Chapter Twenty-three - A Dirty White Dress
Doing her best to follow unseen, Meg lost sight of her mother in the twisting service corridors beyond the storage rooms and the theatre chapel.
But it was only for a moment. She soon heard the dull grating of iron, then two sets of footsteps in the quiet, dusty passage.
She pushed open a door…it led to one of rooms were large pieces of scenery where stored. She slipped inside, wedging herself between sets from La Profete and Le Roi de Lahore and kept the door open just enough to see the corridor.
A pair of shadows moved across the wall, a man and a woman.
Her mother passed by, holding a small, flickering lamp and leading the Vicomte de Chagny by the arm.
Madame Giry's face was calm, but Raoul's was flushed, his hair hanging free from its silk ribbon.
"Madame," he said, breathing heavily, "you must tell me what you know. For Christine's sake."
"I know nothing that would help you," her mother protested as they turned a corner and passed out of Meg's hearing.
As she crept back into the hall, Meg realized that her white dress was now smudged with grime from her hiding place.
It was too late now to worry about such things as spoiled gowns. Such things no longer mattered.
The iron gate was not locked and, pushing it open, Meg found a narrow flight of stone steps led downward.
She gathered the train of her dress more carefully over her arm. It was already ruined, but she did not want to trip and fall on those steep steps.
She descended and within moments, she found herself lost as the tight, damp passage made turn after turn.
Her corset was too tight and she leaned back against the chill of the wall, fighting to take a deep breath.
On the opposite wall, she saw a door. The tunnel stretched into shadows in either direction. She had nothing to lose.
As she open the door, she saw a piece of gold braid on the threshold. She knew it must have torn from the Vicomte's costume.
Something else on the floor caught her attention and she stooped to see it clearly…a noose lay limp on the flagstones.
She felt herself growing dizzy as she remembered the coil of rope on the floor in the Opera Ghost's strange home and the hanging of Joseph Buquet.
Oh, mon Dieu, if I should faint now…who would find me here?
Straightening, she saw a young woman in a dirty white gown standing before her.
