Adult-FanFiction.org : Books

A New Beginning - Revised	By : Lum Category: M through R > The Phantom of the Opera > Het Views: 2072 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do now own The Phantom of the Opera and I am not making any money from this work.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
- 3
Disclaimer: please see the prologue for the disclaimer.
A New Beginning
Architect

Erik
Erik stayed in New York for a few short months while he established his reputation as an architect amongst the plethora of wealthy upper-crusts that inhabited the cleaner, safer parts of the city. It was as if there was a great divide amongst the wealthy and the poor; an invisible wall that separated the two. It was a fortunate few immigrants that ever made their way from the docks to the inside of the city for a barricade of prejudice and inopportunity served to block those who sought freedom and prosperity from their goal.
It was his relentless tenacity and his ability to twist the human mind that aided him in his transition into the mostly highly sought after architect and engineer. News of his infamousness never crossed the sea, nor would it have hindered him. The American aristocrats were starved for Parisian flair and European class, and Erik was the man who could deliver. His aloofness and oftentimes cruel manner aided him in blending in by standing out. None dared question the obviousness of the half-mask for fear of sparking one of his rages.
He was not, however, without his kindness. The opportunity arose to travel to Chicago to design a building, a skyscraper, so named because it was the contractor's dream for it to appear to touch the sky. The pay was meager for the amount of work and thought that this building demanded. In the end it was the challenge that swayed his decision. To build the tallest building in America and compose it mostly of fragile glass was a trial that he relished.
As a child he had been obsessed with mirrors. They were at once his bane and his salvation, and he conquered them with ease. They exposed the truth, yet they could be manipulated. And he was a master of illusions.
He delighted in the challenge of this impossible building, and threw himself into work as if he’d have died the moment he rested. And if there was one thing Erik desired more than power it was knowledge. They claimed that his task was impossible. He vowed that he would prove them wrong, as he had so many countless times before.
Erik's reinvention of the ancient Greek technique of reinforced concrete revolutionized the modern world. Buildings were no longer limited to wood and stone and they posed less of a threat to fire or damage. It was this boost of fame that spread his name like wildfire amongst the wealthy all the way to Virginia, and that name was Erik Durmand. It was in this simple state of mountains, fields, and expanding cities that fate decided to hand Erik a new card.
One late April evening Erik received a letter detailing a wealthy merchant's plans to build a second home for his family. The invitation arrived crisp and clean. It was a fine, expensive piece of thick cream parchment sealed with blue wax stamped with the image of a sparrow in flight. The note itself was short and simple, giving the newly famous architect a brief description of the patron's wishes. It was the simplicity of the language and the distinct lack of pompous arrogance of wealth that saved the letter from fueling the fire in the hearth of Erik's library. He gave it another glance before browsing the neatly scripted lines once more.
Mr. Durmand,
I am contacting you in regards to a business arrangement. I am in need of an architect to design and oversee the building of a second home that is to be a gift for my daughter. She has quite an imagination, one that has proved too daunting for other architects. Payment for your talents will be generous with an added bonus if construction is completed within one year. I eagerly await your reply,
Johnathan Swift
Raleigh, North Carolina
Erik stared into the fire, seeing beyond the crackling flames as he puzzled over the proposition. A daughter's supposed imagination that would send lesser men running intrigued him greatly. At the same time he was wary. His brief affair with the master stonemason and father figure Giovani had ended abruptly and horrifyingly with the death of the architect's daughter, Luciana. Spoiled and naïve Luciana was his first glimpse of tragic beauty. He still blamed himself for her death. And Christine, sweet and beautiful Christine who had forsaken him too still haunted his thoughts. She had trembled with fright and acceptance as she kissed his cheek in the cellars below the grand opera house, as if his face were there to merely torment her. It was because she would give her body and voice to him but not her heart that made Erik let her go. He had vowed to live his life in studious bachelorhood. If only he’d found enough work to keep him occupied. Lately, he’d grown bored. The skyscraper had been a unique challenge. But Americans were tedious and he had grown tired of reading the same proposals day after day. Taller, bigger, more. Everything must be new and bigger and better than the last. But there was no appreciation for subtlety or uniqueness beauty. His genius was wasted, yet again.
Thoughts of Christine still haunted him in his moments of rest. Selfishly he would not have her if he could not have her completely. He knew that while her body was willing to spend the rest of her life with him, her soul would have withered into dust before the year was out. She was a creature of light and happiness; he was one of dark and despair. She could have never loved him as he wished her to, and so he pushed her away before he destroyed her. He was doomed to live alone. Erik glanced at the letter again before letting it fall to the floor by his feet. He removed his mask with a deep sigh and ran his fingers over his face as he often did when faced with a difficult or trying decision. Brash he was not, and neither was he foolish. Daughters posed a threat to his sanity.
Weighing the pros of relieving his boredom against the cons of dealing with another young woman Erik decided to accept the invitation. He had decided that denial was the best way to deal with this, and chose to believe that the daughter must be very young for no young miss was equipped with imagination in this day and age. ‘Imagination is bled out of young women by governesses just as illnesses are with leeches,’ he thought. He made a resolution that night, one he was destined to break irrevocably, that he would never again have his judgment clouded by the cold beauty of a woman. He rose and crossed to his writing desk to find a piece of unused parchment.

Madison - 3 Months Prior
Madison looked out the small window of the carriage that tumbled and bounced down the uneven country road on the cold January morning. She was almost unseated as one of the wheels found a particularly large dip in the road. She grunted at the impact as Robert the head stableman who her father employed at the estate shouted down his apology. She smiled to herself and yelled back to him sarcastically, "Robert, do you think it would be possible if we could hit every bump in the road today? I think you missed one back there!” He laughed warmly as he maneuvered the horses around the worst of the road.
She craned her head to view more of the magnificent scenery. Winter was holding fast but would soon be giving way to spring, which was the busiest time of the year for her father. The Swifts had been providing grain to the dozens of farms and merchants in the Raleigh area for more than two generations. Soon the springs in the mountain would begin to thaw and the power source for the large wooden mill would be renewed for another six months. The corn that had been drying out all winter in the large storage bin by the mill would finally be ground. The coarser meal would be sold to farmers as livestock feed while the finer meal would be ground and sold to general stores in the capital and smaller, surrounding cities.
The corners of Madison's mouth turned upwards as they passed an apple orchard, tiny green buds of leaves struggled for sunlight among the winter-roughened tree branches. Soon the orchard would be bursting with greens and pinks and whites as the apple blossoms opened and gave off their sweet perfume. Spring was her favorite time of year and she was greatly looking forward to it. In just a few months the air would warm and the change to spring and summer would usher in a lovely riot of colors. It was as if Mother Nature were waiting to shake off an old blanket to reveal a fresh young radiance. As the carriage jostled past the edge of the orchard and rounded a familiar bend she knew that they were nearly home.
No matter how many times she saw it the large pale blue house always took her breath away. Perhaps the white trim needed a fresh coat of paint and the shutter furthest from the door was a little crooked, but it was home nonetheless. The old plantation house had been built by Madison's great grandfather in the late seventeen hundreds. It was built in the Greek revival style. A square two-story building with large Corinthian columns connected to the wrap-around awning; they provided support to the house and shade against the hot summers as well as a place to sit and sip cold lemonade. A small, plainer building off to the side had been converted from the old slave's quarters to rooms for the summer harvesters.
During her grandfather's time the corn fields had been harvested by slaves. Her grandfather was neither cruel nor kind. He valued hard, honest work and was a fair man. After the civil war when many ex-slaves could not find work in the north they returned to the south. Her father now employed over a dozen servants to maintain the house and mills all year, and hired twice as many harvesters to tend the fields at the end of the growing season.
Madison held her heather soft grey wool walking skirt to one side as she stepped down from the carriage; freshly polished black leather ankle boots stirring up dust from between the rocks that made up the gravel driveway. She looked over her shoulder as the horse master and occasional stagecoach descended from the driver's seat. "I'll bring your luggage inside in just a moment, miss." She nodded curtly and murmured a thank you as she began to make her way to the front door. The housekeeper, Ummi, opened the door and waved merrily and Madison could not help but break out into a huge grin as she saw the woman who had cared for her since she was little. After four long years at school she was finally home.

Madison braced herself against the heavy oak bedpost as the housekeeper, Ummi, tightened her corset. "Is my father still going on about that new house he wants to build?" she asked between pulls.
The housekeeper tsked at the question before giving the corset one last good tug, tying the laces as she replied, "Miss, you know I don't pry, and it certainly is none of my never mind what Mr. Swift does or does not do. I mind my own business. But if you ask me, he is only asking for trouble with those fancy architects. What's he gonna do with another big fancy house anyways? But it's none of my never mind and I'm not gonna say anything." Madison smiled at the woman as a long sleeved day dress was thrown over her head and she was laced and buttoned and tugged into her clothes.
Ummi had always been more than the housekeeper to Madison. She had been working in the Swift household ever since she was old enough to work as a scullery maid. Her mother had been the housekeeper at that time, keeping the house in order and the workers working. She was diligent and efficient. Ummi had quickly risen in the ranks as she grew older, and eventually took over her mother's role in the household when the woman grew too old to work the long days that were required.
When Madison's mother had died Ummi had taken over that role as well. She had governesses and tutors of course, but Ummi was the person she went to when she scraped her knee while attempting to climb the large oak by her bedroom window, or when her father scolded her. Madison smoothed the fabric of the forest green dress over her hips and tucked her white chemise further out of sight.
The deep green of the fabric offset her hazel eyes, making tiny flecks of green and gold come alive. Picking up a brown velvet hair ribbon from the white vanity table she pulled her long, wavy blonde hair back from her face. It was the shade of honey being poured into a jar, a shade that brightened in the sun and darkened in candlelight and had a slight wave that added fullness to her oval face.
She was fair of face and figure, but no great or stunning beauty. Her hips were too full and her nose was rounded at the end. Her most redeeming feature was her smile, which when freely given lit up her eyes and softened her face. She hated the unladylike smattering of freckles across her cheeks and nose. They betrayed her carefree spirit to everyone she met. Years of hat wearing like a proper young miss had done little to make them disappear as she bloomed from childhood to adulthood.
A few tendrils of hair that were too short to be tied back framed her face. She sat before the mirror studying her profile before she stuck out here tongue and crossed her eyes. Ummi caught this and shook her head, "are you a young lady, or a little miss?" the woman asked in a chiding voice.
Madison smiled bashfully into the mirror and powdered her freckles.
She wandered down the main downstairs corridor trailing one hand against the brightly decorated cloth covered walls while the other held a book of poems against her hip. She was lost in thought as she made her way to the library, one of the few rooms she ever actually spent any large amount of time inside.
The sun was shining brightly through the freshly cleaned windows and illuminating the oak flooring and the few pieces of furniture that occupied the long hallway. She was lost in thought as she passed the dining room and reached her hand to the ornately decorated brass doorknob that opened one of the large French doors that led to the library.
Her skirt rustled about her ankles as she closed the door behind her and crossed to one of the extensive bookshelves. She pulled book upon book from the shelves, Shakespeare and Homer, romantic novels by Jane Austen and Mary Shelley's dark novella Frankenstein. She devoured the written word for her passion had been stifled at boarding school.
Madame Trousseau's Finishing School for Young Ladies was of the mind that a young woman's time was better spent embroidering handkerchiefs and learning the delicate art of being a proper hostess than reading and filling one's head with silly ideas of justice and equality.
According to Madame Trousseau, whom Madison found out was not even really French, the only books a woman needed to study were Shakespeare and a few choice poet's works. Even then a lady was limited to the comedies and lighter fare, save Romeo and Juliet; tragedies such as Macbeth or Hamlet were unsuitable reading material for a gently bred woman for they might upset her disposition or offend her senses.
Madison had been nearly bored to tears. Every year she pleaded with her father that she would be much happier at home and every year he denied her wish and packed her off to the capital in order to become a proper young woman. She had long outgrown private tutors and governesses what with being nearly nineteen years of age now. She sighed happily as she handles the heavy stack of books in her arms.
Sitting in one of the comfortably overstuffed chairs by the windows she looked through the pile of books and selected Utopia, by Thomas More. She placed the other books on the small table beside the chair and opened the small leather tome.
Later that evening Madison stretched lazily in the large reading chair. She had indulged herself divinely by reading the day away as the sun arced over the house and disappeared beyond the horizon. She had finished the short book Utopia and moved onto a collection of poetry, the book she had carried to the library.
Midway through one of John Keats' poems she noticed that she was straining to read the words. The sun had set and she would need to light a candle if she wanted to continue. Her stomach growled to remind her that she had been too enraptured in her novel to take the noon meal. Replacing the novel she had finished and the poetry book into the bookshelf she made her way to the kitchen to see what cook had made for supper.
- 1
- 2
- 3
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

A New Beginning - Revised