Chapter Thirty-Five –

It's Useless Trying to Appease Me

-Carlotta Daae-

I stared out the window, trembling with anger, and then stomped my foot.

"Well, I never!"

"It's incredible," my sister Portia agreed from her seat a little ways off. I whirled around from the window and the idyllic little countryside scene beyond it, and returned into the center of the room. Portia continued to work on her embroidery as I paced and seethed to myself. To say the least, I was burning with indignation.

"The fool–that horrid little brat!–she is happier than we are! And—"

Here I stomped my foot again, wishing that I could either put a hole in the floorboards of our room or severely injure my despised younger sister.

"And she's rich, Portia–rich! Wealthy beyond imagination–filthily so! Being betrothed to a monster is better than having no husband at all, it would seem!"

Portia stood up and went to the window, passing by me in silence. She put a hand to the white eyelet curtain and drew it aside slightly, so that she could look out as I had done mere moments before. Her grey eyes narrowed somewhat, and I saw that her dark red lips had thinned to a severe line.

"She must be bursting with pride," my sister commented. "To return here and behold us all in our rags–caught unawares, in the middle of the housework!"

I nodded, appreciatively, but remained silent.

My mind was shrieking, though.

That obnoxious little brat! That inane, empty-minded, selfish dreamer! She'd never done anything but walk about all day long with her head in the clouds: smiling wickedly because she knew that simply everyone and anyone alive could not help but love her…and why?

They loved her because she was beautiful. They loved her because, as they said, she was sweet and kindhearted, gentle and compassionate and caring, utterly unselfish and giving—

But they would never know her as we did!

"She's only a wicked, conniving little simpleton who hasn't done anything but bring trouble upon our family, and then she turns up here again, clothed in all of her royal glory–her stupid jewels and her stupid silks–and deigns to pay us, her poor, destitute, countrified relatives, a call! I hope that she is satisfied with her charity!"

The little idiot!

Always, always, had I resented my younger sister, Christina–or, rather, Christine, as I supposed she preferred to be called now! Le Fantôme had called her Christine, the Vicomte de Chagny had told us: haunted shadows of grief and despair in his eyes, on the day that he had returned from a mysterious time away from the village.

Le Fantôme had called her his Christine.

It wasn't fair!

What had that little brat ever done for our family but bring us misfortune? If not for her, the Comte de Chagny would never have cast his watchful and distrustful eye upon us. If not for her, we would have never been made known to the horrible Fantôme!

And now after all of the misery that she had brought down upon poor Father and Antoinette's heads, she had yet had the gall to show up on our doorstep one night, dressed as fine as a queen, while he and Meg burned with the fever in their beds—only to claim that she could heal them, when not even the village's knowledgeable doctor had been able to do so!

She didn't deserve to be given such finery. She didn't deserve to be happy in that gorgeous palace of hers, with her precious, filthy-rich, ugly Phantom.

Ah well, though, I thought with boundless gleefulness to myself as I continued to scrub away at the laundry. At least her darling Phantom is a proper monster! I can't wait to see how her face falls when she sees what hideous little brats she'll give him–she won't be able to escape so easily then! How amusing–the bride of the monster, the disfigured beast! It's too funny!

"Come, Portia," I said, suddenly.

I had had enough of slaving away like a common wench while Her Royal Highness, the Princess Christine, gadded about as free and happy as a lark in the cottage. It was time that we had some freedom ourselves.

And I had a very good idea of how to attain that freedom…

"I think it is high time we took a trip into town–and don't worry about our little sister! I've got a good head on my shoulders! We must be very friendly to her, and make her think that we're happy she is here…and let the boys worm out her secrets."

That night, our family had dinner together as was usual–only now there was once again an eight place set at the table, right next to Father's left hand. Christina would sit there this evening, as she always had in years past. Portia and I returned from town, bearing the parcels that we had gone to fetch from the market, and found everyone gathering around the table. There was laughter and talking in the air, filling the silence of twilight as never before, and Portia and I glanced shortly at one another.

All this because of Christina?

Hiding my irritation and resentment, I rearranged my grip on the packages and baskets in my arms and led the way into the house. There, Antoinette, Giles, and Christina moved swiftly to help us, unloading the items we had bought from our aching arms. Christina smiled at me, hesitantly, when our eyes chanced to meet.

"Bonsoir, Cara," she said to me. "Welcome home."

"Hello, Christina," I sneered back at her, with a cloying sweetness of tone that sickened me inside. "So nice to see you, dear little sister! We're all so glad that you've been able to come home, and visit us–it's been truly awful without you here!"

"Oh yes, quite!" chimed in Portia, cooing the words.

We smiled at her, like two wolves confronting a lone sheep–but then Father's voice interrupted us, calling us to the table, and we had to obey. As we all sat down to eat, Portia and I once again exchanged glances.

The only way that we could succeed at making Christina miserable and, in turn, attaining our own peace, was if we fooled her into thinking that she was safe around us–that we had finally seen the error of our ways, and wanted to be friendly and kind.

Sisterly.

In our minds, however, we held an entirely different purpose: one that she would not know of until it was far too late for her to escape our snare. If we could trick her into staying longer than the Phantom had given her to be away, he would be furious with her–and if he didn't slay her outright in his rage upon her return, he would surely be so angry with her that her silly heart would break! Then she would be miserable.

Oh!

If I could just see her unhappy, my own happiness would be complete. If I could see her cry, my joy would be almost without bounds. For years, I had lived in the shadow of the admiration and love that everyone seemed to have for her–and now I wanted my vengeance so very, very badly that I was willing to go to great lengths to secure her misfortune.

Little did either I or Portia know, however, that one day very soon would afford us the opportunity to do just that…

The fateful day began as any other had begun since Christina's unexpected return home. We all awakened and dragged ourselves downstairs to eat breakfast, and then begin the day's chores. To my and Portia's annoyance, Christina—the self-righteous, attention-loving little simpleton!–had worked right alongside us since the day that Father and Meg had finally been well enough to leave their beds and move about the house again.

Antoinette, of course, had thanked her heartily at the end of every day, and noted how blessed she felt to have the girl's help. Meanwhile, Portia and I had gritted our teeth and thought resentfully of how she had never once made so much of a fuss over us. No, only sweet little Christina could be so wonderful!

However, this morning turned out to be unlike the other mornings. Instead of directing all of us to our chores, Antoinette instead informed us that she would tend to the breakfast dishes herself, and that we needn't worry about the chores today.

It was the final week of Christina's visit, she said, and she wanted for us to be able to enjoy one another's company while we still could.

"Go to Barisk," she told us, naming the city that was a mere seven miles from Sumer's Flax. "Take the carriage with you and drive over; spend however long you wish in the town and buy whatever you like! You deserve to have some time to yourselves."

So, in high anticipation of having the afternoon free, we ran upstairs to our rooms: Christina, Portia, me, Richard, and Giles, who were still at the house because of the relative earliness of the hour. Within only a little time, we had all changed out of our working clothes and into more suitable attire, and the boys hitched our horses to the carriage, where they waited restively shifting hooves within the traces.

Richard handed us girls up into the seats, while Giles held the reins: waiting for us. Then, when he had clambered into the coachman's seat himself and clucked to the horses, we turned around in our seats and waved merrily to Antoinette, Father, and Meg.

"Good-bye, Antoinette, Papa! Have a lovely day! Good-bye!"

And then we were off.

A/N: More, as promised. Some of the dialogue between the sisters has, again, been borrowed from Jean Cocteau's version of Beauty and the Beast. On we go then…