Time the Avenger Chapter 69 Diva’s and Disguises, a phantom of the opera fanfic

Dear readers, reviewers and lurkers, I am truly amazed that you still hang with me after all the chapters and cliffies. Thank you. Coming soon, Erik DuPuis' view of his adventures with the lovely and lively Gabrielle.

—Leesainthesky

Chapter 69 Diva's and Disguises

Erik was a master of deception and would see through my clever disguise. The thought made me shudder.

Only once had his anger caused intense fear to rise in me. The first time I had employed the disguise of a man, when Caron and I went to Paris for our grand adventure.

I would never forget the feel of the Punjab lasso's noose tightening around my neck. At the time, I didn't know his intent was only to subdue me.

And I'd witnessed his wrath aimed at others, too. I knew what Erik was capable of when pushed, although I didn't believe that man still existed, one never knew.

From Madame Roux's recent letter, it sounded like he was highly pissed off at me.

Humph! He was the one who delayed our nuptials so he could analyze his feelings for Christine Daaé. Married or not, Erik had betrayed my trust and without trust, love becomes a labyrinth of suspicion

Mary Ann and I strolled around the populated avenue, which ran in front of the Royal Opera House.

Manholes smoked as the subterranean gas hit the cold night air. I shoved my hands into the deep pockets of my voluminous cloak.

"I've always found the simple act of talking to a friend an excellent way of exercising demons," Mary Ann spoke softly as she addressed me.

"What could I say to you that I haven't already? I'm pregnant, alone and living in the nineteenth century," I answered.

"Rest assured that the day will come when women will not have to depend upon a man's provisions to thrive. We've come too far and we will not cease to press on for our cause. We will have our rights. Mark my word, dear."

I nodded, relieved that Mary Ann hadn't caught my slip; she thought I meant living in the nineteenth century was another burden, which all women must bear, not just those from the future.

She pulled the hood of her eggplant purple cloak tighter around her neck to keep the wind at bay.

"The weather's turning on us; let's get back to the Opera House where it's warm," I said.

When we returned to the opera house, several couples milled about the entrance, a sign that first act was over.

"It must be the intermission. I do hope the men thought to order champagne from our attendant, but then you probably do not wish to return do you, dear?" Mary Ann frowned.

I didn't know what I wished for at the moment. I hated to miss the opera; I adored anything by Mozart.

"That wench has ruined a great deal of my fun as of late, I may as well hear the voice that can captivate men with a mere song. Do you think the management would toss me out on my bottom if I stood up and booed while she sang?" I grinned beneath my mustache.

Mary Ann shot me a fearful look before she realized I wasn't serious.

"If you decide to put your good reputation to shame, Monsieur, you should do better than a simple jeer. Rumor has it that Comtess is quite sensitive about any mention of that odd Don Juan Triumphant, the opera the Phantom of the Paris Opera House allegedly wrote for her all those years ago. Perhaps you could request a selection from it?"

I snorted loudly at Mary Ann's suggestion. "Madame, you do have a wicked sense of humor beneath that cool veneer of breeding and intellect, don't you."

All I received was a wink.

Glad to be back in the arms of the opera's warm, opulent lobby, we advanced to the stairs leading to the first tier boxes. The lobby buzzed with the voices of women admiring one another's lavish costumes and men deep in conversation about gambling, horses, women and other manly pursuits.

"Thank you, Mary Ann, for allowing me to take you away from your entertainment this evening. I hope George doesn't mind terribly." I said.

"My dear George is too enraptured with the opera to notice anything else, and goodness knows I've seen Mozart before and will have ample opportunities to see enjoy his works again. I would never abandon a dear friend in her time of need." She dipped her head and smiled.

We moved through the tangle of well-heeled music lovers and social butterflies flitting about the lobby, eyeing one another and making their social contacts.

"My word, what do you suppose is drawing all those people over there?"

Mary Ann indicated a sizable group crowding around some person or thing of interest in a corner of the lobby. Curious as to what the fuss was about, we gravitated toward gathering. There stood a small dark-haired woman, lavishly dressed in aqua silk, holding court. Her back was to us, but by the movement of her shoulders, I could tell she was occupied with greeting her admirers.

"She must be someone special to attract the attention of this bunch," I commented.

Before Mary Ann answered, the woman made a graceful turn toward us. Our eyes locked momentarily and I swore I saw recognition flash in her brown eyes.

Unable to make her memory agree with what she saw, Christine frowned and then turned her attention to a vocal admirer, intent on meeting the titled celebrity.

Mary Ann stood at by my side, taking in the small circus before her. "My word, she does a myriad of devotees doesn't she. That man there, the big fellow with the wide-brimmed hat, he looks too foreboding to be her beau. Do you think she requires a protector?" she asked.

"Only from me," I whispered.

The man in question stood a few respectful steps behind Christine. He crossed his arms and observed the crowd with practiced wariness.

"I'd say that the Comtess rather fancies intimidating men. Remember, Mary Ann, there stands the woman who lured my fiancée away, and Erik is certainly not a wilting weed of a man. But that fellow's stance is more protective than proprietary."

I watched a moment longer as another ardent admirer brushed a chaste kiss on Christine's left hand. I looked for the flash of a shining new wedding ring, but saw none.

Interesting.

"Mary Ann, if she was engaged or married there would a ring wouldn't there? I mean, even though she is performing this evening, Christine would not remove such an intimate piece of jewelry, would she?" I chewed at the corner of my wispy mustache.

"One would think a woman of her station would be allowed the slightest courtesy," Mary Ann replied.

She grabbed my arm with a squeeze. "Could this mean that she and Monsieur DuPuis are not a couple?"

"Perhaps, but it's of no consequence, I am still very angry and hurt by Erik's actions."

"And righteously so."

I couldn't help myself, I continued to stare. The more I watched the petite brunette smile, curtsey and enchant her fans, the more aware I was that my insides were churning.

I felt ill.

"You know, I think it is highly indecorous the way those people are swarming around her like flies to rotten fruit," quipped Mary Ann.

I snorted my agreement of Mary Ann's assessment of the scene before us. "I suppose they can't help themselves. Christine is a stunning woman, with those sable curls, silky completion, velvet brown eyes and rosy lips. She possesses the social graces of a gentlewoman and the voice of an angel, what's not to like? I guess I was fool to believe I could compete with her."

"Complete rubbish! She's much too simple minded for Erik's intellect. I've only met Monsieur DuPuis twice, but he strikes me as a man who celebrates a keen intellect as much as musical talent. People are capable having a mutual appreciation for music without both of them being able to sing or play an instrument well, but ah, when it comes to the mind; one cannot share an appreciation for intelligence without recognizing it, and to recognize intellect, one must have the capacity for it, my dear. You and Erik shared such a connection, not to mention a deep-seated love for natural beauty."

"Yeah, well, if we are such a keen match, why aren't we together now?"

"Because, my dear, he's a bloody fool!"

I linked arms with my friend. "I do love you, Mary Ann."

Behind us bells rang, the sign that intermission was over and it was time to return to our seats for the next act.

We approached the corridor leading to the first tier boxes. I paused and faced Mary Ann.

"I've changed my mind. I've had my fill of opera tonight and I'd like to retire for the evening, if you've no objections."

Mary Ann adjusted the clasp on her diamond necklace then gave me a look worthy of a concerned mother.

"If you are you sure, dear."

"I'm sure."

"Have our carriage brought around for your trip to the Bodichon's town house, the driver can return in time to fetch us after the opera is finished. I'll not have you standing alone in the evening chill trying to hail a cab."

"Tell the others, won't you?"

"I shall. Have no worries; they'll more than understand your departure. And if I do see DuPuis, I shall be sure to give him a good swift kick in the arse for you."

"For that I thank you, Madame," I laughed, and gave her kiss on the cheek. She touched the spot where the whiskers of my faux facial hair tickled her skin.

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Barbara and Eugene Bodichon lived close to the theatre district of London's Covent Garden, in a stylish and large townhouse decorated with artifacts from their many travels.

Convincing the butler to allow me entrance to the Bodichon's home took some verbal maneuvering; earlier, when we'd left for Mary Ann and George Lewe's town home, I was dressed as a woman.

The vigilant servant finally came around and realized who I was. He assumed we must have attended a masquerade rather than the opera. I let him believe whatever he wished; all I desired was for the chambermaid to draw me a steamy tub filled with fragrant and relaxing bath oils where I could steep my body until my digits shriveled into little prune-sticks.

Afterwards, I donned a flannel nightgown and slipped beneath the covers with pen and paper in hand.

There, in the pale lamplight, I surveyed my surroundings. The Bodichon's guest room was opulent. Mint-green and safflower, with gold accents, an ornate, full-length mirror and a crystal chandelier adorned with gold leaf pulled it all together. On a round table sat a large crystal vase filled with dozens of white and yellow roses.

Yellow roses…just like the ones Erik had given me during our shopping trip to London last year. He'd enchanted me by placing them in our suite. Yellow for friendship and for promise, I remembered.

The only thing those fragrant beauties reminded me of now was what I had lost.

I breathed a heavy sigh and dipped the pen's nib in the India, and began my return correspondence to Madame Roux.

I wished Marie and her family well and thanked her for her concern. I assured her that I was well, in the care of an excellent doctor and increasing on schedule.

I requested that she please inform Monsieur DuPuis of my well being and to tell him that, in time, I would grant him access to our child as long as he agreed to leave me alone to live my new life.

Even though I'd discovered that he and Christine may not be together after all, I would not be returning to the Manor house anytime soon, as I was loath to subject my person to his duplicity. I would be in touch from time to time.

I would hand over the letter to Barbara, who would forward it to a friend in Brussels, who would then reseal the letter within a new envelope which would then be stamped with a Brussels postmark. It would be tough for even the Monsieur DuPuis to unearth my hideout through the mail.

On the train ride back to Hastings, I had time to ponder forgotten details of the past few months. I thought of Nadir and my request of him to dig up information on that creepy Monsieur Vincenzo.

I wished I could find out what Nadir had discovered about the sneaky little Italian. Oh, I dared not contact Nadir; his being Erik's dear friend would mean instant discovery, though I supposed I could send him a letter via the Brussels route.

In the vein of Scarlet O'Hara, I'd think about it tomorrow.

I tried to work on an article, but writing with pen and ink while riding on primitive train tracks was not advisable. I could end up wearing an entire bottle of India ink on the skirts of my camel dress.

Giving up on writing for the moment, I leaned my head against the train car window and watched a light snow litter the barren English countryside. A small pool of steam collected where my breath hit the cold glassy surface.

I closed my eyes and last night returned to the theatre of my mind. Once again, Christine had screwed up another rare opportunity to enjoy the nineteenth century.

First, she threw marbles under the feet of my relationship with Erik, and now a simple night out with friends. Didn't the Leroux book I'd read say that she and Raoul disappeared into the North Country never to be heard from again? That's the trouble with artistic license; it can be hard to tell fact from fiction.

I sure wished the Comtess would get tangled up in her own personal time-tear. Three centuries wouldn't be far enough away for me.

Please, I screamed internally, stop thinking about Christine—anything at all but her!

Right-o, but what about? Gabrielle? How about another way of having some fun in this buttoned up century, something where no singing Comtess might make a guest appearance.

I had a wild thought; have all my new woman friends over for a weekend at Scalands cottage. Just the girl—the fun ones, not the blue noses. We could have a slumber party! Imagine, George Eliot, Barbara Bodichon and Elizabeth Garrett all sitting around a fire, drinking wine and brandy and playing Truth or Dare. I squealed and bounced up and down in my seat.

Everyone in the train car turned to stare at the lone pregnant woman making a spectacle out of herself.

The time was well past midnight when my carriage pulled up to the back entrance of Scalands cottage. Bastion, the all purpose butler and chauffer, helped me from the carriage and insisted I leave my luggage inside the door for him to carry up to my room. "A woman in your condition should not be laboring, Madame," he said.

Weary to the bone, I allowed the man to employ his chosen occupation.

Ah, nothing could ever feel as wonderful as sleeping beneath layers of fine sheets topped with a goose down comforter. The smell of hickory smoke tickled my nose, and I realized that hot coals still smoldered in the hearth.

I'd not taken care to close the curtains in my bedchamber last night and now a brilliant light glowed in the room. Only snow could produce such a reflective light.

As I pushed back the covers, I vowed that today would be a good day for Gabrielle. I would prepare a light breakfast, finish some writing, and bake a few dozen cookies, one dozen of which I would take to my neighbor, the widow Lauder.

She kept me entertained on many an afternoon with her colorful tales of the travels she and her husband, Hugh, used to take across the continent. Both lonely 'widow' women, we enjoyed one another's company.

After my toilet, I trotted down the stairs. On the hall table laid the morning mail. The snow must not be very deep if Bastion has already been to town and back.

I moved aside the sheer curtain covering a narrow window by the door. The sun glistened brightly on the two or three inches of snow that we'd received in the night, enough to be pretty but not treacherous.

I turned back to the mail. There was a letter for me. I remembered Mary Ann telling me last night that another one had arrived from France and that she had forwarded it a few days ago. Madame Roux must have more to scold me about, I thought dryly.

Well, good then. I like letters ever if they are full of appeals and admonishments for my unscrupulous deeds! I made my way to the kitchen, using my finger as a letter opener.

Extracting the original envelope from the one Mary Ann had forwarded it to me in; I saw not Madame Roux's practiced penmanship but the sweeping loops of Erik's dramatic hand.

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I shall attempt to update soon. Life has been busy and I've not been able to write as often as I'd like.

A big whooping thank you goes out to my beta's Amy and Barb and Kay for her pre-reads, the poor women had their work cut out for them with this chapter since I wrote it at 3:00am (there were lots of typos).

Please review,

—Leesa