Chapter 20: de Chagny's Legacy.

The Vicomte Raoul De Chagny pressed himself against the shadows of the dark passageway, staring - through a thin stream of water running down the edge of the roof – at a window in the building across from him. He found himself thinking about the events that had lead him here, on this day – to this place, and somehow – none felt as if it was his fault.

Months ago, when it first became clear to them that their daughter had run away he had insisted to Christine that they go to England and collect her from her friend Philippe's family. He also insisted that they write to Philippe's parents and in the very least enquire about their eldest health.
But, his wife had discouraged him and told him that they owed it to Julianne to have a moment or two for herself.

"To discover the rest of the world." His wife had said.

Then, when her fiancé started asking about her whereabouts he once again demanded that they go to England and collect her, but by that time they had received the letter – telling them that she and the family had toured up to Scotland, and again the matter was postponed.
Now, they stood on the brink of disaster.

Now they find out that Julianne had been spirited away to the opera house, the Opera House, by Mademoiselle Megan Giry – a woman known for putting her own needs in front of others wishes. He never encouraged their friendship and in later years he started to outright disapprove of it.

Meg Giry was a loose cannon, a woman who kept associating herself with the bane of their past and who always gave the impression that she took a Monster's side to his.
No, he decided. Meg Giry was to blame for all of this.

But.

There was more of course.
He looked up at the window, waiting.

He also felt as if this was somehow his own family's fault that he was here, on this day, for this reason.

He should never have been the man he was today.
Never.

As the youngest of four children he should never have been in line to inherit the family fortune.

His mother, the Comtesse de Changy, née de Moerogis de La Martyni, had died giving birth to him and his father, the strict and old Counte Philibert had died when he was barely 12 years old. He had not mourned the loss of both his parents as others felt he should've. His father had been distant and dismissive towards him and he had spend most of his youth on the apron strings of an old aunt and under the ever watchful eyes of his two older sisters who were separately 5 and 8 years his seniors.

At the death of his father, with his brother, then 32 – had become head of one of the most prestigious and oldest families in France. Realising that it would not be an easy task to manage the large estate, Phillipe Georges Marie Comte de Changy had tried to convince his siblings to split it up but they would not hear of dividing the estates and felt comfortable to leave their shares entirely in their brother's hands.
When the two sisters married, Phillipe gave each their share in the form of a dowry.

As women they also had it easy, the management of those estates went directly to their husbands' care.

They never really saw the money.

Despite having the same inhibitions his father had to showing emotions Phillipe had spoilt Raoul, quickly realizing that the beautiful young man with his fair moustache, blue eyes and undeniable charm would be an excellent figure head for a family whose coat of arms dated back to the fourteenth century. Phillipe oversaw Raoul's education but somehow never thought to each him the management skills that one needed to run an estate as large as theirs. The older brother had never shown any urge to marry and Raoul had been quite content to accept that his brother would always be there to oversee his financial matters.

It was not meant to be.

Phillipe never saw Raoul marry Christine. Shortly after their escape from the Opera's clutches his brother died suddenly and without warning.

Raoul could never help but wonder whether or not it had not been from natural causes as the doctors loudly proclaimed.
He sighed and wrapped his cloak around him.
No, he decided as he noticed the light appear in the window.

None of this was his fault, but he was going to have to carry the blame and burden of it anyway.

&&&

Two days.

He stared at the painting, his eyes taking in the lines and contours of the two women's bodies – the way their hands moved towards each other, almost as if dancing, but not touching, never touching.
They were having tea, in a garden.
Talking perhaps.
But never touching.

Shared solitude.
He shook his head in wonder.

Blanche Glover, the English painter had shared her solitude with the poetess Cristobel la Motte. They never publicly acknowledged a romantic relationship of any sorts, but it was well known that when Cristobel la Motte disappeared from the public eye for a number of months, Blanche Glover committed suicide.
Two days.
He liked the word somehow.
Shared solitude.
It made him think of Ann and himself in a way.

Each of them had a solitude that they carried with them, something painful, something that set them apart from the rest. He knew that deep down, neither knew the other's bane but – they could understand it. And, in that – they shared their solitude.
He had difficulty imagining his life without Ann le Roux.

It scared him.
He had not seen her in two days.
She did not come back to him after Antoinette Giry whisked her away from his side – but he had expected it because he could see that Ann had been very angry with him for letting her go.

But, the next day came and went and Ann still didn't show her face. Nor did Antoinette Giry for that matter, but he did not seek her out.

Now, on the eve of the second day he started to feel a touch of trepidation.
What had Antoinette Giry told her of him or was Ann still just very mad at being made to do something against her will?
Neither felt liable.
Antoinette Giry served him and would not again betray his confidence and Ann never struck him as being so vindictive.

No.
There must be something else.
He turned and slowly started walking down the deserted corridor to the secret passageway he and Ann had used previously.

He wondered suddenly whether or not something had upset Ann on her trip with Antoinette Giry. Again, he wondered what Madam Giry had told her of him of his history.

What would Ann do if she knew he was a murderer?

He shivered and slipped into the secret passageway.

He had to go and see her.

&&&

For two days she had sat in her room crying.
Crying because her world was shattering, crying because with every second she became less of whom she had been and more of who she should be.

It felt as if Ann LeRoux was dying.

Listening to the sounds she associated with the evening life of Paris Julianne sat with her head against the cold wall of her room.

It had finally dawned on her that her life at the opera house was drawing to an end when she and Madam Giry returned from their train trip around the city.

She had started crying as soon as Megan Giry met them but had at first refused to allow the older woman to console her.

"You want this." She had told her, unfairly, when they had reached their rooms. "You've been upset about me singing since the gala evening, you wanted this!"

She had then done something that she had very rarely done in her adult life. She had slammed the door in her aunt's face, stumbled to her bed and lay there crying until she didn't have the strength to anymore.

Her tears didn't dry up though.
She didn't think that they ever would.

Her aunt had left her until that evening when the initial storm of her emotions had passed and Antoinette Giry undoubtedly informed her daughter of what had transpired.

Meg had entered her room without a word and, despite Julianne's stiff back and almost hostile silence, had slipped in next to her on the floor and just placed her arm around her.
After several long minutes the younger woman had finally relented and allowed the woman to pull her into her lap.

"I never wanted it to happen this way." Meg had said softly, whilst smoothing her hair. "Not like this Julianne. Not like this. I'm sorry."

Julianne's grief had still been unforgiving then.

"This is your fault." She had hissed through uncontrolled, bitter tears. "You showed me this. You created Ann and now, they are coming, and he knows, and I'll have to leave. I will have to leave Ann le Roux behind and I can't do that."

She knew that her aunt could say nothing to that and the woman didn't.
Instead she had just held her as she cried, saying – over and over again…

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry Julianne…"

Julianne de Changy shifted against the cold wall, feeling a fresh set of tears brim in her eyes. She rubbed at them bitterly, cursing that this was the only thing that her sightless orbs could do.

As she had told her aunt, she couldn't leave Ann le Roux behind.

But her reasons were far more complex than they should've been.

Julianne touched her ring finger vaguely whether or not she should put her engagement ring back on.

She had never really had an opinion about her engagement to Monsieur Francois Mackenzie.

He was one of her father's friends and was quite a number of years older than she was. He had never showed an interest in her during her youth, and she had almost felt daunted by his impatience towards her disability.

He never touched her, never spoke to her, never acknowledged her more than courtesy demanded.

Then, just past her eighteenth birthday, young Julianne suddenly became alive to him. He started escorting her around their estate grounds, spend long hours idly talking to her about mundane things, politics, finance, the management of his vast fortunes.
There was never any warmth from him though, never a kind word or – as she felt it – true interest. He also barely tolerated her hobbies.

He didn't need to say anything for her to sense his disapproval every time she went out horseback riding with her brothers, even if the horse was on a lead, or even when she played piano.
The latter almost hurt.
Julianne was used to being praised for her talents in music and to have someone who barely appreciated a simple tune was unthinkable.

But, she made an effort for her parents' sake and never thought that anything would come from it because she could almost sense Monsieur Mackenzie's disapproval of her.

No one was more shocked than she was when he asked for her hand in marriage on her nineteenth birthday.

She couldn't speak for a week.

Inevitably she had to say yes.

Her father all but demanded it, her mother – although Julianne suspected that she herself didn't really approve of Monsieur Mackenzie, explained to her one evening in a quiet and determined voice that they wouldn't be able to take care of her forever and that she knew it was unfair to expect her brothers' future families to.

Monsieur Mackenzie was a good match; he was a powerful man and a friend of the family and would make sure that she was well provided for, for the rest of her life.

It was the first time in her life that Julianne started to feel like a burden and she gave her answer to Monsieur Mackenzie the next day.

Her family was delighted.

Her aunt Meg was furious.

She never understood Meg Giry's incongruity of her engagement or Monsieur Mackenzie, but then she never understood her aunt's barely contained hostility towards her father.

The following year passed slowly.

Monsieur Mackenzie was scarcer than he had been whilst courting her, her father was very busy with his work and managing their estates and her mother tried to teach her all she needed to know about being the wife of a wealthy business man.

All the while, Julianne felt as if something was slowly but surely being taken away from her.

Something she only found again when she became Ann LeRoux.

She closed her eyes and turned her face towards the cold wall, fresh tears flowing now unhindered down her cheeks as she listened to the rain outside.

A thought cut through her soul.

He was going to hate her.

And she didn't mean her future husband.

&&&

Megan Giry sat on the old settee by the door, her mother on the piano bench.

Both were staring at the door that led to the smallest room in the apartment, the grief behind it radiating through the entire room.

Antoinette Giry finally shifted and looked at her daughter, noticing with a pang of regret the worry etched on her face and the visible burden of her actions on her shoulders.

She felt for her daughter, because she had felt that same worry and that same burden, but she could not make this easier for her.

Like herself, Meg had caused her own grief had taken her own actions that led to this. She could not help her with that.

She sighed softly.

"What have you told the managers and Monsieur Reyer?"

Meg tore her gaze away from the door to her hands and sighed deeply.

"That there is a family emergency." She said slowly. "And that Ann will most probably not be staying here anymore. We're just waiting for further news before I send her home."

Madam Giry raised an eyebrow and nodded.

"Not far from the truth." She said softly. "What are you going to do about her?"

Meg shook her head at a loss, not looking at her mother.

"Let her cry. Let her come to terms with what has happened. Then… Send her home." She glanced at the woman. "What else can I do mother?"

The older woman shrugged but didn't say anything.
Meg sighed and shook her head.

"You know why I did this." She said. "I didn't want Julianne to get married without ever having done something for herself. She was in a state the past couple of months, mother. Something had caused her to…" She shook her head. "I don't know – feel like a burden. For herself, I didn't want her to marry that man just to make sure that she is well taken care of one day. I want more for her."

"And you felt it was your right to give it to her?"
There was a dry edge to Antoinette's voice that made Meg glare at her mother.

"I saw it as my duty mother." She snapped. "I love Julianne. She is meant for better things than François Mackenzie."
Madam Giry shook her head and opened her mouth to speak but a knock from the other door interrupted her.

The two Giry's frowned and Meg, after a glance at the standing clock, stood up and carefully opened the door.

One of the Opera cleaning staff's boys grinned up at her and indicated down the hall.

"There's a man for Madam at the main door." He said, his tongue sticking through the gap in his front teeth. "He has a message, but he didn't want to give it to mum."

Feeling a touch of trepidation Meg glanced back at her mother.

"I have to go." She said. "Will you keep an eye on Julianne? Find out whether she needs anything please?"

The older woman nodded.

"I think she needs to be left alone Meg." She said softly. "But, I'll keep an ear to the door. This message might be wearisome."

Meg gave her mother a fond smile of gratitude.

"Of late, my whole life is." She said. "I will see you in a moment mama."

Taking a shawl from the door, she followed the boy into the hall.

&&&

He expected a lot of things, but not this.

Slowly, carefully – he edged closer to the bundle in the corner of the dark room until he could feel the bed.

In the next room he could hear the Giry's talking about something in low voices but he paid them no mind.

Instead, he spoke Ann's name once, twice – but she did not reply.

Unsure of what to do, feeling his heart beating unnaturally fast with something that felt too much like fear, he sat down on the bed.

"Ann…" He tried again, softly. "Ann look at me." He felt stupid the moment he said it, but didn't allow the words to break his stride. "Ann, my dear Ann please…" He hesitated then reached out.

"Feel me here."

He enclosed his hand around her ankle and then slowly, unconsciously, ran his hand up till he touched her calf.

Ann shivered violently and turned a shocked expression in his direction. For once her eyes missed his face completely.

She took a breath to say something, but it got caught in her throat.

A strong pressure on his wrist was the first realization that he had that she had grabbed his hand.

With a strange spinning sensation in his head he tried to figure out what her intention behind it was. When he tried to pull away, her grip tightened.

"Monsieur…" She breathed finally when she had to let her breath out. "Monsieur, what are you doing here?"

When he looked at her face though, the spinning sensation stopped and he realised that there was no intention behind her touch, as there had been none in his.
There was no place for anything other than sorrow behind her tear filled eyes.

He found his voice as he slowly took her hand with his other and sat closer to her.

"Why are you crying little Ann?" He queried gently. "What has broken your heart?"
Her eyes found his after a strange wondering dance but she closed them and turned her head away from him.

"You should not have come here." She said her voice threatening to break into a barely contained sob. "You should not have come. My aunt…"

He enclosed her hand in his and squeezed it.

"I think she is leaving." He said, listening to the voices from the other room. "Ann, my dear Ann, what has happened to you?"

When she did not answer he increased his grip.

"Who has done this to you?"
She stirred at the sudden change of his tone, tears now starting to flow freely down her cheeks again.

"Myself Monsieur." She said - her voice breaking. "I can't even be angry at Aunt Meg anymore… I did this to myself."

He could not accept that answer.

"Did something happen when you were with Madam Giry?" He insisted. "Ann, please tell me."

She could not.

The emotions she had been trying to control since he joined her broke to the surface. She tried to turn her body away from him as she started sobbing but he would not have it.

In a bi-polar gesture that felt equally natural and foreign to him he reached out and pulled her closer. Ann resisted at first but then slowly leaned towards him. When he managed to pull her to his chest she finally gave in and wrapped her arms around his chest.
She cried for a long time while he held her, her head rested under the hollow of his chin.

&&&

Meg Giry wrapped the shawl around her as she stepped outside of the opera's safety. It was still raining, but her visitor refused to come into the shelter of the opera.

A young man, with the harass look that all messengers had, stared up at her from bottom of the stairs, his hands clutching an envelope in a waterproof lining.

"Are you Mademoiselle Meg Giry?" He queried in heavy French.

She smiled politely and nodded, ignoring the rain. "I am. I hear you have a message for me."
The young man half bowed towards her and stepped closer, holding out the envelope.

"Personal and hand delivered." He said. "It came this afternoon."

She took the letter from him, slipping a coin into his hand as she did.

"Thank you Monsieur." She said with a kind smile. "Is that all?"
He nodded, tipped his hat at her and ran off into the night with out another word.
Meg sighed softly and shook her head as she quickly made her way back up the stairs, mindful not to slip. The envelope, despite its light weight, lay heavily in her hands. Despite the cover that she discarded immediately it was still travel worn and not very thick.
What ever message was inside it, it was undoubtedly short and powerful.
With a heavy heart she realised that there were only so many people it could've come from.

She did not open it when she was back in the light, but rather walked with it until she was in a deserted corridor. The boy who had come to collect her was long gone.

Alone, she calmly studied the envelope with a patience she didn't know she had. It was familiar, as was the bold print in front.
Without reading the full address Meg flipped the envelope over and broke the seal. When she drew out the letter, the angry words leapt out at her.

"This letter should not precede me by more than a day and hopefully my husband is already there or on his way. We are coming for her. How could you Meg? How could you take her there?"

There was no salutation, no farewell, not even a name but Meg knew.
She had known the moment the boy told her she had a message.

Meg Giry closed her eyes and leaned back against the familiar cold walls of her homes.

"Oh Julianne…" She whispered softly. "I am so sorry."

&&&

"I'm so sorry Monsieur." Ann whispered when she collected herself. "I did not mean to cry like that."

He did not let go of her and rather kept running his hand through her soft dark hair, keeping her head firmly tucked under his chin.

"There is no need to apologize Ann." He said. "You are only human."
The fondness in his voice was unmistakable.

With her emotions spent, Ann could not even smile.

"You always say that." She said monotonously. "From the beginning, you always said that as if it means something more…" She grew quiet, then continued. "I never knew what you mean."

He snorted and half smiled. "Ignore an old Ghost's musings." He said. "It simply means that you need not excuse yourself my dear Ann."
It felt as if Ann leaned in deeper to him.

"I am a ghost." She said softly, as if to herself. "I never existed."
The words disturbed him deeply and he felt himself holding her as tightly as he could. She never protested or moved away from his touch.

"You are not a ghost Ann." He said fiercely. "You are the only one that is real between us. You are not a ghost."
She smiled then, bitterly but didn't say anything.

He waited a few moments then released some of his grip on her.

"Will you not tell me what is wrong, Ann? I can try to set it right."

Ann shook her head weakly.

"I can't Monsieur." She said. "Not you, not now."
He was hurt by her words.

"When then?"

She did not answer him, instead shifting slightly so that she could incline her head. She closed her eyes and seemed to listen.

"Aunt Meg is back." She said. "You have to go. I think she's going to come here."
he did not let her go immediately as her back stiffened.

"When will you tell me what is wrong Ann?" He insisted.
Ann started to pull away from him, paused then gave him a fierce hug.

"Soon." She said. "I promise Monsieur, soon. But not now, please – go before my aunt comes."

He had to let her go.

He stood up and turned to go to the secret passage way but hesitated when he heard Ann shift back on the bed. Without warning her he turned around and cupped his hands around her head.

"Never become a ghost Ann." He whispered fiercely. "Never. You are more than that. You are not a ghost; you are the only thing that is real to me. Please, promise me. You must never become a ghost."

She held her breath, stunned at the emotion behind his words.
her hands enclosed around his and slowly drew them from her cheeks.

"I promise Monsieur." She replied compelled. "I promise."

She kissed his hands, hesitated then reached out and touched his mask. Feeling along its smooth surface she sat up straighter and kissed it.

"Go Monsieur." She whispered in his ear when she pulled back. "My aunt is at the door. Please go."
He stepped back, quickly and without a word.
Just as the door opened he stepped into his secret passageway and closed it behind him.
His face burned behind the mask and without thinking, he tore it off to touch the place where he could still feel the pressure of her kiss on the mask.

Behind him he heard Meg Giry in the room but he paid her no mind and walked away slowly.

Ann. He thought. Dear Ann, what have you done?

&&&

She felt it the moment she entered the room.
That presence… That touch…

That almost palatable sense in the air.

"He's here." She whispered to herself, an echo from her past. "The Phantom of the Opera."

She quickly rushed to the door, discarding her wet shawl on the floor, but intercepted by her mother.

"What was the note about child?" The older woman asked as she stopped her daughter from rushing forward with a hand on her elbow. "Is it serious?"
Meg could not look at her mother, her gaze fixed on the door.

"Christine is coming." She said vaguely. "Mother let me go, Julianne…"

Her mother increased the pressure on her arm.

"Don't go barging in there child." Her mother hissed. "You'll scare her senseless if she's asleep. What else did the note say? Was it a telegram? A letter?"

Meg pulled towards the door.

"A letter." She snapped. "Let me go mother, I need to see her."

She tried to jerk her arm free but her mother had a surprisingly strong grip for the frail old lady she pretended to be.

"What else did the note say?"
Meg closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She tried to relax her body.

"Nothing mother." She said as calmly as she could. "She only told me that they are coming for their daughter. I understand that her husband went ahead. But, he is not here I suspect there has been a delay on the road. Now please, may I go see Julianne?"

The old woman let go of her hand and smiled at her.

"Of course my dear." She said. "You hardly need to ask permission. I just didn't want you to barge in there and scare the child. She has enough on her mind."

Meg resisted the urge to glare at her mother and took a steadying breath. With slow deliberate strides she went to the door and opened it.

Julianne sat back on the bed and turned her head towards her.

Meg did not speak to her immediately and looked around the room quickly. She went to pick up the single candle that burned on the dresser, there for her – not Julianne, and walked around the room, her hand on the wall.
Julianne followed the sound of her footsteps around the room, her head tilted slightly for better hearing.

She didn't say a word.

Meg walked around the room once before she slowly went to the bed and sat down next to her charge, she did not feel satisfied that there had been nobody there. But, there was no evidence that someone had been and she did not want to falsely accuse Julianne.

"How are you feeling Mon Cherie?" She queried gently. "Have you eaten yet?"
The food she had left on the dresser earlier was untouched.

Julianne did not move but straightened her back every so slightly.

"Where were you just now?" She queried instead of answering. "Did you leave?"
With a touch of wonder Meg was reminded that Ann's hearing was a let better than most people's.

"I did." She said sadly. "There was a message from your mother. They will be here within the next day or two."

Julianne didn't flinch or show any emotion.

She merely sighed defeated and closed her eyes.

"Why did she hate it here Aunt Meg?" She queried. "What was so terrible about this place?"
Meg suddenly felt like her mother must feel, weighing information and deciding what she could say and couldn't.

"She'll have to tell you that one day Julianne." She said softly. "It's not my story to tell. I all but promised not to."

Julianne shrugged wordlessly, unphased by her secrecy.

"Do we know when they'll be here?"

Meg shook her head and carefully placed her arm around Julianne's rigid body.

"I'm guessing tomorrow or the day after that at the latest."

Julianne didn't respond immediately but rather reached down and picked up her cane. She seemed to consider a walk but decided against it and put the cane back under her bed.

"Then I guess I have to start saying good bye tomorrow." She said softly. "Or, if I just disappear – they can say the Ghost got me."

She laughed bitterly and touched her cheek.

Meg shivered and impulsively hugged the young woman.

She didn't like hearing those words from her because she feared that the Ghost had already gotten to Ann LeRoux.

There was a very faint whiff of cologne in the room.

&&&

Three men escorted him outside into the alley way.

Raoul wrung his hands together, every now and again glancing at the man behind the two men flanking him.

The man stayed close to the doorway where the rain couldn't touch him.

"I'm so glad we still have an agreement." Raoul said - relief clear in his voice. "I can not tell you how sorry I am about all of this. If we knew that she was here, we would've reacted immediately."

The man behind him smiled.

"Of course." He said smoothly. "Vicomte, I won't punish you for somebody else's mistakes. This was clearly a result of some foolish woman's venture. Please, think nothing of it, things will carry on as planned. A few other arrangements will be made of course but we can discuss them at a later date."

Roaul nodded to the man, a gesture almost resembling a bow.

"Then I will take my leave." He said. "Merci Monsieur, you have shown me great pardon."
Two firm hands rested on his shoulders.

"I am not done with you yet Vicomte."

Roaul blinked surprised, then pressed against the hand with sudden trepidation.

"I will not punish you for things that other people did wrong." The man said unhindered by his anticipation. "But, I will most certainly punish you for what you did wrong my dear Victomte." He paused to smile. "You never told me that your daughter was gone. You never told me that you had lost control of the situation or that you didn't truly know where she was. You never told me and that was a mistake on your behalf my dear man."
He glanced at his two companions, ignoring Raoul's rapidly paling face.

"Show the Vicomte how displeased I really am." He said smoothly. "But, avoid his face. He has to meet his wife and daughter tomorrow. We would hate to upset them."
He turned and walked back into the room, ignoring the commencing sound of flesh impacting flesh behind him.

&&&