by Aria Norton
"I believe I can answer that," said a gentleman as he pushed back the curtain.
Helena groaned. Peter is the last person I wish to see tonight. The man was insufferable! It didn't matter how many time she refused his advances, he always seemed to be hot on her heels. He must have been standing at the curtain- I don't see how else he could have heard my question. Peter was followed by three other gentlemen, prompting Sophie to straighten in her chair.
“Oh?” said Sophie. “Then do please enlighten us.”
Peter smiled at all the women, but instead of settling his gaze on Sophie, he looked at Helena. Sophie will not like that.
“To answer your question, Lady Barclay, I would say that this performance is a wonderful rendition of that love story. It has all the drama, tragedy, and romance you would expect from such a performance. Mr George Frederic Handel- the composer- did a wonderful job.”
Helena could have gladly gone without such an 'I know everything' sort of explanation, but that was simply how Peter was. He indeed was a know-it-all and never lost a moment to prove it.
“Oh, thank you, Mr Leeds,” Sophie gushed. “You have explained it so wonderfully. I take it you have watched it before?”
Helena could have kissed her friend at that moment. Peter was forced to focus his attention on Sophie for the sake of politeness, but Helena could see that the man was straining his neck to try and keep Helena within sight. Not interested in what he had to say, Helena turned to the musicians who were taking their seats. Most of them were men, but there were two or three women with harps.
"You would think that music would be an equal right, but even that is male-dominated," she muttered to herself.
When would the time come when female musicians could sit front and centre at such performances? Instead, the women seemed to be on the edges where most people would not be able to see them. Shaking her head, Helena continued to watch the musicians, her eyes falling on one particular gentleman. He appeared detached from the rest of the group, but he was clearly one of the leading musicians judging by his seat.
“Helena?” Candace called.
“Yes?” she said, turning to her companions.
“Mr Leeds has asked you a question.”
Of course, he has. “Yes?”
“I have heard that your father might leave for London before the Season starts,” he said. “Will you be accompanying him?”
What sort of question was that? Ah, I see. He wishes to know if I'll be looking for a suitor before the Season begins. Helena was attending it for her parents' sake, but she had no aspirations of being a married woman before the age of twenty. Her parents did not know this yet, but they eventually would.
“I do not know of this change in plans, so I cannot give you an answer.”
Peter opened his mouth to speak, but music began to play. Thank goodness! The performance was about to start.
“Would you excuse me?” Helena said politely. “I would hate to miss the start. I'm sure you understand? I imagine that you and your fellow men need to return to your seats as well.”
Peter was undoubtedly disappointed, but he could do nothing but bow and exit the box. Everyone else left until it was just Helena and her two friends.
“Finally! Some peace and quiet,” she sighed.
“You were quite rude to poor Peter, Helena,” Sophie accused.
Helena's eyebrows rose in faint amusement “Was I? I didn't notice. I'm sure he didn't think so. Why not focus on the play? Peter gave it such glowing compliments.”
Shaking her head, Sophie settled in her seat, but her eyes kept straying to the audience rather than the stage. Typical Sophie. Candace already looked primed to sleep, but she knew to stay awake until at least the end of the first act.
The crowd quietened as the curtains were drawn back, and the actors were revealed. Helena picked out each character, identifying Caesar, and his general Curius. The musicians did an excellent job of giving power to Caesar's character; one could feel how important he was.
A woman entered the stage, a young man following close behind her. Helena sat riveted as the woman- Cornelia- sung, imploring Ceasar to reach a peace agreement for her husband's sake. Shock ran through the crowd when a severed head was brought on stage. Everyone knew that it was not real, but the gruesome thought of a headless man was uppermost in their minds.
Tears fell down Helena's cheeks as Cornelia lamented her husband's death, while her son vowed for revenge. Dabbing her cheeks and eyes, Helena focused on the musicians. If not for them, she knew that her emotions would not be rising and dipping with such force. They all sported faces of great concentration, watching the rise and fall of the conductor's hand movements.
One particular man caught her attention, the very same one she had noticed before. Helena would have been able to tell that this man was a musician just by the way he carried himself. Tall, slender, and curly-haired, the man's violin seeming to be a mere extension of him. He looks to be almost caressing the instrument.
A tap on her arm drew her attention away from the man and to her friend. Sophie was frowning at her.
“What is it?” Helena hissed.
“You are missing the most important part of the performance! Caesar has just met Cleopatra. Stop looking at the orchestra and focus on the actors.”
“Must you always be so bossy?” Helena retorted, but did as her friend asked.
Cleopatra, disguised as Lydia, put on a remarkable act of pretending to be a woman of noble birth robbed of her birthright by Ptolemy. The scene moved forward to Caesar, Cornelia and Sextus' visit to Ptolemy. Helena was interested to see what young Sextus would do to avenge his father's death, if he would take on Ptolemy. Her lips curled in distaste when Ptolemy expressed his interest in Cornelia, the wife of the man he had mercilessly beheaded.
“Do not listen to Achillas,” she urged Cornelia.
How dare the man offer Cornelia her freedom in return for her favours?! Of all the disgusting things to do. Triumph filled Helena when the woman refused and was promptly thrown into prison.
Act Two played out a famous scene present in any story full of enticement and intrigue. Helena believed that because women were secretly powerful and far more intelligent than any man, they were forced into positions where they had to use their feminine wiles to get what they want.
Helena would never do that herself, but she didn't dismiss the women that did. Take Cleopatra, for example. The woman was pretending to be a servant in the palace and had arranged some 'entertainment' to further entice Caesar. For all his intelligence, wealth, and position as one of the most powerful men of his time, Caesar falls for Cleopatra's lies.
“I suppose that's why they have to keep us under their thumbs as their little wives,” Helena muttered darkly.
As Cornelia took centre stage to lament her husband's untimely death, Helena's eyes were drawn back to the musicians. The woman sang beautifully, but it was the violinist who was pulling the tears from Helena's very eyes. The handsome man had stood up to take his solo, and had his eyes closed, blocking out everything but the instrument in his hands. Helena was riveted.
The passion, oh, the passion! Her heart swelled with every high note and fell with the low. Inching forward on her seat, Helena lay her arms on the edge of the box, not caring if her flowing tears fell on the head of people below her. Finally, the man ended his solo, leaving her an emotional mess. Trembling, Helena sat back in her chair, her hand over her thudding heart.
“Oh, my.” she breathed.
Helena hoped that the man would have another solo, but he didn't. As the performance ended with a happily ever after for Caesar and Cleopatra, Helena had one thing in mind: to meet the violinist.
The curtains closed, and the audience erupted into applause. The actors appeared once more, taking a bow before they returned backstage. Helena kept her eyes on the violinist, watching him make his way to the side and around the back.
“How on earth will I manage to meet him?”
Helena didn't want to tell her friends that she wanted to run after a stranger. “Oh, the owner of this opera house. I wish to commend him on a job well done. The performance was wonderful!”
“Oh, then that would be Mr Cavanaugh,” said Sophie. “He's an old friend of Father.”
Oh, she knew Mr Cavanaugh well! Helena tried to dampen her excitement, but she still sounded like a child getting her first puppy.
“Would you excuse me? I think that I'll go look for him. I simply must thank him for bringing this marvellous performance here.”
Sophie shrugged. “If you must. We'll remain here until you return.”
Helena left their box, heading downstairs and towards the back when she was sure the actors would be congregating.
“I hope they will allow me in.”
To her surprise, the guard at the door leading backstage gave her a pass without question once he asked who she was.
“Oh, thank you,” she said. “Is everyone allowed backstage?”
“No, Lady Barclay. Mr Cavanaugh has a list of people he gives precedence to. Your father is one of them, so I figured you would be allowed as well.”
“Oh. Well, thank you. May I just walk through?”
“Yes, my lady.”
I suppose there are always perks to being an Earl's daughter. Helena thought about the questions she would ask the violinist once she saw him. She really wanted to know what drove him to play with such emotion and passion. Taking a few more steps forward, Helena saw him surrounded by other violinists.
“There you are,” she smiled.
Chapter 4
Nathaniel was feeling so energised that he could have easily swum the River Thames twice and still have energy to spare. Everything had gone smoothly, including the solo he had been worried about. Not only had he been forced to learn the music for all three acts of the performance, but he was given a solo quite at the last minute. Everything going well was a testament to his talent.
Loosening the hair on his brow, he prepared to put his violin away when all his fellow violinists came and thumped him on the back.
“Good show, Baudelaire!” said a man he remembered as Barnard. “You really held up your side well. We were worried that Finley falling sick would ruin the entire performance, but it seems that he did a good thing by suddenly falling sick.”
“Yes!” another man confirmed. “You played better than he did, although no one must quote me saying so. We all know what a temper Finley has. He'll likely get me kicked out faster than I can tighten my bow!”
The men surrounding Nathaniel agreed, all nodding their heads. Nathaniel had never met the man, but he was clearly not liked by his fellow musicians.
"He's connected to our employer," Barnard offered, probably seeing Nathaniel's surprised look. "I think they're family, although I'm not entirely confident of that. They spend a lot of time together, which has raised a few eyebrows. No one dares to say anything for fear of the consequences. Sometimes one must learn to look the other way."
The man was clearly trying to tell him something, but Nathaniel couldn't figure it out. If the men were spending a considerable amount of time together, then surely they were friends? Barnard makes it seem that there is something entirely different happening. Two splotches of colour appeared on Nathaniel's cheeks when he finally understood what Barnard was hinting at.
Coughing, Nathaniel didn't know where to look. Barnard laughed, thumping him on the back.
“Sensitive ears, ey? It's rampant, you know. Each to their own,” the man shrugged.
Nathaniel rubbed the nape of his neck, looking for the words to say. “Well, I, um, I feel honoured having played with other fantastic musicians. I would gladly play with you again.”
"Do you hear that, men? Baudelaire here would like to play with us again. What do you say to getting Finley permanently out of the way?"
Nathaniel's eyes bulged. “Sorry?”
Nathaniel came from a peaceful family who never resorted to violence. The closest anyone had got to violence was Nathaniel's grandfather threatening to tie James Maxwell to the back of a horse and wagon. Of course, the threat had not been made in person, but it had nevertheless surprised the family. He probably would have deserved it anyway.
The men suddenly erupted into laughter, startling the other musicians and performers around them. Nathaniel was not used to such boisterous behaviour and found himself inching back. It wasn't that he was afraid of the men, quite the contrary, but he preferred a calm and peaceful environment of reserved people. Those who could intelligently discuss a topic and laugh with self-control. These men were the complete opposite of that.
“It's a joke, Baudelaire,” Barnard chuckled. “We're musicians, not vicious men with murderous intent.”
"Yes, of course," said Nathaniel, not at all convinced. People didn't just make jokes like this without some intent. "Well, uh, I should be going. I must rest these fingers before the next performance."
"You can't think to leave now!" the men objected. "Stay awhile."
“We've reserved a table at a local tavern,” Barnard explained. “The food is good, but the alcohol is better. It's strictly for violinists.”
The thought of having a drink and meal with these men wasn't appealing at all. Nathaniel didn't think himself a snob, but he had better things to do with his time than sit with men who would likely be drunk by the end of the night. Nathaniel's grandfather always taught him that excess in anything ruined a man. It was better to be self-controlled and motivated.
“Thank you, for the offer, gentlemen, but I'm afraid that I have other plans.”
“Would your plans include that vision of beauty coming our way?” Barnard asked.
His brow creased, Nathaniel turned around to see the woman he had noticed earlier. He was rarely one to look around his environment when he was playing, but Nathaniel had felt compelled to look up. The first person he had seen was a tearful, but attractive woman staring at the performers on the stage.
She had sat with her arms folded on the edge of her box, her crown of golden hair sitting like a halo on her head. Nathaniel had been so riveted that he had almost missed his cue to begin his solo. Mortified that he had succumbed to the lure of beauty, he had made it a point not to look at the woman again. And yet here she is coming towards us.
“She seems to be looking at you, Baudelaire,” said Barnard, nudging him with his elbow. “Do you know her? If so, do me a favour and introduce me. It's not often a poor sod like me gets to meet such stunning creatures.”
“I don't know her, either,” Nathaniel insisted.
“Indeed? Well, then, all's fair in love and war.”
The man smoothed his hair back, adjusted his neck-tie and stood in front of Nathaniel. For one insane second, Nathaniel contemplated pushing Barnard out of the way. It was like a surge of jealousy had come over him, but it disappeared as soon as it made itself known.
Nathaniel stared at the woman for longer than he thought necessary and was grateful when Barnard's voice shook him out of whatever had come over him.
"My fair lady," Barnard said, stepping towards the woman.
Nathaniel was ready to walk away, but the woman said something that stopped him.
“Good evening, gentlemen. May I please speak to that gentlemen? The one with the black, curly hair?”
That would be him! None of the other men had the same colour or curls in their hair. Why on earth would she want to talk to me? Nathaniel stepped forward, finding himself wanting to adjust his suit. The woman smiled when she saw him, holding out her gloved hand. "Good evening, sir. It's an absolute pleasure to meet you. I'm Helena."