A/N: Make sure to check out chapter 11 if you missed it. Some people said that chapter 11 was missing when they went to look for it when I updated on Sunday 2/13/05. It's this site being odd again, so this is just a friendly note to remind you to read the previous chapter… some important things in there. And remember to review!
Please note that the link to my homepage in the bio is a link to my PotO Yahoo group created for fictional person and real person fan fiction, as well as any other form of art you wish. Come and join!
Thanks to the reviewers! And to Elena for e-mailing me about translating this story into Russian. It is an honor that you would want to translate it to add it to your site.
All I have to say is that it's amazing anyone in the Victorian era got anything done. There was a rule for everything which I can only imagine took a great deal of time to learn and practice.
Chapter 12- Pity
She turned to Giry and placed a clean cloth into the water, taking it and dabbing away carefully at Sophie's arm. As she cleaned away the blood, she found that the wound was not nearly as bad as she originally thought, but then she was no doctor, so she would wait for one to come and look at it. Constance looked at Sophie again, "I am sure you did not expect this to happen today."
Sophie giggled lightly, "No, Madame, I did not."
"Should we send someone to let your parents know you are here and what happened?" she questioned, putting the cloth back into the bowl and waving Giry away from her.
"No Madame," Sophie said quickly.
"Are you sure of that?" Constance questioned, growing suspicious of the speed at which Sophie had spoken out against that action.
Sophie looked away from her then, "I am sure."
"We should really send someone, Sophie, dear. They will want to know," she pressed on.
Sophie let out a choked sniffle and then said, "They do not know I am here, Madame."
"Sophie…" Constance began, realizing she was sounding much too much like her mother for her own good. When she would lie about things as a child, her mother always gave that certain sort of displeased voice, knowing that the entire truth was not being spoken. She had to chuckle at herself, though. For so long she swore she would not be her mother when and if she had children, but it was the famous mothers' curse she could not get around. She glanced up at the other women in the room, "Will you please leave us alone, ladies?"
No one replied as they vacated the room and shut the door behind them. She turned back to the young girl, looking down at her for a long while, trying to decide what she should say about this. Constance sighed and busied herself with loosening the cravat tourniquet slightly to see if the wound would still bleed. "It was required that they give you permission to audition."
"I know, but I wanted to try out so badly," Sophie said. "They would not let me."
"You should listen to you parents, Sophie," she said softly. "If you are selected for the corps de ballet, you will have to tell them. What will you do then?"
"I don't know," she replied. "You see, I live with my uncle and aunt… my mother died a few days after I was born, and Father died from consumption when I was only five."
Constance sighed, "The last thing I want is for Madame Giry to select you for the corps de ballet, and then for you not to be able to fill your spot because of your uncle and aunt."
Sophie was silent, looking up at her with large eyes, on the verge of crying again. No, the last thing Constance wanted was a girl that cried this often over things like this, though she did understand what it was like to want to do something contradictory to what your parents thought. The girl sniffled, "I was hoping that someone would talk to them."
Constance shook her head disappointedly, deciding that she needed to stay firm, "I will speak with your uncle and aunt if you are accepted into the ballet, but I cannot promise you that me speaking with them will help your position at all."
"I understand," she said.
The door opened then, Olivier coming in followed by the doctor with his bag of medicines and small contraptions. Constance stood from her spot and left the men in the room with Sophie, to go see to the other damage done to the others in the Opera. As she walked by a few of the new stagehands, she heard them whispering about the Opera Ghost and a curse that now rested upon the entire Opera. She brushed off the thought of it, telling herself it was not Erik. It could not be Erik. He had promised to not do anything to Christine and Raoul upon their return, and she had believed him. That was one thing about him… she felt she could believe him because he did not strike her as the type of person to go back on his words whether they were promises for good things, or for bad.
But he had kept his promise, he did nothing to Christine or Raoul. Did he see them together and become so angered with it, he could not control his anger?
No, he would not.
He could not have done that… it was only rotten wood.
But then she could not possibly know that with any level of certainty.
Trying to push past those thoughts, she made it to her office, opening the door to find Raoul and Philippe there sitting in both of the straight back chairs facing her desk, their conversation stopping almost instantly as she entered. They both stood up quickly, out of force of habit for always standing when a lady enters or leaves a room. The pup she had all but forgotten in the excitement of the past hour clamored loudly, toddling up to her, it's long legs getting tangled beneath it causing it to stumble quite ungracefully. She laughed at the pitiful creature and bent down to pick him up after he had rolled under her skirts and started pulling at the fabric with its teeth.
"We'll have to think of a good name for you, my good sir," she said to the pup as it yelped and licked her face in acknowledgement of what she had said.
"Is the child well?" Raoul questioned.
"She will be fine. It's not as horrible as it seemed," Constance said, nodding to both of them and walked around behind the desk. "I am sure the doctor will give her a bit of morphine and send her on her way."
She sat down, leaving the pup in her lap, waiting for both Chagny men to sit. They each remained silent as she settled herself, and well after that, looking at her as though they were trying to understand something. Growing tired of their silence, she glanced at each of them pointedly, "What do you wish to speak with me about?"
Philippe shifted in his seat, unfolding a piece of paper in his hands and reaching across the desk to set it down in front of her. Making out the black-lined envelope and red seal of a death's-head, she felt all blood drain from her face and her heart stop. Trying her best to not show any sign that she was uncomfortable with what they had placed in front of her, Constance cleared her throat and met each pair of blue eyes again. "So?"
"Do not play ignorant, Constance," Philippe said. "I found it in your rubbish bin."
"You were searching through my rubbish?" she exclaimed, hoping to sound like she was truly incensed by it. And really, she was if that was the truth.
Philippe and Raoul both gave her nearly identical glares, and Philippe said, "Tell me now, if I need to worry about this."
"You need not worry," she replied. With slightly trembling fingers, she reached for the envelope and looked at how it was addressed. It was labeled: To the new managers. When she had received the first letter from Erik, she had not even taken the time to look at that… and she was glad her name was in no way written on it. "While I was cleaning out the desk, I came across the letters sent to Messieurs André and Firmin. Did you bother to look through all of the trash for the others?"
"No," Philippe shook his head, but continued to gaze at her as though he knew exactly what was going on.
Raoul sighed heavily, "If that thing is still here, tell me now so that I may take my family far from this place… I knew this was a bad decision."
"Raoul, please," Constance said as evenly as she could manage, belying her true knowledge of the matter. As far as she was concerned, to make the Opera once again profitable, they needed Christine there as leading soprano. It was true she had not yet heard her sing or seen her act, but Reyer had said she was superbly talented regardless of her past. They needed her to take over the position again, with or without Erik there, and Constance had every intention of stretching the truth to benefit her own and her brother's interest in the Opera.
And it was her right to do that, as long as she secretly kept an eye on the machinations of the man living in the cellars of the Opera.
"Everything is fine. The Phantom is not here in this Opera," she lied, meeting Raoul's eyes and holding them for a long while.
She heard Philippe heave his own sigh and glanced at him. He grumbled lowly, "Raoul, I would like to speak with Constance alone."
Respecting his elder brother's wishes, Raoul nodded his head and left the room, shutting the door tightly. Constance watched him go, wondering what Philippe could possibly need to say that could not be said in front of his brother. She sighed, the pup in her lap nipping at her hand, so she placed it back on the ground before looking at Philippe. He stood up and paced the length of the room a bit, turning to her finally, and saying, "You never were a good liar, Constance."
"What are you talking about?" she questioned, truly getting better by the moment with her acting… appearing quite offended with the insinuations being made.
"You know what I am talking about," he said, deadly serious. "You promised me with the first occurrence of something you would leave."
She scoffed and shook her head, "There is nothing here, Philippe. Believe me! Nothing has occurred, I promise you that. This letter is exactly what I said it was… you must forgive me for sounding disjointed in my speaking, my mind is going in several different directions right at the moment with all of the happenings today."
"But I saw the fright and knowledge in your eyes as you reached for the envelope, Constance. I am very good at picking up when someone is lying to me," he said. "From years of playing too many card games."
"You cannot believe that I would be worried about anything that had to do with these vile notes and the Phantom? With all the stories I have heard, of course I am frightened… and seeing that wax seal is no better. It's like seeing your blue family crest on the letter you sent with the flowers… I experienced a great feeling of delight when I saw that. I experience worry and grief when I see that thing," she tried her hardest to explain, and delved into something she had not intended upon, and that was feigning the degree of her fondness for him to try, in a vain attempt, to get him focused on other things.
He sighed and crossed his arms over his chest, complete with his trademark of clenching his jaw in anger. "Constance, I can believe that, but only slightly. Never has Constance the Calm ever balked at something as seemingly interest provoking as this. If it were really you speaking, you would be excited for the prospect and trying to figure out the mystery."
She had not planned on him remembering that, and it did hurt her case terribly.
"There is something you are not telling me," he said.
As a last ditch effort, she walked over to him and placed her hands upon his arms. His tenseness diminished at the touch, and he lowered his arms to place his hands upon her cinched waist. Looking down at her, she saw the obvious concern in his eyes, but the cloud was quickly thinning as he pulled her against his body. This was exactly the reaction she had wanted, but she felt rather unclean doing it. She was literally selling herself to make this man forget what he was originally so worried about… in essence she was no better than the prostitutes at any of the many discreet brothels in Paris.
But she had to protect her own interests, her brother's interests and that of Erik's interests. Granted she knew next nothing about him, but she knew what would happen if one of the Chagnys' caught up with him… somehow. They would most definitely not even have a second thought to killing him on the spot… and she had, in the two meetings they had, combined with all the stories, had taken pity on the poor soul. Like Christine had said she had done.
Unfortunately, though, Philippe did know her too well and had remembered everything from their time together. After resuming the kiss in which he had been so horribly interrupted from completion, taking his fill of her lips as she reciprocated as ardently as she could manage, he stepped back slightly and looked down at her. "And never does Constance de Louvois ever give into a man that easily."
She bit her lip and closed her eyes, turning her head away from him.
"As much as I do enjoy your willingness and the loveliness of you lips against mine, I am intelligent enough to know when a woman is trying to change my mind in some way, especially when it comes from a woman who stakes her entire reputation on strong will." He said with a small sigh, "I am not that horribly dense, Constance. Besides, you were brought up and taught better than that."
"Philippe, there is nothing evil in this Opera," she said, meeting his eyes, deciding not to press further on with her other plan. She was not capable of really following through with this, even if Philippe had not realized what she was doing. William still weighed heavily in her mind, and she was sure he would never leave, and there was no way she would be able to see past it to give the Comte the undivided attention she would have to possess for this action.
He looked at her for what seemed like an eternity and he nodded his head, "For the sake of showing you that I trust you, I will believe you, but if I find one more thing that would lead me to believe that thing is here, I will not hesitate to tell Olivier and have you removed from the Opera for your own safety."
Constance nodded her head. It was better than nothing, she supposed. "You won't go telling Olivier, will you? He worries terribly about me, and there is nothing to worry about here."
"No, I will not. Not yet at least," he responded.
She sighed, "Philippe, do you not think, even if the Opera Ghost was still here, alive and well, he would have learned his lesson already? And doesn't he deserve a bit of your pity? He let Christine and Raoul go… you cannot forget that."
"No creature that lives his life in torment and murder is deserving of anyone's pity, Constance. Not even if it was my brother and his wife he freed from sure death," he said.
She looked away from him, glancing down at his chest instead of his eyes. That was where they differed in ideals. Just because a man committed various transgressions, obviously over his intense jealousy for a woman he too loved, even if they involved murder, she did not consider him yet deserving of a meeting with a guillotine. There had to be some goodness in Erik's heart if he could love someone as he had supposedly loved Christine. Why could people not think that?
His chest moved slowly with each breath, but he paced his fingers beneath her chin to lift her eyes to him, "May I have a proper kiss without an agenda now?"
Constance swallowed harshly and nodded her head, and soon his lips were over hers, massaging ever so gently, but gradually increasing the intensity to his liking. The door to the office, though, flung open with no great ceremony or warning, and it took a good few minutes for that to register in Philippe's mind, though in her mind it registered almost immediately. Philippe backed away quickly to the sound of the nearly disappointed clearing of Olivier's throat, and she glanced toward the ground to hide her blush. Even though she had not been entirely into the sign of affection, mind and body, she still found it quite embarrassing to be caught like they were.
She caught both Raoul's and Olivier's amused smile, but Olivier stopped smiling rather quickly, "What is this I hear about a note?"
Now she understood why Philippe clenched his jaw all the time… to keep from saying anything bad… and that was exactly what she wanted to do to Raoul at the moment- berate him until he apologized profusely. Really, this day was not turning out to be her day. Surprisingly, though, Philippe intercepted the comment, "It is nothing, Olivier. Only a misunderstanding. Constance says she cleaned out the desk and found the letters for André and Firmin. Correct?"
"Yes," she nodded.
Olivier gave them a skeptical look, but his lips curled into a small smile, "She has already got you wrapped about her little finger, does she?"
Oh how she hated the talk between men, acting like women were such insignificant, but beguiling creatures willing to use their wiles to their advantage. Though she had to remind herself that she had done just that a few moments earlier.
Philippe laughed and shook his head, glancing at her quickly, "Trust me, if there was anything wrong, I would be the first to carry her off this property."
"You will not be carrying me anywhere, Monsieur le Comte, I can walk if I want," she said, shooting him a glare and walking back around to her desk.
The puppy yipped at the strangers that had entered the room, and Olivier must have laughed at something he did, and he questioned, "So, between your obvious scandalous actions in here, have you decided on a name yet for this whelp? Alexandre will most definitely fall in love with it."
"I thought I would name it Louis the Second," she replied, not looking up at them.
"As long as when you get to Louis the Sixteenth you don't order a beheading," Olivier said.
She chuckled and glanced up at them, "Or would Napoleon be more apt a name for the dog? Or Robespierre?"
"You do have a death wish in this country, don't you?" Philippe questioned with a bit of humor in his voice.
"Napoleon would not work though, because the dog will be too tall," she said, causing them to laugh.
Thank goodness for being able to avert a crisis situation, though she knew they would continue discussing the note without her at another time. She sighed and looked up at them again, trying to will them to leave the room with her mind… anything to get Raoul out of the room. He was most definitely not her preferred person to be in the same room with at the moment, especially if he was going to be this highly strung over the matter. Her pity for Christine and the probable overprotective nature of her husband was now alive and well, if it had not doubled since Raoul came bursting back into the room. How could Christine really stand it? Perhaps it was their true, undying love.
Olivier took the hint, "We are headed out then, Constance. Will you join us?"
"No, I still need to speak with Madame Giry about the corps de ballet," she said. "I will be home soon, though."
"We shall wait dinner on you, then," Olivier replied as each of the men filed out of the room and Philippe closed the door behind him.
She listened to their voices diminishing, meeting up with Christine and then completely silencing as they left the building. Constance fell back into her chair and let out a long, heavy breath of relief; she closed her eyes and praised herself for a well averted disaster.
"That was quite a dance you just did to get around those questions," said the smooth, mocking tenor voice from the other side of the room. "Perhaps you should be in the ballet."