If you've read Wuthering Heights (which you should by the way) the conversation between Giry and Christine might seem familiar, no infrigement is intended but I can't get the Erik/Heathcliffe similarities outta mind. Enjoy.
"Raoul, please. This is getting quite ridiculous. I'm hardly an invalid now am I?"
Christine eyed the proffered spoon and its' heaping contents with a grimace. Groaning at the beseeching look he threw her way; she obligingly opened her mouth and downed the contents, scowling at the thick blandness of the concoction as it unwillingly slid down her throat.
Looking at his face again, she could not help but laugh at the prim-mouthed expression he wore.
"Darling…" he sighed wearily at her petulant pouting. "We go over the same territory time and time again. Dr. Kenneth says you must, and frown though you may, he is the best physician in all of Paris."
Raoul smiled inwardly as Christine rolled her eyes, accepting yet another spoonful of stew nonetheless. Enjoying, ever so slightly, her reluctant submission to his administrations, he bowed his head in mock-shame, sighing with deep exaggeration.
"And just look at how I debase myself." He continued sorrowfully. "A Viscount reduced to a mere wet-nurse!"
Christine laughed gaily at his antics. "Pretty you may be my darling, but if I may venture to say it aloud, you'd make an ugly woman regardless!"
"Oh but it is indeed so." He continued with the same seriousness, though the faintest glimmer of a smile twitched the corner of his lips. "The servants are all a-gossip, and Paris Herself laughs at how absurdly and unabashedly I worship a disobedient shrew!"
Casting the offending bowl aside, he finally succumbed to peals of laughter as Christine beat him enthusiastically with a rather firm cushion.
"And all of Paris must then know how my husband-to-be abuses me mercilessly with copious amounts of beef stew!" She laughed at his appearance, hair disheveled from her ministrations with the cushion. "Tell me dear, endless weeks of this awful fare, and has the kitchen seen fit to use a fresh cow-carcass at the very least!"
She whined pathetically but to no avail, as he yet again picked up the accursed bowl.
"Stew and bread and stew and yet again, stew! Stew all the time. Stew everywhere! Breakfast, lunch, dinner 'tis stew all the same! I dream of stew…"
Christine smiled broadly under the hand that Raoul clamped over her mouth. Letting his hand slack at her silence, he gently caressed her lips and cheek. A look of wonder overcame his features as he gazed at the beauty that had obsessed him as a boy so long, even after they had parted ways. It had captured him again as a man and he was fair certain that his Christine was no ordinary mortal woman. Did other men love as such?
"We must be mindful my love." He murmured, planting a shivering kiss on her alabaster cheek. "And besides." He continued slowly, his face serious one more. "I merely seek to have the plumpest bride in all of France by my side!" Laughing happily at her outraged cry, he once again gave himself to the assailing cushion.
Catching her arms, she offered no resistance, but eagerly leaned forward to meet his mouth in a deep kiss. If only they could remain forever thus, locked in each other's arms, a moment of rare and pure happiness for once not tainted by bitterness or memories he desperately sought to evade. It had been six weeks since that fateful flight from Hell. She had suffered more then he could ever truly begin to decipher. Waking from her unconsciousness, fresh off the terrifying brain fever that would have surely claimed a weaker woman, Christine had been morose and withdrawn for weeks. She had tried to cover that up under her smiles and chatter but Raoul could see in her eyes that she did it as a show for him. His heart had ached at the pain he could not cease, and was powerless against.
But then, her façade had stripped away, her smiles had become genuine and her eyes sparkled with all the freshness of youth once again. He answered the return of her sunshine with all the force of love his soul contained. She still had not spoken aught of what she had endured, but he was heedful of Kenneth's words and would not pry. In truth, he did not wish her to speak of it. If some miracle of God could erase clean her mind of all the memories of pain she harboured within her heart, he willed selfishly that it would be done so and replaced with him instead. He had love and life enough for both of them his naïve heart believed; enough to tide them through whatever darkness might attempt assault.
"Well now, if you two insist on carrying on like this I shall have to appoint a much better chaperone then mother here."
Meg skipped gleefully inside, fresher then the basket teeming with roses she carried. Her mother entered behind in her usual dignified straight-backed manner, smiling nonetheless at her daughter's teasing jests.
"I'm afraid we've robbed your rose gardens fair clean out of bloom."
"My gentle lady, they are yours for the taking!" Raoul exclaimed. "Christine insists on naught but pure-white lily's for our wedding day."
"Ah yes but those will look lovely in here." Christine mused, standing to divest Meg of her basket.
"We'll leave the thorns on though, I've always thought a rose without thorns is bereft of all its beauty."
Meg started at her strange wistful tone, choosing to bite her tongue at the odd comment. Mother and Raoul stood off engrossed in their talk of Isabella, Raoul's youngest sister, scant married a year to a much older Marquise who was at present ailing rapidly. They expected the rich bastard dead any day now. Even her serious mother was not immune to gossip it seemed.
Christine was rubbing a pink petal between her fingers. "It feels just like flesh Meg."
She shivered, dropping the flower, impervious to Meg's curious stare.
Resuming her cheery nature as fast at she had dropped it, Christine laughed and clapped her hands like an excited child, grabbing Meg and leading her to a seat. "We have much yet to plan, Oh Meg! In a mere month I shall be a bride and nothing is prepared! "
Meg laughed, relishing in her friend's obvious joy and forgetting about her odd statement.
"Yes!" She said. "We must prepare for the most glorious bride the haute ton have ever lain their beady, over-bred eyes on!" Smiling mischievously at Raoul, she added "Excepting you, of course, My Lord Viscount!"
Mme. Giry frowned at the girl's insolence but Raoul merely laughed good-naturedly and strode across the room to rumple Meg's hair as she protested to no avail.
The nuptials were a month away and the two girls, ever thick as clotted cream, spent countless idle hours chattering, planning, and scheming the whole affair. Raoul with all his tender heart insisted that Christine have the best of everything. No expense was spared and the entire city buzzed with intrigue and speculation over the nameless opera singer who the new Viscount de Chagny had chosen as his intended.
Raoul had insisted that Mme. Giry and Meg stay at the estate, assaying the stoic woman's protests with reason after reason: Christine would need the help and company of familiar faces, the house was vast and spacious with plenty room for thirty more guests comfortably. On and on he went. In truth, Mme. Giry knew that Raoul felt the burden of guilt over the fire that had displaced hers and many more hundreds of lives less fortunate. It had been his plan after all that had incurred the ghost's wrath. Secretly Mme. Giry thought that it had been Christine's fateful and disturbing decision to unmask him that had caused the disaster but she held her tongue on that matter from all of them whilst her ever-watchful eyes kept everything in her sight.
Truth be told, she harboured immense guilt herself; and if Raoul was to be blamed in any small part of the disaster, then so too was she as much, and even more so.
Raoul's generosity had gone overboard where she and Meg were concerned. He had provided them with the finest guest-rooms and complete wardrobes until she had threatened to leave regardless of his protests if his needless spending on their persons didn't stop. If it were not for Meg's welfare, she would not have stayed at all. Charity was not a word in her vocabulary and to embrace it now would do no good. No, she would stay until after Christine was settled in but then it would be time to forge ahead anew. If she knew nothing else, it was self-perseverance.
She stared now at the three youth in front of her, chatting and smiling, Raoul and Christine still in mourning garb for Philippe, though their behavior certainly did not reflect the somber thread save for when Isabella visited, the only de Chagny it seemed who harboured any true fondness for the dead Viscount.
Christine had recovered fast. Too fast.
It seemed to Mme. Giry that the girl had no heart to be in such high spirits so soon. She seemed unnatural of late, though Raoul for obvious reasons, chose to mark her speedy recovery as a miracle of her strength and his love.
Could the girl have forgotten her former friend and mentor so fast?
She had spoken not a single word of him. Not a one! And it was more then passing strange that her spirits could be so high.
Agnes Rose Giry had lived long enough on this wide world; and though she had seen little of it's splendor, cloistered as she had been since childhood at the opera house, she understood people. She had always had the ability to see past the surface façade of an individual to their core, to their secret intentions. Perhaps twice she had failed in this; the first time resulted in her beloved daughter. As for the other…well she had blinded herself deliberately to that one and her guilt was the punishment for her failed sight. A mediocre penance indeed, all things considered, she had been one of the few fortunate ones. Would that she understood then what she did now.
She remembered with a barely suppressed shiver a night not too long past. It was nigh Midnight and she had been on her way to her modest quarters, her legs fatigued, and a pounding headache that would not cease. Practice had been long and tedious and now she wanted nothing more then a good night's rest before the new day dawned with yet more arduous tasks.
"Madame?"
Christine had stepped out of the shadows in front of her. Her eyes were wide and red, she had been crying. Her narrow shoulders trembling violently. She clutched a candle dripping wax steadily on her hand and yet seemed ignorant of any pain.
"Child, what has happened?" She inquired alarmed, startled by her sudden apparition.
"Please, let us go to your quarters. Quickly!" Christine looked around her, her eyes seeking every corner, terrified of what may be lurking. Rightfully so Agnes had thought grimly, steeling herself against whatever new horror may have presented itself to make the child so fearful. She steered Christine into her rooms, bolting the door behind her.
Refusing a seat, Christine had paced back and forth in the narrow space, unnerving her.
"Child." She had stated quietly. "We are safe in here, and you are safe with me. There is nothing so frightening in this world that you cannot divest to me"
With that said, she set the teapot to reheat, busying herself while Christine continued to pace with averted eyes. She was breathing heavily, crying anew. She knew enough to give the girl her due space. She would speak when she was ready.
Refusing Mme. Giry's offered cup of tea, Christine finally flung herself on a threadbare settee adjacent to the fireplace, and wringing her hands, stared straight ahead into emptiness. After some long minutes, her crying abated as well.
Still unnerved by her display, Agnes seated herself in the chair opposite the fire, and waited.
"Madam?" Christine spoke finally, breaking the tense silence.
"Do you never dream queer dreams?"
Unprepared for the question, Agnes had paused before slowly answering, "Yes. Yes I have Christine. Quite often in fact.
"And so have I!" Christine retorted, her red eyes blazing with a passion whose source she could not guess. Standing one more, she resumed her restless pacing.
"Always! Always since I was but a child have the strangest images danced through my mind while I sleep. Like a puzzle truly, but a puzzle I never find the key too! Before father died I dreamed of his room, empty…. his bed empty. I searched and searched…" She trailed off.
"Last night I dreamt that I had died. I was dead…. And I could see my corpse in its coffin. It did not frighten me Madame, I looked so peaceful lying there without a care or sorrow in the world. But then the expression on my face slowly changed into a look of utter despair and this, this did frighten me! And I thought to myself how odd to wear such a countenance in death. Surely it is blasphemous! Surely I had not died in peace after all and some shadow of discontent harboured within me still that my spirit did not feel or could not remember!
Advancing upon Mme. Giry, she flung herself to her knees at the dear older woman's feet.
"Oh but that is not the worst of it! Not half so bad as what continued…" She trembled violently now, her head in Mme. Giry's lap.
"Do you believe Madam that dreams can hearken the future?" She lifted her face up.
Mme. Giry was watching her with growing concern. This was about more then a mere nightmare that much was for certain. She pondered her words carefully before responding.
"I do not know for certain, Christine." She said finally. "Mayhap my dear that is not for us to know." She sighed. "Dreams, Christine can be a reflection of life though, a reflection of thoughts, feelings, and… desires. Sometimes the things that worry us most in the waking world can be manifested to our souls when we slumber. This I can attest to with some measure of certainty" She paused again, uncertain of how to continue.
"The Angels came for me Madame. They lifted my spirit up and away, far away, as I watched the expression of despair on my mortal body worsen…. I was in Heaven Madame, but I knew deep down that it was wrong and the deepest panic I ever have felt filled me 'till I was brimming with misery. I flung myself down upon the Angel's feet, begging and weeping that I may return and they grew so angry at my disobedience that they flung me back down – past sky, past earth – into the deepest bowels of Hell where I woke sobbing for joy for I was home!"
At that exclamation, she seemed to have exhausted all her energy, and throwing her head back into Mme. Giry's lap, she merely lay thus, shuddering deeply as if from a deep chill though the fire blazed cheerfully.
She got up again.
"Tonight Raoul asked me to marry him. Quick, tell me which answer I should have given him!"
Mme. Giry stared at the girl, not comprehending her ravings and quite put off by them. She had never seen her behave like this before and it chilled her to the very marrow of her bones.
"Christine?" She faltered. "Well, which answer did you give him?"
At this Christine's tears had begun afresh. "I said yes! Tell me if this is right!" She dropped to her knees again before Mme. Giry, desperate pleading in her eyes.
"Well you have given him your answer then child! It is not for me to say if it was right or wrong, what is the matter with you Christine? Never have I seen you act as such! You have said yes, therefore it is the right answer, you are a wicked and unprincipled girl to toy with him thus if you do not mean to love him!"
"I know!" She sobbed. "I know! And I'm going to Hell for it I know that. What is wrong with me Madame! Oh dear God I wish I knew how to save myself for once! He came to me tonight Madame…I screamed at my mirror for him to appear, I thought to break it with a fire poker if he refused, but he came. He took me… " She averted her eyes but Agnes could see the guilt plainly written on them
"And when I returned Raoul was waiting, and he dropped to his knees, hugging my body to himself…my body that still smelled like him and he asked me to be his wife. I said yes! I said yes! I wanted to say yes!"
Agnes did not need to ask what had transpired. It all made sense to her now and her fear only grew as did the throbbing at her temples. But Christine was not finished.
"I chose Hell over my father Madame, over Heaven and the Glory of God Himself. But now I choose Heaven over that Hell which is more self-made then ever you or he will know. I know the answer to my salvation now and I seek to find it wholly."
"And in marrying Raoul you see your salvation Christine?" She gently placed her hand on Christine's cheek. "Is this not a cruelty to him?"
"I love him Madame. Truly I do, please do not mistake my intentions. Ever have you stood by my side. The only mother I've ever known. Tell me, do I not deserve happiness and peace and family? You had that before it was cruelly snatched away from you."
If only you knew the truth in that she thought silently to herself.
"Yes my child, you deserve every happiness, I only worry that you claim it at the misery of others, including yours."
The night had ended with Christine going back to her room, somewhat subdued, though she doubted if the girl had gotten any sleep that night, or if her dreams had been kept at bay with her decision. She doubted it very much indeed. Fate was set into motion though and the events that happened after she had never guessed they would go so far or be so dire. Christine had been like a daughter to her but after night the two had scarcely spoken. Christine had avoided her and she had thoughtlessly assumed it was because she was embarrassed at her behaviour. In fact the girl to all outward appearances had been serene and happy. In hindsight she knew it to be an act, which is why, looking at her now smiling and laughing with Meg and Raoul she knew something was amiss. Guilt flooded her, for she knew that she was yet again powerless to help her.
Christine looked up, catching Mme. Giry's eye, a smile on her face though it did not reach her eyes. She quickly looked away again.
Yes, Agnes thought grimly. Something most certainly was amiss and her heart constricted painfully that those she loved the most were in so much pain and that she could do naught but wait and see what hand fate would dole out this time.