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Chapter 22
We sat for a while on the stone bench in the middle of the garden once the men in uniform disappeared into a tent and were lost from sight.
Madeline did not elaborate on who she wanted to see and I did not ask, mostly because I hoped whoever he was would simply leave and be forgotten-or better yet that he would become turned around and never find his way to the Opera House.
Clouds replaced the scorching sun, and the remainder of the time we sat on the rooftop was more cool and pleasant. Still, I unbuttoned and rolled up my sleeves as I felt perspiration slick against my arms and back, which made my clothes stick to my flesh.
Madeline talked about the performance taking place in the evening, which turned into smaller tangents about what she planned to wear, how she planned to fix her hair, and how she was missing a pair of shoes but suspected one of the other dancers named Anne had them in the dormitories.
She was more talkative than usual, which I suspected was due to the two glasses of wine and wig out of the bottle she had enjoyed. While Madeline had always been pleasant, she rambled on and gestured wildly, once almost hitting me in the jaw with her loosely held fist, which she did not seem to notice.
For the most part I did not mind her wobbly state. When I escaped my parents' cellar I saw men who wandered off back home, or at least in the diretion they thought they lived, after a night spent at the taverns. From the shadows I watched as their paths zigzagged through the streets, and on more times than I could count, I found a man slumped in an alley or face-down in the street.
Some became loud and obnoxious, others surly and looking for an argument-or worse. And then there were the individuals like Madeline who sat close to whomever was near and giggled at absolutely nothing.
"What about you?" she asked suddenly. Her breath smelled sweet, her eyes blinking slowly. I had no idea what she was talking about as I had stopped listening to her and began picking apart the music in the streets below. "What are you going to wear?"
"Clothes," I answered dryly.
She made a noise, almost like a snort that ended with her head throw back in a laugh.
"Yes, yes, I would certainly hope so." Madeline pursed her lips and sat back, eyeing me briefly. "You are so tall and look so nice in a suit, though, and a night at the opera is a night for dressing up," she commented. "Tailors would love to customize a suit for you with your stature."
I mumbled something incoherent, unable to loosen my knotted tongue. Even if her words were fueled by a little too much wine, I had no idea what to do with her compliment.
Her fingers brushed against my right shoulder and I felt my stomach tighten at her light, unexpected touch. "You have such broad shoulders." She offered a close-lipped smile and looked me over again. "Just like my brother."
I nodded, feeling almost grateful for the comparison to her brother. Drunken men-and sometimes stone sober ones as well-had often led young ladies with a glass or two of wine in them off into the alleys or inns. Women followed quite willingly, stumbling out of sight and into the darkness. Many returned looking somewhat haunted and uncertain, and as I thought of the regret in their eyes, I did not want Madeline to think I had lascivious intentions.
I knew all too well that accusations were often baseless due to my appearance alone. I thought frequently of my uncle's words of warning: I would have to try harder than others to find acceptance and would always have to conduct myself in a manner becoming of a gentleman. If I could take pride in nothing else, I was content in knowing I had never harmed a woman, child, or animal. That was my saving grace-at least at the age of thirteen.
"And do you know what else?" She tapped me on the shoulder even though we were face-to-face. "You look very nice in dark colors, brown or blue will definitely bring out your eyes."
"What does that mean?" I asked.
"I beg your pardon?"
"To bring out one's eyes."
Madeline thought for a moment. She pursed her lips tightly together and looked up, her eyes became larger, her pupils noticeably dilated. "I have never thought about it before. I suppose it means your eyes would be more noticeable."
She smiled and giggled before she clapped her hand over her mouth. "I apologize," she said, her words mumbled as she kept her hand over her lips. "I have had far too much wine on my day off. Normally I would not indulge but..."
In the middle of her thought, Madeline uncrossed her legs and leaned back much further than she expected, and suddenly her legs were higher than her head. I caught her by the arm and righted her, but not before she released a high-pitched scream of surprise.
Without thinking I hopped over the bench and backed into a rose bush, heedless of the thorns scraping against my calves. My actions were purely a reflex, something ingrained within me after months of being accused of staring at Garouche's daughters, nieces, and even his wife.
"I-I apologize if I harmed you," I said under my breath. My arms felt heavy and useless at my side, and I first tried crossing them, then stuffing my hands in my pockets, but nothing felt normal. From the corner of my eye I watched as Madeline straightened her skirt and cleared her throat.
A sense of guilt washed over me for grabbing her arm despite no ill intentions. I also felt remorse for being so close to her when clearly she was inebriated. As I had done so many times before, I attempted to think up the proper apology for a misstep. It never mattered if I was truly at fault; the words were always expected of me.
Madeline's laughter had stopped abruptly and I swore the scream echoed over the rooftop and refused to meld with the music far below. My hand felt hot where I had touched her bare flesh, and I saw her looking at her arm where I had grabbed her. My fingers left red marks on her skin, which alarmed me as I had not thought I held her tight enough to cause damage.
"I did not intend to hurt you," I said when she did not speak. Her silence petrified me, and a sinking feeling pulled me down until I sat with my back against the rose bush and gravel digging into the seat of my pants.
"I know." Strands of hair obscured her face, but this time she made no attempt to pull her hair back. "This was my fault, not yours."
"Your arm-"
Madeline shook her head. "You kept me from falling."
"But I still hurt you-"
"You did no such thing." Her eyes met mine at last and she offered a smile as she motioned to me, much like a mother offering a silent apology after scolding a child. "Please do not sit on the rocks."
I stood and adjusted my mask. Madeline studied my forearms and I followed her gaze to the long scratches down my arms from the thorns. I reached around and felt along the back of my shirt to see if I had torn the fabric, which thankfully I had not.
"I should have brought coffee, not a bottle of wine," Madeline said more to herself than to me. She looked at me again and forced a smile. "Please, sit. If you do not wish to speak to me I do not mind, but please do not stand there."
I did as she requested and seated myself with my legs angled away from her and my sweating palms resting on my knees.
"I am terribly ashamed of my behavior and have no excuse," Madeline said.
I was not sure if she planned to elaborate, but she did not say more and I sat staring at my hands for a long moment.
"Garouche," I said quietly. The silence between us became unbearable. I felt as though I owed her an explanation for scurrying away from her as I had done. "The man from the fair, the one I…"
Murdered seemed like far too harsh of a word. I had not killed him for any other reason than I was sick of being beaten four times a day in front of a crowd. I could not tolerate another moment of humiliation, of being laid out, belly-down, before strangers paying to see my face.
"The one who struck you?"
I nodded. "His daughter, the younger one, she once nearly had a pole from the tent we were erecting fall on her. I pushed her out of the way, but her father only saw me shove his daughter, not the pole almost flatten her. Everything happened so quickly that I did not realize I nearly fell on top of her, but her father certainly did. He thought I would...take advantage of her."
Those were not his exact words, but at the time I did not fully understand what they thought I intended to do to Roxana in the middle of the day surrounded by twenty members of her extended family. Garouche made it clear he would not tolerate my insatiable perversions. Several times he had warned me to not look at his daughters, however, he did not realize my interest was the horses Roxana and Lipa rode, not the girls standing on the backs of their geldings.
Just as my father and his friends had threatened castration, so had Garouche and his sons. Without my uncle's protection, Garouche and his two oldest sons did not simply frighten me; they left me in a heap in the middle of the wagons so dazed I could not move and in far too much agony to crawl away.
"The girl you saved did not speak up?" Madeline asked.
I shrugged, which seemed to be my main form of answering questions. I inhaled and forced myself to speak. "Eventually," I mumbled.
By the time Roxana told her father what had happened, her words were fairly useless. Garouche clubbed me in the knees and shins, making it impossible for me to stand for long, while his sons ripped straight through my trousers from the middle of my thighs to my ankles.
"I did not think you would harm me, if that is your concern," Madeline said swiftly. She leaned forward and touched the back of my hand gently to garner my attention and waited to speak once I met her eye. "Truly, you remind me of my brother right down to the way you shrug your shoulders. He was quiet like you are, and I could never tell if it was merely because he was always lost in thought or because I simply talk too much."
"I do not think you talk too much," I answered.
"Neither did Thomas." Madeline grinned at my words. "You are too kind."
No one had ever described me as kind, let alone too kind.
Madeline looked me over again. "I hope you do not think less of me and that you will accept my apology."
I found no reason for her to apologize to me, but I nodded all the same. I looked away briefly and attempted to put together appropriate words in my head. Madeline meant everything to me, similar to how I had felt about my uncle. I wanted to express that I loved her in a way I wished I was able to love my own mother, but I feared sounding like an overly dramatic fool.
And just like that my moment to tell her anything at all was suddenly lost to silence. She stood and inhaled sharply.
"I suppose we could return to the cellar if you wish," Madeline said as she picked up her bag. The pack was lighter now, but I still offered to carry it on her behalf. I grabbed it before she could and placed it on the bench.
As much as I wished to stay outside a bit longer, I found myself nodding in agreement. My biggest fear was that she would find my company intolerable if I disagreed and her visits would become less frequent.
"Would you like to visit for a while? I found some music in one of the crates. I could play something," I offered.
She was looking toward Apollo, a slight smile on her lips. "No, I think I will come back before the performance. This will give you time to practice," she answered before she caught herself in a daydream and turned to me and motioned for me to stand. "I think I will walk through the festival for a bit if you do not mind."
Madeline reached the doorway leading to the stairs long before I stood. She did not see the devastation I knew clung to my visage or my hesitation to stand and follow her. We were supposed to spend the day together, but now, after a few hours on the rooftop, she was leaving.
We walked down the stairs in the same manner as we had walked to the rooftop, with Madeline talking the entire time and me simply nodding in agreement.
"I will see you tonight," she promised as she left me at the cellar door to return to the lakeside alone.
I stood for a long moment after she disappeared down the hall, unsure of why she left in such a hurry but certain it was somehow my fault. She was out of my sight when I called her name once. I waited to see if she would return, but either she did not hear me speak or did not care I said her name. There was someone else on her mind.
She did not return to the cellar to hear me play. In fact, I did not see Madeline until she hurried into Box Five after the lights had been dimmed and the performance had started.
I was not happy. Not at all.