Zephyr: (n.) a gentle, mild breeze. It does not disrupt, nor cause chaos, it merely brings a pleasant sensation on a warm summer day.

Chapter 27

A few days later…

"Mademoiselle Clerisseau," Gustave gaped at me, his silly expression of awe even sillier when noting his very formal attire. He looked like a smaller version of his father, who seemed to always dress in formal wear. The suit, with the neatly tied and tucked ascot and glittering silver cuff links, helped him look even more like the perfect gentleman he was. Getting him into the clothing was an adventure, but what I could not accomplish was easily adjusted by his father. "You look beautiful."

"Why thank you, Gustave." I nodded, smoothing out the skirt of the lovely evening gown that had been prepared for me. The crème colored brocade had to have been the most expensive of its kind, the quality of it something I had never experienced when working as a seamstress. I adored the detailed floral design on the fabric, the little pink and purple flowers woven with soft green vines truly exquisite on the crème brocade. Silk gloves, of the same crème color, went all the way up to my elbows. Monsieur Destler had also seen I was provided with hair accessories to put mine up for the evening out. It was curled and pulled up into a lovely Spanish knot, not a single hair astray thanks to a few handy hair pins. The girl I had seen in the mirror after getting dressed was not one I could have imagined myself. I felt like a princess, like a lady of the finest things in life. Even the nasty shiner had faded enough to be covered up with a little makeup.

The promise was something so… odd. Such an out of character thing for Monsieur Destler to ask of me, but it shouldn't have surprised me. After all, he was the patron of the world-renowned Palais Garnier.

"Have you ever attended an opera?" he had asked. "I am taking Gustave to see a production of Dante on Friday."

I had never been to the opera in my whole life, but how I used to wish I could one day experience it myself. My mother would often recount the exciting stories from the operas she had seen in her youth to Julianna and I. On rainy days when we couldn't play outside or as bedtime stories, she recounted the tales of tragedy, romance, adventure to us. She always told us the songs and music were terribly beautiful and exciting, much more than the story itself. Julianna and I would act out our own versions of the stories, making dialogue into lyrics and singing them as best as children could. It was yet another cherished memory of my childhood, something I had forgone as I grew older. And, of course, to attend the opera with Monsieur Destler and Gustave was what I was asked to promise. I accepted without question.

If I had known the promise Monsieur Destler asked of me would put me here, I would have scoffed in disbelief. All these nice things for simply apologizing? It seemed to good to be true. He wouldn't allow me to pay for my own gown or accessories, paying for ever last franc. I hadn't the faintest clue how much he had spent on everything and it gnawed at me. He even denied me when I asked him to deduct the costs from my following payments for my service to his son. Monsieur Khan told me during our last visit, just the day before our excursion to the opera, to simply make the most of it. "It is rare that Monsieur Destler does things like this. You best take it before he changes his mind." the man had warned. In such a short time, the whole ensemble was finished. I could never have finished a gown such as this in one, not even two, sittings. It must have taken someone a good two days without break to finishing the gown. I could only hope they were paid well for their craftsmanship and efficiency given the time.

Gustave took one of my gloved hands and we walked down the stairs to where his father was waiting. Monsieur Destler looked up from his pocket watch as we came into view, tucking it away and straightening his jacket. His formal wear was impeccable, as usual. I noticed that he and Gustave matched, bringing a small smile to my face. No wonder I thought he looked exactly like his father. However, the dark and richly colored suit seemed as if it were made for the man. He seemed more like the powerful, mysterious, and wealthy man they high class of Paris had imagined him to be. Much more mysterious indeed, with the black half mask creating a dark image of anonymity. Stepping off the stairs, Gustave ran over and grabbed my cloak from the hanger next to the door to bring it back to me. "Here you are, Mademoiselle Clerisseau."

"Are we ready to go?" Monsieur Destler asked once I had fastened my cloak around my shoulders. He had just finished pulling on his leather gloves and, yet again, checked his pocket watch. Ever the punctual man, it seemed the man was rearing to go. The opera awaited and nothing could him from going. The three of us were prepared, so we headed out the door and into the waiting carriage. The driver shut the door behind us and just a few moments later, we were on our way to the grand Palais Garnier.

The short ride was as expected—quiet with excitement. Gustave watched out the window, just waiting for the carriage to lurch to a stop and be able to see the beautiful building. Monsieur Destler bounced a leg idly, his fingers tapping a tune against the opposite leg. He checked his pocket watch twice more before we arrived. I noticed all this, while feeling like I, myself, was going to burst open from excitement. It had been a long time since I had just walked past the wonderfully constructed building. Every time I had, there was always the thought of what might lay beyond those lovely crafted doors. I never pictured it twice the same way. The people I imagined inside were always the high classed folks that shopped at Madame Larouse's. I had even dared to imagine Monsieur Destler, who was always the talk of the people in attendance. The stories my mother retold were imagined coming to life on an enormous stage, dancers and actors and singers breathing life to the entire theater.

At last, we arrived. The driver opened the door and we stepped out, the enormous opera house towering just before us. Gustave's grip on my hand tightened and he looked between me and his father with the biggest grin on his face. "It is so beautiful." he commented.

"Just wait until we get inside." Monsieur Destler said as we climbed the steps. Footmen held the doors open for those pouring in from the cold, welcoming to the theater. I closed my eyes briefly as we stepped inside, opening them to the sea of color around the foyer. Marble and large red drapery were the largest details. Then, of course, were the numbers of golden fixtures and statues of many different characters. The ceiling was painted masterfully with cherubs amongst clouds, playfully gazing down at the people entering the opera house. The footmen directed people to the box office or towards where they were to give their tickets and enter the theater. They even matched the theme of the foyer, in bright red and gold accented uniforms. A cacophony of voices filled the air, laughing ladies and men speaking loudly to those around them. The heavy scent of perfume and expensive cigars hung in the room. After taking it in, I knew I would never be able to imagine it any other way. This was the Palais Garnier, bold and beautiful in every way possible.

We moved towards a separate set of stairs once inside, heading away from the large crowd of people in the foyer. A footman nodded to Monsieur Destler, who tipped the fedora he donned right back. Gustave and I followed him up, quiet with awe of the moment. After going up the flight of stairs, Monsieur Destler took us down a hall with multiple doors dressed in a velvety fabric and with curtains pulled back to reveal them. Some were open whilst others were not. From the other side, one could hear more people talking and music. The music was unlike anything I had heard before. It was a harmony of different sounds, of instruments I did not know by name. At the very last door, Monsieur Destler pulled it open and motioned for Gustave and I to enter.

My breath left my body as I gazed out at the theater. There were people in the boxes across from us, people down below us in their seats or just wandering in to find them, and people with instruments down in the pit just in front of the stage. The stage was covered with an enormous red curtain, embroidered with ropes of gold it seemed. I gaped at the crystal chandelier hanging above even the boxes, sparkling like the sun upon the Seine in summer. It's light was faint. The light upon the stage was far brighter. Rich dark wood made up the front of it and the pit where musicians were tuning their instruments. I felt like I should pinch myself, to make sure that all of this was real. Gustave was at the front of the box, peering out over the theater all the same.

"Why don't you both take a seat?" Monsieur Destler offered, motioning to the plush chairs next to his. I turned, looking to them and then back to him. Our eyes locked and something strange happened: neither of us looked away for seconds that seemed like hours. His mismatched eyes gazed deeply into mine, seeming to reflect light like the crystal of the chandelier. The expression he had was intense yet soft at the same time, dare I say a one of happiness. My mouth became dry and I felt my heart skip a beat before hammering against my rib cage relentlessly. What was this? The sound of applause snapped me out of whatever stupor had crossed me momentarily, causing me to turn away as a blush painted my cheeks. No, it was a flush. Taking my seat on the other side of Gustave, furthest away from his father, I told myself it was a flush of embarrassment that heated my cheeks. Stealing one last side glance at my employer, I reaffirmed to my self that it was nothing but a flush.

…

A thunderous applause echoed in my chest as the curtain fell, marking the end of the opera. I had joined the rest of the crowd, up on my feet and clapping with a smile upon my face. Even Monsieur Destler had stood and was applauding, though he was expressionless otherwise. I couldn't believe what I had just witnessed. Even more so, I could not believe that it was over. If I had been any closer to the edge of my seat during the performance, I would have fallen right off it. The story was beautiful in and of itself, only bettered by music and song. The costumes, the sets, every little detail included in the production brought the emotions of each scene. As the applause died down, people started to file from their seats to leave. Some seemed indifferent to what they had just witnessed, while others seem pleased. I looked down, hoping to find someone who was just as impressed as I.

"Mademoiselle Clerisseau, will you wait here with Gustave?" Monsieur Destler asked, grabbing my attention. Gustave, despite his excitement prior to the performance, had fallen asleep in his seat almost halfway through the opera. He had woken once or twice but had quickly gone back to sleep. "I must go speak with the manager before he gets too busy. It should not take me longer than a few minutes."

"Yes, Monsieur Destler." I responded.

With that, he left the box and I sat back down. Throughout the performance, I had done my best not to notice the few people who turned their opera glasses in the direction of the box. There had been several spying upon us, all from boxes across the way. The glint of the lenses gave them away. I knew that they were the same people who would speculate about Monsieur Destler. It was likely they knew he had this box. I wondered if he knew himself, that the three of us had been watched. The man enjoyed his privacy, his life separate from the carnivorous appetite of society. I knew the garbage that was said about him and several other reputable names. It was unpleasant and crude, yet always hidden behind a mask of wealth and propriety. Those that acted as such surely wouldn't enjoy the same thing done unto them.

A knock echoed through the box and I turned in my seat, wondering if it was Monsieur Destler returning. I stood to go answer the door, but it was already opening. A woman poked her head in, her eyes catching mine. "Why, I am terribly sorry." she said haughtily. "I could have sworn this box was empty." She stepped the rest of the way in, leaving the box door open behind her. Her gown was of my least favorite fabric, chiffon. It was ruffled and of the most disgusting shade of pink, bows decorating each shoulder and the neckline, as well as the hip. I recognized the work of Madame Larouse and I knew that she was only spying.

"Not yet." I responded, shifting uncomfortably. The woman walked forward, her eyes scanning around the box to find if there was anyone else. "Madame, I hate to seem rude but this is a private box."

"The performance is over, dearie." she said with a laugh feigning amusement. "Or hadn't you noticed? You must be Monsieur Destler's wife." My face caught fire at her words, flushing hot and red in embarrassment. Not wanting to seem rude was now out of the question.

"Leave now!" I snapped, not having any more of this woman. The furiosity in my voice caught the woman off-guard. She took a step back, but not a step more before I could continue. "Or I will call a footman in here to escort you out myself. You would not appreciate someone intruding upon your private box, whether the performance was over or not. I am sure you have better things to do than come here to spy and make up some juicy gossip for tea tomorrow afternoon." The woman held a hand to her chest, showing the offense she took from my words.

"Well, I am shocked." she whined, gathering her skirt in her other hand. "How dare you talk to me like that, you… you…"

"Madame Richard, your husband is looking for you." A woman with a tight braid thrown over her shoulder and a sharp look in her eyes had kindly interrupted. She was not amused by the outburst of the woman who had come here uninvited, just as much as I had been. Madame Richard let out a huff and stormed past the woman in the doorway. "Mademoiselle, Monsieur Destler sent me to get you and his son. His business with Monsieur Albert is much more complicated than he thought and would like to send the two of you home."

"Of course." I replied. I shook Gustave lightly enough to wake him and smiled softly at the child. "We're leaving now, Gustave. Your father will be home a little later, but we can go now." He stood and I tucked him back into his coat. I put my own cloak back on and headed towards the woman in the door. Once Gustave and I were out in the hallway, she shut the door behind us and headed back the way we had entered prior to the performance. She had a sturdy cane in one hand, the end of it tapping against the floor with every other step. She glanced back at me over her shoulder, offering a tight smile.

"I am glad I arrived when I did." she said. "I am Madame Giry, a good friend of your employer and the ballet instructor here. He knew you'd likely be accosted by some of the audience."

"Thank you, Madame Giry." We entered the foyer, that was yet again filled with people moving about. I avoided looking at anyone directly, thinking that if I did, they would feel inclined to come and talk. "I can't stand people like that woman."

"Me either." she laughed. "I hope that she did not say anything offensive. It comes with being involved with Erik."

"You must be Monsieur Destler's wife." the woman's voice echoed in my mind.

"I told her off, anyways." I responded. "He shouldn't have to deal with such things." We reached the doors leading to the front of the opera house. Out the glass panes in the rich wood, I spotted our driver and the carriage. Turning to Madame Giry, I gave a polite curtsy. "Thank you so much for escorting us."

"It was my pleasure." She nodded back. "Have a good evening."

Taking Gustave's hand, I led us outside and to the carriage, happy to be headed home. As we pulled away from the opera house, I couldn't help but feel a little upset that Monsieur Destler was not with us.