Although my entrance into Erik’s service came with surprising swiftness, my role as confidante was much more reluctant to follow. He held me at arm’s length at first, treating me with civility but never entrusting me with more than he thought I should know. Only once in those first few months did I attempt to delve further into his self, but he responded with such violent suspicion that I dared not try a second time. "Knowledge is a dangerous thing, Madame," he warned me cryptically, "and you may even now have too much of it." I relented and resolved to be patient, understanding that if he meant to reveal anything further to me he would do so in his own time.
The arrangements of our clandestine association were actually quite straightforward. Once or twice a month I met with Erik in the small, dark office the management bestowed upon me, and there I delivered those goods which he required. Mostly these items were the expected sort: clothing, food, stationary. But I was obliged to hunt down a great deal of unusual particulars as well: chemicals, mechanical and scientific equipment, and at one time a very rare bottle of merlot that eluded me for the better part of a month. But although Erik was very selective and on occasion demanding in his requests, he never begrudged gratitude when I fulfilled them.
In addition, at irregular intervals I was summoned back to Box Five, and while opera and society played out their respective dramas beneath us we exchanged information on the company (though there was precious little I knew that he did not already) and discussed matters of concern. Inevitably, I would also be entrusted with one of those ebony-edged notes which became the bane of the management’s existence. My role as the Opera Ghost’s messenger did not escape attention, and a whole host of rumors about me sprang from the lips of my girls. Most involved the exchanging of souls or some other Faustian pact, and I had to laugh when Meg nervously repeated them to me. "Let them say what they will," I told her. "It’s not the truth, and if they look upon me with respect because of it, more’s the better."
"I thought you’d be angry," she replied, "I know I would be…all those people saying such hateful things…"
"Everyone makes enemies in their lifetime," I said gently. "And if those I make do no more than spread fanciful tales behind my back, then I’m very fortunate indeed." But despite my nonchalant words, a small part of me despised those rumors. I knew that many would resent my being in league with the Phantom; and I feared the ridicule Meg and I might suffer as a result. Already M. Lefèvre groaned audibly whenever I entered his office…
You will recall, monsieur, that Philippe first described Auguste Lefèvre to me as an awful old man. Frankly, I see no reason to dispute that assessment. He was one of those men who had earned with money and connections what he could never have gotten on his own merit. I think the Minister of Culture knew Lefèvre’s mediocre talents were not sufficient to run the company, and had attempted to compensate by filling the rest of the administration with talented and capable men. And it might have worked, if Lefèvre had the sense to listen to advice. But the fool was under the delusion that his small knowledge of stagecraft made him an expert, and would rarely heed the council of his peers. I’m almost certain that if Erik had not intervened, the company would have been run into the ground within two years…
I never figured out how Erik managed to so thoroughly cow a man who wouldn’t pay mind to the most esteemed theatrical talents of the day. I’ve long suspected some form of blackmail, though what sins Lefèvre might have had on his conscience and how Erik learned about them remains a mystery to me. Whatever the reason, I found myself glad that Lefèvre had met more than his match, and I did take a wicked pleasure in watching him fret and fume over the Opera Ghost’s latest complaints. Even if I occasionally ended up a target for his frustrations.
"What does he mean, not suitable?" he blustered one day, his heavy face and gut puffing in frustration.
"Just that, monsieur," I responded calmly. The cool demeanor I affected in front of my girls served me well in these situations; it added the proper air of mystery and prevented me from voicing my less than kind opinions of Lefèvre. "The Opera Ghost believes none of the candidates can properly fill the conductor’s post."
"What about Celane? I can’t see where there would be an objection with him."
"Because you were so busy discussing politics with him you didn’t notice his poor sense of rhythm." Which was true: the man in question couldn’t have held a beat if someone were banging it on his head.
He swore. "All very well for your Phantom to complain about it, but I have a company to run! Where does he propose I find more applicants on such short notice?"
I made a show of consulting the missive. "He doesn’t make any suggestions," I commented airily, "although now that I think of it, M. Avenaut told me Louis Montmartre’s contract with the Rose Theatre will run out soon. Perhaps you can tempt him away from them."
"Montmartre! He’ll demand an outrageous salary!"
"He should; he’s one of the best conductors in Paris. I’m sure he’ll be willing to negotiate."
"That’s the problem with you stage folk: you have no real sense of money." Not only did Lefèvre consider himself a theatrical expert, he never wasted an opportunity to set himself higher than those of us that actually lived and breathed the art.
"Forgive me, monsieur, but as people who in general don’t have a lot to live on, we know all too well the value of money." I let an edge of outrage glint through my impassive demeanor.
"You must be joking," he snorted. "I’ve never seen such a wasteful lot. Your own dancers go through stockings like they were being handed out on the street…"
"You fail to realize, the daily stress of our work takes its toll on—"
"Oh, bugger that! My wife can make a good pair of stockings last at least a month, and she’s at least as active as those girls." I opened my mouth to protest, but he silenced me with a pretentious wave. "No, Madame Giry, do not presume to start on one of your lectures again. I am still in charge of this company, and do not delude yourself into thinking otherwise."
"One of us is deluded, at any rate," I muttered, sweeping out the door grandly. But my exit was spoiled when I collided with a mass of feathers and fur and temper.
"Out of my way, you miserable crone! Just like those little rats of yours, always underfoot!"
Ordinarily I would have ignored such pomposity, but the conversation with Lefèvre had left me in a bad mood. "A word of advice, Signora Carlotta," I said casually. "Never call a woman a crone when she is but six months your senior."
The Paris Opera diva’s face turned the same red as her hair, and she emitted a string of Italian obscenities as she strode into the manager’s office. I ignored her ranting and stormed off, my foul humor rapidly increasing. Damn that woman! How many people did she really think she could fool with a wig and an excess of makeup? I suppose if Carlotta had been less arrogant, I might have pitied her: the woman lived in daily terror of being replaced by young, fresh talent. Not that she had anything to be worried about; no singer yet had proven herself worthy to be the prima donna’s successor. I was beginning to wonder if anyone ever would…
Once backstage, I paused and made an effort to cool my ire. Erik would be waiting in my office, I knew, and if I got into a diatribe on Carlotta we’d never get anything done…
"I don’t think we should, Henri; you know Mme. Giry doesn’t like us to have men back here."
What was this? I slipped behind a curtain as a polished but strangely irritating man’s voice chuckled in response. "You girls are entirely too afraid of that woman! Just because the old buzzard isn’t getting any pleasure, that’s no reason for her to ruin our fun."
Was everyone going to comment on my age this afternoon? I wouldn’t see twenty again, that was true, but I was hardly decrepit!
"You shouldn’t say such things about her." I could now place the girl’s voice: it belonged to Helene, one of the more timid members of my flock. "I’ve heard she’s the Phantom’s pupil, and he’s taught her all sorts of witchery: reading minds, disappearing into shadows…"
Fortunately Henri’s laugh covered my delighted snort. "Oh, you and your superstitions! It’s really too charming. You’ve nothing to be concerned about; Mme Giry is meeting with the management and won’t be back for some time. And we’ll be married soon enough, so why should we wait?"
Helene’s voice sounded uncertain. "Well…a wedding-night should be special, shouldn’t it?"
"Isn’t it special enough to be able to call yourself Madame Perrin, and show your ring to your friends, and hear them say how lucky you are to have found such a husband?" If I had been in plain sight, I’m sure I would have struck the man for his condescension.
"Henri, you know nothing could compare to such joy! But when will it be, love?"
"Soon enough." Poor Helene missed the uncomfortable evasiveness in his voice, but I did not. "You must understand, my dear, that my family is very proud and we must be careful so as not to arouse suspicion. Otherwise, I would be content to wait until we are properly wed…but I yearn for you so much, my treasure, I cannot bear to go on without knowing your embrace…"
"Perhaps it can do no harm…"
Fortunately, I had gotten into the habit of carrying my staff with me wherever I went. I allowed it to rap distinctly against the floor.
"Did you hear that?" Terror entered Helene’s voice. "It’s Mme. Giry, she’s come back…"
"The devil take her! I must go, beloved…but I will see you tomorrow night?"
"You may depend on it."
I rounded into view soon enough to see a wiry man with an offensive-looking mustache taking leave of Helene. "Good day, Madame," Henri Perrin greeted me in a manner that would have been winning if I hadn’t heard him call me an old buzzard less than a quarter-hour earlier.
"Good day, monsieur. You look flushed, Helene," I commented after her beau was out of earshot. "Are you well?"
"I’m wonderful, Madame." Her eyes sparkled with innocent joy. "I suppose I must tell you, for you’ll need to find a replacement for me, but you must keep it a secret…I’m to be married soon!"
"I’m glad to hear it," I said, patting her cheek gently. Now was not the time to reveal the illusion. "I hope you’ll be very happy. But oughtn’t you get to M. Avenaut’s class?"
"Oh, yes! Forgive me, I lost track of the time…" And she scuttled off, leaving me to brood over the machinations of venal men and the women who suffered as a result. But I was overdue for an appointment as well, and I had to hasten to my office.
"You’re late," Erik remarked as I entered. "And in a terrible temper, I see. Surely M. Lefèvre isn’t thinking of defying me?"
"Of course not," I replied, forcing my bitterness down in my mind. "He’ll court Montmartre, I think. He’ll complain about it, but in the end he’ll go along with the idea."
"And declare the whole thing was his idea once it proves beneficial, no doubt." One side of his mouth twisted upward in the amused contempt with which he regarded the Opera management. "Then what disturbs you?"
"Forgive me, Monsieur," I inclined my head respectfully, "but that is not your concern."
"Mme. Giry, at this opera house everything concerns me."
"Not the affairs of girls who are about to throw their life and respect away for the sake of a man’s honeyed words." And I told him about the conversation between Henri and Helene.
"The man does sound like a cad," he mused, reclining elegantly in his chair, "but as you implied before, if the child wishes to go along with it, it’s not anyone else’s business."
"I don’t care how many men those girls take to their beds, provided they’re discreet," I countered. "But Helene is headed directly for a broken heart, and that bastard couldn’t care less about it just so long as he can get under her skirts."
"You could be mistaken. Perhaps he does mean to marry the girl."
"I would wager you a month’s salary that Helene will not become Mme. Perrin anytime in the near future," I replied acidly.
Erik sat up, suddenly taut with attention. "You mean Henri Perrin?" And when I confirmed it, he excused himself and left without further word. But by that time I was aware of his inconstant nature, so I ignored it. I had to think of a way to protect Helene…
I decided the best course would be the straightest: go to her before the next night’s performance and explain my suspicions. She probably wouldn’t believe me, but I could not let her innocently ruin her life…
But as I approached Helene’s dressing room, I became aware of a great commotion about her door.
"What’s going on here?" I demanded. "You girls ought to be preparing to go onstage…"
"But Madame, haven’t you heard? It’s Helene—" one of them informed me breathlessly. "She found out something awful about the man who proposed to her!"
"Let me guess…he had no intention of leading her to the altar."
"Worse than that: he’s wanted by the Sûerté! The man’s a con; he’s robbed at least a dozen women of their life savings, and would have rooked her too if she hadn’t found out—"
"It’s her own fault," another dancer said haughtily. "That Perrin came around me only a few days before he started courting Helene, but he couldn’t fool me with that flowery tongue…"
"Oh, don’t tell me you’ve never made a fool of yourself over a man! It’s a hard lesson, to be sure, but at least she didn’t learn it later…"
"Indeed," I agreed. "Helene is in her room, correct?" The girls responded "yes," and I elbowed my way to her side.
Some women can look positively lovely when they cry—Christine, for example, appeared quite poetic with crystal tears cascading down her pale cheeks. Helene, however, was not so lucky. She sniffled and sobbed and wiped at blotchy skin and red-rimmed eyes with a handkerchief that had seen better days. "I’m such an idiot," she wept when I sat next to her. "I must have been blind not to see through him—"
"No, child, you had no way of knowing." Now that Helene knew the hard truth, I saw no reason to rub her nose in it. "Besides…isn’t it better that you found out now, instead of after he had taken you for all you’re worth?"
"I suppose." She daubed at her cheeks. "But it’s still horrible…"
"I never said it wasn’t." I stroked her hair gently, as I often did when Meg was unhappy. "You’ve had quite a day, I’m afraid. Shall I have one of the understudies get ready to go on in your place?"
"I think I do need an evening off," she admitted. "Thank you."
"It’s nothing. Go home and get some rest." I stood up to take my leave of her, but she stopped me.
"Madame Giry…all this time I thought you were a harsh, cold woman," she confessed. "I was wrong. I never realized how much we mean to you…"
"You’re not the first to judge the appearance of matters," I told her, trying to hide how much her words had moved me, "and you won’t be the last. But thank you."
* * * * * * * * * *
Henri Perrin must have found out about Helene’s revelation, for he vanished from the city that same day, and none of the Sûerté’s efforts could ferret him out. But the man eventually made one mistake too many and was apprehended about two years later in London. He’s still in prison there, unless I’m mistaken.
Even before I found out how Helene learned of her suitor’s ill intentions, I had guessed who might have clued her in. And indeed, the next time I saw Erik he inquired after the girl.
"She’s still recovering from the shock, of course," I said, "but she’s certainly better off than she would have been otherwise." I cocked an inquiring eyebrow at him. "How did you know about Perrin?"
"And what makes you so certain I was the one who informed her of his scheme?" he rejoined, immediately taking a defensive stance.
"I’m not a complete idiot. You left me after I told you the name of her suitor, and the next morning Helene receives an anonymous letter suggesting she might do well to look further into the gentleman’s history. I must say I’m impressed, though," I added, "I didn’t think you could warn the girl without compromising your privacy."
He frowned at me. "You are entirely too clever for your own good, do you know that?" he growled irritably. "But to answer your question, I’ll say nothing save that on occasion I’ve been aquatinted with some rather unsavory circles of society. Does that suffice?"
"Just one more question: why?"
He tilted his head. "Should I have let the poor girl be taken in?"
"No, but the night before you said it wasn’t anyone else’s business…and how is the whole matter any different than what you do to Lefèvre?"
He threw an insulted glance at me, making me regret the words. "I live as I do not because I choose to, but because I must," he said in a fierce whisper. "And I’m not entirely without sympathy." His long, elegant fingers caressed the glossy wood of his armchair. "I’ve known men like Henri Perrin in my time—far too many, in fact. He did not look on the girl as a human—not even as an object of desire or amusement—but as a thing, a creature which he could bleed dry of everything valuable and cast aside like offal." His hands clenched and his eyes burned resentfully. "Nobody should have to endure that."
I gnawed at my lip, unprepared for this confession. Sometimes, when he stood in all that dark majesty before me, I found it hard to remember he had ever been brought lower than an animal…
"You seem shocked," he said, "Does it surprise you to hear such sentiments from me, then?"
"No," I whispered, "I am only ashamed that I could not perceive them of my own accord."
His eyes widened in surprise. "It’s only natural—" he dismissed.
"Perhaps, but that does not make it right," I insisted, "and for that, I apologize."
"Apology accepted…and thank you." Only then did I understand how entirely alien such courtesies must be to him. In that moment of silence, an uncomfortable aura descended between us, making us aware that this strange confederation we had forged would involve far more than either had anticipated.
I cleared my throat, searching for a subject to clear the air. "Will you be attending the performance tonight?" I finally queried.
"I think not," he snorted. "I’d prefer to avoid hearing Carlotta blast her way through the role of Donna Anna."
"Be thankful Reyer had the sense not to cast her as Zerlina," I reminded him with a smirk.
He clutched one hand to his stomach in a gesture of mock affliction. "That’s a horrible thought, even in jest!" he said contemptuously. "Can you imagine that woman trying to play the naïve flirt? I dare say the very sight would drive the great libertine to swear off women altogether and end his days as a eunuch!" The suggestion induced a helpless burst of laughter from me, and the discomfort was effectively banished.
To be continued...
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