"My 'at! Where is my 'at?" Carlotta stormed through the opera house, screaming at whomever had the misfortune to cross her path. Three days after the tragic performance, Carlotta seemed to be back up to her normal self, and her screech was most assuredly repaired. Needless to say, she never again used throat spray.
Cecily sat in the front row, her leg propped up in front of her, ice packed around it. All the movement of a few days before had aggravated her knee something terrible, and she leaned on her crutch more heavily than ever. Carlotta approached her, still screaming. "Where is my 'at?"
Cecily took a deep breath. "I don't know where your damned hat is, Signora. Besides the fact that rehearsal was supposed to have begun more than an hour ago, an hour that you have used to flounce around the opera calling for your hat, which no one seems to know where it is. Perhaps the Phantom has it!" She knew she had gone too far with the comment about the Phantom, but she just didn't care. She was too tired, too sad, too empty.
Carlotta's face paled as she tried to maintain composure. "I'm sure I will find it soon. Perhaps it is in my room. But now is time for practice, si?"
Cecily look up, now annoyed at the Spanish lady, "Si."
Carlotta moved hastily toward the stage, leaving Cecily to move the ice around her knee. She bit her lip, but the pain was only half physical. She was wracking her brain for what Erik could do, for she knew he would do something. The questions were what, and just as importantly, when?
Christine was living outside the opera house now, for her own safety as well as for the safety of the other residents of the opera. Raoul had ensured that she was never left alone, with either a servant or himself with her at all times. The lineup of operas had been altered, with the first two shows being postponed for a fortnight. It gave time for the cast and crew to regain their confidence, and for the gossip to die down among the Paris elite. It had been Cecily's recommendation, and though M. Firmin had not been thrilled with the refunded tickets, he knew that it was best in the long run. The doors of the opera house had been closed to the public since that night, and would reopen in a week's time.
Cecily was also a bit agitated because she had not seen or heard from Nicholai or the Count since she had fled the box. What if Erik had found him? What if she had been too hasty in her decision that he was safe? Oh, dear God, what if…?
"Cecily, what happened? I thought you said you would be safe!"
"Nicholai!" Cecily stood hastily and threw her arms around his neck.
"Well, that's a welcome I won't forget," he laughed lightly. "Yes, I'm here. Can I take that as a sign that you've been as worried about me as I have been about you?" She nodded. Her tendons rebelled against her and her knee bent under her. Nicholai caught her and set her gently back down in the chair. "But perhaps my worry has been more justified. What happened?"
She shook her head and laboriously straightened her knee. "Self-inflicted, regrettably. I did a bit more dashing about than my bad knee liked. The result of folly," she muttered, indicating her leg.
"You need to have that looked at. The Count has retained an excellent doctor…"
"Really, Nicholai, there's no need. All I need is a few days rest."
He quirked an eyebrow at her. "You won't get that here."
She smiled, a genuine smile for the first time in days. "No, but here is where I am."
"We could fix that. The Count is going to spend a week at his home in Marseilles. Perhaps you would care to join us?"
Her eyes brightened. "Marseilles? You want me to come with you?"
"Of course. It will help to take your mind off…things."
"I would love to! But…"
"But you must get permission from M. Andre and M. Firmin. Already done. They have given you one week. They quite insisted that it be no longer, but they could not deny you a bit of a break in light of all the stress."
"You really are amazing, Nicholai, making all the preparations beforehand. What if I had said no, hmm?" she teased.
He leaned over and whispered in her ear. "You would not have said no." A pleasant shiver sped down her spine at the tone in his voice. It reminded her of something that she couldn't place. A good something.
He stood and kissed her hand. "Tomorrow morning then? Around nine? Our train departs at ten. I will fetch you."
She could do no more than nod.
