Chapter 1

Albert

Albert Chevalier was every bit as appealing as the Viscount de Changy, despite the fact that he lacked his title. He had recently become wealthy designing dresses for Paris's richest ladies. They said the clothes he made were works of art and it wasn't far from the truth. His fame had allowed him to open several salons and despite his young age he ran them with the skill of a true businessman.

But buying the opera house had been a decision based on sentiment. This time the businessman had stepped back in favor of the naïve enthusiast who kept the twinkle in the young man's clever blue eyes. In his mind it seemed very simple. He loved opera and he could afford it so why not buy one? Well, yes, this one had been almost burned down in the course of some rather terrible events but that only made it more interesting. He believed he was up to the challenge to restore its glory.

Upon hearing this, his older brother, Jaques, who was a very down-to-earth man and chief of the Parisian police department, had just shook his head and sighed.

"But if all else fails, he could always charm his way out of the mess he's created." Jaques consoled himself.

It was true that the younger Chevalier brother possessed charm that could almost be called magical. He could talk easily to anyone, from paupers to kings and whatever mood he was in inevitably rubbed off on everyone around him. It was a bit of a blessing that Albert was almost always in a good mood.

That same charm had helped Albert find a patron within a month of buying the opera. To be frank, the good-hearted old count that had agreed to it didn't honestly believe Albert's plans would succeed. But after two hours with talking to the lad, he decided he had enough money to afford wasting some of them on a young man who was contagiously optimistic and touchingly devoted to his goal.

Finding a cast however was a different matter. Those who had left could not be persuaded to return. Madame Giry, the ballet mistress and her daughter were ones of the few who had stayed, along with some orphan girls from the ballet and chorus who had nowhere else to go. Mme Giry and Meg had been there to greet him when he went to take a look after the repairs had been completed.

"It's glamorous, isn't it, Messer?" Meg commented, while they were giving him a tour.

Glamorous, yes, he thought. Glamorous indeed. There were twice as many naked gold women as before and they had been joined by little winged cherubs. His personal opinion was that it had become a little too crowded on the walls and beneath the ceiling. But it was his own fault that he had let the decorator's imagination run away with him.

They were now standing on the stage. Meg walked to the centre and did a few ballet steps.

"I'd like to see all these seats filled again." she sighed as she did a final pirouette.

Albert's smile broadened as he watched her.

"Even with you alone on stage, it would be a sight worth paying for."

Meg blushed as her mother shook her head good-naturedly at the open flirtation of the young man.

"I'm afraid, Messer, that as proud as I am of my daughter's talents, she would not be enough to make the Opera Populaire work again. What exactly are your plans?"

Albert raised a finger.

"Our plans. As I told you before, Mme, you'll be my equal partner. I couldn't do without your help. For a start… I confess I have no idea where to find anyone who would willingly join our cast."

"Oh, if it's a question of just anyone, there are more than enough people in Paris in need of a warm bed and some payment. But I'm afraid that won't suffice."

"Why not?"

"Because they would be bad singers and dancers."

"But can't some of them be taught?"

"I suppose they could but it would take years."

"Years we do not have, madam. I spent so much on fixing the damage from the fire that I can afford a year without profit at the most. I know this is not how things are supposed to be done but what can you do with a bunch of young girls for one year?"

Mme Giry hesitated.

"Perhaps they could perfect particular steps. But what of the singers?"

"Well, I suppose they'll have to perfect particular notes too. Let's say mi and la. Isn't there a whole opera containing just those two notes? No?" he faked surprise as Meg laughed. "All right, I know it will be very hard. I'll hire a teacher. Maybe we could outsmart the circumstances, choose a score that's easy to perform but appealing to the audience nonetheless. There is nothing to it, Mme, we shall have to try."

Mme Giry sighed and spread her hands in a gesture of acceptance.

"I suppose we shall."

"If the Phantom was here to teach the singers, they probably could become good in an year. He was a great teacher." Meg commented.

Albert's eyebrows shot up.

"The Phantom?"

"My daughter's mouth is sometimes faster than her brain, M." Mme Giry said quickly and gave Meg a look. She was afraid that talk of the Opera Ghost would scare and discourage the gentleman.

Albert however merely seemed interested.

"And how were you able to determine his teaching skills? I don't suppose he taught you?"

"He taught my friend Christine Daae, Messer." Meg answered. "And she could sing like an angel."

"Oh, yes, I know." Albert nodded. "I have seen Miss Daae. In fact, I was here that fateful night at the premiere of Don Juan Triumphant." He continued suddenly excited. "Is it true that the opera was written by the Phantom himself? The man and the mystery… Coincidentally, my brother is head of the Police department. He doesn't like unsolved mysteries; he promptly attempts to solve them. After the phantom disappeared, he did everything he could to find out the whole story. Who he was. How he came to live in the opera in the first place. And he uncovered a rather interesting theory, involving a boy from a traveling fair and one or several young ballerinas who may have offered the boy sanctuary in the halls of the opera house."

Mme Giry paled visibly in contrast to her daughter who flushed bright pink and started looking around and playing with the skirt of her dress. Albert eyed them curiously, concluding at once that they must know something about the event. Apparently ballerinas weren't taught to act very well, or at least not in real life.

"And how did your brother come upon such a theory, M.?" Mme Giry asked.

"Oh, just the stories of a few retired policemen who claim to have been called to the scene of the murder of one of the gypsies. According to them, people were talking about "the Devil's child" with a face so distorted it could not be called human. And there were ballerinas. It must have happened around the time when you were very you young, Mme Giry." He said, the corners of his mouth twitching mischievously.

"I can't say I remember, M." Mme Giry said carefully.

Albert's smile suggested he did not believe her but he didn't press her further. Instead he walked several steps along the stage and took a good look around, his eyes lingering on the shadowy darkness above them and then on the reconstructed chandelier which had not been hung yet and sat at the corner of the stage.

"The people of Paris know the Phantom as a murderer with a horrifying face, the face of the devil. And an unsolved mystery. But who was he really, what do you think, miss Giry?" he asked, looking at Meg this time.

"A talented but unfortunate man." Meg answered with a hint of sadness in her voice.

"My brother seemed seemed inclined to feel more compassion than fear for him, too." Albert admitted. "He has seen enough cruelties performed on those who are different in some way. He has tried to stop such acts but it's hard. He claims that our society creates its own monsters. And it should not be so surprised when those who have been oppressed their whole lives finally strike back."

"Your brother is a wise man." Mme Giry said.

"Do you agree, M.?" Meg asked, suddenly looking at him as if she was trying to read his thoughts on his forehead. "Would you feel compassion for the Phantom?"

Albert seemed to be giving the matter some serious thought.

"I cannot say for sure without having met the man, Miss Giry. It's hard to determine if he's a monster or a victim. Maybe a bit of both."

"It doesn't matter who he is." Mme Giry cut in. "He is gone now. We are here and we have work to do. If you are finished with your tour M., I suggest we call the papers immediately to let people know we're recruiting. Delaying wouldn't do."

She strode purposefully to the exit. Speaking of Erik made her sad. She had wanted to save him but it had proven too hard. When he had fallen in love with her talented almost-daughter, she had foolishly allowed herself to believe that if Christine accepted him, so would the world. Of course, neither had happened. Like most naïve hopes, this one had met a bad end.