Chapter 58 Deluge
"They wouldn't listen to any of it," Emilie explained; indicating to Christine to stand up and dress in her usual rehearsal clothes.
"Oh." It had been hard to take in - the Ghost had demanded that she replace Carlotta again, just as she and her Angel had planned, and yet her managers would have none of it. She was at a loss to understand why? Hadn't she pleased them with her performance at the Gala? Hadn't they said she was their new star? If only she could think clearly. Whatever it was her Angel had given her to help her sleep, it was not conducive to clarity of thought during the day. "But you said Raoul was there?"
"Yes," Emilie said. "But he was in agreement with them. He wishes you play the part of the Pageboy as well." Emilie saw the hurt look in Christine's eyes at that statement but couldn't help herself. What was the Vicomte thinking? Didn't he know that if only he'd stepped in and demanded that Christine play the lead, there'd be none of this fear clutching at her heart?
She had no idea what Erik meant by 'disaster', but she knew perfectly well what he was capable of. Did he intend to kill Carlotta? Had he something planned that might potentially cause Meg to be harmed as well? She knew he'd rather die than harm Christine, but if Meg was on the stage at the time, if Meg was in his way… She closed her eyes tightly at the thought. God, why didn't they all just listen?
"What should I do now?" Christine asked, feeling utterly miserable. Her managers disliked her, Raoul obviously agreed, and if she wasn't in Carlotta's dressing room that night her Angel couldn't come for her. She felt like falling back onto the chaise and weeping and her eyes began to fill with tears.
Emilie took Christine by the shoulders. "That's enough," she said sharply; she had no time for this - not when her nerves were already frayed. She had to get through a whole day before the performance began and potentially took her daughter from her. "You'll go with M. Delure and learn your part for tonight. You are a professional. Now act like it."
"Yes, Madame," Christine replied, too forlorn to argue otherwise.
Emilie sighed. Whatever Erik meant to do; it wasn't this child's fault. She took her into her arms and held her for a moment, hoping to stop her tears. "Everything will be all right. There'll be another time for you to shine." Never matter that it was supposed to be Meg's moment in the spotlight that night - her first time on stage when not buried in the chorus. Not that Christine had obviously given that a second thought. She couldn't stop the irritation that invoked inside her and found it hard then to continue holding her and offering comfort.
Christine clung to her, desperately craving the support of a mother's arms. Everything was happening so fast. She'd hardly caught her breath from the events of the day before when her Angel had come from her through the mirror. Then after her disastrous unmasking of him, to their reconciliation, to his carrying her here – her head was still spinning. Now his demands were being ignored and she was being pushed into a role she didn't know, with only hours to learn it. She wanted to tell everybody to just leave her alone and let her stop and process everything that had happened, everything that she felt.
And even if her turmoil of the last few months had been replaced with delight at finding out her Angel was indeed a man, that issue still needed to be addressed. She tried to remember all that had happened between them in the Chapel, desperate to know if she'd disgraced herself in front of a man, and not an agent of God, as she'd believed at the time. A man that she desired; a man that she hoped desired her in return. And yet she couldn't even go and find him, talk to him, with all that was happening with the production. But Madame knew about him… She pulled back from their embrace, a realisation colouring her cheeks with embarrassment. "Madame, what is his name?"
Emilie was so shocked by the question she could hardly form a coherent reply. Just what had Erik given his heart to? "You didn't even ask?"
"No, I - " Christine stammered, thoroughly ashamed of herself.
A knock upon Emilie's door saved them both. Emilie went straight to it, still unable to believe that Christine could have treated Erik so callously. It had been the first thing Emilie had ever asked of him, the night she'd rescued him from that fair. Once they'd been safe within the Opera House, he'd proudly told her. And yet Christine hadn't even bothered to give him the courtesy of his own identity. She wrenched open her door, her anger plainly evident in the hard lines of her face. "Yes?"
"I've come for Mlle. Daae," M. Delure answered, flinching back slightly at the fury in Emilie's eyes.
"Wait one moment, please," Emilie said, going back to Christine.
"But," Christine managed. She wanted an answer.
Emilie knew precisely what she meant. "You'll have to ask him tonight," she whispered, hoping that M. Delure couldn't hear. "He'll still come for you, no matter where you are."
Christine nodded her thanks as relief flooding through her. She turned from their exchange to go.
"Wait," Emilie said, remembering the note at last. Reaching into her pocket, she held it out to Christine. "From the Vicomte. He asked me to give it to you."
"Thank you," Christine said, perplexed. Opening the note quickly, she read the contents, her brow furrowing as she did so.
It was hard to resist the urge to know everything that he'd written, but somehow Emilie managed not to ask.
"He's inviting me to stay with him at a friend's estate. His brother's fiancée." She looked up from the note to Emilie. "What should I do?"
God in heaven! She could well imagine Erik's response to that. "That's entirely up to you," Emilie replied, unable to temper the annoyance in her voice. Taking an unresisting Christine by the elbow, she turned the girl and walked her towards the door, and the ever-patient M. Delure. "We've no time to discuss it now. Go learn your new role."
"Yes, of course," Christine nodded, placing the letter into her pocket as she tried to concentrate on the day ahead. There was so much to learn, and so few hours in which to do so.
Emilie clicked her tongue impatiently as she closed the door after Christine had left; trying to calm down. She had a full day of dress rehearsals ahead of her and God only knew what was going to happen that night. One thing was for sure though, when the performance had started, she'd race up to Box 5 and make sure that Erik knew to keep Meg out of whatever plans he was hatching, or he was about to be very, very sorry.
-oo000oo-
"What do you think?"
Raoul bent over the open box and looked at the emerald engagement ring. "Very nice," he agreed. "I'm sure she'll be overjoyed to receive it."
"Damn well better be," Philippe said, snapping the box shut again. "It cost me enough." He stood up near the fire while Raoul sat back down upon a divan in their parlor.
"As if you care about that," Raoul scoffed. It was early evening, and he was feeling immensely better after Philippe's suggestion of an afternoon nap, a ridiculously large meal and several tall glasses of water. The monstrous hangover that had tormented him the entire day was receding, and he felt able to rejoin the land of the living at last.
"True," Philippe agreed, nodding slightly. "You don't think it's too garish though? Too vulgar?"
"Not in the least."
"I wasn't too sure. The delectable little salesgirl was cooing merrily over it, but then she may have just wanted the sale."
"Delectable?" Raoul raised an eyebrow. "Aren't you supposed to be forgetting about all that now you're going to be an old, married man?"
"I'm getting married," Philippe scoffed, "I'm not going to cut it off."
"No, but Isabelle might."
Philippe waved the comment away. "It's all right. The manager chased her away once he realised who I was and what I was there for. More's the pity."
"Has it passed muster with Mother yet?" Raoul asked. He'd been studiously avoiding his mother all day. Philippe had assured him that she'd taken up an invitation from one of her friends to disappear to the country tomorrow, until everything blew over. But that still meant he'd have to face her tonight.
"And listen to her scathing tongue go on and - Mother!" Philippe turned and beamed as the very person he was disparaging swept into the drawing room.
"Philippe. Raoul," Claudine de Chagny addressed both of her sons as they stood up to greet her; accepting a kiss on the cheek from them both. She stood barely two inches shorter than her youngest son and her figure was the thinner side of fashionable; yet underneath her slight frame was a core of steel. Her light blue eyes missed nothing; and though the blond curls piled elegantly on her head spoke of softness, giving her the resemblance of a Greek Goddess, the way she peered haughtily down her thin nose at Raoul that night was more the look of a stern governess.
"Good evening, Mother," Raoul replied, sitting back down again. He hoped his dressing-down would be both short and sweet; though with his mother's acerbic tongue, he knew hoping for the latter was quite futile.
"I was just showing Raoul the ring," Philippe hoped to deflect Raoul's lecture for as long as possible and wondered if he could make his own escape before it began.
"And what did you think?" Claudine asked, sitting down across from her youngest son, fully aware of Philippe's attempted diversion. "Is it not perfect for Mlle. Dechanet, given it's so brightly coloured and brash?"
Raoul frowned at the implication and noted how Philippe looked quickly away, trying to mask his hurt. "I'm sure she'll adore it," he said. "From everything he's told me, she's a very lovely girl."
"Yes," Claudine agreed, the ice dripping from her voice. "I'm sure she is."
Clenching his jaw, Philippe turned back to the conversation. "Raoul will be finding that out for himself, soon enough," he said. "He's agreed to join me at their estate tomorrow. We'll both be staying until Christmas, I think."
Claudine looked up at Phillipe in surprise.
He was quite used to his mother insulting him - but insulting Isabelle? That, he wouldn't tolerate. He couldn't resist irritating her then. "And," he continued, "he's invited his own Mlle. Daae to join us."
Claudine's head shot back around to stare at her youngest son. "You did what?"
"Now I'm for it," he though ruefully. "Yes, I did."
"Then you'll just have to un-invite her," Claudine snapped. One son dallying beneath him was quite enough. She wouldn't tolerate the same thing even occurring to Raoul.
"I'd never be that much of a scoundrel," Raoul replied, firming his own resolve.
"Absolutely not," Philippe agreed, moving around his mother to take Raoul by the arm, pulling him out of his chair to lead them both out of the room. "You couldn't expect him to break his word."
"I expect him to behave like a gentleman at all times," Claudine said, turning to face them both. "But he is clearly quite unable to do that where Mlle. Daae is concerned, if the stories I've heard about last night are true."
'Here it comes,' thought Raoul, as both he and Philippe stopped just short of the door.
"I can forgive you if you make a fool of yourself once," Claudine said coldly. "But I care very much if you continue to do so and drag the de Chagny name down with you."
Raoul and Philippe turned back to face their mother, their eyes to the floor; looking more like scolded children than grown men.
"One would think with all of Paris at your disposal you could've found a better companion than a ballerina." Her distaste for that particular profession was plainly obvious.
Raoul's head shot up at that. "She's not a ballerina, she's an opera singer – she," he faltered at any further explanation, knowing none of her roles would take from the fact that she actually worked for a living.
"Take her to the Dechanet estate then," Claudine snapped, standing up. "I'm sure she'll fit in perfectly."
Philippe scowled, but said nothing in reply, and kept his eyes to the floor.
"And when you both come to your senses," she continued, walking by them both to go back upstairs. "Please remember it is perfectly acceptable to retract any promises made in haste and find a far more suitable replacement."