Part 5
At first no one noticed that Christine was missing. Or rather, it was perceived that she was gone, but then, after the chandelier had crashed to the ground many of the chorus girls had run off shrieking (if they hadn't already fainted), so it was assumed that she had done the same.
After lamps were brought in and some semblance of light returned, many of the Opera folk stared silently at the wreck of the chandelier that lay in a magnificent ruin on the floor. Fortunately no one had been killed when it fell, but until it had extensive (and expensive) restoration, it would never be hung up again. The Opera managers stood gazing at it, M. Firmin methodically tearing at his hair and muttering to himself "Why didn't I become a baker like my father? Even a job as a prison guard would have been quieter. `Work at the Opera, lot's of excitement', heh."
"Nonsense!" M. Andre boomed beside him, clapping M. Firmin on the back and nearly knocking him off his feet. M. Andre was a tall, jovial man who looked for the profit in anything, even this, the latest destruction by the Phantom. "The crowds will rush in when they hear this story! Hmm...maybe we can sell pieces of the chandelier off at an auction - I don't think the old girl can be fixed, just look at it."
M. Firmin looked at him instead, aghast. "Sell pieces of the chandelier! You must be mad!" which started off an argument between them.
Standing in the wings, catching her breath, Carlotta was feeling an emotion she had rarely let herself feel - that of shame. In the time that Christine had been here Carlotta had taken every opportunity to belittle the young, beautiful singer for Carlotta had seen her as someone who would rise to replace her. She knew she was getting on in years, and her own impressive voice was starting to lose its grandeur.
She enjoyed at times the fawning of her cronies as they complimented her voice, her beauty, but where had they been when that damned Phantom had started terrorising her before - calling her a frog again, of all things! The cowardly traitors had run away shrieking again, that's what they had done. Instead it had been Christine who had come to her defence.
Was it too late to make amends, to bury the hatchet? To say she was sorry?
She stared around her, trying to see where Christine was. "Where is Christine?" she demanded.
As the day went on that question became repeated by others.
"Where is Christine?" wondered a grim faced Raoul, who when he had arrived had been shocked to hear the latest news. Raoul and M. Firmin had failed to find her in her new room (found only after extensive searching) and there was no trace of her in her old room.
"I could have sworn she mentioned a broken mirror was in her old room" M. Firmin said there in puzzlement, staring about him.
Raoul's face was even grimmer as he stared about the tiny, empty room, the clean floor bereft of a rug. He remembered there had been a mirror here - a huge one, for he had had glimpses of it when he had stood at the doorway (he would have never presumed to come into her room, for though society regarded singers as having no morals, he had always treated Christine like a lady).
The mirror was gone and had been replaced by an ordinary looking wall made of weathered planks, looking as if it had always been there. But it hadn't...Raoul cursed himself silently. He knew it had been madness to leave her here last night!
"That madman has kidnapped her" he growled to M. Firmin.
The manager looked uncomfortable. "Look, you do not know that for certain. She has probably rushed off after the, the ah, incident and is ah, shopping! Yes, all women love to shop. Just ask my wife, heh.."
"It's Sunday" Raoul said quietly, staring at the manager with narrowed eyes.
"Well, maybe she has gone for a walk" M. Firmin blustered, and then he sighed and looked away. "If you are right, and I hope you are not, then she is as good as dead, like the other one" he said quietly.
Raoul went white. "Other one?" he demanded. "What in God's name are you talking about, man?"
M. Firmin sat down heavily on the bed, his eyes faraway. "The Phantom has always been part of this place, it seems. Most of the time he kept to himself, somewhere in this place - don't ask me where, because no one has ever found it. At times he leaves notes demanding money, causing...accidents if he does not receive it. In return he sometimes leave things in box 5 - a case of champagne, once. Another time it would be cigars. The previous managers found this deal very profitable, naturally. It has only recently that he has been ah, more vocal."
"This whole place is crazy!" Raoul breathed, staring down at him. "But this `other one' you mention - tell me about her - it is a her, is it not?"
M. Firmin sighed again, looking tired. "According to the previous manager - this is not my account you understand but from a diary he left in a drawer - there was a chorus girl a few years ago, Jeanette was her name. A pretty gel apparently, masses of blonde hair. Wore pretty, frilly white dresses too. Well, she could sing like an angel, every time people heard her they swore her voice was even more beautiful. No one ever knew who her teacher was, either. She never said. Well, one day she went missing, no one could find her."
"Missing?" Raoul queried.
"Yes, missing. She was found later down in one of the basements, dead at the bottom of a staircase. It was believed that she had gone exploring, fell down the stairs and broke her neck. But..(and his voice dropped to a whisper, Raoul straining to hear him) the manager, Gaston had seen thumb prints on her neck. He was disbelieved - they were bruises from the fall, he was told. No need to look for trouble. The last entry in the diary was `he knows that I know' before he left the Opera for good. Had a mysterious death, too, I heard."
Raoul felt cold sweat bead on his forehead. "I had asked her who taught her to sing - but she had not told me either. I have never heard anyone sing the way she has. But if this murderer has her - I will find her, even if I have to rip this accursed place apart to find her!"
M. Firmin observed the aristocrat sadly. "I wish you luck, for this place is a maze, full of corridors that lead nowhere and secret rooms that become death traps for those who wander inside - Carlotta shrieked the place down last year when she accidentally found a secret room, accessible by pressing a panel above her fireplace, and there were two skeletons inside."
"Did she move?" Raoul asked in grim humour.
M. Firmin grimaced. "No - she turned the secret room into a walk-in wardrobe. Women, I can never understand them. But if you want to find Christine, I suggest you start as soon as you can - in the basements, would be my first choice." He opened his mouth to say more but Raoul had already run from the room.
Christine drifted in darkness. Surely she was dreaming for in the dark she could hear an organ playing a lullaby, and a beautiful male voice accompanying the music. There was something about the voice that she felt she should know - she nearly had it but then she lost it. No matter. For now, she was content to dream, and listen.
At first no one noticed that Christine was missing. Or rather, it was perceived that she was gone, but then, after the chandelier had crashed to the ground many of the chorus girls had run off shrieking (if they hadn't already fainted), so it was assumed that she had done the same.
After lamps were brought in and some semblance of light returned, many of the Opera folk stared silently at the wreck of the chandelier that lay in a magnificent ruin on the floor. Fortunately no one had been killed when it fell, but until it had extensive (and expensive) restoration, it would never be hung up again. The Opera managers stood gazing at it, M. Firmin methodically tearing at his hair and muttering to himself "Why didn't I become a baker like my father? Even a job as a prison guard would have been quieter. `Work at the Opera, lot's of excitement', heh."
"Nonsense!" M. Andre boomed beside him, clapping M. Firmin on the back and nearly knocking him off his feet. M. Andre was a tall, jovial man who looked for the profit in anything, even this, the latest destruction by the Phantom. "The crowds will rush in when they hear this story! Hmm...maybe we can sell pieces of the chandelier off at an auction - I don't think the old girl can be fixed, just look at it."
M. Firmin looked at him instead, aghast. "Sell pieces of the chandelier! You must be mad!" which started off an argument between them.
Standing in the wings, catching her breath, Carlotta was feeling an emotion she had rarely let herself feel - that of shame. In the time that Christine had been here Carlotta had taken every opportunity to belittle the young, beautiful singer for Carlotta had seen her as someone who would rise to replace her. She knew she was getting on in years, and her own impressive voice was starting to lose its grandeur.
She enjoyed at times the fawning of her cronies as they complimented her voice, her beauty, but where had they been when that damned Phantom had started terrorising her before - calling her a frog again, of all things! The cowardly traitors had run away shrieking again, that's what they had done. Instead it had been Christine who had come to her defence.
Was it too late to make amends, to bury the hatchet? To say she was sorry?
She stared around her, trying to see where Christine was. "Where is Christine?" she demanded.
As the day went on that question became repeated by others.
"Where is Christine?" wondered a grim faced Raoul, who when he had arrived had been shocked to hear the latest news. Raoul and M. Firmin had failed to find her in her new room (found only after extensive searching) and there was no trace of her in her old room.
"I could have sworn she mentioned a broken mirror was in her old room" M. Firmin said there in puzzlement, staring about him.
Raoul's face was even grimmer as he stared about the tiny, empty room, the clean floor bereft of a rug. He remembered there had been a mirror here - a huge one, for he had had glimpses of it when he had stood at the doorway (he would have never presumed to come into her room, for though society regarded singers as having no morals, he had always treated Christine like a lady).
The mirror was gone and had been replaced by an ordinary looking wall made of weathered planks, looking as if it had always been there. But it hadn't...Raoul cursed himself silently. He knew it had been madness to leave her here last night!
"That madman has kidnapped her" he growled to M. Firmin.
The manager looked uncomfortable. "Look, you do not know that for certain. She has probably rushed off after the, the ah, incident and is ah, shopping! Yes, all women love to shop. Just ask my wife, heh.."
"It's Sunday" Raoul said quietly, staring at the manager with narrowed eyes.
"Well, maybe she has gone for a walk" M. Firmin blustered, and then he sighed and looked away. "If you are right, and I hope you are not, then she is as good as dead, like the other one" he said quietly.
Raoul went white. "Other one?" he demanded. "What in God's name are you talking about, man?"
M. Firmin sat down heavily on the bed, his eyes faraway. "The Phantom has always been part of this place, it seems. Most of the time he kept to himself, somewhere in this place - don't ask me where, because no one has ever found it. At times he leaves notes demanding money, causing...accidents if he does not receive it. In return he sometimes leave things in box 5 - a case of champagne, once. Another time it would be cigars. The previous managers found this deal very profitable, naturally. It has only recently that he has been ah, more vocal."
"This whole place is crazy!" Raoul breathed, staring down at him. "But this `other one' you mention - tell me about her - it is a her, is it not?"
M. Firmin sighed again, looking tired. "According to the previous manager - this is not my account you understand but from a diary he left in a drawer - there was a chorus girl a few years ago, Jeanette was her name. A pretty gel apparently, masses of blonde hair. Wore pretty, frilly white dresses too. Well, she could sing like an angel, every time people heard her they swore her voice was even more beautiful. No one ever knew who her teacher was, either. She never said. Well, one day she went missing, no one could find her."
"Missing?" Raoul queried.
"Yes, missing. She was found later down in one of the basements, dead at the bottom of a staircase. It was believed that she had gone exploring, fell down the stairs and broke her neck. But..(and his voice dropped to a whisper, Raoul straining to hear him) the manager, Gaston had seen thumb prints on her neck. He was disbelieved - they were bruises from the fall, he was told. No need to look for trouble. The last entry in the diary was `he knows that I know' before he left the Opera for good. Had a mysterious death, too, I heard."
Raoul felt cold sweat bead on his forehead. "I had asked her who taught her to sing - but she had not told me either. I have never heard anyone sing the way she has. But if this murderer has her - I will find her, even if I have to rip this accursed place apart to find her!"
M. Firmin observed the aristocrat sadly. "I wish you luck, for this place is a maze, full of corridors that lead nowhere and secret rooms that become death traps for those who wander inside - Carlotta shrieked the place down last year when she accidentally found a secret room, accessible by pressing a panel above her fireplace, and there were two skeletons inside."
"Did she move?" Raoul asked in grim humour.
M. Firmin grimaced. "No - she turned the secret room into a walk-in wardrobe. Women, I can never understand them. But if you want to find Christine, I suggest you start as soon as you can - in the basements, would be my first choice." He opened his mouth to say more but Raoul had already run from the room.
Christine drifted in darkness. Surely she was dreaming for in the dark she could hear an organ playing a lullaby, and a beautiful male voice accompanying the music. There was something about the voice that she felt she should know - she nearly had it but then she lost it. No matter. For now, she was content to dream, and listen.