A/N: just a reminder, the characters Christine and Raoul don't belong to me. They belong to G. Leroux's 'The Phantom of the Opera'.

The reference to the construction of the opera house is taken from Susan Kay's novel 'Phantom'.

Chapter 27 Opera

The wagon rolled away from the delivery door with its buckets of water sloshing and spilling onto its wooden bed. Jade watched as it lumbered down the street. She turned to the troop of boys who stood by the handcarts that were full of flowers, and together they wheeled their fragrant load into the opera house.

Deliveries to the Opera Populaire were finished. It was time for opening night.

After the flowers were rushed to the hands of the decorators, Jade lazily strolled through the corridors on the main floor, as she took in the frenzied activity around her. She passed the ballet dressing rooms, and on a whim, stepped inside. Through the thickly powdered air, the excited voices of ballerinas collided in the stuffy room. Their lithe, scantily clad bodies were draped in front of mirrors as they applied grease paint and makeup. Manette was in a corner adjusting the headpiece of a ballerina. She saw Jade and gave her a brief wave before returning to her work.

Jade left the dressing rooms and traveled to the backstage where she found Jean tinkering with the set for the first act. Glancing up at her, he got to his feet.

"Jade, are you going up to your room now to change?"

"Yes. When can you come up?" she asked.

"I'll be up in about an hour," he replied as he turned back to the set.

The staff quarters were flooded with activity. Most of the young women's doors were open as they flowed back and forth into each other's rooms with their dresses and hair ornaments. In a pinch, Jade might have asked one of the women to button the back of her new gown. But none of them were her friends, and Jean had said that he would do it. When she had first mentioned it, he had replied, "I've done thousands of buttons since I married Manette and I'm sure I'll do many more. The newest fashion is full of them. A couple dozen more won't matter," he grinned, as he waved her off the stage.

Walking towards her room, she thought of her new outfit. It was a better design than Jean's previous attempts. Unfortunately, it had a train.

Jade hated skirts that dragged yards of fabric behind them. It was a ridiculous nuisance. And Jean's friend in the costume department had gotten carried away and added another current fashion idea to it: a narrow skirt. It wasn't as severe as Manette's, which was at the height of fashion and allowed for only six inches of movement per step. However, it was still a perverse hindrance.

Thinking about the skirt caused her jaw to tighten. Opening her door, she turned on the gaslight, and stepped in to find a large box and several packages on her bed. After handling the parcels wrapped in ivory white paper with black ribbon, she carefully opened the large, flat box.

Inside was a gown of jade green velvet with petticoats piled beneath it. The rest of the bundles contained shoes, stockings, and her cashmere cloak.

She picked up the gown and studied it. Inside the upper part were two cup-like pieces of soft fabric with a stiffer fabric below them. It was an odd design. Looking down at her breasts, she suddenly realized that this was Erik's substitution for a corset.

Quickly, she put on the new clothes.

The garments felt light and comfortable. Unlike fashionable clothing of the day in which women wore pounds of undergarments, the petticoats were sleek and thin. The gown's sleeves allowed easy arm movement, a function often ignored by designers. The neckline was low, and exposed the top of her breasts. From shoulder to shoulder there hung a swath of fabric with many folds that gracefully fell to her waist.

The skirt with its simple lines was full and short enough to allow for easy walking through dusty halls without brushing the floor. And there wasn't a train!

As Jade looked at her reflection, she ran her fingers lightly across the delicate, gold embroidery that wound around the folds and edges of the gown. Tiny leaves and flowers of columbine protruded from the lush velvet. The effect was strikingly rich.

Picking up her cloak, she hugged it, and remembered the first time she saw it. It had been a thrill to put it on and imagine who had created it: someone intelligent and perceptive. Now it was back with this elegant gown.

Before she knew Erik and Pierre, she had been suspicious of such extravagant gestures, and afraid that they were bait to entrap her. Now she saw them with a fresh eye.

They were Erik's creations. They were gifts from a friend.

Sitting on the bed, Jade waited for him. A half hour later, Jean knocked at Jade's door.

000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Erik was prowling the building, as he looked for problems that might disrupt the staging of the opera and ruin opening night. He wanted tonight to be perfect.

He planned to take Jade to the chamber below the stage where the acoustics were excellent. Together, they would listen to the music, and he would have her to himself. He relished the thought of sharing the opera with a woman who would appreciate its beauty.

Pausing below the subscriber's room, he listened to the idle prattle of wealthy operagoers who were gathering for opening night. It was the usual blather about politics, social events, and business. Smiling sardonically at the poor use of their minds, he listened to their posturing and noted scraps of gossip that might be useful to him in the future.

He had seen the list on DuChant's desk and knew the identity of most of them.
Then suddenly, he heard a familiar voice, that of Raoul, the Vicomte de Chagny.

Startled, he froze, and then moved closer to the voice. Damnation! What the devil is he doing back here?

Erik was surprised that the man had the courage to return to the place where he had been humiliated and nearly destroyed.

And then it came to him. Christine must be here as well!

Swiftly with a racing heart, he moved to the area where the ladies were gathering. The thought of seeing her again in his opera house drove him to a desperate pace.

As he stood beneath each room, he listened for her voice, and found nothing. Lurking behind the walls, some of which had cracks or peepholes to peer through, he waited, and then moved restlessly on, like a great cat. She was nowhere to be found.

And then he heard her name.

"Where is the Vicomtesse de Chagny this evening?" asked a plump, older woman with very expensive looking jewels.

"My dear, have you not heard? She is in the last month of her confinement," replied a young, rosy-cheeked matron.

Erik leaned back against the wall and trembled. The thought of Christine heavy with his rival's child stabbed at him. The last time he had seen her had been six months before and there had been no evidence of the pregnancy.

Groaning, he pushed away the image, and then slowly walked back along the dark passages towards the staff quarters.

0000

It was after Jade had left that Erik arrived at her room. Entering, he lit a candle, and spied the cloak upon the bed, which he then scooped up.

Rushing along the passages, he searched for her. The opera would begin within the hour and he was running out of time.

0000

Jade was walking down a crowded corridor when Erik found her. She held her head high, and moved gracefully through the turmoil. Erik noticed men's heads turning in her direction as she passed them in her green gown. It flattered her, but she was unaware of their admiration.

He smiled at that. As she passed by his hiding place, he called to her using ventriloquism. She stopped, and pretended to straighten her gown as she waited.

"Go to the next corridor and turn left, then turn left at the one beyond. You will find an unlocked door at the end of the hall on the right," his voice whispered in her ear.

Arriving ahead of her, he unlocked the door and waited. Minutes later, she stepped into the dark room.

"Erik?" she asked tentatively of the blackness.

There was the sound of a match scraping the wall, and Erik lit the torch. Holding it above his head, he turned to her.

Lustrous eyes with pupils enlarged from excitement met his. In the green gown, she looked like a medieval maiden, a young virgin who had just stepped out of a glade after visiting with her unicorn. The torchlight bathed her face with a vibrant glow that suddenly warmed his heart and made her seem lusciously attainable.

Erik's gaze inadvertently traveled down her neck and rested upon her soft breasts that were partly exposed to the chilly, unheated air. Their gradual rise and fall mesmerized him.

After a moment he looked away, thinking that she would regard him as crude for dumbly staring at her breasts. But when he looked into her eyes, her gaze was soft and curious, as if she were sensing that something was amiss. She was waiting for him to act.

Pulling her cloak from the top of a crate, he placed it across her shoulders and said quietly, "It is chilly where we will be going." Then he offered his hand to her.

They passed through the door to the hidden passage, and walked the corridors until reaching the area below the stage. There they came to a widening of the passage, which was the size of a small room. In its center were a table, two chairs and a bottle of wine with two glasses. Erik placed the torch on the wall, and motioned for her to sit.

He poured the wine and handed her a glass. Jade was watching him closely, and her dreamy look was gone.

The candles of the standing candelabras were lit, and the tiny chamber's walls wavered in the expanding glow. Settling in, they waited for the music. As they brought the wine to their lips, the orchestra above began to play.

The sweeping sound was drawn to the chamber, which distilled it into crystal clarity. Distinct notes lingered upon the air, and then swelled and painted the chamber's walls with throbbing sensations.

Shutting her eyes, Jade sighed deeply, and gave herself up to the ebb and flow of the melody, which carried her to a euphoric peace.

Erik watched her for a few moments and then shut his eyes as well.

Following the orchestra and voices, he critiqued the performance. Everything was going well, and it appeared that opening night would be a success. Relaxing, he leaned back in his chair, and immersed himself in the whirl of sounds.

His eyelids grew heavy, and his breathing slowed as he traveled down old avenues of past delights. The music took him back to the heyday of the Opera Populaire when beautiful arias breathed life into his lonely compositions. One voice separated itself from the rest with an exquisite joy that tethered his soul. The memory of Christine returned, with her chestnut curls and brown eyes that swallowed him whole. He was standing before her, and singing the last part of the Don Juan duet. Clasping her hand between his, he cried out his love as he stared into her face, determined to show her once and for all that he was utterly hers.

Her response was to rip off his mask and expose him to the world.

Erik flinched, and opened his eyes in horror.

Taking in a slow, deep breath, he composed himself, and put on the distant air that masked the bare side of his face. The pain retreated as once again the music surrounded him.

Slowly, he turned to his companion.

Jade was sitting with her eyes closed, and her face tipped up to the ceiling as the notes rained down upon her.

She was soft and lovely in her green gown with the pale cloak lying lightly on her shoulders. Her glossy hair was swept back with a comb and fell past her shoulders.

She was beauty, and peace—his future untainted by the past. Tonight was supposed to have been their beginning.

With trembling hands, he thought of touching her face and bringing her lips to his. Having her would be living a dream. In it, he could lose himself in her exhilarating mix of softness and strength, resourcefulness and fragility.

During these last weeks with her, his obsessive love for Christine had diminished, and had been replaced with hope.

Turning from her, he clenched his jaw, and inwardly cursed Raoul de Chagny's voice. The mere thought of Christine being in his opera house had nearly driven him past reason. His automatic, desperate search for her forced him to see that he was still bound to her. Which meant that if he were to take his pleasure with Jade, he would be using her. She was there beside him and he could not even touch her.

The frustration mounted and with it came an immense urge to smash something. He restlessly shifted in his chair, which caused it to creak loudly.

Jade opened her eyes, and watched him for a moment. Then she shut them, and turned back to the music.

Erik forced himself to calm down and consider his choices. If he were tender and careful, she could come to love him. He would give her what was left of his love, even if the most important part was already taken. She would stay with him.

However, if she were to see my true face, she would run from me. She would lose whatever romantic ideas I have inspired.

The answer, of course, was simple: if he wanted her to stay, he must never show it to her.

Erik leaned back in his chair and listened as the voices resonated above him. Whatever he decided to do, he had better do it soon. There was a rival for her affection, and he could feel her poised and ready to make a decision.

000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Jade sat in the stone chamber and carefully studied Erik. There was something unusual about him tonight. She could feel it. In spite of the magic in this sanctuary of music, his uneasiness was palpable.

Her mind vacillated between the music and her concern for him. She wanted to ease her friend's distress, but she didn't know how.

During the intermission, Erik seemed to relax somewhat as he explained to her the history of the opera house. Precisely, he described the challenges of drainage, construction, and working with a tight fisted budget from the French government. His discourse was filled with wit, sardonic humor, and reverence. At the end of it, she concluded that he had a deep and abiding love for the place.

Where is his home? She burned with curiosity. But it wasn't her way to pry into another's secrets. If he wanted her to know, he would tell her.

A thought came to her. He was scholarly; perhaps he knew something about natural science that could help Pierre's brother, Lucien.

"Erik, do you know about the grape blight?" she asked.

He looked at her with interest, and welcomed the unexpected topic.

"Yes. Of course," he answered. Then he waited for her real question.

"If you had a vineyard that was affected, what would you do?"

The torch suddenly sputtered and fought to stay alight, then faded away. Erik got up, pulled it from the wall, and laid it on the floor. Returning, he faced her.

"I would buy healthy root stock from America, and would graft onto it a desirable scion. I would then rip out my current vineyard, and plant the new vines in the unaffected areas. Does your acquaintance have any remaining unaffected vines?" His eyes were twinkling as he asked her the question. He was enjoying this.

"I believe so," Jade slowly answered. "What do you consider to be healthy American root stock?"

Their discussion continued until the orchestra began again.

After the intermission, Erik seemed like his old self. He leaned back in a relaxed fashion and listened to the music while he casually sipped his wine.

The final scene from Aida was still beautiful, but it didn't have the same effect on Jade as the first time she heard it. This time, Jean-Luc remained safely buried in her heart.

When the opera was finished, Erik led her back to the room from where they had entered the hidden passages. Turning to her, he stretched out his arm and deftly removed the cloak from her shoulders. Jade looked up at him with surprise.

"You will not need this for the remainder of the night." He stood there with a mocking smile on his lips, as if he dared her to try to take it back.

She gazed at him, puzzled by the game he was playing. Then she shrugged her shoulders and left the room.

000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Erik quickly strode back to his home. He had no intention of spying upon the parties and self-congratulating that would now play out in the opera house. The opera had been a success. He was tired and wanted sleep.

Arriving home, he pulled the small boat onto the shore. As per his usual ritual, he relit the candles that had burned out in his absence. After putting on his robe, he casually examined a few architectural drawings, and added several details. Then he pushed them aside, and went to his bedchamber.

The camel colored cloak was lying on his bed. Pulling back the covers, he slipped in, and pulled the cloak towards him. He caressed its soft folds for a moment, and then brought it to his nose. Her smell was embedded in it.

Lying awake with the candles reflected in his eyes, he watched the shadow play on the ceiling as he held the cloak in his arms.

000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Brightly colored Chinese lanterns swung between the high ceiling and the floor of the enormous room. Food and beverages were piled on the tables, and there was an abundance of absinthe and grain alcohol for those who cared to imbibe. The room roared with laughter and drunken voices.

Most of the cast and staff were there for the after-party. Even Mme. Truffaut sat in a chair and watched the proceedings with glittering eyes.

On entering the room, Jade immediately looked for Manette and Jean, and saw them at the back. As she squeezed through the crowd, she was suddenly brushing against Paul Rascon. He gave her a smile and a bow, and then stepped aside for her. Nodding, she moved past him. His eyes followed her until she reached her friends.

Seeing Jade, Jean jumped up and offered her his chair. "Jade," he said, eyeing her with appreciation, "did I tell you how marvelous you look tonight?"

She blushed and sat down. She was glad that he hadn't been offended by her not wearing the gown he had designed.

Manette was perched on her chair, and looked lovely as she too wore a new gown. She was one of the few people that Jade knew who could carry off any fashion with grace and verve.

"That is an extraordinary gown, Jade. Where did you get it?" Her eyes were moving smoothly over Jade's garment, and there was a certain calculating look to them, as if she were busily stealing ideas from the designer.

"It was sent up to my room this evening as a surprise," Jade answered. She turned to Jean. "I am so grateful that you cared to design a gown for me. I'll wear it at the party tomorrow night."

Jean snorted and firmly shook his head 'no'. "You will not! This one is perfect for you, and you will wear it tomorrow night, as well. I want you to look and feel your best when you meet Verdi."

0000

Leaving the party early, Jade returned to her room with Jean at her side. The halls they passed through had a fair share of drunken, boisterous people, and lovers entwined in dark corners. Jean had thought that it would be a good idea to escort her back to her room.

After Jean left, Jade went to Pierre's door and knocked. The door opened and an unknown, young man appeared.

"Mademoiselle?" he asked. Then his gaze swept her gown, and his mouth opened. His eyes softened, and he bowed to her.

"I'm looking for Pierre. I am his friend, Jade Bouta."

"Ahhh, Mlle. Bouta. Uncle Pierre told me to give this to you." He turned from the door, and then returned with an envelope that was addressed to her.

"I am Michel Aubert," the young man said as he handed her the letter, and gave her another bow.

She gazed at him and could see that he was a little smitten with her.

"You are Lucien's son?"

Michel smiled, pleased that she already knew a little about him, and nodded 'yes'.

"Thank you for the letter, Michel. If I choose to reply to your uncle, may I count on you to deliver a letter to him?" she asked.

"But of course, Mlle. Bouta. I would be honored to assist you." He was a handsome fellow and looked a little like Pierre.

"Thank you Michel. Good night."

Jade returned to her room, and opened the letter.

My dear Jade,


I am very sorry to have missed the opening night of the opera. I had hoped to see you there and join in your celebration.


Earlier this week, I needed to meet with a man in another village about business that concerns my family, and the trip took more time than I had planned. I have sent my nephew to Paris in my place to take care of my market business this week.


I will see you on Wednesday. I hope that you are still planning on visiting my home. If you choose to take the train instead of traveling with me, as we discussed, I still wish to meet with you at the opera house before you leave.


I hope this finds you in the best of health.


Sincerely,


Pierre Aubert


Jade put the letter in the pocket of her breeches. She hadn't mentioned her plans to visit Pierre's home to anyone except DuChant. Nor had she and Pierre discussed it in the opera house.

There was something about his letter that troubled her. As she opened it, a premonition gave her goose bumps. She said a little prayer for Pierre, and hoped that everything was fine with her friend.

Quickly, she wrote a reply, and gave it to Michel.

Afterwards, she lay in bed, and replayed the evening as she thought of her upcoming trip to the country. She had said nothing to Erik about it. Instead, she planned to leave him a letter in her room when she left. When he came looking for her, he would see it and understand.

Would he?

Part of her knew that although she was now well and didn't need his guardianship that her unexpected absence would upset him. But she couldn't bring herself to tell him. Their new friendship was fragile and didn't need arguments and divisiveness. In addition, she wondered if he would oppose her leaving the opera house.

She turned over on her side and prepared to sleep.

He was such a puzzle. Something had been wrong with him tonight before they talked.

And why did he take back the cloak?

A/N: I have now written over 80,000 words in this story, which is a small novel.

I know, 'big deal'. Lots of authors on this site have written multiple novels.

But, this is my first one and when I started this story, I never thought it would become a novel.

Thank you dear readers, and especially those of you who review. Your words are always inspiring.