Part of this chapter references another story (Into the Darkness, Chapter 29, in case you were interested in read that part).
CH 97
Finishing the list of music for the performances I was to conduct came as a substantial relief.
"Thank God," I mumbled to myself as I pushed the two pages aside and rubbed my gritty eyes.
"You look exhausted," Madeline commented from her seat beside me in my bedroom. She leaned forward and squinted at the list I had created.
"How kind of you to notice my wretched appearance," I said dryly.
She waved off my words and nodded once she took a closer look at the second page. "I've always loved this last song," she said. "It's a good selection, one the audience will certainly enjoy."
"Lisette's doing. I'd forgotten all about it until she suggested it."
"Where did she hear the music? In one of the park concerts?"
"Apparently on the phonograph," I said tightly.
Madeline lifted a brow and finished the rest of her coffee. "How wonderful."
"Music performed live is wonderful. Committed to a damnable contraption is like listening to an orchestra behind a wall while sitting in a metal box. It can barely be called music," I groused.
"Lisette has excellent taste," Madeline said, ignoring my tone. You must be very pleased with her ear for melody, phonograph quality aside."
"I am quite impressed," I admitted.
The last two compositions for the evening had in fact been selected by Lisette, the final piece being "Porquinita", a lively tune sung by a trio of tenors accompanied by a string quartet that she found humorous and delightful as three very different suitors vied for the hand of a young woman who was utterly oblivious to their collective yearnings for her affection.
Lisette assured me the audience would leave smiling and demonstrated her own toothy grin as reassurance that the song should close out the evening. There was no denying her request and "Porquinita" was officially added to the program.
"I do hope the rest lives up to Le Blanc's expectations," I said with a sigh of dismay. If anyone would know, I assumed it would be Madeline or the young conductor Adrian Agard, both of whom worked closely with the theater manager and had known him for a considerable amount of time.
Madeline looked through the music again, her expression unreadable for the duration of the agonizingly long time it took her to peruse the titles.
"Antonio will agree to anything," she said.
Her statement did nothing to settle my nerves. "What changes would you make if you were in charge of finalizing the list?"
Madeline smiled and sat back as if she had waited all morning to give her opinion. "Replace this one," she said, tapping her finger on the top of the second page without a moment of hesitation. "I've never cared for the entr'acte of The Mysterious Man from Venice. If I am being honest, that is my least favorite of all your operas."
I sat up straighter and clenched my jaw, attempting to mask the offense I took to her statement. "I had no idea you felt so...strongly."
Madeline frowned as she looked at me, her eyes filled with sympathy. In all of the years we had known each other, I could not recall a single time she had disliked any of my music. She had always pointed out what she enjoyed or praised the arrangement when I grumbled to myself that the entire composition would be better suited as kindling. Several pieces had been saved merely because she asked to hear them again in the morning and I had been forced to wait until the light of the day and a few hours of much needed sleep rather than making a rash decision.
"I apologize if I offended you. I shouldn't have worded it that way."
"Clearly you should have said The Mysterious Man from Venice is the opera you care for the least," I replied.
Madeline sighed and shook her head. "It is not to my taste. That is not to say it isn't good or other people don't enjoy it."
"I suppose once Testan retires you shall take his place? Create an entire catalog of my operas you find unappealing?"
Madeline stood and handed the list of titles back to me, clearly unwilling to participate in my grumbling. "I am speaking frankly to you as family, not as an official critique of your work. Besides, I am far too preoccupied with keeping a theater running and caring for my children and grandchildren to write reviews."
"Indeed," I muttered.
She cocked her head to the side and touched my shoulder. "The one about the lilacs. You should use that one instead. It's breathtaking."
I browsed the list of music and rolled my tongue along the inside of my cheek. 'In Full Bloom' was for a ballet, a sweeping orchestration that featured trumpets and French horns and had always brought back memories of seeing Madeline perform well before she was a wife and mother.
I had often thought of how Madeline would have choreographed the movements had she still been a dancer, how her skill on the stage would have accompanied my music with her as the principal. The music was an unspoken tribute to a dear friend, an only friend. But I had written the opera ten years after Madeline had retired from the stage and what she would have done with the music was only a fantasy in my mind.
"I will consider it."
"It's one of my favorites," Madeline said as she reached the bedroom door. "I find myself humming it in the spring when I walk down to the market and the flowers are in bloom. It reminds me of being younger, of being on stage as a dancer when my only responsibility was performing. I would have loved to have danced to that song," she said wistfully. "It feels like a different lifetime."
"One you wish to return to?" I asked as I pulled two clean sheets of paper from my desk and prepared to write a newly updated list.
"There are some moments I would love to revisit," Madeline said. "Would you wish to return?"
I removed the stopper from my inkwell and met her eye, surprised she would ask such a question when the answer seemed obvious. I grunted. "Return to what?"
The beatings, I thought bitterly, or perhaps the loneliness and constant state of unsated hunger. The feeling of always being on guard, of being aware that no matter what I did, no one would accept me. There were far too many moments I wished to escape, moments that never seemed to be in the distance.
"The first time you saw the curtain rise. The first notes played by the orchestra." Madeline leaned against the door frame and smiled. "Sliding down that big hill covered in ice the night we had drinking chocolate."
"It was raining, not covered in ice," I said.
Madeline raised a brow. "Was it?"
"Yes, I distinctly recall there was a steady drizzle and I had no cloak suitable for the cold." My hands had been stiff from the cold, my fingers numb and teeth chattering. Despite how miserable the weather conditions had been, the thought of it still lightened my mood.
Madeline smiled. "But you had two pairs of woolen socks."
"Yes, I think I did." I smiled back at her, remembering how we had raced each other up the steep incline and slid back down the cobblestones like adventurous children left unattended. For those brief moments I hadn't felt the cold; I'd felt her hand grip mine as we flew down, knees bent for balance and screams lodged in our throats. I had felt the bubble of unexpected laughter escape once we reached the bottom and the rush of doing something I'd never had the opportunity to do before: to act like a child in the twilight of my childhood.
I'd been thirteen years of age at the time, nearly fourteen. With Madeline's assistance, I had felt exhilarating freedom, abandonment from my inhibitions. I had no idea if anyone had witnessed our playful moment, and I could not recall many instances in my youth where I had not looked over my shoulder, afraid of who would be watching me or what punishment awaited.
We had never slid down the street again in that manner-at least not together-but it was a good memory. One I realized I would have liked to have experienced a second time. The rise of the curtain in a darkened theater was a moment I had experienced countless times, and while I would never tire of watching a performance, the night in the rain was something I would never recreate.
"I do believe I won all three times," I said.
Madeline chuckled. "You most certainly did not. As I recall, they were not even close."
It was my turn to lift a brow. "Would you care to race again, Madame? I am confident I know precisely where that stretch of road exists."
Madeline feigned a grimace. "These knees," she complained. "If not for these knees, I would certainly keep my reigning title."
OoO
Shortly after Madeline left, there was a knock at the door that sent Bessie into a howling frenzy. Aria, who had been asleep on my desk, sprinted from the room and sent an array of unfinished music and notes from the theater manager flying onto the rug and under the bed.
Julia answered the door while I cursed the cat under my breath and Bessie continued to carry on as if were the first time in her life we'd had a visitor.
"Claude," Julia shouted over the dog. "How lovely to see you."
"Madame Kire, I hope I am not interrupting."
"Not at all. Please, come into the parlor and-Bessie, that is quite enough! Alex, would you please take the dog outside?"
"Bessie! Outside!" Alex yelled from a different part of the house.
"Are you certain I shouldn't return at a different time?" Claude warily asked.
"No need. I'll send Erik down shortly."
I grabbed my mask and met Julia in the hall with an envelope addressed to the theater manager in hand.
"Oh good, you are finished," she said brightly. "I told Claude you would be down in a moment."
"I heard I am not at all preoccupied."
Julia folded her arms and looked down her nose at me. "Would you care to wrestle Bessie outside?"
"At this point I would much rather grapple with the dog over a roast than read another note from Monsieur Le Blanc."
Most of what Aria had scattered across the bedroom was a stack of notes from Antonio Le Blanc asking for my opinion on the artwork for the programs, guests I wished to invite, and whether the show should start at seven-thirty or eight.
The man had the most irritating habit of sending a courier three times a day with unnecessary notes asking for input on the most inconsequential details. Not even as an opera ghost had I overseen so many facets of a production, and as the stack of requests continued to grow, I'd simply stopped answering Le Blanc.
"I suppose now is not the best time to inform you that there are two more notes from the theater. Shall I put them on your desk?"
"Put them anywhere but my desk. Refuse bin, crumpled up for Aria to bat around, drawing paper for Alex and Lisetteā¦"
Julia hugged the envelope to her chest and grinned at me. "Poor Antonio Le Blanc is simply attempting to please the famous composer."
"Far too many notes for my taste," I grumbled. "And not a single one of any interest."
Julia sighed and started down the hall. "Ah, there he is."
"I beg your pardon?"
"I've missed my highly irritated husband," my wife said over her shoulder.
OoO
"Claude," I said as I opened the parlor door. "I was not expecting you today."
He stood in front of the unlit fireplace, his hands linked behind his back. Briefly he glanced at me before turning away to look out the window.
"Am I disturbing you, Monsieur Kire?" he asked glumly.
I narrowed my eyes and studied him briefly. He'd lost weight since I'd last seen him a month earlier, and given that he had always been quite thin, he appeared emaciated. The newer clothing he wore seemed ill-fitting and his posture was slumped, which reminded me of Alex when he sulked.
"A welcomed disturbance from the duties of the theater," I answered.
"I can return at a different time if you would prefer."
"I have no such preference. How is Apolline? Well, I hope?"
He looked fully at me, his eyes wide and glassy. Without speaking he shook his head and took a breath before he cleared his throat.
I took a step forward, brow furrowed. "Is she ill?"
"I wouldn't know. She is at the Elise Home for Girls."
"I thought-"
"Yes, yes I had hoped to bring her back with me to Paris but...but I am afraid I have succeeded in merely breaking her heart and my own. Monsieur Kire, I-"
Claude turned away again and brought one hand to his face, choking back a sob that rattled his entire frame. I closed the parlor door behind me and stood in silence, unsure of what to do or say when he was clearly in no condition to hold a conversation.
"Sit," I ordered.
Claude hesitated. "Monsieur, I apologize for my emotional state. I truly thought I would be able to control myself-"
"I said sit, Monsieur Gillis," I said firmly.
Claude appeared taken aback by my tone, but he didn't argue. Slowly he managed to seat himself as if he were an elderly gentleman whose body hurt down to his bones. He grimaced as he settled into the chair and sat back, hands gripping the armrests.
"Why have you returned without your sister?" I asked.
"Because I am the greatest failure in all of France."
