In Which the Plot Thickens
And
Slightly Vulgar Conversation Occurs
Nadir stopped before he rounded the corner and listened to the low voices just beyond it. It was one of the managers and that inspector fellow; Maurice de Gent.
"Monsieur," said de Gent as if losing patience, "please, whatever you must discuss bring it forth! I'm a very busy man, there's been a murder elsewhere in the city." Nadir heard him shifting in place, eager to depart.
"I'm sorry to keep you but I fear for my partner's wellbeing…"
"That is very sad to hear but not really my concern, now if-"
"Sir!" the gentleman interjected forcefully, "It is very much your concern if you would only listen!" The inspector was silenced for the moment, presumably in surprise.
"Very well M. Moncharmin." The manager hurried on in hushed tones, speaking rapidly as though that would somehow prevent eavesdropping.
"My partner has kept very odd hours of late and is constantly muttering to himself when I enter the office, upon that action however he abruptly stops. He hated our late Diva; La Carlotta very much and her untimely death seemed to alter his mood for the better… Soon though he sunk back into a very melancholy disposition and became quick to anger. Then poor M. Reyer, God rest his soul," here pausing to cross himself, "was done away with and he cheered again." He stopped for breath, his bizarre tale causing him some disquiet. "Tell me inspector, is it coincidence? Do I imagine?"
A very uneasy silence fell over them, their shadows long on the opposite wall by the light of the gas lamp. Nadir could see that Moncharmin was leaning toward the Inspector with an anxious mannerism, while Maurice himself had his head bowed in an attitude of thought.
One could almost feel their tension, the nervous manager was genuinely concerned for his friend and it showed.
"It is very queer… I cannot say that it is just coincidence but it's a long way from being conclusive…" the inspector walked away a few steps then turned back, "Do you believe the man capable of killing?"
The gasp of utter shock on the air was answer enough, but the tone of outrage in his reply made it clear that he had not really considered the consequences of his earlier words or their implications.
"Sir my partner and I have been through a great deal in our relatively short time here and he can have vile tempers but I would not suggest for a moment that he would kill!"
"To what do you attribute his behaviors, Monsieur?"
"I have my suspicions…" the way the sentence hung unfinished in the gloom made Nadir raise an eyebrow and listen closer in helpless intrigue.
"Yes?"
"I blame certain personal difficulties."
"If you're going to tell me this as evidence to the murders you have to tell me everything. I could arrest him now." A hostile quietness,
"Monsieur's wife passed away while birthing their first child, the infant died two hours later. I could assume he takes comfort in the arms of…a woman of the opera."
"That does not explain his lifted spirits after the murders."
"Perhaps it was those nights he was with her."
"But he is always out at unusual times, is he not?" de Gent two, Moncharmin nothing. The manager seemed at inner war whether giving away information or casting suspicion was the lesser evil.
"Personally Monsieur I doubt the whole story."
"It was your-."
"About his wife."
"Do you mean to imply-?"
"I mean only what I say Monsieur."
"Very well, let's suppose for a moment that his wife is in hiding here at the opera as a player." Moncharmin nodded, his shadow bobbing with the motion, "He cannot resist and begins seeing her again… Let us also suppose she hates Carlotta because she is always the star… She tells her husband this over and over until finally out of frustration he kills Carlotta to please her." He held up a hand to prevent the immanent interruption, "And Reyer constantly critiques her voice or technique and she hates him too…"
"No inspector, no."
"Alright, reverse the scenario, perhaps he tells her about the pain Carlotta gives him…"
"No, there must be some other explanation."
"You're welcome to find it, I must get back to my other case." Nadir started at this reminder, he wanted to accost the inspector and interrogate him regarding this new nuance of the plot.
As Maurice moved toward him he waited until he heard the door of the manager's office click closed, then stepped into his path.
"Inspector, I should like to speak to you regarding this murder."
"Which one?" Maurice retorted with a bitter laugh,
"The one elsewhere in the city." His eyes narrowed,
"You shouldn't listen to things you are not intended to hear friend." He tried to continue but Nadir took his shoulder and turned him around to face him.
"Please, it won't take a moment."
"Why can't you just wait for the post?" he sighed, "Across town not far from the park a woman in her early twenties was brutally murdered via a dagger of knife of sorts…" Nadir's face had become blank and devoid of expression and his eyes stared stonily at the wall behind de Gent as if deep in thought. He suddenly seemed to remember Maurice and dismissed himself in a state of grace.
"Erik is not going to be happy."
* * *
Much to Nadir's open astonishment nothing he said was news to his old friend. Nadir watched him while keeping sharp hold on the tiny pangs of envy that seemed to haunt him of late. He wasn't much older then Erik but they looked lifetimes apart, Mazendern had aged him…
But Erik seemed to have ceased to age altogether, his attacks had disappeared within a month of being married and he looked at most thirty-five. Not a hair on his head turned from its all-encompassing black and he was as lean and rigidly fit as ever he was at nineteen! Allah! But it had been years ago when they met! He would not have known him for so young then or so old now!
Not only his utter refusal to grow old, his wife had to be the most beautiful creature on the earth, and she loved him more than life itself.
"You'll find that little escapes my knowledge when it concerns my home, Nadir." He sipped at the tea Christine had insisted upon making and hid a grimace. "All this time…" he muttered, putting it down, "Do you suspect the managers?"
"It is difficult not to…but yet…" Erik nodded,
"Something tells you you are mistaken." Christine looked at the full teacup and shot him a look fit to curdle milk, he shrugged helplessly, "Hot!" she collected the cup and stormed off, drifting back in inconspicuously later. Erik snickered, returning his attention to Nadir, "If not them, who?"
"Exactly!" Nadir slapped his knee with the flat of his hand in satisfaction. Erik looked rather amused,
"There is something to be discovered about our dear managers, and a very close friend of Christine's. Come have a seat, my dear." Christine had been wandering the room pretending not to listen, as if she thought she didn't belong. But she seized the opportunity and took her place beside Erik without hesitation.
"Mme. Giry," she began seriously, "Meg's mother has been acting in a strange manner similar to Monsieur Richard's. It happens that her late father's Christian name was Richard." She spread her hands meaningfully, "We cannot tell if her ramblings of 'Richard' are about her husband or our Monsieur Richard."
"What connection could she possibly harbor for Monsieur Richard?"
"I do not know, but I aim to discover it." Erik said.
"Is Mme. Giry not your box keeper?"
"She was."
"So she 'knows' you?"
"The Phantom was always kind to her and a well considered note that reminds her to use desecration should not upset her."
"Do you think she'll tell you?"
"I cannot say… Whenever I think I have humans deciphered they turn about and baffle me again." This last with a loving glance at the slight woman seated next to him.
"I will talk to Meg…" she added, staring back at him. Nadir fidgeted, uncomfortable in his seat in the presence of the electric current that crackled between them. Erik; however, could always be counted upon.
"Not to be rude Nadir but you look fatigued, I suggest you return home to bed and bath and refrain from anymore thinking!" Nadir laughed merrily even as he stood pleased by the thought. Just as living with Erik had done Christine good, living with her had done well for him.
"Goodbye Nadir." Christine said kissing each of his cheeks.
"Goodbye Mme. de l'Opera!" she laughed heartily at the reminder of a joke begun by Erik when they were first married. They'd compared the title she could have had (Viscomtess de Chagny) to the one she acquired (Phantomess de l'Opera) and both decided the superiority of the second.
Erik bid him farewell in his native Persian and Nadir savored the sound of the words a moment before retorting in French and promptly leaving.
"Where were we?" Erik asked, turning to find his wife right behind him.
"Somewhere around here." She replied cheekily, slipping a hand under his shirt through the space between buttons. She felt the rumble of a little laugh in his well-muscled chest.
"Mmm, we should attend to our new-begotten commitments."
"We should." She pulled his cravat untied, heedless of his protest.
"Christine!" he exclaimed as she pushed his shirt back from his shoulders, running her hands over the smooth flesh in loving caresses, pausing to slide a slender finger along a lash-scar that curled over his shoulder and down his collar bone. He pulled her hands away and held them together by the wrists, kissing her plump little lips once before turning away to repair the disarray of his clothing. "No." he finished teasingly over his shoulder. She pouted, walking around him and insisting on buttoning his shirt and tying his cravat herself.
"Nice shirt for a ghost." She smiled, tugging on the lapels of his waistcoat.
"A shameful waste, isn't it?" he mocked in return, "I love you, Christine de l'Opera."
"I love you, dearest Phantom." They met in a little kiss that would have to sustain them until the completion of their various tasks.
* * *
Mme Giry had gone for a walk and suddenly discovered that her feet had led her to box five.
"Hello old friend." She murmured to the air as she ran her age-crinkled hand over the soft velvet of the seat cushions and the drapery of the heavy curtain. "What…?" she breathed, seeing an envelope on the thick railing.
The paper was crisp and of high quality…Not only that, there was something familiar about the back-sloping lettering with a pattern that indicated an artist's hand but something hurried as though the author was always in a rush, always thinking.
She ran a finger over her own name clearly defined in that disorderly, strangely beautiful and ineffably masculine hand in gold ink. Flipping the letter over she found it sealed and stamped with an old fashioned seal; a rose… Cracking the wax, she pulled out the artfully folded paper within.
My Dear Madame Giry,
It has been presented to me, Madame that you are troubled and I consider this a time to renew our esteemed friendship. If you can forgive me for my negligence, I would inform you Madame that I am not the only one concerned for you. If there is no person upon this earth whom you can trust with your burden, trust someone who no longer dwells among men.
As ever, your faithful friend,
O. G.
She swayed as though she may faint. The elegant writing had in neat little phrases smashed all that she had come to believe these past years.
She remembered only two days before… Seeing Christine Daae, plump with health and radiating with charm she was as beautiful as ever and even more so. She was happy, Mme. Giry knew that was something she'd never had before, not since her father's death. The last time the lady had seen her she was thin and pale her eyes dull and lifeless. Now Christine was animated and dynamic, ten times her former self, and all this time they thought her dead.
The only man that had seemed to know anything about it was of course Raoul. Madame and Meg had called on him repeatedly but he always refused to receive them.
Was this always to be the way? Christine returns so the Phantom does too? He had helped her so much before, and now… She needed so badly to tell someone the whole horrible, bloody tale. Could He be the one entity she could trust? She couldn't tell Meg… Not yet.
The elderly woman fluffed the pillows she had been seated on and bustled out of the box in her constantly busy manner.
Erik; standing within the column paused in thought. Her face had been interesting in those moments of meditation after she read the note… Very interesting.
* * *
As her mother had done, Meg began to notice how much her friend had changed; she pushed on he bodice teasingly,
"Getting a wee bit hefty aren't we?" Christine glanced down for a moment then smiled,
"Perhaps it's something else!" Meg gasped and shook her head,
"I was only kidding!"
"I know!" Christine laughed, "Don't look at me like that!" Meg's mouth opened and closed a few times but no sound could she emit, "Oh relax you little ninny! I've just had my courses!"
"It's just, I'm sorry it's just… Well if you were with child, it would be the Phantom's child!" Christine threw an arm across her eyes in a dramatic gesture of fatigue.
"Meg we've been through this! I assure you, he's a flesh and blood man that I happen to be in love with, we are married!"
"I know, it's just…" she sighed,
"Yes Meg we make love," she turned her palms up, "just like any other normal loving couple." Meg was blushing furiously,
"But-."
"Poor innocent little Meg, I was like you once." She tickled her friend's chin, "Come now, what was your mother's mood this afternoon?"
"Oh, uh… She seemed very distant and detached like she was off in another world. Why?" Christine sat back her pretty face scrunched in thought at the news,
"Erik wrote to her. She hasn't heard from him sense… But he asked her about herself, told her he was concerned for her." She paused, glancing at Meg, "he really is."
"Of course, I don't doubt." Meg looked reflective, "He was always good to mother and I."
"Well basically he let her know he was still there and she could tell him, if no one else what is troubling her."
"I think she will… She trust him not to tell anyone."
"Or not to have anyone to tell." Meg stared at her,
"Is he going to tell us?"
"No, he has a very strong sense of honor, he won't even tell me unless she asks him to." She giggled involuntarily, "Which of course she won't! Considering she doesn't know!" Meg had long since realized that Christine fully enjoyed her position among the people who didn't'' know her husband...personally. She had to admit she could see the infinite possibilities for amusement there… Her lips turned up in a devilish little grin at the thought,
"Christine?"
"Hmmm?"
"Will I ever get to meet the- Erik?" Christine beamed, smiling widely,
"Do you want to?" Meg shifted, embarrassed,
"Rather." Christine clapped her small hands in great pleasure. A dangerous sparkle entering her bright eyes as she planned,
"I suppose you'll want him to wear the mask." Christine said amiably enough,
"Well if-."
"Don't worry, he won't mind as long as it's only one evening." She laughed to herself at some secret jest, "After all he puts it on for Raoul once every month or so!"
"Raoul!?" Meg exclaimed.
"Oh yes, he visits me." Christine was enjoying herself far too much and her friend was speechless for a full minute.
"Dear Lord no wonder he wouldn't see us!" she ran a hand through her thick coppery curls, "He's a God-awful liar!" she turned back to her friend, "Christine! You're dead!" said deceased spit her water all over the floor halfway through a drink, laughing madly.