One Midnight (ONC 2024) ✔️

Chapter Twenty-One - Music and Wine

August 1722

The night is long as I continue writing music. My eyes grow heavy and the lantern that I have been using is beginning to run out of oil. I hurry along, adding whatever notes that come into my head. It astonishes Nicolas that I can write music without a reference like his harpsichord. It is all in my head. It swims in my head constantly and does not stop until I write it down. I cannot think of any other way in which to write it.

But, on the other hand, I see the way in which Ignace Leblanc looms over me as I write. I admit, I do not like it, nor do I like his grunts of disapproval.

I look up for a moment and notice Nicolas at his harpsichord, playing some of what I have already written.

"This is perfect," Nicolas says, clasping his hands together. "What incredible music you have written! I admit I am aghast, Marie. You must have partaken in at least take one music lesson in your childhood?" He smiles, arching a brow as he plays another one of my flourishes, one that reminds me of the crowded streets of my neighborhood in Paris, such a stark contrast to the isolation of our current home in La Nouvelle Orleans.

"I am sure," I say, turning my attention back onto my music. "I have not had a single lesson, not until you taught me the basics of music, Nicolas. And for that I am immensely grateful."

"Here," Ignace says, pointing to something I am working on. "This is no good."

"What?" I look up at him. He is glaring at me, then turns back to the music. "It does not work with the bass clef. Look at how uninspiring it is."

My heart feels as if it has been stung with a hot poker by the hands of Leblanc.

"I do not understand what is so uninspiring about it," I say, stiffening at the table. "I have worked so long and hard on this opera, Ignace. Just telling me that it is bland is not helpful to me."

"You are a woman," he says, frowning. "Why do you think that it is bland and uninspiring? Because you do not have the qualities that it takes for an opera. You are a fool to think you can write something as complex as an opera, just because you have some skill." He scoffs and walks away, pacing from one end of the room to another in long strides.

"Ignace, you have no right to say this, you know her music is divinely inspired."

Leblanc laughs, scoffing. "Divine inspiration? That is ridiculous. God, Nico. Can't you see you're in love with her? And might I remind you, what she is?"

"How dare you." He slaps his hand on the table. "You speak of things that you do not know, Ignace. Take back everything you have just said about Marie."

"I have only spoken the truth, Nico. I can see it and everyone else can see it, clear as day. And how long can you hide this music from your poor husband, Marie? Does he not know of the secret in which you keep?"

"My personal affairs have little to do with you, Ignace. I do not know why you wish to stick around then? I thought you were going to help me with my music, but instead all you do is belittle me. I am not easily broken, Ignace. I have been through hell, more hell than yo could even imagine. Do you honestly think insinuating that my history of prostitution is going to cut me down? No, sir. I do not care about your opinion of my music, for it is only that. Opinions."

"Fine," he says, curling his lips in disgust. "I know when I am not welcome. And how dare you call me by my first name, Madame Guidry. It is Officer Leblanc to you."

Before we can both blink, Ignace takes off in a storm, leaving Nicolas and I confused and alone.

"Why the barrage of insults now, Nicolas?" I ask. "He has never been this way before with me. Is he jealous?"