Chapter 38
The days that followed Cathedra's death were chaotic. The banners in front of the theater were removed and replaced with new ones that paid tribute to the woman who had graced the stage for twenty-six years–twice as long as I'd been alive. Her career was truly remarkable.
All of the upcoming performances were still scheduled, which relieved Madeline as she needed employment, but there was also a new show dedicated to Cathedra that she was required to learn immediately as the theater manager wanted to capitalize on the leading lady's untimely death with a performance that would draw in her biggest and loyalist fans–with a ticket price that was utterly ridiculous from what Madeline told me.
"There's more," Madeline said when she paid me a visit after the first grueling set of rehearsals. She gave me a pointed look, which I was certain I didn't earn as I'd not left the theater and I'd only left my lakeside once to replenish my pantry, namely in the form of a blueberry pie that I had somehow managed to make last for three days, a feat that took far more discipline than I would have thought myself capable of possessing.
Madeline looked me over, then held out an envelope.
"Who is this from?" I warily asked.
"Read it."
"'The Opera Ghost shall be paid a sum of twenty thousand francs on the first of the month," I read aloud. "Enclosed is a check for the remainder of his salary, which has been paid for the month of April. The funds are set aside for May directly from my estate and shall be delivered to my beloved ghost per my instructions.
"On the first of June, if I am no longer bound to this earth, the theater owners shall continue paying promptly and in full for as long as the Ghost inhabits your quaint theater,'" I read aloud. "The francs shall be placed in unmarked envelopes and left within the chapel where my spirit will make certain the phantom receives what he is due. If these demands are not met, I assure you that this theater will suffer the wrath of two ghosts; the one of Cathedra di Carlo and that of the Phantom of the Opera, whose name I hold in secret. The theater is his home, and should you fail to please him, there shall be swift repercussions."
Madeline stood with her arms crossed as she examined me, her expression unreadable. I glanced at the blank check with the sum of ten thousand francs signed by Cathedra and felt my heart pounding practically in my throat.
"You requested twenty thousand francs?" she questioned.
My heart stuttered. "No, no I didn't ask for a salary," I said defensively. "Cathedra offered and I…"
I glanced at the substantial stack of banknotes still hastily wrapped in a cloth on my table as if it was as inconsequential as a stale muffin. Instead of a day-old pastry, there were several thousand francs buried beneath a napkin that was used to clean up spilled jam as well as gravy. "She gave me ten thousand when I met with her."
Madeline followed my gaze. She pinched the napkin between her thumb and forefinger and tossed it aside before uncovering the money. The moment she saw the stack of francs, she gasped.
"This is ten thousand francs?"
"Yes," I blurted out. "She gave it to me freely, I didn't ask for anything. And I've not spent a single franc."
"What are you going to do with this?" she asked.
"I…I don't know. You may have it if you wish," I offered. "All of it."
Madeline immediately turned to fully look at me. "I'd be arrested for theft if I returned to the dormitories with this amount of money."
"You don't have to take it all at once. Leave it on the table and you may have whatever you wish whenever you desire."
"It doesn't belong to me."
"Consider it a gift."
Madeline sighed. "Why did Cathedra want you to have a salary?"
"I don't know," I lied.
"She didn't tell you?"
I blinked at her, my heart racing so fast I felt dizzy. "Not really," I said, yet another lie.
Madeline grunted.
"I don't want it," I insisted. The cost of what was at stake seemed far higher than the stack of banknotes.
Her features softened. "What do you want, then?"
"Ink, a pen, and paper to write my music, new strings for my violin, and… and pie," I added quite sheepishly.
All of those items I had happened upon within the theater and taken when no one was around, reasoning with myself that a loaf of bread or bottle of ink wouldn't be missed given the vastness of the theater and its readily available supplies. I took only what I needed and nothing more.
At last Madeline smiled at me, appearing quite amused by my list of necessities. She eyed the empty pie tin I'd left on the edge of the table, the inside scraped clean with a fork as I had no intention of wasting a single morsel. "You and your pie," she said with a shake of her head. "You desire sweets over forty thousand francs Cathedra promised to you?"
"I prefer your confidence in me over accepting a gift of such great monetary value. Truly, I have no desire for any sum of money that lessens your faith in me." I paused and shrugged. "And of course I would prefer payment in pie rather than banknotes."
Madeline pursed her lips to keep herself from chuckling. "It was unfair of me to assume you requested a salary."
"Where did you get the letter?" I asked.
She crossed her arms. "I happened to find it."
"Where?"
"The manager's office."
I raised a brow. "You stole it?"
"Borrowed," she answered. "I plan to return it once I leave here before the entire theater is an uproar again."
"And the check?" I asked.
"Not mine to keep or discard," she replied. "Cathedra wanted you to have it. Well, the Opera Ghost, I suppose, not you."
Wisely I decided not to argue over the identity of the ghost. I gave the check one last glance before I folded it in half and tossed it onto the table beside the rest of the money Cathedra had given me.
"Do you intend to refuse the offer?" Madeline asked.
I thought a moment, imagining an ever-growing stack of bank notes consuming my modest abode, stuffed into crates and corners. Soon enough I would line my mattress with a salary rather than straw, my pillows filled with crumpled notes that cushioned my head as I dreamt of music.
I looked around at the bed, table, chairs, and wardrobe consisting of props and costumes. I was surrounded by mismatched items that did not belong to me; clothing, textiles and furniture stowed away and forgotten far beneath the theater. I had made a home with items no one wanted; a retreat for a forgotten ghost.
I had enough, but it wasn't mine. The filthy shirt and trousers I'd arrived with from the traveling fair had long been discarded, the items stained and ripped beyond repair. The pack from my uncle had long since disappeared, leaving me without a single item to claim as my own.
I thought of Garouche and the velvet top hat he wore as well as the golden earring and a garish green jewel on his fat hand, one that had caught on my flesh many times, leaving me with long cuts on my arms and torso and once or twice my cheek. He enjoyed showing off his jewelry to bystanders, bragging of its origin, a story I doubted was true considering his character.
"This jewel was given to me by a prince when I saved his daughter's life," Garoche would say in his drunken, slurred words, "A precious gift indeed for an even more precious child."
He had finer clothing than I'd ever dreamed of possessing and jewels that he'd purchased with funds earned by exploiting people like me. He was a pig of a man who had deserved to wallow in filth. Thinking of him made me certain I deserved more than I'd been allowed. I had more than earned silk cravats and supple leather gloves with the suffering I had experienced.
I have been a selfish woman, Erik, Cathedra had said to me during our final conversation. I have stopped at nothing to achieve what I felt the world owed me.
No matter how I had suffered, not once had I contemplated what the world had owed me, not until that very moment. There was no compensation that would ever fully cover the cost of what I had endured in my brief life, but as I found myself drawn to the twenty thousand francs in my possession, I couldn't help but think that perhaps if the world owed Cathedra for her talent, it could spare me a monthly allowance to lessen the hardships I would undoubtedly encounter due to my ghastly appearance. After all, others had profited from my suffering. I deserved reimbursement. I was sure of it.
It galled me that Garouche was in no way physically appealing with his oversized belly, pock-marked cheeks, and greasy, thinning hair. People admired his jewelry and rings, seemingly able to overlook his shortcomings. But without his riches he was nothing but a filthy rat walking on two legs. He may not have been considered hideous, but he was not handsome nor pleasant in conversation. He was nothing without his rings and top hat.
How would the world view me if I donned a silk cravat and diamond cufflinks? If I had a wine glass with a gold rim and mimicked polite conversation?
People would step aside when I traveled through Paris in my carriage drawn by two beautiful steeds with shining black coats and polished brass tack while I reclined on satin cushions, ignoring the crowds craning their necks for a glimpse of the mysterious composer out for a ride on a Sunday.
Truthfully, I had spent hours imagining how I would spend twenty thousand francs. I was certain I had fantasized about spending at least twice that sum on the most frivolous purchases as well as more well-meaning gifts, such as a cottage on the beach for Madeline, one which she would allow me to visit each summer as a retreat for composing. I had splendidly furnished the little house and made certain there was a supply of tiny cakes and tea always on hand.
But there was more than generosity brewing within me. I felt the prodding of greed deep inside, a glutenous desire to surround myself with golden goblets and emerald rings. Beauty, I thought, to cancel out the ugliness.
Others would see my obscene riches and desire to step foot on the marble floors of my sprawling estate. They would beg to hear music reverberate through my dining room with its cherry wood walls specially designed to provide the best acoustics. Nightly suppers with every chair at the table occupied, private parties every weekend in an intimate setting, and the occasional hearty breakfast for my closest companions.
Loneliness would be a distant memory. I would take what I wanted–and I wanted to be accepted.
"I want something of my own," I mumbled more to myself than to Madeline. I wanted what I was owed. Not simply ink and pie, but finer things belonging to a man of good breeding and high stature. I was neither of those things, but if Garouche could play the part of a prince, I would be a king. The very thought raised the hairs on my arms.
Madeline didn't reply. She sat waiting for me to elaborate on my desires, but I thought it best not to reveal all of my secrets. I doubted she would understand, let alone agree with me.
"I want a tailored suit," I said carefully. Hand embroidered with ivy leaves along the lapel and brass buttons with skulls that would remind all who crossed my path precisely who I was: The Phantom. "And boots made to fit me. And leather gloves and woolen–"
"Yes, you do need clothing that fits you," Madeline agreed. "Especially for your performances. You cannot play such beautiful music in ill-fitting attire. You've nearly outgrown the trousers sent from London."
I glanced down at my legs and the trousers that barely reached my ankles.
"You must look the part of the talented musician," Madeline continued. "We can't have you out there looking like you emerged from the refuse bin."
I was glad she agreed with me, glad that she thought I was deserving of such humble requests. Along with those new suits and shining boots, I desired a new violin, one made for me alone. Inside I was bursting with the very notion of the dashing gentleman in his finery, the unknown writer waiting to step from the shadows and into the role he deserved as an accomplished composer.
The composer and the ghost. I wasn't sure if I was playing two parts or if they were one and the same, but I felt they were two separate entities. Garouche was always a showman, no matter if he was leading a crowd through the tents or seated with his wife and children. I didn't want to be a ghost night and day.
"If I give you measurements, would you deliver them to a tailor on my behalf? I will compensate you for your troubles, I'll give you whatever you desire, I'll–"
Madeline grabbed my hand and I realized I was trembling at the thought of Garouche. His wealth grew through my misery, through months of my humiliation. One simple touch to my undecorated fingers and Madeline redirected my thoughts. I was relieved to be rid of Garouche and his cruelty, if only for a moment. He occupied far too much of my dreams and waking moments, far more than I should have allowed.
"You know I absolutely will, Erik," she said warmly. "I require no compensation for our friendship. Seeing the twinkle in your eye is payment enough." Her grin widened. "You are truly happy, aren't you?"
I nodded, grateful for her company and willingness to assist me in something as trivial as obtaining a new suit. I allowed myself to smile back at her and enjoy the wealth of her friendship which she freely bestowed upon me. Truly, she was all I needed, the first and only friend I'd managed to keep.
"I would still like to offer you a gift," I said.
No matter how my social circle grew or how well-received my music became, I silently vowed that I would always show Madeline my appreciation. Not simply with mere trinkets, but with whatever she desired. She was dear to me.
"A small gift I will accept," she replied. Her eyes slid back to the stack of banknotes, a hint of concern in her gaze that I decided to dismiss. "What are you going to do about the salary Cathedra demanded? Will you accept it from the theater?"
I pretended to think for a moment, squinting as if the contemplation pained me. "What would you do?" I questioned. "If you were in my position?"
Madeline exhaled. She thumbed through the francs, her brow furrowed. "I suppose you could wait until June," she suggested. "When the funds from the estate have been exhausted and the theater is to assume responsibility."
I squared my shoulders and nodded in agreement. I had weeks to make an official decision, weeks to enjoy my new clothing and boots and fresh linens and perfumed soaps and…
"We should make a list of necessities," Madeline said.
"Yes, that would be wise," I said as I continued to mentally tally up everything I desired, both necessary and extravagant