"I can't go downstairs, Lucille. I tell you I can't!" hissed Gracie on the hall, grabbing the banister with all her might.
"Oh, don't be foolish, Gracie. I know you are shy, but you'll feel at home in no time. There are but three guests this evening! Papa will talk business the whole evening with Monsieur Delbauve and Mama will be commenting the latest gossip with his wife. And Michel's not here to tease us! Everything will be just fine."
"Shhh! Keep your voice down!" said Gracie between clenched teeth, afraid Madame Calmette would hear them.
But it was too late.
"Lucille? Gracie? Come down so I can introduce you to our guests! You see, my daughter has brought one of her schoolmates, a lovely, lovely girl. . ."
Madame Calmette's voice faded as she returned to the sitting room. Lucille's hands pried Gracie's fingers from the banister and Gracie found herself pulled down the stairs. She breathed in deeply as Lucille opened the double doors to the sitting room, trying to steel herself for the encounter.
"Ah, here they are! Come, come in, my dears," Madame Calmette urged them forward with a wave of her hand. "My dear Monsieur and Madame Delbauve, my dear Mademoiselle Daaé, I'm sure you all remember my Lucille, although she has grown up a little since last year."
Lucille curtsied towards the middle-aged couple that was sitting on the couch, and then towards a woman, sitting on one chair to the side.
"And this is her schoolmate, Gracie Devaux."
Gracie curtsied towards the couple and then towards the woman. Gracie studied her for a second, taking in the chestnut hair, the wide blue eyes, the paleness of her complexion. Gracie kept her face expressionless, but inwardly she was seething with anger. This was the woman that had hurt Papa so, the one that had led him to believe that his longing, his natural need to be loved was but a loathing fantasy, that he was nothing but a hideous creature, unworthy of human affection. Oh yes, she was pretty. Disgustingly so. It turned Gracie's stomach to think how pretty she was, how she had taunted him and played with him and discarded him as a used rag. Gracie tried hard not to glare. How had she dared to bask in his music, in his love, when she was not worthy of cleaning the floor he had walked upon?
"You can sit here," added Madame Calmette, pointing at two chairs beside the one Mademoiselle Daaé was occupying. "Gracie, Dear, I'm sure you will be dying to sit beside Mademoiselle Daaé. You see, Mademoiselle, Gracie plays the piano."
Mademoiselle Daaé smiled. Her lovely lips curved upwards, but the smile didn't reach her eyes. Lucille pushed Gracie forward, and Gracie was forced to sit down. She nodded, her sight fixed on the carpet.
"She is also quite shy," commented Madame Calmette. "But I'm sure she is dying to accompany you. She has heard about you, you know. Her father was a patron of the Opéra Populaire."
Gracie's heart sank. She had hoped neither Lucille nor her mother would bring up Papa in the conversation this evening.
Yes?" Mademoiselle Daaé asked politely. "What is his name?"
Now she would have to look up at the woman or she would pass for a dotard with no manners. Gracie lifted her eyes and attempted a smile.
"Oh, you wouldn't remember him, Mademoiselle," she protested. "He was but an obscure patron."
"But you told me he went to every performance, Gracie. And he had his own private box!" Lucille countered.
Gracie cursed inwardly. Why had she ever said that to Lucille? Of course, at the time, it had seemed but an irrelevant piece of information.
"If he went to every performance I'm sure I will remember him," said Mademoiselle Daaé. "I was also an obscure performer in the opera myself. I only starred in two operas, you see."
Gracie cringed at the humbleness in her voice. It was utterly false, she was sure of that.
"Erik Devaux," she answered rapidly, praying Mademoiselle Daaé wouldn't catch the first name. The woman didn't know Papa's last name, and that was a blessing.
"Hmm," Mademoiselle Daaé tipped her head to one side and regarded Gracie pensively. "No, I'm sorry, I don't seem to recall him. You must excuse my horrible memory."
Gracie shrugged.
"It's all right," she mustered, relieved.
"Oh, but I don't think your father was precisely obscure, my dear. You see," said Madame Calmette addressing the whole company, "Monsieur Devaux is an accomplished architect. He's got an independent firm in Paris. What is its name, Gracie?"
"Devaux and Menand," answered Gracie, praying that Monsieur or Madame Delbauve would intervene and draw the conversation away from her father. None of them said a word.
"Yes, have you heard about them? They have been building a number of outstanding edifices in the city."
Fortunately, all of the adults shook their heads.
"No, my dear Madame," said Monsieur Delbauve. "I'm afraid we're too far away to get news. . ."
"It's a shame. They are very impressive, I tell you. And what is more remarkable is that Gracie's father has kept in the business given. . ." Madame Calmette made a pause. "Given the circumstances," she finished somewhat awkwardly.
Gracie cringed again. She knew Madame Calmette had not meant to allude to Papa's reclusion at home; the words had just slipped her mouth.
"What circumstances?" asked Madame Delbauve.
Gracie sighed, and stared at her hands on her lap. Now she would have to bring up the excuse Papa and she had forged over the years.
"My father. . ." she began.
She had told that lie many times without blinking, but it was difficult to go over the story again, knowing she was sitting beside the woman who was responsible for the fact that Papa would be apprehended if he ever tried to lead a normal life. She had unmasked him on the stage, in front of half of the society of Paris. And not only had she made him hide indoors for fear of the police. Even to this day, Papa winced whenever Gracie accidentally brushed his mask. Gracie felt her hatred for this woman grow. Hadn't it been enough to refuse his love? Did she really have to shatter his self-reliance along with his heart?
"My father had a stroke some years ago," she said, as evenly as she could. "He's. . . He stays at home."
Somehow, Gracie couldn't bring herself to finish the story. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw how Madame Calmette traced a line along her body and indicated her right side, while she mouthed the word paralysed to enlighten her guests.
"I'm so sorry," said Mademoiselle Daaé impulsively.
The unexpected undercurrent of concern in her voice surprised Gracie.
"He is a remarkable man," continued Madame Calmette. "He's also a musician and a composer, isn't he, Gracie?"
Gracie blushed and gritted her teeth. Wouldn't Madame Calmette choose to shut up for once?
"You see, he taught Gracie to play the piano, and she's very good at it."
Oh God. This was not going to end well. Gracie tried to stop herself from wringing her fingers.
"Maybe later you'll play a little bit for us?" asked Monsieur Delbauve.
"Oh, yes," intervened Lucille. "And Mademoiselle Daaé must sing!"
That seemed a little bit inappropriate to Madame Calmette.
"Well, that if you'd be so kind, Mademoiselle. Please excuse my daughter's vehemence. She is a big fan of yours. Lucille, you have to ask politely!"
Fortunately Monsieur Calmette chose that precise moment to enter the sitting room. His guests stood up to greet him and Madame Calmette announced they could all proceed to the dining room.
Gracie lagged behind them all. When she was about to cross the threshold, her eyes met Mademoiselle Daaé's. The blue depths were regarding her with something between wonder and disbelief.
After dinner came the feared musical soiree. Gracie was forced to sit at the piano and she eyed the music sheets that had been left on top of it, while the other guests tried to urge Mademoiselle Daaé to sing. But Mademoiselle refused, and expressed her wish to listen to Gracie play first.
Gracie took one of the music sheets, the score of Für Elise and placed in front of her. Maybe if she played something that was more than known and without much enthusiasm they would get bored and let her be. Maybe then Mademoiselle Daaé would refuse to sing.
She extended her hands over the keyboard.
Lucille's enthusiastic applauses and the polite ones of the rest of the concurrence exploded after she finished. She looked up. Mademoiselle Daaé was not clapping. Her face was a shade paler, and her eyes a bit wider. A void opened in Gracie's stomach. Had the woman recognised her style of playing? That hadn't crossed Gracie's mind before. She wanted to bang her head against the piano for not thinking about it earlier.
"Dear, that was lovely!" exclaimed Madame Calmette. "I'm sorry we don't have too many scores here. I'm afraid most are accompaniment to songs."
She cast a knowing glance at Mademoiselle Daaé.
"But perhaps you could play something else before Mademoiselle sings? You know some pieces by heart, don't you?"
"Oh yes!" Lucille cried suddenly. "Gracie, please, play the Persian lullaby. The one your father taught you. It is so charming! Do you remember it, Mama? Gracie played it once at home."
Oh Jesus, Mary and Joseph. Oh God Almighty! Of all the songs Lucille could have asked for she had to pick up the Persian lullaby! Gracie stared at the white keys in front of her and wished the piano was an enormous beast that would swallow her.
"Yes, yes," chorused her mother. "Play the Persian lullaby, Gracie. Please."
Gracie bit her lower lip so hard she felt she would draw blood out of it. She looked up at the concurrence. All were watching her eagerly. There was no escaping from this. She looked at the keyboard again and breathed in. She started playing.
A cry interrupted her.
"Dear! What is wrong with you?"
Gracie looked up again. Mademoiselle Daaé was slowly leaning to one side on her chair, her face white as a sheet. Suddenly she fell to the floor before Monsieur Delbauve, who had sprung from his chair to aid her, could support her weight. Everybody on the sitting room gathered around her to help. Gracie pushed the piano bench backwards. Her head was light and her legs were wobbly. Everything was spinning around her. Gracie stood up, using the piano as support, but didn't trust her legs to hold her upright if she gave a step forward.
Madame Calmette held Mademoiselle Daaé's head on her lap. Lucille hurried out of the room and came back with a bottle of smelling salts. The salts were put under Mademoiselle Daaé's nose. Mademoiselle sneezed and opened her eyes. She looked around the room and Gracie had a fit of panic. The woman shouldn't see her. Suddenly, having recovered the use of her legs, she darted out of the sitting room, through the foyer and up the stairs. She locked herself in the room appointed to her and fell on the bed, breathing heavily.
Author's notes: Sorry it took me more than a day to update... I didn't mean to leave you hanging from a thread, but real life got in the way... I promise I will put up the next chapter tomorrow, to compensate.
One hundred and ten reviews! Wow! You guys amaze me! Especially because most of them are lengthy comments which really give me an insight on how is the story unfolding, and how it is to read it. THANK YOU ALLL! Most of you noted the fact that Christine is still Mademoiselle Daae... That will be explained soon enough, just hang on with me a little longer. And some also mentioned the fact that Gracie was older now. I'm happy to know you like her as a teenager as well! Masque de la Mort: Here it was, the chapter about Gracie playing music, although she didn't get to play with Christine. I hope it was up to your expectations! And Chibi Binasu Chan, about Erik's age: You're right, according to the book and the musical, Erik would be almost sixty by now. However, I'm not being entirely canonical on that respect, either. Erik's age was mentioned earlier, when Louis was wondering about it... So he would be just three or four years older than what Louis calculated by now... And how does Gracie know about the Opéra? Well, she has been living with Erik for twelve years. She read the book... She's clever... What can I say?
