Author's Note: What's mine is mine and what's yours is mine…all for one and all for me…wait, I think I may have gotten a wire crossed somewhere...oh well, I think you know that Enoch, Rose, William belong to me. Carlotta and Carlos Fontana and Mme. and Meg Giry (and stupid brunette, too!) belong to Leroux. Erik would belong to me, except I think that I'd be too jealous of the fact that he would constantly be leaving my fictions to go to others and to star in horrible film versions (no, I'm NOT a movie phan, but I do own it in my collection).
Patron of the Opera – Chapter Thirteen
January 7, 1881
Erik sat quietly in his column waiting for the remainder of the audience to straggle in to the auditorium for the start of the performance. The calm and casualness of the concierges and managers as they greeted the patrons was definitely a façade; to say that anyone in the opera company was comfortable today would be nothing but a lie.
The problems had started at the beginning of the day with a set collapsing and nearly crushing La Carlotta; it had taken all of Rose's finesse to smooth the ruffled feathers of the diva until she consented to perform in the evening. A stagehand had ruined some costumes accidentally by dropping a can of red paint onto the table where they were laid out in preparation for the night. One of the first violins had opened his instrument case to find that a rat had chewed through some of the hairs on his bow. Then, a minor dispute between the ballerinas resulted in several malicious pranks being pulled on each other, all the while claiming that O.G. had been at fault; soon everyone believed that the Opera Ghost was showing his displeasure at this evening's performance.
For possibly the first time, Erik was in no way involved with any of the minor mishaps that were occurring backstage that were attributed to him. He had kept to himself all day and the only thing that Erik was displeased with was the increasing pallor of Rose's cheeks. He had watched her carefully since the night of the masquerade ball and had been behind the mirror when she had tended to Enoch Ardenson's wounds without so much as a flinch.
He was forced to admit that his respect for the woman had grown greatly over the past weeks. He already credited her with having a backbone and the ability to influence others toward a greater good. She was also an honest woman and knew her limitations; two other traits that leant greatly to his estimation of her. But despite all of her good characteristics, nothing changed the way he viewed her more than those horrid moments at Ardenson's side.
Given his experience with other's reactions to his own face, the fact that the woman did not openly show her disgust at the hideously mangled features of the soldier spoke greatly for her character. He had no idea how any woman could bear to look upon such ugliness and willing to comfort it, but he found himself yearning for the type of acceptance so freely offered to the unfortunate Enoch.
And today, Erik could see that Rose's acceptance of the ill-named Mr. Simmons extended much further than he had thought. He had not believed the rumors until he had seen it with his own eyes; Rose had arranged for Enoch to have one of the best seats in the house in order to see the opera. He had overheard the quiet discussion Rose had conducted with Mme. Giry outside his box in which it was divulged that Rose had moved the intended occupants of that box to another at a very great expense in order to "ensure Mr. Simmons' comfort". He knew that Rose had arranged for Mme. Giry to see to Ardenson's installation in the box next to his and only moments before, he had heard the woman escort him to his chair and bustle about to make him more comfortable.
Rose had not been able to visit with Ardenson prior to the performance. She had been backstage trying to handle the last minute demands and had been left with only a half an hour to stage her 'grand entrance' when Erik had last seen her. In order to keep up the façade of calmness and control, Rose had quickly dressed in her dressing room and had left the Opera from one of doors on the Rue Gluck and into a waiting brougham. The brougham drove her to where William's carriage was waiting and thus she engineered the entrance society expected of her.
He had seen her enter her box on William's arm, dressed in an elaborate gown of green silk that showed off her Irish coloring to its best. She had looked anxious, but it was to be expected at such a performance. Greeting the other occupants of her box, two elderly couples which had greeted William with great affection, she sat and arranged her gown and lifted her opera glasses to examine the occupant of Box Seven. Nodding in that direction with a smile, she obviously relaxed and returned her attention to the stage.
The orchestra tuned and the overture began, the lights of the great chandelier were only slightly dimmed and Erik took the opportunity to read the program left to him by Mme. Giry. The overture in itself was unremarkable; Ardenson's true talent lay not in instrumental, but in choral arrangements. It was for this reason that Erik had noticed the opera in the first place. He assumed that Ardenson had known his limitations and had skillfully incorporated his best works into this one masterpiece. This opera was notably missing a great deal of the entr'actes and other transitional movements until the very end of the piece when, Erik assumed, Rose had taken over and completed it to the best of her abilities.
But despite the mediocrity of the overture and opening scenes, the best parts lay in the second and third acts, Erik had to confess that the opera's plot was a work of pure genius. Somehow, it incorporated every aspect of life within a mere three hour span and it was for this reason that it appealed almost unanimously to every audience member to which it was performed. For romantics, there was the love story of handmaiden Svetlana and foot soldier Nikolai, two young people whose love prevailed over all obstacles. For lovers of comedy, there were the interactions between the Czar's generals and noblemen; even Erik had to confess that the humor had brought a brief smile to his lips. Tragedy was rampant throughout the third act as well.
For those who preferred stories that dealt more with revenge than love, there was the tragic tale of the Czarina, a woman who strove to take vengeance on her husband who had betrayed her trust and her love. Erik had been rather surprised by Ardenson's portrayal of the Czarina, especially as the role had been written for Rose. Her character was definitely the most colorful and that which required the most emotion. The Czarina was a woman of intense passions, a personality that needed to be conveyed properly to the audience, as well as a woman of change. A dramatic transformation occurred during each scene in which she appears. Her first appearance near the middle of the first act shows how her emotions flow from happiness to sorrow when she hears of her husband's betrayals (involving forbidden liaisons with mistresses as well as an assassination plot on the Czarina, herself). In her next aria, her sadness is changed to a pain which she struggles to alleviate. By the end of the second act, her pain is changed to hatred and a lust for revenge. It was for this reason that Carlotta, despite her soprano range and Erik's personal opinions of her talent, was the best candidate besides Rose for this role.
The opera ended with the Czarina driven to madness by her hatred, the Czar and his followers slaughtered at the hands of an invading army (an end skillfully engineered by the Czarina, of course!), and the beautiful Svetlana is left a widow; somehow, Erik knew that Ardenson had definitely not intended for such an ending. Despite the finality of the piece, the points it addresses were very clear and poignant. The Czarina repents for her behavior just as the Czar does for his and the audience is left with a feeling of acceptance; the fate that befalls each character is quite fitting.
As the lights in the auditorium dimmed and the curtain rose, Erik saw one of the stage hands point in his box's direction. Caution moved him to sit closer to his column than he normally would so that he would have a greater chance of escape should they try to discover him. The first choral number started, a simple Russian folk melody sung by the peasants, and Erik relaxed in his seat, determined to enjoy the performance.
It was about fifteen minutes later during Nikolai's aria that Erik heard a disturbance in Box Seven. He as well as the occupants of several nearby boxes redirected their attention from Carlos Fontana on stage to the scuffle that was transpiring in the auditorium. Almost as soon as it had started, the noises stopped and the audience returned to the show. However, Erik possessed an acute sense of hearing and clearly heard the whispered taunts of the stagehands who believed to have captured the opera ghost…
Strategically positioning himself against the curtain of his box, he looked into Box Seven and found that Ardenson was missing. Only his tattered opera cloak and hat remained on the floor of the box and the velvet seat in which he had been seated lay on its side. The door to his box was wide open.
Erik was horrified; there was no telling what the men would do if they really believed that Ardenson was responsible for O.G.'s crimes. There was no way that he could approach those men single-handedly and even Mme. Giry would be of no use to him as she was with the ballerinas preparing for the next choral number. He knew of only one other person who had enough influence to intervene.
As stealthily as possible, Erik made his way to the other side of the auditorium until he stood at the door to Box Four. Deciding that he had no other alternative, he quickly opened the door and stepped into the shadow as the occupants turned around in shock.
"Excuse me, Lady O'Connor. I need a word with you."
Rose's green eyes widened with shock and she moved to stand but William restrained her. "Surely, monsieur, this matter can wait until after the performance."
Speaking deliberately, Erik stated "I'm afraid that this is of the most urgent matters. Lady O'Connor, please…"
William moved to ring the concierge's bell but Rose put her gloved hand over his and looked intently at the masked phantom. "It is alright, William. This is…Olivier Garfunkle. One of the anonymous patrons. I'm certain that he would not disturb us without good reason. Isn't that so, Monsieur Garfunkle?"
She stared at him with an expectant gaze and he suddenly realized that all eyes in the box were on him and waiting for an answer. He couldn't inform the rest of her party of his identity but he needed her to know! In a moment of desperation, he seized upon the only idea that he had to give her the information confidentially.
Lapsing into his faultless Russian and praying that she would understand, he quickly stated "Your guest in Box Seven was mistaken for me with his mask. They've taken him backstage…"
He had not even finished his sentence when she whirled around in her seat and checked the opposing box with her opera glasses. Her eyes widened and her jaw stiffened but when she stood and turned around, she had pasted a false smile on her face. Only her emerald eyes betrayed her fear.
"Excuse me, everyone. A bit of a problem arose backstage and I'm needed in order to attend to it. Please just stay and enjoy the show and I'll be back in a moment."
She ignored William's pleas and swept outside with Erik at her heels. Walking quickly down the back staircase she turned to him and asked "Where have they taken him?" in an almost frantic voice.
"I am not sure" he answered, truthfully. "They've definitely taken him backstage, I know that much. They were not being too discreet…"
"So I can find them easily. You had best go and leave me to this; you mustn't get involved as well, Monsieur." With this said, she lifted the voluminous skirts of her gown and ran through the dimly lit passageways to the rear of the theater. Erik followed her stealthily, using his secret doorways to keep himself concealed until they both found the crowd that was circled around a bruised and bleeding Enoch Ardenson.
The stagehands that had captured him had removed his wig and mask as well as the outer garments which he had worn that evening. Dressed in only his shirtsleeves and ripped trousers, Enoch desperately tried to protect himself from the blows of the men by curling into a fetal position on the ground. Joseph Buquet moved in to deliver a kick to his groin, but he was suddenly pulled backward and thrown on his rear by a pair of green silk-clad arms. Rose ran into the circle and yelled for order but it was not until she threw herself over the shaking body of Enoch Ardenson did the blows cease.
"Stop it! Stop this madness now!" Rose yelled until the group's attention focused on her and not the man underneath her.
"You wretched monsters, how dare you do this? What right do you have to do this to this man?"
The crowd stepped back; all eyes wide as they watched Rose gently coax Enoch into a sitting position. She stood and turned to face the group, her eyes shooting fire at all she saw. Finally, her gaze settled on Buquet, who had just ungracefully lifted himself from the floorboards.
"I demand an answer immediately" she stated in a dangerously quiet voice. "Who started this?"
Buquet muttered something under his breath and Rose sucked in a deep breath to calm herself. Almost hissing with fury, she restated her question.
"We found the ghost, m'am. That'll be why we took 'im. To make 'im pay for all the problems we've been havin'."
Erik could see Rose's eyes widen almost imperceptibly as she looked almost directly to his concealed position in the shadows. She closed her eyes and visibly forced herself to regain her composure as the rest of the company looked on. When she opened her eyes again with her hands still clenched in fists, she announced in a low voice "This man is Lieutenant Gregory Simmons from the United States Army and is one of my honored guests this evening. He is not, nor will he ever be the ghost of your imaginations. Get back to work. The soldier's chorus is up next and you are lucky that your antics haven't been heard in the auditorium."
She stared at the crowd until a few people moved toward their places in the wings; many still stood and stared at the man crouched on the floor. Ignoring their stares, she turned back to the man on the ground, his poor head hung against his chest in shame. She knelt down on the floor and reached out to him, stroking his mangled face with her gloved hands. Tears began to swim in her green eyes and in a broken voice, Erik heard her mutter in English "Oh Mr. Simmons, I'm so sorry…"
She offered her hands to help him from the ground and he hesitantly accepted. The crowd still looked on in shock as she offered him her lace handkerchief to wipe the sweat, tears, and blood from his visage. As he did so awkwardly due to his injured hands, Rose straightened and brushed off his clothing, her hands deftly refastening buttons as they flew across his upper body. As she worked, she murmured soft apologies in his ear; her own eyes were shining with unshed tears. However, she suddenly froze when her fingertips encountered the collar of his worn shirt.
From his place in the shadows, Erik clearly heard her quick intake of breath and could actually see the blood drain from Rose's face as she lifted a delicate gold chain from the folds of his ripped shirt. He watched in morbid fascination as Enoch noticed his error and pulled away, his face contorting in agony and shame as Rose's emerald eyes burned like gimlets as realization came to her.
Enoch had stepped back when he saw that Rose had discovered the chain, but Rose had kept a steel grip and he was limited in movement for fear of breaking it. Shame and humiliation overwhelmed him as he watched her beautiful face turn white in shock and a great knot of fear formed in his stomach when he looked into her eyes which had turned as hard and cold as ice.
"What is this?" she hissed in English. He tried to move away but she pulled on both the chain and his shirt and brought him closer to her. When he didn't answer, she shook him and nearly screamed in anger "Where did you get this!"
The group of bystanders who had been straggling away now reformed the circle around the two, their attention fixed on the show before them despite the fact that they could not understand a single word that was being said. Enoch's broken mouth ran dry with anxiety and he struggled to speak.
"It's…it's nothing…an old keepsake…"
She released his shirt but then slapped him smartly across his scarred cheeks. As his head rocked from the blow, she ripped the delicate chain from his throat. His mangled hands flew up to his neck as if to catch it and he held them in front of his face in an expression of fear as he watched Rose open the locket attached to the chain. If it had been possible, her face turned even whiter while her eyes burned with a fury that he had never seen before. Desperate to hide his identity from her, he decided to lie.
"I'm sorry…I kept it when he died…it's valuable and I thought that I might sell it if…"
"Sell it?" she coldly interrupted. "For what? You expect me to believe such lies! It is a worthless piece of gold, hardly worth a dollar. Its only value is to the one to whom it was given. Where did you get this?"
She grabbed his collar with her hand and roughly pulled his face down to her level. Erik watched along with the rest of the crowd as she stared into his dark, wet eyes. After a few seconds, she seemed to find what she had been seeking and let go of his collar, her free hand shaking with undisguised tremors. Her arms hanging limply at her sides, Rose turned her stricken face up toward the heavens and quietly moaned "Oh, God…"
Enoch fell to his knees before her and desperately grasped the silken hem of her skirts between his twisted fingers. "It isn't what you think!" he cried in a voice thick with unshed tears. "I know it was wrong to take it…please, in the name of God forgive me!"
His voice seemed to bring Rose back to her senses and she looked at the broken man before her. Her lower lip trembled and her eyes filled with tears as she looked at him as if she were seeing him for the first time. In a low whisper, she moaned "How could you do this? Enoch…why?"
Meg Giry who had been watching along with the rest of the cast turned to the brunette standing next to her and asked "What is happening? What are they saying?" The low whisper attracted Rose's attention and she turned away from Enoch and faced the crowd, suppressing her pain and struggling desperately to keep her composure.
"Why are you all still here? There is the opera to consider; the show is still running. Hurry along, you must not miss your entrances."
When nobody moved, Rose actually yelled out her commands and the majority of the cast and crew resumed their positions and prepared for their first entrance. Only Carlotta and the female choristers and ballerinas remained. Rose had closed her eyes in a desperate attempt to ignore the barely stifled sobs of the man behind her but Carlotta's shrill voice quickly brought her attention back to the immediate present.
"I cannot perform like this! I feel about to faint!" the diva remarked. Rose opened her eyes, two emeralds which has lost all of their sparkle, and in an exhausted voice stated "It is too late to back out now, Carlotta. Please just go on with the performance."
"Perform? I cannot perform after seeing something as hideous as that! He's a grotesque freak…"
"Enough, Carlotta. I don't care to hear your objections. Please just get in your place and the best of luck to you in the show." Rose stated firmly, albeit tiredly.
"It is not possible for me to perform. How am I to perform when each time I close my eyes I see that mangled face! My character was meant to be passionate and beautiful and unsoiled by such filth as that; I cannot perform after seeing such a disgusting…"
The sound of bone crunching echoed throughout the backstage area as Rose's gloved fist made contact with the diva's pointed nose. The latter cried out and actually did faint as the blood flowed from her nostrils and into her hands and the rest of the crew looked to Rose with horror; she had just assaulted their leading lady!
Unfazed by this, Rose simply called for Mme. Giry and Clothilde the seamstress and, in the wings of the stage, they worked to free her from the lovely green silk gown and helped her to don the robes of the Czarina. The make-up girl brought over the communal face paints and within ten minutes, the true Czarina had made her return. She walked over to her entrance position in almost a trancelike state; she had shown no emotion since she had broken the diva's nose.
As she stood watching the stage, it seemed as though something reoccurred to her and she looked back in the direction of Enoch Ardenson, who still lay prostrate on the floor with his hands holding his face. She called over two stagehands and in a toneless voice ordered them to 'restore Mr. Simmons to his box but make absolutely sure, for fear of your jobs, that he is escorted to my dressing room at the end of the performance.'
They had to forcibly move him from the floor and almost carried him away as he continued to beg Rose for forgiveness. It cannot be said that she pointedly ignored his pleas as she showed no response at all to anything. By the time that he was reseated in Box Seven, the first half hour of the performance had passed and the curtain rose on Czarina Catrina's opening aria.
A/N: Well, that's chapter thirteen, completed on Friday the thirteenth…wish I could say that I posted it at 13:00 but that isn't the case! Anyways, I'd like to thank my faithful four reviewers for all of your support (even passed P-chem!) from finals week and I hope that you enjoy this twist and continuation of the story. The next updates might be a bit delayed since I'm going full-time through my school's summer semester and I spend 8 hours per day in classes; that is, of course before we even talk about how much homework they dish out! But you needn't fear, I'll be updating a heck of a lot sooner than I did with chapters 11 and 12! For those of you with your own finals looming ahead, best of luck to you!