Readers,
As you can probably tell, my claim that chapter 40 was the last chapter for a while was a tiny fib. A recent fit of writing has overcome me, and I thought to post now instead of later. I do hope you enjoy it.
S.R.
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Six months passed quickly as Cecily's health continued to improve. Her lungs had expelled the incessant cough, and soon enough she was back to her regular duties. Chalumeau's Hannibal was into production, and M. Lefevre had finally found buyers for l'Opera Populaire. Two gentlemen by the names of Firmin and Andre, who apparently had made their money buying scrap metal, would be taking over management of the opera. They had also found a new family to support the opera house. A very rich family.
Cecily stood in the wings, watching as the final touches were put on the production, which was to open in a week. As always, hundreds of things still needed done, the least of which not being Carlotta's unfinished costume. The woman strutted across the stage, bellowing out notes that ranged in pitch, but all had the same effect on the ears.
Finally weary of the spectacle, Cecily made her way to the stables. The grooms were prepping the white horses to be used tonight, but the feeling of hurriedness did not carry out this far. She leaned against a support beam and watched the goings on. A nudge on her shoulder made her turn. Cesar, the prized black horse of the opera house, nudged her again, and Cecily smiled. Reaching into a nearby bag, she pulled out a sugar cube and fed it to the gentle giant. He took it gratefully, and allowed her to touch his nose in return for the gift.
"You seem to have a knack with horses."
The voice was strange to her, and she turned, expecting a groom. Instead, she saw a young man in his early twenties, well dressed, and obviously very rich from the materials he wore. "Thank you. Cesar is simply fond of anyone with access to sugar cubes."
The young man laughed. "If only all creatures were so easy to please. But forgive me, I am the Vicomte Raoul de Chagny. May I have the privilege of your name?"
"You may. My name is Cecily Pencombe. M. Lefevre told me you might be coming to tour the opera house soon."
"Mlle Pencombe? Yes, my parents told me to seek you out. And it appears that I haven't had to. So will you give me a tour."
The young nobleman had a charm about him, and Cecily smiled. "Of course, monsieur. Follow me." She led him to a back corner, and he gave her a questioning look. "The new managers have expressed their wish for you to be introduced by them only, so we shall enter the opera house by a more secret route." She pushed a panel in the wall and it slid open, admitting the two of them.
This way was lighted by torches Cecily had lit on her way into the stables, and she let him view the hidden structure with awe. "I never knew this existed."
"There are many things about the opera house that are unknown to many. It is a mysterious place."
"Mysterious? And what mysteries does such a public place hold other than these passages?"
"Many things. The Opera Ghost for instance." It was a funny tale to her, all the shrieks and giggles added to the myth by over-excited ballerinas.
"An Opera Ghost? Enlighten me." She told him of a being that haunted the building, causing general mischief, and sometimes even putting his invisible hand to the task of helping run the opera house. He laughed. "Surely you do not honestly believe in ghosts!"
"No, monsieur, not ghosts." Her smile had something cryptic in it, but he did not pursue it. They entered the opera house, and no sooner had they passed the manager's office than they were set upon by three men: Messieurs Lefevre, Andre, and Firmin.
"Ah! I'm glad you're here, Vicompte! You may examine this great building with us!"
He turned to Cecily who gave him a look that read clearly: You cannot tell the secrets you know.
"It would be an honor, gentlemen. Thank you, Mlle Pencombe, for conducting me here. I hope to see you again."
He nodded and followed the other men, who gave her not a nod. Sighing, she made her way to Box 5 to watch the rehearsals. Erik was right to claim this box. It was the best in the house, with a view of both the crowd and the stage, but recessed enough to maintain privacy. Carlotta had mercifully retired from the stage for today, and the ballerinas were struggling to perform each step while chained together. "Entirely superfluous, those chains," she muttered.
Suddenly, the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Warm breath played against her ear, and she suppressed the urge to shudder. It would not do to show that to Erik. Unbidden, the memory of one of the nights she had first spent in his lair came to mind. It was the last time she had felt his breath upon her, other than the Don Juan incident, as she had come to call it. She chuckled softly.
"And what is so funny?" He did not sound amused.
"Oh, dear. Do you remember when you and I first met? I had insisted that you and I could share that enormous bed, quite unaware that you never slept in it in the first place. I played quite the little minx and taunted you about what you needed to remove. You called my bluff, but I one-upped you and told you to remove your socks!" She chuckled again.
"I do not see how this is amusing." His face was frowning, but Cecily saw a smile in his eyes.
"I met the new patron today. And the two new managers." It was an offhand comment, but he took interest.
"Did you? And what are they like?"
"Well, the two managers are nouveau riche, scrambling to make sure the proper etiquettes are observed. The patron is young and charming. I'm sure all the chorus girls will be falling over themselves to get a kind word from him. He is quite the fop."
Erik smiled at this, and both of them turned their attention to the stage, where Mme. Giry was berating one string of dancers on how to be more in synch with one another. Cecily felt Erik sit in the chair next to her and let herself relax. A feeling rushed over her then, one she wished would never go away. This was how life was supposed to be.