Roxane Roxwell is portrayed by Natalie Portman, and Kathleen is Eleanor Tomlinson.
Raoul steps off the ship and onto the dock of New Orleans. The buildings are carved of stone and adorned in lacy metalwork, and people are bustling about the streets.
''Welcome to America, Mr Vicomte.'' Mr Weston, his relative Mr Ravenswood's lawyer, greets him. Raoul smiles, and shakes Mr Weston's hand. Then he grabs his suitcase, and Mr Weston leads him through the streets. The streets are filled with people, Caucasians and free people of color, from the wealthy to the poor, and Raoul is constantly jostled by people struggling to get through the crowd.
Finally, they reach his relative's mansion, and Raoul puts his suitcase down, staring up at the gloomy, grey-stoned mansion.
''This is it, Ravenswood Manor.'' Mr Weston says, gesturing at the large walls of stone that rise above them.
''Ravenswood Manor? That's a rather foreboding name.'' Raoul remarks, thinking to himself that it looks like something from a gothic novel by the Bronte sisters or Mary Shelley, perhaps.
''Well, Mr Vicomte, your relative Mr Ravenswood was a rather foreboding man.'' Mr Weston replies, and pushes open the wrought iron gates. ''Come along, Mr Vicomte. You want to see what your new home looks like, don't you?'' Mr Weston beckons to him, and Raoul sighs, picks up his suitcase, and follows Mr Weston inside.
The inside of Ravenswood Manor is as gloomy as the outside, Raoul thinks, with portraits on the walls of family members from days gone by, and it is all very dark, like a tomb. A young woman, who introduces herself as the housekeeper, comes to greet him.
''Monsieur Vicomte.'' she says, and takes his suitcase from him. ''Welcome to Ravenswood Manor. I'm Roxane Roxwell, the housekeeper.''
''Thank you, Miss Roxwell. I'm glad to be here, I suppose.'' Raoul smiles. ''Would you care to show me to my room, so that I may unpack?''
''Oh, of course. Come with me, Monsieur Vicomte. You'll be staying in Miss Ravenswood's old room.''
''Miss Ravenswood?'' Raoul questions. Miss Roxwell turns and nods at him, her blue-gray eyes taking on an air of terror. The same sort of look he saw in Meg's eyes on the rooftop, after Joseph Bouquet's-no, don't think about it. She should be nothing to you anymore.
''Your relative's wife.'' she says. ''Lilliana Ravenswood, nee 'O' Malley. She died some ten years ago, leaving her husband a cruel man, with no heir. Then again, he was always a cruel man.'' Miss Roxwell leads Raoul up the stairs and into a lushly carpeted room with paintings on the walls of a rather vulgar nature. Vulgar enough to make Raoul tuck his head down and stare at the floral-patterned carpet.
Miss Roxwell glances behind her, and smiles. ''I really can't say your relative was faithful to Miss Ravenswood. I can have the pictures taken down, if you like.''
''No, leave them. Just get me something to cover them with.'' Raoul tells her, and she hands him his suitcase, and he places it on the plump bed, about ready to open it. Miss Roxwell nods, and walks to the door.
She pauses to say ''I'll leave you to it, then. I hope you enjoy your stay here.'' And she shuts the door behind her. Raoul begins to unpack jackets and shirts and vests and trousers, and hangs them in the closet, taking care not to look at the paintings. When he has finished, he shuts the closet, shuts his suitcase, and tucks it under the bed.
That evening, he eats dinner alone, and he finds that the cook here is as good a one as the cook back home, making peas and ham, pumpkin soup, and pecan pie, an American dish, which he finds very delicious. After the dinner is finished and the plates cleared away, he is surprised to discover that his relative had a piano, although he decides not to touch it. Too many memories, even after five years. Perhaps he will use it later, for a good instrument should not go unplayed.
He heads upstairs, says a prayer for his family, another for Meg and her family, and falls asleep.
The next day, Mr Weston comes to have him sign some legal papers, which he does, and shows Raoul around New Orleans afterward. That evening he writes a letter to hs parents, telling them he has arrived safely and has taken possession of the house, and another to Euphrasie and Camille, asking how they are, and how their social life is faring.
The next two days pass in something of a blur, and Raoul finds he is quite bored, and he has read most of the books in his relative's small library. There are some books he refuses to open, as he has taken one look inside, and shut the book, blushing. Perhaps he will read them if he meets some girl in New Orleans, and marries her. After all, he does want to please his future wife, whomever she may be.
Mr Weston visits again, to see how he is settling in, and mentions that should he ever want to amuse himself at night, he knows the perfect place. At first Raoul refuses to take the other man up on his offer, feeling that he must stay faithful to-what does it matter, now that Meg is married to someone else? Raoul remembers all too well his vivid dreams when he was in the expedition, when he was in the war of them, laughing, fucking, laughing at him-why does he bother to stay faithful to a girl who has left him for someone else?
Meg would want him to be happy, he thinks, watching the fire in the fireplace. She would want him to enjoy himself. With that in mind, the next time Mr Weston comes to visit, he says, ''I think I should like you to show me where I can amuse myself'', hoping Mr Weston will understand what he means, and the older man nods, meaning he does.
''Tonight.'' Mr Weston says, before leaving. ''I can promise you you'll have a good time.'' and off he goes, making Raoul wonder what he has gotten himself into. That night, Raoul goes with Mr Weston to a large house, which rests on a darkened street, and when Mr Weston pushes open the door, Raoul follows him in.
Raoul is taken aback by how bright the place looks, by how colourful it is. It instantly reminds him of the Opera Populaire, but Mr Weston tugs him along to meet the owner, and he shakes the thought from his head.
The owner is a beautiful black-haired woman garbed in midnight blue silk, trimmed in cream tulle, who invites them to pick any of her girls.
Mr Weston selects what Raoul assumes is his usual girl, an Irish thing with hair the color of fire and eyes like emeralds, and they disappear into a room.
''You're new to these things, Monsieur?'' the owner asks, and he nods shyly, a hand playing with the sleeve of his jacket.
''I'm afraid I am.''
''Then I will pick for you.'' she smiles, and after looking around, she walks over to a brown-haired young woman. The girl looks oddly familiar, and Raoul thinks that he has seen her before. The owner takes the girl's hand, and brings her over to him. ''This is Christine. She's very good with newcomers.'' the owner says, and Raoul nods in acceptance.
XXX
It is a normal night at the brothel, so far for Christine, and then she sees two men come in. One of the men she knows, a lawyer, Mr Weston, and he selects Kathleen, as he normally does.
The other, Christine thinks, has a face she has seen before. She knows she's seen him somewhere. Back in Paris, she thinks, but where in Paris? The owner, Desiree Bastian, chats with him for a bit, and then she walks over to Christine.
''He's never been with a girl before.'' Desiree whispers, hand clasping the sleeve of Christine's lace gown, worn over a boned white corset, that worn over a low-cut, sheer chemise and sheer white stockings.
Of course, Christine is an expert in these matters. It is easy to take a man's virginity after you have lost your own, she reflects. Desiree takes Christine by the hand, and brings her over to the young man.
Up close, she can study him better as Desiree introduces her. His hair is long and golden, with a curl at the end, face finely chiseled, and eyes as blue as sapphires. She has seen him before, and she knows it. Christine takes the young man by the hand, and leads him to a room, where she closes the door behind them. She turns, and the young man hesitates.
''I suppose I should take these off?'' he asks, and now Christine recognizes his voice. Any man may have golden hair and blue eyes, but only one man can have that voice, gentle, earnest, and caring. The Vicomte Raoul de Chagny.
But what is he doing here, in New Orleans? Where is Meg? And worst of all, the most shocking thing about this, is that there is no wedding ring on his finger. The Vicomte, he was in love with Meg. Surely he would not- Christine does not know what to think. For now, she decides to focus on the task at hand.
''Go on.'' she coaxes, and the Vicomte begins to remove his jacket, and unbutton his vest after he takes his jacket off. She slips her gown off her shoulders, and it drops to the floor. The Vicomte stares at her figure, and Christine guesses he's never seen a half-naked woman before. She heads over to him, and takes his face in her hands and kisses him hard. He kisses her back, quite hard, and it is one thing he knows how to do, at least. Then Christine parts his mouth open with her tongue, and slips her tongue inside, lapping at the side of his mouth.
Her hands drop from his face and go to his shirt, and unbuttons it till it exposes his well-muscled chest, and then the Vicomte pulls away, and reaches for her corset. Christine turns around and lets him unlace it, and it drops to the floor, then she pushes him back until he hits the bed, and smiling knowingly, unbuckles his belt, sliding his trousers down over his hips.
The Vicomte gasps, and he mutters, ''Stop. Stop.'' Christine pulls her hands away from him and glances at him.
''What's wrong.'' she asks.
''What are you-what are you going to do?'' he asks, rather breathily. The poor boy.
Christine smiles sweetly at him, and remarks, ''There's no need to fear. I'm just going to pleasure you, that's all.'' She drops to her knees, tugs his trousers down a bit more, and takes his cock into her mouth. She licks a long stripe up him, and he moans, a hand gripping her shoulder. One hand grips his hip as she takes more of him into her mouth, and when she glances up at him, his eyes are closed and his head is thrown back in pleasure. She continues to licks and suck at him until, finally, she can feel him come, and she pulls away from him, swallowing.
Then she stands up, and the Vicomte takes a rather shaky breath, sitting down on the bed.
''Oh.'' he breathes. ''Oh, god.'' He looks up at her, and says ''That was my first.''
She kisses him again, but this time breaks away before he can kiss her back and kisses the edge of his jaw, before trailing kisses down his neck and throat. When she kisses a particular spot on his throat, Raoul bolts up and asks her not to touch there. She nods, understanding in her eyes, and shifts her center, sliding onto his cock. Raoul moans at the feeling. God, she is so wet. So very wet, he thinks. And wet reminds him of water and water reminds him of- no, don't think about it! Please don't think about it!
Don't think about that night when you stood in the water to save the girl who you thought had loved you, when that monster threw the rope around your neck-those days are over!
He starts when he hears ''Is that why you didn't want me to touch your throat?'' Raoul then realizes he has said that out loud.
Christine is ready to teach the boy to take a woman, and then he says something shocking, something that partially explains what happened to Meg. She asks, and he bolts, blue eyes meeting her brown ones.
''I had a fiancee.'' he explains. ''We were going to be married. But there was this man, this so-called opera ghost, he tried to burn down the opera house, and he nearly strangled me when I tried to save her. She stayed with him to save my life.'' That is just the sort of thing Meg would do, Christine thinks. That explains the absence of the wedding-ring, too. And then she pushes her hips against him and his hands come up to twist in her hair.
''Good boy.'' she tells him. ''Good boy.'' He hesitantly thrusts up into her, and she lets out a long, low moan. ''Oh, yes. That's it, go on.'' His hands loosen from her ringlets of hair, and slide the straps of her chemise off her shoulders, and it drops to reveal a full, plump bosom, the fabric catching pertly on the tips. Christine smiles, and grasps the sides, and yanks it off her head.
She wears only her stockings now, and one of his hands hesitantly skates from her shoulder, down the soft flesh of her breast, down her waist, and slides along the top of her thigh, as he sits up a little.
The girl's flesh is soft, like silk, Raoul thinks, and he wants never to remove his hand from it. He takes the edge of the girl's stocking, and rolls it down her leg in such a manner to make her moan, until her leg is bare against his hip, and repeats the process with the other. Then the girl rests her hands on his shoulders, and flips him so he is on top of her.v
Her hand tangles in his golden hair and brings his head down to press a kiss to her breast, and he flicks his tongue softly against the pert tip.
''Tell me to stop.'' he begs, unsure if he is doing it right. He wants to, so much! Christine laughs, and tells him he is doing it right. Encouraged thus, he does the same to the other breast, and when he looks at Christine, she can see that his eyes are dark, nearly black with desire.
They are still joined together at the hips, and he thrusts in, slowly. ''Harder.'' she tells him, and he obliges, and goes deeper into her so as to fill her, and thrusts again and again.
XXX
When they are done, she dresses and he laces her corset, and pulls back on his vest and jacket. Mr Weston should be done by now, Raoul thinks.
''Thank you.'' Raoul tells her, and leaves, and he finds Mr Weston waiting for him.
''Did you enjoy yourself?'' Mr Weston asks, and Raoul nods, yes, he did. They go their separate ways, and Raoul wonders where he has seen that girl before.
