Chapter 87 Dominion

"Here," Emilie handed Christine a small fork, "we don't have much time."

Christine looked down at the pastries Madame had ordered, along with a cup of tea for them each. Three different cakes were on the table before her. She thought how annoyed Meg would be, to have missed out on such an extravagant treat, yet could hardly bear to touch even one.

"At least pretend to eat when he comes in."

"Who?" her heart leapt into her throat; she couldn't mean…

"Your fiancé, of course," Emilie couldn't help the sharp tone, knowing full well what Christine had hoped for. As if Erik could just walk into the café where they now sat and order food.

Christine's heart fell. For one moment of madness, she'd thought Madame was talking about her Angel. Of course it would be Raoul, it would always be Raoul now.

"You have to speak to him," Emilie said, "you must make him listen to you. He has to stop this stupid plan – too many people are at risk." She'd always known this child would be the death of Erik. She just hadn't counted on her being quite so willing to line him up before a firing squad. Why hadn't Christine refused the Vicomte's plan the moment he told her of it? But no, she'd meekly agreed to this madness, never once speaking up for herself.

"He won't listen to me," Christine said hopelessly. Ever since her father's grave Raoul had been set on this course. He was as determined to kill her Angel as he was to marry her, as soon as the deed was done. There was no escape for either of them.

"Tell him you're frightened," Emilie pleaded, "tell him you don't want to do this. Tell him you'll leave with him tonight, take him as far away from here as you can. Tell him you love him, get down on your knees before him and beg if you have to. But for God's sake, make him see sense before he kills – " She stopped herself in time. She'd almost revealed Erik's name and that was something Christine did not deserve.

Christine's eyes widened. She knew exactly what Madame was keeping from her. "Will you not tell me his name, even now?"

"It's not for me to say," Emilie replied, unable to temper the coldness in her voice.

"Then what can you tell me?" Christine reached over and grabbed her wrist. "Where did he come from? Why does he live there? How do you know of him?"

Once before, when she'd told Erik's story to de Chagny, she'd hoped to save him. Would it have the necessary outcome now that it hadn't then? The Vicomte had callously dismissed Erik's tale as mere nonsense. But would Christine's pity spur her to persuade him otherwise? Emilie hoped to God she was making the right choice. "I found him in a gypsy fair," she heard Christine's gasp of shock. She looked around them at the busy café and lowered her voice as she continued, "he wasn't born gypsy, he was born a gentleman. He was nine years old. They'd kept him caged and showed him as a freak. It was an evil place, where children were bought and sold for entertainment."

Christine put her hand to her mouth, sickened by what she was hearing. How could she bear it? Her poor Angel. She'd never dreamed he'd endured something so terrible.

"I have no idea what horrors he was subjected to, in such a place," Emilie continued. "I watched as he made his escape and helped him run from his captors to the Opera House." She left out the details of Mouray's murder at Erik's hand. Justified as it most certainly was, she needed Christine's complete sympathy for this to work. The last thing she needed was Christine becoming terrified of Erik again, running to Raoul with tales of murder would only spur her fiancé into more desperate actions.

"And he's been here ever since?" Christine asked, lost in the thoughts of how much he must have suffered. "Does Meg know –"

"No," Emilie said quickly, "I've never spoken of him to her and she first saw him at the Bal Masque. Though she followed you through Carlotta's mirror on Gala night."

Christine blanched at that.

"But I managed to stop her a few feet in. I told her it was a service tunnel. I turned her attention to something else and she never asked again."

How easily Meg could be distracted, Christine longed for such a simple mind. "If I told Raoul about his life, this would help him see, this would make him stop –"

"He already knows," Emilie said crisply, her heart black at the memory. "He didn't care."

Christine sat back in her chair as if she'd been slapped. Raoul already knew? And it hadn't made any difference? How cold was her fiancé's heart to show no mercy when faced with such an appalling history? Did he have sympathy for nothing outside his own perfect world? Couldn't he see beyond her Angel's actions in the Opera House, to the tattered soul beneath?

"I thought I'd saved his life," Emilie said, her eyes clouding over at the memories. "I hoped to re-build him. But I only made things worse." The only thing that could absolve the sin of all she'd done to Erik would be to save his life now. She didn't even care if he ran off with the girl in front of her, as long as he continued to live. "You're the only one that can stop this now. You can't let him die for you."

"I don't want anyone to die for me," Christine said desperately, tears forming in her eyes. "But why would Raoul listen to me if he didn't listen to you?"

"For God's sake – think," Emilie snapped, her patience worn to breaking point with worry. "If he's doing this to 'save' you, if he's doing this to protect you – make him think it's too dangerous, that there's too much risk to you. You're the only one that can stop this madness. If you're the only thing he cares about – "

"Cares about?" asked Christine despairingly He certainly didn't care when she was faced with Oscar Bereton – a man who actually meant her considerable harm. And now all he cared about was ridding them of her Angel. How could she explain to Raoul that he was the one man on this earth who would never harm her? Who had killed to keep her safe? Raoul would no more believe that than believe her Angel was due mercy and forgiveness for all he'd done. Oh God, its all so hopeless.

"If he really loves you, how can he make you do this?" Emilie asked. "You have to find his weakness and use it against him. Even if that weakness is you."

She knew Madame was right. This might be her only chance, her only hope.

"He'll be here any minute," Emilie said. She knew that as soon as Christine was missed, he'd be frantic to find her again. "You have to get through to him. You have to make him believe there's another way."

"But where can we even go?" Christine asked. "What if he hears me? What if he believes what I'm saying? How can I speak to Raoul anywhere in there where we can't be overheard?"

"When we go back in, go straight to the Chapel. I promise you, I will ensure he never hears what you say in there." Emilie knew how deadly despair could be to Erik. She wouldn't lose him to either a bullet or suicide if she had breath left in her body.

"But –"

"Eat," Emilie hissed, as she saw Raoul enter the café and look quickly around for them both. "He's coming – no, don't look round," she grabbed Christine's arm, to stop her from turning. "Remember, you're the only one now, who can save his life." She sat back from the table as de Chagny arrived, schooling her face into an impassive smile. 'Bastard," she thought grimly.

"Afternoon tea? How splendid," Raoul said, pulling up a chair to their table and sitting between them both. "Now, isn't this pleasant?" He turned scornful eyes towards Mme. Giry, hoping she learnt from his face never to pull a little stunt like this again.

"I thought something different might tempt Mlle. Daae to eat at last," Emilie replied, stirring her tea with a steady hand, her eyes upon her task.

Raoul grimaced at her, not believing her for an instant. He didn't trust her one iota and she would learn to regret taking Christine here. He looked over at Christine, her head bowed, her hand shaking as she took a sip of her tea. His heart melted at the fragile state of her nerves, no doubt not helped by whatever the ballet mistress had just been telling her. "Well I can't argue with that. My darling," he smiled, his voice becoming softer. "Can you not even try one mouthful?"

"I can't," she said, feeling sick at the idea. "Raoul, I must speak with you," her eyes flitted to Madame. "In private."

Raoul glanced at the ballet mistress again. What exactly had been said between them before his arrival? "Of course," he agreed, rising and taking her hand, helping her out of her chair. "Please, wait outside, while I settle the account."

She stood and walked quickly out of the café to wait for him, leaving Madame behind. The cold morning was a shock after the warmth of the café, but that wasn't why she was shivering. Was this how their marriage would be – he ordered and she obeyed? Until her spirit was too cowed to ever fight back?

Raoul watched her leave, then turned to Emilie. He had no intention of paying for her little outing. "If you take her out of the Opera House again I will fire you - and your daughter," he said, a thunderous look on his face.

"I merely wanted her to eat," Emilie replied, calmly, starting on one of the cakes Christine had left untouched. "With so much to do, food is the last thing on her mind." If he thought to scare her, he really wasn't paying attention to who he was dealing with.

He scowled at her, then spun on his heel and stomped out of the café. Blasted woman: it was entirely too disagreeable to be challenged by someone of her station. Not for the first time did he wonder if any in the Opera House even knew their rightful place in society? They certainly didn't act like it.