Chapter 26 Mourning

Erik watched Jade from the mirror as she put on the black dress. She slipped her pale arms through the sleeves of the costume and arranged the high collar about her tanned neck. His lips opened slightly in appreciation as he saw her twist around and lift her skirt to check her stockings. Her slender, strong legs were covered in soft fabric that highlighted their curves. As usual, she was not wearing a corset. Before he had heard her tell her history to the farmer, he had wondered what class she was born in. Her love of books and the way she spoke pointed to education and good breeding, but she shared the lower class's indifference to fashionable encumbrances.

He had been watching her since Friday night, when she had first bolted her door against him. Every night it was the same. She would enter her room and then secure it.

If he left her a letter in the middle of the night it would prove that she could not lock him out. But he had dismissed the idea. She was in mourning, and he had not wanted to upset her.

Over the last few days, Erik had stood behind the mirror, in the corners of the stable and near other places that she passed by, and watched her pensive face. Today, her self-imposed isolation had finally become tiresome, and he had decided it was time for it to end.

He watched her leave by carriage for the cemetery, and then entered his own and followed.

It had been raining the entire day, and the cemetery grounds were soaked. The mood at the graveside was bleak and dreary. There was a large group gathered to bid Meley farewell on this, his last journey. DuChant and the Deschamps were there. The priest faced the crowd and droned on about the afterlife as he stood beneath the ancient, black cypresses that twisted and dipped in the wind. The people attending the interment looked out coldly from beneath their umbrellas. They were impatient to leave that dismal, wet scene.

Jade stood at a distance from the other mourners, and stared grimly at the priest. She was indifferent to the blasts of rain that struck her. Erik watched her straight back and still figure which appeared to be planted in the earth like the cold, stone statues that surrounded her.

When the service ended, the crowd dispersed. DuChant walked back to his carriage, his shoes occasionally scraping the raised stone path. Looking out from below his dripping hat, he spied the lone woman standing in the rain and recognized her. What is she doing here? he thought, mildly perturbed. Ever since he had spoken with Jade in her room the time that she was ill, the sight of her bothered him. Just the other day Pierre was back in his office asking that she be allowed to leave for a week to visit with him and his family. DuChant had readily agreed. With luck, she would stay there. If she married Pierre, he would rarely see her and she would no longer be his responsibility.

DuChant was curious as to why she had attended the service. Meley had no friends in the lower class. All the mourners in the church had been wealthy, bourgeoisie, or successful artists who were now well to do. Meley would have ignored someone of Jade's station.

He sat in his carriage and watched the woman approach the fresh grave. The gravedigger was grunting as he tossed wet dirt into the hole. She stood nearby with her head bent down and appeared to be watching where the dirt landed. Odd behavior, he thought. She's acting as if she knew him well and regrets his death.

After a few minutes, DuChant lost interest, and signaled for the driver to move on.

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When the grave was filled in, Jade laid a flower upon it. She knelt down in the wet grass, crossed herself, and prayed for a few minutes. The gravedigger had left and she was alone.

She got up and wiped the damp grass from her cloak. It would be a long walk back to the opera house. She couldn't afford to keep a carriage waiting. Madame Truffaut would be angry with her when she arrived late for work.

As she walked out of the cemetery, Jade passed a lone carriage that waited on the road. It's probably someone who is visiting a grave, she thought absently.

Erik watched her walk by, and signaled the driver to follow.

The rain poured around her as she sloshed through the puddles. The water was running off her face and soaking her clothing. After a quarter of a mile, the carriage pulled up beside her and matched her pace. Then Erik called to her.

Startled, she turned to the carriage, and saw the shadow within. She had been deep in thought as she walked, and his sudden presence shook her from it.

The white mask floated closer to the carriage window, and then Erik's voice, stern and commanding, cut through the air. "I do not want to see you ill again. Come into the carriage."

She climbed in with dripping cloak and skirt, and sat across from Erik who was splendidly dressed. He tossed a lap blanket next to her, and gave her a sharp nod that demanded that she use it. She obligingly put it over her legs, and cautiously stared back at him.

"My dear, you seem to have a propensity to immerse yourself in foul weather. Were you planning on walking the entire way back to the opera house in this storm?" Erik was scowling at her and his voice was colder than the wind outside.

Jade looked down at her fingers, which had a bluish tinge to the nails. As usual, he was correct in his assessment, but she bridled at his tone. But, after a moment of reflection, she realized that it was a relief to find him angry with her rather than sympathetic. She deserved anger and chastisement.

They rode in silence with Jade looking out the window and Erik restraining his feelings. He wanted to pull her out of that seat, remove those damnable wet garments, and cover her with his cloak. But he knew that she would fight him. She seemed hell bent on punishing herself.

Suddenly, Erik reached across, and taking her hands, began to rub them vigorously to restore the circulation and color. Jade jumped back a bit but the carriage seat thwarted her escape. She watched as he worked over her hands and felt warmth move up to her wrists. Looking down at his bowed head, she smelled the faint odor of candle smoke that came from his black hair. And then, unexpectedly, she wanted to touch him.

Quickly, she looked out the window at the sheet of gray rain, and took in a deep breath of cold air. I don't deserve him or anyone else, she thought bitterly.

The hand rubbing stopped and his fingers were at her throat. Jade pulled away, and raised her hands to stop him as he started to undo the cloak's ties. When he growled, "Hold still," she stopped struggling, and let him remove her cloak. Then he placed his own around her shoulders, and sat back in his seat with a look of triumph.

She watched him for a moment and wondered what other liberties he might try next. Turning back to the window, she asked herself, why is he being kind to me?Oh yes. It was no surprise to him that I killed a man. He apparently doesn't mind traveling with a murderer. Perhaps many of his acquaintances are criminals.

When the carriage drew near to the opera house, Jade removed the warm, dry cloak and put her own back on. She handed the cloak to Erik who didn't take it. Sighing, she reached over and placed it on the seat next to him. As she sat back, his hand closed over her wrist and gripped it tightly. Quickly, she looked up into his eyes.

"My dear, I should like to visit you in your room tomorrow evening. Do not bolt your door when you retire." His smooth voice and mocking eyes seemed to be making a joke of her need for privacy. However, there was nothing humorous about his grip.

Lifting her chin, she stared back and pushed aside the thought of submitting to him. He will not control me, she thought defiantly.

She abruptly pulled her hand from his grasp, and stepped out of the carriage. The fire was back in her stride as she climbed the opera house steps.

Erik watched her until she disappeared, and signaled the driver to move on.

Now he knew how to restore her spirit. Although there was a risk that she might throw another hard object at his head, he would bully her back to her old self.

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After changing her clothes, Jade ran to the offices. Once she arrived, she had to push past several workmen who were crowding around the door.

The place was a mad house. Orders were flying in so quickly that Mme. Truffaut had hired a third assistant to help them get through the week. Everyone was working late. Jade would be lucky if she finished by eight o'clock this evening.

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It was half past eight when Jade made her way to the roof. The rains had stopped by late afternoon but the air was still moist. She leaned on the parapet and looked out at the lights of Paris. The luminous stream spread out below her perch and was broken only by the occasional silhouette of trees. After watching the display for a while, she turned away from the city and faced the terrace. Giant statues stood guard around her, and she followed their lines to the sky. She was awed by their size and mass, and imagined them crashing through the many floors of the opera house to the street below. But the roof held firm, and the light breeze that chilled her face shifted and danced in that high place, and lifted her spirit.

Earlier that day, she had felt very low. The cold rain beating against her at the funeral had seemed fitting and just. As she watched the dirt strike Meley's casket, each thud was a blow to her conscience. On her walk back to the opera house, she had pondered the vagaries of life. She dreaded what would come next since she could no longer trust herself to do what was right.

And then Erik had appeared out of nowhere and shook her out of those depressing thoughts.

Oddly, his arrogance had helped. As she fought against his domineering ways, she felt like her old self again.

She thought about his imminent visit tomorrow night. If she bolted her door against him, what would happen? An impasse had arisen. She had no choice but to defy him.

Turning back to the city's lights, she let go of her problems, and marveled at the beauty. Up there, on the roof of the opera house, it was like looking down from the heavens on a peaceful, perfect world. As she heard the faint clatter below, she felt detached from the struggles of mankind. Her face relaxed and she basked in the serenity.

Tonight, the music in her mind was deep and slow. Ever since Friday night's revelation, the music had been less strident and chaotic. It matches my feelings, she mused, whether I know them or not.

The melody reminded her of the late autumn days of her childhood, when the season shifted towards winter, and the days grew shorter.

Home. Today was November first, and she wondered what the countryside looked like around her village. She walked to a nearby statue, sat upon it, and daydreamed of rolling hills and clear skies. She was sitting by a lake and sharing a lunch with Pierre. His kiss was as fresh in her mind as if it had happened a moment ago. The look in his eyes had been warm and probing as he boldly declared his feelings.

Suddenly, she was back in the present as the evening chill ran through her shoulders. What would he think of me if he knew my secrets? She pondered. Now there were two: music and murder. Both pointed to insanity. How could she hoist such a problem upon her dear friend?

Sadly, she relinquished her long held dream of returning to the country. It's not for me, she thought mournfully. I'll never have that life again.

Jade rose, and walked to the parapet. She daringly leaned over it, and stared at the tiny figures that crossed the plaza. What would it feel like to plunge to the ground below? she wondered as she leaned further over the edge.

There was a noise as the door to the roof opened. Abruptly, she backed away and turned to see Jean stepping out. In a moment, he was at her side.

After gazing at the display of lights, he said, "It's beautiful, isn't it? I haven't been up here for at least a month, and I forgot how quiet it is."

As he leaned on the parapet, Jade found his boyish air endearing. She turned back to the lights, and they stood there silently for several minutes.

Sitting on the ledge, he faced her. "Are you ready for opening night?" he asked casually.

She was expecting him to start up with his teasing about the dress. He had spent the last week joking about it as if he were trying to tell her that the whole idea of fashion was a silly matter, and she would easily sail through the ordeal ahead.

"Will we be able to watch the opera?" she asked. Now that the performance was only four days away, she thought it was about time that she knew.

"You can always listen from the back stage. Once it's been staged a few times, there will probably be some seats available for the staff when they've finished selling tickets for that night," he replied.

"Well, then what's the point of getting dressed up for opening night?" Jade asked. All this fuss for nothing, she thought with mild irritation.

Jean looked at her steadily and replied, "After the opera, the principals and other performers gather in the halls around the auditorium and the dressing rooms, and congratulate each other. Important members of the audience will also be there. Wearing one's finest is a tradition."

Jade's face became expressionless. Giving her a warm smile, he continued. "None of those people will be paying attention to us, Jade. They'll all be trying to talk with the principals, the owners and the composer if the opera is a success. The staff and the rest of the cast will be celebrating in another area."

"What do you mean, 'if' it's a success? After all the work you've put into it…"

He laughed at her naiveté, and then stopped when she frowned. "It probably will be a success. But sometimes an opera isn't," he replied lightly.

Moving a little closer to her, he took her hand. "Jade, I want to tell you something." He smiled broadly. "Manette is pregnant. She told me last night."

"Oh Jean, that's wonderful! Congratulations! When?"

Shrugging his shoulders good naturedly, he answered, " In about seven months, I think. In the spring."

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Jade walked back to her room. It was late and she had missed supper, but it didn't matter. Jean's good news buoyed her up, and she felt like dancing. She wished the music in her mind were a livelier tune so that she could skate across the auditorium stage in celebration. She needed to think of a gift for them. Something special.

Unlocking her door, she reached up and turned on the gaslight. Looking into the room, she saw Erik seated at the table.

Startled, she stepped back. Then she quickly shut the door, and leaned her back against it.

"What are you doing here?" she exclaimed. For some, inane reason, she hadn't expected he would do that: wait for her in her room without permission. And in the dark! He'd broken nearly every other boundary but that one.

It was the last straw.

Erik looked up at her briefly, and then turned away in a dismissive manner as he picked up a book from the table.

Something inside of her snapped, and her pulse began to throb at her temples. The last of her patience and good sense vanished as she strode across the room. She stood over him in a fury and was ready to do anything to get him out. I've had enough of his insolence! she fumed.

Impulsively, she grabbed him by the shoulders and twisted them so that he would face her.

In a flash he was out of the chair, and holding her in a fierce grip. He picked her up, carried her to the bed, and dropped her on it.

She was up in an instant with her fists hitting his chest. Jade wasn't thinking of the best way to force him out, or how to hurt him. She simply needed to strike back at this big, arrogant man who thought he could bully her and do anything that he wished.

Once the anger began it escalated. Enraged, she pounded his chest. She was fighting Erik and the monumental obstacles of her life: her mother's abandonment, Jean-Luc's departure, her father, and the painful isolation.

Then, as suddenly as it had come, the anger disappeared. She found herself pressed against Erik, who was holding her close. Softly, his voice whispered into her ear, "Jade."

Jade slowly raised her head from Erik's chest, and looked into his eyes. He was looking down at her with that same tender look that she had seen when she'd first awoken from her fever.

A moment later, she realized that they were locked together in an intimate embrace. A wave of heat rushed across her face. She turned her head aside, and slowly pulled away from him. He released her, and sat down.

Moving to the dresser, she pulled out her nightclothes as she hid her face from him. She knew that she must be bright red from blushing and felt terribly embarrassed. Displaying her nightclothes to a man who had just held her in his arms was not a good idea, but it would've been worse if she aimlessly walked around the room. After the clothes were placed on the bed, she finally had the courage to look up at Erik.

He was reading his book, and tactfully ignoring her. Jade took a moment to study his face. The tenderness was gone and the firm, no nonsense look of his jaw line was back. Either whatever he had felt earlier was gone, or he was a skillful actor.

Reluctantly, she picked up the chair and moved it to the table where she sat down. After a moment, Erik closed the book, and gave her a steady look. Inwardly she winced but held his gaze.

"My dear, a few minutes ago, you were infuriated with me. In fact, you lost control, and attacked me." He paused and gave her a slight smile, which indicated that the violence had been no worse than a minor insect bite.

Erik opened his arms and showed her his chest, which was neatly clothed in an attractive waistcoat. "I was not mortally wounded by your attack," he said pointedly.

Leaving the table, he donned his cape, and walked out the door.

Minutes later, Jade slipped into her cold bed. While gazing at the ceiling, she realized how cleverly he had manipulated her. He had set her up for the fall, and then caught her at the precise moment that she had needed him. She now understood how he had been able to tame the wild stallion.

And then she wondered if he had set about to tame her as well.

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An hour later, Erik stood in front of the mirror. Removing his shirt, he studied the damage. Black and blue marks had emerged, and were advancing across his chest. She is stronger than I had expected, he thought a little ruefully. Reaching for the salve, he applied it to a particularly large bruise as he winced a little from the pain.

Fortunately, I held her close enough so that there was not enough momentum to break my ribs. It must have been the horseback riding and managing headstrong mounts that had given her that strength. At any rate, he would remember it in his future dealings with her.

Well, there is always the lasso, he thought, as he smiled wryly, and applied a cold cloth to his chest.

A/N: Dear readers, please keep the reviews coming. I used 2 comments from a reader to help me develop ideas for this chapter. You are all potential muses. Keep the faith.