Disclaimer: I do not own anything pertaining to the Phantom of the Opera.
Comtess Sabine Beauclair's POV
You are cordially invited to the engagement ball of:
Vicomte Raoul de Changy and his fiancé, Mademoiselle Christine Daae
I felt bile rise in my throat as I read the invitation for the twentieth time. He was marrying? After all his mother, God rest her soul, and had arranged for him, he was marrying this peasant! How dare he! I slammed the letter down onto the mahogany desk in my sleeping quarters. Years ago, I had secured his marriage to my daughter, Chantal Beauclair. A noble woman of high stature and everything a young woman ought to be. She was pious, soft spoken, and delicate. Why would this scoundrel abandon these plans for another?
'Love.' The thought entered my mind before I could suppress it. I scoffed silently at myself, picking up a brush and running it through my graying hair. Love was for affairs. Love was the reason why people took lovers before marriage, but love was not for marriage itself. I stared at my reflection in the mirror and smiled dryly. Look how far I had come. I, one who had never experienced love, had come farther then I had ever dreamed. My husband had been honorable, noble, and, most importantly, wealthy. Everything a woman would seek in a man. I had been happy the day my mother had announced my marriage to him. I thought I had secured that for my daughter years ago, when she was only a small child. How wonderful all of these years had been, knowing that she would be safe. I had been so proud of having assured my daughter's future with a man from such a family as the de Changys. But now, this Christine Daae had come around and destroyed everything I had worked for!
'The whore, the harlot,' I fumed silently, ripping savagely at my hair. She would soon understand her mistake at having targeted monsieur le Vicomte de Changy. Her intentions could not possibly be innocent. She was a gold digger, nothing more. Le Vicomte was a noble man, but one with a soft heart. I severely doubted whether he had the backbone to resist a pretty girl in distress. It was all the more reason for him to accept my beautiful Chantal. Yes, one look at her and this whore would pale from his eyes and vanish from his thoughts.
"Mother?" It was the soft, delicate voice of my daughter. I felt the tiniest pang of guilt. She knew nothing of this plan. I had never told her of her marriage. When she was a child, she had been such a dreamer. She loved tales of fairies and goblins. All those tales of nonsense where the handsome, charming prince always came to save the poor, captured princess, and together they rode off into the sunset. She dreamed of true love then, and I had not had the heart to dash her hopes of finding hers. Chantal was my one and only blessing. She was my first born, but after her came a long string of miscarriages. Chantal was my everything.
'For her,' I promised to my reflection in the mirror, 'I will make the Mademoiselle Daae wish she had never heard of le Vicomte de Changy.'
"Mother? We'll be late for the ball if we don't hurry."
"Coming, child," I replied. Tonight, I knew, I would have to be cordial. Perhaps, Chantal's mere presence would be enough to sway him. I stood, smoothed my skirts, and opened the door. My beautiful daughter stood before me. All the features of her face were curved in soft, perfect proportions. He skin was porcelain and her dirty blonde hair was pulled back in a grand braid. But the thing I loved most about her was her eyes. They were an exotic emerald green like her father's. They could entrance any man, woman, or child if she so chose. I hoped that she would choose tonight when she saw the young Vicomte.
"You look beautiful, daughter."
"As do you, mama," she returned my compliment, linking her arm through mine, "I'm so excited. It has been so long since I have seen Raoul." She was grinning like a little girl. It was true. It had been years since she had seen her childhood friend. At one time, they had been quite close, but with time and age they had drifted apart.
"I am too." We walked together into the main foyer and out to the waiting carriage. I paid no attention to the servant who held the door for me, but Chantal exchanged a few words with him. She seemed to be inquiring to the welfare of his family or at least something along those lines. It mattered little to me. This poor man was of little consequence. His ability to hold the door and drive the carriage was all that held any weight in my eyes. Chantal soon took her seat beside me and the carriage jolted to life.
We were not ten minutes into our journey, when the carriages pulled to a stop.
'Are we there?' I pondered. Ten minutes was enough time to make the journey to the de Changy estate, but not in the winter. I peered out the window, and, sure enough, the estate was visible in the distance. The entire estate was lit up and silhouetted against the setting sun. Even at this distance, the laughter and other sounds of the party were audible.
"What is it, Pierre?" Chantal called out to the driver.
"A rock, mademoiselle, in one of the horse's shoes," he replied, jumping down, "I'll have it out in a moment." From my seat, I could see his dark form bending down next to one of the large horses that pulled our carriage. I sighed and leaned back in the carriage. I was already at ends about this night, and this was something I did not need. I allowed my eyes to flutter shut. I felt sleep beginning to take hold of me, and as it did I heard sweet music playing in my mind. I smiled contentedly, but was swiftly roused by my daughter resting a small hand on my shoulder.
"Mother," she whispered urgently, "Do you here that?" It was then I realized the music I had heard was not imaginary, but quite real. I peered out into the fading daylight and, for the first time, noticed a heap of blankets on the side of the road. The song he sang was unfamiliar, but his voice was angelic. The rich notes of his tenor voice rang through my ears. Before I had completely lost myself in his music, it was cut short by a cough. He was sick.
"We should go out to him," Chantal said. Another good point, her compassion and charity.
"No," I snapped, "His voice is not a reflection of his character." He was a commoner. I would not have anybody gossiping about how a Beauclair was consorting with a commoner.
"Yes, mama," she whispered obediently.
"Good girl," I replied, placing my hand over hers. I only wanted what was best for her. We heard the servant, Chantal had called Pierre, climb back into the carriage and drive the horses forwards leaving all notes of this peasant behind.
The warmth and light of the party was stunning. I was impressed with the status of the guests. I hadn't expected the families that were held in higher esteem to attend, yet here they were. Though I did suspect many had come simply to inspect, or mock, this Christine Daae. Chantal remained close to my side as we entered the grand house. A servant graciously took our heavy traveling cloaks, before allowing us to continue the main hall. I quickly scanned the hall. On the opposite side I spotted de Changy and his whore. The impression I gleaned from a distance was one of only beauty. I observed her as I lead Chantal towards the young couple. Her hair was raven colored. It had been allowed to fall free in its natural curls, perfectly framing the girl's pretty face. Her eyes we a simple brown, but, in their simplicity, were stunning. She was very petite. The pale blue gown she wore illustrated that perfectly. She was so beautiful on the whole that she was attracting many jealous stares from women and stares of another sort from the men.
I could understand le Vicomte's attraction certainly. They were talking with each other. They seemed very unsociable to be the host and hostess of this gala. While le Vicomte's back was turned to us, the harlot's wasn't. She noticed us and reached up to him. She placed one small hand on his cheek and rose to her tip toes to whisper something in his ear.
'Whore,' I thought. That type of contact was left for the bedroom. De Changy turned quickly. His eyes flashed with recognition. I placed on a large, phony smile.
"Vicomte," I greeted, curtsying. I knew Chantal must have been doing the same behind me.
"Cometess Beauclair," I said, inclining his head in greeting. "Chantal?" He finally noticed my daughter's presence. She nodded, stepping forward shyly. His grin broadened, and he stepped forward and embraced her. "My, how you've grown!" he exclaimed, pulling away.
"You've grown too, Raoul," she returned. I could not suppress a smug smile. Things just might work out the way they were supposed to. He swiftly let go of Chantal and drew the whore to him.
"I don't believe you've met my fiancé," he said, wrapping an arm around her waist, "Christine, this is Comtess Sabine Beauclair and her daughter Chantal. Comtess, Chantal, this is my fiancé, Christine."
She gave us a sickly sweet smile. "Pleased to meet you both," she said courteously.
"I met them upon my return to Paris," he explained. She still looked confused. "The summer," he clarified, "After your father passed." She bit her bottom lip and turned her face to the floor. Her distress was obvious; we all took note of it. De Changy's eyes flooded with compassion for the whore. For the second time that night, I felt bile rise in my throat. It was all I could stand to watch this title-less, penny-less, gold digger be coddled by a French noble. I could almost hear his mother turning in her grave.
I gave Chantal a pointed look, gesturing towards the five piece orchestra that had just stared up a new tune. She shook her head slightly, glancing over to the young lovers. They were too absorbed in each other to notice this exchange. I gave her a hard glare. She would listen to me. She gave me one last pained look before turning to le Vicomte.
"Raoul," she said to get his attention, "Would you do me the honor of this dance?"
"Umm," he stammered, glancing down at the whore. She gave him a small smile.
"Go," she whispered, reaching up and placing a small kiss on his cheek. I bit my tongue sharply to avoid a harsh comment.
"Of course," he accepted, disentangling himself from the harlot and extending an elbow to my daughter.
'Excellent,' I thought as they walked off together.
The sound of someone clearing their throat made me turn. I found the whore still standing before me. Though I was ecstatic that my daughter and de Changy were alone together, I did not relish spending time alone with this harlot. I was spared having to think of something to say by the sudden appearance of another woman.
I did not know where she had come from; she was just all of a sudden there. She was older, but moved as if she was young. Her hair was done in one big braid and her dress was very plain. A look of mistrust, directed towards me, was evident in her eyes.
"I do not believe we have had the pleasure of meeting," I greeted her cordially.
"Madame Giry," she said, rather shortly. Is that how she expected me to address her? Madame Giry? She could not be serious, but nothing on her face suggested a joke. She placed a maternal hand on the whore's shoulder.
"Comtess Beauclair," I replied, just as shortly. If she was a defender of this whorish slut, then I would not extend her any more niceties then were necessary. A rather long and uncomfortable silence followed. I couldn't bear her aquiline gaze any longer. "Did you work in the Opera?" It was the politest thing I could think of to say. I knew the whore had worked there; perhaps that's where she and this Madame Giry met.
She nodded. "In the ballet." She did not looked prepared to offer any more information, but I was surprised as she opened her mouth and said, "Christine worked there, for a time. That is, before she was moved to prima donna." She glowed with pride as she said the last bit.
"Is that so?" I replied, trying desperately hard to sound polite. Something told me this was not a woman I wanted as an enemy. "My daughter and I attended a few times. I heard that your lead male singer was killed in the fire. Is that really true? And are you to rebuild?" I saw the whore stiffen as I spoke those words. What had I said? I had not meant any of that to be offensive.
"Yes," the ballet mistress replied, "The construction will be completed in August. Le Vicomte de Changy has generously agreed to renew his patronage. As for Piangi, he was killed," she finished vaguely. The whore tensed even more at those words.
"Yes," she interjected, trying hard to hide her tension, "We shall have some trouble finding a replacement."
"Will you?" My thoughts leapt back to the peasant we had encountered on our way here.
The song ended, and de Changy and my daughter returned, their faces flushed from dancing.
"Christine," de Changy said, returning like a dog to her side, "while we were dancing we had several requests for a song from you." She opened her mouth to say something, but Chantal stopped her.
"Oh, you really must, Christine. I've heard you have the voice of an angel." The whore blushed at the compliment.
"Please, Little Lotte," de Changy whispered. Little Lotte? What the hell was that? She smiled in assent, and Giry gave her a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder. De Changy seized her hand in his own and lead her over towards the orchestra. He consulted her and whispered something to the piano player, who nodded.
"Excuse me," de Changy said loudly, raising his voice so as to be heard, "Due to popular demand, y beautiful fiancé would like to sing a song from the opera Hannibal." The hall erupted with cheers and applause as the harlot stood forward. The piano player began and, a few measures later, she entered.
Think of me
Think of me fondly
When we've said goodbye
Remember me
Once and while
Please promise me you'll try
When you find
That once again you long
To take your heart back and be free
If you ever find a moment
Stop and think of me
Her voice was beautiful. I could not deny her that. But as I said before, voice is not a direct reflection of character. I looked over to see Chantal at my side.
"They're so in love, mama," she said dreamily.
'No!' I thought. This is not the way it was supposed to be. That dog of a noble was supposed to marry my daughter! Not this singing whore!
'He will,' I thought sinisterly, 'He will.' If it was the last thing I did, this man would make my Chantal his bride. But as I looked at him, staring entranced at the whore, I knew I would have to remove her from the picture first. If not, he would not turn from the harlot, not even for someone as perfect and desirable as my Chantal.
"We shall have some trouble finding a replacement." The whore's words echoed in my mind.
'A replacement,' I carefully pondered. I, once again, recalled the commoner with the beautiful voice. A sinister grin crept across my face.
"I'll be back shortly," I assured Chantal and walked, as if towards the drinks, but, at the last moment, slipped outside of the hall into the now empty foyer.
Recall those days
Look back on all those times
Think of the things we'll never do
There will never be
A day
When I won't think of—
The whore's voice cut off abruptly as I shut the door. I walked down the cobblestone walk of the de Changy estate, carefully peering at each carriage until I found my own.
"You," I said sharply, "Peasant!" The servant woke with a start, almost stumbling out of his seat.
"Comtess," he said, startled, "I was not expected you so early. I apologize if I…"
I cut him off. "Do you remember where one of the horses took a rock in his shoe?"
"What?" he asked, still groggy with sleep.
"Do you remember it?" I snapped. This man was incompetent. Perhaps I should let him go.
"Ay, Madame. I remember it," he said, finally fully waking up.
"Take me there."
A/N
Sorry this is a little late. I really wanted to get this out before I left, so please forgive the typos. I honestly didn't have time to proof read. Happy Bleated Holidays! Check out my profile page for my amazing news! So excited! Until next time! Ta!