Chapter Ten – The Phantom's Rules
He carried her in carefully, cradling her body so that her head rested upon his shoulder. "She's so thin…she must be starving…and she's still faithful to that recluse of a father." He shook his head in disappointment at Bernard. How could he not appreciate his own daughter, who cared so much for him she was willing to sacrifice herself? All day long, he expected Delacroix to burst through the doors, hacking and wheezing all the while, begging to take his daughter back…but no one came. Either the man was clueless, deathly ill, or didn't care. He sincerely hoped it wasn't the last option – unfortunately, it was that very one that he believed was the likeliest.
Entering the Louis-Philippe room, he placed her gently upon the bed, letting his fingers linger by her cheek. She shivered in her sleep, prompting him to pull the covers up to her neck, cautious of touching her should she waken. Keeping the lights dimmed, he stroked his chin, several bits of information and details coming to mind as he decided to leave her for the time being and go to the kitchen. He could barely eat that day, having been plagued with concerns and criticism from his family and friends for even considering such a feat. Still, he knew he was far too deep into the situation to go back now. Preparing himself a simple meal, he chewed pensively, glancing back in the direction of the girl's room. "She'll be starving when she wakes up…considering her position and the fright she dealt with, I'd better prepare something that will be easy on her stomach. No need to have her swallow the whole meal down only to regurgitate moments later."
Nodding to himself, he finished his meal and set the dishes aside, getting to work on creating a homey meal. Perhaps once he showed her he wasn't really a monster, she would be comfortable and open up to him.
After nearly an hour of creating and cooking a warm, pleasant meal of rosemary chicken soup, toasted slices of buttered bread, pieces of cheese and a variety of fruit, topped with a tiny bowl of chocolate mousse (if she could handle it), he piled it all onto a tray and forced himself to return to her room. He'd all but forgotten that he was still wearing the hat and cape, making him feel ridiculous as he approached the door. Balancing the meal on one hand, he knocked softly, wondering if she was still asleep.
"…who's there?" Odette's voice made him jump in surprise.
"So she is awake." "…The…" "Opera Ghost? Phantom? Abductor? Let's see, which name is least frightening and offensive…" "Your Guardian Angel." He gritted his teeth, cringing at his choice of words. "Oh yes, that'll be sure to make her feel safe." "May I come in?"
"…yes."
The breath of relief rushed out of his lips before he could contain it. Turning the knob, he entered the room, finding her sitting in the bed, still lying against the pillows for support. She squeezed the coverlet in her hands, pulling it up to her chin. Her knuckles turned white as he entered the room and let the door close softly behind him. "…where…where am I?" she asked, struggling to make her voice stronger and louder than her trembling bleat.
"You're in my home, under the Opera house," he told her, slowly walking towards her. He made sure to lower his voice an octave, wanting to make some distinction between 'the Phantom' and 'Erik Chevalier' – the last thing he needed was for her to make the connection at this point that they were one in the same. "You haven't eaten a decent meal in a long time, have you?" She said nothing, her eyes still trained on him. "I've made you something…don't feel obligated to eat it all, I just wanted to give you options." He set the tray down before her, edging away once she took the tray from him. "I hope it's to your liking."
She glanced at him, her emerald eyes shining in the dim light. "…you're…the one they call…the Phantom?"
He nodded, taking his hat from his head and bowing to her with a flourish. "Your humble servant."
She watched with guarded fascination as he stood upright and set the hat upon the nightstand, his black cape swirling around him like a loyal liquid cloud. Her brows furrowed together as she continued to stare. "You're not…I mean, my father said-"
"Ah yes, it appears you threw me through a loop, my dear Belle. I was expecting your father to return to the theater so that I might teach him a lesson."
"A…lesson?" she asked, her eyes widening.
"I assure you, I wouldn't have killed him," he said, his voice lowering so much that she could hint a sense of loathing in himself. "I might have spooked him, but I planned to turn him over to Chevalier, you see. The man would keep an eye on your father and employ him here, just to be sure he repaid him for the money he spent in the first place- ah, but you're confused. I don't believe your father told you the whole truth."
She shook her head. "Only that he took your rose and you threatened to kill him…he claimed you were some…corpse."
Erik gave a dark chuckle at this. "He's not too far off…allow me to tell you what happened, mademoiselle, but I insist you eat something."
Her attention from him was stolen at once as she finally acknowledged the food before her. Fatigue sharpened her senses, her stomach crying out at once to be relieved of its agony. She tentatively sipped at her soup, taking generous helpings of it once she tasted it. All the while as she surrendered to her hunger, she listened to the Phantom tell his version of what happened, how her father begged Chevalier for money, spent it all on drinks, then in a desperate attempt to find more easy money, listened to a drunken account from another fool and broke into the catacombs in search of a nonexistent treasure, only to find a 'phantom's' fury when he plucked a rose from the wall.
"That rose he brought home…it was yours after all?" she asked, feeling much more focused after eating.
"Yes…Chevalier must have told you something about me. As you can see, I am not a ghost…I'm man, just like any other."
"And…the mask-?"
"There is a reason I wear it," he answered darkly. "You father had the misfortune of catching me at a moment when I was not wearing a mask." He bit his lip as she looked away, suddenly shoving the empty tray away from her. "Well…at any rate-"
"You're not…going to…k-kill me…are you?" she asked, her body tensing as she waited for a response.
He stared at her, a strange sensation emanating from his presence, making her blush in embarrassment. She could sense his humiliation as she asked the question, making her wish she could pluck the words from the air and swallow them once more. He sighed deeply, going down on one knee, bowing his head before her. "Mademoiselle Delacroix…I swear to you, I would never dream of harming you, nor shall I lay a finger on you for that matter. This is your home now, and you may do as you wish."
"Couldn't I…go home?" she suggested quietly. "Not that I don't believe you or that I don't like it here. It's lovely, this room, and you seem like gentleman…but, my father…he's ill, you see. I've left him in the hands of a neighbor I could trust, but I need to keep working to make sure he doesn't get any worse, or…" "Die." She couldn't force the word out of her mouth so she left the sentence hanging in uncertainty.
He arose from his position, taking a step towards her and placing his fingertips together, resting his chin upon the steeple he created. "I had thought about it…and I have a proposition that, I believe, will benefit everyone."
She took a deep breath, her hands curled into fists. "What do you propose?"
"Instead of having your father come here, as he is ill and unfit for travel from your accounts, I suggest you remain in the Opera house. Please-" He held up his hand as she opened her mouth to protest. "Allow me to finish. I will personally send whatever is necessary to your friend to help care for your father and cover expenses at home. In return, you shall remain here in Paris. Every Saturday 'til Wednesday afternoon, you shall be under my custody. The rest of the time, you shall remain in Erik Chevalier's care, under the story that you are his ward and a friend of a distant relative. You will be well cared for, anything you wish will be at your fingertips…and you will receive singing lessons."
"Singing lessons?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "Pardon, monsieur, but I'm no singer-"
"No? Then what was that enchanting hymn I heard on my way to collect you from the dressing room, hm?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest. He rather liked the way she blushed, ducking her head down in embarrassment.
"I…I like to sing…but I can't sing. I'm awful-"
"Who told you?"
"Well…no one, but I could hear the performers in the opera, and I can't sing like that-"
"That is what the lessons are for. To improve your singing skills…have you ever been tutored?"
"We've never had that kind of money," she shook her head. "I went to Sunday school as a child, and my mother would teach me some of her favorite songs, but no. I've never been taught."
"I'm impressed…your pitch and the sound of your voice is unique and already in beautiful shape, but your talent is untapped, and with the proper training, I can help you achieve that level of perfection…that is, if you want to, and I sincerely hope you do, mademoiselle."
She raised one hand to her throat, blinking in awe at him. He seemed very serious in what he said, stunning and flattering her all at once. She blushed as she realized this, asking, "M-Monsieur…why are you doing this? You wanted to punish and supervise my father, and I understand why…but you're offering me so many wonderful opportunities…what-?"
"Don't misunderstand my intentions, Mademoiselle Delacroix," he said. "Chevalier and I will treat you as you should be treated – a young, respectable lady joining Parisian society. You have much potential, mademoiselle, you only lacked the means for it. I should like to assist in this opportunity…also, I must admit, I would enjoy some company."
"Company?" she echoed. "But if you know the Chevaliers-"
"We are old acquaintances and occasional partners, nothing more. Whenever either one of us is in need, we help one another."
She continued to stare at him, holding her breath. "…I will agree…but you must answer one question for me…and I hope you will answer it truthfully."
He raised an eyebrow at her but said nothing, nodding his head in reply.
Biting her lip, she blushed in embarrassment once again, as she dared to ask him what she had been wondering since she saw him. "A few years ago, when the Great War was finally declared over, there was a fire at my house. My mother died in that fire…my father made it outside but I was trapped on the second floor of the cottage. I thought I was going to die…and then, a man appeared. He was dressed in an army officer's uniform, with a dark scarf covering most of his face. But I shall never forget his eyes…they seemed to glisten like gold, and they brought me comfort. He saved me, and once my father took me in his arms, he vanished. I had called him my 'Guardian Angel'…"
His breath hitched as she recounted the story, his heart racing as he remembered what happened that fateful night.
"Just now when you knocked on the door and I asked who you were, you called yourself my guardian angel. When you came to take me at the mirror's edge, I saw your eyes in the darkness, and I recognized them." Timidly, she reached out to him, her palm facing the ceiling in a motion that beckoned him to come towards her. "Tell me, Monsieur le Fantome…are you or are you not that man that saved me?"
There was no way he could deny it – his lips had parted in surprise and relief as she spoke to him, his hand curled into a fist over his heart. Forcing himself forward, he took a step towards her, covering her hand with both of his, giving it a light squeeze. It felt strange, having this girl's hand in his, having her offer it so willingly and actually touching him…he wished he didn't have to let go of her. "…yes, mademoiselle. I was that man."
She nodded, the corners of her mouth turning up just enough to make out a ghost of a smile. "Then for my father's sake, and to express my gratitude…I consent to your terms."
~OG~
"What do you mean you don't know where she is?!" Destin hissed, grabbing Bernard's shirt and lifting him up off the bed.
"I-I-I don't know!" the old man gasped, holding onto Destin Monette's arm for support as he wheezed for air. "She j-just up and left two nights ag-ago! She didn't say anything t-to me o-o-or P-Pauline! I swear it!"
"Damn it, Bernard! I'm getting married in a fortnight – I wanted to have my little getaway home here prepared and Odette situated so that things would be ready for whenever I needed her!" He threw the old man back onto the bed with a scowl, ignoring his harsh coughs. Placing his fist over his mouth, his brows furrowed in thought. "…there's no way she could have known about our little arrangement…no matter. I'll find her even if I have to rip every city apart to pieces!" He cast Delacroix a cruel glare. "I'll deal with you later, Bernie." Placing his hat upon his head, he left the old man alone in the room, fear swelling side by side with pain in his chest for his missing daughter.
~OG~
It was an odd first few days for her, living with a man everyone thought was a ghost. Part if the conditions of living in his home meant that she could not travel out of the house until he took her aboveground to be with the Chevaliers, which wasn't for another two days. She didn't mind it, really – his home was beautiful and curious, full of secrets that he wasn't ready to fully share with her. He would often leave for a few hours each day, giving her a notice before he would disappear. The first time he did, he returned with a set of boxes, setting them in her new room.
"What's all this?" she asked, gawking at the parcels.
"Open them," was all he said.
She obeyed, gasping in awe and surprise as the beautiful clothes he had brought her, the latest fashion in Paris that was all the rage. Hats and shoes and dresses and skirts and blouses…even undergarments! She blushed at the thought of him going into a store and asking to purchase such items, so she bit her tongue on that particular matter. "Did you purchase these?"
"With some help," he admitted uncertainly, toying with his cufflinks. "If they're not to your liking-"
"They're beautiful," she whispered, tracing her finger down the length of a lacy pastel yellow dress with a matching hat. "I've never had such fine things…" Looking up at him, she shyly added, "This must have cost you a fortune."
"Money is not a problem when it concerns your well-being and happiness," he waved it off. "So long as you approve of it-"
"I don't want to cause you any more trouble than I already have," she insisted stubbornly.
"My dear…you are no trouble at all. It…it gives me pleasure to purchase these little trinkets and gowns for you," he said, straightening his posture a bit as he clasped his hands behind his back.
Facing the dress once more, she took it delicately out of its box by her fingertips, spinning around to face him as she placed it carefully against her body. "…you don't think I'll look…silly…do you? Especially with my hair-"
"If you don't mind me asking, just what happened with your hair?" he asked, cocking his head at her.
She reached one hand upward, running her fingers through her short, wild locks. "I had it cut in June, just before my birthday…we needed money to repay a neighbor and there wasn't enough to eat…would you believe me if I said my hair reached my waist?" She laughed, trying to make it seem trivial though the sound that left her mouth was strained. "I had the wig-maker in town chop it all off…she gave me a fair price, and that was that." She was startled to see him curl his hands into fists, his head bowed down so that she might not see the anger he hid for her suffering. "My hair grows back quickly," she said, hoping this would pacify him. "I'm sure that come September, it will be down to my shoulders…" Shrugging, she looked back down at the dress and ran his fingers over it once more as it rested upon her frame. "…thank you…for the clothes."
He merely nodded before he walked away, leaving her alone in her room once more.
The Phantom always found ways to surprise her, whether it be through the delicious meals he cooked, his mastery and patience as he taught her the basics of music, or even tiny tokens that appeared out of nowhere – sometimes a single flower, other times a box of sweets, some days a poem or drawing he left behind for her amusement. He never told her what to do, and though he insisted that she be treated as a guest and lady in his home, she stubbornly fought to do her own dishes and be given a chance to make meals or clean the underground home when necessary.
"You shouldn't have to-" he argued gently on her second day.
"I've been doing this for years, monsieur. It's not going to kill me if I do it again. Besides, I get bored of sitting around and waiting for something to do," she answered as she dusted the bookshelves in his private study.
"You could always take a book from here and read," he suggested.
She turned around to face him, her face lighting up. "Could I?"
"Whatever gave you the impression you couldn't?" he asked, grateful that he wore a mask to cover his reddened face.
"I've been to a library once…the woman slapped my hand away because she was afraid I'd steal it…my father's reputation and all that," she confessed, her own face becoming red. "My mother taught me to read…I'm afraid I'm not familiar with fancy terms-"
"There is a dictionary you could use. You may read whatever you wish and keep it in your room until you've finished it," he encouraged her. He felt his stomach flip twice as she smiled at him.
"Thank you!" she beamed, turning her eyes to the well-stocked wall before her. "Oh, I wouldn't know where to start!"
"Might I suggest one of my personal favorites?" he asked, daring to come beside her.
She blinked at him in awe, startled that he had come within three feet of her. He was always so careful to keep his distance after that first day, not daring to touch her in any manner. She nodded her consent, taking a step closer as he became distracted scouring the shelves. Odette gazed at the mask, mesmerized by its brilliant shine in the light of the study. She often wondered why he would cover his face but she did not dare to ask or even touch him. He treated her kindly and mentioned that he pined for any form of company, so for that, she respected him and did not mention the mask or his face.
He withdrew an old, leather-bound volume from the shelf, turning it towards her so that she might read the glistening title. "The Hunchback of Notre-Dame," she said, already tantalized by the words. "I've heard of it…is it good?"
"Yes, but it's sad…then again, most of the best stories in the world are rather tragic, don't you think?" he asked with a sad chuckle.
"It looks rather long," she commented.
"You should see The Count of Monte Cristo," he grinned.
Her eyes lit up at the mention of the second book. "That sounds exciting!"
"I could always give you a recommendation as to what you might want to read next," he shrugged, struggling to hide his excitement at seeing her positive reaction.
"Could we read them together by the fire at night?" she asked, covering her mouth the instant the words flew out of her lips. "Pardon! I-"
"If you wish it," he answered, pretending to scan the pages of the book as he felt his heart pound fiercely within his breast. Mon Dieu, why was he so anxious to be with her?! "There's no need to apologize…was it something you did at home?"
Odette nodded, slowly removing her hands from her face. "…my…my mother used to read passages from the Bible when I was child. We'd sit by the fire and discuss what we understood or learnt from each chapter. I loved that time of day." She cast he eyes to the floor though she held her head up. "I'm sorry, I ramble."
He shook his head, offering her the book. "I enjoy the sound of your voice, Mademoiselle Delacroix-"
"Odette."
He blinked, his eyes widening. "Pardon-?"
"My name is Odette, monsieur. As I recall, you called me by my first name when you rescued me and had no qualms then…what makes it so different now that you must treat me so formally?"
"You're a beautiful young woman now, that's what." "I was merely being politely…if you'd prefer I call you by your first name-"
"I do."
"…very well…Odette." His eyes caught how she shivered at the sound of his voice pronouncing her name, making his blood race. She seemed to revel in this sensation, as though his voice was a tender caress, her cheeks flushing in a mix of delight and embarrassment at her reaction, making his heart and mind run wild with hope. Within over forty-eight hours, she had unknowingly woven an innocent, sweet spell upon his heart, making that insufferable spark of hope flicker once more.
"She's a girl – at least half your age! There's not a chance she could possibly think of you that way, especially not after the way you both ended up in this situation," he scolded himself harshly, but his heart would not yield. Clearing his throat, he tightened his tie and motioned for her to follow him. "Come, we shall begin today's lesson by revisiting the scales."
~OG~
"I'm afraid I can't stay, my dear. Not to worry – Chevalier should be here shortly."
It felt odd, referring to himself as though he really were two separate people. At times he almost believed his own fib. The day had come for her to leave 'the Opera Ghost' and spend the remainder of the week with his alter ego, the respectable gentleman who would take her as his ward. She seemed a bit jittery as he led her through the tunnels back towards the dressing room mirror. "He shan't harm you, Odette."
"I know," she nodded, her hands tightening on his arm, which made his pulse quicken. Out of habit, he offered his arm to her and found that she would not release him as he took her back…not that he was complaining. "I just…I'm not really sure. I suppose I've gotten used to being in your home these past few days, monsieur…and I enjoy being there. It was like a dream…no one came in demanding anything or shouted, it was quiet…you're a gentleman and a wonderful teacher, though I'm afraid I'm failing you."
He laughed merrily at this, making her gape at him. "You sell yourself short, my dear Odette. Of course you're having trouble – what student doesn't? You learn quickly, though, and retain what you understand thus far, and I shall come and visit you each day you return to the room, at noon sharp, for an hour's worth of lessons to continue so you don't forget. You're doing beautifully in just the first few days, Odette." It was sinful, how often he spoke her name once she had given him permission, but he couldn't resist, and she didn't protest. Flicking the hidden switch, he waited for the mirror to slide open before helping her back into the room, swiping his hat from his head and bowing gracefully before her. "I will bid you adieu now."
"Monsieur?" she spoke up, her arm hesitantly stretching out towards him. She stopped herself, blushing as she pulled her hand back. "…someday…will you show me the path to your house so I could come on my own?"
"…someday," he promised, a smile flickering onto his pale lips. "Until Sunday morning…au revoir." Tipping his hat, he clicked the switch back into place, the mirror sliding back into position before his figure turned and mysteriously vanished in the glass before her, as though he were composed of a cloud of mist.
"Au revoir," she whispered, hugging her arms as she was left alone in the room once more, sitting at the tidied vanity and staring blankly at her reflection. She tugged at the growing strands of her short ebony hair, humming her scales as she tapped her fingers upon the table and imagined the Phantom's piano beneath her hand. A smile grew on her lips as she became lost in thought, recalling her magical time with the strange man who considered himself a beast and yet treated her with such delicacy that he could be considered a prince. She blushed as she remembered his pet name for her – "Belle". He seemed to have a fascination of stories with men who went through tragedy for the love of a woman…was he, too, suffering from the denial of a woman's love, perhaps…?
A knock on the door drew her from her thoughts. Thinking it to be Chevalier, she arose from her seat and smoothed out her dressed before running her fingers through her hair. She stopped herself, scoffing at her behavior. "Honestly, I'm acting like those ninny schoolgirls back at the village," she muttered, shaking her head as she hurried to the door. Still, the thought of the kind and handsome gentleman who owned and managed the Opera seeing her in a decent gown made her blush from some unfathomable reason, making her feel even sillier than before. Opening the door without a second thought, she started to smile, only to have it fade away seconds later at the sight of a woman with reddish blonde hair and warm brown eyes.
"Oh!" they both exclaimed, jumping back in surprise at one another.
"I…I'm so sorry!" the stranger gasped, placing her hand over her heart to steady its quickened beat. "I didn't expect anyone to answer…I just thought I heard a noise in there and…well, never mind," she blushed, waving it off. "Are you a new singer?"
"I…no, I'm…waiting for someone," Odette shook her head, her mind racing to find an alibi as to her mysterious appearance. As far as she knew, no one except the Chevalier family was aware of her existence in the Garnier.
"Oh. Well, allow me to introduce myself, at the very least," the newcomer smiled kindly, offering her hand to the girl. "My name is Jeanne Favre…what's your name, cherie?"
"Odette," she answered, shaking hands with the woman. "Odette Delacroix."