Author's Note: Thanks to steelelf, Spectralprincess (double thanks), jtbwriter, montaquecat (double thanks), Lady Winifred (double thanks), soignante, mildetryth, Mystery Guest (mega thanks for another mega review) and jeevesandwooster for their latest reviews.
Sorry about the delay, but the site wasn't letting me upload documents for some reason. However, thanks to CarolROI, I found a way to get this posted, so CarolROI, this chapter is officially dedicated to you as an extra special thank you.
This is quite a long one, but I was tired of waiting. And if you're not sure what that means, you'll soon see. Thanks again, and enjoy! Nedjmet.
AN: PS, this is the new and (hopefully) improved version of the chapter, if you're reading it for the second time. Enjoy! Nedjmet.
Chapter 47
Christine had been taken off to one of the empty studios in the theatre by Reyer to go through the score. He was astonished to find how well she knew the role, but put it down to Gardiner's support; the Ghost's favour not being something he was willing to consider much. Perhaps Gardiner had been teaching her and the Ghost had overheard or some other such explanation. Whatever the reason, he was grateful for the ease and grace with which she took over the role. Her voice was much sweeter than her predecessor's, and she had a modesty about her that was a very refreshing change. All in all, he couldn't help but agree with the Ghost's decision – even if he couldn't quite find it in himself to condone the actions that had led to its fulfilment.
Once they'd gone through the part and Christine had received Reyer's inevitable seal of approval, they returned to the stage where they began the full run through again. Christine did make a few mistakes with the choreography, having only watched Carlotta and never tried to emulate her properly, but she corrected them and learnt quickly. The session ended up running longer than they had originally planned, since they had the whole opera to run through along with a few rest breaks in place of the intermissions. Couple that with the fact they were already behind schedule because of the partial run through with the original casting, and the late finish was inevitable.
When the rest of the school was dismissed, Reyer and Madame Giry went over with Christine the few mistakes she had made, all of which she jotted down on her copy of the score with the promise that she would have the corrections learnt for tomorrow.
"Thank you, Miss Daaë. I know it is a lot to take in, having the role put on you at the last minute, but I feel confident that you will succeed." Reyer said, by way of parting. He was still a little too panicked by the whole situation to offer any further encouragement – or to attempt to convey sincerity. Once he'd left, Madame turned to Christine.
"Go and change. I'll collect you in half an hour." Christine had gone through the whole production in her slave girl costume – the wardrobe department had had to spend the day altering Carlotta's costumes to fit Christine, and Christine's to fit her understudy. She'd be practising in the Elissa costumes tomorrow morning to get used to them. But she didn't want to think about that any more. Padding her way to her dressing room, she shut the door, mechanically changed and then sank down onto the couch.
"Why do you sigh?" She had not realised she had done so until the deep voice brought her back out of her thoughts.
"I don't know." She replied, not turning to the mirror, still in a bit of a daze. When she was answered by silence, she snapped out of it and rose gracefully from the couch, facing the mirror. "Carlotta walked out. They gave me the part of Elissa."
"They finally came to their senses. You should not have been their second choice by any means, but you did well."
"Thank you, my Angel."
"Something troubles you." He observed.
"Yes."
"Surely you are not worried about the performance tomorrow? You know the part and will exceed their expectations. I guarantee that." Was that a hint of pride in his voice?
"Thank you. I am a little worried about some of the choreography, but I think it'll be alright in rehearsal tomorrow." Her hands began to fidget.
"Then what is it that bothers you?" He asked, now obviously concerned. She looked towards the mirror, uncertain as to how to go about this, but knowing she had to have it answered.
"Angel, if I ask you something, will you promise to answer?" A familiar chill entered the air: he was upset by her request.
"I will answer what I can." He eventually replied. She took a breath and ventured,
"Angel, are . . . are you the Opera Ghost?" The silence was thick and heavy. And it lasted for quite a long while.
"Angel? Are you still there?" Christine asked, worried. Nothing. "Angel, please answer me." She pleaded, beginning to grow frantic. "Angel, forget the question if you don't want to answer, please just tell me you haven't left!" She called out.
"I am still here." She calmed down a little, still anxious about her question. "Yes, Christine. I am the Opera Ghost." Her head shot up.
"You were the one who did those things to Carlotta? And sent the note about me?" She asked, falteringly.
"Yes." He answered, his beautiful voice devoid of any emotion. She sank to the floor, automatically crossing her legs, having had the dancer in her awakened recently.
"What if she'd been hurt? Or they'd believed her when she said I was working with you?"
"It doesn't matter. Nothing would have come of it, Christine; I would not have allowed it."
"How can you say it doesn't matter? If she'd been hurt by you-"
"Then this matter would have been resolved long ago! It is not your concern." Christine instinctively backed away to the door at the emotionless steel that statement was uttered with. He saw the shock on her face and called out in urgency as she reached for the door handle.
"Christine, stop!" She did as ordered. She never could resist that voice. "You will not leave." He said firmly. Ordinarily, it would have worked.
"What if I do? Will you drop a sandbag on me?" She answered in defiance, even though her voice shook.
"No! All I have done has been for you to excel. It was never my intention to cause you pain. Were it not for the folly of this Institute, I could have brought the world to your feet by now." Hearing the tenderness and conviction in that dear voice, Christine turned her head towards the mirror.
"You are the Opera Ghost." It wasn't a question this time.
"Yes." He sighed, the only outlet for the overwhelming disappointment he felt.
"And you are the one who let me live in that house?"
"Yes." His voice sounded a little more hopeful. Christine considered it all for a moment. The whole day was overwhelming, and having her suspicions so thoroughly confirmed did not make it any easier. Her voice took on the dazed tone again.
"You really have been watching over me."
Her hand reached up to touch the pendant, a gesture she had found herself repeating whenever she grew anxious.
"Thank you, my Angel." She whispered. A knock sounded on the door.
"Go, Christine. I will be here before your performance tomorrow." The voice instructed, although not without a relieved note to it. She nodded, unable to say anymore and left with Madame Giry.
She knew. When had she worked it out? Would she never cease to surprise him? When she had asked that question, he had been horrified at first, not knowing how to answer without the risk of losing her. She had never enquired about his identity before, at least not since one of their earlier lessons; he had foolishly thought she'd learnt to be content. Where would her curiosity lead? As she had tried to leave him in fear; in that moment he, the mighty Opera Ghost, had been truly afraid.
But she had accepted him. Had thanked him, had remembered that he was her Angel. Hadn't she? She had seemed uncertain when she left.
He had to take control of the situation again. He had worked too long and hard to lose her now. Everything was ready for tomorrow. He had to keep her with him.
And he knew just what to do.
He was the Ghost. Her Angel was the Opera Ghost. And he was a man. He had promised to watch over her, and seeing as this was his house, then he had an easy way to keep that promise. She didn't look over the libretto as she'd promised. Once Mother Giry had gone, she had instead gone straight up to her room, thinking it the one place where she'd be guaranteed some privacy, and just lain down on the bed.
Carlotta had been plagued all term and could have been seriously hurt by the set that had fallen – not to mention the couple of sandbags from last term. And it had all been for her. She didn't know what to think. Her Angel was the Ghost who was a man willing to go to these incredible lengths, just to have her perform.
She thought of what Uncle Gustave had said, and what she had said to prompt his observations. He was still her Angel, but she wasn't sure how long that would hold. She would get through this production, and then think about her mysterious tutor. For now, all she could do was push all such thoughts from her mind except for the music. She drifted off to sleep to thoughts of Hannibal, Ghosts and Angels, with the odd vision of Carlotta thrown in.
Suffice to say, she did not get much rest.
The next morning, she was awoken by Meg's rather enthusiastic knocking on the front door. Her adoptive sister was anxious to get Christine to rehearsals, if only to once again enjoy the fact that Carlotta was no longer in the lead. Actually, she was excited to see Christine performing again, and coupled with her own enthusiasm for the gala, she had had no trouble getting out of bed this morning – unlike most other days.
Christine spent the day in a flurry of costume changes, last minute fittings and rehearsals. They only really had the morning: the afternoon would be spent in final preparations of the stage and theatre, with the cast utilising the studios for last minute practices before going in to wardrobe and make-up a few short hours after lunch. Seeing as absolutely everyone was involved – refusal to participate would have resulted in suspension – starting that early was actually still considered by the more experienced as leaving it to the last minute.
After four hours of rehearsals, Reyer allowed Christine to have her lunch, and even though it was only a very short while before the curtain went up, he managed to leave her with a more positive attitude this time.
"Well done, Miss Daaë. It hasn't been long, but it's been a pleasure working with you, and I don't doubt you'll stun them. I can only imagine how well you'd have managed if you'd been allowed the full time to prepare the role – not that anyone will be able to tell the difference."
She thanked him as best she could, being somewhat lost for words. The confidence everyone was placing in her was tremendous. Were it not for the repeated assurances of her Angel, coupled with all the instruction she'd received from him over the course of their lessons, she'd be completely overwhelmed at the moment. As it was, she was simply on the verge of having a mild panic attack, in spite of the excitement at performing on that stage again.
Reyer found her after she'd finished her lunch.
"I don't believe we need to do any more work, Miss Daaë. You know the part, and anything further would only be 'gilding the lily', as it were. Well done, my dear. I'll see you on the stage." He said, refusing to add the traditional 'break a leg'. With the Ghost around, that had proved to be just asking for trouble in the past.
Christine was grateful for the reprieve; she wasn't sure how many more 'adjustments' to her performance she could take. She retreated to her dressing room, followed only by numerous wishes of good luck. She welcomed them, needing all the sincere encouragement she could get, but was thankful her dressing room was isolated – it was the first chance she'd had to breathe since Meg had woken her up. The corset she'd been squeezed into that morning by the wardrobe mistress meant that this was quite literally the case. It was just a plain white corset with a white shift that had a full skirt. It was integral to all of her costumes, but was modest enough that she could move around in it comfortably the rest of the time. She would be changing into the more elaborate version of it later.
She looked around her dressing room, her haven. It was so peaceful. Christine sank onto the couch, put her feet up and closed her eyes as she leant back, finally able to rest.
He watched her lying there. The décor and soft lighting brought a glow to her that almost hid the weariness she had succumbed to. Almost. She must have had a restless night. He hoped it wasn't on account of him. She was so beautiful; he was content to just watch her. Whatever troubled her had obviously come back, as she began to stir and a frown creased her forehead. That would not do, not when she had a performance to give and obviously desired, if not needed the rest.
So he sang.
It was a simple lullaby, intended to calm her back into a quiet slumber.
She woke up instead.
She didn't move, just lay there drinking in the music, but allowing him to know she was awake – wherever he was. The doubts and questions that had come back to fill her mind as she'd been trying to rest were leaving once more, being washed away by the spell he always knew how to weave over her. It didn't matter if he was an angel, a ghost or a man. He knew Music, had given it back to her and continued in that gift every day. So long as they had the music, she would have her promised Angel, whatever form he took.
The song died away.
"You came." She breathed.
"Did you doubt it?" He asked with a hint of humour in his beautiful voice.
"No. I'm just glad."
"You are?" He couldn't quite believe it.
"Do you doubt me?" It was her turn for the humour.
"You are ready?" He asked quietly.
"No. But I will be once I'm on that stage." She said with confidence. It had always been the way with her. The familiar dread and nervousness would hit once the dress rehearsals began, but all would fade away as she stood waiting to go on stage. Then, the only thing that mattered was the music, and it was the only thing that would fill her mind.
"Then show them what Music is, Christine. Let them glimpse the heavens. You alone can grant them Music's splendour, my dear, and after tonight they will know that as surely as your father and I do."
"Thank you, my Angel." She answered with the familiar tears welling in her eyes.
"He will be watching you; sing for him, my dear, make him proud."
"I would not have thought there could be a greater encouragement. But he will understand why I cannot give him my song tonight, my Angel. It belongs to another." A knock sounded on the door. She was due in make-up.
"Go, Christine. I will be watching." She turned before opening the door, speaking to the room.
"You always know what to say." She whispered with a wondering smile, before being rushed away.
The programs all read that Elissa would be played by Carlotta Guidacelli. Since she had walked out so near the performance date, there obviously hadn't been time to change them. When the announcement was made before the curtain went up about the change in cast, the audience was filled with low murmurs, with everyone wondering if a last-minute replacement could ever be equal to the Guidacelli name.
They stopped wondering. Christine blew them away. Throughout the triumphant welcome of Hannibal to Carthage, she performed with all the majesty the role demanded – not that she could have done anything less in the extravagant costume – but still managed to exude a grace that earned her their admiration as opposed to demanding it. She had the audience captivated, her voice alternately enchanting them with its sweetness and rising with a power that could only be described as angelic. There was not a soul gathered in the entire opera house that did not fall under her spell – including the rather reluctant Luciana Guidacelli who had originally come in at the last minute to gloat over seeing the Ravelle fail without her daughter, but had found herself wishing she had instead secured a better seat.
During the second act as she sang with Piangi, her voice harmonised perfectly with the young tenor and the beauty of the love the two characters exchanged had many of the audience reaching for their handkerchiefs.
But it was the third act where Christine triumphed. Since her first song, those who knew anything about the opera had been waiting with bated breath for the famous aria of the final act. It was where Elissa sang to her departed amour, pledging her continuing love even if she should be forgotten. It pushed aside all the pomp and circumstance of everything that had gone before which embodied the Queen of Carthage, and instead focussed on the natural beauty of the woman that was Elissa. Christine was stunning in a very full-skirted gown of white that was off the shoulder and had a fairly low neckline. Her hair was allowed to cascade in a soft golden waterfall down her back, but was kept off her face by clips that made her look like she had stars in her hair – very fitting for the night time setting. She had them hanging on every note as she sang.
"Think of me think of me fondly, when we've said goodbye. Remember me once in a while – please promise me you'll try.
"When you find that, once again, you long to take your heart back and be free – if you
ever find a moment, spare a thought for me."
She began sweetly, tenderly, allowing herself to be carried away as the music grew into a beautiful crescendo, before fading to let her voice carry the melody once more.
"We never said our love was evergreen, or as unchanging as the sea – but if you can still remember stop and think of me . . .
"Think of all the things we've shared and seen – don't think about the things which might have been . . .
"Think of me, think of me waking, silent and resigned. Imagine me, trying too hard to put you from my mind.
"Recall those days look back on all those times, think of the things we'll never do – there will never be a day, when I won't think of you . . ."
Her voice soared, not allowing the orchestra's crescendo to hide her this time. As her voice rose, so did the applause – and the recognition. Raoul sat up straighter in the box reserved for the patrons. Was this really Christine? This stunning woman who had commanded the stage and now lit up the entire theatre with her graceful presence and exquisite voice? Was this the timid, gawkish young girl who had not even been able to face him in a quiet corridor? Did the girl who had run about, falling into the sea and sand with every other step, did she now stand on the stage bewitching the hearts and minds of all who were privileged to see her? Had she remembered him, or was she only being polite before? He certainly remembered her now.
"We never said our love was evergreen, or as unchanging as the sea – but please
promise me, that sometimes you will think" she took a quick breath, readying herself for the difficult trill of notes, "of me!" and managed expertly as though such a thing were as natural to her as breathing.
The audience erupted, and even though it wasn't yet the appropriate time for it, she still received a standing ovation.
As the opera finished, most of the audience didn't know whether to applaud or cry. They soon made their minds up however, as the place erupted into a thunderous applause that would have made passers by think there was an earthquake. When it came to taking bows, Christine was on the stage a full five minutes receiving praise before the audience allowed her to leave.
When she did, it was to be surrounded to the point of being smothered by just about every member of staff, every student and well-wisher, not to mention a few people who probably shouldn't have been backstage, all congratulating her on her performance. She didn't recognise half of them and tried to smile politely and acknowledge everyone who spoke to her, without giving in to the sense of drowning that it inspired. Eventually, she made her way through them all and hurried down a corridor that was empty. Not knowing where exactly she was, or caring, she leaned her head back and let everything sink in – as much as it could.
"Thank you, Father." She whispered to the darkness, believing within her heart that her simple prayer was heard. It had been the shared wish of both her parents to see her perform on stage as she had just done. It was not a dream they had ever pushed onto her, but she was a child of Music and had soon developed that dream by herself, so they had all worked towards that end. At last their hopes had finally come into fruition. If only they had been there amongst those congratulating her, the evening would have been perfect. But she knew they'd been watching, and that they were proud, just like her Angel had said.
Her Angel.
Would he be waiting for her? What had he thought? As with every time she thought of him, all else faded away and suddenly she was not certain of her performance anymore. What if-
"Brava, Brava, Bravissima."
The deep voice whispered through the air, echoing all around her. She looked about; trying to find him, knowing it was useless. She calmed down though. He approved, and had voiced his approval at just the right time – as always. She was soon brought out of her reverie by Meg who approached her, touching her arm delicately.
"Where have you been hiding? You were perfect. So come on, spill; who's the new teacher? Gardiner couldn't have done that, even with you." Christine smiled.
"Do you remember what I told you of Father's stories, the tales of the North, of the Angel of Music? Father promised him to me, and I used to dream of him. It was Papa's promise that kept me going those first few months after . . . He's here, Meg. He's always watching, always with me, my heavenly genius."
"Christine, have you been dreaming? This isn't like you. You know they were just stories." Meg replied, half-smiling nervously.
"He's been watching over me, looking after me. But he's such a strange angel: he always stays in the shadows. If only . . ." Christine continued, retreating into something of a daze.
"What 'Angel'? Christine your hands are cold." Meg said, now getting seriously worried. Christine felt an all-too familiar chill in the air.
"He's with me, even now." She whispered.
"Your face is white."
"He's all around me." She continued realising that perhaps he might be displeased that she had spoken so freely with Meg, who put her arm around Christine.
"Don't be frightened." Christine snapped out of it and looked at Meg, then hugged her back. She soon returned to the joy of the evening, Meg's exuberance swiftly saw to that. The two girls made their way to Christine's dressing room. Meg wasn't allowed to admire it for long, as Madame Giry bustled her out quickly, along with the admirers that were flocking to the door, having spied the new Diva. She turned to Christine who was stood in the middle of the ornate room, looking as though she didn't know quite what to do with herself. Antoinette picked something up from the dressing table and offered it to Christine.
"You did well tonight, child. He is pleased with you."
Christine looked at her second mother in shock. They had exchanged many glances and silent conversations about the ghost and her constant disappearances, but never had the older woman said or done anything to indicate that she actually knew the identity of her mysterious tutor. She accepted the crimson rose and fingered the black ribbon tied around the stem, its familiarity granting her the comfort she needed. Antoinette saw the look in Christine's eyes and left her to her thoughts – and to change.
Christine sat down at the dressing table, overwhelmed with the host of new memories that had been created this night. Her first real full-scale performance and she had been the lead at the Ravelle. The audience had adored her. Her parents' wish had been granted, as had hers. And her Angel was pleased with her.
"Little Lotte." Christine's head whipped around to the door and the young man who now stood with his back pressed against it, "You didn't call."
"I know. I'm sorry, Raoul. Things are kind of crazy around here." To put it lightly.
"I thought you'd forgotten. I thought we'd lost all those memories." He moved towards her as he went on. "Remember when we'd have picnics in the attic on rainy afternoons, eating too much chocolate and listening to the sea?"
"Or the old stories of the North? Or Papa playing his violin?" Christine smiled down at the boy crouched before her.
"Oh, I've missed those days." Raoul answered, taking her in a hug. Christine smiled, relishing the friend she thought she'd lost to time. She frowned a little though, thinking of what her Angel had said about him. If he was watching, he wouldn't be pleased. But wait, maybe there was a way.
"Do you remember those stories of the North, Raoul?"
"Of course. How could I forget my Little Lotte?" How indeed? Perhaps if she could make him remember, remember all that she was, he could understand what she'd become and then he wouldn't prove to be the distraction her Angel feared.
"Do remember the stories of the Angel of Music?"
"You used to joke that he had to have visited your parents." He smiled indulgently. She frowned. She had never been joking when she'd said that.
"Papa said that when he was in heaven, he would send the Angel of Music to me. Papa's in heaven, Raoul, and I have been visited by an Angel."
"I don't doubt it. You sounded like an Angel tonight. I can only hope the Ravelle will be worthy of you. But enough, you need to get changed. I'm taking you out to dinner to celebrate your wonderful debut." He said, getting up and heading to the door.
"No, Raoul. The Angel is very strict-" He laughed. He actually laughed!
"I won't keep you out late. Besides, as the newest patron, I feel it my solemn duty to look after our brightest star. Ten minutes, Little Lotte." He said with a wink that made her feel slightly uncomfortable, before he left.
"Things have changed, Raoul." Christine replied, thinking of Little Lotte. That girl had been lost long ago. She'd died in the same fire that killed her father. It looked like the boy she had played with was gone too.
Christine sighed wearily and rose. She did need to change anyway. She got down to the corset and shift – the costume version being much prettier than the practice one: silken and embroidered – when she felt a rapid drop in temperature. Putting on a light robe, she stepped out from behind the screen. It was then that she noticed that the room was lit not with the usual soft glow from a small chandelier, but with dozens of candles scattered around, and they were all simultaneously dimming. Anxiously, she tried the door handle but it wouldn't move. And the key was not in the lock.
Her breathing quickened. She was trapped in the darkness. Her only light was coming from the flames. And her Angel was angry.
"Fool, presuming to share in your glory with his ignorance, stealing the power of my triumph!" The voice hissed, reverberating around and filling the room completely as he called out in bitter anger. Christine's eyes darted frantically, her back suddenly pressed against the door, trying to think of what could calm him.
"Angel, forgive me. He's gone now. He could never diminish the power of your music. It was you who gave my voice wing tonight, you who I sang for. He could not take that away."
Was it her imagination, or did the air warm a little? Whether it was the case or not, she was relieved as that wonderful voice returned her pleas softly, deeply, in a caress that was barely a breath away from being musical. The voice seemed to come from all corners of the room.
"No king could ask for a richer gift. Too long have you been consigned to these walls, too long has your song been lost to an audience that can never appreciate Music. Too long have we stayed in the shadows." What on earth did he mean? Was she finally to meet her Angel? Rapture and anxiety warred inside her, leaving her dazed at the ferocity of their conflict. She focused on the words echoing around her that finally began to sound like they were coming from in front of her.
"Come, my rose," she instinctively obeyed, "come to me; let me show you the true beauty of Music." Her angel's voice softened even further as he drew her in.
Her feet moved of their own accord, taking her nearer to the mirror. With each step, her reflection faded and another image began to take its place. At first it was just an oddly familiar white shape that became one half of a face. A man's face! A man cloaked in black. Were she not already under her Angel's spell, the shock would have registered on her face. As it was, all she could do was move forward, her only conscious thought being that this was her Angel.
Her Angel.
His voice continued: the sound so gentle yet commanding, so beautiful yet overwhelming; it stirred her in a way that had long been forgotten, and yet was completely new. She could feel the music in the air, almost as surely as she could feel the breath in her lungs. Her senses were drowning in it, but it was not her Angel's music, nor was it one she had heard before.
It was theirs.
All that they had worked for, all that they had hoped was finally coming true. Her Angel was before her, waiting, welcoming. Her Angel was before her at last and the Music had finally returned: finally she felt whole. The nearer she drew to him, the more she heard the melody of his spell weaving its way around her mind, into her heart and soul.
So lost was she in the music that surrounded her and the figure before her eyes that she did not see the glass slide almost invisibly away. She did not hear Raoul pounding on the door, demanding to know who was with her, calling out to her, his angel. All she saw was the hand encased in black leather that was held out to her. She hesitated a moment, uncertain until she looked into a pair of eyes that she had never seen before, but that nevertheless completed the enchantment.
She put her hand in the offered one.
She was his.
AN: (ducks oncoming missiles) I know, I know: I'm evil. I will get the next chapter written as soon as I can (see, I'm not that evil). Thanks for reading. Nedjmet.
