A/N: wow, this is less popular than I thought. Oh, well. I still have a few loyal reviewers out there sniff Anyway… done being depressed now. Lalalala. Feel free to leave a review.
Just thought I'd mention something that I apparently made too subtle. You know how Christine thought Erik was an Angel (of Music) and then a Phantom (or devil). The kids' names are ANGELique and DEVON (whey you say it out loud, it sounds like "devil").
On with the show!
Please see bio page for normal disclaimer.
Extra disclaimer: I am not a historian. I know the Emperor at the time was Napoleon III from reading the POTO script. I don't know whether he was crazy, or not. It just works.
Raoul felt like he was in charge of a gang of three-year olds. Devie (he HATED it when people called him that) had a couple of friends over, and so they had been permitted to eat in the kitchen, so the sounds of a just-beginning food fight were clearly audible. He would have to do something about that, and soon. Angel was sulking because of the powder box incident, and her silence was worse than her normal incessant chattering. No matter, Meg and Christine were doing more than enough chattering to make up for it. Fashions, who at the Opera House was "seeing" whom, and more. What females saw in this nattering was far beyond him.
"What's this?" Meg asked curiously, poking at the steaming mass on her plate. Mrs. Wetherby, Mr. Wetherby's wife and the cook and housekeeper, mostly fixed English food. "No one lives off snails and frogs' legs if I have anything to say about it," were her watchwords.
"Why, that'd be the best bangers'n'mash outside o' London, dearie," Mrs. Wetherby called kindly from the pantry. The poor furrin girl couldn't be expected to know much about real food, the poor dear. Frogs' legs and snails indeed!
Meg cautiously took a bite, and made a rather odd face, one that clearly denoted, "What on earth did I just eat!"
Fortunately, she was saved from anybody noticing her look (the others seemed to be taking it without complaint) by a glob of mash sailed out of the adjacent kitchen, and struck Raoul squarely in the forehead. Christine sucked in a breath, and silence suddenly fell.
The vicomte got up slowly, mopped his face with his napkin, and strode into the kitchen. When he spoke, his voice was deceptively soft. "Devon Philippe de Changy, go up to your room. Mr. Wetherby, if you could clean this up, please. The rest of you, home. Now." A shamefaced parade of adolescents filed out. They all lived in the area, so getting home wasn't a problem.
Raoul went upstairs grimly, and conversation resumed.
"So you're doing Faust again, Meg? Any idea who'll be playing the lead?" Christine asked tactfully.
"Mmm. We've got a new Spaniard who's supposed to be good for Faust, and Carlotta will probably play Margaret."
"That old cow is still singing? Has she started seeing anyone else after Piangi…"
"Unfortunately, yes to the first, no to the second. The managers are thinking of retiring her soon, though."
Christine was just about to reply when the doorbell rang. Mrs. Wetherby ran to answer it. He was met by a liveried messenger of some sort, all done up in royal purple of the best cloth, with gold braid and epaulets, everything.
"Is Messuir de Changy at home?" the messenger inquired snootily, looking down his long French nose at the humble Englishman
"H-he is. Can I tell him who's come ta call?" stammered Mr. Wetherby.
"An emissary of His Majesty, Emperor Napoleon III. And I shall need to see his lady wife as well, if you please," said the messenger. Mr. Wetherby gawked. A message from the Emperor! He made an abrupt about-face and nearly fled up the stairs.
He found Raoul in his study, going over some document or other.
"There's someone here ta see you," Mr. Wetherby said, as causally as possible.
"Unless it's the Emperor, I'm busy," Raoul said. Devon's food fight had put him in a foul mood, and muffled explosions could be heard coming from the boy's room.
"What about the Emperor's messenger?" M. Wetherby inquired tactfully.
"That might be different. Send him into the drawing room, and get Christine. I'll be down shortly." Raoul rapped out his orders, and turned to the mirror that hung on his wall to straighten his coat and make sure that all trace of bangers'n'mash had been removed.
Christine sat nervously in the drawing room, trying not to fidget. Mr. Wetherby had grandly announced that His Lordship would be down presently. That meant about five or ten minutes, she guessed. Christine had had no time to even comb her hair or straighten her dress. She felt incredibly countrified and frumpy, faced with this done-up Paris dandy. She could almost hear Madame Giry, back at the Opera Populaire. "Some people need lots of pretty clothes to hide an ugly little heart." Of course, she had been speaking about a certain Italian soprano at the time, but all the same… The thought brought a small smile to the Vicomtesse's lips.
"Tell me, Madame de Changy, have you sung at all since your marriage?" the dandy-ish footman asked suddenly. He had apparently been thinking for quite some time.
"Not professionally, no," Christine said, taken aback by the abrupt question.
"If you had to, could you sing again?" he continued.
"I-I really don't know, Messuir…" she faltered.
"Bourgeoisie. Denis Bourgeoisie. How rude of me for not introducing myself," he said just as Raoul entered, looking important, and a tad apprehensive. One of the emperor's men didn't just stop by to say hello.
"Messuir Raoul de Changy, I presume? I am Denis Bourgeoisie, footman of His Majesty, Emperor Napoleon the Third," Bourgeoisie declared formally, rising and extending a manicured, lily-white hand. Raoul took it in his own sword-trained grip.
"Welcome to our home, Messuir. I trust you have already met my wife, Christine," Raoul said, seating himself and motioning for Bourgeoisie to do likewise.
"Actually, it's because of her that I came. Now you know that His Majesty is a man of… peculiar temperament?" Denis began, and Raoul nodded. It was a widely accepted fact that the Emperor was mad as a hatter. "And I hope you also know that he will also be attending the Opera Populaire's Christmas gala?" Another nod, this time from Christine. "Well, it seems that nothing would please His Majesty more than to have the legendary Christine Daae, pardon me, Christine de Changy, to be the leading lady. You are expected to attend rehearsal at ten o'clock sharp tomorrow morning. Refusal will not be accepted. Good day." And with that, Denis Bourgeoisie rose and marched out. The rumble of carriage wheels could be heard momentarily as he left. Raoul and Christine sat in stunned silence for a moment. Then Christine slumped in her chair, and Raoul ran his fingers through his hair.
"They can't expect me to just come back and sing like an angel after the fire, seventeen years, and two children!" Christine cried into her hands. Raoul walked over and gathered his distraught wife in his arms.
"I think you'll have to," he explained, as gently as possible. "From what I hear, saying 'no' to one of the Emperor's demands is like signing your own death warrant."
"So there's no way out at all?" she asked nervously.
"None at all," Raoul said mournfully.
"Wot was all tha' about?" Mrs. Wetherby asked as the white-faced Christine and brooding Raoul left the drawing room.
"'Er Ladyship has ta go back and sing at that opry 'ouse wot almost killed 'er an' Raoul last time," her husband replied, trepidation filling his voice.
Daisy Diva: Yes, Carlotta will make a cameo, probably in the next chapter or the one after. But be warned: she will be portrayed as the self-centered, screeching, but hilarious Webber/Schumacher Carlotta. I'll be gentle, I promise. If I need help, I'll be sure to ask.
Leotabelle13: The underlines were a stupid glitch. I hope I fixed them. As long as you're working on an R/C too, you will remain lynch-free cackles evilly R/C still does roc. Reviewers also roc (hint, hint).
Kchan88: "Interesting" is what I'm going for. Although, I was a little afraid of making Angel a mini-Carlotta. Don't get me wrong, Carlotta's ok, but two of her? Eek. Your confidence in me always keeps me going. corny music Stay sweet. R/C forever!
Torch baby: YEA FOR COMFY CLOTHES! Actually, I based Angel loosely off my best friend, and Devon very closely off my little brother. Aww… more reviews would be nice, but such is the way of fanfiction.