By the time night fell on the streets of Paris, rain had begun to fall in earnest. Those foolish enough to attempt a journey on foot were soon left sodden despite their haste to reach their destinations. A steady stream of carriages passed through the Rue de Rivoli carrying those passengers who were better prepared for the downpour. One of these carriages, unremarkable though it was, happened to be carrying a most remarkable cargo. A man sat within impatiently, dusting off beads of water from the surface of his heavy black cloak with a gloved hand, sighing audibly as he gazed outside at the sudden deluge. The top hat he had borrowed for the evening was ill-fitting and he fiddled with the brim awkwardly to attempt to clear his vision. His ageless mahogany face wore a deep frown, and his unusually green eyes held a hint of unease.
Moments later the carriage pulled up outside a row of ramshackle terraced houses, and the gentleman occupant thrust a number of coins into the driver's hand before hurrying towards the house at the end of the row, narrowly avoiding a trip on the uneven steps that had become slick in the rain. The door was opened by a short, timid man in a waistcoat, who scrambled away from the door as the master of the house swept past him without a word.
"S-sir?"
Striding into a cosy drawing room, the gentleman flung his cloak carelessly onto an overstuffed armchair in the corner which was positioned next to a merrily crackling fire that had been set in the hearth. Soon the cloak was joined by a tatty pair of leather gloves, the offending top hat and a dress coat that had swamped the man's slender frame. Having dispensed with his borrowed finery he sunk into a deep leather armchair and steepled his fingers underneath his chin, eyes glittering with the reflection of the roaring flames in front of him. His heart, he realised, was still pounding loudly from within the confines of his chest, his breathing was still quickened in an unsteady rhythm, echoing the erratic heart beat. This would not do, he thought.
"Darius!"
The slight, waist-coated man poked his head around the door, an expression of concern crinkled on his lined forehead.
"Sir – is everything alright sir?"
"Get me a brandy, Darius. A large one."
Darius gave a short nod of his downy, balding head and retreated swiftly.
"Darius?"
His face reappeared and the gentleman fought a bizarre and uncharacteristic urge to smile.
"Bring the bottle. And 2 glasses. We're expecting company."
"At this time of the evening?"
"Just do it," he snapped, evidence of his frayed nerves bubbling up to the surface, his manservant's alarmed face causing him to feel a pang of regret almost instantly.
Darius returned minutes later with a decanter of liquid the colour of treacle and two crystal glasses balanced expertly on a silver tray. Placing the glasses down on the cluttered table in front of the fire, he attempted to gain his master's attention, whose out of character behaviour came as a concern to the softly spoken Darius. He swept around the room lighting the oil lamps and bathing the room with their soft glow, dispelling the gloom of the firelight and transforming the surroundings as he did so. The shrill ring of the doorbell sounded, causing the two men to jump. Darius automatically made for the door, but a gentle hand on his wrist prevented him.
"It's fine, Darius. I'll get the door. You're dismissed for the evening."
"But sir, your guest…"
"Will be attended to satisfactorily without your assistance I assure you."
Darius was uncertain of how to proceed. After all, what role did he have in their meagre household if not serving the master and his guests?
"Please, my friend, take this rare opportunity to have an early night. I promise I shall take care of things down here."
"As you wish then. Goodnight sir."
"Goodnight Darius." He followed his servant into the hallway and watched as the man who had served him faithfully for more years than he could count climbed the stairs to his sleeping quarters. Once more he felt a surge of guilt course through him, but steeled himself to face what was to come within the same breath. This was not an event Darius would wish to be subjected to, if he only knew… Straightening his collar on the starched pearlescent dress shirt, he opened the door to be greeted by a shivering, sobbing mess of a young man, luminous cornflower eyes shining with tears that were indistinguishable from the rain and blood smeared across his boyish features. He pushed the back of his hand over his blonde moustache and mouth, a sob shaking through him as he attempted to compose himself in order to speak.
"Are you the Persian?" he asked in a small, higher pitched voice than might have been expected.
"I am." The Persian nodded once and waited for his guest to continue. As he had suspected, the situation he was faced with was not a pleasant one.
"Forgive me for intruding on you at such a late hour. My name is Raoul. I am the – Vicomte de Chagny. And I must ask for your assistance with a most grave matter."
The Persian closed his gleaming eyes for a moment, in attempt to summon to him all of the strength that he possessed. He looked back at the pitiful sight before him, and motioning with a hand, said, "You'd best come in."