Chapter 4
Katherine jerked awake, bashing her head against the stone wall that was behind her. She cursed under her breath, rubbing the back of her head with annoyance. How had she fallen asleep, there of all places, leaning against a wall?
She blinked her eyes clear of sleep. The events of the previous night came flooding back to her. The opera, the scene in the lake, Erik... She remembered, then, falling asleep against the wall, watching Erik pace the circular room, afraid to leave him alone. The fact that she remembered so much shocked her. She was always a dull wreck in the mornings.
Katherine tried looking around the circular room, but it was pitch black and she couldn't see her own hand in front of her face. She barely had time to mull over the situation when a candle burst to life, seemingly of its own accord, before it illuminated Erik. Katherine stood up slowly, hearing her back snapping and popping as she did so. She winced at the sensation.
"You should go home," Erik said, causing Katherine to jump. "Your family is probably worried sick."
Katherine blinked several more times, willing her memory and her wits to return to her.
"My father is away on business. He's a merchant. Spends weeks traveling around searching for the most curious things," she said tiredly.
"Then your mother must be absolutely distraught," Erik said coolly, only a slight change of tone when the word 'mother' crossed his lips.
Katherine scoffed. "Oh, worried sick, I'm sure. She's out... what was it she said? Experiencing the world on her own. I could use a change of clothes, though..." she said thoughtfully. "And Belle will probably want to know what happened... Yes, I think I'm going to swing home for a bit."
"A bit?"
"I'll be back," she said. "Will you be okay?"
It was Erik's turn to scoff. "You will not be back. Not that I can lay any blame on you for that..." his hand reached unconsciously towards the right side of his face. He ignored her second question.
"I'll be back," she said again, more firmly than last time. "Because I said that I'll be back."
Katherine had a hard time finding her way out of the winding labyrinth of the cellars. It was pitch black, and she couldn't see a thing. She bumped into the walls about fifty times before she emerged. It wasn't much brighter out of the cellars than it was in the cellars, but at least there was some sunlight streaming in. Katherine was glad that she knew the cellars well. If she hadn't, she would have never found her way out in the darkness. She'd rather be bruised than lost.
It wasn't easy escaping through the charred rubble of the formerly grand Opera Populaire, and it was even harder slipping past the gendarmes who were still patrolling around the outside of the building, but Katherine managed, somehow. Luck, for once, was on her side. She didn't even trip over anything, like she expected to.
Katherine strode smoothly down a side street, towards the familiar shop, the place she'd grown up. The windows crowded with the most bizarre objects from all over Europe.
Katherine smiled at the eccentricity of the place as she slid her key easily into the lock and stepped inside.
It was dark and cool inside the store. A square of sunlight illuminated the slightly dilapidated wood floor, and half of a bookshelf crowded with thick, tattered tomes. Katherine slipped up the staircase at the back of the store, to the living quarters above. She went into her small room, and rummaged around her wardrobe, changing into the first casual gown she could lay her hands on as quickly as she could. She also grabbed a candle and a book of matches from off of her bedside table for her return trip to the basements and tucked them in the pocket of her gown.
As Katherine walked the short distance to Belle's house, her curiosity started nagging at her. She wondered what happened last night after Belle left with the Vicomte. Surely nothing too terribly exciting. Raoul was, after all, a gentleman if there ever was one. She reached the small apartment before she knew it. She knocked tentatively on the door, hoping that it wasn't too early. She'd forgotten to check the time back at the shop. Judging by the amount of people bustling around, and the suns high position, Katherine hoped that it was at least sometime in the afternoon.
Belle's smiling mother answered the door. "Good afternoon, Katherine!" she beamed.
"Good afternoon, Madame Durand, is Belle home?"
"She's out today, but you're welcome to come in and have lunch,"
"Oh, no thank you," Katherine said politely. She didn't have much of an appetite at the moment, what with her stomach churning for excitement over her best friend's whereabouts.
"If you're sure..." Belle's mother trailed off.
"I have somewhere I need to be, anyway. Give my best to Monsieur Durand."
"Would you like me to tell Belle that you were asking for her?"
"Yes, please. But tell her that I most likely won't be home, so as not to waste her energy."
"Alright, dear." Belle's mother said with a smile, and shut the door as Katherine turned away and headed back towards the opera house.
It would be much more difficult to sneak back in to the opera house. What she could use was some sort of distraction, but she knew better than to try and cause one.
She walked around the building, pretending to gawk. As soon as she was sure there was no one looking, she bolted back inside. She could hardly believe her luck.
It was harder trying to find her way back to the basements amid the blackened remains of the once fine adornments. It took Katherine about fifteen minutes to find her normal route. Nothing was where it was supposed to be, or if it was, Katherine couldn't tell.
Katherine made a mental note to thank Belle for leaving the gondola in the right spot. She'd have hated to have to swim. She used the matches to light the lamp in the gondola, and carefully maneuvered the little boat through the icy lake and back to the rocky cave that she knew so well. She made sure to light the candle before extinguishing the lamp in the boat, and then she made her way back through the mirror passage.
Erik looked up in surprise when he heard Katherine's approaching footsteps. She emerged from the passageway, blinking at the sudden brightness of the torch-lit room. She blew out her candle and tucked it back into her pocket.
"You came back," Erik said, surprised. "I can't believe that you came back..."
"Didn't I say that I would come back?"
"I... Why did you come back?" Erik asked, unable to grasp the concept.
"Because I said that I would?" Katherine said again, wondering what was so unclear about her answer.
"But why? Why are you here?"
"Would you rather I leave?" Katherine asked. "I just thought that you'd like a bit of company... someone to talk to..."
"Company," Erik sighed. "Would be nice."
Belle's mind was overwhelmed by what her eyes were showing her. She hoped she could recall every detail that thrilled her sharp perspective. She had to remember everything to the very last trifle, as it was unlikely she'd be witness to such magnificence a second time.
She stood fixated on a wide length of floor behind a massive staircase that split off into two sections after a twelve foot climb from the bottom. Her shoes looked altogether out of place on the regal starburst pattern gracing the polished marble they were rooted upon. Before her was the foyer; open, wide, glistening with aristocratic luxury, and large enough to hold two of her bedrooms in. Above all hung a gold chandelier, giving off such a glow that were it hung from the sky, could light Belle's entire street on its own. The walls rose high, elegantly joined to the ceiling with whirling borders of white and gold. Everything was shining, as if newly scrubbed and immune to the dirt and grime of a Parisian back street.
All of this, Belle wanted to hold in her head as long as she lived. She could spend well over a month working with a brush just to preserve the image of the foyer with everything that caught her quick eye. She grew anxious with the thought that she might forget some wondrous mark of beauty. Belle knew vicomtes were rich of course, but such grandiose wealth even she never imagined.
A white-haired footman who's uniform was probably worth more than Belle's house showed her to a sitting room at their left and up ahead. Belle could have been equally taken with the grandeur and the beauty of the instrument gracing the room, had it not been so near the vicomte who Belle's full attention was soon fixed on.
To Belle, the bright sheen on the mantle could never equal the muted gold in the locks of hair falling to Raoul's balanced shoulders, and the hanging portrait of a long deceased de Chagny had no attraction beside the sculpted features and soft, almost feminine eyes of his descendant. The ceiling may have been uncommonly high, but Belle saw no further than the few inches past her eye level where Raoul's welcoming—if not confused—gaze stopped to meet hers.
The footman announced her with what Belle perceived to be a hint of amusement, though she had no way of being certain. She let him finish his duties before she curtsied prettily and cleared her throat in preparation.
Raoul too, felt the awkwardness of the situation. He was at a loss as to how he should greet her, knowing what he did of her origins and family. By and by, he decided it was better to show too much respect rather than too little, and in recognition of this, swept a hand behind him in offer of a seat.
Belle declined to sit; afraid her clothes might leave some obvious stain of her unworthiness on the cushion, or the chaise might repel her altogether. She let her eyes flit across the room for once and began to speak in slow, quiet tones.
"I don't know if you know exactly who I am, but I think it's only fair to tell you before anything is settled.
"My name is Belle Durand, and my parents are Albert and Marie Durand. We live in a little house against a dirty street, smaller than half your first floor; cold in the winter and hot in the summer. My father was a cobbler until he got sick and was paralyzed from the prolonged illness. People said he could continue in his trade with a little help, but he was never good at making shoes, and so I took on all pecuniary responsibilities for my family. A few friends of ours helped me get started with some canvases and material, and since then I've been painting things—pictures—for people to buy.
"You agreed to give piano lessons to a stranger, knowing nothing about her, and at a time when it might have seemed impossible to refuse. If I made you feel obligated to teach me, that was my negligence and I'm sorry. You don't have to admit me into your home, let me sit at your beautiful piano," even as she said it, she found herself looking with longing at the stately instrument, "or waste your valuable time with lessons. But I will tell you that I'm honest, capable, quick to learn, and I wouldn't dream of shaming you with any peculiar behavior." She cast a tentative glance at Raoul, who had listened to her full discourse in respectful silence.
He faltered for words, finding it strange to hear his own doubts echoed through the voice of this young creature standing before him. Having her here made his former judgment seem petty and unjust to him now. The girl was certainly poor, but she carried herself well and entirely without the slovenly, disrespectful attitude he attributed to the lower class. Although clothed in a homely frock, Belle's slight frame did not look ungainly or awkward beneath it. She spoke with surprising intelligence and clarity, never rushing the point, or letting her words slur together like a flock of careless chickens. Raoul was struck with a sudden realization of how similar her dark eyes and fair skin were to his own beloved's. Belle had a touch more color to her complexion, due to a less pampered lifestyle, and her eyes had a queer intensity that were abandoned for a quieter calm in Christine's matching pair, but were they set side by side and given the same style of gowns, the two girls could have been taken for cousins. Perhaps even sisters.
Belle released a subtle breath when Raoul broke the silence. "You've no reason to worry yourself over it. I hadn't fully considered the ramifications myself. The single thought in my mind was repaying a debt that could never fully be paid. Piano lessons for two lives seems a disturbingly unfair arrangement. If you still have a desire to play, I'll teach you. And more than that, I'll be happy to."
Belle smiled gratefully, "I do want to play, very much. And to dispel any concerns on the subject of prattle, I promise your... teaching will go unknown by everyone I speak to, excepting my parents and Katherine."
"Fair enough," Raoul said. "Would you care to sit down for a moment?" Having her standing made him anxious.
Belle took a seat with some hesitation. Not wanting to allow an awkward silence to cripple their ease, she politely asked if Raoul had been to see Christine.
"No, I have not been so fortunate. Philippe says her state of health is still too fragile for her to receive visitors. Although I have to admit, it puzzles me that she doesn't make an exception for her fiancé."
"Perhaps the… things that happened last night are still too fresh in her memory to want any reminders of it," Belle put thoughtfully.
"Then am I not the one best suited to comfort her?" Raoul asked rhetorically with a hint of bitterness in his voice.
Belle looked reproached, as if she'd said something wrong and had just been chided for it.
"Never mind," he said. "You're probably right."
"I'm sure if it takes her much longer to recover, she'll write to you at least," Belle assured him. "But I shouldn't have come so soon. Your arm couldn't have healed over night," she declared, eyeing the conspicuous bulge in Raoul's sleeve.
"I hadn't intended on using it, actually. The first lessons require little more than pointing and explaining, and that's hardly something I'd over exert myself in. So once again, there's no reason to be concerned on my account."
With Belle's uncertainties put aside, the two sat down to their first lesson together. Belle caught on quickly and soon learned how to associate the right black marks with their corresponding keys. Raoul noted how she absorbed herself in the task, ignoring all else while so employed, and once again he was reminded of Christine.
Belle was well aware of her similarities to Miss Daae. She hadn't decided yet whether to bless or curse them, but she had a feeling she was soon to find out.
The next few hours passed fleetingly as Raoul spent them explaining to Belle what the other symbols on the music sheet stood for. At the sound of a clock's chime, Belle started and abandoned her seat at the piano bench.
"Oh, it's much later than I realized!" she cried. "I should go before Marcus tires of saving my spot for me."
"Where are you going?" Raoul asked, expecting Belle's reply to be something quite different than what it was. He assumed she was going to hear someone in the park speak on political issues or revolutions.
"I... I have to try to sell some of my works. If I get there too late, the best spots are taken and business is slower," she remarked quickly.
"Oh, don't let me keep you then."
Belle curtsied her farewell and scurried away, heading for home as fast as her feet would carry her.
"Belle, what are you doing home so early?" Madame Durand wondered as her daughter rushed through the door in apparent haste. "Have you sold many paintings already?"
"No, Mama," Belle sighed while scrutinizing dozens of her paintings and placing the prettiest ones in a large carrying case. "The truth is I haven't tried to sell anything today."
"Well where have you been all this time?"
Monsieur Durand wheeled himself out to satisfy his own curiosity as well. Belle's parents' apartments were unusually situated on the first floor of their house to better convenience Albert who no doubt would have had difficulty making his way downstairs every morning.
Belle looked at her parents questioning glances and told them the plain, simple truth, "I was at the Vicomte de Chagny's taking piano lessons."
Monsieur and Madame Durand were shocked, to say the least.
"You know we have no money to spare for that," Albert reproached her.
"Yes, but the Vicomte is giving them to me freely."
Albert's features darkened, "What do you mean, Belle? Vicomtes do not tutor humble girls for free. What are you doing for him in exchange?"
Belle grew puzzled for a moment, "Nothing, I…"
"Your father has a right to be concerned," Marie said. "This isn't normal behavior at all. Neither for the Vicomte, nor for you, my dear. I think you'd better tell us what you're giving him in return."
"I... I saved his life," Belle admitted before the interrogation turned ugly.
"You what?" Both parents exclaimed at once.
Belle's mind raced for a truthful explanation that would keep all masked strangers out of the story. "During the opera fire, when we were all escaping from the wreck. He... he was... pinned against some iron, and--"
"You pulled him free from it?" Marie finished for her.
"Yes, I did." It was true. Perhaps not the way Belle's parents imagined, but at least she was free from a guilty conscience.
"You saved his life?" Albert breathed. "Why ever didn't you mention this before?"
"I saw no need. I have to go now and try to make up for lost time," Belle said, collecting her wares.
"Oh, before you leave..." Marie stopped her, "Katherine wanted me to say that she came looking for you. But she also said she most likely wouldn't be home. Perhaps she's found a count to give her violin lessons," she joked. "Be safe, my love."
Katherine. Belle was dying to know how her friend had spent the night and how Erik was managing so far. She had no time to find her, however, as the precious time lost on her lessons should have been spent making the meager amount of money her paintings provided. Also, there was little chance of Belle finding her way through the rubble of the opera house without Katherine's help.
Belle set up her paintings in a way that set off the colors to their best advantage, and tried to calm the jittery feelings inside herself. Soon enough, she thought over and over, I'll find out soon enough.
Phantom of the Opera and the characters therein belong to Gaston Leroux.
The musical film version and general foundation for this phanfic belong to Andrew Lloyd Webber.
Phanfic co-written by Beth and Kit.
