CHRISTINE
She burst into tears the instant the door slammed shut. She shouldn't have snapped at Raoul, she knew that much. Perhaps it came from a place of genuine concern for her wellbeing, but he had no right to speak to her as if she was too oblivious to realize the possible implications of dining with two bachelors. Never mind the fact that she knew neither Erik nor Sassan had any interest in her or any woman.
They initially intended to keep that information a secret from her. Five years ago, Erik and Christine's friendship was newly minted and she had only met Sassan once before. She didn't quite understand their connection, why an ordinary friend would visit so frequently until all the pieces fell into place.
She had stepped into the other room to get another sugar cube for her tea and had the marvelous idea to scare them. It would have been sweet revenge after Erik had frightened her with the fake rat, although he claimed he hadn't intended to spook her, merely to show off his latest piece of automata.
She was rather light on her feet as she crept back into the room, so quiet that she could hear Sassan furiously whispering Erik to knock it off, Christine would be back any second. She assumed Erik was planning another prank that Sassan intended to spare her from, but instead, she tiptoed in to find the two of them locked in an embrace that could only be interpreted as romantic. They were not kissing on the mouth, but rather Erik had his mouth pressed to Sassan's exposed throat. She had, of course not much experience with passionate kissing beyond what she had read in second-hand romance novels, but even she knew friends of any gender combination didn't usually express closeness like that.
Christine stood stock still for a moment before realizing she should probably give them some privacy. Her attempt to exit silently was thwarted by the creaking floorboard. Both men's eyes snapped open and they sprung apart to opposite ends of the sofa, inadvertently knocking over the teapot. It landed on the carpet with a thump, luckily not shattering as far as she could tell, but still soaking the carpet nevertheless. No one made a move to address it.
Sassan spoke first, a nervous tremor in his baritone voice. "Christine, we only, it's not what-"
Erik interrupted, as usual. "We were- of course it looks like- I'd wish you wouldn't tell."
Christine gave them a sympathetic look that she hoped would quell their fears. But both continued to try to justify themselves. Finally, she spoke.
"There was this girl, a girl who spent a summer here when we were sixteen," she began.
Erik opened his mouth to interject but Sassan took his hand to silence him.
"Her name was Mirielle. She was my first real friend… in a while. She had such silky red hair, I was so jealous of it. I thought I was jealous of her too, although she was perfectly kind to me…" she trailed off, afraid she wasn't making sense.
Erik nodded as if he wanted her to go on. Sassan's eyes were brimming with tears.
"She and… well, she and this other boy, one who lived here year-round, were sweethearts that summer. I caught them kissing too, and I thought, I thought I hated her. I thought I loved this other boy, that's why I was jealous of her. Mirielle and her perfect hair, Mirielle with her soft white hands and developed bosom. But she… she taught me a game and everything made sense. A game where you practice kissing." She sucked in a breath. "And suddenly I understood."
"Are you saying, Christine… that you are one of us?" Erik said, as soft as she had ever heard him speak.
"I… I don't know. Men.. men are handsome as well, I think." She wasn't sure if she would cry or vomit but at the time like a burden was lifted off her back. "I've never told anyone that story."
"Thank you for trusting us," Sassan said, his handsome face unfurrowing.
"Now- now we both can keep each other's secrets, you see?" she gave a small smile. "Now, could we pick up the teapot?"
That incident is what had truly cemented her friendship with the two. Recalling it now just increased the flow of tears. She fumbled around her bedside table to find a handkerchief but to no avail. She resorted to wiping her hands with her sleeve.
Of course, she could tell Raoul the truth and perhaps all would be mended, once he understood. He could apologize, she could apologize. But it wasn't her secret to tell, now, was it. And Raoul was an understanding man, she imagined, more broad-minded from his life in Paris. At least she hoped he would be. But she honestly did not know Raoul anymore, this serious man with all the cares in the world. The potential of losing him forever (if she hadn't already) was enough to cause another round of sobs. She really shouldn't have gotten as drunk as she did. But he shouldn't have spoken to her that way.
Eventually, the tears abated a bit, and she decided to dress for bed. She doubted she would get much sleep tonight, but it was worth a try. In her mind, she tried to review her plans for tomorrow. There was a visit to the le Quellecs, yes, and she certainly needed some bread. She realized with slight horror that she was supposed to give Clementine her first lesson tomorrow morning.
She wasn't sure if Raoul would still want to keep her on after she had spoken so harshly. She wasn't even sure she wanted to see him again, after how he had tried to tell her what to do with her life. She spent the night drifting in and out of sleep, alternating detesting Raoul and detesting herself. By the time the sun peeked through the curtains, she had given up on any further rest.
She dressed quickly, applied her face powder, pulled on her boots, and prepared herself to go out. As she walked, she was still unsure if she would go to Erik's or Raoul's. Her mind changed every minute.
She really could not afford to lose another client, she decided at last. She had swallowed her pride many times before, and she could do it again. If Raoul decided he would not employ her, at least she would not have deprived herself of potential income. It would be his doing.
When she rang the door, Raoul's valet whose name she could not remember answered. She suddenly felt as if she had to justify herself.
"I'm… I'm here to teach Miss Clementine… Raoul, he said-"
"Of course, of course, Miss Daae," he said. "She's in the parlor waiting for you. The Vicomte hasn't risen for the day yet, but Miss Druset will supervise."
Perhaps Raoul had a rough time sleeping as well.
He ushered her in, taking her cloak and hat. The house was slowly returning to its glory days, she thought. Right now, two workmen were lowering the chandelier in the foyer while a maid scrubbed the steps of the grand staircase. Christine did not linger or stare too long, though. She probably knew all three of them and didn't feel like chatting.
"Do you need assistance finding the room? The Vicomte told me you had visited many times before."
"I know exactly where it is," she said. "Thank you, though."
He gave her a bow and left her to her own devices. When she reached the parlor, Clementine was indeed sitting at the piano, banging noisily on the keys while Apolline tried to quell her. Raoul was nowhere in sight.
"Hello, Miss Clementine," Christine said. "I see you've started without me."
The little girl turned to her, bouncing in her seat. "I want to make it sound pretty, not just loud."
"We can work up to that, I promise. But first, we need to work on learning the pitches. Do you like to sing?"
Clementine clutched her hand. "I love to!"
"That's wonderful, do you have a favorite song?"
"It's one of my Papa taught me. I make him sing me it every night. Yes, do you know the Little Lotte song?"
Christine froze. "He still knows that song? My father taught him that song." She realized she had crumpled her sheet music and frantically tried to smooth it.
Clementine's face was alight with wonder. "Are you Little Lotte? With the red scarf?"
The room felt stiflingly hot all of a sudden. Had Raoul told her all their stories?
"Yes, I am. You know your papa and I used to be very good friends." Christine placed the music on the stand, gesturing for Clementine to scoot over so they could sit together.
"Those are my favorite stories. Because Papa doesn't have as many about my maman," she whispered conspiratorially. "Because I don't have one because she's dead."
"I'm very sorry to hear about your maman, Clementine," Christine bit her lip.
"I'm not that sad. I heard servants talking at the old house and they say Papa buys me so many dolls because he feels responsible . What does that word mean?"
"Clementine!" Apolline chastened. "Miss Christine is here to teach you!"
"Would you like to begin our lesson, Clementine?" Christine said, raising a hand to signal Apolline that she wasn't offended. The governess sighed.
"Yes!" Clementine said. "But only if we play Little Lotte."
RAOUL
He stumbled home, tears hot on his face. He had repressed the urge to weep for years now and figured that well was dried forever. But something had changed within him, ever since he left Paris. Now he feared he would never be able to stop crying. He had never felt more pathetic.
Raoul passed the cottage to find Sassan outside, smoking a cigar. The near stranger's face fell when he saw the condition Raoul was in.
"All right there, Monsieur le Vicomte?" he called. "Did Christine make it home?"
"Yes, she's home," he sniffled. "Please call me Raoul."
"Of course, Raoul," the man clapped a broad hand on his back.
Raoul really could not stand to do anything but dive into bed, so he made some weak excuse and left. Of course, when he reached the door, it was locked. Faced with the choice of either returning to ask Erik to unlock the door or banging furiously on the door until someone opened it, he selfishly chose the latter. Eventually, Durand, dressed in his nightclothes and rubbing his eyes, let him in.
Raoul climbed the stairs to his room, declining Durand's offer to help him dress for bed. Once he stripped to the waist, he figured he might as well have another drink. It wasn't as if he could get into any more trouble tonight. He wandered into the study for more scotch, before returning to the bedroom and throwing himself, half undressed, under the covers.
His dreams tormented him, as they usually did. Visions of poor Manon, rotting in the Chagny mausoleum, her decaying fingers clutching a bundle he couldn't usually bear to think about. And perched on top of her coffin, two entwined lovers, desecrating her grave, desecrating her memory.
It was the splitting headache that roused him. He awoke to find a lukewarm breakfast tray left out for him and sunlight streaming through the windows. He made it a habit to rise early each day, but perhaps he needed the sleep. Or the justification.
As he picked at his soggy toast, he noticed a note in Durand's hand.
Miss Daae is downstairs in the parlor.
God, the music lesson was today, wasn't it? Perhaps she had forgiven him. And perhaps she might still be here.
As he pulled on the clothes set out for him, all he could think about was how stupid he was. How could he think he could prevent Christine from doing anything? One summer, he'd begged her not to climb on the dead tree by her cottage, afraid she might fall. The broken arm had been a testament to her stubbornness. Perhaps a girl of seventeen should be warned about the dangers of unmarried men, but Christine was a decade older and could handle herself. She wouldn't fraternize with people who hurt her, he knew that much. And she could see anyone she wanted and it wasn't Raoul's business when she did it.
Still in the process of tying his cravat, he grabbed his checkbook and ran down the stairs, following the sound of the piano. He nearly tumbled head over heels down the stairs when Christine started singing. Her voice had only improved as the years went by, a perfect, crystalline instrument.
He crept into the room, unnoticed by anyone. As he finished straightening out his clothes, Christine prompted Clementine to sing the scale by herself.
"I like it better when we sing together," his daughter said in a small voice. "Can we do that again?"
Christine squeezed her hand. "I promise you can do it. And if you make a mistake, guess what, that's perfectly fine. Because you're still learning and you only learn…"
"When you make mistakes!" Clementine smiled.
"All right, now it's time for you to try," Christine said kindly.
Clementine's voice was small and wobbly as she began to sing, but she did make it to the end.
"Wonderful!" Christine cheered, wrapping her arms around her pupil.
Raoul couldn't help but get choked up, bursting into rapturous applause, startling Christine, Clementine, and Apolline, who had nodded off.
"Papa!" Clementine jumped from the bench and ran into his arms. "Miss Christine taught me how to sing!"
He picked her up and held her against his chest. "I heard! You sound so wonderful! We'll have to thank Miss Christine and ask her to come back later in the week." He kissed the top of her head.
"Oh, I wish Miss Christine could come every day!" she pouted. The look on her face made Raoul consider buying her a pony to compensate.
Christine's eyes were on the floor. "Oh, I'm sure you and your papa would get sick of me." There was an edge to her voice now that she knew Raoul was in the room.
"Never!" Clementine kissed her father's cheek and gestured to be let down. "Do you want to stay for lunch? We're having chocolate mousse and nothing else!"
"I'm not sure where you got that idea," said Apolline.
"I am quite flattered that you want me to stay," Christine gave a glance to Raoul, before redirecting her attention. "But other little boys and little girls are waiting for me to teach them and I wouldn't want to keep them waiting."
"Apolline," said Raoul. "Why don't you take Clementine for a walk? I'll just take care of Miss Christine's expenses."
Clementine was persuaded to go out, walking backward so she could wave to Christine until she was out of sight. There was a change in the air once Raoul was alone with Christine.
"About last night-" he started.
"I would love to rehash that with you, Monsieur le Vicomte," Christine said. "But I really must go."
"At least let me give you a ride, please, it'll only take ten minutes and we can go."
Did he sound desperate, needy, begging? Should he be groveling at her feet?
"I don't have enough time to wait," she said testily. "If you would prefer to pay me later, I suppose-"
"No," he said firmly. "I've got the checkbook right here. How much do I owe you?"
She seemed taken aback by the question. "My clients usually pay whatever they can afford."
That only increased Raoul's confusion, but he didn't want to contradict her any further. He had no idea what the going rate per lesson was, in Paris or elsewhere, so he figured he'd just write a check for a hundred francs and be done with it.
She took the check from him gingerly, not looking at the amount. "How about Friday?"
"Friday?" his eyes felt as they would pop out of his head.
"For Clementine's next lesson, Raoul."
At least she was calling him Raoul again.
"Of course. At the same time, if you can manage."
There was a slight smile on her face. "I can manage just about anything."
Durand came around with her coat and hat, and she was off. Raoul watched her from the window in a way that he hoped wasn't creepy. She pulled the check out of her pocket, reading it before letting out a wordless exclamation that the wind carried back to the house. Then, the check slipped from her fingers and she chased it down the beach.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Can't believe I'm updating twice in one week! A hundred francs in 1896 is equivalent to almost $600 USD today. So quite the windfall for Christine!