Chapter Thirty - They Will Try To Kill Him
Chapter Thirty - They Will Try To Kill Him
The next morning, Meg found herself in the small crowd gathered around the Vicomte de Chagny behind the stage. She saw Christine, half hidden at the edge of the group.
It's as if she's afraid to be seen with Raoul, as if someone will guess the truth. They're behaving like cowards, both of him…afraid to face him, afraid to run.
She clenched her fist in the gauzy folds of her skirt and turned her attention to the Vicomte.
"We will play his game, perform his work," he was saying, "but, remember, we hold the ace. For if Mademoiselle Daae sings, he will be certain to attend."
The managers joined in the plan eagerly.
"We'll make certain the police are there and armed…"
Meg leaned back against the iron support of the stairs, her nails digging deep into her palms.
Mon Dieu…they mean to trap him…
Meg saw her mother was ready to speak, to interrupt. A stern look from Monsieur Andre silenced her.
Madame Giry met her daughter's eyes. There was nothing they could say that would turn the tide now.
Christine turned away from the group, hurried down the passageways leading toward the quiet of the chapel.
The Vicomte seemed to act as if he had not seen her leave, but when the group had split up, Meg saw him follow after her.
Carlotta stormed past Meg. Madeleine juggled the prima donna's poodles in her plump arms and one of them snapped at Meg as the plump maid scurried after her mistress.
The diva was certainly among the most delighted at this plot to ensnare the source of her humiliation, but that did nothing to blunt her rage at being given so small a role in his opera. The limelight was the limelight, no matter who the composer might be.
Meg stumbled up the winding iron stairs. The dormitory was crowded with chattering girls, so she sought the silence of her mother's apartment.
She did not even bother to close the door behind her. She merely sank down on the old divan and buried her face in her hands.
She looked up when she heard the door close softly. Her mother came and sat down beside her.
"Maman, they will try to kill him, won't they?"
Madame Giry brushed aside a lock of her daughter's hair and nodded.
"I'm afraid so, ma petite."
She sighed and looked at the photograph on the armoire, a picture that had been made the same year she'd found him in that filthy fair.
"Perhaps it would be better for him that way. He would rather die than find himself in a cage again."
A cage…
It was a such a small word said in a quiet voice, but it took the breath from Meg as if she had been struck by a heavy hand.
A cage…ah, poor Erik…
She tried to stand…she would risk his anger, she would warn him.
Her mother held her back.
"No, Meg…there is nothing we can do now. We must play this game, too. If he will survive this, it is up to him."
