22
The opening of the new season was eagerly received, and the few weeks Marie performed as a newlywed were all sold to the point of standing room only. Katrina failed to see how the opera was made different by this fact; although she thought Marie looked relieved and less stiff than usual.
The honeymoon began, and Katrina's work consisted of keeping up with the substitute singer. She came to loath Mademoiselle Thomas, though she had the good sense to never say so, even to Erik. The risk that he would display himself before the Daroga and Martin was too great.
Mademoiselle Thomas was barely more than a child herself, trained in a reputable but frivolous manner, with impeccable social behaviors, though her musical and personal ability was sorely lacking. Thomas was clever at manipulating the temporary manager, and much of the less insightful member of the company.
As a result, Katrina was treated as if she were a sixteen-year-old girl, hired solely for the delight of the soprano. It never occurred to Mademoiselle Thomas to ask about the child's terms of employment, or her age, and Katrina had developed enough resentment towards the young woman that had she asked, it would not have gone well.
The Daroga could see this in their meetings during these weeks. Katrina had no temper to speak of, but the behavior of the understudy had driven her to a habitual frown.
One morning, in fact the whole day, proved particularly trying.
Tomino had fallen ill, a victim of his own gluttony, and after a rather messy time putting him into a padded corner to rest, she had barely made it to the dressing rooms in time.
"Well, there you are at last." Mademoiselle Thomas snapped, with an angelic smile. "What do you think you are paid for, if not to be here?"
"My apologies," Katrina muttered, wishing for Marie's curt, grim orders and Madame D'Arcy's endless prattling. She secretly vowed to teach Mademoiselle Thomas a lesson as soon as she thought of an appropriate and harmless way to do so. A tack in her gown during the opening act was a possibility, since she had to perch on a chair ten minutes in.
"Bring me my facial kit." The soprano ordered her haggard looking maid. The poor woman leapt to obey as if a jolt had been sent through her spine. Katrina decided that a tack was certain for that evening, regardless of Uncle Erik's opinion on her behavior.
With a smile that was both mocking and ingratiating at the same time, Thomas said airily, "My personal tutor, patrons and family are coming tonight. They look forward to seeing my performance. It is nothing less than perfection, all the papers say so." Raising a mirror to look at her face, but angling it so that she could see Katrina and her maid as well, the understudy smirked. "I was quite lucky to find such wealthy and connected friends. My own family could have paid, but our contacts were limited, you understand, Collette."
"Yes, Mademoiselle." Collette murmured, pulling out powders, rouges, shades, tints, and more brushes than any art student would have wished for. Katrina wondered suddenly if glue could be mixed into lip paint and resolved to ask Uncle Erik that night.
"Monsieur and Madame Lefevre are my patrons, surely you've heard of them, Katrina, living here in Paris as you do?" She lowered the mirror rather dramatically and turned to gaze at the child. Katrina just shook her head, as the only names she could remember were composers or people who performed their music. It had never occurred to her that people supported upcoming artists to sing and play it. Thomas raised an eyebrow. "Well, I simply must point them out to you. They have a greatest taste, and are quite refined."
The tone suggested that she was on their refinement scale, and no one else in the room was.
Katrina could have told her that Erik had avoided his box since her arrival, and called her degrading names to his niece's face, and even worse ones when he thought Katrina wasn't listening. She could have said that the papers had nothing else to talk about, and that the only reason anyone gave her a passing review was her prettiness, which was both bottled and debatable. All these facts may have been true. But to say them would have brought scorn and ridicule from the woman, along with the claim that Katrina was just jealous of her.
Mademoiselle Thomas went on about her tutor, Madame Perrin and how much she cost, and how renowned she had been at the schools where she had worked. Apparently, Madame Perrin was something akin to the Golden Fleece, a creature not to be passed by lightly.
Katrina was not surprised that the young soprano said less about her family than her patrons and instructress. Perhaps it seemed natural that so materialistic a female would have few concerns with family.
That afternoon, she selected a very long, heavy, tack with a broad head that would stay where she basted it, and took great pleasure in arranging the folds of the dress.
As she left the theater where the ballet was rehearsing, she paused to greet the Daroga and Darius as they passed. In the entry, she saw Mademoiselle Thomas with a small circle of people, as though they had all just arrived. It was Katrina's ill luck that she was spotted just then.
"Don't just stand there, you goose, come carry our things!" The understudy called, with such a cheerful air, anyone else would have thought them the best of friends. Katrina had no choice but to walk over, and accept the light wraps the party was shedding.
Darius appeared at her side, and helped take the longer and bulkier items. One slender woman, dressed all in black save for the deep purple around her throat and the silver jewelry, looked kindly at Katrina as she gave her a shawl. "Thank you, my dear."
Katrina met her gaze gratefully, and smiled. "You're welcome, Madame," She responded happily, with a curtsy. It felt so good to be treated as human once more, that her manners were somewhat better than usual.
"This is Madame Lefevre," Mademoiselle Thomas said coolly, as if to remind Katrina of her lowly standing next to this great lady.
Lowering her eyes, and dropping another curtsy, Katrina said charmingly, "Mademoiselle has talked of nothing but the arrival of you today. She was most eager for her visitors."
A thin man wearing a plain, but fashionable suit raised a bushy eyebrow. "It is indeed refreshing to see plain, polished manners in a girl, my dear."
Katrina could feel the soprano seething, but kept her head down as she and Darius took the garments to the dressing room a head of them. She hurried to set out refreshments, stoke the fire, and pull a few more chairs over. Collette was in the other room, arranging cakes on a stand.
The Daroga's servant paused after hanging the last muffler. "I see that Mademoiselle Thomas dislikes any attention that is not directed at herself."
Katrina kicked at the rack where the fire implements were kept, causing a satisfying rattle. "She likes herself very much. It's too bad, really." She turned earnest eyes up at the older man. "I get angry with her, so angry I don't feel like myself. That's wrong, isn't it?"
"Yes. Justified, but wrong." He answered gently. "You do well in hiding it, and holding yourself apart. We who serve must behave as if we are outside of emotions, whatever we feel."
Collette sighed in a beaten way as she set the trays and stands out. "If I didn't have a boy to feed and clothe, I'd give her a dressing down. But there it is, I'd not have a reference if I did, nor money."
Katrina sat down on the rug to push the fire into a neater pile. "I don't work for her; I work for Jacques and Marie. I guess the tack was alright then."
Darius became instantly suspicious. "What tack?"
Realizing she had said it out loud, Katrina blushed, but confessed what she had planned out and done. She was so simple and shamefaced in the telling, that neither the old butler nor the middle aged maid had the heart to lecture.
They had no time to talk farther, as the party entered. Katrina made as speedy an exit as possible when Mademoiselle dismissed her, and Darius followed. The sound of shouting caused them to look at each other for a moment before returning to the entry.
The temporary manager was trying desperately to stop the Daroga and another man from striking each other. At the sight of the girl, everyone had the decency to stop in view of her age. She studied them seriously, the troublesome understudy forgotten.
"Now," the manager said, straightening his jacket, "what is going on, gentlemen?"
"This man is no gentleman," the stranger spat, glaring at the Daroga. "He is nothing but an oily eel trying to get in the way of justice."
Darius very nearly had to be restrained at those words, but Katrina had taken hold of his hand during their run down the halls, and that held him in check. He contented himself with a withering glare.
"I wouldn't know, I'm new here," the poor temporary said, feeling in sad need of a nap.
"Trust me," the man in brown pressed darkly, "he's trouble."
"I look for trouble, but only to resolve it. You seek to profit by it, Martin!" the Persian gritted.
Katrina now understood the cause of the quarrel. She followed Darius up to the side of the Daroga, choosing to side with the decent devil she understood over the unknown man.
Martin was not a man to give over in silence after skulking about for a year with no result. "There is a real danger here, Daroga, and this phantom will not be entirely to blame if something happens."
"For instance?" The Persian challenged.
"The chandelier could fall again, or the curtain drop during the bow. A fire could break out, people could fall for no reason, a thousand things are possible from what I can understand."
"This child understands more than you, Martin!" He regretted his words when he saw the way the investigator looked at the girl. She suddenly became possible information. "The whole opera understands what you cannot. Give up a lost cause and save your time, sir."
"You know something you are hiding from me," Martin said darkly.
The manager groaned. "Please, can we not talk in the office? People come through here, and dislike a scene."
Katrina wanted it to simply end. She understood the Daroga's dislike of the man now, as well as his grudging admiration. To her great relief, Helen and Madame arrived to return a dress Marie had forgotten about.
She heard Darius mutter as she left, "I think I would sit on a tack myself after this."
My apologies if any of the new last names are wrong. I know next to zero French, so I Googled for new surnames. I really don't know any!