24
It was with trepidation that Katrina entered the stage that day. She had been there so often, but never in this way. Helen bounced beside her, and smiled happily. It gave Katrina the needed boost.
The conductor smiled, and cleared his throat, causing the room to fall silent. "As you know," he announced, "Mademoiselle Thomas has left us, and without another to replace her. Mademoiselle Katrina has agreed to fill in until the next opera is opened."
A welcoming murmur ran around the stage, and few curious looks. Friendly as she was with these people, they had never really considered her before as anything but a little attendant. Katrina was young to handle such heavy music, but they did need to continue the opera as quickly as possible, and better with one of their own.
Helen had arrived the morning after the incident with the tack to speak to Erik about Katrina's taking over the part. It was only for two months, but even so, he was reluctant.
"She needn't make a career of it!" Helen cried, exasperated, "I don't wish her to. But you have trained her so well, and this is I'm told, your opera house."
"You mock me," he said evenly.
"Yes, I do!" Helen crossed her arms.
"Do not mock me," Erik warned.
After a few moments of silence, Helen continued. "She is your creation, simple, pure, and ready to open up before the world. I don't expect her to be onstage forever, but it will be something she can always remember. The skills required are useful for other things also."
In the end, he relented; on the condition Helen bring back any notes from the conductor that he alone might fix difficulties. It was arranged accordingly, and smoothly, considering how incompetent Jacques' replacement was.
Katrina had not seen the score for this particular opera. She had memorized it by ear, which proved to be as much a problem as a help. Helen had brought a copy from somewhere, and pressed it into Katrina's hand just in time.
The three weeks they had to rehearse and somehow assemble costumes for the miniature singer flew past. Erik was in a perfect state, trying to train his niece in the short span of time, and with her young voice, it was doubly daunting. Helen had her ands completely full, pouring oil on troubled waters at every turn, but did so with such good humor that it somehow came together.
The night of the opening, Helen left Katrina standing as still as a statue, waiting for the opening bars. People had heard about the departure of Mademoiselle Thomas, and arrived in droves to see this new, reportedly young, talent.
At Erik's insistence, Katrina's name was left off of everything, and the entire opera had been warned to tell no one. The threat of the Phantom was still large enough to generate the required result.
Helen sat down in high relief that the worst of the storm was over. Madame was with her, sitting as tall as possible, and tapping her cane in agitation. Erik had offered them the use of Box 5, saying simply that he would be 'above'. Helen wisely had not questioned this, and accepted.
"I don't know how you can be so calm about this," Madame D'Arcy put in. "It's all very scandalous if you ask me."
"I did, several times and the only answer I got was you crying." Helen said cheerfully, waving as Katrina ventured a peep from the back end of a curtain. A little hand waved back, and vanished. Right before she leaned back, Helen caught sight of Monsieur and Madame Lefevre, sitting down beside Darius and the Daroga. It dawned on her that she'd have to catch them at intermission and warn them off spilling Katrina's name.
"I cried for a lot of reasons." Madame snapped, "Scandal being one of them." When Helen didn't answer, she continued. "How you'll manage I don't know. You were always afraid of the dark as a child. Couldn't bear to have dim lights in Christmas Eve service, couldn't bear to hear a ghost story after sun set. How did you survive growing up at all?"
Before Helen could answer, the door to the box opened, and Marie and Jacques entered. There was a stunned pause on the part of the two women, before they remembered they were related and embraced the travelers.
"We didn't expect you for another two weeks, what happened?"
"Are you parting ways?" Madame queried, and covered her worst fears with a cracking laugh.
Thankfully, Jacques was new enough to the family that he took it as a joke and laughed along. "No, we simply felt no need to spend more money. I met an usher in the hall, and he sent us up here, so we thought of surprising you. Has everything gone well?"
Helen gazed at him, and then at Marie, wondering how to explain that night's performance. "We have survived your absence, Jacques, if that is what you are asking."
Marie caught her sister's tone, and paused halfway down to her chair. "Helen, what happened? Mama, what are you hiding?"
Madame fell silent, her wrinkled face set in a purse-lipped mask. Helen began to twist her program. The older sister simply studied them as she sank stiffly into her seat. Before anything else could be said the lights fell, and the music began.
A collective gasp ran through the audience at Katrina's entrance, but was choked when she began singing. The silence remained until the intermission, when a dull roar began. People pulled out their programs, and then would look at each other, and back at the paper.
Before Marie or Jacques could comment, Helen darted out the door, down the stairs and managed to find the four people she sought before they could leave their row of seats. In a rush, she explained the arrangement with Katrina's uncle, and begged them to keep silent.
The Lefevres were used to the whims of artists' relatives, and agreed with a grace Helen loved them for. The Daroga and Darius agreed, having a greater personal concern for the child. Monsieur Lefevre glanced at the stage thoughtfully. "It must have taken you some time to convince him to allow her to sing at all, Mademoiselle D'Arcy.
"Oh, not so much as you might imagine." Helen said; glad to have stemmed the leak.
Just then, Marie walked up, imposing in her grey dress. She eyed her sister askance, taking her arm gracefully. "Hello Madame, Monsieur, Daroga and Darius. How wonderful to see you after such a terrible experience a few weeks ago. I wish to apologize and make my first official offer as manager's wife: a refund of your tickets for tonight's opera."
They bowed their heads in thanks and Madame Lefevre re-extended her offer of a tea. Marie accepted before Helen could say anything, and set a date for the following week. It seemed to please the older woman, as well as her husband. When she moved off to greet an acquaintance after a moment, he bent closer to say quietly, "She has been discontent of late. We have not had the best of luck these past few years, and our friends have always been few. I am glad you are coming."
Marie smiled warmly, a task her side mouth was suited to, spoke a word of parting, and left dragging the frazzled Helen behind her.
As they climbed the nearly empty stairs, Marie frowned darkly, and glared at Helen out of the corner of her eyes. "What has been happening? Mama told us some rather strange things about how Katrina came to take over the role. Monsieur Le Phantom didn't happen to orchestrate this did he?"
"No, good heavens, do you think I'd let him?" Helen only realized how odd that statement sounded when Marie halted abruptly and let go of her.
"Do you think you can control him?" the soprano asked, "His niece is not only my maid, but on that stage. My understanding is he has insisted her name be stricken from the program, and that you be present at every rehearsal. The last time he was rumored to have a protégé, it did not go well."
Helen gestured around as if she were painting pictures on the air above her. "You've met him, Ria, and so has Mama. More importantly, you've met Katrina. Do you think I'd be as heartless, foolish or arrogant as to attempt to control or manipulate such a man? Reason or bargain with perhaps, but what else could I hope to gain? Do you think I'd put myself in such a position? What did it serve for Christine and Raoul?"
Marie forced herself to be calm, knowing that an outburst could cause unspeakable damage. "Mama and you are behaving very, very strangely."
Helen looked up the stairs longingly, wishing for escape. "I think we must from now on, Marie. My search of adventure has taken me to a strange end. Not here," she said warningly, seeing a question rising. "Later, I promise."
The rest of the performance went without incident, and whatever Helen had said to Marie and Jacques had quelled any potential arguments.
With the Prima Donna back, Katrina returned to her job of maid with greater joy now that the world made sense again.
The excursion to the Lefevre residence was by carriage. Since moving in with her uncle, Katrina had not been out of Paris except for the tour with Marie. That had all been large towns and cities as well, so the change was not great. This trip to the country was refreshing to her young soul, and she thought every tree a marvel.
She bounced in and out of the conversation the three women were holding during the ride, but was only half aware of the importance of it.
"I can't believe you waited to tell me, Helen." Marie scolded at one point. "Though I would have thought you incapable of hiding it, Mama."
Madame glared at her eldest, and rapped her cane sharply. "Helen and I had no wish to ruin your own nuptials with worry for your errant sister. Yes, I mean it, so stop looking shocked, Helen dear. You are errant, and always have been. The only thing that kept you near me as a child was your fear of the dark. Apparently, that is no longer an issue." She sounded as if she regretted that fact.
"I paint, Mama. I can't afford to let a silly fear get in the way of that. Or of…" Helen trailed off unsure of what to call her arrangement with the Opera Ghost. It could hardly be branded a future, but with Katrina there it was hardly an imprisonment. Marie and Madame understood, and left it at that.
"Uncle Erik is setting up a studio for you, Aunt Helen." Katrina said, her great eyes having turned back inside for a moment. "He wanted to be sure I would ask if you would come see that he'd thought of everything."
Madame positively began to melt at what seemed so romantic a gesture, but Marie muttered something about padding the prison cot. Katrina looked innocently confused, and added that he had built a special light fixture, just for painting. To her, it was something characteristic of him, the attention to what art required. He was as much a slave to that as to his niece.
Helen thought much the same. When she had left Marie's tour, her first week had been spent in placating Erik as to the welfare of Katrina. After that, she had gone with regular news, should his mail have gone missing. That was when the idea had come about somehow.
Neither he nor Helen were considered to be visually appealing, Erik for obvious reasons and Helen because she was far too outlandish a personality, too rotund and red headed to be anything but herself. It was this that had dissuaded many a foolish fellow into thinking he could find a better woman. She was not only skilled in the arts of managing a home and family; she was self-reliant as her investment and art showed. With their ages growing ever larger, and life showing nothing new, they had gradually agreed to marry.
Madame had been appalled, more out of shock at an even more heartless approach than Marie had already taken. Marie could live without love, but Helen was such a warm creature she feared it would break her spirit. The match of personality was so incongruous that war in the home seemed inevitable. Yet, over time and with repeated visits from Erik, she grudgingly admitted that it would at least survive. If only to give Katrina someone besides that 'yellow, skulking loon' to look up to.
Now the pains to sooth started afresh with Marie. Jacques had been told only that Helen was marrying a man, 'born deformed, but having great ability'. He would be let into the secret as soon as possible, but the overwhelming persona of the D'Arcy clan was enough at present.
The estate came into view, a long drive lined by delicate trees at intervals, with rose bushes in between. It was an old family property, having somehow survived the changed in France with a vague grace. The grounds were covered in fine grasses, broken up by shade trees, shrubs, a bowling lawn, some fine flower gardens, and a few fountains. Nothing was overdone, but all of fine taste. The vegetable garden and fruit trees planted behind the kitchens, was visible for an instant as they neared. Two giant angels with swords and shields flanked the walkway up to the door, and looked down at Katrina with hard expressions. She gazed back without fear, but felt rather subdued, knowing whatever act she committed they would surly see. As they entered the door, she saw more statues placed here and there. Many were angelic beings, or large animals. In one shadowed corner, she even glimpsed a dragon. None were the common female holding a pitcher.
As they knocked, rain began falling, growing quite heavy. Madame rushed them in as soon as the poor maid opened the door, sure they would die if they grew damp.
The butler led them to a room with windows on three sides and in the roof. Potted plants filled every possible corner, and several cut flower arrangements surrounded a low table set with an elegant tea. As Helen joked about Monsieur Lefevre being outnumbered by women, Katrina looked around at the ironwork in the room.
They sat and chatted, mostly about the market of the arts, and what Marie did now that she was married. Monsieur Lefevre offered to take Katrina for a tour, seeing that she was starting to twitch from behaving herself for so long.
He showed her the gallery, a long, low hall full of family paintings and a few pieces they had collected over the years. She examined every item and gave her opinion on them. His mouth twitched behind his moustache.
Katrina was shown the ballroom and the dining hall, which adjoined to allow for more room in either activity. There were three parlors, one for lots of company, one for small groups, and one for every day. There was a billiard room, holding the table, as well as card tables and a few other games and a rack for publications on outdoor sports. The library was considerably large, and almost overstocked. "We have little left to do but read and attend the theater these days," Lefevre said sadly. "No children or grandchildren, I've sold most of the horses, and have little business left to worry over. Sophie, bless here, has calls to make and the house to run. That's a lot, but not enough."
"I'm sorry you haven't any family." The child said sympathetically. Katrina looked at a wooden door, quite plain and so darkly varnished it seemed black. "It that part of the library?"
"No, that is the music room." He opened it, and turned up the gas lights.
It was a dark room, nearly as dark as the door. Rich, red curtains with gold trim hung around the windows and over a small stage, intended for private performances. There were shelves, three of them, for music. A large basket sat full of manuscript paper and books about music in a dark corner by a small organ as though forgotten. There was a cabinet of violins, violas, and cellos. A guitar was there also, with several types of flutes and whistles. A small shelf housed more wind instruments, a dulcimer and accordion. There was a table stacked with notebooks, sketches, and scores for symphonies. Shelves and cupboards housed materials for the care and use of all the items in the room. The most incongruent thing was the grand piano.
The pale, sand colored wood was hung with a black lace runner, which only served to show how pale it was in the midst of these darker shades. It seemed to be a ghost, symbolic of something, standing out from the rest of the things in mute defiance.
Katrina felt this and walked solemnly to the bench, looking up at the fireplace, or rather, the wall above it. There was a painting of a young woman, perhaps sixteen, with a dark headdress hiding her hair, and a dark dress buttoned to the chin. She had a lovely, open look to her face, and her large eyes seemed both serious and teasing at the same moment. Beside her hung a shadow box, with a large green book and shards from an inkwell.
"My daughter." Monsieur Lefevre said gently, seeing the girl's eyes dart up. "She died recently." Gestured to the box. "My eldest son died long ago, and that is what he left us. That and this room."
Katrina sat on the piano bench, and looked around, as though wonder what had started the fever for art, for sound. She turned her eyes back to the older man, filling his pipe thoughtfully. "I have another son, but he does not claim us, so we do not claim him." The words had a bitter taste to them. "So, as I said, we have no children."
"I am sorry," Katrina said, "I don't have parents."
He smiled a little at this. "Yes, so we were told. How is it that you went to Paris?"
She told him her tale, leaving out much and confusing some as any child would. She had been carefully trained to neglect her uncle's appearance and the local of their underground home, but otherwise was open with the man. He had sat down in a leather chair to listen, and only nodded as she talked.
When she was finished, he gestured to the piano. "Play if you like. It's still raining, and no one has come hunting you yet. I haven't heard music in here for several years."
Katrina obliged, and played a piece Uncle Erik had ordered her to learn while on tour with Marie.
Before long, the others found their way to the music room, and stood quietly in the doorway, looking at the tableau, Helen vowing to paint it, only without the rain.