Silver -chpt 7-

Chapter 7-
Days, weeks, and months passed without any unusual happenings.  Andrea called upon his sister a few days after her attempted visit.  He had been ashamed and frightened, and did not wish to have his sister see him in such a state.  After an almost unbearable amount of apologies from his sister, the young man bid her speak to no more of the sensitive subject.  
According to the young man, everything at the shop had been going wonderfully.  There had been no troubles concerning his mask.  The others had grown accustomed to his eating separately from them, though Henri had tried on more than one occasion to peak past the mask.  Andrea had handled this by quickly boxing the youth's ears and sending him on his way.  
He was absolutely ecstatic due to the fact that Cyril was allowing him to make ornaments for some of the nobles.  Certain custom orders were sifted to the young man, his master approving Andrea's work.  Some of it was even placed in the showcases.  Rosette was thrilled for her brother.  Everything was going better than he could have ever hoped for him.  
As for Rosette?  There was nothing for her to complain against.  Her relationships with the ballerinas and many of the masters of the Opera House were blossoming to the point where she was quite familiar and comfortable with all of them.  As well, she had become a sort of personal attendant to Madame Margot Antonin, and the later had done for the young woman just as she had promised.  Singing lessons had been arranged for Rosette by the diva.  Every other morning, at half past ten, she and the maestro would meet, and she was given proper instruction.
Though busy at the Opera House, there was never enough to do to distract Rosette' thoughts from the voice, the man, that she had encountered.  She had not heard from him since that day on the stage.  There had been no sign of him anywhere.  Often, the woman wondered if there had ever been a man.  However, there must have been.  After all, who was it who saved her that night?  Who was it that led her to the room?  She had visited that room several times since that night to see if there had been any trace of him.  However, the room had been disturbed by no one; not by chorus members, ballerinas, lovers, nor ghosts.        
No, there was no sign of that ghost whom she had encountered.  There was nothing unusual at all.  That was not to say, however, that life at the grand Opera House was boring.  On the contrary, the place was animated with life and excitement.  
One evening, as Rosette worked with a few of the carpenters, painting a platform they had just finished, she heard someone clear his throat behind her.  Turning around, she saw a young man standing before her.  He was tall, with the fair skin and hair commonly attributed to one of Norwegian descent.  He was neatly dressed in a shirt and vest, nothing formal of his appearance, but certainly dignified, and certainly handsome.  He still wore his coat, and his gloves and hat were held tightly in his left hand.  He ran his right hand nervously over his collar.  
The woman looked form side to side, hoping to ascertain who it was the man was directing his attention towards.  However, upon seeing there was no one nearby, save for the carpenters who were too engulfed in their work to notice anything, and herself, she assumed that she was the one he was addressing.  Setting down her brush, she stood up and brushed her hands on her trousers.  
"Oui, monsieur?  May I help you with something?" she asked, looking up at him.  
"Oui… I am looking for Rosette Elie?" he asked somewhat hesitantly.  His deep brown eyes looked at the ground, then at her.  Rosette smiled.  His voiced possessed the soft, rounded syllables of the Norwegian accent.  
"I am Rosette Elie.  What is it you need of me?" she questioned.  The man blushed momentarily, his eyes once again darting to the ground.   
"I fear, mademoiselle, that a few months ago, a man attempted to cause you harm during a celebration after a performance of 'The Tales of Hoffman.'  I regret to inform you that he is my cousin."
Rosette's face had turned a vibrant shade of red.  That night was little more than three months behind her, and she and Andrea had decided to forget that night had ever occurred.  It was better to not dwell on it.  As well, and most fortunate in her opinions, she had not seen that monstrous chorus member since that night.  It was as if he had simply vanished.  
"I see," she said quietly, refusing to make eye contact with the man.
"Yes, mademoiselle.  I apologize for his actions.  They were deplorable, and I am thank our merciful God that you came to no harm," he answered her quickly.  Rosette made no reply.  "You see, the two of us owe are being here, in Paris, to a noble woman by the name of Madame Lisette d' Fron.  She has taken great pains to see to it that my cousin, Aksel, and I gain a proper position and ranking in society.  Aksel, I'm afraid, has a tendency to rebel against the orders and influence of others.  He ran away shortly after we arrived at Madame d'Fron's estate.  We looked for him everywhere, and finally we learned that he was working here as a chorus member.  When we came to retrieve him, several things were brought to our attention… I fear that he has wronged you and several others.  I terribly regret this, and apologize."  
He bowed to her, eyes fixed on the ground.  Rosette stared at him, stunned, but on the outside she appeared to be perfectly calm.  One hand reached up and toyed with a short lock of hair that was tucked behind her ear.
"I see… he was your charge?"
"In a way, yes.  He is my younger cousin.  I came to Paris a few months before him, and seeing as how I am more familiar with Paris than he is, the charitable Madame d'Fron had asked me to keep a close eye on him."
"And he managed to elude you," Rosette continued coldly.  
The young man blushed brightly and knelt on one knee in front of her.  Rosette's eyes widened for a moment.  A crowd was forming around them.  Here was a man, obviously a nobleman, kneeling in front of she who was nothing more than a hand at the Opera House.  The man took her hand lightly in his.
"And for that I beg your forgiveness.  He is my charge, and so I have taken it upon myself to set right the wrongs he has committed.  After having learned of … some… of what he has done, after having been informed by someone who had been at the celebration of how he tried to harm you, I know that I am asking a great deal of you."  
Rosette was silent as the man waited anxiously for her reply.  At last, she spoke.
"He never wronged me.  He was drunk on the night you are referring to, and tired to… have his way with me… but his intoxication rendered him incompetent.  Therefore, there is nothing that you need do for me," she answered him, drawing her hand away from his.  The young man rose to his feet quickly.
"Yes, but the fact that he even attempted such is cause for alarm as well as a need to be made right."
Biting her lip, Rosette looked down.  Nothing had been done to Andrea, and nothing had been done to her.  The two had only been frightened.  Therefore, what was there that could be made right?  There was nothing that this noble young man could, or needed to do.
"I thank you, monsieur, but there is nothing you need do," she answered him, her tone gentle.
Still a brilliant shad of red, the young man looked at her.  His eyes were questioning, embarrassed, and relieved all at once.  
"I understand, Mademoiselle… very well then.  Seeing as how you require nothing of me, I see that there is no longer any reason for me to be here.  Good day, Mademoiselle."
He nodded, and after Rosette answered him with a slight curtsey, made his way to the door.  However, as he neared the door, he hesitated.  Finally, he turned around.  Rosette had already gone back to her work, but he made his way towards her once more.
"Mademoiselle, pardon the interruption, but, seeing as how you require nothing of either of us, my cousin nor myself, would you at least accept an invitation to dinner from me?"  Rosette's head snapped up as he made this new request.  Stunned, she stammered out a few unintelligible lines before she finally managed to articulate a meager sentence.
"Dinner?  Monsieur, that is not necessary…"
"But I wish it.  I wish to do something for you, my lady.  Surly I might be able to take this pitiful opportunity to dinner to attempt to make up to you the wrong that was done against you."
"Sir, that would be quite-"
"If not for his sake, then for mine.  Please, Mademoiselle… I wish to do you some service.  Something, anything.  I wish…. To please you…"
His eyes met Rosette's.  The hairs stood up on the back of Rosette's neck.  She was suddenly aware of several sets of eyes staring at her.  Looking around her, she saw Adele and several others watching the two with eager, excited expressions.  
"Monsieur, I fear that I am unable to refuse your request," she answered meekly.
The young man smiled brightly.  His excitement could hardly be contained.  
"Marvelous!" he answered her.  "I shall call on you tomorrow evening, for I fear I have already promised my time this evening to the Madame d'Fron.  But tomorrow, I shall come for you at, say, eight?  Yes, that would be perfect," he said excitedly.  He kissed her hand, then made his way quickly for the door.
"Wait!" Rosette called after him.  He paused and turned to face her, eyes quizzical.  "You have not given me your name," she told him.  His features flushed red as he ran a hand quickly through his blonde hair.   
"My apologies.  How stupid of me.  My name is Casper Fredrickson," he answered quickly.  He bowed once more and left the building, leaving a stunned Rosette standing in the midst of the curious members of the Opera House.  That certainly made the awkward scene more embarrassing.  Among the colorful and curious onlookers stood Andrea.  He had come to the Opera House with the intent to deliver a necklace that Cyril had designed for Madame Antonin.  The young man stared at his sister, utterly perplexed.  Still bright red, Rosette walked away from the crowd and attempted to seek some solitude in the dark, winding passages behind the stage.  However, Andrea followed closely on her heels.
"Who was that?" he asked quietly, trying desperately to keep the panic out of his voice.  Rosette pinched the bridge of her nose as she came to a halt in the corridor and leaned against the wall.      
"That is Casper Fredrickson, the charge of Madam d'Fron," she answered simply.
"I caught that much," he said, his annoyance beginning to show.  Rosette hesitated.
"He is the cousin of…. Of that man we had the misfortune to encounter at the celebration three months ago.  You remember him."
"Only too well," the lad answered, while behind the mask his already pale face was loosing what little color it had left.  "Why did you accept his invitation?  What if he wishes to harm you?"
"Hush, Andrea.  That is the furthest thing from that man's mind.  He simply wishes to apologize.  I was doing the polite thing and accepted his offer.  One evening shall not harm us, and once he is satisfied that I will not bring up the matter of his cousin, we will see each other no more.  Please, Andrea, things will be fine."
"But he will have access to you!  That monster will find out how to get to me and how to find to you!  It's not safe!"  The hysteria was rising in his voice.
"Andrea, enough."
"No, this is not enough!  You're being reckless!  You're putting both of us in a dangerous position.  This will not end so well as you would like to think it will.  What if this is a trap?  What if you are playing right into his hands?  That fiend sends his young and innocent cousin to apologize to you, invite you to dinner, then, in the dark of the night, turn against you!  You can't!  You'll get hurt!  I don't want to lose you, and if you do this I shall surely lose you!  This is dangerous.  For you to think it is an innocent dinner invitation is horribly naive of you.  You're stupid if that is all you think it is!"  
Rosette stuck her brother full across the face.  The sound of the blow seemed to echo in the dank passageway, and was followed by an oppressive silence.  Both the woman and man who stood in the passageway could hear their angry hearts slamming against their chests.  A cold sweat broke on Rosette's forehead as she realized what she had done.  It did not matter now, however.  Her anger with her brother would not yield to her guilt concerning the outburst.  Andrea's face was still turned in that frightful manner that Rosette's hand had forced it to.  With fists clenched, he turned, and made his way out of the passageway, leaving his sister alone in the dark.   
Upon exiting the corridor, Andrea saw the confused faces of the ballerinas staring at him.  They had heard the discourse.  With the heat rising to his face, Andrea darted towards one of the worn, spiraling staircases and raced up it.  He made the ten story trek to the roof of the building quickly, wanting to be as far away from people as possible.  According to Rosette, no one was ever up on the roof.  
Flinging open the door that lead out to the rooftop, Andrea froze.  It was a museum of brilliantly and skillfully carved angels, demons, and mortals.  Many of the angels were fixed to the edges and walls of the Opera House, but the rest were displayed in such a way that the only method that one might be able to see them was to be on the roof.  For a moment, Andrea forgot his anger.  He wandered, spellbound, between the statues, admiring them.  He loved anything beautiful that was created by human hands.  The creative human genius had always fascinated him.  The fact that even hands belonging to one cursed with ugliness, could still produce beauty inspired him.  
"If I cannot be beautiful," he recalled telling Rosette once, years ago, "…then I shall create beauty!"
Moving from statue to statue, with finger tips lingering over the folds of fabric that looked to be as soft and warm as velvet but were nothing more than cold stone, his eyes fell upon a series of statues.  Most of them were carved in the likeness of nymphs and damsels.  Sprouting up here and there amongst the damsels were satyrs and gargoyles.  Tears rushed to Andrea's eyes.  Like the stone nymphs, Rosette was bright and laughing among the ballerinas and chorus members that she had become such close friends with.  But there were darker creatures lurking in their midst, waiting patiently to snatch them away and soil them.  With every moment, Rosette was wandering closer and closer to one of these beasts.  
With a bitter cry ripping its way from his lips, he sat on the ledge and pulled his mask off of his face.  He placed his hands over his face in attempt to smother the sound of his sobs, not that it mattered seeing as how he was the only one on the rooftop.  Finally pulling his hands away, he stared at city beneath him.  Carriages were bustling to and fro, filled with jewel and feathered adorned lord and ladies.  On the streets, vendors were packing away their wares for the evening.  It was roughly nine o'clock in the evening.  Above, the pregnant moon reflected its gracious light.  
Sighing, Andrea hung his head.  He ran his hand through hair, which was held back with a chord, then ran it over the side of his face.  Three quarters of his face was smooth and possessed a milky color.  Scar tissue striped his left eye, the left side and bridge of his nose, and his once full, pink mouth was covered with tiny scars that started from his neck and chin to end at his cheek.  The only part of his face that was untouched by pain was his right eye, which was framed by long, dark lashes and was the same deep blue color as his sister's, though perhaps a bit gentler in gaze.  
"She will not change her mind.  She will not hear any of my supplications.  Perhaps it is better if I let her go without any worry from me.  Truly, perhaps this man means only to apologize, then he will leave her alone," he sighed.
"Then again, maybe his intentions are just as you fear them to be," a soft voice answered him from everywhere.  Andrea leapt to his feet and quickly replaced the mask.  Quite laughter sounded from the mouth of every statue that surrounded him.  Andrea turned to look for the person who was speaking to him.  There was no one there.  Racing to look behind every statue, Andrea found himself standing in the center of the museum, panting, and with no one close by.
"Who are you?  Show yourself!" he called, anger rising in his voice.  While he regularly avoided people, when suddenly addressed by a stranger who he could not see, his instincts were that of aggression.
No reply was given.
"Show yourself, coward!  What do you want?"
There was a pause, then finally the voice answered him softly.
"You do not remember me?" it asked, feigning hurt and remorse.  Beneath the white mask, Andrea's brows knit together.
"Should I?  I fear I do not recall being addressed by a disembodied voice before today," he answered coldly.  Another laugh sounded around him.
"I see.  You have forgotten the man who saved you from the male chorus member who would have made you his?"
The heat rose to Andrea's face once more.  
"You were the man who pulled me away…." Andrea said slowly, as if thinking about what he was going to say next.  "You led me outside, and went back for my sister…"
"That is true," answered the voice.  "And as you have seen, your sister never came to any harm."
"But after I was gone… that man found her and tried to-" Andrea started angrily, but was cut off.
"She was not touched.  Fright was the only thing she suffered from."
The lad was quite for a long time.  The voice made no other comment.  At last, the young man spoke up, eyes still darting in an attempt to find the source of the voice.
"Well then, what do you want?  Compensation for your troubles?" he questioned cynically.  A laugh, which possessed the notes of amusement and madness, echoed from the stone structures.  The hairs on the back of Andrea's neck stood up.
"No compensation you could ever hope to give me would make up for the troubles I have endured," he laughed.  "No, that is not what I seek.  I heard your argument with your sister concerning her invitation from one Monsieur Casper Fredrickson.  You have every right to be worried for her.  The young man has a reputation for being a cad."  
The thrill that raced through Andrea eclipsed his need to ask the voice how he had heard the argument.  His heart raced inside of him.
"You know this for a fact?  Then I must stop her.  I must tell her…"  He paused.  "But how would she believe me?  My source is a voice I heard on the ceiling of the Opera House?  Tell me who you are so that I will not be made a fool!  Show yourself!"
"You already know that regardless of the credibility of your source, your sister will no listen to you," answered the voice in a cold tone.  "Instead of warning your sister, which will, no doubt, be useless, why not have someone follow your sister and her suitor, in order to keep a watchful eye on her and ensure she comes to no harm."
"How would this be accomplished?  I cannot go… she will recognize me, and I will certainly be a spectacle due to… my mask."  Andrea suddenly became aware that he had been engaging in a conversation with a bodiless voice while he was wearing his mask.  How insane this situation was!  However, the voice spoke up again, completely ignoring Andrea's comment of his mask.
"You need not be the one to go.  I shall go."
"What!?  You?  Surely you jest," Andrea blurted out incredulously.  The voice laughed.
"Why not?  I will never be seen.  After all, you have not been able to find me this entire time.  What danger of discovery shall I be in when observing two people who are not even looking for me?"  Andrea did not answer.  "I give you my word as a gentleman, your sister shall never know of my presence, and she shall come to no harm."
Andrea was silent.  This voice… this man… was offering to watch over Rosette.  He was offering to ensure her safety.  But how could Andrea trust him?  As well, what would this man ask for in return?
"This is a kind gesture, monsieur," he said at length.  "What do you ask for in return?"
"I ask for little: merely that you do not mention this conversation to Rosette.  Someday, I shall call upon you for a favor.  It shall be a small one.  Do not look so distressed.  You look as if you are about to sign your soul away to the Devil."
"I very well may be.  I don't know what to make of this deal," Andrea answered him.  Looking at the ground, then up at stone angel that the voice seemed to resonate from, he spoke again.  "She will come to no harm?"
"None."
"You will see to it that that man does nothing to mar her reputation, and you yourself will not touch her, so long as I never tell her of this discourse?"
"Exactly."  The lad paused after this reply from the stone angel.  
"Very well then… keep watch over her tomorrow night.  I beg you, allow no harm to come to her.  If she IS hurt, so help me, I'll find you and kill you!"
No answer came to him.
"Hello?"
Still no answer.  The voice was gone.  A chill ran down Andrea's spine.  Mind still spinning, he moved to the ledge and propped his arms on the stone railing to stare down at the streets below.  What exactly had just happened?  Had he made a bargain with an angel or a demon?  
Suddenly, he spun on his heels, his hands clutching the railing so tightly that his knuckles shown white.  His heart was beating frantically in his chest and a cold sweat broke on his forehead, neck, and arms.  
The apparition had called Rosette by name.  Andrea combed his memory, trying to remember if had addressed his sister by her name during their argument.  He never did.  Not once had he called her Rosette.  Not once!  How then, did this… this… this spirit know her name!?  
"Dear God…" Andrea breathed.  "I have handed over my sister from one monster and into the hands of another."