WARNING: This chapter is a TOTAL SOAP OPERA. It's not my fault! My friend gave me a romance novel by Margaret Moore today, titled ALL MY DESIRE. I immediately sat down to write this chapter, and here is the result. IT'S SO TOTALLY NOT MY FAULT. Blame her for the melodrama!
A/N: Simply, wow. All my readers and reviewers are so special to me! Every time you sit down to write feedback and tell me how much you enjoy reading something that I've written, I get this incredible warm and fuzzy feeling that feels like…like… Gerry Butler came and put his arms around me! (Uh, yeah, if only…) I wish I could do something else to repay all the kind words I've received! I guess the only thing I can hope for is that everyone continues to have fun reading this little SOAP OPERA. But it's SUPER-LONG! which may be a BAD THING since it's such crud, but enjoy anyway!
Chapter 6I did not perform that night, or the next night, or the night after that. Indeed, it seemed that every time Lady Barlow held such an event, she would completely forget my presence as she hastened to accommodate various guests of local prestige, many of which who fancied themselves composers. Needless to say, I was greatly relieved that I had not been forced to sing, although I had been forced to sit through many a terrible performance.
Despite her assurances, Lady Barlow's soirees were by no means 'little'. Rather, she would invite all the ladies of the circle and additional 'friends', who all amounted to at least twenty people. Erik was present every night, although he did not mingle overmuch. Most of the locals undeniably respected him, though I suspected that it came in part from fear. Erik always had a way of making one uncomfortable if he wished to; of presenting himself as dangerous. I knew that the reasons for such a fear were intangible to the others, for they had no practical reason to be afraid of him. The curious thing was that I no longer found myself frightened by him, even though I had the most reason to be out of everyone else. I alone knew what he had done in the past, and even then, I had only been privy to a fraction of the entire truth.
Before I knew it, I had passed an entire month in England. The weeks had simply flown by until I had all but forgotten my troubles in Paris. I was undeniably happy here, surrounded by people whose company I enjoyed, and entertainment which was unquestionably engaging. I felt that this was as close as I would ever be to the opera again, and so I indulged in the weeks to my fullest content.
The only thing that could possibly remind me of any previous misery was Erik's continued presence in my life. No, to call him a presence in my life would be a misnomer; although I saw him almost every evening, we still did not speak, and often I would not even catch his eye. Despite this, I had learned to ignore him as much as I could, opting to retire every night soon after he entered. I would not let him ruin my time here.
It seemed that no one had yet remarked upon the sudden little dips in my moods, when I would unexpectedly become somber and silent. I supposed that many of my acquaintances simply believed that my little bouts of depression were normal and inconsequential compared to the utter happiness that I displayed most of the time.
On a particularly snowy late afternoon, I found myself lazing about my room with a dry book. I was nursing a small cold with a warm mug of tea and gazing distractedly out of my window, my attention wandering from the novel. I debated returning it to the library, but found that I was too lethargic at this moment. With myself enveloped in a thick blanket, a steaming mug before my nose, and a toasty fire at my back, I did not very much feel like moving.
At this moment, several carriages pulled up the drive and settled before the entrance. I watched in near-boredom, for Lady Barlow often had visitors of some form or another. Several of Lady Barlow's lawyer friends piled out into the yard, followed by their ladies. Behind them trotted various servants, carrying elegantly-wrapped packages accented with lace ribbons. I frowned curiously before I remembered that tonight was Lady Barlow's birthday. She was of course throwing the largest gathering for miles around this night, and I knew that come sundown, I would be seeing many more of these carriages.
It really was too bad I possessed a cold at the moment, for although I did not feel well, I knew it would be entirely inappropriate to miss the party. As I slowly forced myself to rise to my feet, I continued to regard the figures emerging from the carriages. When I saw a tall, dark-skinned man hand out a petite blonde girl, for a moment I feared that in the fading sunlight my eyes were playing tricks on me. I could have sworn that was the Persian leading Meg from the carriage! Surely I was imagining things!
I had found my motivation, and at a speed inappropriate for a sick woman, I threw my feet into shoes and bolted out of my room. I passed a shocked Adelle in the corridor and nearly knocked over Madame Renois, but I did not care as I flew down the grandiose staircase. Stumbling over the last few steps, I reached the bottom just as the new arrivals entered the front doors.
"Meg!" I screamed, throwing myself at the friend that I had not seen in years.
We had both been sixteen when last we saw each other, and I was sure that we now looked incredibly different from those spindly young maids we had been. Still, I would have known her anywhere, and saw that she recognized me from the brilliant smile that lit up her features.
"Christine," she replied, pulling me into a tight embrace.
I laughed and marveled at my lovely friend who stood before me. Her face was as youthful and fresh as ever, framed by blonde hair done up in an elaborate style. From the quality and style of her clothes, I knew that she was enjoying a successful career.
"Meg!" I cried again, at loss for further words. "What – what are you doing here?"
She smiled, "Lady Barlow invited me up for her birthday celebration."
"Is there anyone Lady Barlow doesn't know?" I marveled aloud, still gazing at Meg with wonder.
She laughed and tossed her head in mock vanity, "I am after all the most renowned dancer in the world right now."
Peers chose this moment to bustle in, thunder clouds upon his brow. "More guests?" He grumbled this out loud to the room at large. "Marge, Sandra, pick up those bags and prepare extra rooms at once!"
His customary entourage of maids swept in and out, collecting the bags that were piling up in the doorframe. The laughing group of lawyers passed us without much comment, and behind them came Nadir. He carried a single valise slung over his shoulder casually. When Peers motioned to take it, the Persian gave the man one stern frown that clearly instructed Peers to leave.
Peers was not happy about this development, "Sir, may I take your bag?" He asked this in English, frowning at Nadir all the while.
"No, you may not," Nadir replied in French, sweeping by Peers without further care. He reached the staircase where I stood with Meg, and removed his hat with a courteous bow, "Madame de Chagny. It is a pleasure to see you again."
"Nadir," I nodded, offering him a smile. Despite everything that had happened with Erik, I had always liked the Persian and wished I had known him better. "I suppose you are a great friend to Lady Barlow as well?"
Nadir chuckled, "No, but I am a great friend to Erik, and that is good enough for her." He adjusted the valise on his shoulder, "Forgive me, ladies, but I have to attend to some things. Will you two excuse me?"
Meg laughed prettily, "Ever so formal, Nadir." She turned to me with a teasing gleam in her eye, "You have no idea what the trip over here was like; I could barely get one conversation out of him!"
I felt the urge to embrace her again, warmed by the feeling of welcome and familiarity that we still shared even after all these years. Here was something else that had been missing from my life, I realized. I needed someone to whom I could truly talk to; someone who knew of me and my past that I dared not reveal to anyone in Raoul's society. Even Adelle was not an option, for I feared that she was too bred in the beliefs of her class to accept me for who I was. A simple chorus girl would not have been welcomed in the midst of a world like this one.
Nadir had already begun to make his way up the staircase, obviously familiar with his surroundings. I wondered how often he had visited before, and if his presence had escaped my notice at times. Still, it was of no consequence, as I now had my dear friend back with me.
"You are going to come with me, and we will have a very long talk," I informed Meg, beginning to lead her to the upper level.
She looked innocent, "How are you going to explain to all these high-society girls how you know me?"
"I have always had a soft spot for ballet rats," I returned, tugging her up the stairs. "I know you've probably had a long journey, but it's been forever since I saw you!"
Meg looked sad suddenly, "You never came to visit me and I did not feel particularly welcome in your home."
I panicked for a second, "Oh, Meg, I never wanted it to be so!"
She shook her head, "It was Raoul, I know. Mother told me about it, and I…" Meg looked like she was about to say something else, but she covered her mouth at the last moment and coughed delicately.
I guessed her thoughts easily and finished for her, "I hate it, Meg. It's a prison that I thought I could accept and now I can't get out of."
This time it was Meg who began to hurry me up the staircase. "We'll be better off discussing this in the privacy of your room," she informed me, bustling away. "Who knows who might be listening?"
I nodded in agreement, and we decided to meet back in my room in an hour after she had been given a chance to settle in after her long journey.
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It was true, nothing had really changed between us. It was as if Meg had been there with me always in the past five years, constantly present to hear my sorrows and my fears. For hours I spoke of the constraints that Raoul had imposed upon me, and the wretchedness of my existence among his class. I confessed that I found respite in the arts circle, but that it was not nearly enough. For the time being, I decided to say nothing of Erik, although I was sure she was aware of his presence on account of Nadir.
Meg listened attentively, and after I had winded down in my long story, she sat back thoughtfully with her own mug of tea firmly settled in her lap. She scratched at her pretty hair and frowned continuously, her legs tucked up beneath her in her comfortable seat. At last, she asked, "What do you want to do, Christine?"
I snorted, "I've been asking myself that every day ever since I locked Raoul out on the balcony."
"Naked."
"What?"
Meg grinned mischievously, "You forgot that little detail, even though it's already been all over Paris."
I sighed, "I say all these things, yet I still feel terrible about the way I've been treating him. In a way it's my fault that our marriage is failing."
Meg frowned, "Do you love him?"
I blinked at the sudden question, "What?"
"Do you love him?" She repeated firmly, wrapping her hands around her mug to warm them.
It only took me a moment to formulate my answer, but it was the absolute truth. "Yes, I love him. But my love is only like the way one clings to and cherishes a fond memory from times long gone."
"You love the ideal of something that once was."
I ran my hand through my loose hair, brushing it away from my face, "When did we become so philosophical?"
Meg made a face, "Philosophy? It's called romance novels, Christine."
"So it is." We both abruptly giggled, and the tension in the air eased somewhat. Then I continued thoughtfully, "It's not real anymore, Meg. Not for either of us. Raoul is just as miserable as I am, yet he says nothing because he feels indebted to me. I know that he feels guilty for carrying me away from my old life and that he must now provide for me as he promised at our wedding."
"But you say he mistreats you," Meg pointed out, frowning.
I took a sip from my mug, tasting the hot liquid painfully. "Only because I mistreat him. I promised to 'honor and obey', Meg. I promised to give myself to him and to him alone, but I think he saw it before I did…" I suddenly rose and began to pace around the room, my steps following the pattern of spirals woven into the carpet.
Meg was clearly confused. "What are you talking about?"
I continued my movements, "Meg, don't you see? Raoul always knew my heart would never be his completely, yet he hoped that he could capture enough of it. Through all the years he understood that a part of me loved another, but he gave me a chance. He gave me a chance!" I fell to my knees on the carpet and supported myself on trembling arms, "I drove him away, Meg! I drove him away every night that I refused to hold him! Every night that I ignored him! Every night that I snapped at him, always wishing for the presence of another!"
Meg was at my side in a moment, her thin arms around me. "Hush, Christine," she whispered, rocking me back and forth on the carpet.
After several minutes, my tears finally subsided and I rose to my feet, blowing my nose unceremoniously in a handkerchief. An elegantly-embroidered letter E glared up at me mockingly from the fabric, as if deliberately attempting to wound me.
When Meg saw the handkerchief, she turned her head away and settled back into a chair. She refrained from looking at me as she spoke. "Christine, my presence here is not a coincidence," she whispered, as if afraid to hurt me further.
I looked up, confused, "Well, of course it isn't. You were invited, weren't you?"
"Yes, but under different circumstances I would not have come." She reached into her sleeve and drew out a thin envelope sealed with a small wax emblem that bore a very familiar mark. "A week before I departed, Raoul came to me and asked – no, begged me to give you this."
I accepted the envelope with a trembling hand. For a time I stared at it, then I cautiously broke the seal and unfolded the parchment. I read it over silently, and even at the end of the letter, I still was not sure what to think.
"What does it say?" Meg finally asked after several minutes of silence.
I stared at her, "I really don't know." Raoul was in Italy right now, and he had favored me with a jovial account of the vineyards and their prosperity. After the business talk, however, he had launched into a desperate plea for my return.
"You cannot comprehend how much I ache with the loss of you," Meg read aloud, frowning. "Business is successful, but all I can think about is how much I wish you were here to enjoy the splendors of such a beautiful and mystifying land with me. All I can plead for is your return; all I can do is acknowledge that I was wrong. I fear I did you the greatest wrongs, and now I wish to remedy them.
"Oh, sing if you like, Christine, sing! I will never try to stop you again if it makes you happy! I only feared it was…" Meg had to stop here, because the words were blotted out with tear stains. Her eyes roved the page and then she continued, "Both of us committed wrongs, but I wish we could forget them now. All I ask for is your safe return. Ever yours, Raoul."
I swung a leg against my couch, beating the heel in time. "I don't know what to think of that."
Meg looked at me intently, "Clearly he wishes for you to give him one last chance."
I stood once again and waved my arms at no one in particular, "He deserves much more than one chance from me! It is I who should be on my knees begging him to accept me back! Perhaps it would be in both our interests if he just let me go."
Meg shook her head firmly, "Oh, you can't! Maybe now that you're both aware of the problem in your marriage, you can fix it. Maybe you can try again. He loves you so, Christine! Just listen to the letter!"
I snatched the parchment back from her, "It doesn't even sound like him! It is as if his heart was not in it!"
Meg heaved a heavy sigh, "Christine, the man is heartbroken. Contrary to what our favorite romantic stories tell us, men do not always have the presence of mind to pen brilliant works of literature when they suffer from broken hearts."
I considered the letter once again, my resolve swaying for a time. Divorce was such a nasty business, after all. As my eyes roved over the paper again and again, I began to believe that it was worth a try. Perhaps on account of the fact that Erik no longer loved me, I could learn to let him go until he was the one who became the distant memory.
Squaring my shoulders, I hid the letter in my bureau and scooped up the book I had been reading earlier. "Would you like to see the library?" I inquired softly, hovering by the door.
Meg rose, "Christine, will you consider the letter?"
I nodded, "I…I think I will try. There's nothing else for me to go to, is there?"
Meg smiled sadly, "There will always be something and someone for you in this world."
I laughed, "I have only half an idea of what that meant, but it sounded kind!"
Meg pushed me out of the door, "Here I am trying to be poetic, and you have to make fun of me. Typical, Christine!"
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"I almost think we would have been better off staying in my room," I giggled, as Meg recounted to me the last exploits of her current lover.
"Stop laughing at me!" Yet she was all smiles, obviously enjoying telling me about the Englishman who had begun to court her in Paris. It seemed serious, but I knew that Meg would never be above some fun teasing.
I paused at a shelf, examining the array of books. It seemed that we were stuck in the mythology section with books pertaining to ancient Greek and Roman societies, none of which I knew much about. Right now I felt in need of some light and preferably silly reading that would not require much thought. When I rounded the shelf, I was greeted by the impact of a hard object against my head.
The projectile turned out to be a round, red apple. It rolled back toward its owner who was none other than that irritating scoundrel Lucien.
"Can't you go for one day without harassing me?" I exclaimed angrily, rubbing the back of my head.
Lucien smirked and began to toss the apple into the air. "I didn't see you yesterday," he pointed out.
"Missed me?" I grumbled, placing a shelf between myself and the boy.
Lucien instantly skipped over to where I was standing, "Well, I need someone stupid to throw apples at."
I raised my hand, "I will slap you."
"That's what you say every time I do something bad."
"I mean it this time!"
Lucien rolled his eyes, "You can't hit me because I'm Lady Barlow's grandson! You'll get in sooo much trouble!"
At that moment, Meg appeared, "Christine, who are you talking to?" When her eyes settled upon the small boy, I saw the dawn of that insane light in her eyes that favored many women when they looked at cute children. "Oh, Christine, he's divine!" She cried out, reaching a hand toward Lucien. "I'm Meg, a friend of Christine."
Lucien stuck out his lower lip and pretended to look bashful. His voice trembled as if with fear and he whispered, "I…I'm Lucien, Madame." He bowed prettily over her hand, still retaining the pretense of shyness.
"What a perfect gentleman!"
Was I the only one immune to his charm?
Meg was looking at me expectantly, until I realized she was waiting for further explanation. "Lady Barlow's grandson," I waved my hand vaguely in Lucien's direction.
"I see." That delighted gleam was still in Meg's eyes. "Lucien…is that French?"
I looked at the boy with interest now, for that fact had never occurred to me. I wondered now why it was that I had never bothered to ask before.
Lucien suddenly seemed hesitant to speak, and his voice was low and soft as he answered. "My father came from Grandmama's side of the family, but my mother was French."
Meg squealed even louder, if possible, "Incredible!" I was not sure what exactly was so incredible, but I was prevented from asking when the clock began to chime the hour. Meg jumped and exclaimed, "Oh no! I have to finish a letter to Mother so that I can send it off tomorrow!" She ruffled Lucien's hair, "I'm sorry, Lucien, but I guess you know how demanding mothers can be! Christine, I'll see you at the gathering?"
I smiled at the degree to which she was flustered. Madame Giry certainly continued to hold her lovely daughter in her firm grip. "Of course, Meg. Go on."
With a wave, the girl disappeared out of the library. I sighed and decided to continue my search for some interesting reading. "Ugh, all history," I muttered. Erik had been interested in this type of thing, but right now with my cold and all, my brain was not capable of digesting anything remotely intellectual.
Lucien had been suspiciously silent for a while, so I turned to him with a curious gaze. Before, there had never been a moment when he indulged me with his silence; rather, I was always the one telling him to be quiet. Now, however, he leaned against a shelf with his head down and eyes shut.
"What's up with you?" I demanded, continuing my search. "Cat finally got your tongue?"
Lucien stared up at me with anger in his features. "It's none of your damn business, woman."
"Language, Lucien."
"You're not my mother!" He yelled unexpectedly, advancing toward me several steps.
I stared at him, a book hanging loosely in my hands. Never before had he shouted at me in such a manner; never had he looked at me with such raw pain and hurt in his eyes. For the first time, I was frightened by him.
"What's wrong?" I asked him softly, placing the book aside.
He turned away from me and crossed his arms, "Like I said, it doesn't concern you."
"So?"
Lucien glanced at me, "What do you mean, 'so'?"
"So, you can still talk to me."
"I am above speaking with idiots like yourself," Lucien informed me contemptuously. "Besides, you wouldn't understand."
I tilted my head at him and merely met his gaze. We stayed like that for several minutes, with me calmly looking at him and allowing his anger to simmer to a reasonable temperature. I had never seen him so furious before; so frightened; so vulnerable.
At last, Lucien broke the look and averted his face. "She died this morning," he whispered, as if not quite believing the words that he had spoken.
I frowned, "Who?"
The heat was back in his manner as he hissed at me, "My mother, that's who! My stupid, useless mother who had to get sick and die!"
I stared, frozen by my shock. Of all the things that I had learned to expect from the carefree, rebellious scamp, it was not a display of open emotion. He had always seemed so strong…so entirely satisfied and comfortable with his circumstances. It hit me that it had never occurred to me to ask about his parents, and only now did he reveal part of his life to me.
Without further thought, I knelt beside him and put my arms about his small shoulders. At first he tried to pry free from my grasp, but I knew how much he needed this; I understood the pain of what it was to lose a parent. I held on to him fiercely, and eventually allowed him to settle into my embrace. Then, Lucien did the inevitable and began to bawl in a manner that defied every part of the image that he had built for himself.
"Shh," I whispered, holding the small boy gently. "Just let yourself cry."
Lucien sniffled noisily, "I'm not crying. I'm not weak!" He pushed away forcefully, "What do you know, anyway? You're just a stupid rich girl!"
At any other time I would have been offended, but not now. I only smiled soothingly and offered him one of my own clean handkerchiefs, "I never really knew my mother because she died when I was very young." Lucien accepted the handkerchief, and I continued to speak, "For a time my father and I were very close; I felt as if I would never love anyone else in the world as much as I loved him. Then, when I was even younger than you are now, he also died."
Lucien blew his nose several times. He blinked moist eyes at me, his face drenched in tear tracks. "My father was a drunk," he stated flatly. "He left Mama and I six years back because he loved alcohol more. He never writes."
He did not protest when I kissed the top of his head, "No matter what you feel right now, you are not alone, Lucien. You will never be alone."
His eyes narrowed, "I have you, is that it? Some comfort."
I laughed outright and hugged him yet again. "Isn't it?"
We sat together in companionable silence for a while more, until the clock announced the next hour. I marveled silently, for in the midst of our small battles, a tender bond had somehow developed between the two of us. I had gone from outright hating him for stealing a precious thing, to somehow caring about what happened to this little boy who tossed apples at my head and tried to trip me with sticks when I walked in the orchard.
"The birthday dinner!" I exclaimed, suddenly remembering. "We only have an hour!"
"How can she throw a party when my mother is dead?" Lucien whispered. "You know, Mama was only a poor baker's daughter, but she was so very pretty before she got sick! Grandmama only took her in out of humiliation at what her son had done, but I don't think she ever cared about Mama."
"Oh, Lucien, don't say such things!"
"It's true," Lucien spat bitterly.
I sighed, "If you like, I'll stay with you and we can both miss the party."
Lucien shook his head, "No. I want to show them that I'm not some weakling like my stupid father. Besides, it will displease him."
"Surely Erik will understand if you miss the party!"
"No."
"Haven't you spoken to him today?"
"Not about…not about Mama." Lucien's voice had a decided tremble to it now. "It was…lessons as usual. I'm positive I want to go tonight."
"Are you sure?" I let the concern edge my voice, disturbed by the unfeeling attitude Erik had given the boy.
"Go put on your ugly dinner frock," Lucien ordered. "I'm tired of you."
Despite the words which I knew he did not mean, I walked Lucien to his room. He did not allow me to plant any more kisses on him, informing me that he was revolted by all the disgusting simpering showered upon him by other females.
"See you downstairs?" I paused at the door, still concerned about leaving him alone with his grief.
Lucien stuck his tongue out at me, "Go away, woman."
I smiled and began to walk away.
His voice stopped me one last time, "Christine?"
I turned, "Yes?"
"Thank you."
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On my way back from Lucien's room, I stopped off at Adelle's room. She was already fully-dressed, and gave an exclamation of dismay when she saw me in my day clothes. I spent a moment appreciating her full gown of lavender silk, peppered with delicate lace ribbons that set off just the right effect for her complexion. At the moment I walked in, she was busy fussing over her hair with harried maids rushing about in every direction.
"I haven't seen you all day!" She commented, fidgeting with yet another potential style. "How is your cold?"
"Better," I told her. Then I added, "I spent the day with an old friend who came unexpectedly to visit."
"Oh?" She winced as one of the maids stuck a hairpin in her scalp. "Who was she?"
"Meg Giry," I rested on the edge of her couch. "The famous ballerina."
To my great surprise, Adelle's lips set in a harsh line. "Meg Giry, you say? Isn't she, well, common?"
I sat up, incredulous. I could not believe what I was hearing! "I thought you admired her! You told me you once went to see her dance!"
"Oh, her dancing is fine…But you called her an old friend! Christine, how could you have known her when she was a nobody?" Adelle went to my side and placed her hands on her hips, "Women in our position can't afford to go around -."
I clambered to my feet and demanded loudly, "Where is that jar of oil I lent you?"
Adelle looked confused, "What?"
"I came here for my bath oil, not your inane conversation."
She bit her lip, "Oh, Christine, I didn't mean it! It's only that I was surprised…and…and I once knew a girl who fraternized with those beneath her class, and it did not turn out well!"
"My bath oil?" I asked coldly.
She rushed to her bureau and retrieved my jar. "Christine -."
"I have to go take a bath," I snapped, sweeping out of her room and slamming the door shut behind me. Of all people, I had thought Adelle would have been the most understanding out of all these high society types! How very wrong I had been! True, a part of me understood that she could not help but be colored by the prejudices of her class…but still! I loved Meg dearly, and I could not stand an insult like that!
I myself was not one of Adelle's class! I had married into that social status, although I prayed that no one here knew. My very existence and acceptance in this circle was proof that ballet rats like myself could be interesting and intellectual individuals as well!
I was in a truly foul mood now as I stomped off to my room. I wanted nothing to do with this party, nor with the people associated with it. I reflected that I would simply spend most of the evening with Meg and Lucien, and hope that I could excuse myself quickly, using my cold as an excuse.
Still, I was not given respite from my trials. By this time, I had learned to know my way through most of the house. It was a complete labyrinth, yet I walked confidently, meandering through halls that I did not often visit. So great was my anger, that after a while I realized that my supposed confident step had brought me into a very unfamiliar section of the mansion. Everything was furnished just as elegantly and brilliantly in this quarter, but I could not figure out which way to go. Once again, I was lost. I seemed to have a talent for going astray.
Just before I was about to round a corner, familiar voices drifted toward me. Of course, of all people, it just had to be Erik. Again. Of all things, I did not need to see him right now! I hesitated for a moment, hiding myself behind the corner and straining to place the voice of the other individual. It was feminine and extremely familiar, but I could not call up a name.
I peered around the corner, inching my face forward to catch a glimpse. I could see the fringe of the woman's skirt in a doorway, and Erik's voice drifted out as they spoke with each other.
"…you say, but I don't believe you!" She cried, her skirts rustling.
"What can I do to make you trust me?" Was the soft response, low and deep.
The woman stepped back out of the apartment, stylish in her evening gown of trimmed green velvet. It was exceedingly low-cut, revealing a generous figure of enviable proportions. I nearly gasped aloud, for it was Karine Renois.
Erik stepped out after her, and I was further astounded when he touched her cheek with his fingertips, "Karine, you have my promise."
Although she glared, she took his hand into her own, apparently absorbed in inspecting his palm. "I know, but -."
He smiled, but it was so very cold that even from a distance, I shivered. It was the calculating, inhuman look that I so loathed; it was the look he gave people that he sentenced to death.
Renois, however, seemed to indulge in it. "Oh, Erik, you tease me so," she whispered, curling lovely hands about his neck. I watched, shocked beyond rational thought, as he did not protest and instead pulled her into a kiss. "I have you on a string," she murmured, rubbing against his cheek.
He continued to lavish her neck with kisses, his agreement muffled, "You certainly do."
I continued to watch, a morbid fascination having captured my senses. Renois forced him against the wall, curling a leg around his middle as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He tilted his head back and moaned a slight protest, "Karine, what if one of the maids sees?"
"Let them see," she traced the outline of his chest through the thin silk shirt that he wore.
"I worry only about you, my dear," he continued, almost absently tugging at a lace on her bodice. "You are married, after all."
She paused, "Oh, all right. We're expected at that damned party in any case."
"Social responsibility is so troublesome." Erik sighed as he retied the laces to her gown, "We may have to retire early."
"We do have better things to do with our time," She agreed, settling against him in the doorway. "You're mine, aren't you?"
Over the top of her head, Erik shut his eyes and whispered, "Who else's could I be?"
She laughed, "Well, we still have some time to waste before the party." Renois began to pull him back inside the doorframe, "We could just settle down in here for a while longer."
How they reminded me of two predators, circling each other as they readied for the kill! Both had the same hungry look in their eyes; the same deliberate edge to their movement. Each knew what the other was, and for a time they reveled in it.
Was this the reason why Erik no longer loved me? Was it because he had found someone like him? Maybe he truly was the monster he had always denied; maybe he had finally given in to his true nature. And how I hated him! How I wanted to hurt him in any way I could! I knew suddenly that I could never go back to Raoul, for this anger that I felt – this insatiable, burning rage that overwhelmed me – it could never be put to the back of my mind.
A part of me should have realized I hurt him first; some sector of my mind should have understood that I abandoned Erik at the moment that he needed me most. Why should it matter what he did now? All those years ago I had plainly told him that I did not care!
I chose that moment to allow my irrational rage to take full control of me. Breathing furiously, I revealed my location and stalked toward the pair, lugging my jar of bath oil with me. I stopped in front of the door, pausing as if I had only discovered them by chance.
"Oh!" I exclaimed, my eyes wide. "I did not mean to intrude."
Renois uncoiled her serpentine limbs from around Erik, although one hand remained against his chest possessively. "Comtesse," she uttered, sending me a look that clearly stated hatred.
My own rage, however, was so great that I could not have cared less that she apparently despised me. I had no idea why she would hate me, but we had never liked each other much.
"Well," I said, looking calmly at Erik.
His own look was as uncaring and chilly as ever. "Do you need something, Madame?" he inquired.
I tapped my foot, hugging the bath oil jar to my stomach. "Oh, no, everything is so much more clear now."
"You have no business here. Run along now, little Comtesse." Renois spoke as if addressing a small child, although she was not more than several years older than me.
I hated the way she touched Erik, as if claiming him for her property. Above all, I hated that he endured it, apparently taking pleasure in her action. "And who are you to order me around?" I glared at her furiously, although I must have looked ridiculous with my hair completely unbound, wearing nothing but a simple afternoon gown, slippers, and holding a gigantic jar.
His look inscrutable, Erik spoke a single word; "Leave."
I was not to be deterred, however. "I will not be ordered about like a petulant child!"
Infuriatingly, Karine Renois began to laugh. The sound was mocking in its elegance, and she rolled her head against Erik's shoulder as she chortled with her arms tight about him, "Listen to her! How amusing this grown woman is!"
Although Erik did not join in her ridicule, he was no more obliging to me. "I do not want to see you here," he told me, his eyes as unfathomable as ever.
"You couldn't tell me outright?" I demanded, continuing to speak without thinking. "You couldn't tell me that this was the reason? Don't you owe that to me?"
Erik stepped away from Renois, leaning toward me dangerously in the doorway. "I owe you nothing. Do you understand me? I gave you everything and in return you gave me nothing! Now know what it feels like!"
By this point, however, I was so wound up that I could not stop myself. "You may owe nothing to me, but what about others?" With one hand I pointed down the corridor, "Lucien lost his mother today, and here you are, gallivanting about with a woman in the middle of the day while that child is alone!"
Obviously, Erik had not expected our conversation to take such a turn. Indeed, neither had I, as I had simply grasped for straws to justify my anger.
Renois leaned in the doorway beside Erik. She looked between us with an air that was close to boredom. "I'm tired of you, Comtesse," she yawned, looking away from me. "Always the little darling of Penous and all her little friends. Go back and play, girl. Can't you see you're not wanted?"
I ignored her and continued to stare at Erik.
Finally, he spoke. "What do you expect from me, Madame? I cannot possibly watch that child every waking hour."
My grip around the jar tightened, my knuckles turning white. "You have a certain responsibility to him! You are his teacher and his mentor! He depends on you!"
"But I am not his father," Erik pointed out coldly, crossing his arms.
At this point I lost all sense of my volume and snarled outright, "You might as well be!" I inhaled one deep breath before continuing. "The boy needs someone to talk to! You know him better than anyone else!"
Erik clenched his hands at his side, his own control slipping for the first time. "And what would I say to him? Would I embrace the sniveling child and tell him that everything will be fine? That his mother loved him and that he is still loved?"
"It would be something!" I realized now that we were standing nearly face to face, shouting at each other in the middle of a public hall. Karine Renois had withdrawn slightly, but I took note of the fact that her expression was still amused.
He looked at me now with what could only be construed as abhorrence. "I hated my mother, Comtesse. I despised her with all my loathsome heart! You know, I contemplated burning her alive in that miserable home of ours! A pity God decided to take her just days before I could carry out my plan! I would tell the boy that God had done him a favor, ridding him of that monstrous thing called a mother! Why should I show him kindness? He has enough admirers!"
"Your kindness would mean the most to him, you wretched beast!" I screamed, my voice rising to impossible volume. I knew that his mother had been unkind, but how could he say such things about the woman who had brought him into the world? How could he refuse to care about a poor boy who needed him right now?
Renois coughed, "If you're done here, Comtesse? We have other things to attend to."
This time I sneered, "Of course you do." I began to back away, hefting my jar firmly in my hands as I glared, unforgiving, at Erik. "I cannot believe that I actually convinced myself that I loved you," I told him scathingly. "The thought makes me shudder with revulsion now, for you truly are no more than a selfish, uncaring thing."
Erik's voice had impossible control and neutrality when he answered. "Get out of my sight, Comtesse." He took a step back into his room, "And never speak to me again."
"With pleasure," I snarled, stalking off down the corridor.
Karine Renois' laughter followed me all the way to my room, and I could still hear it as I placed the jar on the ground and shut the door.
I should have felt accomplished; I should have felt like I had done the right thing. But strangely, I felt no better. If anything, I only felt worse about everything.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
My gown for that evening suited my cold-ridden face extremely well. The chiffon skirts and bodice were so deep a burgundy that the aura bordered on black. The sleeves hung about my arms so that my shoulders were bare and my necklace of rubies could be properly displayed. The rubies had been an anniversary gift from Raoul several years back, and I had not been given occasion to wear them until now. He always said that they complimented the soft brown of my eyes, although I could never be sure if that was mere flattery.
I had chosen my finest gown for this night not only because it was the grand occasion of Lady Barlow's birthday, but also because I felt in need of something to restore my confidence after everything that had happened that day. I felt the need to prove that I was just as good as everyone else in that room. Above all, I wanted Karine Renois to see that she was no woman over me, although I worried that she would be by Erik the entire night.
Still, I would teach that Karine Renois that I was not one to be laughed at! I had chosen a gown that flattered my assets to the maximum: as if daring her, I had also made sure the neckline was low enough to properly emphasize the curves of my chest, with the back of the gown rippling low to my waist. It was audacious, but still stylish enough not to cross the borders into the vulgar. Just in case, an ebony wrap draped loosely through my elbows complemented the entire ensemble.
That night I enjoyed many a dance with the young lordling friends of Lady Barlow, and more than a few attempted to lead me outside to the balcony. Karine Renois, however, still could easily rival me that night. She was naturally an enticing woman, her features so enigmatic that men could not help but gravitate toward her. She had discarded her dress from earlier in favor of a regal ebony evening gown that clung to her body in all the right places. It was, if possible, even more low cut than her gown of earlier had been and somehow managed to emphasize her height to regal proportions. She carried herself as a goddess, and the sparkling jewels in her dark hair were as if stars had decided to nestle temporarily in her lovely locks.
True to my fears, Erik was by her side for most of the night, although neither did anything that could be construed as improper. To my eyes, they shared more dances than was necessary, and stood closer to each other than circumstances dictated, but I was sure I was the only one who thought so. I tried not to notice how Erik outshone all the other pathetic creatures in the room, for I could not help but be captured by his eternal grace and charm. Tonight, it seemed as if he overpowered the room with it, and although he was dressed no more elaborately than the other men, it was all in the way that he moved and carried himself. It was as if he were the master who commanded the world, and everyone knew it.
Several times I caught English women beside me, whispering about him excitedly. "Who is that?" One of them would exclaim, fanning herself enthusiastically.
Another would reply that she had seen him once or twice at a soiree, and they would proceed to wonder about him aloud.
"I wonder why he wears a mask?" One of them suddenly asked.
"I hear he's Lady Barlow's magician or something like that," the other replied. "But does it really matter?"
"What's a little eccentricity?" Another agreed.
"Who is that woman dancing with him anyway?"
"Some pompous cow of a Frenchwoman. Look at the way she hangs from him! It's disgusting."
"It certainly is!"
I nearly laughed aloud, but restrained myself when my most recent dance partner returned with the drinks I had asked him to fetch. We stood there on the edge of the room and watched as the multitude of guests danced enthusiastically. Tonight, Lady Barlow had opted to open her grand ballroom in honor of the occasion. It was so immense that it reached up to the full height of the house with a second gallery curling high about the fringe of the room. Multiple chandeliers hung from the ceiling, but the grandest crystal piece hung in the center of the room. It's design was so intricate and remarkable that I was reminded of the lovely chandelier of the Opera Populaire.
I supposed it was still lying in broken fragments upon the stage. It was a pitiable fate for so exquisite a thing.
Eventually, Meg and I found each other in the crowd. Adelle also came to us and apologized to me profusely, and her tone was so sincere that I could not help but forgive her. In any case, I could only fight one war at a time, and my battle with Renois was already leeching all my energy. I wanted nothing but to go to my room and sleep off my cold, but I forced myself to stay. I did not really know what I was competing for, but I knew that I had to remain here as long as possible.
Adelle and Meg actually appreciated each other's company, and soon they were chatting away enthusiastically.
"You look incredibly tonight, by the way, Christine," Adelle informed me, looking over my clothes appreciatively.
Meg sighed, "If only I had a dressmaker like that."
For a time the talk turned to seamstresses, and around us, the crowd began to disperse. The clock chimed midnight, and the orchestra began to pack away their things. The room suddenly seemed incredibly large in relation to the amount of people now inside it, and Lady Barlow clapped her hands for attention as she often did.
"My friends, perhaps we should retire to the parlor?" The question was one of suggestion, but everyone obeyed unquestioningly. The remaining guests piled out, and I guessed there to be only thirty or so of us remaining. It was still a large number, but small enough to fit into the other room comfortably.
What I had not been expecting, however, was Lady Barlow's other demand.
"Since it's my birthday and all," she smiled, hovering beside her grand piano, "and since I am now an old woman -." She put a hand up at the protests, although she laughed, "Would you all mind indulging a grandmother with a small concert?"
It seemed no more formal than her other soirees, and the customary people rose to play a variety of pieces. Some executed grand concertos upon the piano, while others stood by the instrument and sang in warbling tones. Lady Barlow herself rose several times to perform a ballad, and she was not as terrible as she had advocated to me that first day I met her. Her voice was untrained, but she did possess a certain talent for the nuances of music.
Throughout the entire recital, I remained seated in a corner with Adelle and Meg for companions. Lucien had found us as well, and was curled up dozing against me, long bored by the proceedings. The poor boy had suffered enough today that I debated sending him to bed. There was no polite way, however, for me to suddenly rise and leave the room with all of us seated and listening to the most recent performer. If I rose, Lady Barlow would immediately assume I wished to perform something for her – and that would be disastrous.
I had quickly tired of attempting to outdo Karine Renois that night, for I had realized that my greatest critic had simply been myself. I did hate her with all my heart, but with the combined pressures of my cold and other events of that day, I no longer had any more energy to spend upon trying to show that I was better than her.
Erik had not looked at me once that entire night, and I was glad of it. I did not think that I could face him ever again, for I now felt terribly about what I had said to him earlier. Where had all that stupid irrational anger come from anyway? He, more than anyone else in this world, did not deserve to receive such unkind words from me.
A young man who had just finished a small sonatina walked back to his seat amongst enthusiastic clapping from the audience. Lady Barlow then rose and scanned the crowd, her face still alight with smiles. "Well, that was certainly lovely!" She exclaimed, playing with her own elaborate wrap and boa.
Then her eyes settled on me. My heart rose in my throat and I knew a deadly panic. Could I plead a cold tonight? Oh please, no! Not with him watching!
"My divine Comtesse de Chagny! You once promised me that you would sing for me, but I have yet to hear your lovely voice! Come, child, and don't be afraid!"
"I…I have a cold," I protested weakly.
She laughed, "Nonsense! It is my birthday, and I will absolutely love anything you do!"
Lucien was sitting up now, interested. He rubbed at his eyes and looked at me expectantly. The entire room slowly craned their necks in my direction, and I knew I had no choice but to rise. Meg alone appeared to share my panic, and her hand momentarily tightened around mine as I stood up.
"Excellent!" Lady Barlow rushed to my side and began to escort me to the piano. "Oh, and you will need accompaniment, won't you? I have the most wonderful idea!"
I did not think it could have gotten much worse than this. She abandoned me by the piano and waved happily at none other than the last man I wanted to see right now.
"My good friend, Monsieur D'Artois," she motioned at Erik, who sat beside Renois with the stoniest expression I had ever seen. "A composer, and you have yet to perform anything for us! Accompany the girl, or perhaps you two could sing a duet?"
My heart dropped from my throat and down to my toes where it began to writhe.
Erik obediently followed Lady Barlow's command, and I marveled at his composure that betrayed nothing but easy compliance. "Anything for you, Elizabeth," he told her silkily, coming to sit upon the bench for the majestic piano.
"What will you sing?" She asked me, her eyes alight with expectation as she went back to her seat in the front row.
I glanced helplessly at Erik, and for the first time he met my eyes. A deadly, manipulative smile appeared on his lips that held no kindness for me. "Something contemporary," he informed the room, although he continued to stare at me. "I am sure the Comtesse will recognize it."
When he struck the first unforgiving chords upon the subservient keys of the piano, my knees nearly gave way. The notes were gentle and coercive; they were meant to lull the listener to a place of security, but all I could feel was the inferno rising to greet me.
When Erik began to sing, I could practically feel the simultaneous intake of breath in the room. Into his words, he poured all his soul and every emotion that he had ever had possessed, but I was sure that only I could feel the concealed cruelty in those melodious tones.
"No more talk of darkness; forget these wide-eyed fears," he sang, looking at me all the while. "I'm here, nothing can harm you – my words will warm and calm you."
I nearly began to weep as he continued to sing. How could he! How could he continue to do such hateful things? This song – these words did not and could not ever belong to him! They were something precious; something unique I had shared with Raoul and Raoul alone! I knew so little of my husband now that it was the worst crime imaginable to steal one of my last fond memories of him!
I did not know if I felt hate or sorrow; I had to sing. I did not try to hide my voice or conceal my skill; all I could do was sing from my heart and try not to cry. "Say you love me every waking moment; turn my head with talk of summertime." I turned my side to the crowd and moved closer to him, my fingers trailing over the carved framework of the piano, "Say you need me with you, now and always…promise me that all you say is true. That's all I ask of you."
We knew each other well, and it showed. Our voices melded together perfectly, spiraling through the notes and confidently making every jump between octaves. We trusted each other to complete the music; to make it a whole as we sang. There was no world any more; there was only us and the music we shared.
Petty human emotions suddenly became things of no consequence. There was no hatred or love either; everything blurred and melted into the element that was the music. Dimly, I saw Lady Barlow and her guests staring at us wide-eyed, but there was nothing to stop us. Meg's frightened glance did not matter; Adelle's shocked expression was unimportant; Renois' blatant detestation was laughable.
When we reached the climax, I found myself sitting beside him, our eyes locked even as he continued to play mechanically.
"Anywhere you go, let me go too," we both sang softly, "Love me, that's all I ask of you."
After the last chord was struck, the room sat in perfect silence. Erik and I continued to stare at each other as we returned to the corporeal world. Slowly, I began to shake as the last of the magic dissipated and I recalled those emotions that Erik had dispelled with the power of his song.
There was the sudden sound of a clap, followed by another, until the whole room rose in appreciation. I did not turn to look, for all I could do was look at Erik helplessly as I lost all control and fought to breathe. I rose shakily, supporting myself against the piano, and nearly crumpled despite my efforts. When Erik moved to support me, I beat his hand away and stepped back.
I shook my head and stumbled away. "Don't touch me!" It was childish, I knew, but I had never been so utterly consumed by hate in my life. This was not the illogical anger of earlier; this was the cold, brutal truth. Of everything he could have done to me, this was the worst. To tease me with the song and words of Raoul!
When I dared to look at him again, I saw that for the very first time, an unendurable sadness had registered across Erik's face. It was the same look of tragedy that had defeated him all those years ago as he forced me to make my choice beneath the Opera Populaire. It was that unspoken plea for forgiveness; the look that had driven me to pity and to even believe that I loved him!
But I would not be taken for a fool twice! "You…I hate you," I hissed quietly. Although my voice was low, it was enough to send the room into a quiet shock. Everyone stared at us now not with admiration, but with bewilderment.
I could not face anyone in that room anymore!
I began to back out of the room. I walked slowly at first, not caring that Adelle reached for me or that Meg addressed me plaintively. I heard none of the confused murmurs floating around the room as I turned my back and quickened my pace into a dash. I wanted no one to follow me; I wanted to see no one ever again.
As I disappeared up the stairs, I heard the single utterance of my name that I least wanted. "Christine!"
Erik was calling for me.
And still, I ran.
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A/N: I swear that all will be explained next chapter! The author isn't just inserting every soap-opery-random-angsty thing she can think of. Seriously!
I hope no one laughed at this chapter too much. Thanks for even sitting through it!