November 6th 1895: Meg
I watched the scene unfolding on our threshold, and despite myself, I couldn't help being touched. Sure, this was Erik, who had hurt my best friend very much, and still… this also was Uncle Erik, who was almost like a second father to Philippe. I knew how much the boy had missed him, how often he had asked for him, how desperately he had waited for his letters.
I couldn't blame him for being happy. After all, he had no idea what had happened between Uncle Erik and his mother while he had been at his teacher's house. By the time he had come home, Christine had already been gone, and I had only told him that she'd be back later. Hearing the news that Uncle Erik had returned, he had hardly cared about anything else anyway.
And now they were together again. I smiled. The cheerful atmosphere was disturbed rather quickly, though.
"Who is that, Uncle Erik?"
Of course it was Antoinette who asked the question. Up to now, she had been standing next to me in silence, watching her brother and Erik, just like I did, but silence had never been something she was too good at. If there was something on her mind, she simply uttered it.
At the girl's words, I looked over Erik's shoulder and saw none other than the Italian girl standing at the very edge of the threshold. She shuffled her feet, looking very uneasy, as if she'd have rather been anywhere but here. Feeling the attention focus on her, she took one step further into the shadows, till she was nearly swallowed completely by them.
Erik let go of Philippe and straightened up. It was only then that he seemed to notice that Philippe was not the only one who had come to greet him.
"Meg," he said, stepping forwards and seizing my hand to kiss it. "You haven't changed at all. Radiant as ever. And Antoinette! You've grown so much. I can hardly believe it's you."
It was clear to me that he tried to divert our attention from the girl. He should have known that such strategies never worked with Antoinette. If she wanted to know something, there was no diversion possible. Perhaps Erik had forgotten how persistent she could be.
"Bon soir, Uncle Erik," she said with a polite curtsey, only to go on the moment she had straightened up again, "Who is that?".
Erik made a slightly annoyed face and looked at me, as if trying to get me to help him.
I gave him a cold glance. In my opinion, I had done more than enough by not telling the children how he had treated their mother. The rest was up to him.
"This is Marcella," he finally replied, apparently deciding that no escape was possible. "I have brought her with me from Italy. I'll teach her to sing, and one day, she'll perform at the opera. Come, my dear, show yourself."
He took her by the hand, and the girl seemed to draw strength from his touch. She walked forwards into the part of the threshold that was illuminated by the light from the corridor, so that everyone could see her properly.
As I watched her chew on her bottom lip and stare down at the floor self-consciously, I found my initial impression underlined: Although a rather pretty girl, she was nothing compared to Christine. I failed to understand how Erik could have chosen her instead of my friend. Apart from everything else, she was… well, very young. She couldn't have been older than sixteen or seventeen, and though I couldn't be sure with Erik, I guessed that he was at least sixty years old.
Of course I knew that such combinations weren't unusual. Christine and I, who had both married rather young patrons, were a minority at the opera. It was much more common for patrons to be at least as old as Erik was, and they often sought contact to young girls, although admittedly, such unions rarely ended with weddings. I couldn't quite explain to myself why I was so shocked by the age difference, but I was.
Even Antoinette didn't seem to know what to say. We simply stared at the girl for a few moments, while she grew more and more uncomfortable. At last, Erik seemed to realise that the introduction he had begun was not over yet.
"Marcella, I'd like you to meet Antoinette and Philippe de Chagny," he told her. "You've already met Meg Tavoire," he added.
Marcella nodded, giving me a shy glance and a half-smile, which I did not return. I didn't want to make it too easy for her. She hadn't made it easy for Christine either.
"Bonjour," she muttered.
That one word seemed to have been all Antoinette needed. Apparently she had decided that the new girl was not dangerous in any way, and since she always liked to talk to everyone who would listen and find out more about them, she began to try and satisfy her curiosity at once.
"You want to sing at the opera?" she asked. "Are you a good singer? You must be very good, or they won't take you. When I'm older, I want to dance at the opera, just like Meg. I go there as often as I can, when I'm not at my teacher's house. Do you have a private teacher as well, or have you already learned all you had to?"
Antoinette certainly meant well, but the effect of her speech on Marcella was quite the contrary. She turned to Erik, an expression of utmost confusion on her face.
"Non comprendo niente," she whispered miserably. "Che cosa dice la bambina? Parla troppo rapidamente."
"Marcella can't understand you," Erik explained to Antoinette. "She doesn't speak French very well yet. If you want to have answers to your questions, you have to talk slowly, or at least give me the chance to translate what you want to know."
Antoinette frowned. It was clear that the concept of talking slowly was unfamiliar to her. As far as I knew, she had been talking quickly from the moment in which she had known how. On the other hand, she loved talking, and she never missed the chance of making a new friend.
"Oh…" she made. "I'll try again, shall I? Are you a good singer?" she repeated, speaking very slowly.
Marcella beamed at her, obviously understanding her at last.
"I do not know if I am good," she replied. "But I like singing very much. Signor Erik will teach me. He is a good teacher."
"Meg is a very good teacher as well," Antoinette said. "And Aunt Antoinette. She teaches the chorus girls at the opera. She's Meg's mother and my godmother. That's why we have the same name, you know."
Marcella looked a little confused again, but Erik helped her before she could even ask.
"Aunt Antoinette è Mme.Giry, la madre di Meg e la madrigna di Antoinette," he told her quickly.
She nodded.
I seized the chance to say something as well.
"Why don't we all continue this conversation inside?" I suggested. "It's getting cold here in the corridor, and my mother and Jean are waiting for us in the sitting room."
"Is Christine there as well?" Erik asked in a very casual voice that didn't fool me for a moment. I knew at once that he had been meaning to ask that question for a long time, probably ever since they had arrived.
"No," I replied shortly. "She has gone to see Raoul."
There was no telling what was going on in his head. I had no idea whether my answer made him disappointed or relieved. The expression on his face didn't change at all. The part of it covered with the new mask remained as blank as the rest.
"Let's get inside then," he decided after a moment's silence. "It is a little cold out here, and I don't want Marcella to catch a cold. She has yet to get used to the climate. It was much warmer in Italy."
Antoinette and I stepped aside to let them through. I could tell that Marcella had understood what I had said about Christine not being here. She walked more freely, like someone who had been freed from a big weight on their shoulders. She also seemed to grow more interested in her surroundings. Antoinette continued their conversation, and she joined in at once. The communication between them was working very well, now that Antoinette knew she had to talk slowly. Marcella even dared leave Erik's side and walk down the corridor with the girl, throwing curious glances to the left and right.
"They like each other," Erik stated.
"It appears so," I agreed matter-of-factly. I was not about to stop talking to him altogether, but he couldn't expect me to be overly friendly either, not after what had happened.
Erik looked at me.
"Meg," he said softly. "I know that what I did with Christine and Marcella was… maybe not the most elegant solution. But all that has nothing to do with me and you. We've been good friends before I left, and I'd like that friendship to continue. There is no reason for you to be that hostile."
"No reason?" I repeated incredulously, after I had made sure that Antoinette and Marcella were out of earshot. "Erik, you hurt Christine. She was delighted to hear that you'd come back, and then you show up here with your… your mistress, and Christine didn't even have an idea that there was someone else! I'm her best friend. If you hurt her, you also hurt me. Don't you understand?" I stopped, breathing heavily.
With a certain sense of satisfaction, I noticed that Erik's face showed a reaction at last. He looked shocked, with his eyes bulging slightly and his mouht hanging open. Yet it wasn't he who spoke.
"Why did you hurt Maman, Uncle Erik?" Philippe asked, looking up at him from where he still stood on the doorstep. "And what is a mistress?"
Author's note: The Italian phrases translate as: "I don't understand anything. What does the girl say? She's talking too quickly." and "Aunt Antoinette is Mme.Giry, Meg's mother and Antoinette's godmother.".