Author's Note: Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! It's very much appreciated. I hope you enjoy the new chapter!
Chapter Eleven: The Nightingale
1.
Christine came to the end of the Queen of the Night's aria, and bowed to applause. Her smile was carefully in place, but her heart was racing. This was the part she had been dreading. She glanced into the wings. Erik's shape was still discernible, and she saw him incline his head in a nod, as if to encourage her.
It was simply a case of flicking her wrist, just so...
She plucked the golden feather out of thin air, and almost sobbed with relief.
Another feather, and another, a trail of golden feathers. She slid into character, looking at the handful of feathers in exasperation. There was laughter from somewhere in the auditorium. Encouraged, Christine looked down at her dress, and gave an exaggerated shrug. The feathers weren't coming from there. Here was another, and one more, leading to…
The Mechanical Nightingale wheeled itself onto the stage. Christine was genuinely startled. She had not realised it could move independently.
She made a great show of examining the Nightingale. What was this thing? Where had it come from? She found the handle and brought a hand to her mouth in a pantomime of surprise. A music box!
At first there was no song, and Christine feared that Erik's nerves had overcome him. But then his voice emerged, pure and sweet, from inside the bird. Christine smiled, and joined in, singing the next line.
She shot a comedic glare at the Nightingale. How dare this piece of clockwork even try to match her, the great prima donna? Her own song became competitive, with Erik's voice imitating her trills. More laughter rippled around the auditorium.
They were nearing the part of the song when Erik would have to make a decision. She could no longer see him in the wings. She hoped he would be able to continue with the act, that his courage would not fail him. If he did not appear, she would bring proceedings to a close, alone on the stage.
She sang his cue line. There was a pause. And for a long, disappointing moment, Christine thought he would not reveal himself.
Beside her, the Nightingale continued to sing. Then she heard a gentle rustling sound from upstage, and soft footsteps. She turned just in time to see Erik emerge from the shadows and step into the light.
The voice leapt from the bird and into Erik's throat.
There were gasps from the audience.
Christine smiled as Erik took his place in front of the Nightingale. They finished their duet together, eyes locked on each other's faces.
The auditorium erupted into applause.
Christine gestured to the audience, asking a silent question. Erik hesitated for a moment, then nodded to Julian the pianist.
Christine turned to the audience and bowed low, and then stepped back into the wings.
She held her breath as the musicians played the introduction to Erik's chosen aria. He stood centre stage, a strange, ghostly figure in his feathered cloak and hat. He was almost completely still, his arms straight by his sides.
Then he began to sing.
The soft, plaintive melody of Je crois entendre encore curled around the theatre, casting a musical spell far more potent than any of Erik's illusions. His nerves had seemingly vanished, and he sang with all the confidence of a far more experienced performer.
He raised his head and sang out to the audience as if giving his heart to them. His large, expressive hands emphasised each phrase with elegant gestures.
Christine's breath caught in her throat.
This strange, shy, masked man was beautiful.
Why hadn't she noticed it before?
Around halfway through the song, Erik lifted his arms, and suddenly the dark stage around him was filled with stars. The little lights floated about him like tiny fireflies. Then a gentle shaft of light fell upon his figure, causing his silver mask to glow, as if the moon had come out from behind a cloud.
He had created a starlit beach, more effective than any painted scenery.
The song came to an end. There was a long moment of absolute stillness as the stars hung suspended in the air.
Then the applause began.
2.
Erik staggered as if he had been startled from a daydream. The stars fell to the floor and vanished. He had been so absorbed in the music that the applause was disorienting. He turned his head, searching the wings for Christine, and saw that she was applauding too, her face lit with a bright smile. She paused in her clapping to wipe a tear from her eye, and his heart froze for a moment, but then he saw that she was applauding again, and laughing.
Love overwhelmed him.
He gasped at the sudden realisation. Never mind the stars and the moon; he looked at Christine and it was as if the sun had risen for the first time.
Of course it was love. What else could it be? He looked out at the audience and realised that Christine had given him all of this, given him music and helped him share that music with other people. Even if he lived for a hundred years, he would never be able to repay her. But he would do everything in his power to try, if she would only let him.
He bowed low to the audience, on legs that trembled, and managed to gather his wits to such an extent that he could perform one last illusion.
He raised his arms, wrapping himself in the cloak of feathers, and vanished through the trapdoor.
3.
She was waiting for him in the passage which led to the dressing rooms. As soon as she saw him, her tearstained face lit up, and she swept forward and flung her arms around him. He managed to resist his instinct to flinch away, and instead raised his shaking arms until they encircled her.
They stood like that for a long moment, Christine uttering tiny sobs into his shoulder. Finally she backed away, and mopped at her eyes with the sleeve of her gown.
"Erik, that was beautiful. I'm so proud of you."
He blushed, and cleared his throat. "I see you mastered the feather trick."
"Yes!" She laughed again. "I'm so relieved."
He smoothed his cloak with nervous fingers. Now that he had left the stage, the temporary rush of courage was rapidly deserting him, and he was filled with self-doubt. What did one do in a situation such as this? He had so much to tell her, but no words seemed right, or appropriate, or a guarantee that he wouldn't be rejected or misunderstood.
His mind went to the gift in his attic room, and relief coursed through him. Perhaps he had been preparing for this night for a long time, without even realising it.
He swallowed hard, trying to summon his former courage.
"Christine, would you meet me in the attic in five minutes?"
She hesitated for a moment. "Of course, Erik. But why?"
"There's something I wish to give you, but I need time to prepare."
A look of uncertainty crossed her face, but then she nodded and smiled. "Very well. Five minutes."
She went into her dressing room.
Five minutes. Five minutes to decide exactly what he was going to say. It wasn't nearly enough time.
Erik hurried up to his room and closed the door. He removed the feathered cloak and hat, and changed into his magician's cloak, the smartest item he owned. He put on his felt hat, and swapped his silver mask for his usual white one. He knew the gesture would not have quite the same effect if he was dressed as a large bird.
The violin was hidden safely under the couch. He had taken the time to clean the case, removing the spots of mud left over from his distressing encounter on the street. He had also polished the violin and bow with a very soft cloth he had found in the wardrobe department. He opened the case to check on the instrument, and the warm, orange-brown wood shone in the lamplight.
There was a soft knock on the door.
Erik closed the case and placed the violin on his desk, standing in front of it so it was concealed by his voluminous cloak.
"Come in."
The door opened and Christine stepped into the room. She gave a shy smile. "Hello, Erik."
"Thank you for coming."
"That's quite all right…What is this about?"
Erik found himself smoothing his cloak again. His mouth had gone dry. Oh, this was not good. He needed to pull himself together.
"Christine, I…"
"Yes?"
"Christine...I've been wanting to do this for a long time, but the moment never seemed quite right…"
"Oh?" She was starting to look a little alarmed now.
"You see, the thing is, I would be most honoured…" He cleared his throat again. He sounded ridiculously stilted and formal, and he knew it, "…most honoured, if you would accept this small token of my thanks…for everything."
He stepped to one side, picked up the violin case, and held it out to Christine.
She stared at it. "What's-"
"Please, take it."
She took the violin case and rested it on the couch. She opened it, lifted the velvet cloth, and looked down at the instrument.
She said nothing for a very long time, and Erik started to wish he was back onstage, simply so a trapdoor could open up and swallow him. Why had she gone so quiet? Had he done something wrong?
"I'm sorry," he said softly. "I thought you'd like it."
"Oh," Christine ran a hand gently over the wood. "Oh, Erik. You sweet man."
Warmth flooded his belly. No one had ever called him anything like that before.
"You do like it?"
She turned to him, tears glistening in her eyes. "I love it. Thank you so much."
And then he was in her arms again. He thought he might get used to this one day, if she did it often enough.
"You must stop making me cry like this," she said, when she finally released him.
"I saw you looking at it in the shop. I wanted to do something to thank you for teaching me to sing."
"Thank you, Erik." Her eyes had grown very soft. Before he realised what was about to happen, she leaned forward and planted a kiss on his masked cheek.
Erik jumped, reeling from this unexpected gesture of affection. He had never been kissed before. He usually tried not to dwell on such things, but this first kiss made him both sad and joyful at the same time. Sad, because it was his first, and joyful, because it was Christine.
What was he going to do now? His mind whirled, and he took what seemed to be the only obvious course of action, which was to attempt to kiss her back.
His lips brushed Christine's cheek in the lightest of kisses. He was timid, and somewhat hindered by the mask. She looked up, surprised. But then her expression grew soft again. She raised a hand and rested it on the collar of his cloak, stroking the dark fabric.
Emboldened by the fact that she was still there, he leaned forward…
She sprang backwards, her eyes grown wide with something like horror. She held up a hand as if wishing to bat him away.
"I'm sorry, Erik. I can't…"
He flinched, eyes fixed on the floor, the moment broken.
Of course she didn't want to kiss him. The very idea was absurd. It wasn't as if she had even kissed his cheek, not really. She had kissed the mask. If she saw his face, she would never entertain any notion of kissing it. She would not even be here, in the same room.
"Forgive me," he said, in a voice which was barely above a whisper. "That was very presumptuous of me. I must repulse you."
"What? No!" She reached for his hand, but he pulled away. "Erik, that's not what I meant at all. Of course you don't repulse me." She sank onto the couch with a sigh. "I just…can't. I'm sorry."
"Forgive me, I don't understand…"
"Less than six months ago, I was engaged to be married. And now…" She shook her head. "I...like you very much, Erik. I just need some time."
He blinked. "You…like me?"
She gave a short laugh, raking a hand through her hair. "Yes, Erik. Of course I like you. But I hardly know you. I haven't even seen your face."
"You're not missing much," he murmured, hiding his confusion behind self-deprecation. He turned his back on her and walked over to the other side of the room. If she was going to ask him to remove the mask, he wasn't going to let her see how much her request upset him. "It's hardly a face at all."
"Don't talk like that. Please." He heard her rise from the couch. "What happened with Raoul…it broke my heart, Erik. There were days when I thought I would never get over it. The world seemed very dark, for a very long time. And then, when I came here…" She trailed off, and placed a hand lightly on his shoulder. "When I came here, and I met you, it was as if the light started to come back again. I felt happy, truly happy for the first time since I left the Opera. And I don't want to risk losing that, Erik. It's too soon. I don't want to be hurt like that again."
Astonished, he whirled around. "Do you honestly think I would hurt you?"
"Not intentionally." She reached for his hand again. This time, he let her take it, and she squeezed his long fingers. "I want to know you, Erik. But I need time to do that. Do you understand?"
He didn't, really. He had no experience of relationships. But he also didn't want to profess his ignorance. Because here, standing before him, was a lovely woman who wanted to know him. And that was terrifying, but also wonderful.
"Yes," he said. "Yes, I think so. What do I do?"
She smiled at that, and his heart felt a little lighter. "Well, perhaps we could…just talk. You could tell me more about yourself, your past. Tell me who you are."
He tensed at that. "I'm not sure you really want to know."
"Let me be the judge of that. I've told you about myself. It's only fair."
He sighed. "Very well, Christine. Where would you like me to start?"
"You don't have to tell me right now. In some ways, it would be nice to do this properly."
"What do you mean, properly?"
"Well…perhaps we could go out for tea."
He stared at her. She looked quite sincere. "Tea?"
"Yes. Tomorrow, perhaps? Before the show? We could have tea, and we could talk."
The thought was utterly delightful, and ridiculous, and he laughed.
"What's so funny?" Christine looked a bit hurt.
"Nothing, Christine, nothing. It's just…you make it sound like a proper courtship."
She folded her arms. "That's more or less what I'm suggesting, Erik. But if you don't want to…"
He stopped laughing abruptly. "Yes, Christine. Yes, I want to."
"Good. That's…a relief."
A silence. Erik searched desperately for something more to say, something which would break the sudden awkwardness between them.
His gaze alighted on the violin. Perhaps music would come to his rescue once again.
"Would you play something for me?" he asked.
She glanced at the violin. "I don't know. It's been a very long time."
"Now who's being secretive? I've embarrassed myself enough times in your singing lessons."
She smiled. "Oh, very well. What should I play?"
"Play something I won't have heard before. Something from France."
"Let me think…" Christine picked up the violin and plucked each string experimentally before testing it with the bow. He watched as she adjusted the pegs. "This is a song my father taught me. It's called 'The Lullaby of the Bells'…"
She positioned the violin beneath her chin, and raised the bow.
She played well, with the same depth of feeling she brought to her singing. It was a simple melody, gentle and soothing, and Erik sat on the couch and felt the evening's tensions melt away.
Tomorrow, he would face the fearful prospect of drinking tea. But for now, there was just Christine and her music.