Chapter 23

In short I was jealous. Jealous as a boy of thirteen could possibly be of anyone or anything in the world. And being a jealous young man, I stewed internally, growing ever more livid by the moment as I restlessly paced the length of the cavern floor.

The problem was, I had no face or name for my jealousy. All I knew was that Madeline was quite interested in someone from the French Navy. In a sense, I hated nothing at all but the time taken away from me by this nameless, faceless man of the sea.

Still, I attempted to convince myself that Madeline had given her word that she would pay a visit before the performance. Up until fifteen minutes before the start of the show I remained confident that Madeline would indeed walk down to the fifth cellar to hear me play the new piece of music I had found.

To my chagrin she did not, and I played the same damnable piece of music over and over until I realized she was not coming to see me. I scrambled to find something suitable to wear, heedless of whether or not it brought out my eyes-a term that still made no sense to me-or whether it was suitable at all for a night at the opera.

I trudged up the stairs, listening to the hiss of my lamp, the way the soles of my shoes scraped against the stone steps like glass paper across wood, and my own harsh breathing with the occasional curse thrown in.

In the back of my mind I could see my uncle roll his eyes and shake his head at me, but I was quite content in my miserable state and made no attempt to pick up my feet or cease my petulence.

Twice I checked my watch and saw that it was close to curtain, which made me nervous as I suspected Madeline knew different passages with fewer people potentially lurking.

Somehow I made it through the halls and up the stairs to Box Five unseen where I stepped over the rope holding a sign baring admittance, threw back the heavy curtain, and frowned when I discovered I was very much alone.

I slumped in my chair and parted the curtain obscuring my view of the stage, leaving it open wide enough for anyone who had bothered to look up to see me peering out. Given my mood, I was liable to wave my hands about and make noises suitable for a ghost before I took off down the hall and returned to the cellar.

A tall, thin gentleman came out onto the stage and said a few words that did not interest me. He profusely thanked the patrons seated before him and read off a few names, but I had not paid attention until he came to the last two, which I did not recognize.

I sat forward, resting my forearms on the ledge, and counted three rows back from the orchestra and fifteen seats from the aisle. There was a woman seated where Madeline had said P.H. Kimmer would be. I could not see her face, but she had light brown hair pulled up into a twisted style with glimmering pins catching the last of the light in the theater. I watched as she fanned herself with her program for a few minutes before I looked away and scanned the rest of the I had not already been terribly disappointed perhaps I would have felt something stronger than indifference.

The dancers were easy to pick out from the crowd as they sat off to the side and they were all younger and built like sturdy yet delicate reeds. The ballet mistress sat behind them with her arms crossed. Everything about her was dark from her clothing to her hair, and she looked like an iron statue with a porcelain mask, her expression never changing. She looked up toward the box seats and I sat back, holding my breath for a long moment until she faced the stage again.

At last the curtain parted and two female members of the chorus came out to sing an American wartime song I was not familiar with about a woman named Clementine. They were dressed as rag dolls and scampered around the stage, much to the amusement of the crowd.

Footsteps padded along the carpeted hall behind me and I twisted in my chair, my eyes wide and heart stuttering as the curtain blocking out the light in the hallway rustled.

"What have I missed?" Madeline asked as she ducked through the curtain and sat beside me. She was clearly out of breath.

"Nothing," I answered.

For a brief moment I completely forgot she had not come to visit as she had said. I looked at her, she smiled back and handed me a program before gently squeezing my arm.

"I apologize for being late," she whispered.

I merely nodded, partly because the music had started and partly because I was still displeased by her arriving late and that was as much as I could do given the circumstances.

From the corner of my eye I attempted to steal glances at Madeline as she sat beside me, hoping to glean information about her apparent afternoon rendezvous. I noticed immediately that Madeline looked different, her complexion producing a pleasant glow while her lips remained curled into a curious smile. Clearly she had found much better company than I could ever hope to be. My mood darkened.

She leaned forward, her eyes leaving the stage for the audience, and I attempted to follow her gaze without being noticed. After several seconds of pretending to read the program she had handed me, I realized she had her full attention on a group of men dressed in full naval attire seated below us. She studied them for much longer than was necessary before she sat back, fanned herself with her program, and leaned toward me again.

"It's hot in here," she whispered.

I shrugged, wanting to tell her she might not have been so uncomfortable if she had not sprinted up the stairs. Madeline smiled in return and continued to fan herself until a break in the music and the return of the gentleman on stage once again pandering to the crowd.

"Cathedra is singing for the next hour," Madeline said. "They are going to have to wrestle her off the stage if they plan on having anyone else perform."

"I like her voice," I commented.

"I know but…"

"She is very talented," I said.

Madeline paused, perhaps sensing I was in no mood for light conversation or disparaging remarks toward Cathedra. "Yes she is." She started to say something else but reconsidered and thumbed through her program in the dark.

We sat in complete silence through three arias before Cathedra stood in the center of the stage and took her bow, her toes practically hanging off the edge and into the orchestra pit until the crowd settled.

"Hello, hello, good evening. You are wonderful, wonderful." She paused and the crowd cheered. Once they quieted, she looked quite somber, and her Italian accent became so thick it was almost difficult to understand what she said. "This will be my final season," she said.

Madeline as well as the rest of the people in attendance drew in a breath of surprise. I looked around at the stunned audience, then at Madeline, who had climbed to her feet and held her hand over her heart.

"Oh my God," Madeline whispered.

Cathedra motioned for the crowd to settle, but the buzz was already in the air and several men stood and exited the theater only to appear on stage moments later. One man clutched Cathedra's arm, but she immediately pulled way, thanked her family and the patrons, and then turned to walk off the stage.

The crowd murmured still, despite the tall gentleman attempting to regain control. He rambled on about what other performances were still to come when Cathedra returned to the center of the stage with an armful of rose bouquets and her dresser trailing behind her with a silk robe in hand.

"Thank you, thank you, I have one more thing to say." The crowd sat in virtual silence, not so much as a rustle of paper or delicate cough from anywhere in the building. "I would also like to thank my dearest opera ghost," she said.

The crowd went from silence to gentle murmur to outright mayhem, but Cathedra remained perfectly still. Madeline twisted and stared at me, but I did not meet her eye. I sat like a statue, unable to comprehend Cathedra's unexpected words directed at me.

"Did you send her another note?" Madeline whispered loudly.

I shook my head. I had done nothing at all.

"Erik-" she warned.

"I swear it," I said, my eyes trained on the stage.

Cathedra raised both hands, palms out, and the crowd hushed as though she controlled their every move.

"He is listening," Cathedra said. "He hears every sweet note. Careful what you say about him, ladies and gentleman, he is precious to me. If you close your eyes, you can see him too."

With a wide smile on her face, the soprano dropped her arms to her sides, murmured something to the men attempting to guide her off the stage, and took two steps before she collapsed in a horrifying heap nearly into the orchestra pit.

I shot out of my seat in alarm, but there was nothing I could do besides gawk like the rest of the theater patrons. Several women shrieked, and a barrel-chested man dressed in a garish shade of red pounded onto the stage and angrily waved his hands.

"You have killed her, you have killed my wife!" he shouted in a thick Spanish accent.

"Shut up!" another man who had come to her aid shouted back. "She is breathing. Now be quiet before you upset every damned person in the theater!"

Madeline pushed hard against my chest and pulled the curtains closer to together. "Get back before someone sees you," she ordered.

"No one is looking this way," I snapped. I remained where she had placed me, out of the way and out of sight.

Morbid curiosity drew everyone's attention to the stage as several more people ran to the soprano's side. Her husband yelled for a physician, which was followed by two men raising their hands in the audience and climbing up on stage. One of the men in uniform joined the organized chaos and helped Senor di Carlo lift Cathedra, who had not yet stirred. Within minutes she was carried off stage, her arms uselessly swaying with each step. Her dresser gathered the rose bouquets and skittered after the soprano, and with that the stage was empty and the crowd became uneasy.

"Curtain!" someone shouted. "We will resume in fifteen minutes!"

"I'm afraid I will not be able to stay after the performance," Madeline said. "I am sure the ballet mistress is already searching for me."

"Senora di Carlo has fallen quite frequently this month," I said more to myself than to Madeline.

My words drew Madeline's attention and she looked suspiciously at me. "Where did you hear that?" she asked as she looked me over carefully.

"I overheard a conversation."

"When?"

"Today." Conveniently I left out the part about swimming across the lake, cutting a lock, and eavesdropping on two men making a delivery.

"Ah, yes, I'm sure you overheard quite a bit."

My heart stuttered, and for half a moment I thought somehow she knew I had been by the stage.

"People say all sorts of things." Madeline grunted. "Unfortunately the rumors about Cathedra are true."

"What is wrong with her?" I asked. As soon as I spoke, I cringed at how insensitive my words sounded to my own ears. "Nothing serious, I hope."

"Unfortunately, it's very physician thinks she has a tumor in her brain, but she does not want anyone else to know." Madeline answered.

More commotion in the theater paused our conversation. A younger woman off to the far left of the stage was ushered through a side door.

Madeline nodded toward the closing side door. "That was Cathedra's cousin, Carlotta. Her only living relative. She is the one who told the theater manager Cathedra's prognosis."

"Does Senora di Carlo want people to know she is ill?"

Madeline frowned. "No she does not. Unfortunately I have heard people say that Cathedra prays to join her mother and sisters. I do not think she will be able to keep her secret, especially after tonight."

My lips parted but I had no idea what to say in return. I sat back in my chair and absently reached for my program, which I had set on the ledge. I thumbed through it and attempted to focus on something other than the chatter of the crowd.

I wished to contact Cathedra once more, to tell her I was no ghost, but I imagined she would be surrounded by friends, patrons, and theater staff around the clock now that she had passed out on stage. At least she would not be alone, I told myself. At least she would not pass unknown in the woods, buried with nothing more than a few stones to mark her grave. The passing thought made me shudder.

"Do you think Senora di Carlo will sing again?" I asked.

Madeline pursed her lips. There was an uneasy look in her eyes. "If we do not perform, we do not get paid," she said.