Chapter Three
Christine had always been an early riser. The day after Raoul had arrived she awoke at six thirty in the morning and couldn't get back to sleep. She washed and pulled out a simple day dress. Her father would probably want her to wear something a little more elegant but Christine had already decided that she wasn't going to change her habits to suit their guests. She usually wore simple clothes and they were far more comfortable than anything he would want her to wear.
She pinned her hair up out of the way and made her way downstairs. Her father would probably be in his study, working on a bill or some sort of order. He always seemed to have something to do, even this early in the morning. She worried about him lately. He seemed to be ill a lot of the time, although he insisted he was well. She'd have to talk to the physician about him.
She walked along a corridor with the vague idea of getting a cup of tea when she heard music. It was coming from her music room. Normally Christine would have been furious that someone was touching her instruments without permission but the sound that was drifting through the corridors was inhumanly beautiful.
She didn't recognise the piece. It sounded bittersweet and, in some places, almost dangerous, as though it were foretelling of some great arrival. Christine moved slowly to the door of the music room and looked inside, opening the door just a crack.
A man was sat at the piano, his back to her. Christine stood in the doorway, feeling as though she were in a dream as the sound of the music floated over her. It didn't even feel like music, it felt as though it were more than that, something more ethereal. It made her heart want to burst right out of her chest and fly to the heavens and laugh for pure joy.
The music faded away, leaving her breathless. The man sat perfectly still and then his head turned slowly until his eyes met hers. Christine felt nervous, although she knew it was ridiculous. This was her home for goodness sake! And this man was the one who had intruded on her private room. She stared at him, taking in his features, the most obvious one being the mask that covered the right hand side of his face. It was made of white porcelain and it would have looked odd on anyone else, but it seemed to suit him. His hair was dark, almost black and his eyes were piercingly green, almost turquoise in colour. Christine couldn't deny that he was handsome. But the irritation that he should sit there and stare at her, as though accusing her even though it was her room drove any thoughts of his attractiveness away.
The man looked at her for a moment before standing.
"It is considered polite to introduce yourself." He said in a calm voice. Christine stared at him and then decided to play along.
"Then introduce yourself, sir." She said, with a sweet smile. His eyebrow arched and his lips quirked into a faint smile.
"I, Mademoiselle, am Erik Destler, Royal Pianist to the de Chagny family."
"Oh, really? That would explain the music. Which was beautiful, by the way." Christine said, gesturing at the piano. Erik nodded his thanks and then considered her again. Christine wanted to laugh. Dressed like this, no one would have considered her a princess. But it was entertaining.
"I believe it is your turn for an introduction, now I have announced myself." He said. Christine smiled slightly and moved towards him, holding out her hand to shake his. It was gloved, black leather, she noticed.
"I, Erik Destler, am Christine Daae."
His eyes widened briefly and then he placed a kiss on the back of her hand.
"The renowned beauty, Princess Christine Daae?" He smirked. Christine forced herself not to blush, knowing that was what he wanted. She lifted an eyebrow.
"Not my words, Monsieur Destler. I can assure you of that."
"But accurate, nonetheless." He commented. Christine couldn't help the slight flush this time and instead decided it was her turn to embarrass him.
"I was told you were skilled with the piano. I see now that those rumours were not unfounded."
"Not just with piano. I do play a variety of instruments. I just happen to be best at the piano." He said. Christine smiled.
"I hope to hear you again."
"Perhaps. Excuse me, your Highness." He walked past her to the door and left.
Christine stared after him and then sighed, sitting at the piano. She should probably warn Raoul that his pianist was extremely odd. She placed her hands on the keys. They were slightly warm. She ran her fingers over the keys without pressing them, wondering if she would ever be able to produce a sound as beautiful as the one Erik Destler had.
It did not seem likely. She sighed and began to play, her eyes on the music before her. It was a challenging piece but she was steadily working her way through it. That was how she worked now. Choose a piece that looked interesting, that would keep her busy learning it and then practise until it was perfected.
As she allowed the music to engulf her, delighting in the way she could make such a wonderful sound simply by dancing her fingers over the piano keys, she had no idea that just outside the door Erik Destler was listening curiously.
"Erik? Oh, he's been with the family for at least ten years now." Sorelli said as she and Christine walked around the gardens. "Did you enjoy hearing him play?"
"I've never heard anything like it, Sorelli. It was…" Words failed her. Sorelli smiled.
"He is good, isn't it?"
"He's more than good. He's amazing. I mean, I've been playing the piano for as long as I can remember, but I'd never be able to play like that, not if I lived forever and practised everyday!" Christine said exasperatedly.
She was being rather childish, she knew. She had always prided herself in being good at music. And all that had vanished in a five minute talk with Erik Destler. Sorelli laughed.
"Erik has been playing his whole life. He has devoted his life to music. Nothing has ever distracted him from it." She seemed to be trying to get a meaning across and Christine quickly understood.
"No women?"
"None at all. Not whilst I've known him at least, and if you asked Philippe he could probably confirm it. He doesn't care for company as a rule. He and Raoul get on well though. Raoul's probably the closest thing Erik has to a friend."
Whilst Christine digested this new information Sorelli snapped a flower off a bush and smelled the delicate scent, twirling the stalk between her fingers. Christine watched for a moment before asking,
"What about family?"
"He has none, that I know of. You have to understand that very few people actually talk to Erik and when they do he rarely lets anything slip about himself. He's a very private person."
"Just one more question." Christine promised. Sorelli laughed.
"I had no idea you were so inquisitive!"
"I promise, this is the last one."
"Very well." Sorelli said, settling on a bench. Christine smiled and then asked,
"Why does he wear a mask?"
Sorelli's smile faded into a strange expression. A mixture of thoughtfulness and reluctance.
"I honestly do not know. No one has ever seen him without his mask. I doubt anyone ever will. I remember the first time I met him, Philippe warned me not to ask about the mask. I understand that he is somewhat… well, I assume there is a reason for the mask and I've never asked. Not just because Philippe told me not to but because it wouldn't be polite. It would be best if you just ignored the mask, Christine."
Christine considered the information, or rather, the lack of it, and reached for a rose, snapping it from the plant. It was dark red. She considered it and then held it limply between her fingers as her thoughts wandered back to Erik Destler.
"Ah, there you are Christine." Charles said, appearing in the doorway to his study as she and Sorelli returned from their walk. "May I have a word?"
"Of course, Papa." Christine followed him into the study, closing the door behind her. Charles sat at his desk and smiled at her as she sat down.
"How are you getting along with our guests?" He asked.
Christine eyed him.
"You wouldn't be seeing how I'm getting along with Raoul, now, would you Papa?"
"Of course not, my dear." Charles said cheerfully. Christine rolled her eyes.
"Have I told you how terribly unsubtle you are?"
"On many occasions. Are you going to indulge your old Papa?"
"As a matter of fact I haven't seen Raoul today. I believe he and Philippe have gone horse-riding. I spent the morning practising music and took a walk with Sorelli just now. Oh, and I met the pianist, Erik Destler."
"Oh, really? What did you think?"
"As a musician, he's breath-taking. As a person he's, frankly, rather strange." Christine said. Charles sighed.
"You never were one to mince your words, Christine. But you will be polite?"
"I always am, Papa." She said sweetly.
Charles was about to reply but he suddenly began to cough. Christine jumped up and poured him some water.
"Papa, what's wrong?" She asked, rather frightened. He dismissed it with a smile, sipping the water.
"Just a tickle in my throat."
"Shouldn't you see the physician? I'll fetch him."
"No, there's no need to bother Firmin. I'm fine. You go on. I have a few pieces of work to catch up on." Charles said cheerfully, reaching for his paperwork.
Reluctantly Christine left the room. When he was sure that she was gone, Charles reached into the drawer of his desk and pulled out a small box. Taking two pills from inside the box, he swallowed them with some water, trying to ignore the rank, bitter taste. He put the box away and started to make notes on a message from the court.
Sorelli had gone to lie down, so Christine went to the library. She examined the rows of books before selecting one of folk tales and settled down to read it, perched on the windowsill, basking in the warm sunlight.
She soon lost herself in a world of faeries and goblins, dragons and brave knights on horseback, as well as the usual ones of princesses in the hands of evil witches, wizards, monsters etc. Christine had always found the princesses in these stories a little tiresome. When she was six and had started to read these stories for herself, she had developed an instant dislike for the idea that she was simply supposed to wait for her 'knight in shining armour' to come galloping along and save her.
Therefore she had insisted to her Papa that she learn how to fight with a sword. One thing she'd learnt early on was that her father was easily manipulated. It helped that he adored her and would probably give her anything she asked for, within reason. Yet he really had put his foot down about this Raoul situation. Anyway, he'd agreed to fencing lessons.
Thus Christine considered herself well equipped to combat any dragons/witches/wizards/monsters that might come lurking around.
"Good book?"
She looked up. Raoul was standing in the doorway. Christine smiled.
"I suppose."
"You've been staring at that same page for a while now."
"I was just thinking about princesses." She said. He looked puzzled and she explained her theory. "So you see, if their fathers had just given them fencing lessons, they wouldn't have such a problem." She finished solemnly.
Raoul simply looked at her and then started to laugh. Christine glowered at him.
"Fine, be that way."
"I'm sorry. I just… I never expected someone to think of something quite so…" His laughter overcame him. Christine couldn't help smiling.
"But it's a good idea! If a dragon ever tries to kidnap me, I'll simply slay it. Providing I had my sword with me at the time. If not, my plan might not work."
"Well, I'll be sure to be on hand with a sword for you." Raoul said solemnly. Christine eyed him.
"Are you mocking me?"
"Of course not. But I might keep two swords. Just in case you need help."
She smiled briefly.
"That's very kind of you."
"I'm not claiming to have any knowledge of dragon slaying." He warned.
"We should research it. Who knows when that sort of knowledge could come to be useful?" Christine said seriously. Raoul nodded, also serious.
And then they both snorted with laughter. Christine got up and replaced her book on the shelf.
"What time is it?"
"About an hour before dinner. I really should go and start to get ready." Raoul said reluctantly.
"Consider yourself lucky, at least you don't have to wear a corset." Christine grumbled. Raoul grinned.
"Are they really that uncomfortable?"
"Have you ever tried squeezing your stomach into something that makes it twice as small lately? It's agonizing." Christine said dolefully.
"I suppose it would be." Raoul pondered as they left the library. Philippe was just rounding the end of the corridor and smiled at them both.
"Raoul, you should be getting ready for dinner."
"Yes, I was just saying that." Raoul said.
"Good. I'll see you both in the dining room. Do be quick, Raoul." He disappeared. Raoul sighed.
"I'd better go or else he'll sulk all evening."
Christine laughed and waved goodbye as she set off towards her room.
When Christine arrived for dinner with Marie Giry and Meg, her father was already sat, talking to Philippe and Sorelli who were sat to his right. On his left there was a space left for her and in the chair next to that sat Erik Destler. Marie and Meg took their chairs further down as Christine sat, noticing that Raoul was sat directly opposite her. Charles smiled at her.
"Had a nice day?"
"It was very… enlightening." Christine said, with a secretive smile as soup was placed before them.
"And what about you, Raoul?" Charles asked the prince who also smiled.
"Also enlightening. I found out some rather unusual things about dragons."
Christine, who had put a mouthful of soup in her mouth snorted with laughter and began to splutter on her food. She reached for her water glass and sipped it, gasping.
"I'm so sorry." She said, flushing red. Raoul couldn't help grinning and she rolled her eyes, smiling. Charles laughed.
"I suppose Christine has been talking about her theories when it comes to princesses."
"She has indeed." Raoul confirmed. Christine tried to look aloof.
"Well, I'm sorry Papa, but those storybook princesses annoy me. It's no wonder people expect me to be incapable of carrying out the most menial of tasks." She said.
The conversation turned from subject to subject, many of them rather dull in Christine's mind, although it kept Raoul, Philippe and Charles occupied and even Sorelli put a few thoughts in. Christine listened idly, but not really paying attention. After a while Charles looked at Erik Destler, who had remained silent throughout the meal.
"I trust you find the castle suits your needs, Monsieur Destler?"
"It does, your Majesty. I discovered a well-equipped music room and have very much enjoyed exploring it." He said, sipping from his wine.
"Ah, that would be Christine's room. She's very proud of it." Charles said. Erik's eyes fell upon Christine.
"You play all those instruments?"
"I'm learning." She replied with a slight smile.
"You'd learn more quickly if you'd let me hire you a teacher." Charles pointed out. Christine shook her head.
"No. What's the point in someone telling me how to play music? That's not why I love it. I love it because I figure out how to play it by myself, by exploring how it works and fits together until it sound perfect. If someone was telling me how to play, it would take away from it." She said vehemently.
Charles laughed and turned to speak with Philippe. Christine drank from her glass and noticed that Erik was watching her. She smiled.
"How did you find my instruments?"
"They were well made, although I found several to be out of tune. I corrected them."
"Thank you." She said, trying not to be irritated. After all, he was only helping. Erik nodded and then Christine asked,
"Do you love music?"
His green eyes met hers.
"Would I be a musician if I didn't?" He said simply. Christine blinked at his abruptness but Raoul asked her a question and she turned to answer.
It wasn't until she lay in bed that night that she thought about Erik Destler again. And even then it was with a burning curiosity about this strange man who clearly loved music more than people (although she could perfectly understand that attitude).
Who was Erik Destler? Who was the man behind the mask?