Ch.7: Watched by the Angels

Raoul de Chagney laid nearly facedown on the chess table, the pieces mercilessly poking him in the eye. He was still in his clothes from the ball, but looked as if he'd been wearing the suit in all elements for months. The maid, Sophie, stayed out of the way as much as possible, drawing close only to give him food, for he had not the initiative to find food himself.

He rubbed his face roughly, as if he were trying to get rid of the ashen pallor that had taken over his complexion. It would never go away, along with that unspeakable shock that had settled over his mind like a cloud ever since his chum had whispered those hellish words in his ear. All he could think about was Christine. The monstrous thoughts of another man holding her in his arms were branded on his brain. Here he was, waiting until his wife got home, to beg her forgiveness for a crime he didn't commit.

This would all work out fine in the end, wouldn't it?

Moments later, when Sophie entered the room with a platter of delicious breakfast foods did he snap back to unforgiving reality. " Sophie," He moaned, " What did I do wrong? Where did I slip up that drove her to do this?" The servant looked positively petrified, but managed to fabricate an answer in her heavy Irish brogue. " Ah, sir, you did nothing wrong. It was only her decision if she wanted to do the same." Raoul blinked at these wise words and gently took the tray from her pudgy hands. " Thank you, Sophie. Take the day off. I have some thinking to do."

Sophie grinned her nearly toothless grin and hurried out the door, wrestling with her threadbare cloak all the way. Raoul landed heavily onto the couch and stared at the ceiling for what seemed like hours, until a loud knock sounded at the door. " Come in." The Vicomte waved stupidly at the threshold.

A trail of heavy footsteps startled him, and he looked up to find his old comrade, Russell, doubled up with booming laughter. " Russell! So, erm, pleased to see you again. What's so funny?" Raoul's friend banged a gigantic fist on the chess set, sending pieces flying into the air.

"You, that's what's so funny! You mope about like some lovesick adolescent!" Raoul's hazel eyes narrowed in silent fury. " Christine just ran off in the wake of a rumor." Russell said nothing, lighting a cigarette nonchalantly. Upon letting out a sickening cloud of smoke, he choked and sputtered, " Christine? Oh, dear god. Do you know where she is right now?" Raoul perked up like a terrier. " No…"

Russell puffed out his chest triumphantly. " I saved her life, monsieur. The poor chicken slipped off the dock and hit her head." Raoul jumped to his feet at once. " Is she alright? Where can I find her?" The poor man snatched the front of Russell's jacket, nearly hysterical. " I'm not sure, but a noisy old woman came and took her away. Disagreeable, creature, she was. Wore a ridiculous black bonnet." He furrowed his brow in mock confusion. Raoul realized at once that she was with Madame Giry. Now, Christine was at the opera house, possibly with him.

Before he could begin his lament, Russell produced two large bottles of Irish whiskey from his pockets, passing one casually to Raoul. The man studied the amber liquid thoughtfully, then uncorked the bottle and took a huge swig. Russell did the same and raised his ale in a toast. " To old friends," He said with a hint of a slur, " and to the sweet relief of brewski." It was a weak toast, but Raoul accepted and continued to down his drink, wanting to lose himself from the jealousy and sadness.

Delight sat on the floor of the lair, lazily drawing on a scrap of parchment. She knew it was early in the morning, and it was so unlike her father to be caught out in the daytime. As she continued to blot the paper with the red ink, a violent splashing sound aroused her annoyance. The girl threw down her drawing and scampered into the main chamber to see what all the fuss was about.

Sure enough, it was her papa, and did he ever look angry. No, it wasn't just angry, it was confused also. He didn't seem to notice her, but stormed right into his room and bolted the door promptly. Delight rolled her eyes. She was sure that somebody had once before told her that her father was a drama queen. Who had said that? Oh yes, It was Christine.

The girl sat down on the stone floor and curled herself into a tiny ball. Christine. Although she didn't know why their meetings had ended, or why they had been introduced in the first place, Delight missed her in an odd way.

With her father stewing in the next room like a pouting child, She decided to do something that was forbidden to her: venture beyond the lake.

Delight took the gigantic oar and clumsily began to paddle away from her home. The mildew-covered walls didn't frighten her, for she was used to them. When she reached the opposite stone bank. She tied the gondola in a prim knot to an iron ring and scurried up the staircase to the strange, exciting world above.