Welcome back my fabulous readers. Perhaps it sounds odd, but I've missed you. The old pc is up and running again and I have caught my breath from all those Christmas festivities. Enjoy the new chapter and please do review for me.
-Leesainthesky
Re-Cap: Erik finishes his opera, Gabrielle writes a newspaper article…
Ch 46 Strange Encounters
If the past two thirds of the year were an accurate barometer for the final third, 1877 would prove to be another year bursting with human ingenuity.
An inordinate number of mankind's theoretic imaginings had come to fruition this past year. Progress leapt ahead with gargantuan strides, pushing the limits of human inventiveness to the hilt. Within the first year of my new life in the 19th century, the Russian Imperial Ballet staged the first performance of Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake, the 1st human cannonball act was performed in London, Thomas Edison invented the phonograph, an Italian astronomer detected canals on the surface of Mars, and Germany manufactured the first stuffed toy bear.
Time in the Manor's vast library nearly equaled Erik's time spent in his music room. He'd become especially interested in advances of disease control, obstetrical science, and childhood maladies. I assumed a great deal of his interest had to do with his own need to understand what may have gone wrong within his own genetic malady.
A master of anatomy and cures for many bacterial and infectious illnesses, Erik had the genius of a PhD, the curiosity of a forensic scientist and an intellect surpassed by few. Boundaries that clipped the wings of mere men did not exist for Erik. He knew no boundaries.
One afternoon, I was preparing bread for baking when he stormed into the kitchen bellowing and waving a newspaper. "Gabrielle, why did you not inform me of this invention during our many talks?"
The weightiness of his ratings ceased to disturb me as they once did. I turned to him, calmly wiping my dough-covered hands on my apron. "Why didn't I tell you what?"
"About, this!" He thrust the paper under my nose, furiously tapping at the offending article.
"Joseph Monier introduces a new formulation sure to revolutionize the future of masonry. The inventor has developed a concoction of simple concrete and steel rods, used as a bolster in building structures, a significant amelioration for the architectural community. Monier calls his invention reinforced concrete," I mouthed the words of the article aloud, and then looked back to Erik.
"Erik, you can't expect me to recall an entire 128 years of inventions. My college career only spanned six years. My major was communications with a minor in quantum sciences, to please my dad. I'm terribly sorry." I splayed my hands out in a show of apology.
Erik frowned and started at the newspaper for a moment, "I know. Forgive my insolence. Seven years have passed since I discovered the means to fortify cement with the addition of metal spikes. I employ the material in most of my projects." A glint of rage marked his eyes once more.
"I shall find the traitor who sold my secrets to this, this Joseph Monier and put an end to his mutinous ways!" Erik clenched his hands into tight fists, crumpling up the paper in the process.
E-gads, I thought.
"Darling," I cooed in an effort to placate his escalating rage, "you can't be sure who, if anyone stole your creation. Simply improve on your design and patent it immediately. Success is the best revenge, not murder."
He slumped into a nearby kitchen chair and flicked his brooding eyes up to my face. "I would rather throttle the rascal who stole from me; it just feels more…satisfying."
"I know, but I don't want to visit you in prison," I said, kissing his forehead.
"Prison? No prison exists that can hold Erik." he boasted.
"Yes my trapdoor lover, I'll give you that, but please promise me you'll not risk it?"
"Indeed," he grumbled reluctantly.
Our August passed in a glorious haze of endless discovery. If we were not engaged in making love, we were exploring the lush hills of his estate, swimming in the ecstasy of his music or busy with our individual occupational pursuit; but most thrilling of all for both of us, although I was naturally, the most demonstrative with my glee, the opening of Erik's new Opera at the Lyric.
To the amazement of the Parisian arts community, the reclusive composer, Monsieur DuPuis and his fiancé, would attend the gala opening performance. I was certain Erik did this for me, as he had little regard for most people; however, fresh opportunities available to him at the new facility coupled with the desire to please me, seduced Erik from the deep lair of his mind.
Still, I worried about Erik. Crowds had the power to rub his fur the wrong way and he was not one to tether his irritation for long. My relief was palpable when I learned that we would be the special guests of the Lyric's new owners, an honor allowing us to arrive within mere minutes of the curtain, therefore missing the eyes of bejeweled, judgmental gawkers.
Our box was to be the best in the house, and exclusively our own. Should we wish to depart before the final curtain call, we could do so through means of a secret passage accessible from the wall behind our box, which lead along the outside wall of the facility to a side entrance on the Rue and to a waiting carriage.
The composer and his wife attending the Opera in Paris, Erik's opera; the thought was thrilling to me. I was happy and truly in love for the first time in my life. And all possible only because of the random miss-arrangement of space-time continuum!
Yet an additional unprecedented opportunity extended itself to me when, out of the blue, Erik invited me to accompany him to a rehearsal of his opera.
Enthralled by his offer, I actually squealed with delight.
Erik looked mortified.
"Gabrielle, darling, I'll not have to reprimand you like a rambunctious child during my appraisal of the performers will I, if so, I may have to re-think my offer."
I nearly laughed at his seriousness. "Oh Erik, of course I'll behave. I shall sit quietly in the shadows observing. You'll not hear a peep from me, cross my heart," I made the motions across my chest for emphasis.
The furrowing of his visible eyebrow told me that I had better.
"If you'd like, attending the rehearsal in lieu of the gala performance will be enough for me. That would save you from dealing with the unpleasantness of the public."
Erik pulled out a chair from the kitchen table to sit, and pulled me down onto his lap addressing me with affectionate seriousness, "Now Gabrielle, I promised you a night at the opera and that is what you shall have, dressed in your finest gown and jewels. Besides, the Lyric's new owners have bribed me with the commission of two new operas in the next three years. I am, if nothing else, a man of my word."
And so I found myself sitting next to Erik in the shadow of box six's thick velvet curtains as he scrutinized a rehearsal of Le Femme du Norde.
As far as I could discern the players in his drama were magnificent. Erik said nothing; his somber, the only indication of emotion. Judgment, I discovered, he saved for the very end.
From the shadows, Erik would stand tall and ominous in his dark cape and address the company below; his voice reprimanding and instructing with a booming resonance no less foreboding than if it were the very voice of God.
If I'd thought the rehearsal performance good, I soon learned that Erik did not.
The composer likened the lead soprano's voice as that of an owl screeching when she reached to claim her highest notes; the tenor had all the presence of a timid child, and the chorus, the timing of a down-winding cuckoo clock.
While I paid witness to Erik's stern admonitions, a well-dressed man of about thirty-five with shining black hair poked his head through the curtain of our box.
"They're coming along nicely are they not Monsieur DuPuis?" The man commented in Italian-accented French.
Erik ignored the man, choosing to remain facing the stage.
Nervously the fellow glanced at me and offered a polite smile, "Forgive my intrusion Mademoiselle, I am Signor Vincenzo, co-owner of this opera house. You must be Monsieur DuPuis' lovely fiancée," he nodded toward Erik's back.
"I am pleased to say that I am indeed, and do call me Gabrielle, Signor." I smiled sweetly hoping to diffuse Erik's indifference.
Signor Vincenzo received my outstretched hand and bent to place the customary air-kiss at my flesh.
A hint of recognition showed in his dark eyes, "We have met before have we not Mademoiselle?"
This was a man I am sure I would have remembered. He was handsome in that overly refined fashion so many men of prestige affected in the later part of the 19th century—the sort that caught your eye, but you just new he would be more interested in his own image than your needs.
"Gee, I don't think so (great Gab, you're using slang again…), what I mean to say is, I would have remembered a man of your importance."
"You flatter me Mademoiselle Gabrielle; it is I who would be remiss not to remember a woman of your beauty. My mind returns me to American where I visited briefly over a year ago for business in the city of New York. Is it possible that you too were in the states at the same time?"
Yeah, it was beyond possible, it was fact.
I affected my most sincere expression of regret, "No Signor, I am certain. Although I did indeed spend my final month in the states last June, my dead husband and I resided in Chicago, IL, nor New York. You see I am a widow and have been here in France since that time. It's simply not possible. Your eyes must have fallen on a look-alike."
Still, the Italian man's black eyes communicated disbelief; he was confident we'd had a previous encounter.
Erik's icy stare conflicted with the overly honeyed tones with which he addressed Signor Vincenzo, interrupting the man's apparent puzzlement, "My fiancée cannot possibly know you, she has only been in this country scarcely a year, Signor.
Now about your so-called opera company," Erik continued abruptly, "It is paramount they practice day and night if they do not wish to stain my good name or that of this theatre. Instructions have been administered them and I expect absolute obedience. One week from today, I shall return. Harsh words will be the least of your worries if your so called artists do not demonstrate considerable improvement."
The Italian man stiffened, put his hands behind his back and bobbed his ascent to Erik as if he were one of those little toy birds that appear to drink water."
Our Opera Company is comprised of consummate professionals, Monsieur. I assure you in one week you will be most pleased with their performance. To me, music is as important as the very air that I breathe. I do not take my chosen profession lightly."
"You'd best not. Good day, Signore Vincenzo." Erik dismissed the man with a flourish of his hand.
Signore Vincenzo ducked back through the curtains and disappeared. Erik's autocratic command of others always astounded me.
He turned to me with a disapproving glare in his emerald eyes.
"You and Signor Vincenzo have met before then?"
"Never laid eyes on the man," I countered boldly.
"But other's have often told me that I look just like someone they know; a sister, ex-girlfriend or co-worker. Everyone is purported to have a doppelganger Erik, don't you know that?"
"Unfortunate for them if they're mine," he harrumphed while he grasped my elbow, leading me out of the box, down the stairs and into the street to our waiting carriage.
Believing that you know someone who swears they have never met you is not an unusual occurrence. Signore Vincenzo's assertion that he'd met me before should not have unnerved me, but it did.
I played and re-played the files in my head, tiresomely looking for a face that could match the Italian's. Nothing, nada, zip.
Erik never spoke of the opera owner's curiosity again. I supposed he'd worked through his little bout of jealousy like the trusting fiancée he was becoming.
The paper, L'Opinion National, published my piece on the ills of the women's movement in France, to which many editorials, both scathing and lauding were duly submitted.
That rehearsal for Le Femme du Norde was my first and last, Erik did not invite me to another, fine by me, as I had a gazillion things to do.
Our nuptials were a mere month away; the gala opening night of his opera, tomorrow evening.
Both events produced within me a jubilant, yet anxious sensation.
- O -
Hum…
Please drop me a review or a comment via my email on the new review feedback feature. I want to hear from you! Thanks again to my beta, Amy who shot this back to me in spite of being under the weather and to my regular readers and reviewers who keep me going. Of course lurkers and unsigned reviews are welcome too. Have a fun, safe and blessed New Year.
–Leesa