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Alexandre Leroy's POV
I shivered in the cold. It was so cold. I brought my hands to my lips and blew fiercely on them. They remained cold as ice. Even my breath lacked warmth now. I pulled my hands back into the sleeves of my tattered jacket as far as they would go. My shivering persisted. I pulled my one possession, a pathetic excuse for a blanket, tighter about me. I opened my mouth in an attempt to sing in order to distract myself. I came out as a rasp. My poor voice. My singing was my one talent, my one comfort.
I felt like crying, but I would not allow myself the luxury. It was not because I worried about what people would think if they saw me weeping like a woman; it was the thought of the frigid cold trails tears would leave on my cheeks. I attempted a small laugh at how much I had changed since I left home, but it swiftly turned into a hacking cough. I was sick, very, very sick. It was this damn cold.
'Why did I leave?' I wondered to myself, but even as the question crossed my mind I had an answer ready. It was because of my family. I remembered their emaciated frames, a result of the many watered down soups that we had called our meals, as they bid me farewell. We were nothing more than a poor country family. One of many. When I was four, my father had broken his ankle when he was working out on the family's land. He had died the following week of infection. My mother had done the best she could under the circumstances, but her best wasn't enough. Under those circumstances, no woman's best would have ever been enough. I was the only boy. With two younger sisters, all the responsibility fell on my shoulders. My mother turned over all the land to my name when I was fourteen. But, in order to keep us alive during those ten years, she had been gradually selling off the land. By the time it was turned over to me, there was hardly any land left.
We had struggled to survive off that land for three years before I finally gave up. I had sold the last of the farm land and made my way to Paris. I had thought I would get a job; I didn't care what it was. The money from the land was enough to keep them alive for awhile; I didn't think it would run out before I found work and was able to send money home to them, but work was scarce. I had left home five months ago.
"Please, God," I prayed, "Let them be all right. Let me find work. Please, God. I need to find work. I don't care what, or how, just let me find work. Amen." I made the cross like my mother had taught me when I was a boy. A single tear streaked down my face. I cursed silently as I rushed to wipe it away. At the same time, I suppressed the sacrilegious thoughts; I was pretty sure it might alter effectiveness of my prayer.
'What's the point?' It was the one thought that snuck through. Despite my worries that God might still be listening, I couldn't help but silently agree with myself. All my life I had prayed for things. I prayed for things for myself, things for my sisters, and things for my mother. But never, not once, was a prayer of mine granted. I couldn't help but think God had forsaken me.
I had rarely gotten anything I wanted, and when I did I couldn't let go. Even if I wanted to.
In the distance, I heard a carriage approach. I poked my head out of the meager security of my blanket to see who was approaching. I immediately recognized the carriage as that of nobility. I watched its approach with envy. Whoever the noble was, they were tucked away, safe from the elements, in their cozy carriage. I assumed they must be heading home to their large estates where they could consume as much food as their royal bellies would hold. My mouth watered. How wonderful it would be to feel full. I could not remember the last time I was able to fill my stomach. In fact, I wasn't sure I had ever been properly full.
Much to my surprise, the carriage pulled to a stop in front of my huddled form. The driver leapt from his seat. My first thought was that one of the horses had a rock in its shoe. It had happened once before that night. But the driver didn't move towards either of the horses. Instead, he walked briskly to the door. He pulled it open and a woman stepped out. She was tall and her hair was grey, suggesting she was aged. She was dressed elegantly. I supposed she must have come from the party that was being held just a quarter of a mile down the road. But it was not her dress that kept my attention but her face. All of her features were aquiline in appearance, giving the impression of a stern, unforgiving, and observant disposition. She made her way over to me.
"You," she said coldly. Her voice certainly matched her appearance. "Peasant, what is your name?" I glared up at her from the ground. I didn't care if she was nobility; I did not take kindly to being treated like a sewer rat.
"Alexandre Leroy," I replied, just as coldly. She appeared surprised by the tone of my voice. Her mouth opened for a snappy retort. A more sensible person would have been frightened. A lowly peasent did not talk back to a noble, but I lacked common sense.
She reined in her temper, surprising me. "Alexandre," she repeated, "When I was traveling to le Vicomte de Changy's ball, I could not help but noticing you and your voice." Though her voice sounded polite, her face was anything but. The entire time it was twisted in a look of extreme disgust.
"What of it?" I rasped. I felt a cough rising in my throat. Unable to suppress it, I went into a fit. The horrible hacking coughs tore at my already damaged throat. She regarded me with disdain. But it was the type of disdain a farmer regards an old mule with. The animal may be old and tired, but they cannot afford to rid themselves of it because they need it.
"Come," she said as if she wanted anything but for me to follow her. "Come into my carriage. You shall at least be sheltered from the wind." I looked suspiciously at her. I opened my mouth to ask why she wanted to help me, but she had already turned from me, moving in the direction of the carriage. She waited impatiently for the driver to open the door for her, and then climbed inside.
The driver looked to me. "Coming?" I considered it for a moment. I remembered the look she gave me. She needed me. I didn't know why, but there was no mistaking the fact that she needed me for one reason or another. Curiosity got the better of me. I scurried to my feet and into the carriage.
She sat, still as a statue. She did not acknowledge my presence, not when I entered, not when I sat down opposite her. Her gaze was fixed on some invisible form just outside the carriage. She did not speak, and I, being stubborn, would not break the chilly silence either. My sickness, however, did not agree with me as I broke into a coughing fit. When I had gained control, she was staring at me with the same needy disgust.
"Why are you in Paris?" I almost laughed. Surely she did not bring me here to make small talk.
"My family needs money. My father died when I was four," I offered. Until I knew what she wanted, I would not give any more. She nodded.
"And have you secured this money?"
"Jobs are scarce, and I have few marketable talents." I thought of my voice. That was my only real talent.
"Your voice certainly seems decent enough to secure a job at an Opera House," she commented. My voice. She wanted my voice, but why?
"I have no connections to obtain such a job. I have no housing, no money. My health is failing; I would be surprised if anyone would hire a sickly, poor man whose voice could fail at any moment, as I'm certain mine will with this cough. Besides, the Opera was razed."
"It is being rebuilt," she said disinterestedly. I allowed hope to swell in my chest. I had no doubt that many would not want to return to their old jobs with all that had happened.
'Superstition,' I thought. Yes, I had heard the fables of the Phantom of the Opera, but I put no credence in them. No, I wasn't afraid of a ghost. Maybe I could fill one of those positions.
Just as quickly as hope had come, it left me. One still needed connections to get a job, or at least a well paying one. The type that I needed.
"So?" I retorted. She leaned towards me conspiratorially.
"What if I told you I could secure you a job there? What if I said you would be replacing Ubaldo Piangi?" Ubaldo Piangi? I carefully turned the name over in my mind. Yes, yes, I recognized that name. I recalled reading it in a tattered newspaper I had found blowing around the city streets. He had been the leading tenor, and was killed in the fire.
I looked at this woman with suspicion. "I would ask what you wanted in return." It was the first time she looked at me with any form of respect.
"You are more intelligent than I expected." I wasn't sure whether to be insulted or flattered. "You are correct in assuming I want something in return."
"And that would be?"
"Seduce the prima donna." Her bluntness shocked me. My knowledge of nobility was limited, but I didn't think they were that blunt.
"Wh…what?" I stuttered slightly.
She plowed on as if I hadn't said anything. "Her name is Christine Daae. I need you to seduce her. Quite frankly, I do not care if she loves you or you her. All I care about is that you remove her from Paris, before November." I stared stupidly at her. Had she really just asked that of me?
"Why?"
"My reasons are my own," she replied coldly. I tried my best to read her in the darkness. She would have given nothing away even if it had been light out. I turned my gaze out the window. If this woman was sincere, this was an opportunity I could not refuse. I had always done well with woman at home. Yes, this was an amazing offer.
"I assure you she's very pretty." I carefully watched her for any sign of a lie. She mistook my studious gaze for one of indecision. "I will pay you for your troubles as well, and give you a warm bed to recover in." My eyebrows rose. That I had not been expecting, but I would not deny the offer.
"How much?" She looked me up and down, as if deciding just how much I was worth.
"85,000 francs," she finally said.
"90,000." I wanted to know just how much influence I had in this situation. She gave me a dry smile.
"90,000. Half now and half when the job is done," she agreed. "My driver will return here in a moment and escort you back to my estate." I nodded, and climbed from the carriage. Upon touching the ground, I looked back up at the shadow of a woman.
"What's your name?" It struck me as odd that I hadn't taken the time to learn it sooner.
"Cometess Sabine Beauclair," she replied with pride. I inclined my head at her. In the darkness, she could not see the sarcasm in my action as she closed the door with a loud thud. I watched the carriage until I could no longer make out its shadowed form against the black night sky.
I sighed, sat down, and pulled my pathetic excuse for a blanket around me. Once again, I was left to only my thoughts.
True to her word, le Cometess sent her driver back to me. The journey to her estate was not terribly long. Time of the streets could teach even the most eager man the meaning of patience.
The carriage pulled to a stop. I immediately jumped out of the carriage and onto the cobblestone walk. The driver was already halfway out of his seat before I could tell him not to bother.
"It's quite all right," I assured him as he doubtfully resumed his seat.
"Look, I have to go, but you go inside and tell Cosette you're a guest of le Cometess." With that, he snapped the reins and guided the two horses down the walk.
I pushed the doors open, and walked into the grand entry way. I looked around hesitantly, not sure where to go to find this Cosette.
"Oy, you," a woman called shrilly. "What business do you have in a place like this? Mind you, there are plenty of people around to come if I scream."
"I'm sure," I replied sarcastically. I had finally located the speaker. She was a short, homely, older woman. Her back was twisted unnaturally and she carried a wooden cane. "I am a guest of le Cometess," I said coolly.
"What is her name?" she asked suspiciously.
"Sabine Beauclair." She regarded me carefully. "I'm not lying," I said, though I highly doubted it would change any perception she had of me at that moment.
"You're just a working class scamp. Aren't you?" Her guard was lowered now.
"I'm hardly a scamp," I returned coldly. Her eyebrows rose, but she didn't comment.
"Very well. You have a name?"
"Alexandre Leroy," I replied.
"Would you like some food, Alexandre?" she questioned. I nodded eagerly. She grinned at me, revealing many missing teeth.
I followed her through the grand house into the much smaller kitchen. I could not help but be impatient at this woman's slow, limping pace. After what seemed like an eternity, she placed a plate of steaming hot food in front of me. My stomach didn't allot me the time to check to see what I was eating, just enough time to wait for a fork to find its way into my hand.
Cosette sat across from me, watching me amusedly. I cleared my plate, but my appetite was not yet sated. She seemed to understand exactly what it was I wanted, and pulled my plate away.
As she walked back towards the stove, she asked, "What business do you have with my mistress?" I glanced down at my hands. Something told me le Cometess would not like me telling this old woman.
"My business is my own," I said, echoing le Cometess.
She chuckled over the stove. "Have your own way then."
"How long have you worked here?" I asked in attempts to change the subject.
"Long time," she replied, placing another plate of food in front of me. "Rather surprised she kept me on as long as she has."
"Why's that?" I shoved my mouth full to capacity.
"Look at me," she said gesturing to her misshapen body. "If she had her way, she would have sent me packing years ago. Heart of ice she has. She wouldn't care that I wouldn't be able to get work elsewhere." Her voice had taken a bitter tone. "Oh my, my tongue has run away with me. We'll keep that between us. Won't we?" I nodded. Was this Cometess really so bad?
"Why did she keep you?"
"Her daughter, Chantal. Now there's a fine specimen of a woman if I've ever seen one. Heart of gold, and the only one warm enough to melt the heart of her mother. She talked her mother into keeping me. She's the only reason I stay," she confided. I sat there, not only digesting my first meal in weeks, but also this new information. Was I right to follow this woman? One memory of my family's gaunt forms was enough to strengthen my resolve. I didn't care what following this woman entailed; my family's lives were on the line.
"Thank you, Cosette," I said, standing. "But I really must retire. If you would show me to my room."
"You know my name," she commented, but without surprise.
"The driver told it to me," I explained as she led me out of the kitchen.
"Ahh, yes, Pierre would," she whispered to herself.
We walked at her same limping pace through the many corridors until she halted in front of a tall, oak door.
"I'm not sure what room she wants you in, but this one is made up," she informed me while opening the door.
The room was magnificent. There was a large bed with royal red blankets in one corner. On the opposite side of the room, there was a fireplace and wood stacked up to one side. The room also contained a window, a desk, and a small wardrobe.
"Will this do?"
"Yes" was all I could think of to say.
"I trust you can build your own fire," she told me as she left the room.
Once she had closed the door, I moved towards the fireplace and began carefully placing logs. After I had a considerable blaze going, I moved towards the window. The darkness shrouded the potential view from my eyes. As I gazed out into the shadows, I couldn't help but think that I had fallen into my own web of darkness.
"Enough. Get a hold on yourself" I said aloud to myself in order to quell such dark thoughts. I turned back towards the bed, and climbed in, clothes and all. I slid my hands over the smooth, perfect blankets.
'These,' I thought, as I climbed in between the covers. 'These are what blankets should feel like.'
In the warm security of the bed, I watched the firelight dance and play along the walls. I entertained myself with picturing this Christine Daae. I had never had the best imagination, and all of the images I conjured up were only poor takes off the women I had met today. The first woman that walked through my imagination was missing numerous teeth, had cold, unforgiving eyes, stood hunched over, but at the same time tried to hold herself impossible high. After the second attempt was no better, I gave up and drifted off to sleep, imagining my family. For in my dreams, and only in my dreams, could I return to them.
A/N
Sorry this is so late. I suffered from some writer's block about half way through. I know what the next chapter is going to be, but I don't know when I'll have it up. School is a little hectic, and (thanks to some unexpected inspiration from Roselight Writer) have started my own story. Well, I've started a history to my own story. So, I'm balancing my time between these two stories. Anywho, hope you enjoyed. Until next time! Ta! (haha, ta, that's a funny word don't you think? I love it)