Chapter 19: Christine's Daughter.

Her dark, grey streaked hair tumbled down her back in a lustrous wave.

A woman sat in the upper story window of a 17th Century French Chattue - its shutters thrown open to allow as much light as possible to enter the spacious room. Below her, dark red roses gazed up towards the casement, their colours so demanding that they were almost palatable.

She did not look at them though, for all the attention they demanded, and rather focused her interest on the letter in her hand.
'We are safe and returning from Scotland.'

The words leapt out at her like so many times before.

'I am not sure how long the journey will take, Phillip's father is completing some of his business, and he mentioned something about Edinburgh, but I am sure that we will be back at their estates within a few weeks. Please do not worry Maman, I am safe.

Your loving daughter,

Julianne.'

She read the last few words over and over again, disregarding the terribly script of Julianne's slightly younger friend Phillip.

I am safe.

Your Loving daughter.
Julianne.

"Julianne." She whispered softly and brought the paper to her lips as if it would allow her to draw closer to her eldest child.

The words did not still her fear, nor did it quench the trepidation throbbing in her heart but at least it brought some form of comfort, some form of relief that her daughter was still out there and that she was at least having a good time. The steady, if much delayed supply of letters kept the worst of the panic at bay.

They did not know how Julianne had managed to organise her flight all by herself and her husband had suggested more than once in one of their more heated arguments that her long time friend, Megan Giry, had something to do with it.

As much as she tried to keep Meg from being incriminated, Christine couldn't help but wonder.

Julianne idolized the woman and, with the help of her old nurse, kept in constant contact with the spinster.

Constant, unsupervised, contact as her husband pointed out more than once. He made it very clear on a number occasion that he did not approve of his daughter's association with the Ballet Mistress. For all their smiles and pleasantries, Meg and Raoul never got on. There was a tension between them, both acting as if the other had something that didn't belong to them.

Meg was also very vocal about her thoughts on Julianne's future.

The words – Let Her Be – came up in more than one conversation that usually led either to Meg's untimely return to her work or an unplanned meeting between Raoul's friends that required him to leave the house for a few days.

She understood where Raoul's suspicion came from, it seemed almost impossible that Meg would not know of Julianne's flight. But, she knew that Meg would never let Julianne come to harm.

Christine sighed as she ran her thumb over the edge of the paper.

The motivation behind their actions was love, she knew this, but it hurt to know that her two oldest and dearest companions – her best friend and her spouse, could not get on.

Julianne pretended to be happily oblivious to it, something she was very good at in general, but Christine always noticed that she spend some extra attention on her father when her unofficial Aunt left.

The woman smiled gently, her daughter was very perceptive.

Her daughter.
The words had engraved itself in her soul when she first held the tiny bundle of life in her arms and had forged itself in tears when they realised that she was blind.

Unknowingly, her eyes left the letter and turned to the roses crying for her attention.

They bloomed up at her, they taunted her, and they enslaved her very being.

Raoul disapproved of them as well but, he did not stop her from tending to them.

He had no right…

A sound attracted her attention but she paid it no mind.
The white Andulusian charged into the courtyard.

&&&

She was there.
He knew it.
She was there, amongst his roses, walking his hallways, tasting his mouth on her lips.

And he couldn't do anything about it.
Vicomte Raoul de Changy knew that she wasn't his.

They were married, and they were happy, but she wasn't his.
She had chosen the monster to save his life, but in turn – as that beast released her from his side, something neither of them thought he would capable of, he had sealed her heart to his.

He had not noticed it in the beginning.

They had been so happy, and so determined to shake of the shadows of the Opera. When their first child was born, eleven months after they were married, he couldn't help but think that they had managed to rid themselves completely of the place.

But then, eight months later it felt as if their world came to a grinding halt and slowly but surely returned to the shadows from which they had fled.
Julianne, his first child, the little being who had claimed him from her first cry, was blind.

Cursed to struggle forth her whole life in a world that shunned imperfection.

Christine had been quiet about the diagnosis and refused to discuss it. Then, shortly after Julianne's first birthday she started on her rose garden.

He came back into their house, like the frustrated wail of a sightless child and the pungent fragrance of roses in full bloom.

And now…
Hate, loss and anger burned inside him as he left his horse to the grooms and stormed into the house.

He went to Christine immediately and found her sitting just as he had seen her from the courtyard, her gaze focused on the garden. She didn't even look up as he entered.

Raoul took a moment to study his wife.

He remembered the young Little Lotte whom he had met on the beach, who knew nothing of the evil in the world except her father's growing weariness.

Then, the young woman he met again in the Paris Opera house, a young woman who was familiar with death, but naïve enough to believe that her father's ghost was teaching her to sing.
A ghost, an angel – a monster.
The monster that was responsible for the woman who now sat before him.

Beautiful still, but subdued by life and starved by a hunger she didn't even know she had.

She never sang in public again.

The woman in front of him, with faint lines of sorrow around her eyes, isolated herself from anything musical for almost two years after they left Paris. She would have undoubtedly upheld her isolation had it not been that they discovered that music soothed their slow developing and very frustrated toddler.

Julianne had been difficult in her first year and a half of life. She had showed no interest in the world around her, cried for hours at end, threw screaming fits and refused to be soothed by anyone including her parents and then… Then – one day out of pure frustration, Christine - holding the screaming child to her chest - started singing about the Angel of Music.

That day was still vivid in his mind, how his blood had run cold at the sound of her voice at exactly the same moment he felt the warm rush of relief when he heard Julianne's frantic wails slowly subside.

The moment had been the catalyst and pretty soon, as Julianne's curiosity and interaction with the outside world grew, so did Christine's confidence in her own voice. They had a revival in their life and in their marriage and Christine, although she still did not make her skills public, poured everything she knew into tutoring their daughter.

Standing there, watching Christine overlooking her rose garden, a letter crumbled in her lap, he cursed that day.

He walked closer and stopped an arm's length from her.
She still did not react to his presence and only when he called her name, clearly – but only once, did she blink and drop her gaze from the roses.

She took a few moments to gather herself and slowly smoothed out the crumbled letter in her lap. She looked up and met his gaze, her gentle love for him slowly replacing the echo of guilt.
"Raoul." She said softly, before she smiled at him. "I got another letter from Julianne. I think it's terribly late again. She says that she is well…"

The gentleness in her eyes vanished as she looked at his stoic features.

He looked at her for a long time before he produced a letter of his own.
"She is there."

Christine did not take the letter, nor did she look away from his face.
She knew immediately, he could tell.
A silent scream build up behind her eyes before she blinked and turned to the roses.

The letter she held tore in her hands.

&&&

When she turned around, tickets in hand, Julianne was gone.

Madam Giry looked around startled, searching for her dark haired charge. With her heart beating an erratic taboo in her chest she put both the tickets and her change back into her purse and made her way across the platform as quickly as possible. She cursed her timing suddenly because two other trains had just stopped on separate tracks and, the people spilling out of them caused a sea of faces to scan and chaotic mass to manoeuvre through.

"Julianne!" She called above the piercing whistle of the trains. "Julianne!"

Knowing it was futile she went back to the lamp post where she had left the child. As she reached it she noticed that quite a small crowd had formed there. Feeling alarmed, Madam Giry hurried over and pushed through the onlookers. It was in times like this, when she could use her cane as motivation to get people to move where she wanted them to, that she didn't mind being old.

Reaching the post she felt a rush of relief when she saw Julianne hunched on the floor clutching her chest – her hand pressed tightly over her face. She had managed to push her body against the bench next to the lamp post.

A gentleman with a thick black moustache and a top hat, together with a finely dressed woman were trying to talk to her but she refused to acknowledge their presence.

"What's wrong darling?" The woman was asking, her hand tentatively touching Julianne's hair. "Are you with someone? Rene, try to find out if she is with someone."

The gentleman had his own ideas and was trying to get his arm around Julianne's back so that he could pick her up.

"Let's take her to the Station Master." He was saying. "Work with me here bien-aimé, I think she is having some type of fit…"

Antoinette managed to tap him on the back with her cane.

"She is with me." She said quickly. "Will you stand back please?"

Another prod with her cane got the man moving and a stern look made his companion back away as well, if somewhat reluctantly. They stood back and started to tell the people watching to move away.
Antoinette paid them no mind as she looked at the stricken blind child, feeling suddenly very inept to handle her.
Julianne was as pale as a sheet. She did not shake, or cry, or even move but had seemingly shut herself out from the outside world. She was clutching her cane to her chest and had her other hand firmly pressed over her eyes.

The old woman hesitated, unsure of how to proceed.
"Julianne." She said firmly. "Julianne, come on child…"
At the sound of her name Julianne jerked her head up and seemingly scanned the crowd.
"Madam Giry." She managed and reached out blindly. "Madam Giry…"

Antoinette immediately took her hand and braced herself on her cane as the girl got up unsteadily. She pressed herself against the ballet mistress and lowered her head as the old woman gently put her arm around her.

The woman who had hunched next to her stood closer and rested a hand on Julianne's shoulder.
"Is she alright Madam?" She queried. "What happened, Mademoiselle?"

Julianne didn't say anything as she took the moment of comfort from Madam Giry until she finally stepped away. Pale and shaking she smoothed out her dress and tried in vane to pull what was left of her dignity together.

Madam Giry gave her a critical look and glanced at the station clock.
"I think I can handle this." She told the woman, but not unkindly. "Thank you for your help, we have a train to catch."

She linked arms with Julianne who automatically fell in step next to her.

As she guided them over to where they departed, Madam Giry caught the gaze of a young blond man in the crowd. His grey blue eyes smiled at her coldly, before he turned away and walked to where the carriages were waiting.
Next to her, Julianne shivered.

&&&

Although her face was placid, Julianne's hands shook as she clutched them in her lap.

Now safely in the train Madam Giry sat back with a sigh and rummaged in her bag, looking out of the window as the train started pulling away.

"I do not think that drinking is a very good habit." She said as she produced a silver flask. "But I find that sometimes, sipping can be very helpful…"

She leaned forward and pressed the tiny flask into Julianne's hands.

The young woman briefly explored its shape before she blushed.

"I'm… I… No thank you." She tried to give the flask back to the woman but the old ballet mistress shook her head before she realised it was a bit of a wasted gesture.

She pushed the flask back.

"Just a sip." She said. "I won't take it back until you do."

Julianne's blush deepened as she fumbled to unscrew the top and took a meagre taste.

She took a sharp breath and coughed.

"Last year Christmas," she began hesitantly as she cleared her throat and held the bottle in front of her, "my brothers kept filling up my wine glass without me noticing. I thought I was having one glass…" She blushed. "My father had to carry me up the stairs. I couldn't navigate around the carpets."

Madam Giry couldn't help but chuckle at the image when she took the bottle from her charge's hands and was glad to see that Julianne chuckled with her. Her shoulders began to relax and her hands lay still in her lap.

"The following day must've been hard." The older woman commented, earning a sharp laugh from Julianne.

"I stayed in bed all day." She chuckled. "My nurse Greta wasn't very sympathetic though, she made sure I learned a lesson that day. Even if it was just never to drink more than two or three sips of wine to be polite. My mother was so angry with my brothers. They were in so much trouble the next day." She sighed softly and ran her hand over her face.

Madam Giry watched the gesture and kept her eyes on Julianne's hands.

"You must miss them." She commented carefully. "You have not been home in many weeks."

As she suspected, Julianne's placid expression never wavered but her hands twitched and balled into fists.

"This has been the longest I've been away." She said ambiguously. "It's been an experience."

The woman raised an eyebrow.

"A lonely one?"

Julianne blinked suddenly and sniffed.

"Is this about Monsieur Erik?" She queried sharply. "Are you acting as voice for my aunt?"

Her crystal blue eyes flashed sharply as she glared at a spot somewhere around Madam Giry's chest, reminded of the anger she had felt in the Opera.

The woman shook her head out of habit but also immediately touched the girl's knee.

"I am nobody's voice." She said. "I do not share your aunt's negative perception of this relationship. And, don't fool yourself Julianne de Changy, she knows with whom you are associating yourself with. She is just not ready to admit to her self that she knows."

Julianne sniffed again, refusing to acknowledge the hand on her knee.

"Their history has nothing to do with me." She said shortly. "Monsieur Erik is the best friend I have ever had. I came to the Opera to find myself. To figure out what has been going on in my life and where I wanted to be before I was pushed there by forces outside of my control. He believed in me Madam. He helped me in so many ways. I can not believe that Aunt Meg is being so stubborn about this."

Antoinette Giry grunted softly.

"Secrecy is rewarded by stubbornness young Ann." She said. "You have not been honest with your aunt."

Julianne blushed deeply but did not show remorse as she sniffed and turned her face to the window.

"Nor has she been with me." She said shortly. "There are a lot of secrets in that Opera Madam Giry. Aunt Meg has kept just as much from me as I have kept from her, including the fact that the ghosts of my parents seem to haunt that place. Every single ballet girl knows the name of Christine Daae. I ask you why?"

A bit taken aback by the sudden turn in conversation Madam Giry took a few moments before she responded.

"How much have you heard?" She queried neutrally.
As quickly as it came, some of the fierceness left Julianne's eyes as she shrugged and sat back.

"Nothing really, just the most absurd stories. I made a point of not listening." She sniffed. "I do not believe in ghost stories."

Feeling strangely relieved Madam Giry nodded to herself.

"Nor do I." She said lightly. "Nor did I bring you here to discuss them Julianne. Or Monsieur Erik. He is your business and whatever happens between you two and your Aunt is your own responsibility. I have made that very clear to her. She brought you here, there for; she is responsible for what ever happens while you are here."
Julianne frowned slightly and shook her head.

"Nothing will happen, Madam Giry."

The old woman shrugged, even though the gesture was wasted on the young woman.

"Be that as it may." She said as she looked to the passing country side. "You must just please do me a favour and remember that, what ever happens – even if it is just nothing, that it will affect Monsieur Erik as well."

Julianne frowned puzzled, not sure where the woman was going with this.

"I will never hurt him." She said, almost defensively.
Again, the older woman raised an almost amused eyebrow.

"Of course." She said. "You do of course remember that you won't stay at the Opera forever."

The words did not have the effect on Julianne as she had anticipated. Instead of being surprised by the subject, Julianne face contorted with the same haunted expression she had seen at the station and unbidden her hand travelled to her face.

The silence grew almost drowning before Julianne nodded, ever so slightly.

"I know."

Her one hand travelled to the crook of her elbow and grasped it…

&&&

The hand the slipped into the crook of her elbow was not Madam Giry's.

Her head snapped up.

"Hallo Julianne de Changy."

At the voice, Ann's mind went completely blank. Visions of her previous attackers vanished as her heart skipped a beat and her breath caught in her throat.

No…

"Is it necessary for me to introduce myself?" The voice queried, the French perfect. "I won't be surprised, it has been so long."
The hand tightened on her elbow.

Panicked emotions vibrated across her mind along with embarrassment. She knew her face was as hot as it has ever been in this man's company.

"Ah, no Monsieur." She said. "It… It is not necessary. Bonjour Monsieur Mackenzie. It, it has been long."
The man chuckled softly, a sound that has always made her uncomfortable.

"Your talents never cease to amaze me." He complimented her suavely. "I did not think that you would know who I am."

She tried to force smile on her face and a light laugh, which failed horribly, as her one hand unconsciously searched for a fan she didn't have.

She has always had one at her disposal in this man's company.

"Of course not Monsieur." She tried lightly. "I would always know who you are. I am… How are you?"

Madam Giry.
Where was the woman?

"I am well." He replied in the same smooth tone. "And, might I say you look just as well, almost radiant. I did not expect to see you here. What has Paris done, to deserve the pleasure of your company?"

Scream, cry – she wasn't sure what she would do first.

"I sing at the Opera house." She said without thinking. "I… Am in the choir."

Monsieur Mackenzie moved so that he stood closer to her, pressing his side against hers – a gesture that must've seemed very intimate.

She knew that he could feel every inch of her shake.

"Le Opéra Populaire?" He queried surprised. "What a coincidence! I was there a few evenings ago at the Gala evening. I saw a girl who looked almost just like you, though – she sang next to the diva, Signora Romano."

Her cheeks were throbbing and, for some reason, her mind turned to Monsieur Erik – a only that made her embarrassment even greater.

"That… ah…" She was breathless. "That was me Monsieur. I… I sang with Signora Romano."

She could feel his grin, though it was anything but pleasant.

"How delightful. Your parents must be very proud."

Monsieur Erik remained on her mind and she felt herself clinging him like a vision about to flee.

"They… They are. They are very proud."

She felt his other hand move to her, first touching the arm he grasped then travelling down to her wrist where he briefly caressed her hand before he took the cane she grasped out of her iron grip.

Her heart once again skipped a beat as he momentarily held it away from her, probably studying it.

"Interesting." He murmured. "They told me that you were in Sweden, with some family of your deceased grandfather. From your mother's side. I did not know she had family."

She could not keep her now empty hands from shaking with emotion.

"I was… I mean… I… My father…"

She desperately wished from Madam Giry to come or Monsieur Erik.
Anybody…

"Monsieur, I am not telling the truth."

"Oh?"

The embarrassment turned to shame, but not strangely at the liberty of this man.

What was she thinking?
If Monsieur Erik showed up now. If he heard this conversation or met Monsieur Mackenzie.

"My parents, they do not know that I am here Monsieur." His hand squeezed her elbow almost painfully. "They think that I am in England, with some friends of the family. I ran away from home Monsieur."

There was a long silence in which the pressure on her arm did not decrease; to the contrary, she had to keep herself from pulling away from his grip.

"I see." He murmured softly. "Hopefully with the intention of coming back my dear, Julianne."

The way he said her name…

She bit her tongue in effort not to start crying.

"Of course Monsieur. I had intended to be back home by now, but because of the Gala evening… Everything was delayed. I am sorry. I did not mean any harm."

Around them, trains whistled as they stopped and the continuous bustle of people going about their day increased.
Yet, between them the silence grew to drown out all the noise.

The world around Ann vanished as she waited for any response from the man next to her.

"I see." He said finally. "If that is the case Julianne, then I fear it is my duty to inform them – as soon as possible – that you are here. They must be out of their minds with worry – for surely they know by now that your visit to England is a hoax?"

Ann closed her eyes and tried to swallow down the tightness in her throat.

"I do not know Monsieur." She admitted. "I have not heard from them since I left home."
The pressure on her arm became more than she could bear, but before she could pull away he released her suddenly.

"That is unacceptable Julianne." He said. "I expected more from a young lady such as yourself. Much less…"

"I know Monsieur." She said quickly, lest he should say it. She could not bear…

"I know Monsieur, I am deeply ashamed. I just had to take a moment… To get away. You know how my parents feel about Paris. I wanted to be here for myself, I did not mean any harm… Least of all to you."

She felt him smile again – a motion that send renewed shivers down her spine.

"Of course Julianne." He soothed. "I understand. You are here with someone?"
She swallowed and refrained from rubbing her elbow, wishing for her cane.

"Oui Monsieur." She said meekly. "She will becoming for me shortly, she only went to buy our tickets."

The man made a sound in the back of his throat.

"The ticket lines are terrible." He said. "You will undoubtedly wait a bit longer for her. Should I keep your company?"
She could not make herself nod and he knew it.
With a cold chuckle he turned and pushed her cane back into her shaking hands.

"Of course not." He said amused. "Ann le Roux has no reason to associate herself with François Mackenzie. I will take my leave Julianne, though I will keep an eye on you to make sure that you are safe."

Keeping her head down, struggling to hold onto her cane with her shaking hands, Ann nodded meekly.

"Merci Monsieur." She managed.

His cold smile touched her face. "It is my pleasure." He said and stepped so that he was in front of her. He dropped his voice.

"You should've come to me Julianne, if you wanted to get away. You should've included me in this foolish venture. I have already sent that letter."

She closed her eyes, unable to stop the tears from escaping.

"Oui Monsieur."

His hands grasped hers over her cane as he leaned forward and planted a kiss on each cheek, taking her tears with him.

"Au revoir…" He whispered. "For now."

She could not say anything as he stepped away but when his hands let go of hers they shook so much that she dropped the cane.
Ann sank down on her hunches to pick up her fallen cane as he moved away from her, feeling the life she had as Ann Leroux – slowly slip away with him.

She fumbled around blindly before she finally found the cane and hugged it to her chest…

&&&

Antoinette Giry frowned as she looked at the girl, who was quite suddenly obviously far away in her head.

Her blue eyes stared blindly out of the window where she had rested her head back against the seat. Her face was placid, but she could see the reflection of unshed tears in her charge's eyes.
Her hand, having first grasped her elbow now travelled up and down her arm as if she was trying to rid herself of something spilled on it.

The way she sat reminded Madam Giry of the events that had transpired before they got onto the train. The concern she felt then washed back over her and she found herself leaning forward to touch the young woman's knee.
Julianne blinked startled and grasped her elbow tightly. Her eyes shot around and blindly searched in front of her.

"Julianne." Madam Giry said gently to gain her attention. "Julianne, what happened at the station? Why were you so upset?"

The girl blinked and visibly tried to gather her thoughts.

"People fussed." She muttered under her breath. "I wanted to sit down and I missed the bench. It was very disconcerting when everybody was suddenly around me. I… Panicked."

Her tone had become very blank and very casual, almost embarrassed.
It screamed a lie.

Madam Giry almost shook her head when she noticed how Julianne had grasped her elbow.
In one of her upwards sweeps she had drawn her shirt sleeves up with her.
Angry red marks was forming on the pale inside of her arms The marks were almost a mirror image of the way Julianne currently grasped her arm.
The woman blinked startled and studied the blind girl's face, seeing the remnants of the trail tears had left on her cheeks.

"You met somebody." She said blankly, without question or too much insistence. "Who was it? Did the person recognize you? It's important if they did Julianne."

The strange thing was that, as her head snapped up in Madam Giry's direction, Julianne's eyes immediately pinned her down.

She knew the girl was blind, but it was very disconcerting to suddenly be faced with the full force of her crystal gaze.

Her expression was harsh for a moment, and then – slowly, the self control she must've held onto from the moment they got onto the train started to slip.
Her hands shook as they moved away from her elbow and reached for the cane as something to hold onto.
She dropped her head and closed her eyes as she nodded, ever so slightly.

The older woman felt a touch of alarm.

"Who?" She queried softly.
Julianne didn't appear to hear her immediately as her hand travelled up and down the dark cane with its silver angel figure.
She turned her eyes upwards touched her face with her free hand.

Finally, after a long debate she sighed.

"It was Monsieur François Jacques Mackenzie." She said softly, panic and defeat fighting for dominance in her tone.

"My fiancé."

&&&