“This is...is a most attractive room, Ang...M’sieur”, she managed to
say, conscious of those beautiful
eyes upon her.
“Thank you, my dear Mademoiselle”, he replied, removing his hat
and revealing smooth
copper-coloured hair. “You may call me Angel if you wish.
I would like that. Now please enjoy
the warmth of the fire and I will make some tea, for you must be feeling
quite chilled.” With one
swift, graceful movement, he removed the superbly-cut opera cloak from
his shoulders. Placing it on
a coat-stand, he gave her another courteous little bow and left the
room.
She sat back in the winged armchair, trying to gather her thoughts but
hardly able to make sense of
all that had happened. This was the oddest situation, to find
herself in the home of a complete
stranger after being rowed across an underground lake. To have
been rescued from a seemingly
never-ending fall into that dark pit by a man who came out of nowhere,
singing as only an angel can;
who took her up on his horse in order to journey...under the ground?
Where was this place, this
rather beautiful little home...could it really be under the streets?
And he...who was this man, so finely dressed, so elegantly tall and
possessing the air of a gentleman.
This...Angel of Music? He of the hypnotically alluring voice
which so enchanted her sensitive heart
with those liltingly musical cadences. She had never heard such
a voice.
And why was his face covered by that white mask? Puzzled,
she thought on these questions, her
fingers playing with her lower lip, when she became aware that he was
standing beside her,
proffering a cup and saucer. She took it from him with a shy
murmur of thanks and gratefully sipped
the refreshing hot tea. He took a seat opposite and did the same.
The warmth of the liquid as it
slipped down her throat combined with the heat of the coals burning
brightly in the grate caused her
to feel rather sleepy. Indeed, it was becoming increasingly hard
to keep her eyes open. So much
had happened that she was hardly aware when the cup and saucer were
quietly removed from her
hand and she was lifted from the chair into those strong arms once
more.
Barely awake, she felt the softness of a comfortable bed beneath her,
and lacy pillows under her
cheek. There was the feeling of having her shoes gently removed,
and then a downy quilt being
brought up over her body to settle gossamer light across her shoulders.
The silence was absolute,
save for the lightest sound of a breath drifting across the darkness.
And there was a perfume in the
air – delicately heady, like that of roses. A light, cool
touch on her forehead, insubstantial, fleeting,
as another soft breath exhaled on a wistful, gentle sigh.
And then came the sound of an angel singing...