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Erik and Gabrielle attend a rehearsal of Le Femme du Norde and meet the mysterious co-owner of the Lyric Opera House.
Ch 47 Gabrielle de dame
Sleep eluded me. Whenever my subconscious dipped into a deeper realm of sleep, my conscious mind brought before me a series of thoughts and images to which, in the wee hours, I had no control over. Would my new gown fit properly, would my excitement over tonight's events find a way to embarrass Erik, had I mailed wedding invitations to everyone on Erik's brief list, and why do I feel odd whenever Signor Vincenzo's face floats before me?
The bedside clock read 6:22, might as well get on with my day. After sliding from the beneath the sheets, I walked over to the open doors of the master bedroom balcony.
12 September, 1877 was dawning clear and cool with a low veil of fog seeping from the forest and clinging to the pastures below. I closed the French doors against the chill and contemplated ways to clear the fog in my head.
We'd leave for Paris at 4:30. Could I squeeze in a quick nap around 2:00? Hopefully, but for now, coffee was what I needed.
I wrapped a robe over my thin silk gown, shuffled my feet into slippers and headed for the kitchen.
Erik hadn't made it to bed last night. He could be anywhere, the library, music room or his secret sub-terrain hideaway that I wasn't supposed to know of.
Passing the library on my way to the kitchen, I peered into the darkened room. I had found Erik. He lay flat on his back on the Persian rug, coat open, cravat absent, shirt unbuttoned and a small velvet pillow tucked beneath his head.
Never wake a sleeping artist, I thought and resumed my quest for coffee.
Taking great pains to be quite, I ground the coffee beans and heated water for the press pot. Once steeped and ready, I poured a considerable cup of inspiration, flavoring it with cream, vanilla and a teaspoon of sugar, then eased out a chair to sit and enjoy my brew.
Staring into the patterns made by the cream as I stirred, I pondered what may have caused Erik's sleepless night.
His opera was ready, opening-night ready. The prospect of commingling with the crowds would be cause for jitters, yet I knew how much he relished the idea of seeing his work performed in public for the first time.
Nerves, no matter what he would have me think; the man is not immune to a bout of uneasiness.
I'd been gazing mindlessly out the kitchen window, absorbed in my thoughts when Erik kissed the top of my head.
I lurched in my chair and banged my knee on a table leg. "Damn," I cursed and rubbed my sore knee.
"A fine way to greet one's intended, my love," Erik's voice of velvet soothed my pain.
I laughed nervously, "I'm sorry, but must you sneak around so?"
"I was not sneaking around; I'm simply a quiet man. You mind was beyond the treetops, Gabrielle. What were you thinking?"
"Pondering the vast emptiness of the sky."
I craned up to receive his kiss. "Sleeping on the library rug, eh? Too much cognac or a weary mind?" I inquired.
"Pondering the vast fullness of my mind," he countered, waving me back into my chair as I made a move to fix his coffee.
"Umm, I didn't sleep much either. Perhaps it's gauche to express one's exuberance openly, but I have to tell you Erik, the thought of being by your side for tonight's Grand Gala, dressed to the nines, and hearing your genius come to life before an appreciative audience exhilarates me."
I leaned forward in case the Roux's were lurking about and whispered, "This is tres cool!"
Erik smiled adoringly and reached to pat my hand, "Merci, ma belle. It is my pleasure to be the root of your joy."
"Occasionally I enjoy playing dress up, especially for you. Plus, I look forward to dining with the Giry's and meeting Meg's noble fiancé."
"Yes, well, Madame Giry is forever pestering me to bring you for a visit. She also wants my opinion of her future son-in-law. She says he seems honorable, but one can never tell with those noble types."
"If the Marquis is a blackguard beneath his finery and manners, I'll know, and then it shall be my pleasure to appeal to the Marquis' sense of survival in living up to his honorable title, or remove his person from Mademoiselle Giry's life."
This last bit Erik said with malicious intent.
"Woe to the Marquis then," I said tracing my thumb around the golden rim of the coffee cup.
"Marie told me that she and Henri would not be attending the opera. Why is that, Erik?"
Erik grinned dryly, "Marie takes care not to criticize her sister and niece for their artful occupations, yet she rather views attending such events as unnecessary indulgences of the sinful upper class. Henri prefers a more modest, earthy sort of entertainment; that is, if he were allowed."
"I see. I think it's a sad shame Marie's never seen her niece dance." I stood to pour more coffee. "Would you like breakfast now, Erik?"
"I haven't an appetite, but I suppose a bit of nutritional sustenance would be prudent. Have we any eggs?"
"I brought in fresh ones yesterday. Two poached with bread and that cherry marmalade you brought back from London?"
Familiar affection shone in Erik's eyes when he looked up to answer, "Yes, thank you my sweet."
"We've become so…domestic have we not? I find it charming, but then after all we will become man and wife within the month."
I winked at Erik and proceeded to whip up a light breakfast for the both of us.
Breakfast dishes, watering the roses and a 45 minute nap followed by a soothing bath brought me to 2:30—one and one half hour away from departing for the City of Light.
Marie offered to assist me with my toilet. Being a new age sort of girl, I accepted her generosity; I did not wish to embarrass Erik with an unknown faux pas of the wardrobe kind.
I sat at my vanity table, clad only in my chemise and stocking, applying finishing touches on my evening make-up when Marie tapped on the door.
"Entrez svp."
The door clicked open and Marie entered, her arms laden with a basket filled with pins, combs, ribbons, fixatives and other sundry items.
I eyed the basket of hair goodies warily, "My Marie, what have you there?"
"Accessories for arranging your hair, Madame. You do plan on wearing it in a proper up-do?"
"Yes, right, a simple, elegant upsweep, no Marie Antoinette stuff, alright?"
For this remark I received a disdainful look and a terse reprimand, "Madame Thomassen, the style of our unfortunate Empress died with the revolution."
"Of course, silly American." Obviously, there was no sense in explaining that I was only kidding.
"Marie, Erik prefers my hair loose; this night is for him, not the bourgeois throngs."
Marie would consent to the desire to please a man.
And so the little French woman brushed, poked, pinned and hot ironed my hair up, allowing part of it to fall down my back and small tendrils to frame my face.
When she and I both agreed on the final product, she pulled four tiny, sparkling flower pins from her apron.
"Those are pretty. Where did they come from, Marie?"
"Monsieur DuPuis gave them to me earlier today. He said they would compliment your natural beauty."
The normally serious woman smiled, "I hope you realize how deeply he cares for you, dear. Your presence in his life is a miracle from the Lord."
She caught me off guard by her sincerity and I blushed. "No, I'm the one who has been blessed."
"Now, let's fit you into your corset and gown. I've been given the strictest instructions to have you waiting in the salon by 4:00, ten minutes."
I nodded and handed her my newest corset, a devilish devise made of rose satin and whale bone. The image of Scarlet O'Hara came to mind when I grasped the bedpost and Marie pulled the laces tight.
"Uh, I can't breathe now Marie; don't you think it's tight enough?"
"Only if you feel faint, dear," she replied with true seriousness.
Who knew Madame Roux was a sadist in her spare time?
"Hands up," she quipped.
I did so obediently, allowing her to slip the gown over my coiffure with care. I shimmed into the sleeves and let it fall over my hips and to the floor, where the burgundy velvet pooled at my feet.
Marie fastened what must have been fifty little pearl buttons. She fluffed the pleated balayeuse and adjusted the few bows I had allowed the dressmaker to sew on the gown.
This was the first time I'd worn the gown Erik had commissioned in London. Cut in the latest silhouette style, the skirt was more slender and bore only one underskirt. Cap sleeves sat low on my shoulders, swooping down to a low décolletage. Silk rose buds of the darkest pink adorned the sleeves and neckline. Four matching bows rested near my knees where the slender silhouette began to flare into the hemline.
"Have you any jewels, dear?" Marie asked.
"Here." The voluminous material of my skirts rustled as I turned to fetch my ruby necklace, earrings and bracelet from their velvet boxes on the dressing table. I opened the necklace box, handing it to her.
Marie gasped audible, "These are exquisite; are they heirlooms?"
"No, gifts from my favorite composer; he really shouldn't spend so much on me you know," I replied modestly.
"Nonsense, chéri. He is your fiancé and a man of great means; it is his privilege to do so."
I slipped on the bracelet and earrings while Marie removed the necklace from the box, stood behind me and looped the jewels around my neck.
I turned to face her.
"Approach the mirror," was all she said.
In the armoire's full-length mirror, I saw the reflection of a stranger; a 19th century lady wearing a stunning evening gown, adorned with rubies, diamonds and pearls.
That lady was me.
Marie placed a soft kiss on my cheek and handed me my matching satin gloves. "Gabrielle, you are a vision."
"Marie, you have been good to me; thank you."
Tears glimmered in her hazel eyes. "You are welcome, Gabrielle. It will be a blessing to have you as the lady of DuPuis Manor."
"Oh Marie, for goodness sake, I'll always be just…"
"Now," She straightened up and interrupted my musings. "Make haste Madame, lest you be late. Monsieur is expecting you downstairs."
Expelling a hefty breath of anxiety, I moved toward the door, and then spun back, abruptly smacking against Marie.
"Oohf! So sorry, I need my smelly-good," I nabbed the atomizer from the dressing table and spritzed my neck and wrists with the fragrance Erik had copied for me from the bit of scent remaining in a bottle of my favorite 20th century perfume.
"Rapidement, Madame!" The French woman practically pushed me out of the door.
Gingerly I made my way down to the salon with Marie behind me making sure I did not trip over my hemline.
A pale glow spilled into the hallway from the salon, signifying the season's first fire in the hearth there.
I froze at the entrance to the ornate parlor. There, leaning against the marble mantle, admiring the color from a glass of fine red wine was Erik's elegant form.
And oh Lordy, did I desire him.
Dressed in finely woven black wool and velvet tails, a burgundy waistcoat, which surprisingly matched my gown, and a formal white cravat wound about his neck, he looked perfect, mask and all.
Upon hearing the swish of my skirts, Erik raised his eyes from the wine. Eyes the color of brilliant peridot eyes burned into me.
Our eyes met and locked instantly.
"Gabrielle – come my beauty," lured Erik's opulent, seductive voice.
For the first time in my life, I obeyed a man without question. If he'd told me to strip naked and run through the Arc de Triomphe singing Yankee Doodle Dandy, I would have happily.
With an elegant sweep of his arm, Erik unfurled his leather clad hand, offering it to me. I reached to clasp it in my silken one.
"Gabrielle, my love," he breathed.
With a slight cock of his eyebrow, he held the goblet out to me. I nodded and accepted, corralling myself to take a lady like sip rather that the nerve-calming gulp that I really wanted.
Erik brought his other hand up to my cheek, stroking it so lightly with his long, graceful fingers, I melted inside.
"My lovely bride, do you realize how stunning you are tonight?"
"Erik, you look pretty fine yourself," I managed.
Confusion fluttered across his features, and he shrugged, "Fine is all that an ugly man can expect to be and it is more than enough for me, my dear."
"Oh Erik, no! I meant fine as in fabulous, magnificent, desirable. Me and my insidious 20th century wording—hello mouth, meet Mr. Foot again. Forgive me sweetheart."
Erik laughed at me with subdued élan, "Perhaps I shall someday learn to decipher all of your slang, eh?"
"Perhaps I should learn to abolish the other-worldly slang and embrace your 19th century conventions."
"Whatever for? I adore your unique quirks, my dear!"
"For tonight, I shall be your properly behaved fiancée," I smiled.
"Pity."
"There's ample time for misbehaving later. Let's go hot-stuff," I handed the wine glass back to him.
"Indeed, my foxy lady," he said seriously, trying out some of what he'd heard while listing to my MP3 selections.
I snorted into the collar of my velvet opera cape and could not contain my giggles for the full five minutes it took Erik to lead me to our waiting brougham.
"What is it, woman?" he demanded, extending his hand to help me into the small carriage.
"Fits of glee my clever man," I laughed and settled against his powerful form.
"Off to the opera!" Erik said clicking the carriage horse into action.
I wondered to myself what grand adventure would meet us there.
- 0 –
The premier of Erik's opera will be worth the wait, I promise! Please email me a review, brief or otherwise. Thanks Amy (the Beta) and you, my readers and reviewers.
-Leesa