A/N: What a shame – I was hoping that a certain part of this chapter would be a surprise. Well, I suppose it was pretty obvious what was going to happen. Enjoy anyway. And I apologize for that last dismal excuse of a chapter!
I'm going camping with my family for the next two weeks – so no updates until I get back. I'll be parted from my beloved computer, but I'll have a good old-fashioned notebook and pen, so I'll most undoubtedly have another chapter ready to type up.
Also, go read and review my other new one-shot, Namesake.
aleema-darkrose1: Keep in mind; she's very young! Where on earth was she supposed to run off to? I'm just trying to keep her in character. She is somewhat shallow and weak-minded. And also, she doesn't hate Raoul or anything. Even though she isn't in love with him, she still thinks of him as a good friend. Anyway, you'll just see what happens in these next couple chapters. :)
LoverofBalto: It seems as if everybody's already guessed. :sigh:
PhantomsHeart: Yes, I fence. And hurrah for DF:)
C.E. Hobbit: No problem. Gotta share the Kay love!
Aratari: In my mind, I have an image of Marie as very nice and kind but also a bit girly and excitable and eccentric. lol!
Nade-Naberrie: I am so glad somebody recognized what I was trying to portray! About how Christine would've lived her life. Sometimes I wonder if my little "undertones" are overlooked. :) And thanks about Raoul. I hate it when writers make him all abusive and evil. It may be very convenient for an E/C ending, but it just doesn't fit him.
Chapter 25The carriage ride to the Chagny mansion was a boisterous one – Christine's spirits were lifted by the lively banter between the family members, and though she had been somewhat melancholy that day, she found herself being easily caught up in the vibrant atmosphere.
She could hear the party before they reached it, the laughter and loud voices infiltrating the evening air and wafting through the streets. She craned her head against the window to see the manor come into view, the elaborate sculpture and moldings illuminated by the brilliant light shining through the many windows. She felt trepidation rise in her throat at the sight of the elegantly wrought balustrades and the looming stone façade – why do you care? You know you won't marry Raoul, these people mean nothing – but she pushed all anxious thoughts away, determined to enjoy the evening.
The carriage swept through the circular drive and the moment it stopped, a footman in livery hurried forward and opened the door, springing back to let the ladies out. Gravel crunched beneath Christine's feet as the group moved towards the wide set of stairs, light spilling out through the huge front doors and making her squint. Elegantly dressed men and women brushed past them, smiling widely and nodding as they greeted various other people. Almost all were wearing the tiny masks Christine had seen in shops for the past few weeks.
Her excitement was momentarily suppressed by as they reached the top of the stairs, and Raoul, seeming to sense her apprehension, slipped his arm through hers. "Relax, dear. There's no need to worry!"
She gave him a hesitant smile as they swept in through the doors.
The rooms were crowded with people; a feeling of great gaiety hummed through the air, and all around there were knots of people talking away as though starved for gossip. An attendant came to take their coats and hats, and she slipped on the little mask before giving the cloak to him. The mask covered very little of her face – mainly just her eyes and upper nose – but it gave her a strange feeling of protection, and she was pleased to have it in these strange surroundings.
"Would you like to meet my parents?" Raoul said into her ear. Christine glanced over at Marie – she and Francois had been immediately flocked to and they were busily chattering away. "Come," Raoul said, without giving her a chance to answer. "I'm sure they are in the ballroom."
As he led her through the throng, Christine stared at the graceful carvings on the high ceilings and ornate curtains and paintings. Certainly, Marie and her husband were very well off – he was a member of the gentry, after all – but she still marveled at the affluence displayed in the Chagny mansion, both in the décor and the ball's attendees. The ladies were draped in jewelry, swathed in rich fabrics and adorned with elegant baubles. She was no connoisseur on clothing, but during her weeks with Marie she had certainly learned more than ever before, and she could see wealth in the slightest cut of a tailcoat or an extra piece of fringe of a lady's dress.
"My dear nephew!" Raoul stopped short as he was approached by a middle-aged lady in an extraordinarily flounced and ruffled lavender gown and a mask to match. He took her hands and kissed her on both cheeks; "Good evening, Aunt!" he exclaimed, beaming down at her rounded wrinkled face. "Are you having a good time?"
"Yes indeed," she replied, dabbing at her nose with a lacy handkerchief, "Quite a bit rowdier than we used to be in my day, but enjoyable nonetheless!" She peered at Christine for a moment before Raoul introduced them.
"Christine, this is my mother's sister, Madame Claire Cherbourg. Aunt, this is Christine Daae – my fiancée".
Madame Cherbourg eyed her for a moment before saying slowly, "Ah, the singer?"
Christine swallowed and nodded. "Yes. A pleasure to meet you, Madame."
"A pretty thing, isn't she?" Madame Cherbourg replied in a somewhat patronizing voice.
Christine blushed, and Raoul smiled. "Yes, she is, isn't she? Now, if you'll excuse us, we're off to find my parents."
"That was dreadfully embarrassing," Christine muttered, clutching at Raoul's arm to avoid losing each other as they wove through the crowd. "It was obvious that she didn't like me at all."
"Nonsense. Aunt is always like that at first with everybody she meets."
Before they reached the ballroom, Raoul was stopped twice more and Christine was introduced to a Monsieur Chalutier – who looked her up and down in a rather suggestive way, and asked that she pen his name on her dance card – and a pair of giggling girls her age who flirted with Raoul in a way that would've made Christine quite jealous if she really were intending to marry him.
When they entered the ballroom, Christine couldn't help but gasp. The ceiling soared above her, the vast dome painted with cherubs and angels and a cloud-dotted blue sky. The huge room had a marble floor that shone in the bright light, and slender white columns flanked the two doorways – one of them being the entrance they stood in now, and the other being an exit to the vast gardens that she could just see through the wide doorway on the opposite side of the ballroom.
Musicians in tailcoats played a familiar waltz in the corner while couples swept across the room like a fairytale parade. But she was startled from her reverie at the enchanting sight when Raoul exclaimed, "Ah, Christine, here are my parents!"
Christine turned to see the Chagnys standing before her. "Mother, Father," Raoul was saying, "This is my fiancée, whom you have heard so much about. Christine, these are my parents, the Comte and Comtesse Philibert and Moerogis de Chagny."
The Comtesse reminded her of a statue – tall, grand, beautiful, but with little expression on her face and a coldness about her. She wore no mask, and her eyes regarded Christine coolly as she nodded in her direction. Christine bobbed her head nervously, feeling somehow like a small child who had just been reprimanded. "It is… nice to finally meet you, Miss Daae," the Comtesse said softly, but despite her quiet tone her voice carried a certain condescending authority, along with all her culture and high breeding.
"And you, Comtesse," Christine replied. The Comte was not so forbidding – he had soft blue eyes that matched Raoul's exactly, and what seemed like an easy, straightforward disposition. "If my son wants to marry a singer, well then, I suppose that's his own business," he said with a shrug, gaining him a shocked glare from the Comtesse and a blush from Christine. But there was no malice in his words, and though he eyed her calmly and aloofly, she sensed a friendliness about him.
The Chagnys were soon distracted by another couple; Christine was pleased that she had been able to retain her dignity throughout the meeting. "Shall we dance?" Raoul asked, and, with a smile, she agreed.
"There, that was not so bad, was it?" he said as he led her out onto the floor.
"No," she agreed, slipping the loop of her gown over her wrist as to not trip over her train as she danced. She smiled at the familiar strains of the waltz, and Raoul grinned back at her, taking her hand and sweeping her across the floor.
When the set was over, Raoul went to fetch them both refreshments. While he was gone Christine danced with three other men, including the unavoidable young Monsieur Chalutier, who boasted of his houses and horses during the entire set. He was attempting to insist on another dance when luckily Raoul returned with the drinks. Christine was most grateful for the rescue, and told Raoul so, and he laughed.
"Chalutier is a cad," he chuckled as he downed his drink.
"That I could see," Christine declared, and Raoul smiled and guided her out onto the floor
"After this set, I'll introduce you to the rest of my family," he said thoughtfully as they glided across the marble floor, settling into the pattern and steps of the waltz. "Then, before the start of the midnight supper, I shall announce our engagement! How does that sound?"
Christine's heart began to beat wildly in her chest – she stared up at Raoul's black and white mask, into the shining blue eyes behind it. "I…" the words caught in her throat.
"Yes?" he pressed.
"Just… please don't, Raoul!" The exclamation spilled out and she nearly tripped over her feet as he stopped her.
"What?"
She glanced around – they were in the middle of the floor, and Raoul stared at her for a moment before taking up her hand again.
"Christine," he began bemusedly as they spun slowly around the room. "Why ever don't you want me to announce our engagement?"
She couldn't give him a valid reason – at least, not one that he would accept. She couldn't tell him the truth; who knew what he would do? It endangered both Erik and herself.
"Raoul, I… I…" Nothing came to her lips, and she was left gaping like a fish as Raoul stared down at her. She felt suddenly stifled by the crowded ballroom.
"I need some air," she faltered, dropping Raoul's hand and heading towards the exit. "Please, give me a moment…" Raoul tried to follow her but she waved him off, dashing quickly between the dancers.
She hurried out the doorway and out onto the wide terrace, sucking in a breath of the cool night air. God, what was she to do? How could she blatantly tell Raoul to call off their engagement?
She went to rub her eyes but found the mask obstructing her way. "Ridiculous thing," she muttered as she slipped it off, massaging her eyes with her fingertips as she walked along the gravel pathway.
Even this brief respite in the garden was refreshing – the hedges were tall and neatly clipped, forming a sort of small maze surrounded by walkways and flowers, benches and trees and several fountains. It was beautiful under the sliver of moon; maybe she would walk here later tonight. But now, she must return; Raoul would come and fetch her if she did not.
With a sigh, she turned back to the house, gathering her skirts in one hand as she stepped up through the doorway. Raoul was off in a corner joking loudly with several other young men; she replaced her mask and sank into one of the velvet-padded chairs to watch the dancers spin by. There was a group of young women sitting close to her who began whispering immediately; Christine tried her best to ignore them. Although she knew these girls meant nothing – especially since she would not marry Raoul – it is never a pleasant task to sit calmly while you know you are being gossiped about.
Christine was tapping her feet to the lively tune, humming under her breath, when she saw Raoul gesturing to her from the other side of the room. She raised her hand to let him know she was coming, deciding to wait until the dance was over to more easily move amongst the crowd. He nodded and smiled at her, and turned back to his companions.
She had only a minute or two to wait until the set was over, and she stood to make her way along the wall towards Raoul. Another waltz was starting, and she didn't want to be caught up in the flurry of whirling skirts and gliding couples.
Abruptly her hand was snatched up and she stumbled over the hem of her gown as she was pulled out onto the floor and up against a man's chest.
"Monsieur!" she protested as she attempted to get her bearings, struggling to find her feet as the stranger twirled her gracefully around the vast room. She caught up her gown quickly with her hand and slipped the loop over her wrist, becoming lightheaded for a moment as the floor seemed to spin beneath her feet. She turned her gaze to the strange man who held her. "Monsieur, if you wanted to dance, you need only have… asked…"
Her sentence trailed away as she stared up at the black mask that covered the man's face. It was much larger than the petite masks of the others… larger than the mask of Don Juan, she found herself thinking. But it wasn't the mask that kept her gaze riveted – it was the jade eyes behind them that made her gasp in recognition.
"Erik," she whispered, and a tiny smirk appeared on that face she knew so well.
"I do believe this is the second party I've attended without an invitation," he murmured. "I hope you'll forgive me."
"Oh – don't tease me!" she gasped, letting her forehead touch his shoulder for a moment as he tightened his hand on her waist. She raised her head and stared at him again. "It is you!"
"How good of you to notice," he replied, his expression solemn but a gleam of amusement in his eyes.
"Erik, I…" she sucked in a breath. "I can't talk like this, while we're dancing; I'll get dizzy. Please, can we go outside?"
"Why of course." Erik let her go and gestured for her to precede him; with one last glance at him she hurried out to the gardens.
As soon as the darkness enveloped her she whirled to face him, grasping the lapels of his jacket and pressing her cheek to his chest. They stood in silence for a long, long moment. She could hear crickets in the garden, and the faint laughter of people strolling along the walkways and hedges.
"Oh, Erik," she whispered, "I'm sorry… so sorry for everything…"
She felt his hands on the small of her back, and the gesture seemed to spur her on. "I was afraid," she continued, "So afraid you had just left for good! That you had become sick of me, sick of my childishness and all the silly things I do, and everything I ever did that hurt you – "
"Hush," he said firmly. "You're rambling. If you don't cease and desist, I really shall leave you." She let out a muffled laugh into his jacket.
"Oh, how I've missed you," she murmured, snaking her arms around his neck and holding him close. "It was so hard after what… happened, in my room."
He was silent. "Christine – I've done atrocious things. I wouldn't blame you if you could not find it in you to forgive me."
"It is not you that needs forgiving." she pulled back, staring into his shadowy face. "I have had a lot of time to think, Erik. And I know now… it is I that must beg your apology."
He looked startled and wary. "Pray, continue."
She swallowed. "I am the one who has done terrible things. I know that I've hurt you… for the few times you've hurt me, I've wounded you tenfold."
He barked out a disbelieving laugh. "I cannot believe I'm hearing this."
"Does it shock you so?"
"Yes. You're telling me that all the butcheries I have committed are no worse than the things you've done in your mere naivety?"
"They are different… in a way."
A giggling young couple brushed past them, and Erik murmured, "Perhaps we should relocate ourselves." He slipped his arm through hers and they moved off down one of the wide gravel walkway that wound through the garden. In a grove of blossoming trees there was a bench, and he drew her down to sit on it.
There was quiet for a while. They could hear the noise emanating from the Chagny house, the strains of the music and the lively laughter.
After a time she cleared her throat, linking her hands loosely in her lap. "I want things to be as they were before, Erik," she began.
"When you thought I was an angel sent by your late father?"
She frowned at him, but her mouth couldn't help but twist into a smile at the sight of the twinkle in his eyes.
"Don't mock me! You know perfectly well what I meant."
He sobered. "I do. But it may not be possible for things to continue as they were."
"Why not?"
"You know more about my past than you most likely ever wanted to. That surely will change your perspective of me."
She opened her mouth to protest but he silenced her with a severe look. "Let me finish."
He took a deep breath and continued. "I've killed both in the distant and recent past. I don't expect you will ever forget it. I just beg you to forgive it."
"But, Erik, I have forgiven you – "
"I didn't say to forgive me… I said to forgive my actions. Those are two entirely different things. I just ask you to put those memories aside and look at me for what I am now, not what I was then."
She stared at him for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "Of course, Erik," she whispered, a tentative smile blossoming on her face. "Sometimes I feel… I could forgive you anything. And I do. All that happened in Persia… Joseph Buquet, Piangi… the morphine – "
"What?" His back was suddenly ramrod straight, and he stared down at her with startled dismay. "What do you know about – the morphine?"
She bit her lip. "I… I saw the bruises. On your arm. I didn't know what they were at first, but later I recalled seeing similar marks before on a baritone who eventually left the Opera... Paul d'Auger, do you remember him?"
Erik nodded distractedly, and Christine continued. "Well, after he left, one of the other dancers mentioned that he had been caught with morphine more than once. And I knew then that that was where those marks had come from."
She finished, and Erik was quiet for a moment, gazing off into the nearby trees that hid them from view of the manor. "You know about the morphine," he breathed, "And you don't care?"
"I care – but it won't stop me from loving you." She looked away for a heartbeat or two. "But what is astonishing is that you still continue to love me."
He let out a sound of derision. "What on earth could have planted that idea in your head?"
"Well, the rage that you flew into, for one."
His jaw tightened. "I was angry at you, yes – very angry, I will admit. But did you honestly think I would abandon you out of pride, or resentment, or whatever you thought it was?"
She didn't reply, and there was a long silence as they merely eyed each other, their expressions speaking volumes that simple speech could never attempt. After a pause Erik extended his hand slowly to her face, brushing his knuckles along her jaw line. A stray curl had loosened itself from her elegant chignon, and he rubbed it between his fingers for a moment before tucking it behind her ear.
"If you ever thought I would leave you, Christine," he said softly, "Then you are indeed a very silly girl."
He let his fingers fall from her cheek, clasping her hand in both of his and bringing it to his lips. "As you are mine," he murmured, placing a soft kiss on her knuckles. "I am yours."
Christine had tilted her head forward to press her lips to his when they heard the sound of scuffing gravel, and turned their heads to see Raoul in a dead halt with an expression of utter shock on his masked face.