51

Fergus Jamison proved to be a hovering patron, and an overly attentive one. Katrina forced herself to silence on more than one occasion, knowing Erik was watching.

The opening for this season was an oratorio, much cheaper than a full scale opera, but just as beautiful to hear. It would possibly tempt a few more families out. At least that was what Jacques insisted.

The Creation was chosen. The dramatic skill required suited Katrina's heavy voice, and she suspected that it was Erik's private dig at the Jamisons. A lack of show was a sure thing to scare a first time patron.

If they were unsettled, they didn't show it. On the first night, they sat in their box, the picture of calm artistry. She could see Lucy and Henry sneaking a wave, and gave them a wink in return.

If The Creation lacked some of the rich flow and layers of The Messiah, it made up for it with the purity of the sound, and the contrast between sections. Katrina defied the standard range for her voice, approaching the work with the same fervor she had always given. Even the recitatives felt effortless.

Afterward, Fergus stood backstage, leaning on his stick. He was giving courteous remarks to the company, and when he met her eyes, he gave her a serious nod. "Well done, Mademoiselle. I did not expect such quality. You do us credit."

"Thank you, Monsieur."

There was nothing else to say.

Over the next few months, Minerva ventured to invite Katrina for tea. Once, she even asked to accompany the young woman on her market day. As usual, Sarah came along, visiting her shopkeeper friends with the same innocence she'd always had. Minerva at last risked the question on her mind.

"Was she ill as an infant?"

Katrina's mouth quirked. "No, she was not. She is only what God intended her to be, whatever purpose that may serve."

"You really do believe that things work out in the end, don't you?"

"How can I think otherwise?"

Minerva studied a window overly close, and said shakily, "I wish I had your certainty."

Katrina called Sarah and took her hand. "There is a café not far. Sarah has recently won over the woman of the place."

They went there, ordered soup, bread, tea and dates stuffed with nuts. Sarah vanished into the kitchens, where crooning and delighted voices began showing her how to carve duck for pot pies. Katrina smiled softly and shook her head.

"Why did Fergus choose to come here? Was there a reason?"

"I think he is losing his mind." Minerva sniffed, back to her controlled demeanor. "There was no point in it aside from the financial. We have done well as patrons. He has had a…disturbing time of it. Since you were there, to be honest. Please forgive me, but I half suspected him of being in love with you. After these past weeks, months I know I was wrong about that. Oh, I don't mean to insult you, Katrina, far from it. He has nothing but the greatest respect for you, but there is something else. He's hunting, but I don't know what. He hasn't been sleeping well, meals are either huge or he won't eat for days. This is all very confusing."

"Would it insult you if I said that I had asked Andre about your past?"

The older woman shook her head. "Not at all. It really was the only option you were graciously left by us. I would have told you about it, but it isn't all my story you see."

Katrina almost laughed. "Oh, how well I understand that. Would it upset you if I asked my uncle to talk to him?"

Minerva blinked. "What good would that do?"

"Perhaps nothing, but I think Erik could help. He wasn't always my uncle."

"What a curious way to say it. Yes, if Fergus will agree to it, I think it best."

Sarah came bounding back at that moment, and they were occupied with keeping the dishes on the table for the next half hour.

Katrina relayed their conversation to Erik who promised to think about it. She knew better than to ask about it for a while.

Fergus walked out to the street to wait for a cab. He had just watched the first rehearsal for a new production of Aida, and his head was pounding. Nothing he had just witnessed made any sense to him.

A man came to stand beside him. The light from behind them hid his face completely, and the thick muffler under the heavy cape made him look a little ridiculous. The fellow's hat was pulled low as he adjusted his gloves. "A fine evening." He remarked in a rich, well bread voice.

"Yes," Fergus agreed.

"You are English." It was a statement, clearly intended to keep the conversation going.

"Indeed."

"You speak French well."

"Thank you."

"Do you intend to stay in France?"

Fergus rounded on the man a little. "Is there a point to all of this? I don't think I know you."

The stranger shifted a little, and Fergus felt the glare from eyes he could not see. The man said darkly, "No, but Katrina is my niece. She tells me Minerva is concerned for you."

"That is none of your business." Fergus looked hard down the street as if that would bring a cab faster.

"Perhaps not," Erik replied, "But I think you knew that your face, your pain, all were nothing to Katrina. She could see you, in spite of how hard you tried to offend or hide. You wanted to understand, to be freed as she is."

"What makes you think that?" Fergus snarled, but it was the growl of an animal that has no escape from the lantern of its hunters. "Who made it your concern?"

"I am asking leave to make it mine. If you want to talk further, see me tomorrow in box five. No one will disturb us there."

Without another breath, Erik returned to the Opera, leaving behind a very confused and frustrated Englishman.