Clockwork Phantom

Chapter 2-1

2

Théâtre Bohème, 1 December 1870

“Now as for you…” Madame St. Jean turned to Johann, and he had to take his eyes from the retreating figure of her daughter. He made it a policy not to ogle young women when their mothers were present—he’d almost gotten trapped into marriage that way once—but he couldn’t help himself. Since Rome, he’d found himself slipping in his policies around Marie, and he’d need to find a new distraction soon. One that would stick or at least do a better job of getting her out of his head.

“What about me?” he asked with the lopsided grin he used to charm women of all ages.

“I have been looking for a first violin who can lead the stage orchestra in the Overture and Entr’acte pieces with the kind of emotion Berlioz’s music deserves. So far I have not found anyone, but I have heard you play.”

“You’ve heard me practice,” Johann corrected her. “Not play. I’m taking a break from performing in large venues at the moment.”

“I am aware of your reputation, Maestro. All of it.” She fixed him with her glittering black stare. “And need I remind you that you and your friends have been staying under my roof with no recompense to this point?”

“Professor Bailey and Mister O’Connell are working on a new lighting system for you, and I believe Doctor Radcliffe set one of your stage hand’s broken wrist a few weeks ago,” Johann pointed out.

“Working on is not the same as installing or fixing, and all of you owe me more than a set wrist.”

Johann took a deep breath and did what he usually did when faced with a difficult woman, ask what she truly wanted. Not just from him, but from life. The answer came to him—Madame wanted to have control down to the smallest detail. She acted with the aggressiveness of someone who had let it slip once and had lost a great deal. He wondered if it had something to do with her hatred of Parnaby Cobb and the past connection with him that Marie refused to talk about.

Then he asked himself how he could use the situation to his advantage. Not getting kicked out and having to return to England and face the men who wanted to kill him seemed beneficial enough for the moment. Not that he was going anywhere during the siege. No one was, at least not unless they could bribe their way on to an airship.

“I’ll look at the score,” he said, unwilling to give all the way.

“Bien.” She walked to the orchestra pit—without the aid of her cane, he noticed—reached down to a shelf, and gave him a first violin score. “This should not be difficult for you.”

“I’m sure it won’t be.” Especially since I’ve played the Symphonie Fantastique before. But again, he wasn’t going to say it. He’d learned the hard way not to reveal all his advantages in antagonistic situations like this. But he also knew there was more to the situation than Madame St. Jean let on.