That evening, as the revelry of Hannibal, and moreover Christine Daaé, a chorus girl turned diva's success whirled on throughout the Opera House, Colombe Deveraoux found herself seated amid her friends at a long table staring with disbelief at the sumptuous feast set before her. It seemed to be a cruel act of divine humor, a joke played on Colombe by God himself that dinner should be so fine a thing, when she had no appetite to speak of.
Monsieurs Firmin and André the new managers of the Opera Populaire had made clear their intentions to become well loved and respected by all within their employment. Not only were they sharing in many bottles of wine, and boxes of cigars with the artists and stagehands upstairs, but they had even seen to supply these most lowly of wretches with all the riches a successful opening night could afford.
Truly as laughter and exuberance circled about the room the kitchens seemed to overflow with a splendor they had never before known. Filling each and every table were fine breads and cheeses of a fair so different from the typical spread of the larder it was enough to make one swoon. Wine deep, and velvety, flowed from every cup filling the air with its noxiously sweet odor much to everyone's great and boisterous thrill. More than this, the rich, and well salted savor of duck filled everyone's plate, dripping sumptuously with its well rendered fat.
Most of the servants, Colombe included had never seen such splendor afforded to them in all their lives. Moreover, they knew that they were likely never to see it again. Gluttony the cardinal sin of the evening was readily indulged, and celebrated.
Colombe however, toyed with a crust of bread. Holding it with swollen fingers she soaked up the luxurious grease of waterfowl, with no real intent to eat. The hollowness of her soul was far greater than the hollowness of her belly and the young woman regretted making her way into the kitchens at all, though, she felt certain that her friends would not have eaten without her.
Even now as she sat listening to them talk it was not of the success they celebrated, or even the food they should have been enjoying. Instead the three were readily conspiring to sneak from their quarters once they could be sure that Madame Chaput had retired for the evening to aid Colombe in her difficult, if not impossible task.
Remorse, and humiliation hung over Colombe's shoulders as she listened. The young woman wished that they could simply enjoy themselves without care or fear for her sake. These were, after all, her burdens to bear. Burdens that marked her in ways which earned snickering remarks from other tables. It didn't take much for the girls in the maids quarters to forget that such a fate could all too easily have been their own, and mockery came naturally to many of the jaded young women who spent their primes with heads bent low, especially once the drink was flowing.
"Roquefort!" Sophie squealed at one point, cutting both the treasonous dialogue, and Colombe's condemning inner musings short.
Standing hurriedly Sophie leaned across the table to snag a passerby at the elbow. Without a word the young woman then effortlessly wove a cheese knife through the air and snagged a sampling for herself before the man who, by the sun stained hue of his cheeks spent most days toiling outside, could stop her.
"If only we had some fruit and nuts!" the blonde intoned wistfully to her friends as she sat back down upon the bench they shared. "C'est la vie!" Sophie shrugged, then, remembering herself almost too late she paused to break off morsels of the lush sheep's cheese she so desperately missed, to share.
"Pardon me," the sunbaked young man scoffed swinging a long leg over the bench across from them. The maids his lanky figure now divided giggled, compressing themselves into the crowds at their left and right to make room. "But that was mine."
"Was it?" Sophie queried, her eyes lulling closed as she cherished the Roquefort completely unabashed by her act of thievery.
"It was. Stolen directly from my plate, and I have witnesses." the man motioned to the gaggle of women he had immersed himself with. A daring risk on his part, especially given that Madame Chaput glowered at the group from her vulture's perch at the head of the table.
"Well then, what shall we do to right this perceived wrong?" Sophie hummed through a coy feline smile.
"Perceived, indeed!" he retorted, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth as he rose to Sophie's game.
Felicity, eyes rolled violently towards the ceiling. Hastily she dislodged herself from where she had sat between Vivian and Sophie, to place herself instead at Colombe's elbow. "It looks as though you and I will be the only ones without a beau, again this season." the redhead mused.
"That's not true," Colombe protested with idle intent to remind her friend of the number of would be suitors she'd led on only to dismiss for one flaw or another last year. "What about-"
"Those were boys!" Felicity groaned allowing her head to collapse upon the other girl's shoulder. "I want a man!"
"It is such a tragedy, then." Colombe lamented with forced exaggeration to her false sorrows. Unable to put her heart entirely in the game, her tones were lifeless. Her thoughts preoccupied by her own deep-seated pains the girl could scarcely muster the playful empathy her friend had been fishing for.
Colombe wanted to be better for her friends, really she did. She wanted to be able to shake the cruel happenings of the morning and laugh, and joke, and be the shining star Sophie claimed that she was. But she couldn't, and Colombe hated herself for such weakness.
Sensing her grief Felicity's demeanor changed. Sitting up, she slid her own battered hand beneath the table to curl her fingers about Colombe's. They sat in somber silence amid all the jostling, music, and frivolity for several long minutes, immersed in one another's company, and shared heartache.
"I shall be your beau then, and I promise not to allow any harm to come to you." Felicity intoned after a while, her thumb running lightly over Colombe's knuckles.
The brunette's heart felt just a little bit lighter, at Felicity's earnest attempts. "Promise?" she asked in a croak, eyes fluttering lightly against suppressed tears.
"I promise." Felicity sealed the vow with a kiss to her friend's cheek before adding. "Come, now, you must eat at least something."
"For me?" the redhead probed lifting a piece of bread with soft cheese spread generously atop it towards Colombe. "Please, I will go mad if you should starve yourself to death, and leave me alone with the two of them!"
Glancing at the girls in question who were flirting tirelessly with the new boy Colombe felt a smile spread across her face as she weakly agreed.
Later that evening, her bitter work lit by sputtering lamplight alone, Colombe was flooded with harrowing remembrance as she stood, quaking, bucket in hand staring at the Grand Foyer.
"Top, to bottom." Madame Chaput, who swayed ever so slightly with the wine she had consumed reiterated.
"Yes Madame, thank you Madame." the maid whispered piously.
Knowing better than to wait for Madame Chaput to leave Colombe soaked her rags into water that made her hands cry out against the heat of it. Kneeling the girl swallowed her pain and began to scrub. It was better, she reminded herself as she toiled, to suffer this way at the hands of so cruel and vain a woman, than to lead the life she had fled.
She had a roof, Colombe reminded herself, and food, far more than her skeletal frame of youth had ever known, and even joy when she looked for it. Had she ever known joy before her friends, and the illustrious angels who watch over her from numerous frieze, and murals? Her heart held doubt that ever she had, at least, not since her mother's death. No, this life of servitude and the abuses of power were much better than any other prospect a girl like her could hope for. She should strive to be more gracious, she chastised herself.
Yet, left alone in the darkened temple of music, such gratitude eluded her. For it was as she washed the elegant floors that the young woman felt as though she would be sick. The breads, cheeses, and what little meat she had dared indulge in had settled in her stomach like heavy stones, ensnared by the anxious knots her innards had woven themselves into, fearful of the beast's return.
Still, the work had to be done.
Pressing her discomfort aside Colombe eventually became lost in her scouring. Though, without the misguided ease of allowing her guard to fall, or a song to cross her lips as she had earlier in the day. Instead she worked poised to flee if necessary.
As the girl was polishing her tears into the landing she was startled by the sound of approaching footsteps. Heart racing with a thunderous tempo the young woman went stiff with alarm, until in the light of fresh lanterns and the accompanying clatter of more buckets beside her did Colombe recognize that her sisters had come, just as they had devised to.
"We had to wait for the old crone to complete her bed checks." Vivian explained as she tied her hair back.
"And what a thorough job she did!" Sophie chortled with a wink thrown Colombe's direction. "It must have been the wine!"
"I still can't believe he fit those spider's legs under your bed!" Viv laughed as she set to work.
"He and those very long legs of his had better be gone by the time we're done." Felicity arched a brow in the warm, guttering light.
"I swear it!" Sophie giggled. "It was just harmless fun!"
"Harmless, indeed!" Vivian said in a mocking tone reminiscent of the fateful scene in which the two had first become acquainted.
The empty hall resounded the laughter of the quartet as gently as the strings of a sonata. Hateful of herself in the wake of her own sheer gratitude for their mere company Colombe cursed the ill temperament she had felt towards the others in the dining hall.
Watching the corners of their eyes wrinkle with candlelit joy, as in contrast moonlit halos fell from stained glass windows to crown their heads. Colombe could see for the first time that though God had taken her mother from her, he had sent her to live among the all of the angels, and not just those of marble, and paint. This, this was where Colombe had built her home, and future, she knew then, not in some palace of the arts or a piece of heaven gracing the earth, her home was in them.
Sobbing as her heart swelled with love, humility, and gratitude for each of the girls Colombe could not find the words with which to express these things to them. They were all Colombe had, and all she felt she would ever be in need of in this world. Casting a weary smile towards them Colombe could only pray they knew how much they meant to her, especially now in her time of need.
The four worked well into the night, far beyond the moon's crowning peak, and several changes of water. When at last only the lower flight to the left of the entryway remained Colombe found herself staring at her family once more. Contemplative, as ever she was wracked with what was now a persistent sense of remorse as she watched the others struggle on with the same bone weary fatigue that she did combat with herself. It wasn't fair. It just wasn't fair.
Staring hard into the wash water, Colombe pieced together the argument in her head before taking it upon herself to implore her friends to leave the rest to her. Standing against the objection of knees which did not want to straighten she shook out her apron and approached them with purpose.
"Please," she said simply. "Go to bed."
"Where will we be of not one of us is fit for work come morning?" she added when they began to object.
"She's right, you two go to bed. I'll stay with Colombe." Felicity agreed, reaching out to pull a pail from Sophie's hand.
"I'll be fine." Colombe assured Felicity as Viv dolled out hugs, Sophie gladly leading the way back to the dormitories. In her soul Colombe knew that Felicity would be the one to offer the most resistance.
"No." Felicity shook her head. "I promised. I can't leave you like that. Not again."
"Buquet won't try anything tonight, not so soon." Colombe countered, shuddering at her core when speaking the vile monster's name. "Not with the threat of Madame Chaput coming to inspect my work at any moment, not after you struck him, and most certainly not after the stupor he surely drank himself into."
"I said, 'no.'" Felicity grit, making ready to return to the task at hand.
Taking a breath Colombe could not articulate her meaning. Instead cutting through all subtext in a manner so plain that even her most stubborn compatriot could understand, she said, "It wasn't your fault."
Felicity, caught off guard hitched a breath in her throat.
"You did nothing wrong." Colombe pressed the point home. "I don't blame you. It wasn't your fault."
Watching the fissures form in her friends battle proven armor, this time it was Colombe who clung to Felicity as she wept. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!" she begged seeking forgiveness, where in Colombe's opinion there was need for none.
With a false assurances that she would retrieve Felicity after only a few moments rest to finish the work Colombe found herself alone. Staring into the night which seemed to stretch far beyond the voluminous building that could all but contain its darkness and isolated with her thoughts Colombe regretted her decision as she found herself reliving the day's events until she trembled, and ached anew.
Prompted forward by the knowledge that this was far from the worst punishment Madame Chaput could devise Colombe was diligent, her work overseen by the moon and stars alone. When at last she knelt on the ground before the first, and final step which led to the theater it was all she could do not to weep for joy and relief. Melting into the cool marble every fiber of her being begging for sleep, it took several moments, and a will forged of iron for Colombe to rise.
As she stood the woman's brow furrowed at the sudden appreance of dark ruddy stains at the front of her dress. Staring, her mind bleary and delirious with exhaustion it took several moments to recognize the stain of blood. Lifting the hem of her dress she saw fresh bleeding starting to pool at the front of her legs from overuse of their fragile and battered state. Hoisting her lamp which had begun to dim, low on oil, Colombe cast a backwards glance over shoulder.
Cold in the pit of her stomach as her heart plunged she saw that a number of stairs had been marred by her blood. Panic stricken Colombe hurriedly tried to rid them of their damning manifestation of her presence, and the harrowing reason for her reparations. In her wild sweeping motions the girl saw that her rag held for her only red, her wounded hands open just as freshly as her shins.
Colombe in the smear of her own blood knew then, true despair.
"Why?" she screamed to an unforgiving God, in a voice that was ragged and torn. The faith she had laid the foundation of her being upon quickly crumbling away beneath the feet Colombe raved in maddening loss and anger to the heavens.
"Why?" she shrieked again. "Do you regret your creation? Have you abandoned us entirely, or are some of us preordained for tragedy? Why?" she wept curling into the floor. "Why? Why?"
She would be turned out onto the streets for this. Without prospects, or any other means of supporting herself she would be forced to return to her father, Colombe thought loosing another harsh scream into the vast echoing corridor.
"I'd rather die." she whimpered defiant to the Lord's plans for her. "I'd rather die. Let me die." she prayed. "Please, God, let me die first!" With this grim plea recited upon her lips, a slowly encroaching darkness and remorse pulled Colombe into the depths of sleep.
What warmth of morning that could reach her bed by dawn woke Colombe from her deep but uneasy slumber. Gazing through fogged, hazy vision at the well known space above her bed, the young woman slowly, reluctantly, moved her tortured frame. It was as she sat against the cries of her many bruises, that swaying, she recalled the stairs, the blood, and her impending damnation. Vision wavering with bitter sorrow Colombe accepted the cold shock the hard stone floor had to offer her feet as she thrust herself from bed.
Racing, terrified, through the Opera House, uncertain of the state she left her charge in Colombe threw herself into the Grand Foyer. With prayers of a different kind than she had uttered in her destitution, the maid begged God that she had time still to clean. Her bare feet skidding across the flooring as she stopped just short of the top stair, the girl blinked, transfixed by the pristine shine that glistened up towards her from the bottom of the flight.
Dazed Colombe could not seem to tear herself from the scene of her very own miracle. Far different than some misplaced key, this had truly been an act of divine intervention.
"Thank you." she muttered through her tears.
Turning back the way she'd come Colombe drifted on strides that seemed barely to touch the ground. Sleepwalking, light, and airy, somehow she found her way back to the dormitories. Still, she was uncertain of what if anything she'd done to warrant such grace.
"Colombe!" Vivian gasped rushing to embrace her. "You positively flew! Are you alright?"
"What happened?" A half dressed Sophie wanted to know, while Felicity pulled the disoriented girl to sit beside her on her bed.
"Who finished the stairs?" Colombe muttered, half hoping that someone would take credit.
"You must have." Sophie said in confusion, her nose wrinkled in the rambunctious manner she had about her.
"Yes, and you were meant to get me!" Felicity groused.
"Poor thing, you must be out of your mind with exhaustion!" Vivian cooed, reaching towards Colombe.
Amid all their fretting, and smoothing of the tangled hair from her face Colombe couldn't quite seem to hear what they were saying. Instead she was only able to focus on one solitary thing, and it was not her companions. It was the rose on the floor beside her bed.
It appeared to have been turned out of her blankets when she'd run off, but that couldn't be right. Wandering towards the bloom she fished it from the floor. Passing the delicate fabric between her fingers Colombe allowed herself to admire the black ribbon before turning to hand it off in her state of bewilderment to Vivian.
"It must have been from Louvel, and placed with my things by mistake." Colombe heard herself say, still in awe of the gift she'd been given.
"Louvel isn't one to such show this type of affection." Vivian shook her head. "Besides, the ribbon, a little effeminate for a stable boy no? Sophie? Your beau?"
"I would hardly call him a beau." Sophie scoffed with indignation. "Besides where would he come by a rose in the middle of the night?"
The three turned to Felicity whose face was knotted with deep thought, troubled by her friend's distant state of mind, and other things more worrisome still. Snatching the blossom from Colombe's hand she discarded it into the room's waste basket.
"It's probably someone playing a cruel joke on you." Felicity hissed. "Rumors spread. You know how vile the others can be. Now, get dressed. We have to hurry if we want a decent breakfast."
"Decent?" Viv larked.
"Don't discredit me. There might be leftovers from last night!" Felicity winked. This saw the other two lending speed to their dressing.
Moving much more slowly, Colombe gave a single grievous thought to the fact that she had yet a chance to wash. It was all she had wanted to do since the incident, yet, in all the chaos of the day she hadn't found the opportunity. Her rampant emotions as conflicting and errant and her own fraying thoughts since her attack did combat against the girl once more, and she sniffled back tears.
Taking the others Felicity maneuvered them to the door. "We'll be outside, when you're ready."
Grateful for the privacy Colombe undressed. Frightened to take stock of her wounds, she averted her gaze until she stood in fresh linens. Knotting her apron behind her back she made ready to leave when what seemed to be the only color in the room recaptured her waning attention. Retrieving the rose Colombe knew that Felicity's words were sound, and well reasoned. Why would anyone leave her a flower, more over one so delicate as a rose?
It had likely been pinched from a bouquet in the prima donna's dressing room, left as a gag, or insult beyond her comprehension by someone who thought they were terribly funny, in their mockery and jeers. Is that what the ribbon meant then? She wondered, a dark mark on her character? Perhaps, though, she couldn't shake the notion that this rose was a gift, one by which there was no sinister implication.
Lifting it to her nose Colombe inhaled the gentle fragrance. It was lovely, she thought lowering it to rest beneath her pillow where the others could not see it. Her heartstrings were tugged in twain as she tried to rationalize the weight of her hopes and fragile faith against her mounting doubt and fear, but it was too great a task.
With the scent of roses clinging to her, Colombe smoothed out her skirts, and took a steadying breath. Brow knotted with her troubles, but the blessing of a miracle to steel her, she set out to begin her day, and life with what she told herself was a new sense of courage, regardlessof how brittle and wavering that courage might have been.