Author's Note:
Well, I'm going on vacation this weekend, so this is the last chapter until Sunday night, at least. I'll try to get some writing done during the drive, though.
Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, no one seems to hate it, which is a good thing!
Enjoy and review, as always.
-
Chapter 20: Our Games of Make-Believe
Madame Lavage couldn't help the expression of glee that wreathed her face as she hurriedly bound the gold into a small leather purse that hung from her neck. She called out harshly: "Marie! Marie, come here immediately!" to the door behind her, and offered a patronizing smile to the Viscomte. "You shall have your girl in a moment, monsieur le Viscomte."
A harried young blonde, as heavily made-up as her employer and exceedingly thin and frail, scuttled up to the madam. "Yes, Madame?" she responded, inclining her head respectfully.
Raoul felt his stomach lurch at the pretentious respect given to the sow of a woman in front of him. He prayed silently and fervently for his business to conclude so that he might get away from this place, which had become somehow increasingly revolting in the past hour.
Or perhaps it was just the effects of the liquor. The oncoming headache was growing steadily worse behind his eyes, and he knew that there was still much to be done before he could bring Giselle home with him.
Madame Lavage beckoned for the blonde to come closer, and whispered something in her ear before straightening and instructing loudly enough for Raoul to hear:
"Tell Giselle that she is to change out of that dress and into one of the pieces that she brought with her, and come downstairs. Tell her to bring any belongings that she might have along, as well."
Marie nodded and turned to hurry up the stairs.
Madame Lavage gave Raoul another smile, which he returned marginally. "So, Monsieur Viscomte, how is it that you have taken such a liking to my Giselle?"
-
Giselle looked up sharply at the rap that came on her door, torn between hope that it was Raoul returning for her, and fear that Madame Lavage was coming to punish her for lingering.
The feelings were confused when the door opened and Marie stood there.
"Come in, Marie." Giselle began hesitantly, wringing her hands together nervously.
The blonde stood stiffly in the doorway, resentment in her darkly outlined blue eyes. "Madame says you are to collect your things and be downstairs in five minutes. She also says you are to leave all of your wages behind, except for a pittance of twenty-five francs that you may keep for yourself. You are to leave all clothing, cosmetics and other trifles acquired here behind, you will wear one of the dresses that you came here with. She says she will know if you have taken anything, and you will not go unpunished. Is that clear, Giselle?"
"Of course…" Giselle trailed off, biting her lip. "Marie…"
"Yes, Giselle?"
Marie's words were curt, biting and resentful. Giselle knew that she, and every other young woman within these walls, would hate her with a passion the moment she stepped foot outside on the arm of the Viscomte de Chagny. They would hate her for her good fortune, even as they had already begun to resent her for her beauty and the favoritism that Madame Lavage had shown her.
She dreaded already the day when she would be forced to return to this life, and she made a promise to herself not to come back to this brothel. Wherever she might have to go to avoid such a thing, she would not return to Madame Lavage's house. Not for any price.
Marie was still standing in the doorway, her face and voice impatient. "What is it, Giselle?"
A feeling of delicious liberation began to spread through Giselle. She shook her head, slowly at first, than firmly. Decisively. "Nothing, Marie. Nothing at all."
Marie shook her head and closed the door behind her with a bang, her distaste for the girl who was escaping this life lingering behind her like a rank stench.
Giselle hardly noticed.
She stood up, elation rising within her as she stripped off the hated emerald gown and exchanged it for a modest, worn dress of blue linen, one of two that she had brought with her. She retrieved a small bag from beneath the bed and stuffed the five five-franc notes into it. A small book of poetry that had once belonged to her father was wrapped in her night shift and gently slipped into the bag as well.
Anything that could possibly have been considered valuable had long since been pawned for meager coins, except for the one treasure that Giselle had refused to part with. It was a small ring, a thin gold band with a miniscule diamond gracing it. The ring would not have brought much, but it might have saved her from prostitution for perhaps two or three weeks. But she had held it, turned it in her palm, and chosen to sell herself rather than the ring.
It had been the inevitable end, anyway. She had simply surrendered to it sooner rather than later. But the ring was too precious to her to part with. It had been her mother's wedding ring. Giselle could remember her mother showing her the ring, telling her stories of her wedding day. Had it not been for the small reminder of the ring, Giselle thought that she might have ceased to believe in love altogether.
There certainly was nothing here that testified to its existence.
She turned her thoughts to the Viscomte downstairs, and approached the mirror on the wall. She brushed the tangles from her long curls, and braided her hair back hurriedly, quickly washing any vestiges of the thick makeup from her face. Her brown eyes shone out from her face, paler than usual from the lack of rouge. A healthy blush stained her cheeks from the hasty scrubbing that she had given her face, however, and as Giselle looked at herself one final time in the mirror, she prayed to the God that had long since forsaken her that her time in hell had at long last ended.
To trust in hope at this moment, however, seemed foolishly premature.
-
Raoul saw her coming down the stairs, a small bag clutched in her hand, and he stepped forwards to meet her.
"Mademoiselle, I trust you are ready to leave?"
Giselle nodded, nervousness showing plainly in her eyes. Madame Lavage did not speak a word to her, only handed Marie the pouch of gold and fairly cackled at Marie's astonishment.
Giselle paused to bid Marie farewell, but the look in the girl's eyes stopped her.
These people cared nothing for her. She was nothing but a means of making money to them.
You are a means to an end for the Viscomte, as well. You would do well to remember that, Giselle Auteur.
She couldn't stop the hope that welled within her, however.
-
Raoul mounted his horse, and gave her a hand behind him. He turned the animal quickly, startling Giselle, but she kept her wits about her.
"Where are we going?" she asked, as he turned down a far more reputable street in the business district of the city.
"A dressmakers." He slowed the horse as they approached a shop with a gas lamp burning in the window. "One of the few that works late. I will leave you here after I have spoken with the woman in charge, then will return in an hours time with my carriage. Be ready for me when I arrive."
Giselle nodded. "Monsieur…"
"Raoul." He corrected her gently but firmly.
"Raoul…about my name…"
"Madame Lavage told me your name. But it doesn't matter any longer."
He stopped the horse and dismounted, giving Giselle a hand down.
She faced him in the faint light. "It doesn't?"
Raoul lifted her chin so that her eyes met his. "You are Christine Daae from this moment on. I expect you to remember that."
Giselle nodded.
"Say it."
Giselle opened her mouth, but no sound came out.
"Say it!"
"I am…my name is…"
Raoul gripped her shoulders with both hands, an odd light coming into his blue eyes. "Say it! My name is Christine Daae. Say it now, Giselle!"
A chill went through her at his use of her name. She dropped her eyes and he forced her chin up so that she met his gaze again. His voice dropped lower. "Say it."
"My name is Christine Daae."
"Good." Raoul turned away from her and opened the door, allowing her to enter before him.
A short woman with graying hair and spectacles came out from the back of the shop to greet them.
"Good evening, monsieur and madame. What can I do for you?"
"Mademoiselle Daae needs some dresses made, as well as other necessities. I trust that you can attend to her?"
"Of course, monsieur. And I am terribly sorry for the slip…"
Raoul shook his head. "It is no matter. I will be back in an hour." To Giselle's surprise, he lifted her hand and kissed it peremptorily. "In an hour, my dear."
Giselle looked into his blue eyes as he drew away and saw a gentle, loving expression there as the endearment slipped from him as naturally as breathing.
If only he spoke such things to Giselle, and not to Christine.
The thought shocked her, and she dismissed it as preposterous. She would never receive such a loving touch or look from a man. This game, this masquerade was all that she would ever have.
He turned and left the shop then, the warmth of his lips lingering on the back of Giselle's hand, an invisible brand.
She had been freed of one master only to gain another.
"Mademoiselle Daae?"
Giselle turned at the sound of her new name and smiled at the dressmaker.
So the games begin…
-
In the hour that followed, Giselle found herself swept up in a flurry of measurements and choices. Some of the items she would be able to pick up tonight. Her measurements were fairly average, despite the fact that she was very thin, and the dressmaker thought that she could quickly take in a dress that was already made and have it ready for her to wear home. Alterations took up the rest of the hour, as the older woman fitted her with a corset over her old chemise and altered the gown to fit her slender frame.
If the dressmaker wondered why the girl needed such a complete ensemble of gowns, undergarments, nightdresses and shoes, she said nothing.
Perhaps she thinks it's for a wedding trousseau, Giselle thought ironically as the woman took in the gown. Giselle held her hands above her head, longing to touch the soft fabric of the dress. She had never worn anything so fine.
This game of playing at lovers with the Viscomte wouldn't take much getting used to at all, she thought.
-
Raoul was entirely unprepared for the sight that awaited him when he arrived at the dressmaker's shop with his carriage.
Giselle stepped outside to meet him, wearing a gown of burgundy velvet, with a square neckline cut low, but not such as to cross the lines of decency. It was far more modest than anything he had seen her wearing in the brothel. It nipped in to show off her slender waist, and the hem fell to the ground, hiding her old shoes. Her face glowed in the lamplight, devoid of all makeup, her hair fell in long, loose curls down her back.
She looked so much like Christine that it stole Raoul's breath away.
He offered her his hand and she stepped into the carriage, her near-childish delight at the luxury of it showing through in her eyes.
This would be a problem, Raoul thought. Christine had never lived in the opulence granted to nobility, but she would hardly be shocked by luxury.
"You must not be so taken aback by everything that you see." Raoul said.
Giselle nodded. "I am sorry, Raoul. It's just…it's all so new."
"I know." He took her hand, a display of affection that Giselle found herself once again wishing desperately was truly directed at her.
Do not allow yourself to care! He is no different than any of the other men who have visited your bed countless times! He has simply found a purpose for you beyond the norm. Enjoy it while it lasts, but do not forget who and what you are!
The sudden barrage of angry thoughts caused Giselle to pale and her mouth to tremble.
Raoul looked away, unwilling to see her as anything but his beautiful, poised Christine. "You will be introduced to my brother when we arrive. He has never met Christine, but you must still be careful of how you conduct yourself. Remember, you are an actress and an opera singer, but Christine was never haughty or pretentious. You are madly in love with me, and we were once engaged, though that has now been broken off due to family interference. You are to be my mistress."
Giselle nodded. "Is there anything else, Raoul?"
Raoul turned her to face him. "You are innocent."
-
The sting of Raoul's last words burned Giselle long after they had descended from the carriage and entered the palatial residence of the family de Chagny. She did her best to mask her wonder at the opulence surrounding her. Raoul led her through the hall, past the goggling servants, and straight to a tall mahogany door, upon which he rapped sharply.
A voice answered from within. "Come in."
Raoul opened the door into a small room that appeared to be a study, complete with heavy curtains, thick rugs, a burning fireplace and a long wooden desk. At the desk sat a tall man with dark hair and eyes as blue as Raoul's, who stood upon the entrance of the Viscomte and his companion.
"Welcome back, little brother." He smiled. "I had thought that perhaps we had lost you."
Giselle dropped her eyes. A maidenly blush seemed appropriate, and one promptly stained her cheeks, though its reasons were far from maidenly. She knew where Raoul had been those nights that his brother had no doubt spent in worry, and it was most certainly not in the pursuit of Christine Daae.
Or was it?
He had found the face of his beloved on another woman's, and sought solace there. But now he sought to use her for more than solace, and Giselle felt her heart quake within her.
Whatever had she gotten herself into? She hardly knew this man. There was no telling what sort of plot he might have arranged to win back his fiancée. She was at the mercy of a man who might very well be mad!
She composed her riotous thoughts as the man she could only assume to be the Comte de Chagny approached her.
"Christine Daae, is it?" he asked, and Giselle knew that Raoul had spun his web of deceit while she had been lost in thought.
She bobbed a respectful curtsy. "At your service, my lord."
"I had assumed that was my brother's domain, but if you insist…" he trailed off into a bout of laughter, which was not shared by Raoul.
Philippe composed himself, but offered no apologies for his ill-placed joke. "Perhaps you would sing for us, Mademoiselle Daae? I have visited the opera, but you were only ever on the chorus. I would be delighted if you would grace us with a solo."
Giselle visibly blanched, and Raoul came to her rescue.
"Christine is very tired, brother." Raoul said, taking her hand. "Perhaps another night?"
"Of course," Philippe acquiesced. "I will have a maid show her to a room immediately."
"Perhaps she could have the suite that adjoins mine?" Raoul asked, his eyes glinting mischievously.
Philippe laughed loudly. "Of course, little brother!" He rang for a servant, and a maid promptly appeared. "Show Miss Daae to the rooms next to Raoul's." he instructed, still chuckling.
The maid nodded and curtseyed. "At once, my lord. This way, mademoiselle." She gestured to Giselle, and with a nervous glance at Raoul that she couldn't suppress, Giselle followed.
-
Philippe poured his brother a glass of wine. "Congratulations, little brother. It seems that luck was on your side after all. Tell me all about it."
Raoul took the glass and sipped it. The drink seemed terribly light and insipid after the hard liquor that he had consumed so freely the last few days, but his mouth had gone dry, and he welcomed the soothing effect of the wine.
"I found her with Madame Giry." He took another sip to steady his nerves. The story must be plausible, his brother was no fool.
"He had tired of her already?" Philippe asked, watching his brother with a mild interest. "After such lengths, you would not think that he would throw her away so quickly."
"She ran away." Raoul replied, finishing the glass and setting it down on the table. "He…accosted her, and she fled."
Philippe snorted. "She is innocent, isn't she? She obviously knows nothing of men, if she thinks that she could choose to stay with him and yet not suffer the consequences."
Raoul gritted his teeth. "She…they were not wed."
Philippe laughed. "What makes you think that she will acquiesce to you, little brother? You have no promise of marriage to assuage her piety with any longer."
Raoul stood abruptly. "She will." He exited without further ado, stopping only to clench his fists and mutter to the empty halls:
"She must."