Not a day later Madeleine sat in a car on her way to the Opéra Populaire. The goodbyes had been brief. Her aunt had organised the journey as quickly as she had been able, terming it a 'necessary madness'. Her sisters had presented her with "good luck", and each their own parting gifts; Gabrielle had honoured Madeleine with rare intimacy: a kiss on the forehead and brief hug. Josephine handed Madeleine Christine Daae's red cloak. The cloak that had blanketed the box that held the old book, in the 3rd step of the hidden staircase in the Beckett manor.
Madeleine had packed very little in the case that bumped on the seat beside her. The shocked daze had rendered the woman almost zombielike leaving her aunt in charge of her suitcase, and she was rather clueless as to what Stephanie had picked for her. She was equally clueless as to her whereabouts. Staring out of the window she could barely even make out the shadows of trees in the darkness. She turned warily from it and fell back into her seat. Madeleine was exhausted. She had been on the road for a couple of days now in this same car. Much of the time been spent reading Christine's diary, or warily preparing herself for the Opéra Populaire; you see Madeleine was quite used to being alone, but rather unused to the world. An unexpected apprehension had begun to seep into her, but the gentle growls emanating from the car were a comfort and she at last found peace, and slept until the car pulled into Paris.
She was awoken roughly by the driver who, disgruntled by the short notice of the long trip, and in his haste to return home barely caught the money Madeleine tipped into his gloved hand before he leapt back into the car, and disappeared into the pale dawn. She sighed, pulled up the hood of her cloak, and drew 2 photographs from her suitcase, before following a dirt track towards a cluster of buildings. The village was small, and inns were few and far between, but finally Madeleine found one. The one identical to the first photograph in her hand.
"La Rose Rouge… she murmured. Then she smiled, placing both photographs in the pocket of her cloak. She knew this place; its history was described in amongst her books and articles. The inn had been built by a relative of Raoul's as something of memorial to the couple. She recalled that it represented a safe haven. Something Christine had longed for. The name was something of a rebellion against the Phantom, who allegedly left a black rose for Christine whenever he visited.
Madeleine entered the tavern and tiredly approached the innkeeper. He stood near the bar, a small, withered, old man with a distrustful face and cold eyes. These eyes, so full of greed, narrowed in suspicion at the figure that approached him.
"Can I help you?" His voice was thick yet leering. 'Because if so know this…I'll do nothing free for a stranger." Madeleine gripped her hood with two hands and pulled it back, the effects were immediate. The innkeeper's gasped and fell back against the bar and around them many heads turned to find Madeleine, she even thought she heard a glass break, but she could not fathom why. Her eyes found the paintings of Raoul and Christine that hung in places on the walls, and then she understood. "Who are you?" The innkeeper wheezed, his eyes wide with terror, "what do you want?" Madeleine's heart sank, her breath quickened but she somehow replied calmly,
"A room. I wish to stay the night." She shifted on her feet, unable to escape the eyes burning into her back. The innkeeper clutched his heart.
"Not a chance." He hissed, eyes wide. Madeleine frowned. "Besides, you never answered my question girl. Who are you?"
"Madeleine Beckett." The innkeeper frowned.
"Don't lie to me you demon, you'll regret it." He snarled. Madeleine's frown deepened, and she opened her mouth to reply.
"Easy." A hand found the shoulder of the innkeeper and turned him away from Madeleine. She stared hard at the stranger, but saw nothing more than a cloak and a hat leading the old man away. She hastily returned her hood to her head.
"Impossible, impossible…" The innkeeper sobbed. Madeleine turned quickly and moved to the door of the inn. She pulled the handle toward her and lurched as a hand slammed the door back closed.
"I don't think so." A smooth voice said. Madeleine glanced up feebly at the hat and cloak she'd just seen, to find two eyes flaming beneath it. She backed away from the door.
"What do you want?" She pleaded, not bothering to disguise her frustration.
"I might ask you the same question, Madeleine Beckett," the man grunted. Madeleine mouthed wordlessly for a moment before recovering her voice.
"A room!" She cried. The man glared at her. Madeleine sighed and glanced in the direction the innkeeper had gone. "What is impossible?" she asked.
"You." The man scowled. "The old man seems to recall you from his younger days." Madeleine frowned.
"Impossible." She agreed. The man glared.
"I'm not one for superstition, nor do I believe in ghost stories, but you're an exception. Yours is a cursed face and it doesn't belong here." He took Madeleine's shoulder, but she shrugged it off. Confusion possessed her mind suddenly and completely. Cursed? Unwelcome? Neither idea made sense here, especially here at this inn. The one place Christine and her family should be welcome. She focused on a simpler matter.
"Why did you block the door?" she snarled, her face contorted with anger. The man looked surprised. "You were only going to send me back out anyway."
"I wanted to see for myself. He's right though. You're the splitting image of her." The man looked pained.
"Who?" She raised an eyebrow curiously. Well, more hopefully if anything. Perhaps it wasn't Christine she reminded them of. Maybe there was a thief or a gypsy loose or something
"I won't have her name said here. It's a cursed name too." He growled, reaching for her shoulder again. Madeleine sighed. Worth a guess…?
"Christine? Christine Daae…"
"OUT!" The man shoved Madeleine out of the inn and followed her into the street. "HOW DARE YOU!" He roared. "HOW DARE YOU SPEAK THAT NAME HERE, I TOLD YOU IT WAS CURSED!"
Madeleine recoiled but still replied, "For a man who doesn't believe in curses, you are certainly afraid of them." He flushed and turned away from her angrily.
"Where are you going?" Hm? What brings you here, to Paris? To this village?"
Madeleine hesitated and then gave in, "The Opéra Populaire. Perhaps you've heard of it?"
The man drew a sharp breath. "I thought as much." He turned back to Madeleine. "Well then Miss Beckett, you are in luck." A smirk was just visible across his shadowed face, "Because I have indeed heard of the Opéra Populaire, and you will allow me to escort you there."
