Chapter 2
Madeline stood at the top of the first set of stairs with the burlap sack over her shoulder and a candle she had lit in the pantry. "Remove the hood," she said again, this time more sternly.
Gaze lowered, I shifted my weight. "I am more comfortable with it on."
"The staircases consist of fifteen stairs at a time and there are five flights of roughly hewn steps. That is seventy-five stairs, if you did not know. If you miss one stair, which you likely will in that hood, you will fall a great distance and likely break an ankle or your arm."
I hesitated a moment, somewhat intimidated yet still fascinated by her stern demeanor. I took a deep breath then grasped the hood with both hands and pulled it off. Before I could turn away from Madeline, she snatched the hood from my grasp and examined it.
"When was the last time this was washed?" she asked as she scraped mud off the fibers.
"Never," I answered, annoyed by her question. I wanted to tell her I was fully aware of my filthy, tattered clothes and unwashed body, however, Garouche wanted me to be more of an animal than human in every way possible. Stinking, filthy wretch of a child, he would say to the crowds.
"Trousers taken in and hood to be washed," Madeline said, ignoring my tone. "Follow me."
She skipped down the stairs, taking them two at a time with the burlap sack swinging back and forth like a pendulum. She rounded the staircase, the candlelight flickering against the stone wall as the stairs spiraled downward.
With no other choice, I scurried down after her, hand grazing the wall and eventually a long, metal bar for balance as I navigated the uneven stairs.
"Are there really seventy-five stairs?" I asked once I caught up to her.
"There are. I have counted them." She looked over her shoulder at me and smiled.
"What is at the bottom?"
"The Opera House has five cellars."
"Cellars?" I slowed my pace. My heart hammered against my rib cage at the thought of staying in a cellar, one familiar hell exchanged for an unknown future.
"Natural caves is a more appropriate description."
"With bats?" I asked.
Madeline giggled. "Heavens, no, not that far down, but there are fish within the underground lake. I've seen them whip through the water."
Her words piqued my interest and I wondered what my uncle would have thought of an underground lake far beneath the Opera House in the middle of Paris.
"The first three cellars are in use for extra costumes, wigs, props, and many of the gifts the patrons have left for our star performer, the Incomparable Cathedra di Carlo. There are trunks and boxes filled with music boxes, fur coats, fur coats for her dogs, perfumes… it is truly a spectacle. Most of the larger props are in the first cellar, but there are also tools and unused pieces of wood for set designs and the like."
Madeline spoke with her hands, I noticed. And she seldom took a breath as she described the contents of the cellars in great detail. Every time she looked back at me, she beamed with pride, and the longer I listened, the more intrigued I became of my surroundings.
"The fourth and fifth house a few unused props and belongings from people who no longer live here, but no one ever goes down that far. The fifth has a lake and an old furnace and enough items to furnish at least five full apartments."
"A furnace?"
"Yes, although I'm not sure if the furnace still works and there is way too much rubbish blocking it anyhow. We used to play hide and seek in the fourth and fifth cellars when the Mistress had days off. Of course, we haven't done that in a very long time."
Games had always intrigued me. There were many nights I watched children play hide and seek around the campsite as the fair traveled from one village to the next. Brothers and sisters would squeal and dash away from one another, not a care in the world. They would shriek with delight as they tackled one another, and as I hunkered down out of sight, I envied their freedom and jovial nature. I wondered what it felt like to sprint blindly into the night, my siblings on my heels, bare feet trampling the cool, damp earth. Such a simple pleasure had eluded me.
"The cellars further down are very secluded. You will be quite safe there, I assure you. The traveling fair leaves in three days, so I would suggest staying here until they have moved on. I do suspect someone is looking for you."
I imagined both gendarmes and gypsies alike searched for me. I already knew if they found me, my death would be prolonged and violent, perhaps spanning several days. In a way, I did not think I deserved anything less than a tortuous end.
"Where do you stay?" I asked.
"The dormitory." She glanced at me and rolled her eyes. "There is no privacy. Each dormitory houses eight dancers and they are always taking one another's combs, ribbons, and clothing. I used to store sweets under my mattress until Angelina found it. Come to think of it, I should store everything of value down here where no one would ever find it."
"Do you come down here frequently?" I asked.
Madeline shrugged. "Perhaps once a week after rehearsals when no one is looking. You cannot tell at this hour, but this is a very busy and crowded building. There are a total of thirty-two ballet dancers, two dozen stagehands and set builders, the cooks, the seamstresses, the house manager, the maids, stable hands and coach drivers. There is a doctor on staff, a publicist to handle public affairs, ticket takers, and so many others. We are our own community, really, a city within a great city. There are over two hundred people living here at any given time."
"Does everyone who works within the Opera House live here?"
Madeline giggled to herself. "Goodness, no. Thankfully the managers live in their own homes on the other side of town and only visit during performances. The lead actors have their own flat on the other side of the street. They call the whole building di Carlo Palace, though I don't think they actually own the building."
She rambled on floor after floor, rattling on inconsequential information about the theater and its occupants. I listened intently, asking questions periodically but mostly enjoying her company. Almost a year had passed since anyone had cared to speak to me as though I were a person. As I languished in a cage, I had almost forgotten my own humanity.
"How long have you lived here?" I asked as we reached the bottom of the fifth set of stairs, My legs felt almost boneless, my knees threatening to give out after descending so many stairs at once. Madeline, on the other hand, appeared as though she could easily descend five more flights.
"I became a dancer when I was four and officially became a resident when I was seven, although I spent half of my time back home with my parents" she answered as she handed me the candle and the sack. I stood awkwardly beside her as she leaned into the heavy wooden door and pushed it open.
"I could have done that for you."
"Yes, I know, but I have done it many times before on my own. You are very kind and I do appreciate your offer."
I was glad it was dark and she could not see me blush.
"Where are your parents?" I asked.
"England. Back home for the year. Every six months I return to London for a week with my parents and two brothers, and once a year my parents visit the Opera House to see a performance."
We entered the cellar, a woosh of cool, fresh air greeted us as though we were outside. I marveled at how fresh and clean the cellar smelled; almost earthy like a forest. Water lapped upon an unseen shore.
"You are not French?" I asked.
"I have lived in Paris for the last eleven years, I dance on a French stage for a French opera house and I am paid in francs. How much more French could I be?"
Her words amused me and I smiled.
"Where are you from?" she questioned.
"I don't know."
Placing the candle on a long wooden table, she looked at me briefly. "How do you not know where you are from?"
"My parents kept me in their cellar."
The revelation surprised Madeline almost as much as it surprised me for answering truthfully. Ashamed I looked away from her and stared into the darkness. I had never told a soul of my past, partially because no one had asked and mostly because I did not want others to know what I had endured. The marks on my face were reason enough for most people to shun me.
To my surprise, Madeline did not shrink away from me in disgust. "What do you remember of the city you are from? Anything at all?"
"It was a small village on the coast with streets that turned to ice in the dead of winter. For days no one dared leave their homes because the air was so bitterly cold. It was very quiet in the winter, but in the summer there were fisherman passing through and fights in the streets when men drank too much. The taverns were filled with music every night. That is all I remember."
"Were the gypsies in your village? Is that how you came to be part of their fair?"
I shook my head. "My uncle took me away from my parents home one night," I said fondly. "He was a fisherman and a musician and a storyteller."
"You were close to him?"
I nodded readily. "He was..." More like a father to me. More like a father should have been, I knew. "He was good to me. Better than I deserved."
"That is well." Madeline pulled the top off a wooden box and reached inside. "Ah, here we go. Candles. I knew they were in one of these boxes."
Together we lit a dozen candles from the single one she had brought into the cellar. Slowly the sheer vastness of the space became visible, and I looked around in awe at our surroundings.
Truly this was no cellar but a natural cave with an underground lake and several tunnels leading into the depths. Behind us-where we had entered-there were wooden crates stacked one on top of the other as well as a bed frame on its side and several large mirrors partially obscured with drapes.
Madeline placed the candle box on the ground and laid the burlap sack in the middle of the wooden surface.
"You must be starving."
As if answering, my stomach growled, which Madeline found amusing.
"I'm afraid there is no hot meal available tonight, but this will make due for now," she said as she organized the food into apples and pears, bread, cheese, and salted pork. I had no recollection of her grabbing most of the items, but the sight of it made me salivate.
"Clean clothes," she said, folding the shirt and trousers. "And here is a towel, soap, and a robe for you to freshen up. The water in the lake is cool but not cold. I think you will find it refreshing before you have a bite to eat and settle in for bed."
"This is all for me?" I questioned.
She nodded. "Bathe yourself. I will return in a half hour with a blanket and a pillow."
Before I could question her further, Madeline hurried toward the doorway and padded away, leaving me alone in the cavern with my newfound treasures.
I waited a full five minutes before I dared to move from my spot beside the table. Slowly I removed my filthy, tattered trousers and ripped shirt and left them in a heap beneath the table. I brought a candle with me to the edge of the water and watched the gentle ripples at my toes. Soap in hand, I inched into the lake, sucking in a breath as the cool water lapped against my shins, then the middle of my thighs.
"Cool, not cold," I said with my teeth clenched and chunk of soap squeezed tightly in my fist. I placed the candlestick near the lake and watched the flame flicker. The water was most definitely cold, but there was no turning back. I held my breath, then fell backwards into the water and completely submerged myself.
For several seconds I remained underwater, surprised at how the bite of cold became comfortable. I kicked my feet and propelled further into the inky darkness where I was met with a rush of warmer water bubbling up from the cave floor.
I surfaced from the depths into the shadows of the cave and blinked as I floated in the middle of the warm, soothing water. My feet touched the smooth floor easily and I stood hip deep, admiring my secluded surroundings. At last I worked the soap into a lather and washed my hair for the first time in months.
I ran my fingers along both sides of my face, felt the knot near my left temple where the small child had struck me with the stone, and the uneven flesh on the right side.
I could not recall the last time I had truly bathed. Once in a great while I was permitted to enter the creeks where the gypsies bathed and washed their clothing, but it was more of an unsatisfying, ice-cold rinse than anything else.
This moment, however, was pure pleasure, and I savored the sensation of the bar of soap in my grasp and the scent of lemon and basil. I made my way back to the shallow water, scrubbed myself head to toe, then waded back in and dove into the warmer pools. I felt along the bottom of the lake and discovered a fissure about the width of my hand where the warmer water emerged.
Out of breath, I turned upright, planted my feet against the floor, and sprang upward, creating an impressive splash.
"Erik?" Madeline called. She knocked on the door. "Are you dressed?"
I had completely forgotten she had promised to return.
"N-no," I shouted back. "I'm still in the water."
"I will leave the blanket and pillow outside the door then."
"Don't leave yet," I blurted out. "I will only be a moment."
I wondered if she heard the sheer desperation in my voice as I asked her to stay. As much as I had enjoyed being in the water, I wanted company more than solitude.
"I will wait," she promised.
I shivered as I made my way back to the table and toweled myself dry as fast as I could. "Come in," I called as I finished buttoning my trousers.
She walked in with her eyes closed and a pillow and large blanket held to her chest. "Are you dressed?"
"I would not have asked you to come in if I had been indecent."
"Then you are a more courteous man than half the people in the Opera House." She fluffed the pillow and handed it to me. "I'm afraid you'll need to sleep on the ground for the night. Tomorrow we will make you a more proper bed."
"I don't mind the ground," I said. "You should not trouble yourself."
She waved off my concern with a flick of her wrist. "No trouble."
I smiled inwardly, enjoying how she fussed over me. The title of Mother fit her perfectly.
"I cannot stay long," Madeline said as she scraped two wooden chairs across the ground. I hurried to help her with both of them. "There will be too many rumors swirling around the Opera House as it is."
"What do you mean?"
Madeline sighed. "When I went to find you a blanket and pillow there were gendarmes searching the stable."
The hairs on my arms rose in goose flesh. I stepped back from the table and swallowed hard. In my mind I pictured two dozen burly men trudging down the cellar stairs. There would be no escape once they found me.
"I cannot stay here," I mumbled.
Sympathetic eyes stared back at me. "You must stay here," she replied, her voice calm and even. "Where you are safe."
Heart racing, I shook my head. "You would be an accomplice. They would see me hanged for murder and you as well for freeing me."
My vision started to tunnel as panic set in. I gripped the back of the chair to steady myself, knowing full well the size and shape of my cage had changed, but I still was not free. They would find me. Indeed, I felt as though at any moment they would burst through the door and take both of us away.
Madeline held up both hands, palms facing me. "Erik, calm down. You are not going anywhere, not tonight. If you were to step out the door, where would you go?"
I could not bear to speak, let alone form coherent thoughts in my head. The same nauseous, overwhelming sensation that had washed over me the moment I released Garouche's lifeless body consumed me once more. My fingertips lost feeling, my heart beating so fast I thought it would explode. My eyesight started to darken and my hearing failed.
I had killed him without a second thought, that man who had put me in irons so heavy I could barely lift my blistered feet to follow behind the wagons. I had wrapped a rope around his fat neck and held it in place until he ceased to struggle. Not once had I considered letting up once he fell face first into the straw. Not once had I looked at him with compassion or mercy. An eye for an eye. Eventually it was either going to be me or him-and he had beaten me so badly I wished for death. I was not the least bit remorseful of my actions.
Anxiety wrapped its way through every nerve. I was resolved to feel nothing at all and yet there were hands on my shoulders, steady and warm. I blinked several times and realized I was seated on the ground with a blanket draped over me and Madeline on her knees in front of me. Her face came into focus, pale and filled with concern.
"Can you hear me?" she questioned.
I nodded and grasped her trembling hand, feeling as though she anchored me to the world. She squeezed back and sighed in relief.
Once the sheer panic dissipated and my heart rate slowed, I rubbed my hand over my face and remembered I was no longer wearing my hood. Somehow this realization made my breakdown worse.
"You collapsed before my eyes," she said.
"I know," I replied blankly.
"Has this happened to you before?" she asked.
"Once or twice," I said under my breath. Both times I had been left to suffer alone, afraid and ashamed of my emotional episode. Both times I had been brutally beaten into submission; once by my father days before my uncle had come for me and more recently by Garouche days before we arrived in Paris. Paralyzing anxiety had left me defenseless each time, yet strangely I had felt no pain until I had come back to my senses.
"You are under far too much stress for a boy your age," Madeline said. She straightened the blanket over my shoulders before she rose to her feet. Unable to move, I watched as she gathered food from the table onto a plate and joined me once more on the ground.
Her genuine concern surprised me, as did her insistence that I eat. I stared at the ripples in the lake as she pushed the plate closer to me. Everything about her was motherly and warm-and so unlike the woman who had birthed me.
"When was the first time this happened to you?" Madeline asked.
"I would rather not speak of it," I said.
"You are ashamed?"
"Yes."
"I do not think you are at fault." Madeline frowned but didn't persist. She grabbed a handful of grapes and popped them into her mouth one by one.
Hunger outweighed my overall misery and anxiety, and I took a piece of bread and a thick slice of cheese from the plate. We ate in silence, me staring into nothingness and Madeline staring at her hands. Her actions seemed strange to me as I was accustomed to people staring at me, my every move scrutinized. Most people seemed to be under the impression that because I was locked in a cage this made me deaf to their comments and blind to their vulgar staring.
"You must forgive me," I said at last. "I have not shared a meal with anyone since my uncle passed away."
"How long ago did you lose him?"
"Ten months ago. I buried him in the woods the same day the gypsies found me," I confessed. The memory made me shiver.
The trauma of watching him die and digging his grave was worse than any beating I had endured. For weeks I had mourned his loss and wished I had died beside him that day. To my utter disappointment, no matter the heaviness in my chest, it was never enough to crush my beating heart.
"How did he die, if you do not mind me asking."
"He was very ill." I looked up at Madeline and swiped the tears from my eyes. "I did not know he was sick at the time, or at least I did not realize he was so terribly sick. He should have been resting and yet he wanted me to travel with him to find his son."
"Where were you traveling?"
"Here," I said. I took another bite and chewed slowly. "To Paris."
Madeline's eyes widened. "You have family here? We could find him."
"How? I do not have an address."
Madeline shrugged. "A note in the paper, perhaps? I could ask patrons if they know of him. What is his name?"
"Kimmerson," I said. "Or Kimmer. I am not certain which one, to be honest, but his given name is Joshua."
"We will talk about it in the morning." She rose smoothly to her feet and picked up the empty plate. "For now you must rest and I must return to the dormitory. We start rehearsals at ten in the morning. Once we are finished I will return."
She reached down once more and placed her hand on my shoulder. "I will bring you more food and we shall share a meal again."
"You are very kind," I said.
Her bright smile returned. "There is no reason for me to be cruel."