by Heather Webb
“It’s just . . . your reputation, dear.”
Avoiding her gaze, I rubbed a spot on the arm of her wheelchair with my thumb. “The damage was done long ago. I’ve been a singer all my life. We need this, Madame. Marriage may lie in the distant future, or not at all. In truth, I could never see myself marrying for money alone.”
“I wouldn’t expect that, dear. I married Benoît for love.” Her eyes took on the far-away look of memory. “But you’re right, and your father would want you to devote yourself to music.”
She closed her book. “I know just the person to get you started. In fact, he sent a letter this morning and I forgot to pass it along. Goodness, where is my mind going?” She rang a bell on the table beside her and Alfred arrived promptly.
“How may I assist you?” He bowed, sending a lock of hair over his overly large forehead and into his eyes. What the man lacked in looks, he made up for in manners and hard work.
“I’d like the post from my desk,” she said.
In seconds, I held a letter imprinted with Monsieur Delacroix’s elegant script.
Madame closed her book and laid it on her lap. “It’s addressed to me, but the message is intended for you.”
I skimmed a lengthy personal note about Benoît Valerius, and Monsieur Delacroix’s regrets for the failure to contact his spirit. I was surprised he apologized to Madame, given his skepticism, but he was a good friend, I supposed.
At the mention of my name, I slowed to read carefully.
Mademoiselle Daaé seems like a pleasant young woman, but so glum. I believe she could benefit from some entertainment. To that end, I would be delighted to escort her to the Cirque du Fantasme this evening—along with a maid, of course, if you think an additional escort necessary. I assure you, my intentions are purely of friendship and to aid you in any way I can, as always. Send word through Alfred should you decline. Otherwise I will arrive at eight o’clock.
Avec tout affection,
Gustave
I grimaced. If a perfect stranger could detect my unhappiness so easily, melancholy must blanket me like a shroud.
“He is truly a gentleman,” I said slowly, remembering his compliments from the night of the salon. Though his letter insisted otherwise, I hoped he wasn’t courting me. At last, I said, “The circus would be great fun.”
Madame Valerius nodded. “And while you are with him, perhaps you can ask for his assistance.”
I frowned. “In what way can he help me?”
“Gustave has many friends in the theatre circles. Perhaps if you accept his invitation, you can ask him who you should approach, or if he can connect you with someone.” Madame Valerius eyed my hands. “Darling, your nails. You need to have them buffed, if not by Claudette then perhaps someone in town.”
I fidgeted in my chair. “I don’t like to ask Claudette for more than her usual share of work. And the money . . . I’m not comfortable—”
“My dear, I have never had a daughter. Please”—her eyes grew moist—“permit me to care for you as my own.”
I knelt beside her mahogany wheelchair. “I’m truly grateful.”
And I was. Not only did I feel gratitude, but I had grown to care for this generous woman. Her kindness and affection, along with Claudette’s, had saved me from utter despair, from disappearing completely.
A smile carved a path into Madame’s sagging cheeks. She adjusted her lower body with her hands, grunting as she lifted one leg and shifted in her velvet-covered seat.
“Would you like some help?” I asked.
“Oh goodness, no.” She averted her eyes and touched her hair, embarrassed someone had seen her move her damaged body. “Why don’t you do a card trick for me?” she said, changing the subject. “It has been so long since I’ve seen you practice.”
I picked at a ragged nail. “I can’t.” I looked up and met her blue eyes. “I don’t practice illusions anymore.”
She held my chin between her thumb and forefinger. “I have noticed, ma chérie, but one day, you will find what you love again. You will pursue it, and not just because your papa did, but because it is who you are.”
I saw my torn expression reflected in her eyes. I would never pursue the pastime that killed Papa, though abandoning my magic made me feel adrift—so far from Mother and all that I was before the fire. My eyes misted.
“Now, what do you say to the circus? Have you been?”
“No.”
“Oh, it’s marvelous!” She clapped her hands in joy. “You need to wear something elegant. You’ll not want to look out of place from the other society ladies.”
I glanced down at my unadorned day dress. Madame—and Monsieur Delacroix—were right. I needed time out of the house. And perhaps the professor could help me with an audition or two, if he was as well-connected as Madame said.
“I suppose I can’t refuse.” I smiled. “By the way, how do you know Monsieur Delacroix?”
“My Benoît worked with him. Gustave was new to the Académie and very young at the time we met. When my husband died, Gustave helped me keep the household together. He gathered Benoît’s dossiers, recommended an attorney, and so forth. He was very kind to me.” She looked down at her wrinkled hands. “I don’t know where I would be without him.”
“He’s a good man,” I said, relieved Madame truly counted the professor among her dearest friends. It would make it easier to request his help.
She smiled. “Yes.”
Mind reeling, I kissed her cheek and returned indoors.
Some hours later, Claudette helped me into a blue satin gown with a full bustle and black bows at the elbows and bosom. I smiled as I envisioned clowns and contortionists, a lion tamer and his whip, a crew of bleating goats, trick dogs, and perhaps an elephant decked in feathered plumes and beads with a woman on his back. I hoped I could enjoy the show, despite my nerves. I had never asked someone for help, and didn’t feel comfortable now, particularly with nothing to offer the professor in return for his possible favor. But I must ask. We needed the income too desperately.
An hour later Monsieur Delacroix called at the door.
“I’ve been looking forward to our rendezvous all afternoon.” He entered, wearing an elegant suit and cravat.
I smiled. “It was very kind of you to invite me.”
“Thank you, Gustave,” Madame Valerius said. “As always, you are a gentleman and friend.”
He bowed over Madame’s hand and kissed it. “I’m happy to assist you and yours as always, Jeanne.”
She smiled warmly.
“Will Mademoiselle Daaé be accompanied by her maid this evening?”
“I don’t think that’s necessary,” Madame replied.
My eyebrows arched in surprise. Madame was usually one for propriety. She must trust Delacroix implicitly to allow such a thing.
Claudette curtsied and left the room, but I saw disappointment in the slump of her shoulders. She wanted to see the circus more than I did.
I kissed Madame on the cheek. “I won’t be late.”
“To the Cirque du Fantasme!” Delacroix motioned to the door.
I climbed into the carriage and settled on a plush seat saturated with the heady scents of tobacco and bergamot. The night landscape streaked by as we rode across town: purpled skies, buildings in silhouette, and the sparkle of city lights on the watery face of the Seine. Monsieur did not attempt conversation and I tried not to twitch. I longed to discuss the burning question on my mind, but knew better than to bring up his connections and auditions so abruptly.
If the professor granted me his help, would he expect a price in return? I suppressed a sigh. I had nothing to give him in return, but I must ask him either way.
“Monsieur Delacroix,” I said quickly, afraid to lose my nerve.
He turned from the window, a smile curving his lips.
“I wondered if . . .” I fumbled for the right words. “How often have you been to the circus?”
“Oh, a few times, I suppose. Yo
u’re looking forward to it, I hope?”
I nodded, while silently berating myself for my lack of confidence. Before the end of the night, I must ask him.
“You know, Christine, after the séance I hoped you would share that voice of yours. Perhaps at the next soirée?”
I brightened at the serendipity of his statement. This was my chance. “I’d be delighted to, Monsieur. I—”
The coach came to a stop.
“We’re here.” He reached for the door handle.
I swallowed my words. I would have to try again later.
We alighted from the carriage and paused in front of a grand panel posted on the outer fence that read Cirque du Fantasme in silver lettering. Patrons flowed through the entrance in an adagio rhythm, the slow yet steady melody of marching boots complementing the tap-tap of silk-covered heels over the planks.
“Allow me.” Monsieur Delacroix held out his arm.
I blushed. I had never been so near a man, other than Papa.
The professor paid the entrance fees and we strolled through the grounds. One tent boasted an aquarium, complete with reptiles and rare amphibians. Another housed a colony of sea lions, and a third, a family of elephants. I gaped at the strange creatures from distant lands. Most of the animals I had seen only in Madame’s books. We continued along the dirt path between tents, grime soon covering my only pair of silk mules, as animated patrons pushed by us. The scent of straw and the earthy musk of animal feces permeated the air. Cheering arose at random moments, a horn blared somewhere, and music played in the distance.
Gratitude and awe bloomed in my chest and filled my heart to bursting—for the wonder, for the escape from the shriveled life that had engulfed my spirit. Here, life throbbed around me, rich and raw and stinking in its glory. A smile spread across my face. It felt as if my life lurched forward again—like a rusted wheel finally coated in fresh oil, and I was ready for it to turn.
My gaze flickered to Delacroix’s face and darted away. At the periphery of my vision, I saw him smile. He seemed as happy as I was.
Now was as good a time as any.
“I know so little about your work, Monsieur.” I initiated the conversation, hoping to steer it in the right direction. “What’s it like being a professor?”
“Conducting studies and comparing their results, mostly,” he said. “Recording my findings, giving demonstrations. In my field, it’s difficult to measure results. It’s no easy task to expose a ghost for a fraud.” A dark chuckle rumbled in his chest. “But there must be a rational explanation for the supernatural. Never mind the mediums. They’re a bunch of charlatans. Conjurers are the worst of them.”
My steps faltered. I knew something of conjurers and the way they affected the audience.
“An interesting subject.” I ducked beneath a banner of flags. “What drew you to it?”
His ebullience waned and he pressed his lips together. “It’s a rather long story. Best for another day. For now, all I will say is: Tragedy has a way of shaping a person.”
A notion I knew well. Though his reply sparked my curiosity, I didn’t want to dampen his mood, especially when I needed something from him. “I beg your pardon. I didn’t mean to pry.”
“Not at all.” He smiled.
As we turned down another pathway between tents, the rich aroma of caramel wafted around us.
“I can’t imagine there are many in your field of expertise?” I pressed, anxious to keep him talking. “Do you work alone or with a team?”
“Mostly alone, though I work with assistants on occasion. There are more in the field than you might think. Professor Émile Lebard, for instance.” A shadow hovered about his features.
“Monsieur Lebard?”
“A man intent on finding the connection between science and spiritualism. He believes in the nonsense, and seems to enjoy making me look like a fool.”
So the professor was competitive. I wondered if all academics were the same. To me, it seemed as if they should work in tandem; one person’s studies helping another. I didn’t know how to respond, so I remained silent.
“And you?” He interrupted my thoughts. “Do you believe the soul can exist separately from the body?”
I never had before, but after the séance and the vivid dreams I wasn’t certain of anything. I paused amid a stream of jugglers. “I never considered it possible until Papa died, and the other night . . .”
As I said the words, the familiar ache of loss resurfaced, pushing at the lightness of spirit I had felt only moments before.
Sensing my sadness, he took my hand between his and pressed it gently. “Please accept my condolences.” His voice was soft. “The fire was a tragedy and you were so young. You didn’t deserve to suffer such a cruelty.”
“I was sixteen,” I said, relieved he appeared sensitive to my loss.
“And now you are a woman, still stricken by grief.” He squeezed my hand again. “Shall we enjoy ourselves? What would you say to having our fortunes read?”
He motioned to a small booth just ahead.
Within it, a soothsayer named Madame Huet bared a toothless smile with glistening pink gums.
I wrinkled my nose. “Perhaps the lions instead?”
He grinned. “The lions it is.”
We moved around the soothsayer, and I nearly toppled a dwarf in a curious blue disguise. His pointed hat and floppy shoes elicited a giggle from the young ladies waiting in the queue outside the grandest tent of all—the equestrian ring and main event, where the lions would make their appearance.
“Pardon me,” I said to the little man.
The dwarf glowered and continued on his way.
When we entered the tent, I tilted my face skyward to take in the hundreds of cables and poles propping up the canvas overhead. Acrobat ropes and wires crisscrossed near the ceiling or dipped just above a net poised to catch those who fell. I stared in awe at the cables’ distance from the ground. How could an acrobat ever get used to swinging so high?
“This way.” Delacroix led me to an empty seat on the topmost bench.
As I settled in next to a couple already seated, their conversation drifted in my direction.
“I heard Sergio is the best around,” the gentleman in the brown morning coat said. “He sleeps with the lions.”
“Ce n’est pas vrai,” the woman said.
“If it’s true, he’s completely mad.” The man caught me eavesdropping and winked. He projected his voice to include me this time on purpose. “Can you imagine sleeping in the same room as a predator? He watches you while you sleep, while you dress. He watches your every move.”
I shivered at the thought.
“Ladies and Gentleman”—a man in redingote, bow tie, and top hat bellowed into a copper speaking trumpet—“what you are about to witness will surprise you, thrill you, and terrify you.” He paused. “Tonight, we welcome Sergio, Master of the Beast, with his pride of lions. Not only will he impress you with tricks, he will defy death!”
Drums boomed a warning from the orchestra near the rear of the tent. Several men pushed an enormous cage to the center of the ring, while others pulled in a train of animal carriers on wheels. One by one, four lions sauntered from their cages. When Sergio appeared, applause arose from the audience. The tamer climbed onto his stool and unfurled the coiled whip at his side, his coat as scarlet as a hunk of flesh. I cringed at the proximity of the cats, and the menace of their large paws.
“Dieu, they could scratch out his eyes!” said the woman to my right.
“They say the lions have their claws removed,” her companion replied. “Cut out by surgery, though I don’t know if it’s true. But they could still easily crush him, maul his face or shred his throat with their teeth.”
“Marceau, please!” she exclaimed. “You’re frightening me.”
I grimaced as Sergio began his routine. What if the lions didn’t follow his cues? Surely he wouldn’t put himself in danger. The animals must be well-trained.
/> A lioness growled and sat up on her hind legs as instructed. Sergio tossed a chunk of raw meat into her mouth. He gave the male lion a command. The animal didn’t budge. Sergio flicked his wrist and his whip snapped the air. The lion roared, but remained in position. I watched the tamer’s bravery with awe. He stood nonchalantly in front of a large audience, surrounded by a cast of beasts watching him through amber eyes. An incredible feat.
After another moment, he cracked the whip again, mere centimeters from the lion’s hide. The animal roared and batted the air with his paw, narrowly missing the man’s head.
The audience gasped.
Leave the lion alone, I thought. He doesn’t want to play today, and I didn’t want to witness a gruesome death.
Man should not wrangle with beasts.
The day’s lingering heat made the tent an oven, and perspiration trickled down my back. I yearned to escape the stench of body odor and fear, but I couldn’t tear myself away.
“He’s supposed to put his head in the big one’s mouth,” the man to my right said. “Looks like he could have it bitten off tonight.”
Sergio shouted. Still, the lion disobeyed. The beast’s roar reverberated through the tent, alerting the lionesses. Without pause, the females joined the male, hissing and growling.
I covered my eyes. The pride would attack and the tamer would be torn to pieces in front of everyone.
Someone shouted from the crowd, cleaving the tension in the air. People murmured with their neighbors.
“Are you all right?” Monsieur Delacroix whispered. A muscle in his jaw twitched. Apparently the act was getting to him as well.
I nodded. Gripped by macabre fascination, I removed my hand from my eyes.
Sergio shouted something. The next instant, the lion closed his mouth around the man’s forearm.
The crowd’s murmurings grew louder.
Two armed men entered the cage.
“It is all part of the show!” Sergio called to the audience. “Remain calm!”
A third man divvied out meat to the lionesses. The large cats devoured it. Within seconds, the men ushered them out of the ring. Sergio seemed to be cajoling the lion, though we couldn’t hear his words. A man carrying a gun circled behind the beast. The woman beside me buried her face in her escort’s shoulder, unable to watch.
