By late morning Raoul arrived in Paris and took a deep breath, preparing himself for a meeting with his uncle. Years had passed since he'd last seen the bitter old man, and he suspected nothing had changed.
The townhouse Severin resided in was well-kept, the white brick exterior carefully preened, the grass greener than any of the other lawns on Rue Dante. The property was one of several residence he owned, though this one he frequented the most because of his love for being directly in the middle of all affairs, both involving his family as well as the rest of France.
His butler, a white-haired, thin man of short stature, answered the door with a bland greeting.
"The Vicomte de Chagny. The elder de Chagny has been expecting you," the butler said with a curt nod. He ushered Raoul inside and held up a white gloved hand. "You shall remain here."
He waited in the marble foyer beside an ivory statue of three naked women intertwined. Vases of flowers perfumed the entrance while paintings adorned the walls.
"Nephew," he heard Severin snap.
His harsh tone immediately made Raoul straighten and force a smile. "Uncle," he said as cheerfully as he could manage. "How are you?"
"Unwell," the old man answered tightly. "If your ignorant servants had delivered my note you would know as much."
Raoul clenched his jaw. "Forgive me for my own ignorance, Uncle Severin."
"Your own ignorance is inexcusable," he scowled as he shook a rolled up newspaper in the air. "You have brought shame upon our family, what with these childish endeavors."
Raoul furrowed his brow. "And what endeavors would those be?"
The old man was feebler than Raoul expected and took his time teetering down the hall. Worn and thin, with an ill-fitting dark suit and hair long and wispy, his only strength was his ability to scowl.
Severin grumbled for his nephew to join him in the parlor, which Raoul did without hesitation. Despite his fragile state, Severin still had the ability to strike fear into him.
Just looking at his uncle's hardened face made Raoul want to recoil, disappear into another room or away from the townhouse all together. The memories of being struck with a cane or slapped across the face for speaking out of turn brought to forefront of his thoughts.
"The orphan," Severin said once he sat in a heavily padded chair and motioned Raoul toward a meager stool in the corner.
He felt instantly reduced to childhood, to miserable holidays spent visiting his uncle. That small wooden stool was where he had spent hours upon hours in silence facing the wall, punished merely for existing. He was not to speak or move while in his Uncle's presence. He was to be as still and unnoticed as the stool itself.
"I am not sure what you mean, Uncle. Forgive me," Raoul said as he reluctantly took his seat.
"Forgive, forgive, you stupid bastard, you ask for nothing but my forgiveness, which you do not deserve," his uncle shouted.
Out of fear and respect, Raoul lowered his gaze and nodded. There would be no arguing with an elder de Chagny.
"All over the papers for weeks there has been sensational news of you, my worthless nephew, and a ballet dancer. Your father would have been disgraced! What business do you have soiling your hands in such filth?"
"Ballet dancer? You mean Christine Daae?" Raoul asked.
The old man slapped the newspaper against the arm of his chair. "Yes, yes, the orphan of the theater."
"The only child of famed violinist Gustave Daae," Raoul replied defensively. "Mother and father knew Monsieur Daae. They were friends with him."
Severin made a sound of disgust. "He was a worthless, talentless drunk. Your parents kept odd friends."
"Why did you summon me? To insult Mademoiselle Daae?" Raoul blurted out. "To insult my parents? God rest my father's soul, Uncle, it was much better than yours."
His uncle narrowed his eyes, but seemed unfazed by his nephew's brazen words. "Is she carrying your child?"
"No," Raoul said firmly.
"The child of another man?"
He shook his head, angered by his uncle's insinuations.
"But you have slept with her, yes? That is why you so adamantly wished to swoop in and be her heroic savior? Quite the man of the hour in the newspapers, Raoul," the old man said bitterly.
"I have known her since we were children," he answered, though he didn't feel obligated to explain himself. Their relationship had no bearing on his uncle's life and Raoul would be damned if the old fool thought he could force them apart.
"You are in love with this…chorus girl?"
Raoul stood and looked down at the elderly man. "She is more than a chorus girl, Uncle. She is a fine singer and a bright and beautiful young woman. If she does not have your respect, then you do not have my service here. Good day to you."
He felt a small sense of triumph once he stood. Seated with his knees up to his chest he felt as humble and worthless as the boy he'd been years ago, the inconvenience dropped upon his uncle's doorstep for a visit.
Raoul turned to leave, but his uncle hit the door with his cane and nudged the barrier shut.
"What do you know of the arts?" Severin questioned. "God knows you have spent more than enough time in a vulgar theater."
"I know enough," he answered harshly without bothering to look in his uncle's direction.
"My brother wasted a fortune supporting those worthless, talentless idiots. I suspect you have followed in his footsteps."
"Quite valiantly I have supported the same theaters and arts as my parents," he corrected.
"You would feel comfortable managing a theater, then?"
Raoul furrowed his brow. He had never been on the business end of entertainment. He had been a patron in the past, thought that consisted of little more than signing a check and accepting tickets to performances.
"I would not consider managing a theater as one of my talents," he answered, fully expecting his uncle to inform him that he indeed had no talents whatsoever.
"This orphan, would she be willing to sing again?" Severin questioned.
Raoul hesitated. He couldn't answer on Christine's behalf, even though he suspected returning to the stage and the theater was in her heart still. With all that had transpired, he wasn't certain she was prepared mentally as she was physically.
At last she seemed content and he didn't want anything to jeopardize how she had opened up. Weeks of her simply saying she was happy with him had finally turned into genuine joy to be in his company. He could imagine no greater moment in his life than when they were finally married and their lives began together.
"I would have to ask Mademoiselle Daae," he replied at last.
"Do you know her whereabouts, boy?"
Raoul nodded. "I do."
"In your bed?" he grumbled.
Patience wearing thin, Raoul clasped his hands behind his back and stood taller, prouder. "She has private quarters of her own located on my estate," he said sharply. "We are engaged to be wed shortly."
"There is a child, then?"
"I assure you there is not," he growled, tiring of his uncle's taunting words and insinuations. Not yet, he thought—not that he had been made aware. Despite the heat of passion, he had been careful.
His uncle looked him over. "If she is suitable talent, I would consider her for opening night."
Raoul shifted his weight. "Opening night for what?"
"A brand new establishment, boy," Severin answered in his usual gruff tone. "Don't you read the newspaper?"
"I have avoided reading them as of late, I admit," he answered. Over and over, day by day, he had seen nothing of interest. The newspapers and apparently the readers were enthralled by the mystery of the Phantom and the destruction of the theater. Each morning he had thrown the paper into the refuse, no longer wanting to read about the disaster they had survived.
"Well, you should be aware of the world," Severin responded.
"I have seen enough of Paris for the time being," Raoul said firmly. "Why have you asked me here? I am told no one else would entertain you."
Severin appeared furious, but he offered little more than a cold chuckle. "You are one damnable child, Raoul," he said, spitting out his words. "Sit at once or I will strike you with my cane," he threatened.
Raoul looked at the stool, then back at his uncle. "I shall stand, thank you."
The old man rolled his tongue along the inside of his cheek. "My theater opens in one month's time. With the Opera Populair now closed, there was need for a new establishment. You seem to have a great deal of experience chasing song birds and I expect you are at least capable of bumbling through the motions when it comes to managing a theater as this endeavor seems to require little talent."
Raoul inhaled sharply. "I am not interested."
"Your interest is of no concern, boy."
"I refuse."
"You are beneath me," Severin reminded him. "In thirty days, you will be at opening night and you will see that theater full. Do you understand?"
"Where is it located?" Raoul asked, knowing his uncle would not accept his answer. No matter how much he refused, Severin would not listen. With his mind made up, he had expectations for his nephew.
The old man tossed him the rolled up newspaper. "Read it for yourself. I trust you are educated enough to do such."
Raoul glanced at the paper. He exhaled and shook his head. Just when he felt as though he stood on the brink of his own life, once again his family name shoved an unexpected duty upon him.
"For how long?" he muttered.
The old man laughed to himself. "For as long as I say."
Raoul turned away, frustration thrumming through his veins. "Good day, Uncle."