Dancing as Aurora was a beautiful dream that ended too quickly. The triumph was over and Meg was deep into rehearsals for the spring production of Coppelia. Her hours were filled with music and movement and her heart soared. It made up for the pain and tears and the constant stress of her position. In the little time she was afforded away from the rehearsal hall, Meg remained at home with her mother. Madame Giry had been frequently unwell that winter and Meg did her best at playing nursemaid.
Meg tightened the shoe ribbons around her ankles and began a series of slow stretches, letting her gaze wander around the theatre and her mind drift away. Worry gnawed at her heart for both her mother and her best friend. Early into the new production, Christine's health deteriorated and she sent Raoul to attend rehearsals in her stead. Unlike his wife, he had little interest in the proceedings and little to add on the few occasions he had been there. He sat in the empty house, a pale and brooding presence.
He had been good enough to escort her home on those nights though, playing the perfect gentleman, Meg recalled, knowing that Christine had goaded him into it. The final time, he escorted her to the door and in the shadows, kissed her cheek gently with cold lips. He muttered a cordial farewell, not daring to look at her startled face and retreated with haste. Christine and Raoul had removed to their country house the following day, to await the birth of Chagny child number six. The physicians insisted that the comtesse needed quiet rest away from the bustle of Paris, that a good birth did not need noise or the temptation of the opera house. The resting made sense, but Meg wasn't sure how a chateau in the country would ensure a good birth.
"Throwing money at a problem is always the aristocratic answer." Meg grumbled, pushing fluidly to her feet from the stage; her feet always knew what to do even if she did not. The auditorium was quiet, the other dancers voices drifted out from the backstage hallways. She took a calming breath and moved lightly to music only she could hear; up en pointe and then down again, further stretching the calves and arms, it was comforting in how automatic it was.
The other dancers filtered onto the stage, each claiming a small area to perform their own warm up routine. Meg smiled and waved to the few who greeted her, other principals like her. The ladies of the corps, many of whom she had grown up with, only scowled at her as they arrived at rehearsal. Meg's heart sank; it was lonely at the top.
She drifted to her position near the front of the stage and waited for the choreographer to finish reviewing his notes and turn his attention to the assembled dancers. Meg was eager to begin, when she was dancing, it was easy to forget Raoul's distant but courtly behavior; and his cold kiss.
Before the rehearsal could begin, Monsieur Desjardins appeared at the back of the house, huffing and waddling his way down the aisle, pushing past the choreographer, knocking him over without an apology. Red faced and completely out of breath from the exercise, he motioned frantically to Meg.
"Monsieur Desjardins." Meg acknowledged, approaching the edge of the stage.
"Mademoiselle." he panted, holding out a sealed note to her. "A message from the Comte de Chagny."
"Merci, monsieur." She murmured, ignoring the quiet hum of conversation behind her. Clearly the others had noticed Raoul's attention to her as well. Meg tucked the envelope under the waistband of her skirt; she could read it later. Monsieur Desjardins stared at her frantically.
"I was told that it is most urgent, Madamoiselle."
"Merci." She muttered, heaving an inward sigh. "I was assured that Christine would be fine, how urgent could this possibly be?" Meg briefly admired the beautiful red wax and then broke the seal.
Marguerite,
Her time has arrived and it is hard going. She is asking for you; insisting upon it. Please, hurry. My man will bring you in the coach.
Raoul de Chagny
Meg's heart sank into the floor and she tossed the message at Monsieur Desjardins and dashed backstage.
"Madamoiselle, please! The rehearsal!" the choreographer called after her.
"I must go." Meg hurriedly laced up her boots. "I must go!" she shouted back. Scooping her dance clothing into a small linen bag, she babbled her apologies as she flew past the steaming choreographer; Monsieur Desjardins was hard on her heels, huffing and puffing once again.
Meg all but flew down the endless stairs and waited only a moment for the portly manager to catch up before she hopped into the waiting Chagny coach unassisted.
"Merci, Pierre." She smiled thinly. "Please, send a message to my mother." Not waiting for his response, Meg rapped on the roof and the coach lurched forward into a steady speed. Meg settled into the seat, covering her lap with the blankets there to keep the chill away.
Her dear, sweet, silly Christine, who drove her completely batty and inspired such unkind thoughts; but she still loved her, even if she kept trying to throw Raoul into Meg's path. "She has her reasons, I suppose." Meg mumbled, rummaging around in the bag on her lap, withdrawing the red silk ribbon. She brought it to her lips and offered up a prayer to the dark evening sky. If the Phantom had ever been an angel, his beloved Christine could certainly use one now. Meg squeezed her eyes shut; trying to banish the feelings of dread, she only hoped it was not as bad as Raoul implied.