the Harrington estate or to the Opera to see Rose to reassure himself that she was better off in William's arms than in his. His life revolved entirely around her, he lived for the moments that he saw her and William entering one of the fanciest restaurants in the city, the seconds when she could be seen leaving the Opera and getting into the Harrington carriage. The hours in-between those fleeting moments were meaningless. His heart stopped when he could hear her laughter floating with the wind to where he stood in the shadows. He would stand for hours in the darkness, relishing the faint wisps of her perfume that the breeze carried to him.
He often imagined that he would be better off dead. The happy days of yesteryear were gone. He would never be complete again. His life had been stolen from him and he could only dream of the future that he and Rose might have had together. Dreams of the love, the happiness they would've shared; dreams of little red and black haired children who would never grace the Earth with their presence.
Dreams were all he could have of her, for she belonged to his rival. He had given her away, and now he was alone.
A/N: Well, that was thoroughly depressing, wasn't it? I know I've been stating about school problems and they aren't fixed yet, but I figured that I would update since this chapter had been written for some time. In all actuality, the prologue, this chapter, and the next two have been written since June when I started them in France; hence why you've gotten two updates at this most stressful time of year.
Amber Stag, sorry about the cliffhanger, hope this helps! Thanks for the review.
Lil Shady, thanks for your support and for your reviews. Yes, you're supposed to be worried about Rose…that was the point of introducing the drinking and the fainting fits :-D! But don't worry, she's not going to die of any illness; that I can promise. I'm glad that you like the different take on PotO, I do too and that is really why I started this piece. I'm sick of E/C and E/OC pairings and thought that it might be interesting to see Phantom from another perspective. Apparently, this desire for diversity is not always appreciated by die-hard phans (notice the definite lack of reviews for this piece compared with 'How Hungry'! but I am truly happy that some people share my taste for originality (Again, a big thanks to all of my constant and consistent reviewers!) Thanks for your support!
Neshomeh, I think I stated a decent deal on your website; thanks for the invite by the way! So, I already discussed the lit reference, confirmed the TB, and I don't know what else to do except to thank you for your reviews and your support!
Olethros, I am sorry that you have experienced the hell of school work…I don't wish it on anybody except my very worst of enemies. I'm glad that you like the twist of fate and hope that this isn't too twisted for you. Thanks for the reviews!
Kinelea, I wanted to welcome you to the world of Phan Phiction when I got your first review but I didn't have time to do so with the last installment. I'm glad that you are enjoying my story so far and strongly encourage you to find access to the original novel as well as that by Susan Kay. I know all about the musical leaving out key parts (I first started as a musical phan too but then fell in love with the Erik of the books rather than the Erik of ALW) and if you like an aggressive Erik, the original novel just might be what you're craving. If you speak and read French, by all means get the novel in French! It loses so much in the translation. Oh, and one final word on my part…don't hate William. I know he's the Raoul figure in this piece and is definitely not my favorite character, but he's a decent guy. If I finish this piece the way I intend to, you'll most likely be better off with an appreciation for William even if he is a selfish pretty-boy. Again, thank you for your support!
On a final note, "How Hungry" will be finished. Yes, it WILL be finished! If I get one more bitchy email complaining about the lack of updates I'm going to scream. I had announced in the last chapter of Patron that the file was lost to cyberspace and needs to be redone and it is NOT going to happen anytime during finals week. However, I think I'm complaining to the wrong people here since it seems that the reviewers of this piece took note of the messages in the last chapter and in my profile. I thank you for that. Given the amount of emails and complaints from "How Hungry" readers, would you suggest posting an author's note as a chapter explaining the problem? I personally have hated when authors have done that, especially at a cliffhanger, but I'm getting rather annoyed by the complaints; after one particular email, I was tempted to remove the story entirely and post it elsewhere! Your feedback on the matter will definitely be appreciated.
Thanks one and all for your support!