Chapter 78 Sentinel
It was very far away, but somewhere - further than she could see in the darkness - there was the sound of breaking wood. And voices. So many voices.
"God, she's as cold as ice."
"We have to get her inside."
Somebody soft was rubbing her hand, then larger fingers were feeling the side of her throat and she was lifted into a man's strong arms. "Angel?" Christine asked.
"Not quite," Philippe answered, hauling her up against him. "Send word to Raoul that we've found her," he instructed one of the gamekeepers who'd just helped him break down the church doors.
"We've got to warm her up," Isabelle said, watching with horror as Christine lay completely limp in Philippe's arms.
"What the devil was she doing out here anyway?" Philippe said, gruffly. Yet he was as worried sick as his fiancé. They hadn't realised Christine was missing until that morning. They'd waited half an hour past their usual breakfast time, thinking her delaying her toilette that morning after such a tiring night at the ball. It wasn't until Isabelle went upstairs to wake Christine with a letter that had arrived for her, that they'd all realised her bed had not been slept in, and she was nowhere to be found.
Raoul had cursed the stupidity that had led him to believe, the night before, that she'd retired early. He'd thought nothing of it at the time, realising as he'd begun to tire of the crowds, that it might be a very good idea to do so himself. He'd been frantic though, when Isabelle had run back into the dining room to tell them, that she may have somehow come to harm. His first thought had been to thank God that the lake was so far away from the house as to not have been something she could have wandered into inadvertently in the darkness and drowned. But as they'd gone from room to room, calling her name, thinking she might perhaps have fallen asleep somewhere else before even reaching her bed, the idea that she was at the bottom of the lake started to choke him. He'd been the first to run to the stables and leap on a horse to ride down there and find out, while Philippe and the others searched nearer to the chateau.
"Get back to the house," Isabelle ordered the maid who had accompanied them. "Make sure the fire in Mlle. Daae's room is high and fetch some heating pans."
The maid nodded quickly, then ran back towards the house.
"And get Laurent to fetch a Dr immediately," Isabelle called after her. She turned back to Christine, placing her hand across the girl's forehead. "There's no fever," she said, reaching down for one of Christine's lifeless hands. "But she's like ice."
"The jewels," Christine said, rising through to consciousness for a moment. "I need my stars..."
"Bloody delirious though," Philippe said, his face set and stern. He knew his brusque manner was not helping matters, yet he was terrified that the slight woman in his arms was about to die. His first thought as they'd burst through the church doors, was that she was already dead; crumpled as she was across the altar floor, beneath a statue of Christ.
He looked down into her face; her lips were blue with cold, though her delicate beauty was undiminished. He couldn't help the returning thought - what kind of life would his brother lead with this woman? The idea of Isabelle in mortal danger filled him with a sick fear and he could only imagine what Raoul would feel once he learned of Christine's condition.
'What a good actress you are,' he thought ruefully, frowning down at her. They'd all imagined her happy, enjoying her time there. And yet no matter how many times she'd smiled at Raoul, laughed at his own jokes, and firmly placed herself in Isabelle's affections, the true Christine Daae had been there all along. Still as fragile as the snow crunching beneath his feet. And just as easily crushed.
"But what on earth was she doing in there?" Isabelle hurried to keep up with Philippe's long strides.
"And why the hell did she lock herself in?" Philippe snapped.
"I don't know," Isabelle replied, her face drawn with concern. "I truly don't know."
-oo000oo-
"Christ, will you sit down," Philippe snarled. Though he understood the overwhelming need Raoul had to pace up and down the room they sat in, until they heard back from the Dr who was attending to Christine, it was beginning to drive him insane.
"I can't." Raoul turned at the far wall yet again and marched back across Philippe's line of sight, in front of the fireplace.
"Wearing out Isabelle's carpet is not going to help."
"And stupid comments don't either," Raoul snapped, spinning around to face his brother. "What if it was Isabelle up there," he gestured to the doorway, "frozen half to death?"
Philippe welcomed the chance to assuage some of Raoul's anxiety by becoming the object of his wrath.
"Would you be so quick to make flippant remarks then?" Raoul asked, his face as pale as the white shirt he was wearing.
Biting back the retort that Isabelle wouldn't be so damned stupid as to spend an entire night in a freezing cold church wearing nothing but a ballgown, Philippe rose from his chair to pour them each a brandy. "Here," he said, holding out a glass to Raoul. "Perhaps this will help you calm down."
"I don't want to calm down," Raoul said, refusing the held-out glass. "I want to know what the hell she was doing out there."
"I think any questions of that nature can wait until Mlle. Daae has sufficiently rested."
Raoul shoved past Philippe and walked quickly up to the Dr who'd just entered the room. "How is she?"
"Perfectly fine; now that she's warmer," the older man replied calmly. "You may go up and see for yourself, if you wish. But don't bother her for long, she'll need to rest."
"Thank you," Raoul said, gratefully. With a quick glance back at Philippe, and a nod to Isabelle as she came through the door, he raced up the main staircase to Christine's room.
"Yes, thank you so much, Dr," Isabelle said, smiling tiredly at him as she patted him on the arm. "Mother has some refreshments waiting for you in the dining room, if you'd care to join her."
"Why yes, that would be lovely," he answered. "I haven't caught up with the estate news for quite some time."
Philippe finished off one of the two drinks he'd poured before Isabelle came back in alone and closed the parlor door behind her. He turned to face her, but before he could ask her anything regarding Christine's condition, she flew into his arms. "Darling, what is it?"
Keeping her head against Philippe's chest, Isabelle sighed quietly as his arms came around her shoulders and held her tightly. She just wanted to hear his heartbeat for a while before replying and felt the turmoil of the morning melt away at the steady sound. After a few moments, she lifted her head and smiled.
"Are you all right?" he asked quietly, concern softening his features as he looked down into her upturned face.
"I am now," she answered, pulling back from their embrace to take his hand and walk him over to the chaise. She took his drink from him and began to sip at it. It wasn't often she ever touched liquor but after what she'd just heard, she needed it.
"So," he began, clearing his throat slightly. "What did the good Dr prescribe?"
"Nothing more than rest and heat," she replied, leaning back against the cushions. "There's no fever and no lasting ill effects, apparently."
"And did she tell you what happened?" he asked, shaking his head slightly in continued confusion at Christine's actions.
"She said she - uh - needed some air."
He noticed her hesitation - and that she wasn't looking at him as she talked.
"And simply," she shrugged her shoulders, "became lost in the darkness." Although she wouldn't voice it, when they'd found Christine that morning Isabelle could have sworn she'd killed herself. But who on earth would commit such a sin in a church? After almost three months of constant acquaintance, Isabelle had to concede that there were many areas of Christine's life to which she'd never have confidence.
Reaching out with one hand, he turned her face towards him. "And why did she need air?"
Isabelle thought quickly. If she relayed to him all that had passed between Christine and Oscar Bereton, Raoul might challenge Oscar to a duel and everybody knew what a great shot Oscar was, Philippe included. Being the better sportsman of the two, Philippe might take up the challenge for his brother and the very idea of that was enough to make her come out in a cold sweat. No, she wouldn't risk either of them. Yet Philippe knew she was hiding something from him. "It seems as if one of the gentlemen at the ball inadvertently made a comment to her about her place at the Opera," she said, at last.
Philippe scowled. He should have expected something of the sort. It was, after all, the first social occasion she'd attended with Raoul. "Do you know what was said?"
"I think she was merely recognised," Isabelle prayed the lie wouldn't show in her eyes. "And complimented for her voice."
"By whom?"
There was no way to avoid the question. It wasn't as if Oscar didn't deserve to be challenged; his questionable morals and forward manner disgusted many of the women Isabelle knew. But her first priority was to keep the de Chagny men safe. "Merely Oscar Bereton," she said quickly, with a smile. "You know how he adores the Opera."
'Not as much as he adores sleeping with young dancers,' Philippe thought ruefully. So that was the play of things, was it? The situation was becoming clear. But was the church a sanctuary for Christine - or a pre-arranged meeting place? "Yes, he does," he answered, wondering how to phrase the next question delicately. "And does he have a prior acquaintance with Mlle. Daae?"
"No," Isabelle replied firmly. So Oscar's reputation was not only known amongst the women? "Not at all."
Philippe stood up abruptly and went over to the window to look out over the grounds. Sanctuary then. That at least, was something. But it didn't mean that Oscar would be the only man to think that way. How many more of their friends would think Christine was of questionable repute? And how would he be able to hide that from Raoul and keep his brother from defending her name against such slurs until the end of his days? Leaning his hands upon the windowsill, he sighed deeply.
"Perhaps it might be best," Isabelle said, coming up behind him and placing a hand upon his shoulder. "If you casually mention you saw Oscar at the ball and that you remembered how much he likes Opera. Let Raoul think his presence would only be a reminder of what Christine has left behind."
Philippe nodded without saying a word. As usual his fiancé was entirely right. That would be a way to keep Oscar away from them all without any further questions being asked. "I think we may need to keep more than Oscar away from here from now on."
Isabelle tried to hide her disappointment, but she knew he was right. "Come on," she said, taking his hand. "Let's take a turn around the gardens, I think we both need some air."
