A/N: Thanks for your comments! I must admit I have an affection for all the characters, especially the supporting cast …I take my time with them because I think when you've got really dark and passionate elements, you need those outsiders there, for balance. Think about it – who was narrating in Wuthering Heights? (One more thing, atheshar – Gosh, I love that you 'get' it! However, I would hesitate to call it a 'love triangle' just yet …we haven't really seen either Christine's or Erik's current perspective on the issue. So far. It may turn out to be even a bit more tangled than you suppose ;) )
And in response to your question, Aiya Quackform: I have a draft up to chapter 20, but it definitely doesn't end there – I have a little case of writer's block, which I'm working to dispel. So, I've been able to post quickly because I'm really just revising the drafts I already have – although some chapters changed quite a bit in the process (5 and 6, for example, were originally one shorter chapter). Unfortunately, I'm afraid the chapter-a-day schedule will have to be sacrificed verrrrry soon. As in, now. I've had some free time lately, but real life is beginning to intrude (as it always does, so rudely. Tsk tsk).
Alright, one more chapter of our kitchen-sink drama – it may seem unnecessary right now, but just think of it as laying some foundations for Christine's character (and in case it isn't clear, the flashback here follows right on from the last). After this, it's back to Erik. Not to be flippant about it, but …a cookie for you if you can guess what the tavern incident led to, before the next chapter is posted.
Please review. Every single one makes me happy! And if you do, I promise to shut up and make my author's notes shorter in future. :)
7. In the De Chagny House (III)
Mathilde stopped in front of the medicine cabinet now, and began arranging Christine's remedies on a tray. There were more than there used to be.
Less than a year into her marriage, the girl had been diagnosed as having a problem with one of her lungs. It actually didn't bother her much on the whole … after leaving the Opera, she had stopped singing altogether anyway, in both public and private, and since she remained as lovely as ever, the only external hint of the illness was an occasional short coughing fit. However, the previous winter had been a bad one for her, and over the past year they had gradually become more frequent. The illness still remained fairly manageable, but the doctor had warned that if the prescribed treatments were not maintained, her condition would deteriorate.
Mathilde was glad this warning had been given, because frankly, Christine needed it. This was the first time she had been persuaded to leave Paris for the winter – as she hated the idea of being parted from her friends, she had only conceded on doctor's orders. In the early days, she had been very lax about her health, barely giving a thought to her illness. In fact, even on the day she had had a particularly bad argument with her husband – even after the Master said she admitted to feeling faint, which she rarely did – the girl had refused to take her elixir as she undressed before bed.
"I can't. Take it away please, Mathilde." Seated at her dressing table, she pushed the little tray away from her in disgust.
Her maid stood defiantly, rooted to the ground. "Christine, you know you must take it."
"No, really, I'm fine. I don't need it."
"But the Master told me you were feeling faint earlier."
"Ah," she said as she coloured. "Well yes I did say that. But I am better now." She pushed the tray even further away.
Mathilde sighed as she collected the medicine in order to take it back to the cupboard.
"He will not be happy about this."
Christine looked up suddenly. "Oh, don't tell him, please. I don't want to start another battle, not today," she sighed. "He thinks … he thinks I've already taken it. I told him I took it before supper." She regarded the maid humbly, but with a hint of defiance, like a schoolgirl who has just said something insulting to the Headmistress.
Mathilde shot her a stern look as she picked up the tray.
"Well! It is one thing for a woman to lie to her husband, but quite another for a servant to lie to her Master. Oh Christine! The moral dilemmas you thrust upon me!" The Vicomtess hung her head with appropriate guilt before looking up apologetically, so Mathilde rewarded her with a sly wink as she exited the room to put away the medicine.
She thought this would be the end of the matter, but when she returned a few minutes later, Christine still had a serious and thoughtful expression on her face. The maid kneeled by her, concerned.
"Christine – are you alright? I was only making fun …"
Suddenly, the Vicomtess grabbed Mathilde's arm. There was an almost desperate look in her bright brown eyes, as she searched her friend's face. The lip trembled just a little.
"So …so what you were saying before, Mattie. You don't think it is such a horrible sin for a woman to lie to her husband?"
When the question registered, Mathilde groaned inwardly. Now she would have to backtrack. "Oh I didn't really mean it that way. Always, where matters of health are concerned …"
"They're not." Christine cut her short.
"Oh." Mathilde was a little taken aback, and the troubled face of her Mistress was beginning to worry her. "Well what is it then, Christine?"
The girl hesitated, her eyes on the patterned rug.
"You have been lying to the Master about something?" Mathilde urged. Her heart was thumping, and she was curious in spite of herself. What sort of crisis could this be? Perhaps some things she had read in the paper were true? Was she about to hear some kind of confession? About them?
"Oh I don't know," Christine sighed. "Perhaps it wasn't lying, exactly. Or maybe it was. Maybe I'm just so good at it now, I didn't notice I was doing it." After these cryptic statements, she turned again to Mathilde with tremulous eyes. Her cheeks were flushed. "All I know is that I felt like I was on the stage again. I knew everything he wanted to hear, and it all fell so easily from my tongue it frightened me."
The maid gave her a searching look. "Well I suppose the question then is whether or not the things you told him were true."
Christine seemed plagued with indecision yet again. "Yes …no … I don't know. I think so … I hope so …" She fell silent and played with a little figurine on the table for a while. It was ballerina, which she pirouetted gently, the tip of her finger directing the dancer's dainty foot. She stared intently at the frozen folds of the doll's tutu for a minute, then whispered, more to herself than anyone else. "It all just … scares me, sometimes. So much. The … darkness. Always. You can't know." Her voice was low and strange, her eyes wide, velvet black. "I just ...didn't want him to … to …" She paused, and Mathilde held her breath. Christine's eyelids trembled a little … they fluttered …and then she blinked, looking up. She looked around, slightly confused, then seeming to remember herself, she swallowed. Her voice returned.
"Oh Mattie, what if I did lie?"
Mathilde was bewildered. She exhaled and meditated for a moment, doing her best to formulate a judicious response. Like a restless child, Christine couldn't seem to keep still, toying with the frills on her wrap until she whispered: "Tell me. Would I be a terrible person?" Her face bore an expression of innocent concern. Mathilde shook her head slowly and grasped the girl's hands, squeezing them.
"You could never be terrible, my dear Christine."
The Vicomtess started to say something, but the maid interrupted.
"Now listen." Mathilde propped the girl up in front of her, talking to her earnestly, face to face. "I don't know anything about being a wife, but I do know that when people care about each other, they often do things that may seem wrong, but they do them for the right reasons. To my mind, the reason always counts."
Christine was quiet and for a few moments appeared to be lost in thought. Her eyes focused absently on her lap, where her little white hands lay against the rich silk of her gown. Mathilde watched as she twirled her wedding ring about her finger. Finally, the lady took a calm breath. She looked up, her lips set in a gentle smile.
"Of course you are right … dear, wise Mattie … you always are."
One corner of Mathilde's mouth twitched upwards. "Just not when I make you take your medicine, eh?" She teased in gentle tones.
Christine laughed a little, and her tense face relaxed slightly. Then she spoke, reassured. "Yes, I was right to do it. I did it for him."
At the memory, Mathilde knitted her brows. Sometimes the Mistress puzzled her so. That particular conversation had occurred two or more years ago, and there hadn't been a repeat since, however, she didn't understand Christine any better now than she did then. At times, the lady seemed like such a child, with her many pretty ways … but then she would say or do something so unexpected … Mathilde suspected there was more to her than perhaps even Christine herself knew.
Finally, she reached the girl's door with the tray of medicines and knocked.
"Come in." She heard the words faintly; they were followed by a short cough.
The maid entered. Christine was sitting up in bed, doing some needlework. Lately, Mathilde was always surprised at how thin and drawn her Mistress appeared – she always looked just a bit worse than anticipated. With her hair flowing around her, she was still beautiful … though the loss of some weight had given her face a more womanly and less girlish appearance. The pink of her lips and cheeks was fading, and observing this, Mathilde was once again grateful that they would be spending the winter in a warmer place.
"Hello Mattie!" Christine greeted her with a valiantly cheerful grin, her voice was vibrant and clear. "I haven't seen you since morning. I suppose you've been terribly busy with sorting everything out, haven't you?"
The maid put the tray down on a side table as she rummaged around for a handkerchief.
"Oh, yes I've had quite a few things to do. But don't you worry. Everything will be prepared."
Christine sighed. "You're a treasure." She put down her work, an embarrassed smile creeping over her face. "I expect I look like a lazy old thing, lying here when everyone else is so busy. Really, when I got up I did start sorting out my gowns … then I just … it's not one of the good days." She finished quietly and coughed a little.
"Never mind about the packing just now … you take care of yourself." Mathilde brought the tray over. "Here, take your medicines."
Christine pulled a face. "Well, I suppose I had better." She chatted lightly as she poured one of the concoctions out onto a spoon. "But you'd think something so good for you would taste better, wouldn't you?" She swallowed a dose and prepared the next, continuing the thought. "Ah, but I guess that's not always the way. Sometimes the best things in the world are bitter. Not everything can be sweet … we'd all end up like Luc, poor thing!" Luc was the stable boy, who – due do his penchant for caramels and marzipan – had had a tooth pulled the other day and was still in agonies.
Mathilde didn't listen to her talk; she was concentrating on keeping track of which medicines were being taken and ticking off a mental checklist. Finally, after elixirs, pills and ointment, Christine made ready to lie down again.
"Just a minute – you forgot the expectorant."
Christine grimaced. "I was hoping you wouldn't notice. That one's the worst of all. And it always gives me a pain in my side."
"But it's the most important! Come now," the maid coaxed. "It will make you feel better."
"I know," she muttered. She lifted the small cup as if in toast. "Well, here's to it tasting better in our new holiday house."