On A North-Bound Train.
In my other story, "All Through The Night", Christine packs her bags to flee the Opera alone after the premier of Don Juan Triumphant. Obviously she failed in that. On a North-Bound Train is what happens when she manages to do it. This is Christine, pushed to not the breaking point, but to some inner core of steel that stands up and tells everyone "No!" That she will not play the Phantom's game, nor Raoul's.
I can't do it. But if I don't do something, one of them will surely kill the other. They sit in their respective places, each plotting his rival's downfall. I cannot bear it. If only there was something I could do. But there is something... I'd almost forgotten. The letter. It rests in my pocket- offering me a reprieve I'd never dreamed available. An official invitation to take the place of the Royal English Opera Company's retiring soprano, the famous Adelina Patti; in London!
My dearest Mademoiselle Daaé;
No doubt you have heard of the imminent retirement of Madame Patti here in London. It is upon the recommendation of several well-respected authorities that we should like to extend the offer of the position that Madame Patti will soon departing to you, Miss Daaé. Your considerable talents would be more properly appreciated in London, and you would be the foremost star of our company here in Covent Garden. Any contract with the Opera Populaire would be easily enough bought out should you choose to come to London.
Sincerely Richard Jenkins, Manager, Royal Opera.
The primary soprano in an opera company- and all on my own merits. It seemed like a gift from God. And suddenly I was angry: at both Raoul and at the Phantom- the man who can't be bothered to tell me his name. How dare they! How dare they treat me like a favored toy neither wants to share?
And the managers- just think of how green at the gills they would be to find that the nightingale has flown from her gilded cage; and they are left with that croaking toad, Carlotta! I scrounged some foolscap and wrote out a short message:
Attn: Richard Jenkins, Manager, Royal Opera.
Coming to London immediately. Please make all appropriate arrangements.
Christine Daaé
Almost as soon as I had finished that short, life-changing message, there was a tap at my door. It was Meg Giry. I smiled, perhaps I may not be an influential Vicomte, or a powerful Phantom of the Opera; but I had discovered something: being brave only takes that first step. After that, it gets easier. Writing that missive had been one of the hardest things I'd ever done, but it was done... and that made all the difference.
"Christine, are you terribly nervous? This opera is going to drive everyone mad- it is so difficult, and on top of everything, they are having gendarmes stationed almost everywhere!"
"Nervous? No, not really... not now. Meg, could you run a few errands for me? I'm afraid someone will follow me if I do it myself; and I don't dare let anyone know about this." I handed my dearest friend the letter from London, and the reply. After the first gasp of disbelief, she quieted; and I began my list for her.
"Here, Meg. I've written everything I need you do out on this list. I don't dare tell you out loud- the walls have ears. Just do that as quickly as possible. The telegraph office first, though. And for the love of heaven, don't lose that list or let anyone see it, not even your mother."
"I won't! Oh Christine! How shall I do without you?" She rushed to embrace me, and we hugged desperately for a moment, sisters of the soul, saying that first goodbye.
"You'll be spectacular. Now, hurry! Everything must go according to Raoul's plan... up until the point when it doesn't." My smile was shaky, but oh, I felt as if some terrible weight had been lifted from my chest. I wasn't going to run away blindly, like the foolish child I had been for so long; I was running to somewhere with a plan that was mine, my own. The pretty puppet had cut her strings and found that she could stand without them.
I would play along, right until it was time to get into my make-up and costume... and then I'd be gone! Vanished like the morning fog on the Seine. I'd be on a northbound train before anyone could realize what had really happened. Straight for Calais, then a steamer crossing of the English Channel; and then onto London. I could see the headlines of the Paris newspapers: Soprano mysteriously vanishes a second time!
I'd be in Britain before anyone in the Paris Opera was the wiser.
But before any of that could happen, I'd have to be ready to go at literally the very last minute. I began to pack my clothing, shoes, my mother's few pieces jewelry and the pieces that Raoul had given me; I couldn't part with them just yet. It pricked my conscience that I had nothing concrete that my other suitor had given me... But there was nothing I could do about that.
And then I wrote my notes. In every story I'd ever heard or read, a runaway always wrote a note when they decamped- usually pinned to a pincushion. I wrote three. One to Madame Giry; one to Raoul; and one to him. They did not all contain the same information. And then I went to hide my valise in the only place that I could think that no one would stumble upon it: the chapel. Besides, my most important possession was already there. I couldn't leave without Father's picture. It was just a cheap daguerreotype- but it was the only image I had of him- there are some things too important to leave behind. There was a hidden exit in the chapel, and I would slip through it in just a few hours, hail a cab. My last destination in Paris would be the Gare du Nord.
Once I was back in my dressing room, Meg had gotten back. She handed me the receipt from the telegraph office, the bank drafts, and the small sheaf of tickets: the train ticket to Calais; the steamer ticket to Britain, and a final train ticket from Dover to London.
"You're really going through with this, Christine?"
"I have to. They're out for blood. I told Raoul when he came up with this plot of his that I won't be party to murder... and he ignored me. He smiled, patted my head and said, "This is the only way." I have nightmares, you know... terrible nightmares of one or the other of them lying- dying on the stage in a pool of blood. The other standing over him, grinning, victorious- dragging me away from whoever is calling out for me with his dying gasps. It's different, each time. I cannot bear it anymore, Meg. This way- I hurt them both... and perhaps I can save myself."
I hope you enjoyed this; there is more in the works... I'm not certain what exactly will happen yet though. On another note; I am diligently working on the final chapter of "All Through The Night"; take heart of grace, I have not abandoned it or my other work-in-progress, "For What It's Worth". If you enjoyed this offering, check out my other Phantom fics, and please, please, please review!
Warmest regards,
K.S.