The Angel and the Phantom
Chapter Four: Substance
Belle
I awoke feeling light headed but at the same time rested and relaxed. I noticed however from the soft white sheets and the cloud-like canopy above my head, that I was in some place different. I sat up to find myself encased in a large bed in a beautifully decorated room, far better than the stone cold floor. It looked like something that belonged in a palace. The furniture consisting of several chairs and a large vanity was painted in shades of pure white and pearl tones. I couldn't be awake, this must be a dream. Yes this must be a dream I convinced myself I was having another one of my fairy tale dreams, in my castle with my Prince Charming. * Nice thought though*
I couldn't be home, or to the place that I was so rudely kidnapped to. Maybe I had died and gone to heaven. I saw a white dressing gown lying over one of the chairs. It looked warm and inviting compared to my dirty clothes. I went to inspect the gown observing the lace work around the neck and bodice and the long sleeves and flowing skirt. I then noticed the line of brushes and combs on the vanity. I took the liberty of using one to tame my unkempt hair and then noticed other piece of clothing lying over the chair by the dressing gown I had failed to see.
It was a dress shirt; a male's dress shirt. I picked it up to examine it and then flung it away in horror. There were bloodstains everywhere on the white fabric. Now I knew I wasn't dreaming. I noticed the foreboding door in the corner of the room and realized I was still in his house. But who's blood was that on the shirt? His? Perhaps some unfortunate who had crossed his path?
I shook my head ashamed. If my imagination kept feeding me these morbid thought, I would end up becoming an author of Gothic horror novel than a lady of society. But as his prisoner I didn't have any hope of doing anything. I turned back to the brush and saw the name "Christine" was engraved on the back of the wooden handle. In fact that name was on all of the grooming accessories and over the mirror frame. Now a mysterious lady into the picture, I mused over. Perhaps this dressing gown was hers too, I thought holding it up against my body. If it was, this Christine was taller than me and mostly like had a perfect figure that I could gather from the shape of the dress. I looked around the room again, was this her room? If it was, someone must have cared for her very much to provide her with such fine things.
It certainly couldn't have been him. By his actions, I doubt such a man was capable of kindness and caring. I set aside the gown; it wasn't meant for me anyway. I couldn't see my shawl anywhere in the room, so I decided to step outside to look for it. And perhaps find a way to escape this nightmare.
I slowly opened the door; just a crack and my ears were greeted by the gorgeous chords of a violin. I had always been captivated by the violin when I was young, but my father had given me a stern mistress who was even upset with my constant reading and harpsichord lessons.
"Belle, you will never win a good husband playing music and reading books all day." She had said. Stupid old goat, she never figured out why my sewing project took to long to finish. Who wanted to knit when there were pages of literature and art yet to explore? I tiptoed into the room and saw him standing on the opposite corner, his back towards me. The bow of the violin stopped in mid-phrase. So it had been him playing the music. But how could someone so cruel be able to do that? He set the instrument down and turned to stare straight in my direction.
"There no need to keep hiding. I know you are watching from behind the door." He said coldly.
Defiant, I stepped out into plain sight. "I just wanted to gather my things so I can…."
He cut me off. "Go home?"
I lowered my head. "No." I whispered. I saw my bag and shawl lying on the floor next to an armchair. I bent to gather them. "I just wanted to look more presentable sir." I said. Standing up, I almost ran right into him, discovering he now stood in front of me, towering a foot above my head.
"But didn't you see the clothes I put out for you?" he asked.
"Those were for me?"
"Of course, who else here would where such things?"
Christine. I knew the answer but he took my hand and led me back into the room. He threw open one of the closet which was full of gowns that resembled the fancy costumes of the opera. "They are all for you." He said, holding a large pink dress full of ruffles and lace.
"That's very kind of you sir, but I'm not fit to wear those fine things."
"Oh you may dress like a peasant mademoiselle, but you carry yourself like a noblewoman. Sometimes other things besides words can describe us." As he talked; I went back to the blood stained dress shirt lying on the floor and picked it up as if it were delicate as ash.
"I can see." I whispered and he turned to see me holding the garment and stopped dead in his tracks.
"Oh, mademoiselle, you must forgive me. It was- last night you were very sick." He took the shirt from my hand and started to pull me towards the bed. "In fact you shouldn't even be out of bed."
I looked at him dumbfounded. "That blood, it was mine?" He nodded. I sat on the bed, starting to feel lightheaded again. Suddenly I felt his hand on my neck, yet it wasn't menacing.
"If you would allow me, mademoiselle?" he said turning my face to the side with his hands and examining it. I closed my eyes and held back a shudder. Yet it was not one of horror, but surprised and relief. He was not wearing any gloves and his palms were so soft. Softer than
any of the fine fabric I had ever encountered. His fingertips smelt of rich oak, and rosin from the violin as well as fine musk and soap. The scent it was almost intoxicating. He turned my head with his fingers spread across my cheek and his thumb barely touching the corner of my lips. One fingers traced itself beside my eyes, and I actually had to suppress a shudder. Shifting my face again, I finally had the courage to open my eyes and found myself staring into his. Last night, those eyes looked like a creation of hell, dark and blazing with anger, but now they appeared soft and compassionate. Was this the same man, I wondered? The mask was still there, so it had to be. But he seemed different now.
"Your fever seems to have disappeared, but you should get changed into some new clothes and get more rest." He lifted up a corner of the covers. "I'll bring you some breakfast."
And with that he left. I went to pick up the gown again, ignoring the other fancy trinkets scattered about the room. Slowly I lifted my clothes over my head, my shoulders aching with pain, and then discarding them on the floor. I pulled the gown over my limbs and if felt like a soft wave of warmth over my body. It smelled of lilacs and roses. I went to climb back into bed, waiting for his return. He came back into the bedroom moments later, holding a tray, which had a teapot, cup and saucer and what appeared to be a plate of toast and jam. He was now dressed fully in a tuxedo; minus the fedora and cape he wore last night. His bright eyes seemed to glow from beneath the mask. If it wasn't for that strange accessory to his face, he appeared to be no different from any other gentleman. He set the tray down by the end table beside the bed and handed me the cup. I let my small hands press hard against it, relishing in its warmth before bringing I to my lips. I was surprised to find that it wasn't tea, but something entire unexpected.
"It's hot chocolate!" I exclaimed.
"I'm glad you like it." He whispered softly.
"Chocolate's one of my favorite things to drink. Do you make this?" I asked
He turned his head away as if in slight embarrassment "Why yes I did."
I leaned over to rest my hand on his, but he looked at me in shock and flinched away. He acted as if he had been burned. I sat there not knowing what to think. Had I offended him, I had only meant to extend my thanks. "Well its very good, thank you."
He was silent. "I didn't mean to act so rude, you just startled me." He rose to his feet. "I shouldn't bother you anymore. You should eat and get some rest." He started to make his way to the door. I put my cup down and reached out a hand to him.
"No wait, please don't go!" I called. He turned to me slowly with an odd look on his face. "I would like it very much if you stayed here, just to talk a while." I pleaded
His eyes now seemed harsher and his frame stiffen as if he was being attacked. "Surely you can not enjoy my company that much, mademoiselle." He said bitterly. "I'll be outside if you wish to come stare at the freak!" And he fled the room, slamming the door hard behind him.
I sat in the bed in shock for a moment, ignoring my drink and food. Soon I heard the thunderous strains of the organ. I felt something wet fall from my cheek and was surprised to discover I was crying. I was weeping in pain for a man I barely knew. How could he act as kind as a prince one moment and behave like a monster the next? And yet my heart bled for him as he played his mournful song. I wrapped myself up in the warm sheets and cried into them, even though mentally my mind was demanding me to stop. I felt so foolish, so below him. I had come to look past this cruel abduction to realize this stranger had taken me into his home. He had spared my father's life, and had not done anything harmful to me in return. He had even taken care of me in my illness cause by my childish fit and stubbornness. And I all could pretend to do was be happy and pester him to let me go home. No wonder he hated me. I sighed and looked again at the mirror and table, which had, must have been at one time filled with flowers and jewelry. Now there were only the few scattered remnants of an unsuccessful love affair. No he wasn't happy here and neither was I.
But then again, I thought. I've seldom been happy anywhere.