Chapter 10: Departure of the Trio
[featuring "Questionable Behavior", "Return of the Vicomte", and "Lies for the Greater Good"]
Christine woke the next morning and glanced out the french doors leading onto the loggia. Her negligee was draped over the side of the railing as if she'd carelessly left it there during a late night admiration of the atrium garden. The garment taunted her as it fluttered in a nonexistent breeze. Christine stormed onto the loggia and snatched the negligee from the railing before tossing it in the bottom of her wardrobe along with the winter clothing Erik had purchased for her. The clothing she'd brought last summer suited the warm spring weather just fine, and there was no use arousing Raoul's suspicions by coming home with a new winter wardrobe. After last night, Christine was happy to leave the dresses behind. She felt a slight tug at her heartstrings when she saw the stunning Christmas dress hanging in the wardrobe, but she confidently slammed the door shut. She didn't need Erik's gifts.
Christine dressed in her traveling clothes and sulked into the breakfast room. She pursed her lips when neither Meg nor Erik showed up for the meal. Madame Giry didn't know their whereabouts, Gustave didn't care, and one couldn't get a word out of Ayesha. Christine scowled at the dish before her.
Erik and Meg did not make their first appearance until late morning. Christine was sitting in the parlour trying to fan away her anxiety when the giggling pair stumbled in from the garden. Christine huffed at the sight of their flushed faces and the mud stains on the knees of Erik's trousers. Meg smirked at Christine's obvious annoyance and left the room with her nose in the air. Christine's "ambitious" plans had been foiled; Erik didn't want her, and her reign of terror on the defenseless man was coming to end.
"It's a lovely day," said Erik as he rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. Christine glanced at him from the corner of her eye. She happened to think that was a very fetching look on him, but she wasn't going to admit such a thing out loud.
"Is it?" she said uninterestedly, still staring at his bare forearms as he took a seat beside her on the sofa.
"It is indeed. Very hot, but a pleasant breeze," said Erik with a smile. "You know, Madame de Chagny, I invited Meg to take a walk in the garden this morning, and the most extraordinary thing happened!"
"Well, I don't care to know!" said Christine harshly as she snapped her fan shut and smacked it across her palm.
"Ah, but I think you do! You see, we found this." Erik held up Christine's golden wedding band. "I believe this belongs to you, does it not?"
"I don't believe so," said Christine stubbornly, averting her eyes from the tangible reminder of her duty.
"But I believe it does," Erik insisted. "Isn't this the date of your wedding engraved on the inside?"
Christine begrudgingly inspected the ring. "Oh...yes...so it is. How kind of you to remember my wedding anniversary." She forced the ring onto her finger.
"Oh...Well, it's not that I remember your anniversary, but that I remember it in relation to...something else…" Erik cleared his throat as his unmasked cheek turned bright pink. He stood awkwardly and straightened his collar before retreating to his study.
Christine shivered with anxiety as she waited in the foyer beside Erik and the Girys. Raoul was expected to arrive at any moment, and he'd made it clear through his letter he wanted to leave as soon as possible. The luggage was stacked by the door, but where was Gustave?
"Gustave!" Christine called through the massive house, hoping her son was somewhere nearby. The boy walked out of the parlour with his nose in a book, determined to read as much as possible before he had to leave, but he'd never finish the book in time.
"Mr. Y, would it be alright if I took this book with me?" Gustave asked shyly.
"Gustave!" Christine scolded.
"I can mail it back!" the boy added hastily.
"Gustave, you may take the book, and you may keep it," Erik said to his son. "Feel free to take any book you wish!"
The boy's eyes grew wide. He rushed to the library to grab a few books he'd had his eye on but hadn't yet read during his extended stay at Mazandaran. He didn't want to be overly greedy, so he put one back before turning to the foyer with his stack. Gustave sat on his mother's steamer trunk and read until Raoul arrived.
The Vicomte entered the foyer with a sour expression on his face. No one dared to look him in the eye.
"Hello, my Little Lotte," Raoul said mechanically as he placed a cold kiss on Christine's cheek. "I'm glad to see you've recovered so radiantly."
"Thank you, dear," Christine replied with equal unenthusiasm.
"Gustave," said Raoul as he ruffled the boy's hair.
"Hello, Father," Gustave replied. Raoul pursed his lips at the word, but he was relieved the boy hadn't started referring to Erik as "Father" instead.
Raoul politely greeted the Girys as a footman loaded the luggage onto the carriage. There was only one person left to address: the master of the house himself.
"Hello, Vicomte," said Erik, extending a hand to Raoul. Christine glared at her husband, silently ordering him to accept the handshake.
"Hello, Mr. Y," Raoul spat, mocking Erik's invented alias. Both men begrudgingly held the other's hand and moved their wrists up and down before recoiling at the physical contact and subtly wiping their hand on the sides of their trousers.
The foyer remained silent until the footman told Raoul everything was ready when he was. Christine politely kissed the cheeks of the two Giry women and stiffly thanked Erik again for his hospitality. Gustave did likewise and the de Chagny trio departed from Mazandaran.
"What an absolutely gaudy structure," Raoul jeered as they entered the carriage. "These American architects have no taste whatsoever!"
Christine held her tongue. It was no use telling her husband that Erik was the architect and that she happened to think his manor was a stroke of genius.
"Well, what have you two been up to for the past nine months?" asked Raoul. Christine and Gustave were sitting across from him, refusing to engage in conversation. Gustave was reading as usual, Christine was staring at her hands folded tightly in her lap.
"Gustave? What have you been up to? Enjoying a year off from school?" Raoul teased.
"Mr. Y has been helping me with my studies," the boy replied softly without looking up from his book.
"Is that so?"
"Yes, Erik has been spoiling the boy with attention," Christine answered sharply. Raoul clenched his jaw. "Go on, Gustave. Tell your father what you've been studying," Christine commanded.
"Ah well, let's see...we've been spending a lot of time on music-"
"Of course," Raoul scoffed.
"-And math and French and history…" Gustave counted off on his fingers. "Geography and Latin...oh, and he's been teaching me English too!" Gustave introduced himself in English to show what he learned. Christine praised her son, but Raoul was unimpressed.
"Hmph. I see Mr. Y has been neglecting your catechism," he grumbled. Erik's house may be extraordinary, but Raoul was certain the manor did not include a chapel. Erik was a godless man. "I suppose we ought to find a suitable boarding school for you," Raoul said to Gustave.
"Boarding school!" Christine exclaimed. She protectively grabbed her son's hand and held it tightly.
"Well of course," Raoul replied. "Christine, I was already in boarding school by the time I was his age."
"I won't allow it."
"Well, Gustave, what do you think?" Raoul asked.
"Uh...I'm not sure…" the boy replied, removing his hand from his mother's so he could slink farther behind his book.
"Perhaps you could go to a British school," Raoul suggested. "If you're going to learn English, you might as well learn it the proper way." No one would be able to understand the filthy American dialect even if Gustave didn't speak with a heavy French accent.
"I won't allow it," Christine adamantly repeated through gritted teeth.
"Fine. We'll discuss it later," Raoul snapped to halt the brewing argument. He looked out the window with a huff. He'd thought a few months of separation would be good for their marriage. He'd hoped Christine would realize how much she loved him and would run into his arms, sobbing over how much she missed him, but she was disgruntled about leaving America. Raoul had told her she could stay with Erik if they found a blissful life together, but evidently the grass was always greener on the other side of the pond. Christine may have expected a few months in her Angel's arms to be a blessing, but it had turned out to be a curse.
After a few days in an extravagant Manhattan hotel they couldn't afford, the de Chagny trio embarked for Europe. The trip across the Atlantic was uneventful except Gustave nearly fell overboard, and Christine nearly died from a heart attack.
"Calm down, Christine," Raoul groaned. "He wasn't going to fall."
"Yes he was!" she insisted as she clutched her son to her beating chest and scolded him for climbing on the railing.
By the end of the week, the family was at home in France. Their property in the countryside had been sold years ago, much to the disappointment of distant de Chagny relatives, so the trio lived year round in a Parisian townhouse. Most of the rooms were locked up because the townhouse was understaffed, and the small garden was somehow overgrown and dying at the same time because the gardener had been let go. Christine was limited to the front parlour, the dining room, and her bedroom upstairs. Though Raoul had hoped they could return to sharing a bedroom as they did in the early years of their marriage, Christine requested her old chambers be opened and cleaned immediately. Raoul didn't stop the maid from obeying her mistress' orders. He knew he'd lost his wife for good.
Christine lay in bed attempting to read before going to sleep, but it was useless. She'd written Erik earlier that afternoon, and each word she put to paper was knife through the heart, but it had to be said.
"Who is it?" she snapped in reply to the timid knock on the door.
"It's me," said Raoul. "May I come in?"
"Yes. Come in, dear," she responded with feigned sweetness, rolling her eyes before her husband entered the room. Raoul hesitantly opened the door and shuffled inside. He sat on the foot of his wife's bed, staring at her wordlessly.
"Is there something you want?" Christine asked as if the book in her hands had actually been capable of holding her attention.
"I missed you very much when you were gone," Raoul said shyly. Christine stuck her nose farther into her book. "Did you miss me?" Raoul asked.
Christine clenched her jaw. "Yes. I missed you very much," she lied. A small smile flickered across Raoul's face, but it disappeared.
"You didn't miss me at all, did you?" he muttered. Christine didn't reply. "Christine, answer me! If I wanted a loveless marriage I would've married one of the wealthy heiresses my brother picked out from me." Raoul crossed his arms and pouted.
"Yes, well if I wanted to marry a drunken gambler, I would've married a scoundrel like Erik, but I didn't. I married you." Christine leaned over to kiss the cheek of her attention starved husband before returning to her book.
"Do you mean that, Christine?" Raoul asked gleefully as he leaned closer to his wife. "Do you mean you're glad you married me instead of him?"
"Yes, I don't want anything to do with that man," Christine tried to convince herself. She set aside her book so Raoul could take her in his arms.
"I told you, didn't I?" said Raoul as he covered his wife's neck with kisses. "He was horrible wasn't he?"
"Well, I must give him credit for being a good host," said Christine coyly.
"But I'm sure he was an absolute terror."
"Indeed." Christine smiled and pressed a kiss to her husband's lips. "I'm glad to be finally rid of that monster."
Raoul's heart soared at her words. "I love you, Christine!" he declared passionately. "I'm so sorry. I promise I'll do better for you. You have my word."
"Thank you, Raoul. I'm sorry as well. Please forgive me..." Christine whispered, knowing there was no way she'd be able to remedy her past mistakes against her husband. Her apology was sincere, and believed Raoul's was also, but Christine struggled to accept his promise. Every aristocrat she'd met lied for sake of politeness; even she fell victim to the habit every once in a while, but the men in her life did nothing but make empty promises.