AVSAIE 40

Chapter 40

*** 

"I can catch a shared carriage here..."

Distracted by the street noise, Christine hadn't noticed the footsteps beside her had stopped. Flustered, she looked around.

She immediately noticed the sandy-colored hair peeking out from under the man's old bowler hat, who had been walking alongside her, claiming they were going the same way.

That man, Mr. Oscar, stood against the wall of a shop covered densely with advertising flyers, job postings, and performance posters. Behind him, a shared carriage could be seen in the distance, rounding the western entrance of Greenwood Park and racing this way. It was the carriage bound for Westwall as its final stop.

Christine, adjusting the heavy envelope containing the scriptbook and German dictionary, approached Mr. Oscar. It was to say goodbye.

"A friend who saw 'Camellia' said..."

Mr. Oscar, who had been looking at the poster displayed by the Gounod Opera House, turned his face toward her.

"Christine Peildon is an angel of music."

"...”

The man's eyes, tinged with sunset, gazed down at Christine as if observing her.

"Come to think of it, you do have wings."

Temporarily speechless, Christine burst out laughing. The man seized the moment and asked playfully.

"Right? The one who charmed my friend."

"Unfortunately, I'm neither an angel nor do I have wings. Please be sure to tell that friend of yours I'm grateful."

"Of course."

Mr. Oscar turned to face Christine directly. The man, who had been watching her through the falling snowflakes, leaned his upper body forward at an angle.

"And now, it would be best to lower your veil."

People crowding around the carriage glanced sideways, shifting their gaze between the two. Since the luncheon with the Crown Prince, interest in Christine had been intense, not just in high society but among commoners too.

The woman who won the Crown Prince's favor with a single song.

Thanks to her, Greta's theater companies were overflowing with aspiring opera singers.

Christine, growing impatient, hurriedly tried to pull down her veil with one hand, but it caught on something, causing trouble.

"Just a moment."

The shadow of the man standing with his back to the afternoon sun gently fell over Christine's head as a neat hand grasped the veil.

"Let me try."

As he bent his head to untangle the ribbon-bound veil, the distance between them grew so close their noses nearly touched.

"No, it's fine."

"Don't move. The veil will tear."

Tension filled the silence. Though the surroundings were noisy, beneath the black veil it felt utterly still, as if cut off from the world.

"There, it's done."

After untangling the knot and gently holding the veil, the man glanced down at Christine briefly before letting go.

The gaze they shared held something peculiar.

Eyes as tender as a spring breeze, yet as unstable as a sandcastle, threatening to crumble at any moment.

Just as those eyes began to feel slightly burdensome, the veil slowly descended, and the man's figure blurred behind the dotted pattern.

***

A young girl suddenly appeared before Cecilia, holding a red paper flower and hesitating.

"Are you giving this to me?"

The girl nodded shyly, hesitantly extending her hand. Like most orphans, her hands were stained with grime, holding a crude artificial flower.

"Thank you. I'll treasure it."

Cecilia smiled brightly and accepted what the girl offered. Camera flashes flickered everywhere, and the acrid smell of gunpowder carried on the wind stung her eyes.

Winter was the season for charity work in Greta. The volunteer group, composed of Royal Conservatory alumni led by Cecilia Deimos, visited an orphanage near the capital today.

"Th-thank you. I'm a fa-fan. I want to be an opera singer like you, Miss."

A ragged-looking girl, her face flushed red, fidgeted nervously.

Seeing this, the orphanage director pulled the child's collar, creating distance between her and Cecilia Deimos. He kept the dirty children from getting too close, afraid they might offend the Lady.

"Mind your manners. That's how children are these days. Their bellies are full thanks to the Duke's patronage, so they dream of impossible things."

Children emaciated from malnutrition, others swollen as if sick. It seemed the only one with a full belly here was the director himself.

"Huh, it's not a pipe dream!"

The girl cried out softly.

"Now, anyone who sings well can perform at the Royal Opera House—."

"This brat, can't you keep your mouth shut?"

Cecilia gently stroked the child's head, who had shrunk back at the director's scolding, and spoke kindly.

"Make sure you fulfill that dream."

Sunlight pouring down from the sky seemed entirely for her, illuminating Cecilia alongside the camera flashes.

Cecilia climbed into the carriage and waved to the children through the window. As the golden wheels began to turn, the children excitedly swarmed around the carriage, trailing behind.

A faint, musty odor drifted on the wind from the children, who hadn't been bathed often in the winter, but Cecilia never lost her picture-perfect smile.

As the carriage sped away from the orphanage's iron gate, the maid closed the carriage door.

"The curtains too."

The white lace curtains blocked the harsh light. Cecilia tossed the cheap bouquet to the maid as if discarding it and changed into a fresh pair of gloves.

"Did you see? Those hands? Honestly, that filthy state is hard to get used to."

"Honestly, I have no idea where all that charity money goes."

One lady sighed, holding a perfume bottle to her nose with an expression of utter incomprehension.

"What else could it be but the director embezzling it? The greed of the have-nots."

Another lady shuddered, waving her feather fan vigorously as if trying to dispel an ingrained odor.

"By the way, isn't the timing just incredible?"

Rosalyn, the group’s designated news source, changed the subject.

"After His Royal Highness the Crown Prince and Miss Peildon’s luncheon meeting, the Royal Opera House changed its policy. Did everyone see today's paper?"

Cecilia, who had been quietly closing her eyes, looked up at Rosalyn when the topic of interest arose.

"His Highness's name wasn't mentioned anywhere in the article. But you're saying Miss Peildon influenced His Highness? That's pure speculation, Rosalyn. What do you take His Royal Highness the Crown Prince for?"

"Of course he's a man. And not just any man, but the most handsome man in Bern—no, on this entire continent—a man who possesses everything. It's said His Highness swept up every single item from the Amarine dressmaker's. What do you think that signifies?"

“…”

The carriage fell silent. Then, as if remembering something, someone snapped their folded fan shut and said.

"Come to think of it, His Highness attended the premiere of 'Camellia' at the Gounod Theatre, didn't he?"

"Could it be... from that time?"

A sudden realization brought the carriage back into silence. Jealousy and curiosity tangled in the ladies' eyes.

If their relationship began then, or even earlier, all the circumstances suddenly made perfect sense.

From the unknown singer being cast in the lead role without warning, to her solo performance at the state banquet, to the Crown Prince personally paying an astronomical bid price—and even going so far as to abolish the Royal Opera House's regulations.

Faced with such overwhelming circumstantial evidence, there was no room for doubt.

"That's not right. Violet was Miss Fiona Bennet from the start, wasn't she?"

"Ah...! That's right. That's right."

Someone murmured in relief.

"Mind your words. Damaging His Royal Highness the Crown Prince's reputation with unverified facts is not the behavior befitting a lady of refinement."

Cecilia advised softly.

Her deepening eyes took on a dark green hue. Beneath the tense atmosphere, a restrained anger could be felt.

Was the world the orphan girl spoke of—where anyone with talent could sing at the Royal Opera House—nothing more than the price paid for a night of entangled passion between man and woman?

“I don't do that sort of thing with my cousins.”

A cold voice rang in her ears.

This is even dirtier, Arthur.

The soft velvet dress crumpled quietly in her hands, like Cecilia's wounded feelings. She didn't want to see Arthur for a while.

"Isn't tomorrow the last day of the Camellia performance?"

Rosalyn, oblivious as ever, changed the subject once more.

"Why don't we all go together? Aren't you curious whether His Highness will come or not?"

Excited Rosalyn wiggled her hips, trying to stir up the mood.

The other ladies, wary of Cecilia's reaction, didn't openly join in, but they all shared the same sentiment.

They were unbearably curious to see just how talented this woman was, who dared to dream of the Royal Opera House without knowing her place.

But Cecilia was unbearably curious whether Arthur would appear there.