part 2
Chapter 1: Warning word
Paris, 1881
In the background, the clock was ticking monotonously. Brill Donovan sat Stoically in the Opera House, successfully hiding her impatience behind the calmness of her chest. Dressed in a modest black dress with a high collar, tightly fastened under her chin, the young Irish woman seemed to be the embodiment of prudence and looked older than her twenty-five years. In fashion, a black velvet hat, shifted to the side, intentionally hid the strange white hair on the back of the head in a strict bundle. The modest outfit was completed by unusual glasses with darkened glasses, which were clinging to the girl's nose, protecting her smoky eyes from the sunlight flowing through the nearest window.
Brill sighed and looked at the watch. The directors she hadn't been able to meet had kept her waiting for about an hour and she wasn't patient, despite her imperturbable appearance. She, accustomed to acting decisively and quickly, had a hell of a time just waiting, sitting and doing nothing.
"I had to insist on a meeting. What a stupid thing that I didn't do it," thought Brill, restlessly wiggling in a big leather chair, but never managed to get settled comfortably because of the corset of whale mustache buckling into his ribs.
Brill sighed again. The mask of serenity she had carefully crafted was cracking at the seams. To pass the time, she listed all the work she had been waiting for at home, but that only made her angrier. "First, I have to take apart my damn desk. Now it looks like it's been hit by a hurricane. Then, of course, I have to clean the barn and hang up my laundry. God, why there are so few hours in a day. Oh, I don't even want to think about it!
The very thought of waiting to work on the farm sent a shiver of horror along her spine. It was no secret that she was helpless when it came to household chores. Although Brill worked hard to prove the opposite, she knew she would never get the kind of kitchen that met the requirements of the female sex. Even more annoyed than before, Brill slowly began to tap her nails on the armrest, adding a new rhythm to the ticking second hand on the dial.
"What am I even doing here? - She asked herself, anxiously wrinkling her forehead. - Of course, that's stupid.
She sighed again, turning her smoky gray eyes on the clock for the hundredth time, noting that five more minutes had passed. Brill was irritated by her lips. She was already exhausted, and her impatient wait was becoming angry, turning her eyes into shiny pieces of ice.
"Well, right, what else could you wait for? Of course, I had to sit in this dusty office forever. These people of the theater are known mainly for their irresponsibility and impracticality," she grumbled at herself, trying to occupy her mind with anything other than the reason for her spontaneous visit to the Opera House. It's easier to deal with anger than the anxiety that was turning in her insides. - I have to go...
And yet, Brill stayed in place, because contrary to her natural doubts came this morning to the Opera House with one sole purpose - to talk to the managers of the theater. This morning's trip from her home near Paris was impulsive at best, but Brill could no longer stay away. She knew that the information she had was vital; she told the secretary of directors as soon as she arrived. Despite this, she had to wait in one of the trashed director's offices like some street urchin.
Spinning a gold engagement ring on her left ring, she was quietly arguing with herself: "Of course, it doesn't matter if I just leave. After all, I could be wrong. It can all just be a waste of time. I could definitely have been wrong... But... on the other hand... what if I wasn't wrong?
Swinging her head out of disgust at her own indecision, Brill finally got up, quickly grabbing her purse and winter coat. With a wide gesture, she threw the cape over her head and let him fall on his shoulders. She moved straight to the door, fastening the cape on the move and almost without looking where she was going, distracted by the battle with the clasp. At that moment, the door opened, almost hitting her on the head.
The man who entered the room, slightly suffocated in surprise when he saw the girl, and hurriedly took her under his elbow when she recoiled.
- I'm sorry, Mademoiselle," the gray-haired man said in a hurry, giving her a quick, disturbing smile, and then let her go and turned around to close the door. - Sorry for the delay. So many... questions arise when you run an opera. I'm Monsieur André, one of the directors," he said as he sat down at the huge mahogany table that cluttered the small room. His eyes, though seemingly tense from the incomprehensible excitement, quickly slipped over the figure of Brill, instantly estimating the style and cut the dresses before climbing up to the face. Making sure he saw a good lady in front of him, he opened his mouth to speak, but staring at the color of her hair that struck him.
Brill only nodded, accepting an apology, and returned to the place, ignoring his vulgar eyes. She was accustomed to the astonished looks. People simply couldn't comprehend how such a young face could frame the snow-white hair that was more bothering the old woman, just as they couldn't accept the smoky, sore color of her eyes. Her appearance always caused some awkwardness, wherever she went. She was a curiosity, but she accepted it and continued to live without letting anything as trivial as her appearance disrupt her way of life. There were more important things to do. It was like trying to figure out exactly what she was going to say now when all the ways to retreat were cut off.
With her handbag tight between her knees, Brill focused her eyes on the floor, her thoughts jumping without knowing where to stop. Keeping her face neutral, calm, she desperately tried to remember a speech prepared on the way to the Opera House. Brill hoped that she would be able to make a few sentences to inform her of the information she knew and not look like a complete sleepwalker. But now that she is faced with the need to actually repeat it aloud, all the words have slipped her mind.
- Monsieur André. My name is Brill Donovan," she started carefully; her French was spiced with a charming Irish accent.
He nodded, apparently vaguely remembering her name. In the circle of his acquaintances, the names of the elite were mentioned in almost every conversation. Therefore, it is not surprising that he recognized the name Donovan as belonging to foreigners and rich people. Andre raised his tired, anxious eyes, fixing his ingratiatingly attentive look right on Brill's face; his interest in her appearance hurt. Brill, too, thoughtfully raised her big eyes and met him with a gaze. Knowing that she now had his attention, returned to her part of the lost confidence.
- I know my request to meet you may look a little unusual and seem too hasty, but I have something very important to tell you," said Brill, hoping her voice did not betray her uncertainty.
Andre looked at her in confusion for a second, clearly trying to predict the reasons she was going to reveal. He frowned even more but stayed frowned upon as if he were inviting her to continue. Brill cleaned her throat and took a soothing breath. "I can't believe I'm going to try and tell him that. God, I'll be lucky if he doesn't call in power. I mean... it sounds crazy to even to me, and I'm the one to say it! But someone has to warn him. I'm just unlucky that someone should be me.
Brill spread her shoulders and got some air in her chest:
- Monsieur, I must warn you. I tend to believe that this opera house is in great danger. Trouble is imminent. You have to do something fast, or people will kill...
While she was sneaking through a partially memorable speech, André was gradually darkened. The polite mine he had put on earlier crawled down and his face turned white with rage, accentuating the dark circles under his eyes. Jumping on his feet, Andre instantly turned around a massive table, grabbed Brill by his miniature wrist and without the slightest hesitation to hang up on his feet.
- Who told you to say that? - He sizzled, looking at the room; his eyes were irritated with every shady corner. After shaking Brill, Andre demanded an answer: "Who?
She stared at him, staring at his mouth, shocked by his flash so much that she lost her voice. Not accustomed to being treated differently from the proper respect for her floor, Brill froze in his grip; her pale cheeks were stained with blush stains. The moment of intense silence lasted until her shock turned into acute indignation and then anger. Her eyes were sparkling with rage, making them as dark and heavy as river rocks, but her face froze with a mask of icy calmness. Brill wore heavy armor in her mind and prepared to fight. She slowly unhooked Andre's fingers from her wrist, throwing his hand aside.
- I came of my own free will, monsieur. No one sent me to tell you the news, which was so bleak. I don't enjoy being here, but I had to come. - Brill paused, staring at Andre with an inappropriate lady's straightforwardness. - But I see that my warning is redundant because you are already feeling a little worried if the expression of your face can serve as a testimony to that. What was to happen here to encourage you to use force?
to be continued...