Chapter 59 Incursion
It was the talk of the Opera House. It was a wonder anybody remembered their steps or their lines throughout the dress rehearsal as all minds were on the latest - and juiciest - scandal that the Opera Populaire had ever seen. Christine heard the whispers as she passed through the backstage corridors after getting changed into her costume for the performance. Madame had told her to come straight back to her rooms to await curtain up there and she couldn't wait to escape the knowing looks and scathing remarks people were continually throwing in her direction.
How different it was to the night before, when people fell over themselves to congratulate her and tell her how wonderful - how simply magical – she'd been. She sighed. What lies. Not one of them actually cared about her. Hardly any of them had even known she'd existed before the Gala; so how could they pretend to have always loved her, as so many had professed the night before?
Lost in thought, she stumbled over some of the backdrop ties lying across the stage and heard giggling break out behind her. Trying her hardest not to cry, she went quickly down towards the Chapel. Surely Madame could not chastise her for taking a few moments peace in there to quiet her shattered nerves? But would Madame believe that wicked lie, when her real motive was to try and see if he was there and speak to him again?
As she turned the last corner before the Chapel doorway, she was amazed to see Brigitte sitting upon an old costume trunk in the darkness, quietly crying. "What's wrong?" Christine bobbed down before the older girl, placing her hands upon Brigitte's knees.
"What do you care?" Brigitte asked, looking away from Christine, appalled to have been discovered in such a state.
"Of course I care," Christine replied. She bit her lip with hesitation before continuing, "is this anything to do with F. Callier?"
Brigitte stared back at her with a bitter laugh. "Now why would it possibly be about him? Oh, that's right, you don't know. You're far too busy being our next Diva to listen to the latest gossip, I suppose?"
Christine ignored the acerbic slight as she got up from the floor and sat down next to Brigitte instead, hoping that the move would impress upon the older girl her sincere wish to comfort and not to gossip. "I haven't heard anything," she said earnestly. "And I wouldn't repeat what I was told either."
"I have a new beau," Brigitte began, trying to smile, though her heart felt like ice. "M. Andre has taken quite an interest in me." Her tears began anew at the memory of what had occurred between them, the night before.
"I don't understand," Christine sat back slightly, in confusion. "You told me you loved F. Callier. How could you possibly wish for an association with M. Andre?"
"I didn't wish for it," Brigitte snapped. "It just happened." She knew that was a lie. She could have stopped him at any time; she could have never flirted with him in the first place. The cold light of day had brought with it the harsh reality of her actions, and no scorn that she spat at Christine would change that now.
"But we always have choices," Christine said quietly.
"Do we?" Brigitte rounded on her, needing to take her pain out on somebody else before it killed her. "Did I choose to be born poor? Did I choose to have no family? He'll never marry me, and I know that Gilles will. I can't let myself hope - " she said, unable to rein in all that she felt.
"Hope for what?" Christine asked. "I don't understand."
"Of course you don't," Brigitte said. "What would you know about anything? I know he loves me; I know he'd die for me. But they'd never let us be together, they'd never let us live in peace."
Christine flinched at the harshness of her words. "Who wouldn't?"
Brigitte sighed, looking back at Christine again. The thought of explaining everything to her was too much. To relive the revolting memory of Gilles panting above her was impossible. When the memory of F. Callier in the same position filled her with a longing and pain of such intensity that she had to stamp both emotions down with anger to survive them. She stood up quickly and smoothed down her dress, trying with difficulty to pull herself back together. It would never do for Gilles to see her in such a state. Questions might be asked. "I've made a good choice - and I'll make a good marriage. I'll be safe and I'll be rich." And I'll miss him till the day I die.
Christine stood up herself then, not knowing what else to do.
"Go and confess your sins, Christine" Brigitte said coldly. "I will marry mine." She rushed quickly away before Christine could stop her.
"What? Brigitte – wait!" Christine called, running after her. Within a few moments both girls were swept back up in the constant flow of people surrounding the busy stage. It was hard to keep Brigitte in her sights as she raced after her, following her down between the racks of costumes at the side of the stage, when suddenly somebody grabbed her wrist and pushed her through the costumes and up against the wall behind. She cried out in surprise, but with the cacophony of noise around her nobody heard.
"You're a dark horse, aren't ya?"
Christine cringed as Joseph Buquet pressed his whole body against her, dwarfing her small frame. She wanted to crawl through the wall to escape. "Let me go!"
"Now, now," he said, his fetid breath reeking of alcohol. "Is that any way to treat me? When I could do you two a lot of damage?"
He pushed himself against her again and she wanted to retch with revulsion. "What do you mean?" she asked, shaking like a leaf against him.
"I know all about you and your 'teacher'," he grinned, "and that he's not a real ghost."
"I don't know what - "
"I didn't say you could talk," he snapped, putting a hand across her mouth. "Just listen."
She nodded; terrified not only for herself now, but for her Angel as well. Oh God, where was he? Would he not rescue her from this before it went any further?
"He's just some gentleman playing dress-up who thinks he can run this place. Well, he don't scare me. The managers want to find out who he is. And I know you know who he is." He pushed his hand, banging her head against the wall behind them, causing her to cry out. "So if you don't come to my room after the performance tonight, I'm going to go see Firmin and tell him all about it. D'you understand?"
Trying hard not to cry, she was forced to nod her acceptance. Her mind raced with the thought of what he might do to her, locked within his rooms.
Buquet glanced behind him as loud voices moved past their hiding place. "Good," he said, releasing her at last.
She wiped her face, clinging to the wall behind her, desperate to get away from him.
"I'll see you tonight then," he said, giving her one last lecherous look before ducking back out through the racks of costumes and disappearing into the heaving crowd.
She gasped for breath, her heart thundering in her ears. Relief at release made her feel faint and fear of what was to come made her want to be sick. How did he know about her Angel? Madame had said that he was a wanted man - that it was essential that his identity and presence in the Opera House be kept a secret. She bit into her bottom lip to stop herself from crying, knowing that she had to go back out and face everybody without betraying what had just happened.
If anyone saw her crying, if they asked her any questions – she'd put him in danger of discovery, or worse. She had to keep him safe, even if that meant doing exactly what Buquet had just demanded of her. Somehow, she managed to gather her wits as she went back through the costumes. She let the noise and bustle of backstage carry her forward before her strength left her completely and she gave in to the anguish that she felt.
-oo000oo-
Erik's breath came in harsh rasps. He'd been seconds from throwing secrecy to hell and jumping down from the flies into the crowd below to grab Joseph Buquet and tear his throat out in front of the whole company. If he hadn't let her go, if she hadn't composed herself and walked quickly away, he would have revealed himself for a very different reason; leaping down to take her into his arms and away from this scum-infested rat-hole that they both laughingly called a 'home' and out into the world, never to return.
Consequence be damned - Buquet was a dead man. Erik watched from his hiding place above the front of the stage as Buquet took his usual route up into the flies to check the ropes and lower the appropriate backdrop for the First Act.
"Did you think I'd forgotten, Joseph?" he asked quietly, fury burning inside of him, growing out of control, "that you've also watched her undress?"
Buquet turned sharply, looking behind him, a creeping fear lifting the hair upon the back of his neck.
Erik watched the movement with interest, though Buquet's glance behind was not in his own direction. "I thought you weren't scared of me? Isn't that what you told her? When you pressed yourself against her?" Rage began to blur his vision; spreading like fire along his veins, the intensity making him almost shake with the need for release. He flexed his gloved fingers, itching to enact his revenge.
There was nothing he could do to achieve that vengeance though, as more and more stagehands climbed up into the flies, readying themselves for the production to begin.
His anger only strengthened though, as Carlotta swept onto the stage, carried upon a chaise by Firmin and Andre as her sycophants encouraged everybody to welcome her return. Christine walked a few paces behind, with Emilie and Marguerite; and although they joined in welcoming Carlotta back, each face was drawn and pale. Not for the first time that day did Erik wish the performance over, so he could be with her again and assure her that nothing and nobody would ever stand between them now.
He reached into his jacket pocket to hold the doctored bottle of throat spray with a grim smile. Carlotta's humiliation would be complete. She would be gone, and so would Buquet. It seemed his managers would have yet another disaster on their hands that night.
Then he and Christine would toast the demise of their enemies together and she would know that nothing - nothing - could touch them now.
-oo000oo-
After begging off further drinks with his managers, Raoul attempted to go backstage and find Christine. It was hopeless though; the damn place was a rabbit warren of corridors and passageways, rooms and storage areas. And the people. Why did so many want to stop him and talk? Didn't they have a production to get underway? He managed to escape at last down a dark, stone hallway, away from the cacophony of noise and piercing lights and found himself in front of the Opera Chapel.
What impetus carried him down those steps and through the door, he'd never know. But there was something intriguing about the small room, with its few sputtering candles and faded paintings of saints and angels. Angels…
Christine had called her tutor an 'Angel'. But why? Was Philippe right; was there something between Christine and the man? For why otherwise would she call him such an affectionate euphemism? For all he could remember of his own tutors, 'Angel' would be the last thing he'd ever call them. Tyrant or imbecile came to mind much more readily than thinking they were heavenly beings.
He scowled, shaking his head slightly. Whoever this tutor was, it was about time his hold on Christine and the Opera House was thoroughly broken. He'd not yet heard a reply from Christine regarding his invitation to the Dechanet estate, but it would be the very first thing he'd secure after the performance.
Turning on his heel, he strode back up the stairs and through the theatre. The determined look darkening his face was enough to make any who thought to engage him in conversation alter their tack entirely. Christine had to know that the demands being made in her name were only a hindrance to her career - and reputation. If only he'd felt well enough that morning to deliver his invitation himself, he would have told her so. But he doubted that she would have appreciated his calling upon her if he'd thrown up upon her floor, which was exactly what he'd done upon returning to his own home. And to think that last night's alcohol-fueled melancholy hadn't even been necessary - when she'd been resting the whole time.
His thoughts leaned towards the ballet mistress. What exactly was her part in this affair? She seemed overly protective of both Christine and this 'Opera Ghost'. Yet why would she protect someone who caused such chaos and consternation? And more importantly, why hadn't her managers pressed her to explain herself more fully and not allowed her to leave their office until she had? Although he'd disliked the way Firmin had harangued her that morning, if the method achieved the desired outcome, it could quickly be forgiven to his mind.
The two managers had just proved they obviously couldn't control their own staff. If they weren't willing to keep them all in line and keep Christine out of all this foolishness, then he would. This 'Opera Ghost' had demanded Box Five, so that was precisely where he was going to watch the performance from tonight. Perhaps then the bounder would stop hiding behind women's skirts and make himself known?
With an arrogant smirk, Raoul strode into the empty box. "As I suspected. You coward."
Nodding quickly to his managers across the auditorium, he sat down to thoroughly enjoy the show.