Chapter Two - A Scrap of Lace and a Golden Cross
So it is real…the lake is real!
For much of her life, Meg had heard people…older people who had been with the Opera Populaire for many years…speak of the existence of a lake beneath the theatre. No one knew exactly where it was and many dismissed it as just another story.
The Opera was full of such tales…after all, it had its own Phantom, too.
The Opera Ghost…
Meg had seen the Opera Ghost once. Many of the ballet tarts claimed to have seen the specter. Most were lying, spinning lurid tales in the darkness of the dormitories to impress each other.
But Meg had seen him…
One day, after a rehearsal, she realized that the little gold cross she always wore had fallen off its chain. She hurried back to the stage alone, hoping to find her late father's last gift to her.
The auditorium was empty, random pieces of scenery for the next production lay here and there on the stage.
Meg stumble over a prop that had been left lying about, a gaudy gilt sword leaning against a painted urn.
And she heard a low chuckle in the blackness of the flies above her. And the swoosh of heavy fabric as someone moved in that darkness.
Peering up, she saw a face…a stark white profile that burned in the shadows between the catwalks and ropes.
Forgetting the cross, she fled to the crowded, noisy safety of the ballet dressing room.
That night, she found an envelope beneath her pillow. Her name was written on it in a bold, almost aggressive hand…
Mademoiselle Giry
Inside was her cross.
A single torch mounted in a iron bracket on the wall illuminated the still green water. Someone had passed this way, Meg was certain.
Cautiously, she made her way to the edge of the lake. At the far edge, another passage.
A moth-like flutter of something white caught her eye. Meg bent down and picked up a tiny scrap of lace.
Meg recognized the lace. It was from Christine's dressing gown.
There must have been a boat…a way across.
Meg followed the stone landing until she found a low, narrow ledge that ran along the lake.
Someone small could just manage to balance between the water and the walls.
Carefully, Meg stepped up on the ledge, holding her skirts close and suddenly aware of the familiar pain in her feet.
Pressing back against the stone walls, she felt the bag of her dress and her hair growing damp.
Don't fall, Meg…you don't know how deep that water is…and you don't know how to swim very well…you'll drown.
The ledge continued into the passage at the far side of the lake. It was much wider now and Meg no longer had to slide along the wall.
At the far end, she saw pricks of light beyond some sort of massive grating.
Candles?
The ledge ended, but here she could see that the water was shallow. She sat down on the ledge and removed her slippers. Tying the ribbons together, she hung them from her neck.
Gathering her skirt above her knees, she waded towards the grate.
