They had arrived by furiously whipped horseback at the sprawling de Chagny estate just as the first light of dawn had begun to streak the black sky with gold and crimson.
The entirety of the household staff was crowded in the residence, still awake. They had heard news of the catastrophe at the opera house and feared their masters' dead or seriously injured. A collective audible gasp was heard as the battered remains of the lovers entered the foyer.
Truly, they had not been expected alive by anyone.
The death of Philippe, and Raoul, as the heir to his title, would mean unrest amongst the relations as they each clamored for their share of the vast fortune. Not to mention the confusion surrounding the rightful heir to the title of "Viscount" if the last males of the blood line were suddenly dead. Unfortunately the untimely death of the first Philippe de Chagny and his wife, Claudia, had not settled the long standing blood feuds brimming underneath the de Chagny's veneer of respectability. Such things were common practice of course, especially amongst the haute ton, and no one had assumed that the brothers could be dead before they produced any male heirs of their own.
Philippe though was apparently still missing. And if he were not with Raoul and Christine, the nameless opera singer the Master romanced, who was currently draped in his arms like a straw doll, where exactly was the Viscount? And if he had in fact not survived this night-of-all-nights, the new Viscount then currently stood before them.
Marie, the oldest member of the staff had been with the family since her birth fifty-three years ago. She was the last in a line of faithful servants which had included her mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother who had been a slave of murky origin and no known country, bought and sold on the streets. For Marie, this was her home and family, the de Chagny children had been like her own, and gentle, kind Raoul had always been her dear old heart's favourite. Philippe much too rowdy and spoiled for her tastes. Now her dear boy limped before her, shirtless and broken, blood staining his porcelain skin.
She cried aloud, running to the young man. He carried the limp, semi-conscious form of Christine Daee in his weak arms. The girl was shivering like a leaf, her teeth chattering. In her delirium she moaned and ranted in a foreign tongue like one possessed. Most frightening of all was that her eyes stood stunned wide open as if she had seen an apparition not of this world and the sight had shocked her to lunacy.
"Look to her first" Raoul managed between panting breaths. "Look to her first, Marie!"
"Alfonso! The girl. Immediately!" She cried out authoritatively, her wits recovered, standing once more as the matron of the estate servants.
"Derrick! Fetch the doctor. Go! Ride as if the Devil were on your heels boy."
Christine began to scream, bloodcurdling screams of one who had clawed onto the edge of life and was shocked by what they found. Rolling her head back and forth, she gnashed her teeth like a rabid dog and continued her bizarre ravings as two servants strove desperately to subdue her flailing limbs lest they broke free and did harm to her person.
The household sprang to action immediately.
Shocked by the display and confusion, Raoul finally succumbed to his bodily trapping and allowed a sweet black release to cloud his senses as he fell into the arms of his dear maid and friend.
"So I am to have it all then? Am I?"
Propping himself wearily up onto his elbows, he carefully schooled his face into an impassive aristocratic glance despite the desperate aches and pains ripping through his bandaged arm and bruised limbs.
He was not in the mood for this today.
"Title? Lands? This estate and the others?"
"Yes Monsieur." Mr. Whittaker managed nervously.
"My bloodthirsty relations aren't clamoring to your offices with some false claim or another now?"
"Uh, no. Monsieur Viscount."
British Whitaker was twice Raoul's age, yet now he trembled before the youthful aristocrat who in one fell swoop had become one of the richest men in France at the tender age of two and twenty.
Raoul glanced down at the documents before him and silently signed his name, grateful for the solitude as Whitaker finally left his bedroom chambers.
It had been a mere three days since his and Christine's frantic escape from Hell itself. Today he awoke to the news that Philippe, his only brother, had been found dead outside the Opera's burnt stone skeleton. His neck was broken, probably whilst trying to escape the fire and confusion.
He narrowed his eyes in rage. "Probably."
It would not surprise him if that pitiful monster had……No… It would not surprise him one bit.
He banished the thought from his mind. It was a futile struggle. And alas, he would not even be granted a proper period of mourning for poor Philippe for there was much to do now. Much that the younger brother was not prepared for. As lads they had never been close, and Philippe's recent conduct towards Christine had driven a further rift.
Raoul bitterly remembered their last spoken words.
"You will not marry this nameless slattern Raoul. You are a de Chagny. Father would have forbidden it, and now, as I act in his stead, I forbid it as well."
Philippe had spoken coldly. No emotion in the words, just contempt.
"Watch your tongue brother. You lack the grace and magnanimity of father, so don't dare presume anything in his "stead", save for that worthless title you hold."
Raoul had matched his contempt. Syllable for syllable. Words aimed at his brother's heart to tear and damage but still that impeccable composure had held fast.
"Raoul, you are young and brash. Far too young and foolish to even begin to consider marriage! Make love to the girl brother, have your fun, but there it ends! If you insist on disobeying my word you will suffer the consequences, I warn you!"
"You dare threaten to disinherit me?" Damn Philippe, he always, always got the best of him.
"No brother. But all ties between you and I will be severed forever. Your entire family and all of Paris will follow suit. Is this girl-child you romance worth the price of your blood and honour? Is she brother?
I suggest you choose your words wisely and when the hot blood of lust between your thighs has cooled some measure! This is the last I will speak of this."
With that Philippe had stood, turned around, and walked coolly out of the parlour as if nothing had happened out of the ordinary.
They had ceased to speak after that, barely seeing one another other in the vast estate, each careful to keep out of the other's path.
He closed his eyes against the painful memory as a tidal wave of guilt washed over him.
Philippe had been a good man despite a somewhat stern countenance. He merely had too many worries on a mind already prone to severe anxiousness.
Raoul had stalked off that evening to Christine and on bended knee proposed to her. His love and honour for her made slightly bitter by the salt of his brother's coldness. And she had said yes, gently, with her eyes lowered and sweet tears in her beautiful eyes. Oh how he loved her. She would never know of Philippe's contempt for her and Raoul knew he would have done anything for her. Betray family, friends, and country to keep that smile on her face.
Now she slept in the adjacent room still troubled by tumultuous dreams that frightened Raoul to the core. He knew naught what she dreamt of, but whatever memories currently plagued her mind, they were torturing both her and him. What had happened to her in those caves before his arrival?
And on stage? Why had she ripped that monster's mask off? That was not the original plan. The police were to simply swoop in and surround him when he made his eventual appearance. It made no sense.
A mixture of jealousy and sadness flooded his veins as he remembered that fateful performance. The look on her face had been….God he didn't wish to think on it any further. It would be burned into his mind forever as it was, he knew this fully well, yet he also knew that he would never have the heart to bring it up to her. The answers frightened him.
And now? Now she was to become the bride of a viscount barely past his infancy.
A sharp rapping on the doors interrupted his gloomy musings.
Marie entered with the aging Dr. Pierre Kenneth behind her. "Raoul my dear boy!"
Raoul smiled, genuinely glad to see the man who had brought him into this world and tended to him faithfully and as a friend ever since.
"Pierre how fares Christine?" he inquired anxiously.
"I'm afraid Mme. Daee's suffered a great shock. It was a brain fever that she narrowly pulled through…"
He paused. Sighing at the look of distress on the youths face.
"Don't get yourself worked up Raoul. You have your own recovery to consider at the moment as well. This is not a matter of life and death. Mme. Daae is young and hardy, she will recover fully but…"
"Yes?" Raoul prompted, impatient.
"I do not know exactly what either you or the young Mademoiselle went through, and I will not pry. She will not speak of it. She fully skirts the issue in fact, with smiles, and idle conversation. I suggest that you do not bring it up to her either unless she wishes to speak of it first. You must take care not to let the girl get overly excited or vexed over any grievances that can be avoided. This ordeal has left her altered and she may regress if upset needlessly. I've bled her and she lays sleeping peacefully now, but when she awakes, her former strength must be recovered with good food and good rest. She is far too thin and frail."
"I have strength enough for both of us, my good doctor." He stated with the bold confidence of youth.
"Christine is under my protection, now, and forever."