As she hid behind the velvet curtain, Jade peered around its edge, and watched the man in the auditorium below. The sandy haired, music director was sitting still in his seat with his eyes fixed on the stage.
Mercilessly, he had rehearsed the singers several hours past their lunchtime.
"Again," he said in a resonant voice.
Jade's eyes darted to the performers, and she noted the tension in their faces. With that quick, firm tone, he had successfully beaten back their weary impatience.
The singers moved back into their previous positions, and Jade's gaze returned to the man. His masterful air reminded her of someone.
Erik, she thought, as she released the curtain. The heavy drapery moved soundlessly into place, and shielded her from the theater below.
She glanced about the opulent opera box, which was situated in the second tier of the auditorium. She had no business being there in her stable clothes, or even in her Sunday best. The only box she would be able to visit without feeling out of place was box five.
His domain, she mused.
Quietly, she left the box, and crept through the hall. She was ashamed of sneaking about and spying, and almost wished she would get caught.
Minutes later, she was back in the stable, and sitting on a crate as she deftly repaired a broken harness. The quick, hard thrusts of needle to leather caused her to softly grunt as she wrestled with the task. She struggled to maintain her focus and avoid a nasty jab from the needle. Erik's intense gaze from last night was on her mind. In response to his tender query, she had pulled away from him. The lord of the opera house, her benefactor and friend, had asked her for something that she couldn't give.
Jade tossed the harness aside, and impatiently pawed through the pile of aged leather in search of another task. Keeping busy helped suppress her careening feelings.
Paul Rascon stepped around the corner, and stared at her for a moment. Glancing up at him, she gave him a brusque nod, and then returned to her labor.
"The white mare has been irritable lately. She could use some exercise," he said and then left.
Once they were inside the pen, she carefully snapped the whip over the horse's head, which set the mare into a trot. She gazed at the fluid, graceful movements of those slender, white legs, whose silvery hooves tapped the ground. Around the horse went, and around as she turned and followed the monotonous oval. The calls of overhead birds joined with the light clipping sound of the horse, to free Jade's mind from her worries. Then the fragmented thoughts coalesced as Jean-Luc's face advanced, and pushed aside the brief peace.
The man sitting in the auditorium was the spirit of Jean-Luc come back to haunt her. Why? She had kept him in her heart all these years, as she had vowed. She had remained faithful to him. In that way, she had kept him alive.
Faithful? a nagging thought challenged. If you are so faithful, what were you doing with Erik last night?
Jade frowned as she thought of him. He had been prying her heart open since the first day they met. Bit by bit, he had crept closer to her, using his sly, delicious ways, and beauty to break down her defenses. The tight, little sanctuary that housed her lost love was crumbling. And when it was gone, Jean-Luc would disappear.
That is why Jean-Luc is haunting you, the voice whispered ruthlessly.
No! she wanted to cry out. She couldn't lose him. He was the only one who had ever loved her.
A sharp neigh pulled Jade's attention back to the pen. Rascon had saddled the black stallion, and was taking him out of the stable. She watched as the large horse danced down the path with Rascon's iron fist holding him in check. Gathering up the line, she led the mare to her stall.
Later, back in her room, she put away her stable clothes, and stared at her reflection.
No one had ever asked her before about Jean-Luc. Only her mother had had an inkling of how much he had meant to her. And perhaps M. Soleri had known as well. But she had kept her feelings hidden.
And now Erik wanted to know.
Erik wasn't someone you refused. He would find a way to get what he wanted out of her. And once he had it, what would he do?
With a knit brow, she turned from the mirror. The angst that had ridden her all day had intensified. Her feelings swung between anxiety and melancholy. Pacing the room, she thought of the hurt in Erik's eyes last night. Why did he want to know about Jean-Luc?
Opening the wardrobe, she removed the cashmere cloak, and laid it across her shoulders. Absent mindedly, she stroked its soft folds as she tried to calm down.
When Erik had held her last night, she had felt protected, desired. As she buried her face into his shirt, for a few moments, he became her whole world.
Wavering between her feelings for Jean-Luc and Erik she twisted the cashmere fabric in her hands, and moved aimlessly around the room.
Suddenly, there was a loud knock on her door. Quickly, she opened it.
"Pierre!" she cried in surprise. It was Saturday evening, and he wasn't due for market until next Friday.
"Hello Jade," he replied, as he casually leaned on the door frame. The hall's gaslight backlit his curly brown hair as he loomed over her. "May I come in?"
It was the first time that he had been in her room since her illness weeks ago. She opened the door wide to the tall man, and blinked with a touch of confusion as he strolled inside.
Seated at the table, Pierre lit a candle. His large hands momentarily cradled the pale cylinder of wax until the tiny flame emerged.
"Have you had supper yet?" he asked lightly as she walked to him. She shook her head 'no'.
He gave her a warm smile, and comfortably stretched out his legs. "I'll be staying here for the night, and I haven't dined either. Will you join me?"
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The restaurant was finer than the others they had dined at. Jade's mouth watered, as she read the menu: consommé a la Delinae, crepinettes de lapereaux au truffles, carpe du Rhin a la Chambord, escaloppes de foies gras Toulouse, glaces… She hadn't eaten all day, and was suddenly very hungry. But the prices were exorbitantly high. Studying the menu, she tried to decide which item she could afford.
Looking up at Pierre, her heart warmed when she saw his bright smile. He was in good humor. It was as if last week's marriage proposal had never happened.
As he looked over his menu, he said, "I spoke with Jean and Manette today, and they told me that Tuesday is your birthday. Since I can't be here for it, I was hoping that we could celebrate tonight," he said cheerfully. "Please allow me to buy you supper."
During the first few courses, they chatted about his family. Marie's gown for the Christmas season had been finished, and her fiancée would be joining her in another three weeks. Plans for his sister's upcoming wedding were in full swing.
"Fiancée? " Jade said with surprise. That was important news he'd neglected to tell her.
"Yes," Pierre replied casually. "They were engaged last week. The wedding will be in the spring. You'll be getting an invitation from her at the beginning of the year."
As Jade speared a truffle, she recalled the morning breakfasts at Claire's table. The wedding would be a joyous event for the close-knit family. The thought of attending it made her feel uneasy. Did his family know about Pierre's proposal to her, and if so, what did they think of her not accepting him?
"Michel sends you his love," Pierre said quietly. She gave him a startled look. He was watching her closely, and had successfully read her mind.
After their sumptuous meal, they walked to the Jardin des Tulleries. It was a cold night, but they ignored the chill and admired the greenery. They paused by the ruins of the Emperor's Palace that had been destroyed during the revolt of the Paris Commune in 1871. Under the full moon, the wreckage shone eerily like the broken teeth of a giant specter. As they talked, Pierre made light conversation that centered on the opera house. How had her week been? Had she spent much time with the horses? Was there any word about Gillian?
He gently pressed her for more information about the child, and she added details that she hadn't told him in her letter. As he listened attentively, he asked additional questions. By the time they headed back to the opera house, she had revealed all of her feelings of sadness and longing for the little girl. The only thing that she held back was Erik's gift of the portrait.
When they reached the staff quarters, they were warmly engaged in each other's company. And, since Jade didn't have to work the next day, Pierre invited her to his room to share a bottle of wine.
He sat on the bed, and she sat in an overstuffed chair close to him. After the second glass of wine, the conversation flowed freely.
When she mentioned the music director, Pierre gave her a keen look. Then he rose, and opened a second bottle of wine, as Jade continued to talk.
Normally, she would have stopped drinking after the second glass. But tonight she was celebrating. Pierre had returned, and had apparently forgiven her. Jade was deeply grateful that their friendship had survived. Since Erik hadn't mentioned coming for her tonight, she could drink as much as she wished. Her room was an easy distance, five doors down the hall.
When she was on her fourth glass of wine, she was oblivious to the fact that Pierre was barely sipping his own.
He casually guided the topic back to the new music director by asking if she had met him yet. Jade was silent for a long moment. Then she turned her head aside. After a minute, she faced him, and stared gloomily up at him with tears rimming her eyes.
"Jade," he said slowly. "What's the matter?"
Opening her mouth to speak, she thought better of it, and lowered her head. Tightly squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to stifle the tears. To her horror, she began to sob.
Gently, Pierre lifted her out of the chair, and placed her on the bed beside him. Holding her, he patted her back as she cried into his chest.
When she finished, he tipped her face up to his. "Why are you so unhappy?" he asked quietly.
The time has come, she pondered. In spite of the haze of alcohol, and her suddenly volatile emotions, she knew what she must do.
"Pierre," she said as she looked into his concerned eyes. "I would like to tell you about someone who was once very dear to me."
Then Jade began her tale.
"I told you how I grew up in the Province of Burgundy, and that my father was a wine merchant. Not too far from my home was a horse farm owned by a M. Soleri. When I was a child, I use to walk to his fields, and watch his horses."
"He was always kind to me. He had no children, and I think he liked me because he was a little lonely. He often invited me to come visit him on his farm. One day, my mother said 'yes', so I went."
"It was a wonderful place. I was eleven when I first went there. He asked me if I had ever ridden before, and when I said 'no', he placed me on top of a very large horse. Then he led us out to a pen, and gave me my first lesson."
Her face lit up, and Pierre suppressed a sigh. There was something particularly pleasing about her face as the fleeting joy flashed across it.
"I returned as often as I could. Sometimes I would go during the day, and at other times, I would go secretly at night. Then I would ride in his fields under the moonlight."
Jade's eyes shone with the memories.
"He said I was a natural horsewoman."
Pausing for a moment, she looked intently into his eyes.
"I met Jean-Luc the third time that I was there. He lived on another farm, and occasionally worked for M. Soleri. He was two years older than me, but he was very kind. Sometimes we would talk, and after a couple months, we became friends. He was the first friend that I ever had."
"I never told my parents about him, because they wouldn't have approved. Sometimes I would slip out at night, and we'd meet by the lake and swim. By the time I was fourteen, I was completely in love with him."
Lifting the glass of wine, she took a sip, and a distant dreamy look entered her eyes.
"We were always chaste with each other, although, towards the end, it was harder for him. He was eighteen by then. He had formed a plan, in which we were to run away when I turned seventeen. Then we would marry, and maybe later return to the village where he could work for M. Solari."
Suddenly, she grasped the glass of wine, and quickly drained it. Then she looked fiercely at Pierre.
"If I had only said yes, he would be with me today. He wouldn't have stood up in the boat, and he wouldn't have jumped into the lake!" Her flashing eyes suddenly dulled, and she lowered her gaze. " He wouldn't have drowned. It's my fault," she trailed off flatly.
Bending over, she wrapped her arms around her chest. The tears came fast, and the sorrow rolled out of her in great, gasping sobs.
Pierre hugged her tightly, and stretched out on the bed with her. She lay in his arms, and shook from the force of her crying. Eventually, only a pathetic staccato of hiccoughs came from her chest. Then she lay there quietly with her hands clasping his shirt.
"Do you feel better now?" Pierre asked softly as he stroked her cheek. She nodded "yes" and settled in closer to him.
"Can you tell me what brought this all on?' he asked slowly.
With her mind fogged from wine and tears, her normal caution slipped. "The other night, my benefactor asked me who Jean-Luc was. He said that I had said his name when I was sleeping."
Sleeping? Pierre frowned. Then he remembered that the man had taken care of her when she had the pneumonia, and he reasoned that she might have called out the name while she was ill.
"Did you tell him what you told me?' he asked curiously. After a moment of thought, he decided that it was unlikely. Her revelation had been raw and tumultuous with the stamp of a first time confession on it.
"No," she replied quietly.
She pulled away a little, and looked seriously into his eyes.
"I made a promise to Jean-Luc when he died, that I would always love him. That no one else would replace him," she said.
A flash of comprehension came to Pierre, and his renewed hope vanished.
They stared at each other for a long moment.
"Go on," he said sadly.
Sensing his disappointment, she entwined her fingers with his before she continued.
"I let him die, Pierre," she said quietly. "Jean-Luc jumped into the lake, and I watched as he looked up at me, and sank to the bottom. I didn't save him," she ended mournfully.
Jade stared at their intertwined fingers, and allowed herself to finally feel the full weight of her guilt.
"Look at me Jade," Pierre said suddenly with a stern tone.
Slowly, she met his dark brown eyes. The normal gentleness had vanished, replaced by a bright determination.
"Why didn't you go in after him?" he asked firmly.
Her eyes clouded and she replied absently, as if in a trance. "I was in a dress that mother had made me wear that day. I was wearing a corset, and I knew it would keep me from swimming to him. I tried to get out of it but I couldn't reach the stays. Then I tried to tear it off but I wasn't strong enough."
Pierre nodded slowly, and asked in a low voice, "Who brought him back to the shore?"
Jade turned away, and sunk back into the bed. Her clenched fist unfolded, and her fingers listlessly opened in a gesture of helplessness.
"There was a man on the lake who saw us, and rowed his boat to ours. He jumped in, and pulled Jean-Luc out," she said so softly that he could barely hear her.
Pulling her close to him, he held her tightly until her chilly flesh was warm again. He said slowly, "Jade, you did what you could. It was a strange happening which you did not cause, nor could you prevent. It was his time to die." He brushed her forehead with his lips. Then he eased her head back so that he could gaze into her eyes.
"You must forgive yourself, and accept God's will," he said with conviction.
Her eyes locked onto his, and a spark of understanding arose. Then she shut them, and curled back into his arms.
After a long time, she finally spoke.
"How did you do it, Pierre? How did you make room for another when Madeleine filled your heart?" she asked quietly.
After a few moments, he answered, "She never died. She was always there. I knew she was safe, and that she had a measure of happiness." Then he stroked her hair, and said softly, "I never had to keep her alive by locking her in my heart. When you arrived, it was easy to love you."
They laid there in silence for several minutes, and then Pierre spoke again. "It will be fine Jade. You made a promise a long time ago, when your loss was fresh. You won't lose Jean-Luc. He'll always be with you, even when you come to love another." Then he gently repeated, "It was his time to die. You did nothing wrong."
As she followed the rise and fall of his chest against her breast, gradually, the guilt and pain disappeared. A silvery lightness ebbed back into her soul.
Hours later, she awoke and sat up. Pierre stirred also, and reached out to her as she rose. She looked down at him lovingly, and he gave her arm a gentle squeeze.
"When will you tell him that you love him?" he asked sleepily.
Smiling, she bent over, and softly kissed his forehead. Then she went to her room.
It was very chilly there, so she immediately climbed into bed without shedding her clothes. The drunken haze had lifted, replaced with an overwhelming fatigue.
As she snuggled under the covers, she remembered Erik's face the last time she had seen him. He had looked distant, untouchable, as he coolly stared down at her.
When he left her in the storeroom, she had felt empty, and a little lost.
"It will be different the next time," she said to the darkness.
Drifting towards sleep, she contemplated Erik's face. His eyes had always drawn her. But now, it was his lips that filled her mind…
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The hidden passages behind the walls of the opera house trapped many of the sounds that came from adjacent rooms. Sometimes Erik would stand at the center of the network of corridors, and listen to the voices of private conversations, or the sounds of lovemaking. The voices would float around him, and settle at his feet, sometimes thin, sometimes rich and inviting. They rubbed against each other like the squares of a quilt stitched together with cries of passion, and sounds of sorrow.
Erik was traveling towards Jade's room when he heard the crying.
He paused at the mournful sound. Whoever it was, she was crying her heart out. It had a soft wailing quality, like that of a lost child. Curious, he approached the corridor that led to the room, and realized that the sound was coming from the farmer's bedroom. A chill ran up his neck, and he swiftly approached the mirror.
The room was dimly lit with candles. On the bed was the man, and he was holding Jade next to him.
Clenching his fists, Erik watched as she pressed her face into his chest. His eyes narrowed and throat tightened. Something had traumatized her, and she had lost control.
He growled when the man gently raised her face to his.
As she told her tale, he leaned back against the wall and watched her with half closed eyes. When she spoke of the drowning of her lost love, he closed his eyes, and a long sigh escaped. He had been deeply curious about her past. The death of one so close to her explains a great deal. Her lingering guilt, her vow of loyalty, those traits made her that much more desirable. She had a true heart once she gave it.
Staring into that comfortable nest of a room at the two wrapped in each other's arms, a wolfish hunger arose. She had turned to his rival for comfort, and offered the man what she had denied him the night before: her trust.
It should have been him holding and comforting her.
The opera ghost stirred inside of him. The dark shadow slipped into his bones, and its fierce light penetrated his eyes. She chose him to reveal her secret to! She pulled away from me, and then went to him.
As his anger rose, he noted the two bottles of wine, and recalled the occasional faint slur of her words. She was drinking more than usual, he reasoned. Was it that what finally broke down her barriers?
After they finished talking, they soon fell asleep. Erik considered entering the room, and extricating her from his rival's arms. A quick blow to the head would immobilize him, and he could carry her to his home.
Glaring at the man who so gently held her against his chest, he weighed his options. After watching them a little longer, he spun on his heel and vanished into the passageway.
He moved like a dark wind through the opera house, sometimes climbing the ropes above the stage, at other times scaling the side of the massive building. He tore through the night, as his mind burned.
His conflicting feelings flew back and forth like a trapeze act as trust and jealousy battled for domination. But the cruelest image of all was the memory of how masterfully his rival had held Jade's pain in his hands, and then released her from her self-imposed prison. He had given her a great gift that would bind her to him with love.
After two hours, Erik returned to the mirror. The candles were burned out. The light from beneath the door showed the man's long form stretched out on the bed. There was no sign of Jade.
Swiftly, he moved to her room, which was dark. He touched the latch, and opened the mirror.
Stepping into the room, he heard the soft sound of her breathing. He pulled up a chair, and sat by the side of her bed. It was nearly three in the morning, but he was wide-awake, and grateful that she had left the man to sleep alone.
Staring down at her, his feelings alternated between tenderness and pain. He could not shake the feeling that she had betrayed him by choosing to confide in another. He wanted to awaken her, and command that she come with him.
While he sat in the dark, and stared at her back, she suddenly turned on her side, and faced him. The dim light was reflected in her eyes as she looked up at him.
"Erik?" she asked sleepily.
Silently, he stood up, and towered over her. Then after withdrawing into an icy coolness, he replied, "Yes, my dear. Are you ready to come with me?"