Chapter I
He let her see the letter.
Not disturbing him, she looked over his shoulder and struggled to read the words. He made no move to hide it from her, and to prove it, he unsealed the envelope with a small razor and pulled the candle a bit closer to his face, so that she could get a better look at what was written.
"Just between you and me," The envelope read. Erik set it down, and unfolded the piece of paper within.
Erik,
Since it is never time to speak face to face,
Just between you and me, I've appreciated your kindness.
Just between you and me, I have been loyal.
Just between you and me, you should never doubt me.
Just between you and me, I am sorry. Perhaps I have been too prideful, but I've never had anyone put so bluntly that they find me selfish, and it hurt me deeply. It has been some time, and we have both grown—This is not an attempt to rekindle an old friendship, but a congratulations. It pleases me to think that perhaps you've found prospect with your new ingénue.
Just between you and me, I wish you all the happiness that this life can bring.
If you need me, you know where to find me.
Yours, Mame Giry
Christine could not see whether Erik smiled or not, but she sensed it. She watched him carefully fold the letter and place it back into the envelope. She counted silently as he leisurely opened the top drawer of his reading desk, and placed the letter inside with his long, graceful hand. He closed the drawer and turned to her slowly.
"Shall we proceed with the lesson?"
Christine did not speak—she felt a knot in her throat that sent tears rushing to her eyes, but for the sake of not letting him see, she turned and wiped her face with her hands brusquely, feigning a sudden sneeze, and held out her arms in a gesture which denied him a clear view of her face. As discreetly as she possibly could, she took in long, deep breaths for several seconds, and faced him with a smile.
"I think I might feel a bit of cold coming on. Perhaps, it is best that I rest tonight."
His eyes studied her curiously, and sighing, he nodded compliantly, "Is that why you truly wish to retire?"
She smiled a half-smile and shook her head quickly. It was in its own way a condescending smile, and she took a step away from him. "Yes, Erik, it is."
"You don't seem yourself," He said without insinuation. He watched her as she moved backwards towards the door of his room. Clumsily, she backed up into his funeral bed, and she muttered an apology under her breath. With a quiet command, he called her name, and she stopped, blinking at him with all the effort she could afford in order to hold back her tears.
"I have nothing to hide from you, Christine," his voice came as a whisper. "I want you to know everything."
Perhaps I cannot handle everything. But the bitterer she became, the easier the smile spread across her porcelain face. She pursed her lips over her parched tongue and nodded once again. "Thank you, Erik," was all that she muttered.
Though disbelieving her, he sighed and allowed her to silently leave the room. He had his own uncomfortable thoughts, but something within him was unable to put his finger on why exactly he could not soothe her pain. He could explained that it the letter was Mame Giry's apology for the argument they had over Meg Giry's promotion. But an explanation would perhaps show her he cared too much; thus he sad nothing. And it's been so long since he'd spoken with the box-keeper after the disagreement. The possibility that Christine was jealous was amusing, but it was no laughable matter. He fell silent as she did and was as awkward as she was…Perhaps he his opening the letter in front of her hurt her pride, but he had wanted to be completely honest with his dear Christine.
She closed the door behind her and let out a heated cry into her own hand. The tears which she'd somehow managed to suffocate came pouring out as she ran into her room, slamming the door violently behind her. She didn't want Erik to hear a thing, and she certainly didn't want him to hear her sobs. Who was Mame Giry to him, anyway? Why did he show her the letter? Just between you and me; that sounded so personal, so tender, and so exclusive! Christine was not included in the text except for the mention of "ingénue," which the Mame only mentioned to congratulate Erik's contentment. Carlotta had called Christine an ingénue once, and it had been out of contempt. Was the mistress of Box Five contemptuous, too?
Christine reprimanded herself for thinking this way. She was too irrational—too jealous and suspicious for her own good. But what if the Mame was truly green-eyed? Then again, the Mame had always been more of a helper to Erik than Christine had been, wasn't that true? The Mame had never questioned his authority, nor torn off his mask without permission! Mame was not much older than Erik and knew him long before Christine did—an affair was not entirely impossible! Mame had wisdom, strength, and independence, qualities which Christine could not afford. She remembered how Erik would always answer her questions patiently but with a tone of resigned understanding. Oh, how terrible! Her thoughts of the letter drove her madly into her own cocoon, and as she sank down into her bed, she curled into a tiny ball and buried her head between her knees. Shriveled and degraded, she wept.
When her eyes were shut, she saw the delight on Erik's face as he read that letter of apology. Whatever had transpired between Mame and Erik, it must have grieved him terribly enough to make him smile after reading those words. She had sensed his relief! In his shoulders, in his tone—he seemed almost guilty after reading that in front of her, didn't it?
A soft knock upon her door prompted Christine to wipe her eyes and peek out of her covers. She had forgotten to lock her door in her frenzy, and now the knob was being turned slowly, quietly, by Erik's skeletal fingers! He leaned in through doorway, his shadow illuminated by the dim lights in the living room, and as he stood motionlessly she could hear him sighing for her to rest in peace. Still angry, she resisted, but his voice fluttered between her ears and drew her eyelids down heavily. She had not noticed how quickly he was soon at the foot of her bed, sitting down gently as he sang his sweet lullaby at her feet. His hands crept over the covers and brushed the air of her knee, and in her drowsiness she heard him speak that he would protect her always and that she need not ever leave him.
But tonight, she could not forgive him merely at the sound of his voice. Tonight, she was tense as she fell asleep, dreaming of how tomorrow, she will make sense of things. Like a hungry beaten child, she will still be bruised tomorrow, and he will know how much he'd hurt her. And with that resolve, and the lullaby still in her ear, Christine fell asleep on her tear-soaked pillow.
