The frenzied bustle of the Opera was at its highest peak; choristers sang their scales as they laced their costumes, ballerinas practiced steps frantically, the managers strained to have their voices heard over all of the noise. Madame Pericot and her assistant traveled through the crowds to ensure every stitch was still in place; occasionally the pair paused to mend something.
Silvia stood away from the crowds, forcefully blocking the commotion out, humming to keep her voice warmed up. It was the evening of her debut, and the performance was set to begin. The Marguerite dress sat lightly on her shoulders, the lengthy white skirts sweeping towards the floor. Her eyelids glimmered with powder applied by the talented Mlle. Elené, who had also curled her hair and brushed it loose over her shoulders. Tonight she was the ingenue, a creature of innocence and beauty, an irresistable target for Méphistophélès.
She glanced downwards at the gown she wore, remembering suddenly the night she had met the Phantom. Her heart quickened slightly – he had said he would be here tonight. True to his word, she had not seen him since her singing lesson. Every day she had expected to find his vow broken, to hear his voice in her ear or the sound of the hidden door sliding open. But except for what her imagination conjured, there had been no hint of him.
She found she was disappointed. Had she not been so wrapped up in rehearsals, so very busy perfecting Marguerite, she might have summoned the courage to seek him out herself. Another lesson would be well worth it.
Soon, she would try. It was an ironic turn of events, to be actively seeking the man who had frightened her so much. But the evening of the singing lesson had altered her opinion of him, and something in her urged her to discover more about the man who so many called monster.
"Are you ready for your grand entrance?" Madame Pericot's eyes twinkled as she approached. She checked the seams and hems of the Margeurite gown quickly, assuring herself that nothing was amiss.
Silvia swallowed. "As ready as I will be," she said, smiling back.
"I've every faith that you will sing beautifully." The seamstress squeezed her hand comfortingly before taking herself off to continue her duties. Silvia was left feeling a little less anxious.
The performance went quickly, without any noticeable problems. Silvia sang with the words of Erik still in her thoughts, minding his advice, singing as if it were she and he alone in the domed room with the grand organ. When the time came for her bow to the audience, she was greeted with rioutous applause – indeed, as all the performers were. It had been a stunning success and Silvia turned with flushed cheeks to smile at the managers, who were beaming down upon their company.
The bustle of the backstage was twofold after the performance, for in addition to the Opera members, favored patrons were already being shown backstage. Silvia was quickly hurried to her room by a pair of burly scene-shifters per the orders of the managers and instructed to change. One of the gentleman presented her with a box before he left, pressing the velvet package into her hand.
Closing the door against the noise, Silvia leaned against it for a moment and breathed deeply. The singing had been the easiest part of the evening – now came the time to face the demanding Opera patrons.
Her armor hung in the wardrobe, the red skirts of the dress just brushing the bottom of the closet. Taking it down from its place, she quickly stepped out of the Marguerite gown and into the heavy crimson one. It was with some difficulty that she laced up the back, but once the bow was tied she returned to the bed, where she had lain the velvet box.
Who? She wondered, but even as she opened it a note fluttered to land on her skirts. Retrieving it, she scanned the lines: To compliment the red dress, and your beauty. Yrs, M. Andre & M. Firmin.
Another gift from the managers? She creaked the lid open and gasped at the sight: a necklace of gold and garnets. It was heavy – a collar that would sit about her neck from which dripped hundreds of tiny red gemstones. She touched it lightly, feeling the smooth coolness of the stones.
Then, gently, she closed the lid and laid the box on the stand beside her bed.
The garnet cabochon from Erik was what she would wear. She took it from where she had hidden it, underneath the stockings in her bureau, and fastened it around her neck. It rested, glittering, above her breasts, against her ivory skin. With a final glance in her glass to assure herself that she was presentable, she left her room.
And found the managers – in addition to a large crowd of Opera guests – awaiting her.
The rest of the evening passed in a blur as she shook hands with and kissed the cheeks of the ladies and lords who had witnessed her debut. It was gratifying and embarrassing at the same time to receive so many compliments, particularly when the person paying the compliment was a young lord trying to impress. She was grateful that M. Andre and M. Firmin remained at her side to handle the introductions and discourage those who desired closer acquaintances. Silvia realized they would not always act as her guardians, but it was reassuring to have them with her that evening.
When they finally released her and shooed off the rest of her admirers, she was utterly exhausted. Returning to her room, it was all she could do to keep her heavy lids open long enough so that she could unfasten and step out of the red dress. It remained in a puddle of fabric on the floor.
Lying on her bed, it was but moments before she dropped into sleep.
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"Did you see the necklace, Andre?" Firmin queried excitedly, shutting the door behind him. The night had been a grand success, and the managers intended to spend what was left of it counting the ticket receipts.
Andre nodded, smiling slightly. "She has no paramour that I know of. There was not a flicker of recognition in her eyes with any of the young swains we introduced her to tonight."
"Then we may conclude," Firmin stated, "that the Opera Ghost has discovered her." He caught himself on the edge of a gleeful laugh, and grinned instead. Sitting at the desk before his partner, he selected a handful of receipts and began to sort them.
"Not only discovered, my dear friend," answered Andre, "but put his mark on her as well. Did you see the size of that stone?"
"Yes, yes. It is certainly the touch of the Phantom. What now, though?"
"Now," returned Andre, lighting another candle, the better to count the receipts by, "we wait. When Faust has finished its run, we will stage another Opera. I imagine you can guess the one I am thinking of?"
Firmin glanced up, his eyes bright with mischief. "Ah! One that was written for us not so long ago, by a certain Red Death? Brilliant, my friend…brilliant. But," he asked, leaning closer, "do you think the Phantom will truly be tempted to visit again, after what happened the last time Don Juan Triumphant was staged?"
"I am counting on it, Firmin. In fact, I am less worried about him showing up than I am about an audience showing up." Andre paused in his sorting and set his gaze on Firmin's, his eyes suddenly hard. "But the loss of revenue will be worth it when we catch the monster who has been tormenting the Opera, once and for all."
"Quite so, Andre," Firmin nodded. "Quite so."