"Good evening, John Thornton."
Bessy stood calmly in the middle of the room, the glow of the candles reflecting off the polished surface of the gun in her hand.
"Bessy! What… what are you doing?" Margaret gasped in shock at the sight. What was this… Bessy… with a gun…
The girl spared Margaret a cool glance, before returning her stare to John. "Only what should have been done long ago."
Margaret's mind raced in confusion, struggling to make sense of the scene before her. But there was no time.
"Bessy, the opera house is on fire! We must get out now!"
Bessy shook her head chidingly. "Patience, Margaret. First we have some business to take care of."
An icy sensation crept down Margaret's spine as she took in the cold fury burning in Bessy's green eyes. She had never before seen such an expression on her friend's face… In fact, the woman standing in front of her seemed very little like the companion she had come to know.
"Bessy… I don't understand…"
"Of course you don't. You really are naive, Margaret." Bessy gave her a chilling smile. "But that's worked out remarkably well. I knew you would be perfect to help me bring down John Thornton as soon as I met you. And then to find out you could sing! That was a tremendous stroke of luck."
Margaret laid a hand on the edge of the piano next to her to steady herself. "To bring down… What are you talking about?"
"You, you silly girl. You played your part well. You were drawn right to him. So loyal to him, you wouldn't even admit to me that you had met him for weeks. But I knew, of course. You fell instantly under his spell. I knew you would."
Margaret heard noises in the distance. The fire. They had to get out now. "Bessy, none of that matters right now…"
"Doesn't matter? It doesn't matter that this man has gone unpunished for all these years? That he has never been held accountable for what he's done? I assure you, Margaret, it matters. And it all ends today."
"Bessy, you don't understand…"
"Believe me, Margaret, I understand better than anyone what this man has done."
Bessy raised the gun a little higher. Margaret's stomach lurched in foreboding. Surely, no matter what she believed of John, Bessy could not actually be capable of killing someone…
"Bessy, I know what you think, but John is innocent. He was not responsible for the chandelier, I know it. And he did not kill Boucher."
"Of course not, Margaret. I know he didn't do those things." She gave Margaret a cool look. "I did."
Several moments passed. Margaret stared at the girl, stunned. What was happening…
"What did you say?"
"I did what I had to do, Margaret. I've been planning this for years. To finally expose John Thornton for what he is."
"Bessy, I don't… What are you saying… What did you do…" Margaret's jumbled mind refused to believe… It couldn't be…
"The Phantom, Margaret. Where do you think those rumors came from? It was simple, really. The silly chits in the ballet corps were happy to believe any outlandish story. The more sensational, the better. Before long, I didn't have to say a word. If anything happened in the opera house – it must have been the Phantom.
"When I discovered the girls could hear his music in your room, I made sure to plant the seeds of suspicion. It wasn't difficult to convince them all that your room was haunted… or worse… And remind everyone how strange that the girls living there never seemed to last long…
"And then, when you told me you were meeting with him… singing for him… I had the perfect opportunity. I knew it was finally time to bring John Thornton to justice."
Bessy's fingers danced lightly up and down the handle of the revolver. "First, though, I had to set the stage and make your relationship public. To show everyone he was enamored with you. It wasn't hard to slip the right herbs into Ann Latimer's tea before a performance – to ensure she was indisposed for the evening. Allowing the Phantom's protégé to go on in her place."
Margaret suddenly felt as if she might faint. This was too unbelievable… There must be some terrible mistake… And yet, one look into Bessy's face told Margaret the girl was deadly serious.
Bessy, her trusted friend and companion from her first day in Milton… The girl with whom she had shared so much… Had any part of their friendship been genuine…
"So then I had everything in position. The young ingénue, the Phantom's newest infatuation. The jealous prima donna, Miss Latimer. Lord Lennox was even good enough to present himself as a romantic rival, to fuel the Phantom's obsession and rage. I couldn't have asked for a more perfect scenario. It was like my own opera, really." She let out a chilling laugh.
"Of course, you kept threatening to mess it all up, Margaret. So much whining about wanting to talk to John when you had Viscount Lennox eating out of your hand. I knew if you talked to Thornton you would find out too much. I had to resort to putting laudanum in your tea that night to keep you from going to him. Then I had the idea to leave that note in your room."
Laudanum in her tea… the note from John… Of course, she realized, John had never written those cruel words.
Margaret's head spun as she began to realize the extent of her friend's betrayal. Had Margaret ever really known this woman at all…
"But I still had to place the final piece of the puzzle. The Phantom had to commit a crime that could not be overlooked. He must finally be held accountable."
Margaret suddenly felt ill. She was gripping the edge of the piano so hard her knuckles had turned white. "Bessy… You cannot truly be saying that you killed John Boucher…"
"Come now, Margaret. Don't be so missish. I was doing every girl at the opera house a favor. You know perfectly well what he was like. And I didn't intend to kill him." Bessy spoke casually, as though the matter was of little importance. "I needed Boucher to show me how to work the ropes of the chandelier. But then he got too suspicious and wouldn't be put off. He tried to force me to buy his silence." Bessy gave a little grimace of revulsion. "So I did what I had to do. And it worked out for the best. John Thornton is now wanted for murder. The chandelier was merely the grand encore."
Margaret glanced over at John, realizing he was now standing several feet from her. He had moved away from Margaret to protect her, she realized, eyeing the gun in Bessy's hand. John regarded Bessy with a sorrowful expression. He took a breath to speak for the first time, his voice gentle and low.
"Miss Higgins… why…"
"Oh, bravo, Mr. Thornton. You know the name of a lowly opera dancer. But you are incorrect. Higgins was the man who took me in when my parents died. My real name… is Elizabeth Stephens."
"Stephens?" Margaret gasped. "But… Bessy, do you mean–"
"She… had a daughter…" John's voice was filled with sadness.
Bessy's lips thinned, her eyes blazing with hatred. "Why, yes, Mr. Thornton. She had a daughter. Sophia Stephens was my mother."
"Your mother…" Margaret leaned heavily against the piano. Sophia Stephens, the beautiful soprano… killed by her husband in a fit of rage, when caught with her lover…
Her lover. George Thornton.
"You didn't concern yourself with that, did you, Mr. Thornton, when you had your affair with a married woman. You gave no thought to her husband or her daughter. You did not hesitate to seduce her, just like all your other women…
"But none of them meant anything to you, did they? She was just one more woman for you to use and discard, another life to ruin. But I've waited all these years, knowing this day would come. I knew someday I would make you pay. I would finally have revenge for my mother and father."
Bessy's grip had tightened on the gun. Panic shot through Margaret.
"Bessy, you're mistaken. It wasn't John who had the affair with your mother."
Bessy let out a biting laugh. "Hush, Margaret. You've made yourself ridiculous, accepting all his lies. You believe anything he tells you."
"Bessy, I swear to you, it wasn't John. It was his father. George Thornton."
Bessy shot her a sharp look. "That's ridiculous."
"It's true." Margaret began to move forward, but froze when Bessy waved her gun in Margaret's direction.
John immediately took a step forward, pulling Bessy's attention away from Margaret. Protecting her again.
"Miss Stephens." John hung his head, his voice filled with pain. "I am so sorry about your parents. I tried… I tried to save them…"
"No." Bessy shook her head, a furious rage in her eyes. "No, I do not believe a word you say, you filthy liar. It was all your fault, and you left them there – left them to die. They were all I had in the world, but did you care? Have you ever had a thought for anyone other than yourself?"
Bessy was now yelling, the gun gripped in her hands as she advanced slowly towards John. He kept inching farther away from Margaret. He was still doing anything he could to help her. Even at the sacrifice of his own life…
Margaret could not let that happen.
Frantically she scanned the room, searching for something, anything, that might be of use… Her eyes landed on the music stand a few feet away. Slowly, she began easing herself forward.
"I had planned to let the police arrest you this evening. I would have enjoyed watching John Thornton be hanged, with all of Milton gathered to see. But there's something quite satisfying in having the pleasure of doing the deed myself."
"I had no idea you even existed, Miss Stephens. I would have helped you…"
"Fine words, sir. Helped me? The way you helped my mother? You destroyed our family. She loved us… She would never have betrayed us… Not until you came along…"
Margaret continued her deliberate progress, moving slowly away from the piano. Bessy was paying her no heed, her entire focus on John.
"Miss Stephens, I can only apologize for my father. I am ashamed of him. He harmed many people with his actions…" John was gazing at Bessy steadily, his voice low, his manner calm. He was purposely keeping Bessy's attention on him, Margaret realized. She placed her hand lightly on the music stand.
"Do not blame your father for your own sins, Mr. Thornton. You have no shame, you let him die trying to protect you…"
Bessy was standing only a few feet from John now, her ire visibly rising… Margaret eyed the gun in Bessy's hand… the smoke from the hallway now seeping into the room… She knew she could wait no longer. This was her only chance.
With a swift motion, Margaret gave a firm push to the music stand. A loud clanging crash erupted as it toppled onto the keys of the piano.
As Bessy jerked toward the sound, Margaret bolted towards her, grabbing the arm that held the gun and pushing it up with all her might. Bessy shrieked as an explosive bang echoed through the room.
Margaret's ears were ringing… The room smelled of smoke… She could not stop, she must get the gun out of Bessy's hand… She had to protect John…
Somehow Margaret managed to keep her grip on Bessy's arm as the girl began to twist back in her direction. Bessy shoved against her, screaming as they struggled. Margaret found herself fighting with a desperate force she didn't know she possessed as she peered back into Bessy's face, filled with rage.
Another gunshot rang out.
Time froze. Two pairs of eyes remained locked on each other as the moment hung suspended. Then slowly, one pair of eyes faded, the life draining away, as one body crumpled slowly to the floor.
Margaret's strength gave way, and she fell to her knees, staring down at Bessy's now vacant expression. Bessy… Her first friend at the opera house… Her first friend in so long… Her eyes traveled down the girl's body. Her bodice was soaked in blood, the stain spreading rapidly across the garment.
Margaret felt an intense wave of nausea. Bessy… Her hands were shaking violently. She glanced down at them. The revolver rested in one hand. She stared at it blankly. Drops of water began to pool along its surface. Her tears.
Margaret had killed Bessy. She had killed her friend.
A warm hand removed the gun from her hands. A warm arm wrapped around her. "Margaret. Do not blame yourself." He somehow knew.
"Oh, John." Margaret threw her arms around him. He trembled slightly, seeming a bit unsteady. She drew back, placing a hand lightly on his shoulder. She was startled to find it was wet.
"John! You're hurt!"
"It is not bad, Margaret. It only grazed me. I am well." His grimace belied his words.
"John, we must get you out, we must get you help…"
"Margaret!"
The shout echoed throughout the small chamber. Margaret looked up to see Henry standing in the doorway. She watched him take in the scene at a glance – Margaret in John's embrace, the gun in John's hand, Bessy's lifeless body beside them.
Henry pulled a revolver from his jacket, aiming it at John. "Drop the gun, Thornton."
John tossed the gun away and stood, holding up his hands to show they were empty. Margaret saw his wince as he moved his shoulder.
"Henry! This is not as it appears. I swear to you. John is innocent. It was Bessy… It was all Bessy…"
Henry gave a skeptical glance at the young dancer's body. "Explanations later, Margaret. Right now we need to get out of the opera house. The fire is spreading quickly."
"There is a way out here." John nodded toward the door at the back of the room. Henry glanced at it, and then back at John. He gestured with the gun for John to precede them.
"Henry, John's hurt. He needs a doctor."
Henry briefly eyed the blood stain on John's shoulder. "Margaret, right now we get out. We'll see to it later."
Margaret bit her lip, but nodded. She cast a last mournful look at Bessy's body. Despite all she had done, the girl had been her friend, when Margaret had desperately needed one. She bent down and gently brushed the girl's eyes closed, a tear falling onto the pale cheek. Margaret whispered a silent prayer that her friend's soul would finally find its peace.
Margaret followed behind John as he began to lead the way out, trailed closely by Henry, his gun trained on John. She hoped desperately that Henry would be willing to listen to them, that he would believe them… But what an outlandish story it would seem…
The narrow hallways they traveled through were rapidly filling with smoke. Margaret began to worry that they were too late… Would they make it out after all… Finally they emerged out of a small doorway into an alley behind the opera house, gratefully breathing in lungfuls of the fresher air.
Outside all was noise and chaos. Alarm bells clanged loudly, smoke billowing from the building. Crowds of people jostled them, pushing and swarming in the street, shouts and cries echoing…
"This way, Thornton." Henry directed him down the alleyway, toward an elegant carriage waiting on the corner. He held the revolver to John's back as the man climbed into the conveyance. Before Henry could help Margaret in, they heard someone calling her name.
"Margaret!" Charlotte's relief was palpable as she ran up to them and grasped Margaret's hand. Emily hung on Charlotte's other arm, the girl's face streaked with tears. Several of the other dancers gathered behind them, all looking terrified. "I'm so glad you're all right! Have you seen Bessy?"
Margaret felt her stomach clench. Bessy… How could she tell them… Tears stung her eyes as she gave a small shake of her head, finding herself unable to speak.
"I believe Miss Higgins has already left the opera house. I suggest you girls do the same. Get away and find a safe place to shelter." Henry's tone would brook no argument.
Charlotte gave him a somber nod. She hugged Emily to her. "I'll take her to my mum's." She gave Margaret's hand another gentle squeeze before the girls turned away to hurry down the street.
Henry spoke quietly with the driver for a moment before assisting Margaret into the carriage. She slid into the seat next to John, then cautiously helped him to remove his coat to examine the wound on his shoulder.
"Oh, so much blood…" She could not keep the tears from falling, panic gripping her.
"Truly, it's not bad, Margaret…" John flinched as she gingerly lifted his bloody shirt off of the skin.
From the seat opposite them, Henry leaned forward, peering at the wound as Margaret mopped the blood with her handkerchief. "He's right, Margaret. It looks shallow, a graze. It will heal." He pulled out a flask from his pocket and handed it to Margaret. "Use this to clean the wound. You need not worry. That bullet will not take his life." He sat back, giving them both a hard look. "But now I suggest you explain to me why I should not let the hangman's noose do so instead."
Margaret glanced up at John. "Yes. Very well, Henry."
And so, as she delicately dressed John's shoulder, Margaret began to tell Henry everything. All that John had shared about his early days… His father, George Thornton… The soprano, Mrs. Stephens… The fire… How Mr. Bell had concealed him for years in the opera house, using John's musical compositions for his own financial gain… The girls who lived in her room… How John had allowed the world to think him a monster, to protect his mother and his father's good name…
Henry's expression remained impassive as he listened, his eyes roving back and forth between them. But when Margaret began to describe the events of that evening, and Bessy's scandalous confessions, his eyebrows raised noticeably.
As she talked she continued to assess John's shoulder. Thankfully, the bleeding seemed to be slowing. She left her handkerchief on the wound to serve as a bandage, and helped him carefully dress himself again.
Finally she had to admit to Henry what she had done, what she had been forced to do, to save John and herself. Her throat choked up as she described those horrible moments… Seeing Bessy lifeless on the floor… at Margaret's own hand…
She felt the pressure of John's hand in hers. She closed her eyes. She could say no more. She could only pray that Henry would believe them.
She looked up across the carriage. She saw no trace of Henry's familiar sunny smile, the easygoing charm he always wore so effortlessly. His expression was hard, unyielding. The face of a man who would not hesitate to bring those who deserved it to justice, no matter his personal feelings.
Henry sat silently for what seemed like some time, scrutinizing them both intensely. Finally, seeming to come to some decision, he rapped sharply on the roof of the carriage. When it came to a stop he stepped out. Margaret could hear him speaking in a low tone with the driver.
"Margaret, whatever happens…" John began.
"No, do not say it, John. All will be well. I will not let anything happen to you." She knew the words were futile. She had no power. But she voiced them anyway, refusing to believe…
"Margaret." John sighed, resting his forehead on hers.
Henry climbed back in and the carriage began once more to move. She noticed Henry had put his gun away. He regarded John thoughtfully.
"Thornton, it appears you have two options. The first is to turn yourself in. Tell the judge everything you have just told me. Take your chances with the truth."
Margaret gazed back at him, worriedly biting her lip. "Do you think that would work?"
"No." Henry's voice was harsh. "I do not."
"But, Henry…" Margaret felt the panic rising again. "Are you saying… Do you not believe us? If you were to testify for him… After all, you are a viscount…"
"In point of fact, Margaret…" Henry sighed. "I find I do believe you. But the fact remains that all I can testify to, all I saw when I walked into that room tonight, was the two of you kneeling over the dead body of Miss Higgins, and a revolver in Thornton's hand."
Margaret felt a wave of nausea as she considered Henry's words. Was there truly no way to save John? Was there no hope?
"You said there was a second option?" John's voice was grim.
"The second option, Thornton…" Henry regarded him somberly. "Is for you to disappear."
"Disappear?" Margaret clutched John's hand. "What do you mean?"
"What I mean, Margaret, is that there will undoubtedly be a number of casualties from this fire." He gave her a sad look. "We simply ensure that John Thornton is one of them."
Henry shot a glance out the window. "We will shortly arrive at the docks in Liverpool. We will find there a number of ships preparing to voyage across the sea. I suggest, Thornton, that tonight you set sail on one of them. Spain, India, America… go anywhere. Anywhere but here. Find a new place for yourself. Make a new life.
Margaret stared in shock at Henry, realizing what he was granting them. A chance to live, to be free… She nearly started sobbing with joy and gratitude. "Yes! Yes, John!" She turned to him. "We'll go somewhere, somewhere far away, where no one will look for us…"
"No, Margaret." Henry's expression now looked pained. "Just Thornton. Not you."
"But, Henry…" Henry didn't understand. He didn't know how she and John felt about each other. "Henry… I love him. I want to go with him. We'll make a life together…"
"Margaret, you can't." Henry looked truly sad now. "Don't you understand… People have seen you. After the fire. It is known that you survived. And even if they hadn't…"
His eyes met John's. "If Thornton disappears on his own, we have a good chance of convincing everyone that he was a victim of the fire. If you both vanish together…" His jaw tightened. "Don't you see how it would look? It would appear highly suspicious. The authorities would search for him. For both of you." His voice took on a gentler tone. "I'm sorry, Margaret, but you would be putting him in danger."
Margaret felt the ground fall out from underneath her. Putting John in danger… No. She could never do that to him. But how could they be separated… It could not be necessary. There must be some other way. Surely they could think of something…
Margaret turned to look at John. His eyes met hers with a look of profound sadness. No.
"John…" She could hear the pleading in her voice. They had to be together… They could not be parted now…
"I'm afraid he's right, Margaret. I cannot put you at such risk. You need to remain here."
"But… John…" Her chest was tightening. She could not breathe.
The carriage slowed, coming to a stop. Henry cleared his throat. "I will make arrangements. Why don't you… say your goodbyes." He gave them an uncomfortable glance and made his way out of the carriage.
"John…" Her voice broke off. She could not speak.
"Margaret, I'm so sorry." His sapphire eyes gazed at her bleakly, glistening with unshed tears.
"But John… Surely I could come with you… They will not find us… Please…"
"Margaret…" He gathered her gently into his arms, holding her close to his chest. "Oh, my Margaret…"
"John… After everything… I can't lose you now…" Margaret sobbed, her tears flowing freely.
"Margaret." He pulled back to look into her face, cupping her cheeks delicately in his palms. "Know this. You will never lose me. Wherever I am, wherever you are, as long as I have breath to breathe, you will be with me. I will think of you every minute of every day. I will hear your voice singing, I will see your face smiling. I will feel your arms around me. It does not matter how far away I am. Know that I will love you until my last dying day."
"John, I love you." She clung to him, burying her face in his chest, soaking his waistcoat with her tears. "I cannot bear this. How can I ever live without you."
She felt him heave a shuddering sigh. "Margaret…" His voice was gentle. "Promise me… promise me to live."
'John…"
"Please, Margaret. Do not dwell in grief. Promise me you will live… that you will dance, that you will sing… that you will… love…" He held her tightly to him. She felt his tears spill onto her hair. "Margaret, he… he loves you."
Margaret stilled. She understood John's meaning. He did not need to explain. "Yes."
"He will care for you." Margaret could hear the pain seeping into John's voice, although he attempted to hide it.
She shook her head. "No, no, John… I need you… I love you…"
He lifted her face to his again. "And I love you, Margaret. Always. Whatever happens. Nothing will ever change that." She could see such love shining out from his gaze… and echoing despair underneath…
He brought his lips to hers in a gentle, tender kiss… a kiss that tasted of finality, of goodbye…
How could she bear this, how could she let him leave her forever… But she must, for John's sake. She could not let him be caught, to be hanged… To protect John… To protect John she must let him go.
A discreet knock preceded the opening of the carriage door. Henry looked at them solemnly. "It's time."
Margaret felt a leaden weight settle in her chest. She steeled herself, wiping her eyes, determined to try not to cause John any additional pain. She would do her best to be brave, for John… There would be plenty of time for tears later…
"Margaret, perhaps you should remain here…" After a quick glance between them, Henry broke off, shaking his head. He held the door open as John exited the carriage and gently helped Margaret down.
Henry led them in a quick pace down the shadowy path to the pier. "I have made arrangements with the captain of the Orion. It is setting sail tonight. New York. He has been well compensated, he will not ask questions." His eyes scanned their surroundings, making sure they were not being followed. "When you disembark, head west. Out of the city. Use an assumed name. I will do my best to ensure all believe you to have died in the fire."
He reached into his coat pocket and removed a substantial roll of banknotes. "Here, Thornton. This will help you get your feet under you. Remember, do not let yourself get caught." In a lower voice he added, "Do not let her sacrifice be in vain."
John nodded grimly. "Thank you, Lennox." He paused. "Look after her. Promise me."
Henry held his stare for several moments, then gave him a firm nod. "I will."
The men clasped hands in grave understanding. Henry stepped away, striding several feet down the pier, as John turned back to Margaret. They stood wordlessly gazing at each other for several seconds, then Margaret flung herself into his arms.
"Oh, John…"
He held her tightly to him, all too briefly, desperately, laying kisses on her hair, her temple… A fierce whisper in her ear. "I love you, Margaret… always…" And then he was gone, striding swiftly to the dock, disappearing into the shadows.
Margaret stood silently, gazing into the darkness, for how long she did not know, as time no longer had any meaning. Tears trickled down her cheeks unheeded as she forlornly watched the ship slowly drift out into the harbor.
Finally, she turned away, and found beside her the arms that awaited her, ready to hold and comfort her.
FOUR YEARS LATER
The chaotic harmonies of the tuning orchestra resonated throughout the theatre. John closed his eyes, his discerning ear perceiving the slightest of details… The first clarinet was playing a little flat. The articulation of the flutes was clumsy, sometimes becoming muddy and unclear. However, for a modest music hall in upstate New York, the musicians were really quite decent.
John had spent too long deprived of any music to feel overly critical now. He thought back to his early days in this country, when he had lived much as a fugitive… staying out of sight as much as possible, living in the shadows. He had traveled from town to town, keeping to himself, never remaining in one place very long. There had certainly been no opportunity to listen to an orchestra in those days. This humble Rochester music hall might not hold a candle to the opera houses of London, or even Milton, but tonight John would be nowhere else.
His fingers ran over the edges of his mask. The pressure on his face felt strange, unfamiliar. He had grown unaccustomed to wearing it, having quickly found that the stark white mask drew more attention than his burns. Without it, John found his scars rarely received more than a lingering glance. Plenty of men sported worse injuries or disfigurements from the war.
But tonight - tonight he wanted to look his best, despite the fact that he would remain in the shadows, out of sight. Tonight he wore his mask once more, hiding his face. He wore his finest clothing as well, as humble as it was compared to the rich fabrics he had once been accustomed to wearing.
For tonight he would see Margaret.
She had never left his mind, his heart, for even one moment, in all these years. He had worried for her constantly, from the moment he had stepped onto the ship, setting sail across the ocean, leaving his heart behind him on the docks. Was she safe… Was she well… Would Henry be good to her… Was she happy…
It had been difficult to obtain regular news from Milton. In the larger cities, John could sometimes find London newspapers. They had reported on the tragedy of the Milton Opera House fire and its aftermath. Three months after his voyage, John located a report on the final verdict.
"The unfortunate chandelier crash and subsequent fire that destroyed the Milton Opera have both been attributed to the late John Thornton of Milton. Thornton has also been found to be responsible for the murder of a stagehand. Former opera director Thomas Bell admitted to authorities that Thornton had been living in the recesses of the opera house before the tragedy.
"Plans are being developed for the renovation of the opera house, which will operate under the leadership of the new Milton Opera director, Lord Henry Lennox…"
John had been overwhelmed with deep relief to know that Margaret was not under suspicion for his disappearance. It also allowed him to breathe a little easier, knowing that he was not being pursued.
Milton news had been scarce for some time after that. But several months later, in Boston, he happened across a copy of the London Times. And there he encountered, for the first time, a name that he had known he would someday read, but that still stole the breath from his lungs.
Lady Lennox.
"Lady Lennox, the beautiful and talented wife of Viscount Lennox, proved a sensation at the Milton Opera. Now the viscountess is bringing her lauded soprano to London, where she will perform a limited engagement at the Theatre Royal, before embarking on a European tour.
"After the devastating fire that destroyed the Milton Opera House, Lord Lennox has been a key player in exposing the corruption of the disgraced previous director, Thomas Bell. Milton society has been scandalized at the numerous allegations of misappropriated funds, as well as accounts of mistreatment of young women in the opera.
"When the Milton Opera reopens next year, Lord and Lady Lennox have proclaimed their commitment to ensuring the well being of all employees of the opera house, with a special concern for the dancers and vulnerable young women."
After that, John avoided newspapers for a long time.
He traveled west, exploring rugged countryside and dense forests. He worked odd jobs, learning new skills, roaming from town to town. He admired views of untamed landscapes from train windows, marveling at wide open spaces and acres of wilderness.
And everywhere he went, one woman followed him, in his mind, in his dreams, in his heart… A woman who could never again be his.
Somehow he had ended up back east again, wandering upstate New York. And there came an evening when he found himself gazing up at the façade of a small opera house in Rochester. The doors were open, letting in the light summer breeze, and from within John could hear an orchestra rehearsing.
Music. How long it had been since he had heard true music… Not just offkey pounding on tinny pianos in seedy bars. An orchestra. He closed his eyes, the sound washing over him like cooling rain…
The next day John found himself once again at the door of the opera house, this time applying for work, and soon secured a position working as a carpenter and stagehand. He quickly proved himself a hard and reliable worker, and was well liked by the director. He stayed on the following season, and the season after that… and then John realized that he had found a home here, of sorts.
And then… then he had seen the announcement that had shaken him to the core. The soprano sensation, Lady Lennox, toast of Europe and star of the Milton Opera, was embarking on an American tour. The finest opera houses and music halls in the country would soon play host to the acclaimed singer – New York, Boston, Philadelphia – and somehow, this nondescript opera house in Rochester was included on the list.
Margaret would be here. The knowledge had filled John with a barrage of conflicting emotions. To set eyes on Margaret once more, after believing he would never see her again… And yet to know she was another man's wife… that he could never again touch her, hold her…
John had known immediately that he would never be able to bear meeting her. But… how could he find the strength to stay away… when he had the chance to hear her sing…
And so, he sat now in the shadowy corner of Box Five, hidden from all eyes. Very soon, John would hear the voice that haunted his dreams every night, see the face that appeared in his vision every time he closed his eyes. He would see Margaret once more tonight. Then never again.
A movement across the theatre caught John's eye. Lord Henry Lennox entered and took a seat in a box opposite, his eyes roaming the stage and gallery below. Then his gaze lifted, coming to rest on John's box.
John stilled, not breathing for a moment. He knew Lennox could not see him there, well hidden behind the curtains of the loge. And yet, Lennox continued to stare pointedly, his eyes focused on the shadows, as though he somehow knew who resided there…
The murmur of the crowd quieted as the maestro took his place in the orchestra. Lennox turned his attention to the stage, a bright and eager expression lighting up his features.
The curtain began to rise with a whirr. John hastily shut his eyes. Suddenly it was too much – he could not bear to see her. His Margaret… He was not brave enough to gaze into those eyes… It would have to be enough, only to hear her sing…
The first strains of music began to play. John immediately recognized his own composition, one of Guinevere's arias. As the familiar notes filled the hall, John inhaled a deep breath, preparing to hear that voice of such purity and magnificence, the voice of such profound beauty, that shattered his very soul…
And Lady Lennox began to sing.
A painful shock shot through every nerve in his body. The shrill, grating tone… the harsh, piercing notes assaulting his ears… What was this travesty? This was not Margaret. This was…
John's eyes shot open.
Ann Latimer.
John stared at the singer in confusion. Miss Latimer? Lady Lennox… was Ann Latimer? John's eyes darted across the theatre, where Henry sat raptly gazing down on the singer, an enamored smile on his face. Henry Lennox had married Ann Latimer?
John's mind raced. All the news articles about Lady Lennox, had any of them ever mentioned her Christian name… But Lennox had promised… The man had given John his word to care for Margaret. Bastard. And now here he was, mooning over the lackluster Miss Latimer… Lady Lennox… while Margaret… Margaret…
Where was Margaret… If she was not Lady Lennox, what had become of her? Had Lennox left her to languish in the ballet corps… Had she suffered harm to her reputation because of her association with John… Was that why Henry had not married her… Was she well…
Where was Margaret…
"I might have known I would find you in Box Five."
John's heart stopped.
He turned around slowly, disbelieving. A woman stood in the entrance to the box.
Margaret.
John could not move, could not speak. She stepped toward him, her eyes shining, a small smile on her lips. "It has taken much to find you, you know. John. You look well." She gazed at him with so much love in her eyes he could not breathe.
"Margaret…" He gasped, staring at her in utter amazement. "How… You are here…"
"I am here, John." Her smile deepened as she moved closer, reaching her hand out to him. At the touch of her palm against his he felt a rush of warmth flow through him.
"But I thought… You are not… Lady Lennox…" His final words came out in a choked whisper.
Margaret's eyebrows raised, and she let out a little laugh. "Lady Lennox? No, indeed. Ann is quite happy with that title."
"But… Lennox promised… He promised to care for you…"
"Oh, he and Ann have been very kind to me, never fear. I have been well looked after. Henry's solicitors even helped me regain an inheritance from my aunt's estate, a portion that belonged to my mother." She smiled. "I have no more need to work at the opera house. Now I sing only for the birds outside my cottage in Helstone… and for those I love…" Her eyes softened, and he could see the glimmer of tears. "John… I've missed you so…"
"Margaret… I can't believe… You are not Lady Lennox…" Somehow his mind seemed unable to grasp that fact, that she was not married… Margaret was not married…
"Henry did offer. He was willing to marry me. And when I realized… But I could not. He and I both knew it. And I believe he is glad, now, that I refused. He is quite happy with Ann. They are well suited."
She leaned closer, laying her hand on his shoulder. "But, John… How could you think… How could I ever marry a man… when my heart belonged to another."
Slowly, she lifted herself up, bringing her lips to his in the softest kiss. And in that gentle kiss was all the love, all the longing of four years apart, and all the reassurance that they would never be parted again.
And suddenly his arms were wrapped tightly around her, and he could finally allow himself to believe she was truly there… Margaret was there, in his arms…
And that is where he would keep her. For the rest of their lives.
A gentle rustling sound, growing more insistent, filtered into his euphoric awareness. Margaret gently broke away from the kiss, gazing up at John with a rapturous smile, full of promise.
"John…"
She took a small step back, turning and gently reaching down behind her…
Bright sapphire eyes peeked out from behind Margaret's skirts. A very small boy, grasping tightly to her hand, warily emerged from her shadow, blinking up at John shyly.
Margaret laid her hand fondly on the boy's dark curls. "Erik, darling. Come and greet… your Papa."
John's legs would no longer hold him. He fell to his knees, gazing back into crystal blue eyes, so resembling his own… His body trembled as the boy approached him, peering at him curiously.
The boy reached out, tentatively at first, then a little more boldly, reassured by John's tremulous smile. A single tear glided down John's cheek as a small hand delicately came to rest against the smooth surface of the mask.