Margaret leaned her back against the wall, letting her body slowly drop to the floor. She felt as though she had been thrown from a horse. And then run over by a carriage. Twice. Every muscle ached and loudly protested its abuse.
Margaret sighed and slowly opened her eyes, peering down at her right foot, where she was currently feeling the sharpest pain. Gingerly she removed her ballet shoe, unsurprised to see bright red blood staining the layers of cotton wool padding. She grimaced as she gently prodded her toe, inspecting the damage.
"Oh, you poor thing. Here…" Charlotte plopped down beside Margaret, handing her a wad of cotton she pulled out of a reticule. "Mine used to bleed all the time. It will take time for your feet to become tough again."
"Yes." Margaret hardly had the energy to say more, but felt grateful for Charlotte's quiet camaraderie. "Thank you." She leaned her head back again.
Today's rehearsal had the girls dancing on the opera house stage. They had performed their ballet section several times, and were preparing to run through the entire act with the rest of the company. The singers had now taken the stage, led by Ann Latimer.
Margaret glanced around the backstage area. The dancers were scattered around the space in small groups, many resting on the floor like Margaret. Bessy and Emily were standing upstage, taking turns helping each other stretch in a deep arabesque. Jane was huddled in a corner whispering animatedly to Clara, both occasionally shooting hostile glares at the other girls.
Today they were rehearsing the first opera of the season, which opened in a few short weeks. The opera was composed by the fabled Maestro of Milton, and portrayed the legend of Arthur and Guinevere, and the Knights of the Round Table.
Margaret watched the singers taking their places for the start of the act. Ann Latimer made a show of readying herself as she crossed to the center of the stage. Warming up her voice with scales, she grimaced and placed her hand theatrically on her throat. "Oh, this Milton air! How can I be expected to perform in this putrid fog!" At an imperious gesture a stagehand fetched her a cup of hot tea, from which she took a small sip before waving him away. With a huge, martyr-like sigh, she nodded to the conductor that she was ready.
Margaret observed Miss Latimer as the music began to play. The singer was really quite young to already be a leading opera star, and remarkably beautiful too. She must have been quite the sensation at the opera houses across Europe. Her voice was exceptional, strong and dramatic. As she assumed the role of Guinevere, her face took on an artificial innocence, as she sang of her new marriage to the noble King Arthur.
But then, as the song continued, all thoughts of the singer were swept from Margaret's mind. Instead she marveled at the majesty of the composition itself. The music was extraordinary; like nothing she had ever heard from any orchestra in Europe. The way the melody flowed, the blending of the notes, creating such perfect harmonies… The lyrics were simple. Guinevere declared her happiness, and her love and devotion for her new husband. But the music transcended the words, evoking emotions deep within Margaret. She could feel the hope, the optimism, the sunny outlook that Guinevere held for her future. The music communicated so much more than the words that were sung. Tears began to form in Margaret's eyes in pure delight at the sound. She'd never heard any music that could compare. At least, almost never…
Suddenly, the events of last night rushed into her thoughts. That beautiful, unearthly music… She had convinced herself this morning that it had all been a dream. It had seemed too fantastical to be real. There must surely be some reasonable explanation for the rose. But now…
Margaret knew in a flash it had been no dream. She could never have created such heavenly music in her own mind. She also realized… the singer last night and the Maestro of Milton must be one and the same.
Her father's words drifted through her thoughts… The Angel of Music… But no, that was far too fanciful. This Maestro was surely just a man, a composer… Although one who kept his identity hidden… But how could a mere man create such divine music…
"Your name's Margaret, innit?" Margaret was forced out of her musings by a rough voice. She opened her eyes to see a stagehand standing next to her, looking down at her with a leering grin.
She nodded briefly at him, disturbed by his overly close presence as well as his interruption of the song. She could smell his booze-laden breath from where she sat. Next to her, Charlotte gave a roll of her eyes, not bothering to be polite. "Go pester someone else, Boucher."
"Jus' bein' friendly. Haven' gotten to introduce meself properly." With a glance upwards Margaret could now see that he appeared to be peering down the bosom of her rehearsal dress. She quickly placed her arm over her chest and pulled her legs under her, looking away.
"Go on, Boucher. Before I call Madame back here and tell her you're just being friendly."
Charlotte's mention of Madame Thornton seemed to do the trick. Boucher sniffed and stepped back, giving Charlotte a glare. "No call for 'at, now. I know where I ain't wanted."
As he turned to go, the music was interrupted by a booming crash and loud screams. Margaret scrambled to her feet and looked over to see a large flat had crashed onto the stage, narrowly missing Miss Latimer and the other singers. Many of them were now wailing and clutching each other inconsolably, none more hysterically than Miss Latimer.
"That nearly killed me! I nearly died!" Ann's ringing voice could clearly be heard above the rest of the clamor. "What kind of a place is this? This is a disgrace! It could have killed me!"
Mr. Slickson, the conductor, rushed onto the stage. "Miss Latimer! Do calm yourself! It is all right, you are unharmed…"
"Unharmed!" Her outraged shriek echoed in Margaret's ears. "You say I am unharmed? That is no thanks to you! I would be dead right now if I had taken one more step…" Her shrill shouting faded into noisy sobs.
The backstage area was just as chaotic, with dancers running to and fro, gathering in clusters, chattering frantically. Margaret distinctly heard a girl behind her whisper the words, "It's the Phantom!"
"Who is responsible for this?" Madame Thornton's stern voice immediately quieted the commotion. "Boucher! Show yourself!"
At Madame's order the lanky man reluctantly stepped out onto the stage. "I weren' nowhere near the flat, ma'am. I was back there, other side of the stage. Your girls can vouch for me. Must've been the Phantom." He gave her a little smirk.
Madame's eyebrow lifted higher than Margaret had ever seen it. "And why were you disturbing my dancers when you have work to do? Are you unable to perform the job for which you are paid? I'm sure I could find someone who can…"
Boucher's smile fell from his face. "No, ma'am. That's not necessary."
"Attend to this mess. Immediately." Madame rapped her cane on the stage floor and Boucher ran to lift the flat, a few other stagehands assisting him. Madame strode over to the overwrought Miss Latimer, and wrapped her arm around her. Margaret was startled to see such a matronly gesture from the older woman. Madame addressed the company. "We will reconvene tomorrow. Dismissed." Madame led the singer off the stage as the dancers and other performers began to chatter.
"Miss Latimer is very fortunate she was not harmed," Charlotte whispered, glancing at Margaret with wide eyes.
"Did you see that? It was the Phantom! It must have been!" Emily and Bessy ran up to join them. "She was nearly killed!"
"Oh, come now, Emily, we don't know it was the Phantom…" Charlotte's voice was uncertain, its shakiness betraying her lack of confidence in her own words.
"Of course it was! He's out to get her!"
"Quiet down, Emily!" Bessy hissed. "He could be listening now!" Emily let out a loud yelp before clenching her mouth closed, glancing around the room nervously.
Bessy leaned in and whispered to the other girls. "Come on. Let's get out of the opera house. Somewhere we can talk." She took firm hold of Emily's arm and led them off the stage and through the long hallways back to their dormitory.
Despite the thick soot in the air, the cool wind felt refreshing to Margaret, after being confined in the opera house from dawn to dusk. She closed her eyes and felt the breeze gently blowing on her face.
After quickly changing out of their ballet costumes, the girls had made their way to their favorite fish and chips shop, and were now sharing a small bench as they enjoyed their meal, watching people pass by.
"I just don't understand. What does the Phantom have against Miss Latimer?" Emily sounded more puzzled than alarmed. "I mean, she has a marvelous voice, and she's very pretty. So much prettier than Miss Montrose last season. And remember Miss Jensen?" Emily's giggle floated across the city street. "The look on Mr. Hamper's face every time he had to kiss her… He looked like he swallowed a bug…" Emily's impression of the man's expression reduced the other girls to delighted laughter.
Charlotte was the first to recover herself. "Emily, we really don't know that Miss Latimer was targeted, or even that it was the Phantom. It could have just been an accident."
"For once I agree with Emily." Bessy shook her head. "It was just … too coincidental. Too close a call."
Charlotte bit her lip, but didn't argue. No one spoke for a few moments.
"But surely you don't really think…" Margaret hesitated, afraid of offending her new friends. "I mean, you're saying… you think a ghost knocked over that flat? That seems rather far-fetched…" Her voice faded away under the grave stares of the other girls.
How could they actually believe a spirit is terrorizing the opera house? Margaret's practical nature scoffed at such an idea. Could they actually take such notions seriously? But then, just last night I convinced myself I was visited by the Angel of Music… Margaret bit her lip, embarrassed by the recollection. Such outlandish notions seemed absurd out here in the daylight, beyond the stifling confines of the theatre. How wild her imagination had grown. There had to be some sensible explanation for everything.
"You haven't been here very long…" Bessy spoke quietly. "I don't think you can really understand. Perhaps it's time you knew more…" She glanced at the other girls.
"I think… she needs to know about the curse." Charlotte looked at Bessy, her expression grim. "It's only right for her to know."
Bessy sighed and nodded. Her green eyes regarded Margaret warily. "We just didn't want to scare you."
"A curse?" Margaret frowned. "I don't believe in such things. Why would you think it would scare me?"
"Because…" Bessy bit her lip. "Because it's a curse on you."
"On… me?" Despite her skepticism, Margaret felt her heart clutch within her. "But… that's ridiculous. I've only been here a few days."
"Not on you, exactly…" Charlotte hurried to clarify. "On your room."
Bessy nodded. "The girls that stay in your room… things happen to them."
"Things?" Margaret swallowed. "What kind of things?"
"Well…" Bessy's eyes absent-mindedly roamed over the street before her. "It started years ago, with Marie. She was staying in that room. At first it was all right. But then, she started… acting strange…" She bit her lip. "She started showing up late to class, forgetting choreography… Once I found her hiding in a dark corridor, just sobbing. But she would never share what was wrong… and one day, she just… disappeared."
"Disappeared?" Margaret shook her head. "How can someone just disappear?"
"She never showed up for class one day. I knocked on her door later… It was unlocked. There was no one there. The next day Madame just said that Marie would no longer be with us."
Margaret stared at her friend. "Surely there must have been some explanation… Something must have happened."
"Perhaps… and if that had been all, we would not have thought much of it." Charlotte spoke up, her expression clearly troubled. "But it wasn't just her."
Bessy nodded. "The room was empty for a long time after that. But then Claudia moved in." Bessy glanced at the others. "Claudia told us… she would hear things. Music… a voice."
"A voice?" The events of last night flooded Margaret's mind. She flushed, the memory seeming strangely intimate for this public setting. She suddenly found she was rethinking her doubts. Had she not heard such a voice herself? And convinced herself she was hearing an angel…
"A man's voice. And strange music. Claudia swore a man was speaking to her, singing to her, in her room… She would become hysterical. She swore someone was following her wherever she went. She said he was haunting her…" Bessy shook her head. "Eventually she couldn't take it anymore. She went back home to Birmingham. To the stepfather she hated. She would rather go back to him than… stay in that room."
Margaret was silent, her mind racing. She herself had also heard such a voice… and music… And yet, unlike this Claudia, her reaction had not been one of fear, but… enchantment… Had she been too enraptured by the beauty of the music? Were there truly some sinister intentions behind the voice… And yet, such a notion contradicted everything the music had made her feel.
She wondered if she should share her own experience last night. But she was hesitant; would they think her crazed, like this Claudia? And Margaret had willingly joined her voice with his… And it had been so magical… She didn't like the idea of sharing such a private moment.
"But after Claudia left…" Bessy's voice interrupted Margaret's conflicted thoughts. "The room was empty again for a while… and then there was Sarah."
Margaret looked back at her friend, whose face now looked bleak. "What happened to Sarah?" Margaret felt a sudden jolt of fear. She wondered if she would be better off not knowing.
"Sarah… Sarah was a quiet girl. Always nice to everyone, but kind of kept to herself… Everything seemed fine at first. And then…" Bessy clutched her hands together tightly, her knuckles becoming white. "She started acting strangely. One night she confessed to me… she said she was with child." Bessy stared down at her hands. "When I asked her who the father was, she wouldn't say his name, but that he would come to her room at night…" Bessy blinked rapidly. "She said he was going to take her away to marry her soon. But then… One morning she didn't show up for class. And later that day, a police inspector came to the opera house." Bessy bit her lip, squeezing her eyes shut. One large tear trailed down her face. "They found her body in the river."
That evening, as Margaret walked down the hall to her dormitory room, she finally allowed her mind to dwell on the disturbing information the girls had shared. She had purposefully refused to think about it all afternoon, keeping her thoughts occupied by the girls' light banter and gossip. Out of concern, they had even encouraged her to stay in their room tonight. Margaret had turned down their offer, reassuring her friends that she was fine, that she was not frightened, and would be on her guard for any strange occurrences.
Now as she placed her hand on the doorknob to her room, she began to question that confidence. Warily she stepped inside. She shut the door behind her before she dared to look up. Eyes alighting on her dressing table, she saw there was nothing out of place there. No new rose. She let out a sigh of relief… but also felt a strange disappointment.
She undressed quickly and put on her nightgown. As she brushed her hair, she considered what the girls had told her. She would not usually take such ridiculous notions seriously. Ghosts? Phantoms? She would have thought it all nonsense if she had not herself heard the marvelous music, that alluring voice… and the rose. The rose could not be in her own mind. Someone had been in her room.
The girls seemed so certain that this presence… the Phantom, be he ghost or man… or angel… was sinister. That he had meant harm. And yet… the music had not seemed menacing to Margaret, only comforting… bewitching… seductive… She felt her cheeks flushing. And despite knowing that someone had come into her room, the gesture of the rose had seemed benevolent… caring… Just like the roses that her father gave her.
She sighed. Was she being foolish not to be more wary after Bessy's stories? Could this room really be cursed? Why were things so strange here, in this opera house… How desperately she missed the simple, sunny days in Helstone… Papa's smile… the sound of his violin…
Margaret closed her eyes and let the sudden tears run down her cheeks. She could clearly hear her father playing the violin in her mind. Sometimes he would play in the village for their neighbors, but more often it was just for her. The music would fill their tiny cottage, up to the rafters, overflowing with such beauty, joy, and love.
The poignant sounds of the violin continued to play in her memory… but now the melody had changed. She did not remember Papa ever playing this song… Suddenly Margaret stiffened as she realized the music was not coming from her mind, but from all around her.
Gradually she opened her eyes. The violin continued, more lovely and ethereal than she'd ever heard. Almost as though Papa was playing for her from beyond the grave… an Angel of Music…
Margaret slowly stood and stepped closer to the mirror, laying her hand on its cool surface. She could feel the vibrations of the music through the glass. She regarded herself in the reflection, her eyes wide, face pale, chestnut hair tumbling over the shoulders of her white nightgown. She rather resembled a heroine from a ghost story, she thought ruefully.
Glancing down, her eyes were suddenly arrested. There, inches from her hand, emerging from the mirror's gilded frame, resided… a yellow rose.
She could not move for several moments. Then her hand seemed to reach out of its own volition to tenderly stroke the delicate petals. A rose… on the mirror… Margaret's mind raced to try to understand the meaning.
She reached down to pull the rose free, but it seemed to be stuck firm. She placed her fingers underneath to try to dislodge it, and as she did she heard a sharp click… and the mirror moved.
She jumped back in astonishment. The mirror creaked as it gently swung outward away from her. Behind it was revealed a long, dimly lit hallway.
Margaret stood frozen, bewildered, gazing at the passage before her. The flicker of candlelight was the only movement she could see, but the music was suddenly louder, filling the air… the rich, heavenly tones of the violin…
She bent down to pick up the yellow rose from where it had fallen at her feet. Brushing her fingers over the soft petals, she held it to her face and breathed in its delicate fragrance. The familiar and comforting scent reassured her. She felt herself moving forward before she realized what she was doing.
Carefully, she stepped through the narrow passageway into the corridor. Candelabras hung on the walls, shining a ghostly, ethereal light. The cold stone floor chilled Margaret's bare feet. The music continued to rise in volume the farther she walked. Dimly she wondered what she would find when she reached its source. Her mind seemed to be in a fog. She only knew she must find whatever – or whoever – waited for her. It was her fate; she had no choice.
She approached an open doorway. This was the source of the music. Her feet carried her forward, unable to stop. She gripped the rose tighter, clinging to its solidity. She squeezed her eyes shut, and took a deep breath.
Walking cautiously into the room, she opened her eyes. In the chamber full of extraordinary wonders, her vision took in only one – a man.