If her behavior had ruined her chances with Luke, then so be it. She could not pretend that he had not insulted her, nor could she tell an outright lie and say she was anything other than a maid. Now that he knew the truth about her profession---and about her volatile personality---he could do as he pleased with that knowledge.
Slipping into a pale pink cotton nightgown, Rebecca buried herself under the covers, squeezing her eyes shut and trying to cleanse her weary mind of everything she had experienced in the past draining twenty-four hours.
Chapter Eight
Mechanically, Rebecca cleared the breakfast dishes away and began to soap them one by one, scrubbing them until they gleamed. Mrs. Brecht had given her those explicit instructions along with a request to wash all the windows in the mansion, which would likely take half the morning. Both Gerhard and Louise Brecht had gone shopping and left Rebecca alone with the aloof butler. When she heard the doorbell ring, it was startling, as the entire house was silent except for the sound of cloth rubbing against glass.
She heard the butler conversing with a man whose voice was muffled from Rebecca’s position in the kitchen. Moments later, the two men were thudding up the stairs toward her location.
“Miss Meadow? You have a caller.” The butler’s voice droned as Rebecca whirled around to face him. Standing behind him with a crooked, sheepish smile was Luke Springwell, hands shoved boyishly into his pockets.
“Luke…uh, Mr. Springwell. What are you doing here?” Rebecca asked in astonishment as the butler silently disappeared into the east wing of the mansion.
“I have come to apologize again for my horrendous behavior. I also came to give you this rose.” Smoothly, he slid a red rose from his pocket and reached out his hand expectantly. “It’s from the same garden square as the one we passed en route to the train station.”
Rebecca bowed her head and accepted the long stemmed rose, covered with thorns and leaves.
“Thank you. But what are you doing here? How did you even know where to find me?” Rebecca asked, absently caressing the rose petals.
“When you told me last night that you were a maid, I assumed that you must be an employee of Alice Denmaker. Her office is so close to our apartment building, after all. So, I went there this morning, concocted a bit of a white lie about how I urgently needed to see you, and she gave me this address.”
Rebecca regarded him anxiously. “I hope she wasn’t suspicious. I mean, this is only my second day of work and I would not want anything to jeopardize this job.”
“Not to worry. She didn’t seem the least bit fazed by my inquiry.” Luke assured.
“Well, that’s good. Did you really come here just to apologize again…and to give me this rose?” Rebecca asked, amazed that he had gone to so much trouble.
Suddenly, Luke seemed to take note of her scanty attire, and Rebecca vainly attempted to cover herself as his eyes roved from her stockings to her bustier. Luke strode towards Rebecca until their bodies were mere inches apart.
“No, I also came here to do this.”
Swiftly, he bent his head to sweep her into a breath-stealing kiss, daringly clasping his arms around her waist to pull her closer. Rebecca could not resist the instinct to return his hungry embrace and kissed him as she had dreamed of doing since the first time their lips had met, opening her mouth invitingly to him and entangling her hands in his wavy dark hair.
When Luke began to push Rebecca against the kitchen table, she suddenly became aware of her surroundings again and forced herself to stop responding to his stirring touch.
“Luke, we must stop. This is my place of employment!” She urgently thrust him away and wiggled out of his arms to stand a safer distance from him, where she could no longer smell his woodsy masculine scent or feel his warm, exploring hands.
“Looks like I owe you another apology.” He said sheepishly, hastily regaining control of himself. “It’s broad daylight on a Tuesday morning. What would that stuffy butler think if he were to barge in on us?” Luke grinned as Rebecca shook her head in disapproval.
“I don’t want anyone barging in on us anymore! Now, I really must get back to work. But, I do forgive your blunder, Mr. Springwell. Thank you for the rose. Now scoot!” Rebecca playfully pushed Luke’s shoulders, impressed that the powerfully built man didn’t budge at all.
“All right, I’ll be on my way now. I’ll see you at rehearsal.” Luke couldn’t resist giving Rebecca a quick kiss before departing the mansion.
She smiled as she watched him go, touching her lips where he had expertly bruised them. Rebecca had only been kissed a few times in her life, and this explosive chemical reaction was a unique experience. Her suitors back in Michigan either had not been skilled in the seductive art of kissing or she simply felt more drawn to Luke than to any man from the past. Rebecca knew that the latter was true, and it frightened her in the way that a lightning bolt in a forest would: terrifying, but thrilling as well.
Distractedly, Rebecca completed her cleaning duties, wiping every window in the Brecht mansion and performing less strenuous tasks like fluffing pillows and watering plants. It was futile to try to keep her thoughts from sensuously wandering to Luke and the way he had just surprised her. If she had been a ballet dancer, Rebecca would have done a pirouette right there in the Brecht mansion, even if it meant knocking over one of their antique vases. That’s the level of jubilation that was steadily climbing inside her as she looked to the clock every five minutes to see if it was time to leave.
In her mind, she calculated that she would have just enough time to dash from the train station to her apartment and change into a more fashionable dress than the pea green frock she wore at the moment. Suddenly, Rebecca was struck with the desire to make herself more becoming and wished that she had a stylish wardrobe to entice Luke. He had indeed made a blunder last evening, but after the red rose presentation and devastating kiss in the kitchen, all was more than forgiven.
At last, the Roman numerals on the clock alerted her that she could make her escape. With a lightness in her footfall, she hollered a hasty goodbye to whatever-his-name-was, the stodgy butler, and floated out of the mansion into the sweltering midday sun. Rebecca knew she might be drenched in sweat when she reached her apartment, and she did not have time to bathe. But she could still whip out a refresher from her toilette, such as the lily scented perfume she had packed, and splash some liberally onto her neck and wrists.
Back at her apartment, Rebecca laid out every single dress she had stowed away from Michigan. It was the first time the garments had seen the light of day since her arrival in Vienna, and they all seemed to be crying out for a steam iron to press them. But Rebecca had no time to go in search of an iron.
Swiftly, with a thoughtful nibble on her lower lip, Rebecca selected a figure-conscious aquamarine dress that made her eyes shine like blue topaz. She had packed the lace-trimmed dress optimistic that she would need it for a fancy evening out. It might not be typical daywear, but if the whole orchestra dressed as formally as Luke did, then she would not appear out of place. Rebecca struggled with the column of buttons that ran down the back of the dress from neck to rump, wishing for an instant that she had a lady attendant like the girls of a wealthier class.
“Ouch!” Rebecca shrieked as she twisted her arms like pretzels behind her, fastening the last blasted button on the dress and standing up straight with a giant exclamation of “humph!.”
She scavenged in her suitcase for her toilette and pulled out a heart-shaped glass bottle filled to the brim with perfume. The perfume had been a birthday gift from her grandmother, and she had never opened the bottle until this moment. As she inhaled the pristine, airy aroma of lilies, she felt instantly refreshed. Rebecca doused her body with the fragrant liquid, not just on her neck and wrists, but also dabbing some behind her ears, in between her breasts, and even a bit on her nape. She wanted to captivate Luke from all angles. Foregoing an application of maquillage in favor of arriving to the rehearsal hall
punctually, Rebecca hurried out of her chamber in a sweet floral breeze.
*****
The instrumentalists were warming up when Rebecca arrived at the rehearsal hall. They sounded out of tune with an eardrum-piercing, whining sound coming from a French horn and a clarinet squeaking out notes that even a music professor would not be able to identify. If the warm-up were any indication of the caliber of this orchestra, then they would never make it beyond the dingy rehearsal hall, let alone to an opera house in London. Shrinking back from the stage, Rebecca puckered her lips as though she had just swallowed a gallon of lemon juice.
“Don’t be discouraged by the warm-up. In a half hour’s time, beautiful music will permeate this entire building and drift outside to delight all of Vienna. Have faith.”
Mr. Graysen approached her with an engaging smile and outstretched hand. Feeling guilty for her blatant display of displeasure, Rebecca shook the conductor’s hand warmly.
“I have no doubt that you command a brilliant orchestra, Mr. Graysen.” She lowered her eyes in deference to the older gentleman.
“Thank you. That’s very kind, Miss Meadow. I’m glad to see you here. Please take a seat in the first row. We’ll be officially opening rehearsal very shortly.”
Mr. Graysen turned away to consult with a young trumpeter, who had just come to him with sheet music in hand, looking frazzled. Rebecca listened briefly, as Mr. Graysen convinced the lad that Mozart’s overture was not too complex and that he would be able to execute his part on the trumpet. Smiling, Rebecca made her way over to the first row, thinking how Christopher Graysen was an exemplary father figure to this group of young musicians.
As she seated herself in the front row, Rebecca glanced around the room, discreetly trying to pinpoint Luke. She didn’t see Luke, but she did spot her brother, tuning up his violin, and gave him a friendly wave. Deep in concentration, Ryan looked up from his violin, waved at his sister, and quickly returned to making adjustments so the bow and strings would play together in perfect accord.
Rebecca’s attention was stolen as the door to the rehearsal hall swung open and a stunning woman with a buttery blond French braid that reached her swaying hips entered the room. Several of the musicians instantly ceased their practice to gawk in her direction, as she sauntered flamboyantly over to the stage. The entire percussion section fell mute as the bewitching young woman, dressed from head to toe in crimson satin, tossed a brazen smile in their direction, flashing jewel-like eyes.
The tow-headed sylph was not carrying any instrument, and Rebecca instantly realized that this must the lead singer for whom she was the understudy. Rebecca had not even heard the emerald-eyed beauty utter a single note, but already she felt intimidated. The woman’s figure was more curvaceous than Rebecca’s slender frame. Jealously, Rebecca wondered if Luke admired the woman’s beauty.
Mr. Graysen interrupted his discussion with the cellist to greet the blond, who was waiting expectantly. They began to speak in a spitfire German that Rebecca could not understand, but she did notice when Mr. Graysen gestured in her direction. The woman looked over at Rebecca with mild interest, then quickly carried on her frustratingly incoherent conversation with the conductor. Rebecca tried to focus on the scene taking place on stage, as the musicians had resumed their seemingly tone deaf blowing and strumming. From the corner of her eye, Rebecca saw that the blond woman was gliding over to her, braid swinging like a pendulum over her derriere.
“It is Rebecca, ja?” The woman addressed her in heavily accented German.
Perceiving a trace of condescension in both the woman’s tone and demeanor, Rebecca answered in German, “Ja, ich heisse Rebecca.”
“But Mr. Graysen said that you do not speak Deutsch.”
“Well, I speak enough to be able to tell you that my name is Rebecca!” She snapped.
“I see. You are my understudy, is that correct?”
“Ja.” The syllable was spoken tightly.
The woman pursed her lips in condescending amusement and introduced herself without offering a handshake, “My name is Greta Schiller. I am the lead singer in this opera and in this orchestra.” Greta enunciated the words slowly and deliberately.
Rebecca hooded her eyes with plentiful auburn lashes so that Greta could not read her irritated expression. She knew it was unreasonable and that she had only just met the woman, but Rebecca had taken an immediate disliking to her. It wasn’t just that Greta had the part Rebecca wanted so fiercely or that her beauty was blinding---it was an intangible arrogance that the woman exuded.
Despite her misgivings about Greta, Rebecca knew that she would be interacting with the singer on a daily basis and would have to force herself to be congenial. “Pleased to meet you Greta. Are you Austrian?”
Greta burst into shrill little bubbles of mocking laughter. “No, Rebecca, I am Swiss.”
“I’m sorry, but is it somehow amusing to be mistaken for an Austrian?” Rebecca inquired, insulted by Greta’s bizarre reaction.
“No, it is not. You must excuse me because I like to laugh. I laugh at many things in life because it pleases me. You don’t look like a very laughing person, Rebecca.”
Laughter still gurgled in Greta’s throat as she spoke, and Rebecca thought that she had never met a more vapid individual. Only fools laughed when nothing was humorous. Fools, or wicked witches dressed in crimson, Rebecca thought disdainfully, convinced that her first impression of the snickering woman had not been too harsh.
“I laugh when something is amusing.” Rebecca said tersely, wishing she could snap her fingers and make Greta vanish.
Thankfully, Mr. Graysen clapped his hands and called the orchestra to order, saving Rebecca from the burden of conversing with the little twit. “Ladies and gentlemen, please put your instruments aside and join me in welcoming our newest understudy. For the role of Pamina, I present to you Miss Rebecca Meadow.” The room erupted into applause as Rebecca stood up shyly and curtsied.
Mr. Graysen continued, “Today is the second day of our rehearsal for The Magic Flute. I will reiterate what I told you yesterday about our goal for this performance. Our orchestra is destined to move beyond the confines of this building, and we must all believe that.”
Rebecca thought she saw Mr. Graysen throw a backwards glance in her direction, reminding her that she needed to have faith.
“Furthermore, our ultimate goal is to go where?”
“To London!” Luke’s voice sounded and Rebecca squinted to identify him on the stage. Presently, Greta seemed to be standing directly in front of him and obstructed Rebecca’s view.
“Yes, Mr. Springwell, we certainly do strive to perform in London. If we gain prominence in London, it will only be a matter of time before we are asked to perform in Rome, Paris, and capital cities all over the globe!”
Mr. Graysen adjusted his polka-dotted bowtie and set his silver-rimmed glasses higher on the bridge of his nose before continuing with an air of seriousness. “However, in our quest to become a foremost international orchestra, we must never sacrifice the integrity of the music…or the integrity of ourselves. There is to be no conniving or competition within our team. We are here to interpret the greatest music ever composed, and even if it takes us ten seasons to reach London, we will accomplish that goal in earnest.”
Rebecca observed as the orchestra members nodded vigorously and beamed with pride at Mr. Graysen’s motivating speech. It was exciting to be part of such an inspired group of musicians, even if she had to be relegated to the sidelines for now. As Greta waltzed onto center stage, Rebecca tried to remain expressionless, waiting for her to begin singing. Rebecca’s eyes wandered, though, to Luke who had positioned his violin under his chin, poised to begin. She tried to catch his eye from her seat, but he seemed lost in his own mental realm, oblivious that she was even in the room.
“Let us begin this afternoon with Pamina’s famous aria, shall we?” Mr. Graysen picked up his baton and motioned for the orchestra to begin playing.
The other chorus members stood off to the side, carving space for Greta to enter the spotlight. Face swollen with inflated self-confidence, Greta parted her scarlet bee-stung lips that matched the bold shade of her dress and launched into the aria.
Rebecca listened with cringing horror as the woman screeched and chirped her way through the aria, utterly butchering the magnificent piece. If the musicians had sounded questionable during the warm-up, then Greta’s execution of the aria was inestimably worse. Rebecca had to keep her arms bolted to her sides in order to resist the mounting urge to slap her hands over her suffering ears.
At one point, Greta’s “singing” transitioned into a sort of chortling, much like the mindless giggles that had erupted from her throat earlier. As she chortled, she batted her eyelashes ridiculously, flirting with an invisible audience. When Greta finally reached the soaring climax of the aria, she looked as though she were about to collapse with the strain. For a strongly built woman, she did not have the necessary lung capacity to be an opera singer.
Cynically, Rebecca stared at her, surmising that Greta had been hired merely for her prettiness, which she possessed in abundance, and not her talent, of which there was an astonishing scarcity. When she had hammered out the last tortured note of the aria, Greta took a sweeping bow and affixed her hand to her bosom as though she were fielding a standing ovation. Mr. Graysen’s face was a complete enigma, as were Luke’s and Ryan’s. Rebecca thought she saw a look of distaste on one of the flutist’s faces, an older, mustached man who had likely heard infinitely more glorious voices in his career.
Mr. Graysen set down his baton and caressed his beard pensively. “There is ample room for improvement, my friends. And I am addressing not just our instrumentalists, but our vocalist as well.”
Rebecca felt triumphant, as Mr. Graysen proved that he was not besotted with Greta’s allure, but valued the goals of the entire ensemble. “This rehearsal hall is not the only place you ought to be practicing. Practice at home, on the train, in the bath, on the street!”
Eternal Melody Page 8