5. Chapter 5 #2
‘Now there’s a thought.’ She spun to face him once more, then sauntered towards him, coming to a halt mere inches away. ‘The soprano undone. Would you like to undo me, Cassius?’
Maybe it was a nudge too far, because something darker flashed in his eyes. Could she pursue it? Grasp a sliver of him, perhaps, to capture and comprehend more of who he was—and why?
But the lights around them flared, banishing the shadows along with his secrets, washing them both with their harsh, yellow glare.
‘Where are the lamps? And the ropes! Who blew out—what is this—’ The curtain billowed and rippled as Karl grasped its edge and tugged the swathe of red velvet aside.
It slid away to reveal half of an upright piano, the smaller one he had bought because it fitted neatly on the upper level, for general use on stage.
‘Piano rehearsal!’ he boomed, his voice amplified by the acoustics and his enthusiasm.
He scuttled to the back of the piano and began to push it from its hiding place.
‘A new opera. A new beginning! A little help, if you please,’ he gasped between shoves and thrusts.
One of the tenors, Fernandez, emerged out of seemingly nowhere, leaping in to steady the instrument, and helped guide it to the centre of the stage.
A small troop followed. Fernandez was joined by Gustav, who’d played the bass in their last show.
Then followed two women Odette did not know, although she recognised the younger one from a performance last season.
She had been in the chorus but selected for a solo line.
She had sung well, but Odette could not recall her name.
‘Who is that young woman on the end?’ she asked Cassius, leaning towards him. ‘The pretty one?’
‘Not jealous, are you? Worried about someone stealing your spotlight?’
A hint of mockery rang through the words.
Odette tried to contain the emotion but failed, and a small burst of laughter spilled from her lips.
‘Oh darling,’ she murmured, with a sideways glance.
‘I am never worried about that.’ Still, she studied the young woman.
Her soft pink gown was far too good for a day dress, and her dark hair was arranged in a style far more suited to attending the opera than to rehearsing one.
Inexperienced affectation could mean so many things.
‘Does she have a mother or a father with her? Who is her manager?’
Cassius shrugged. ‘How would I know?’
‘Introductions!’ Karl exclaimed. ‘Fernandez is tenor. He will be playing Willem, our…’ Karl squinted at the papers, then thrust a stack at Fernandez, ‘…devoted fiancé! Gustav, our bass, is the villain Seigneur d’Artois.
Sidonie, fresh from the Paris stage, is our contralto and guild woman, while Miss Odette Delaney is, of course, our star soprano playing the damsel Marietta.
’ He passed her the score with an exaggerated, lopsided bow.
He was such a shameless performer, and a terrible one.
‘And, playing her young friend Lisette and also the understudy to Odette, is Freya. Freya will rehearse both with us and along with the other understudies from the chorus. Is that right, Mr Northcote? Have I remembered all the characters’ names…
?’ He cast a glance around the stage. ‘Ezra? Where is Mr Northcote? He was meeting our patron, then escorting her in. Ezra!’ Karl’s voice echoed across the empty theatre. ‘Are you lost? We are onstage!’
The door at the far end of the theatre opened, forming a small rectangle of white between the seats. It was soon joined by a faint burst of chatter.
A prickle raced Odette’s spine. What was she doing here?
But before she could ask, Karl clapped his hands and announced, ‘Our patron has arrived!’
For a stretched breath, Odette observed the shapes of two people marching down the aisle.
A tall man, wearing chequered yellow pants and a green coat, accompanied by a shorter woman.
Her form was too indistinct to make out, as she was completely clad in black, but Odette did not need to see her to know who she was. She knew that voice.
Odette strode the few steps across to Karl. ‘Her?’ she whispered. ‘She is the patron? I am expected to play a part for her?’
Karl leant over the top of the piano. ‘Don’t you dare, Odette. She is sponsoring this entire performance, and I need her patronage. Don’t.’
By now, the duo had reached the front of the theatre.
Odette’s nails scraped the top of the piano as she folded them into her palms, the bite of them a firm anchor in a sea of ire.
She plastered on a smile, not unlike the one she pinned to her lips on days when she met her pious neighbour during morning walks or in the park.
It was just as well that she’d had so much practice over the years, because here she was, in all her buttoned-up glory…
Except instead of the neutral terrain of Honeysuckle Street, Mrs Crofts had invaded Odette’s world. And now she was surveying the ensemble positioned slightly above her while clasping her hands.
Odette’s stare narrowed. Mrs Crofts wiggled her shoulders as she scanned them, left to right, then smiled… not in greeting, but to herself.
She looked far too comfortable for an outsider.
Karl’s eyes, meanwhile, kept darting from Odette to Mrs Crofts.
‘Well then,’ he said. ‘Well.’ He turned in a small circle.
‘A chair. We shall need a chair for the piano. We should get things underway. Ezra, just through that door, stage left, there is a staircase that will lead you up here. We have a tight rehearsal time, and every minute counts—’
A small cough travelled up from below. ‘I would like to address the cast,’ Mrs Crofts said.
‘You… you would?’ Karl’s voiced scratched through a forced smile. ‘We really must get started on our piano rehearsal—’
‘Good morning, cast!’ Mrs Crofts stepped backwards, a little way up the slope, coming to a stop right in front of the first row of chairs.
‘I have been sponsoring Mr Northcote here to write this opera and, if I might be so bold as to say, have had a little hand in its direction. The Loom Weaver is a story about a young woman tempted by money, comfort, and a rich man’s promise who holds on to her virtue and morals and resists temptation! In the first act…’
Odette raised her chin high as Mrs Crofts went on, striding back and forth as she outlined each song and the moral lesson it contained.
The longer she spoke, the tighter Odette’s jaw clenched.
Soon, that damn ringing in her ears had started up again, growing so fierce that Odette heard nothing but that noise, felt nothing but the wild surges of her anger.
‘Some of you would benefit from…’
How dare she.
‘We meet every Friday, at eleven in the morning…’
This was her world. These were her people.
‘…at my house, Number 5, Honeysuck—’