It was late in the night when the coach rolled to a stop in front of the Chagny home. Light blazed from the ground floor windows, beacons in the darkness. Meg hopped unassisted to the gravel drive and took the steps two at a time. She strode through the open door, slinging her cloak at the butler, ignoring his scowl. Hang him, I don't have time for manners. Raoul waited at the foot of the beautifully carved staircase; sorrow did not suit his handsome face. The comte without a smile was a grave looking man, far older than his years.
"How is she?" Meg grasped his outstretched hands, briefly relishing his warmth around her chilled fingers.
"It was a hard labour.."
"Was?"
"The babe came an hour ago." Raoul smiled weakly. "She is waiting for you. Up the stairs, to the right, through the fourth door on the left."
Meg squeezed his hands and without further reply, ascended the stairs. She rushed through the quiet corridor and into a room that was dark compared to the garish light downstairs and it was hot, far too hot. She pushed past the scowling midwife and threw open the window, drinking deeply of the cool night air.
"The child could catch a chill, mademoiselle." the woman scolded.
"Has anyone ever died of fresh air?" Meg retorted.
"The cold air will snatch the breath from its lungs."
Meg stared. "You don't honestly believe that."
Not waiting for an answer (she seemed to be in the habit of not waiting for answers), Meg moved across to the bed and sank to her knees at Christine's bedside.
"Meg." Christine smiled and though pale and sweaty from her ordeal, still managed to be the most beautiful woman in Meg's estimation. Sometimes, it's just not fair, the envy monster in her head complained.
"I'm here, dearest, I came as fast as I could." Meg kissed her friend's clammy hand.
"Another girl." She answered dreamily. "May I not see my baby girl?" Christine weakly stretched out her arms for the baby but the midwife pointedly looked away.
"You've not held the baby?" Meg asked incredulously, fixing the midwife with a stony stare. A tiny cry of protest came from the cradle; the newest Mademoiselle de Chagny. Meg jerked her head toward the new mother and waited while the woman reluctantly presented Christine with the reward of her confinement. Meg and the woman stuffed pillows around Christine to prop her limp arms up for her daughter. When both mother and daughter were finally situated, Meg was able to get a good look at the baby.
The infant was small and white, the blue of her veins showing prominently through her translucent skin; blue eyed like most babies, but they seemed bleary and unseeing, rather than simply unfocused. She looked as weak as her cry had sounded.
"This child cannot possibly survive." Meg clasped her hands tight against her stomach, feeling as though she would be sick; she was beginning to understand why the midwife had been so reluctant to let Christine hold her child. "She doesn't want her to get too attached." Meg grabbed a cloth and dipped it in the wash basin, wringing it out thoroughly for something to do. She slid into the bed next to mother and child and laid the cloth on Christine's pasty forehead.
"She's beautiful." Meg lied while smoothing the damp tendrils of hair away from Christine's face as the baby began to cry angrily, pathetically. "Have you thought of a name yet?"
"I was considering Marguerite." Christine tried to put the child to her breast but she did not suckle. The hungry baby did not seem to be aware that nourishment was so close.
"Tsk no, don't burden her with that." Meg's brow creased with worry.
"Not all come out knowing how right away." Christine murmured, noticing Meg's concern. Perhaps she was trying to reassure herself while her new daughter continued to cry. At a loss for words, Meg removed the cloth and tossed it back into the basin with a splash.
"Was there a physician present? Where has he gone?" Meg drew the midwife aside.
"Yes, he's downstairs sitting with the comte, I believe."
The woman glanced over at Christine, who was distracted, tracing her fingers over the oh so fragile features of her daughter's tiny face. "It was a bad time – that either of them are still here, drawing breath, is a miracle in itself."
There was nothing Meg could think of to refute that statement.
"Please tell Raoul that his daughter has arrived and we are both well." Christine tried to smile but it looked more like a grimace in a drawn face that shone feverishly.
"I will tell him that his daughter is here." Meg said cautiously. Raoul would know she was lying if she told him otherwise. "I would not be here if you were well." She went to her friend's side and kissed her forehead gently; Christine's head was burning hot. Drawing the silk ribbon from her skirt pocket, Meg wrapped it carefully around Christine's hand. "I thought this might give you some comfort."
Christine stroked the silk with her thumb; a dreamy look came over her face. She caressed the baby with it.
"I wonder what he would have thought of you." she kissed the top of the infant's head.
Meg frowned a little. She could imagine the Opera Ghost fraught with worry and off to fetch the physician. "Or every physician."
"I love you, Meg." Christine's eyes looked unfocused, she wasn't seeing Meg; she slowly ran the silk between her thumb and forefinger.
"And I you, dearest." Meg gave her another swift kiss. "Please rest. I will return very soon." she promised, leaving Christine humming a strange and beautiful tune to her baby.
Meg shut the door softly and leaned against the heavy wood. "None of this is any good." Her eyes burned with tears but she fought them off and took a deep breath. The air in the hallway was blessedly cooler than Christine's room and she relaxed a little as she returned downstairs. She found Raoul in the library with a grey looking old man whom she assumed to be the physician, both men with a glass of brandy in hand.
"How did you find her? Is she well?" Raoul's questions tumbled out as he jumped up to lead Meg to a chair near the fire.
"Yes, the baby has come. You have a daughter."
"And Christine?" he prompted. Meg found a point just to the right of Raoul's face; his earnest blue eyes were more than she could take.
"Have you not seen her?" she stalled. How could she tell the doctor without alarming Raoul? A rap on the door saved her, the footman slipping in to fetch the physician, who hurried away without a word, thundering up the staircase.
"Perhaps you ought to go to her? I know she wants to see you" she suggested; she and Raoul shared a worried look.
Raoul tapped his nails against the brandy glass. "Meg.. I want to apologize-"
"There's no time for this, go! Go! Please." she urged, desperate to silence him. She wanted none of his apologies or declarations. Meg extracted the glass from Raoul's hands. Their fingers brushed together, sending a small shock through her. Meg lifted her eyes to his; he had felt it too. "God, this is silly. Are you really that lonely, Meg?"
"Go on, Raoul. That midwife is a wench and I know Christine will want you."
He nodded and strode to the door, turning to look again at her. She could see the argument in his head, torn between Christine's side and saying whatever was on his mind. Finally, mind apparently made up, he turned on his heel and left, becoming another storm of footsteps hurrying upstairs to the comtesse. Meg took a careful sip of the brandy and sputtered, setting the glass down quickly.
"Augh!" Meg slouched into the physician's vacated chair with posture that would make her mother's hair stand on end. The house was very still but she didn't feel alone. There was probably age's worth of Chagny ghosts sitting next to her. Wearily, she curled up into the chair and the warmth of the fire lulled her into an uneasy sleep.
A cry of anguish shattered the silence and Meg tumbled out of the chair and to her feet before she realized she had even been asleep. "How long have I been in here?"
She groggily stumbled up the staircase when a low, mournful wail stopped her halfway. Her eyes popped wide open. Taking the rest of the stairs two at a time, Meg flew down the corridor and skidded to a stop in the doorway of Christine's room.
"Raoul, what-" the question died on her lips. Raoul's face was twisted with grief, eyes already red from weeping.
"Gone." He choked and fell into her arms, heaving with silent sobs. Meg awkwardly rubbed his back, being too stunned to do anything else. The physician and midwife blocked most of her view of the bed but she could still see blood on the sheets. "Lots of it."
The thin mewling cry of the new baby joined her father's sobs, a symphony of mourning for the mother she would never know. Meg longed to shake Christine, to demand she return and how dare she leave them all this way. But there would be no answer, the body was already beginning to cool; it was all that was left of the woman Meg had loved and fought with like a sister.