Chapter Six – Lord and Lady van Ellsworth
Paris 1874
It is merely weeks before the New Year's festivities and I cannot be joyous. In but a day Meg will be wed to the Marquis of Luxembourg, and it chills me to the depths of my soul to know that I will not be joining her. Rather, I will be running away. I've thought nightly about where I will go, where I will stay, what I will do to support myself. I've heard many a tale about runaway brides who turn to prostitution to solve their problems. That is not me. I will not fall prey to men and their thirst for sexual contact.
During supper, Gaston and Antoinette talk in hushed tones about things Meg and I can only wish to hear, though I guess they're about me and my future as the Marchioness of Luxembourg. They do not know that it is not my life they discuss, but Meg's. Besides their short conversation, supper is a silent affair.
After the food has been cleared away by the kitchen maids, Gaston says, "Christine, my dear, would you will it that we go out for a stroll on your last evening unmarried?" I am honored at his kindness, and nod.
"That would be lovely, Gaston, thank you." He smiles at me, and I am glad to have a true father figure in my life.
"I'm afraid, Gaston, that I'll have to decline," Meg states plainly. "I fear that it is time for my womanly cycle and it would do me best to lie down."
"Oh, Meg dear, of course!" Madame runs to her daughter. "Gaston, you and Christine take a walk while I make sure that Meg is comfortable. And be sure to dress warmly, now! It's bitterly cold out there!"
"Yes, darling," Gaston says, bending down to kiss Madame on the cheek, turning her face a light shade of crimson. "Come, Christine." We walk to the back door and cover ourselves in our heavy winter overcoats, hats and gloves. Out into the oncoming night we walk, snow cracking beneath our feet. It is mostly silent until, about five minutes into our walk, Gaston speaks. "Christine, dear?" I look up at him, acknowledging his call.
"Yes, Gaston?"
"Tell me honestly; do you want to marry the Marquis?" I stop dead in my tracks and look at Gaston. He puts a gloved hand under my chin. "I know you do not wish to be wed to him, my dear. There is quite a lot one can learn from watching the way a bride-to-be acts around her bridegroom." I blush. "Christine, you know I think of you as a daughter and as a father I do not want to see you unhappy." The words linger in the air like leaves on the autumn breeze, just floating around until they eventually falter.
I throw my arms around Gaston, hugging him like I did with my own father when I was very little. He strokes my uncovered hair with a strong hand, calming me. "Oh, Gaston, why must I marry him?" I say, my voice muffled from my being encased in his warm embrace. "He's a snotty pig!"
"I can't say I understand your plight, Christine. A man shall never know what a woman feels in these arrangements, especially when they themselves were wed in a love match like Antoinette and me." I bury my face in his shoulder, crying like a helpless child.
"I wish," I sniffle, "that Raoul were still alive. He'd never do anything to make me feel unwanted or unimportant." Gaston leans down and presses his lips to my forehead.
"Christine, know that I take no more pleasure than you in walking down that aisle tomorrow. Giving you away to that Marquis may be the low point of my marriage to Antoinette to date." I hug Gaston even tighter.
"You don't have to convince me of that, Gaston. I'm well aware." I smile up at him. He opens his mouth to speak but I am quicker, "And don't say that you could've acted the father and interfered in the wedding plans. I'm quite all right and you mustn't apologize."
"It's hard to believe," he says softly, "that you are that little girl I used to watch dancing on the Paris stage besides Meg. You've blossomed into a mature young woman, Christine Daaè, and know that Antoinette and I are both so proud of you for how you've dealt with le Vicomte's passing." I bite my lip to hold back tears. "Christine, we would have given this to you tomorrow, but now is a wonderful time," Gaston says, reaching into his overcoat and drawing out a long box. He hands it to me and I take it with trembling fingers.
Gently, I pry open the box and my eyes go wide. Lying in the box is a glorious Swarovski hairpin, the top like a many-pointed star. "It isn't…"
"Antoinette had it recovered from the opera house and had the crystals reset. We thought it'd make a lovely touch to your hair tomorrow." I am going to cry and I know it. Lying in my hands is one of the many hairpieces used in my hair when I performed in Hannibal, shining like it did on that night so many years ago.
"Oh, Gaston!" I push myself into his embrace yet again, glad to have his strong, fatherly arms around me. "This means so much!" I feel so much guilt knowing that he will not see it in my hair tomorrow. It will be long gone with me.
"You deserve it, Christine. It is gorgeous but you make it shine." The guilt is so overwhelming now that I do all I can not to fall down in the snow in a dead faint, but I work not to. Gaston need not know of my devilish plans, though God knows, he deserves to.
Later…
Later that evening, I lie in my bed reading a boring romance novel that was given to me by one of the other chorus girls many years ago that I never got around to reading. It's quite uninteresting, but I need something to do to get my mind off of tomorrow. Glancing to the side, I see my satchel full of clothing, money, and valuables stowed away in the wardrobe away from most prying eyes.
There is a knock at the door. "Christine? May I come in?"
"Of course!" I reply as Madame opens the door and enters my room, closing it behind her. "What is it, Madame?"
"Christine," she sighs mournfully, "isn't it time you called me Antoinette?" I chuckle slightly.
"Maybe, Mad...Antoinette," I correct myself, placing the novel down on my nightstand beside the box with the hairpin in it.
"Dear, I'd like to speak with you." I nod and move over a little on the bed, allowing Antoinette room to sit down upon it. "Gaston informed me of your conversation earlier. Is there anything you'd like to tell me that I don't know?" I bite my lip, trying hard to maintain composure.
"Well, I…I…" I try to hold back the tears, but I cannot. "I'm the reason Meg's not marrying the Marquis! I wanted to keep her from him so I told Lady Samantha that your family had no noble title and I ruined your reputations!" Antoinette takes me in her arms and holds me close.
"Christine, do not feel guilty. I will not tell Meg. As for Gaston and I, we're perfectly fine without a wonderful reputation. You needn't worry." But I must worry. I am leaving tomorrow, running away from this family who has loved me so truly.
"Antoinette?" I'll tell her. I can trust Antoinette.
"Yes, Christine?" She still doesn't know. There is still time to avoid telling. No. I must make her aware of this.
"I'm not marrying the Marquis tomorrow." Antoinette's eyes go wide. "Don't worry, I'm not committing suicide and I'm not running off with somebody else. I'm leaving Paris."
"To go where?" Antoinette asks me, a little too loudly. I press a finger to her lips.
"Hush, Antoinette! We mustn't let anybody else know of this!" Antoinette nods. "And to answer your question, I've decided on Persia."
"Persia! Christine, that's months of travel! And you're alone!" Antoinette is clearly afraid for me, like any mother would be for her daughter, and I'm not even related. I can't imagine what her reaction would be if I were Meg.
"I'll manage, Antoinette. I can't stay in Europe. There are too many memories that I have to rid myself of," I say truthfully.
"Oh, Christine," Antoinette hugs me tightly. "Promise me you'll be careful!"
"I promise, Antoinette. I promise." I kiss her on the cheek. "I'll stay safe. And I'll write to you and Meg once I'm settled and things have quieted down."
"Don't do anything you'll regret later, Christine. Life was made for taking chances but taking chances shouldn't dictate your life." Antoinette pauses. "But what about the Marquis?"
"Meg shall marry him. You and I will disguise her and I know he'd prefer her anyway." Antoinette's eyes widen to about three times their normal size.
"Meg? My Meg is marrying the Marquis of Luxembourg?" Antoinette looks as though she could fall in a dead faint, so I do not speak. I merely nod. After moments of silence, Antoinette asks, "When will you be leaving?"
"I'm leaving as soon as Meg is walking down the aisle. I'll have a horse ready for myself so I can get away." Antoinette still looks unsure. "Please, don't tell anyone. I couldn't bear to see problems caused on my behalf more than they already will be." Antoinette kisses my forehead. "I suppose I'll be going to bed now."
"Yes, Christine, you wouldn't want to be tired for your wedding," Antoinette says, winking at me before departing. In the pit of my stomach, I feel the worst pang of guilt for what I'm doing to Antoinette and Meg. And sweet Gaston still thinks I'm marrying the Marquis with the gorgeous hairpin he and Antoinette gave to me. But my mind must not rest on these things; it must rest on the harems of the Far East, the land of Persia.