The next morning, Ophelia woke up at 10:00 AM and immediately prepared herself for the day, deciding that it was best to slink out while the Angelis’ still lay asleep in their beds. She did not wish to bother with either of them because Chloe was terribly sullen in the morning and Ophelia was still rather upset with Nicholas. With a smile, she retrieved her cloak from the coat hanger in the living room, fished through one of the pockets for Beethoven’s glasses, and went out the door.
Seconds later she arrived at the front door to Ludwig’s apartment and hovered before it in hesitation. What if he had not yet woken up? She would be awfully embarrassed if she were to waken him from his slumber. She listened to silence for a brief moment until she heard someone moving around in his apartment and saying muffled words behind the door. Clenching her left-hand together in a small fist, she rapped her knuckles on the hardwood.
She stood there patiently, listening to the creaking of the floorboards behind the door and the muffled voices within. A man opened the door to her, his spectacles pinching the top of his nose, and a frown on his face. He stared at her for a moment’s time, bowing to her.
“Fraulein.” He said, again looking up to her. “How may I be of service to you?”
She half-smiled. “Is Herr van Beethoven well?” She asked. “I have his glasses. He may not realize this, but yesterday during our ‘bumping’ into one another, he dropped his glasses.” She handed the man the tiny spectacles and he looked down at them as if they were proof that Ludwig was a god.
“Thank you, Fraulein. He will be pleased to have these returned to him. But, I am afraid to say that he is ill today. He cannot receive anybody for he is in bed. Doctor’s orders…”
“Oh, he is ill? What a pity!” Ophelia commented, slightly bowing her head in sorrow. “I do pray that he will be well soon.”
“Yes, he shall be well I am assuming. I shall tell him that you called…” He paused a moment. “What is your name, my dear Fraulein?”
“Oh, yes. I am Ophelia Dupere. I live next-door.”
“All right, Fraulein Dupere. I shall tell him that you called. I am Anton Schindler, his most trusted secretary.”
“Thank you, Herr Schindler. Good-day to you.”
“Same for you.” He replied, bowing once more. With a smile, she turned away from him and slowly starting down the hall.
As Ophelia arrived at the stairs, she stopped dead in her tracks. Someone behind her had begun to wheeze out her name, catching her attention almost immediately. She rotated on her heel and astonishment set in her young face as she saw Ludwig standing in his doorway. Anton stood behind him, looking over the composer’s shoulder with utter surprise also.
Ludwig smiled at Ophelia and beckoned to her to reside beside him. Without hesitation, she went and he took her hands in his, gratefully.
“Madam, how shall I ever thank you for your good spirit?” He asked, his eyes twinkling at her. “You have been merciful to me since your arrival and I feel as if I have done nothing to deserve it. Has the Lord forgiven me for my wretched ways?”
She blushed under his gaze, the compliments piercing into her heart. Never before had she heard such beauty from anyone’s lips. This man had much beauty, if only others could see it too.
“Whatever are you speaking about, Ludwig?” Anton questioned in a whisper.
Ludwig ignored his friend and continued to praise the young girl. “You are so very charming, Madam…and look at me…” He pointed to his mane of graying hair, unshaved face, and wrinkled housecoat and made a face. She laughed, but politely covered her mouth with her gloved hand. “I am a comedian, no?” He laughed.
Ophelia gestured to Anton. “Herr Schindler tells me that you are ill. Is that so?”
Ludwig looked at her with confusion and turned to Anton. Anton spread his hands apart and walked off into the living room, returning seconds later with the Conversation Book in hand. He scribbled down Ophelia’s question and handed it to Ludwig. Ludwig groaned, giving it back to him. “Do not listen to Schindler. He is a damn rascal.” He smiled. “His feeble mind cannot comprehend most things and I fear he is often full of fault. He’s an ass.”
Ophelia’s eyes widened and she nodded her head. “Ah, I see.”
“My dear, enough talk of the damn rascal…I would dearly enjoy to take a walk around the country. Would you care to join me?”
She smiled, but shook her head in the negative. “No, you are ill.”
“Why not?” He asked, taking the Conversation Book back from Anton and telling her to write. She wrote that he was ill and he looked up at her laughing. “Utter nonsense! My health has never been better.”
Anton took him by the arm. “Maestro,” He mumbled through clenched teeth.
“No Schindler I shall not stay inside all day. You are an ineffective fool. Schindler you’re a bore…and an ass…You annoy me to hell.” He paused and patted him on the shoulder. “You had your uses…but now you are useless to me. Go home.”
“Maestro.” He protested as Ludwig pushed him aside once more, taking Anton’s hat and coat from the coat hanger beside the door.
“No, go home Schindler. You have no more business here. The day is young and I wish to spend it with this young, beautiful creature.” He glanced at Ophelia for a moment and then looked back at Anton, budging him out the door, past Ophelia.
“Ludwig, what about young Karl? What shall I tell him?” Anton yelled, but it was useless. He was not heard. Ophelia wrote down his question in the Book and showed Ludwig.
Ludwig frowned. “I hate the boy. My love for him is gone. I have cast him out of my heart forever. I do not wish to speak of him, that worthless boy.” He said in a growl. “That young miscreant…oh he is such a monster. He’s evil just like Johanna is. His mother, oh how awful. She copulates with everyone you know. She's a 'Queen of the Night'.”
Ophelia listened with confusion but said nothing.
“What of his letter? Have you a letter to give him?” Asked Anton, Ophelia writing it down.
Ludwig shook his head of wild hair, his features growing angry. “As long as I live I shall never write him again. He does not wish to write to me, so therefore, I could care less of him.”
Anton sighed at the composer’s definite decision and bowed. “Good-day then.” He said, retreating to the stairs and disappearing without another word.
Chapter 6
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