part 7
"Dear Madame Donovan,
Your visits to my theater are becoming more and more entertaining. First, it was an interlude with my dementia director, and now it's a rumor spread among bad choristers. I find it strange that a woman in your position behaves in this way. I find it completely inappropriate for a lady, madam, that you are snooping around.
I'm sure you're beginning to realize that your efforts are in vain. Behind these scenes, there is neither logic nor a scientific approach. As long as you don't try, you won't be able to break the plans that are already being implemented.
It would be better for you if you left the building immediately.
P.O.
P.S. Be careful, madam. In Opera Populaire, accidents are not uncommon."
The language of the letter gave out the intellect of the writer, but the handwriting was unusually primitive. As if the author had never studied handwriting.
The hidden threat came through in the deliberate politeness of each word. And it was her barely discernible injections that gave birth to anger sprouts in Brill. Nothing could have awakened more rage in her than intimidation. Often humiliated as a child because of the color of her eyes and hair, Brill was well acquainted with how this kind of treating could affect others.
Brill slowly squeezed the letter in her fist - so that even the knuckles were white - and looked up. Looking at the darkness with an icy eye, she moved away from the scene in the shadows of the old decorations and props.
- You're wrong about me, monsieur! - She shouted into the darkness with the heat; her accent became more noticeable. - I'm not as simple a fool as you are accustomed to. Childish threats and mysterious letters mean nothing to me! - Brill threw the letter over the ground. - I'm not intimidated! And believe me, monsieur, if you try to hurt anyone in this theater, I'm gonna stab you!
Then she turned around, so her skirts swirled around her ankles and headed for the main entrance to the Opera House. It was enough for today. Brill learned that among the rumors surrounding the Ghost's mysterious personality was hidden a little truth. And somewhere in these stories hid the key to the reason that the theater was in such danger. All she had to do was find a connection between these clues. "Now that I've talked to everyone, I know that something terrible will happen during the performance of Don Juan. All of this has something to do with it.
Stubbornly picking on her chin, Brill walked through the lobby. She put her shaded glasses back on, and she jerked open the front doors and flew a bullet out of the building.
A pair of eyes hidden in the shade of her eyes closely watched the young woman leave, losing for a moment the fierce shine of devoted love. For a few seconds, the Ghost's gaze shone with cheerful surprise, not anger: it softened his tense features, and laughing wrinkles erupted in the corners of his eyes. He wasn't used to this kind of abrupt support. "And even from a woman ... She really threatened to strangle me with bare hands, just to die with laughter.
At this point, a false note came out of the stage, distracting him from the silent thoughts. The dark-haired man shuddered from this sound - all his fun vanished without a trace. His eyes were once again filled with calculus and cruelty. He carefully climbed up the rope up to the rafters, his thoughts shifted back to the strange girl's intervention - this time with anger.
- Let's see, madam, how brave you are. Oh, yes, let's see.
Chapter 3: No choice
While the mild winter sun was sinking beyond the horizon, a line of luxuriously finished crews began to line up in front of the main entrance of the Opera House. Elegant men and exquisitely dressed women slowly came out of their coaches and climbed the front stairs of the building, despite the frost, finding time to frankly look at their peers.
The opera sparkled with life in the midst of a thickened darkness - each window of the ten-story building shone, inviting in viewers. Few stayed long enough to admire the unique look of the building itself: the winter cold and lack of interest forced them all to rush to the main foyer. If they had frozen for a moment, the spectacular Baroque canopies and the massive marble statues they passed by would have deprived any sane person of his speech. But, of course, no one stopped, because in the walls of the theater was soon to play a different kind of drama.
It is well known that the Paris higher society was famous for its serious attitude to the arts. At least, they seemed to be such: any small wealthy aristocrat considered it his duty not to miss a single premiere. Moreover, many were outraged and fought for a limited number of seats in the boxes in the theater, designed for two thousand spectators, demanding to put up all the places for sale. In fact, none of the rich Parisians were particularly interested in the talent of singers or genius composer, rather, the opera served as a showcase of the latest fashion and jewelry ladies blue blood. It was a place where one could see others and show oneself.
Climbing up the main staircase to the front door, women looked at the rest of them meticulously, estimating the style of outfits and jewelry of those who stood with them on the same social step, putting off each piece of information collected to tell the most interesting and spicy news in detail later, washing the bones in leisure chatter. Dirty secrets flew back and forth among the crowds each time a new carriage appeared. Jealous and petty quarrels flashed between the owners of the most expensive dresses and jewelry as often as between those who came with their feet in a weekend dress.
- O Lord, what was this little thing dressed up as? Believe me, if the neckline of her corset had been even lower, Satan would have looked in there in person," a young aristocrat whispered ruthlessly to her companion, hiding behind a lace fan.
The woman she was talking to laughed and shaken her head, making the diamonds sparkle in her ears.
- Really! But I think your husband also enjoys the view.
From her comment, the angry smile of the young aristocrat faded, turning into a suffering and angry look. With a click of the fan, she approached the tall, balding man, and dragged him away from the gorgeous redheaded woman he was talking to. The man and his wife walked through the open front doors, shattering each other's voices with reproaches through the clenched teeth and fan flaps.
The men in the crowd, as it turned out, were no better than their companions, although their tactics of studying their own kind were much less visible. Instead of chirping about their outfits, they looked at the women frankly or discussed horse breeding for dressage. Those who held the best samples in hand or harness were objects of black envy and avaricious praise. It was another kind of competition in which victory raised their status, and the theatre building served as a perfect battlefield.
Therefore, only a few of the snobs that appeared in today's performance were interested in some extent in the new work, its unknown author or strange rumors roaming the Opera. Sensational articles in the Parisian newspapers, telling about strange incidents and soprano kidnapping, only added to the excitement of the moment, and the presence of a ghost just sharpened the chatter before the start of the show.
to be continued...