A/N: dear readers, sorry it took so long to get this rewrite to you. This chapter needed more editing than I had expected.
Chapter 11 Gifts
Opera singers from all of Europe were gathering for auditions at the Opera Populaire. Last year's disaster had been forgotten. The tale of the Opera Ghost was a myth, or a solo performance. Let the madman be damned! It was the opportunity of a lifetime to seize the position of principal singer, and win the adulation of Paris.
The halls were crowded with people as they brushed past each other, and moved from dressing rooms to the stage. As they waited their turn in the wings, men fingered their cravats, and frowned at their rivals' performances.
They were auditioning for Verdi's opera, Aida—the premiere opera of the season. First, it would be the singers, and then if all went well, auditions for the ballet would take place later in the week. On Friday, the new owners would visit and approve the cast.
At the owners' recommendation, M. DuChant had hired a very capable music director, a M. Antoine Meley.
M. Meley was a small man in his forties, neatly dressed, and with a perfectionist's attitude. He relished the fact that he would be rebuilding the opera from the ground up with a new cast of performers. He was streamlining the hiring, and would cut loose the hubris of a former, lack luster cast. I will start with a clean slate, he had thought with satisfaction when he had accepted the position. Already, he had discarded some of the names on the list that DuChant had given him. He was intimately familiar with many of the Parisian performers, and knew their merits and failings.
Standing in the newly constructed opera pit, he listened to the singers with a sharp ear. Each of them was assigned several parts that would show the scope of their ability.
In box five, the Opera Ghost watched the proceedings below, and made mental notes as to which singers were acceptable and which were not.
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The heavy man lined up the wagon with the open service doors. Grunting, he began unloading his goods. Shouldering the crates, he carried them into the storeroom as Jade watched. There she examined each container for defects, and noted when the order was complete. Several deliveries were scheduled for today, and it was her job to oversee them.
As she watched the wagon roll away, she took in a deep breath of that late September day. A horse whinnied in the nearby stable. Looking up at the sky, she followed the darkness that was moving in from the west. The air was becoming moist and heavy. It was just as well that she'd be working indoors today rather than outdoors with the horses.
Minutes later, the sky opened, and it began to rain. The steady stream soaked the streets as gusts of wind splattered the faces of beleaguered pedestrians.
During lunch, Jade walked to the dressmaker's to pick up the clothes that she had ordered the week before. As she waited in the shop for her items, she listened to two women and the proprietress discussing the fabrics that were to be used for their dresses. The owner offered the women several choices, and each was earnestly analyzed in detail. With her parcels in hand, Jade exited the shop, and shook off the empty chatter. She was glad that her happiness didn't depend upon the cut and trim of a new outfit.
The rain was coming down hard. Jade looked down the street that led towards the opera house, which was only a short distance away. Her wet hair was plastered against her face and her cloak was dripping. There was still plenty of time left before she had to be back to work. Impulsively, she walked in the opposite direction to the bookstore that she had found the previous week.
The bookstore was warm and comfortable with a small fire burning in the fireplace. Jade took off her cloak and set it aside. Pushing her damp hair back with her hands, she greeted the white haired woman.
"Good day Madame," said Jade.
"Good day Madame. Or, is it Mademoiselle?" asked the woman.
"It is Mademoiselle," replied Jade.
"Can I help you, Mademoiselle?"
"Yes. I am looking for a book that illustrates and discusses architectural plans. I work at the Opera Populaire, and I hope to be able to review the floor plans of the building. Do you have a book that would help me interpret them?"
"I have several books on architecture. One is a basic book of design that would include instructions on how to draw plans for a prospective design. Is that what you're looking for?" said the older woman.
"Perhaps. May I see it?" replied Jade.
While the woman looked for the book, Jade browsed the large bookcase in front of her. A title caught her eye so she pulled the book from the shelf and thumbed through it. It looked interesting and she carried it to the reading room. The architectural book was waiting on the table for her.
She quickly found the section that covered the information she was seeking. It was a very large, expensive book. This was the first time she had looked at professional and highly technical reading material. Instead of feeling overwhelmed by the detail, she felt curious. This is a useful book. It will help me understand my new home better, as well as Paris, she thought.
Time passed quickly, and soon she needed to leave. Turning to the second book, she read it for a few minutes. It was completely different from the first. Whereas the architecture book was dry, and factual, this one was lively and literary. She wanted it as well, but decided that the architecture book was more important, and it would be her first purchase.
"Madame, if I give you a deposit today, would you be willing to set this book aside for me? I hope to be able to pay you the remainder within a month."
If the older woman was surprised by her choice, she showed no sign. She nodded amiably, and placed the book on a small table behind her. The other book remained on the counter.
Later, back in the office, Jade was thinking about the auditions. She would have liked to have gone to the auditorium and watch the performances. She hadn't heard opera before, and the faint sound of voices drifting to the offices was competing with the melody in her mind. Mme. Truffaut had said that if she wished to attend any of the auditions, she could rearrange her schedule for this week, as long as the deliveries were taken care of. Perhaps, at the end of the week, she would be able to watch some of the dancers audition.
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DuChant was sitting in his office when Antoine Meley entered. He stood up, and gestured to the empty chair in front of his desk.
Mentally, he congratulated himself that Meley had agreed to be the music director. It took a lot off his mind to have such a competent person in that critical position.
"How go the rehearsals, M. Meley?" he asked. Meley gave him a self-satisfied look and a tight smile.
"Well enough, M. DuChant. I think we have several good lead male singers. I'll be ready for the women tomorrow. Then we'll do a call back on Wednesday and probably finish with the selection of the chorus." He slowly placed his palms together to demonstrate the expected completion of his task.
"Excellent. Everything appears to be moving along quite nicely. I will need the names of your choices so that I can pass them on to M. and Mme. Deschamps."
Meley stiffened. "M. DuChant, it is my understanding that I will have the final say in the hiring of the cast. Are my choices to be approved or disapproved by the owners?" He looked sharply at DuChant as his lips tightened.
DuChant looked closely at the man in front of him. Meley had a reputation for being temperamental. He had already discussed this point once with him before offering him the position. He hoped that this wouldn't become a sticking point.
"M. Meley, the new owners have a great love of opera and considerable experience in this area. Mme. Deschamps is a former diva. Our agreement was that they would review all of your suggested hires, and make the final decision. I am certain that they will have a great respect for your choices and that if there are differences of opinion, they will be resolved to the satisfaction of all."
Meley was silent as he sized up DuChant. He fully intended to be the absolute authority when it came to choosing the cast. He also knew that he would have to play by the owner's rules, at least at first. Once he had become indispensable, then matters would change.
"Very well, M. DuChant. You will have my list on your desk by Thursday."
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As the sun set, Manette DuBois was walking to the café for her evening meal. Earlier that day, she had met the new ballet mistress, Mme.Therese Lacroix, an impressive woman. Manette was pleased that they would be working together. The ballet auditions would be held later in the week, and she was eager to attend. Mme. Lacroix had been kind enough to allow her to change her schedule so she could spend an hour a day in the auditorium.
When Manette sat down to supper, she wasn't in the least bit interested in the food. The only thing she could think of was ballet.
A considerably larger number of people were dining at the cafe this week as compared to the previous one. The management had been busily hiring new staff. Soon the luxury of a private table would be gone and every seat would be filled.
Looking across the room, she spied Jade eating her dinner as she quietly talked with Gillian. The child was now in the habit of regularly eating supper with her new friend. This was the third night in a row that they had dined together. Since their visit last week, the child had become less fearful. She hadn't had a nightmare in over a week.
Leaving her table, Manette crossed the room, and walked to Jade's table.
"Good evening, Mademoiselle" said Manette to Jade.
Jade looked up at Manette. The open and animated expression on her face that she'd had when talking with the child disappeared, and was replaced with a more guarded one.
"Good evening, Madame DuBois, " she replied quietly.
"I was wondering if you planned to attend any of the ballet auditions that will be held later this week? If so, I would like to know if you would be interested in taking Gillian to one of them. I think it would be good for her to see an audition." Manette already knew the answer to her question.
Gillian's eyes lit up like candles as she stared intensely at Jade. Jade smiled back at her, and then turned to Manette.
"That would be fine, Madame. I can let you know on the day of the rehearsal when I can come by, and collect her from your class."
"Very good. I'll look forward to seeing you then. Please feel free to call me by my first name, Manette." She smiled briefly at Jade, and then left the table.
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After supper, Jade walked down to the river where she sat for awhile. Then she strolled along the boulevard as she moved in time to the melody in her head. If she had been alone, she would have swung her arms in response to it, as a child does when she plays. The oppressive, rainy day had brought out a number of pedestrians who were enjoying the clear sky. She could feel that a change in weather was approaching, and guessed that it would soon be too chilly to walk without a wrap. She'd have to replace the old cloak that she had borrowed from the costume department with a new winter garment. But, at this moment, she chose not to dwell on necessities. Instead, she simply enjoyed the music in her head, the fine weather, and the loveliness of an early, autumn evening in Paris.
Returning to the opera house, she walked down the hall to her room. As she approached her door, she noticed the package that was leaning against the door. Looking down at it, she saw her name printed across it. She picked it up, and studied it with intense curiosity. Pierre?
Opening her door, she laid the package on the table, and lit the gaslight. Then she stared at the handwriting. It was done in a bold and expressive style. Slowly, she tore away the paper and exposed a simple, wooden box.
Lifting the lid, she found a book. Her mouth opened slightly with surprise. This is definitely not from Pierre.
She was holding the book that she had wanted to buy in the bookstore, earlier that day. It was a copy of the novel JANE EYRE by Charlotte Bronte.
Setting the book down, Jade frowned. Who had seen her? Who could have known her interest?
She flipped open the book, and searched for a clue. Inside was a folded piece of paper. Opening it, she read:
Mademoiselle,
Paris autumns and winters can be disagreeably cold. When the weather turns, you may find it more pleasant to explore a novel rather than the streets of Paris.
I have been told that this is a popular literary work that is enjoyed by well-read young women in both England and France.
Your obedient servant,
The note was unsigned.
Jade ran her fingers over the book's cover. This couldn't be a coincidence. Someone had seen her in the bookstore, or they had quizzed the owner after she left. She would go back tomorrow and ask the woman.
She got up from the table and did a few tasks in her room. She hung up her new clothes in the wardrobe, and rearranged a vase of flowers. During the entire time, she was thinking about the book. It was a strange, disturbing, and oddly enough, an attractive gift. A secret benefactor, she thought. Was he or she a friend or foe? Two weeks ago, she would have assumed it was a foe, someone playing with her, or trying to control her. But now, after Pierre's generosity and her satisfying life here at the opera house, she was willing to entertain another idea.
Suddenly, she shook her head to dismiss the thought. That's foolish and dangerous thinking! Remember the sound in the passageway last night? Was that a benefactor as well?
Returning to the table, she stared at the book. After a few minutes, she opened it to the first chapter.
It had been a long time since she had owned a book. When she was a child, she used to sit in the kitchen and listen with joy when her mother read to her. She had held onto that good feeling long after her mother had pulled away and emotionally abandoned her.
She lit a few candles and carried them to the mirror. Then she settled into her chair and began to read. Slowly, she read several chapters, and savored the story. It was dark and hopeful at the same time. She imagined that she was in Jane Eyre's place in those extreme circumstances. The novel pulled her in. As she read it, she forgot about her room, her life, and the music in her mind.
Shutting the book, she extinguished the gaslight and undressed by candlelight. Then she blew out the candles and lay down on her bed. She thought about the gift. She was still disturbed by it. Someone was watching her very closely.
She turned on her side and tried to put it out of her mind. This wasn't the sort of thing to think about just before bed. It could easily lead to nightmares. She decided to think about something else. Gillian. She would have more time with the child later this week. That was a pleasant prospect.
Jade focused on Gillian's face as she began to drift into sleep. But one last thought slipped in just before she faded from the conscious world. Part of her had enjoyed getting a gift from an unknown stranger.
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He had followed her from the café to the river. There he watched her walk along the banks until she turned back to the opera house. On the last part of her trip, as she approached the hall that led to her room, he quickly moved ahead of her. Depositing the package at her door, he entered the hidden passage, and made his way to the two-way mirror.
He had debated whether or not to watch her reaction to his gift. He knew that she was extremely protective of her privacy. For the first time since living at the opera house, he had actually wondered if it would be wiser to respect another's needs rather than spy upon them. But old habits won out, urged on by his insatiable curiosity.
As she unwrapped the book, he witnessed her astonishment and the frown that followed.
While she read, her face lost the guarded quality that often rested there. Her lips softened and became fuller. Although not a beauty in the classic sense of the word, she doesn't have Christine's exquisite features, her face had a special loveliness in the candlelight and her eyes were exceptional. She was clearly enjoying her gift.
He stayed to watch her undress and for the first time he saw her scantily clothed. When she changed in the stable, she had more undergarments on. Now she was nearly naked. Her small breasts were bound with a makeshift cloth that served as a substitute for a corset. When she was finished, she reached for the last candle and leaned towards it. As she prepared to blow it out, the small glow lit up her glossy hair. Against a backdrop of blackness, he saw her slim waist and arched brow in profile. His gaze moved to her half closed eyelids, and traveled along the curve of her cheek to the delicate pursing of her lips. Then she disappeared into the darkness.
Heading back to his home, he carried a small lantern, which lit a faint pathway ahead. He had enjoyed giving her the book. And he had enjoyed watching her use it. Gifts were useful things. They could express appreciation. They could also spark reactions in the recipient, reactions that an astute observer could use to gather insights about the person studied. He had learned something about her tonight. It was something that he would be able to use when he chose to interact with her face to face.
He smiled as he thought of the architecture book. She was full of surprises.