"Oh," Christine said, startled at the carriage's sudden halt. "Have we arrived? Where are we?"
"Go outside and see."
She did as he commanded and in front of her was a door, a very familiar door at that. A girlish gasp escaped her lips and she twirled around on the spot, her hands bracing the sides of the carriage as her eyes gleamed. "The Rue Saint-Honoré! Oh, thank you!"
Erik smiled gently before nodding his masked head at the house behind her, wary of remaining as far from the light as possible. "Instead of dawdling on the streets, my dear, you might want to knock. Someone might see you. I will be here when you are finished."
"Oh, yes, of course! Thank you again!" she cried before shutting the door and turning to knock briskly on the wood. She had to wait but a fraction of a moment before the door opened and a tiny face appeared. "Simone!" she exclaimed as the young girl smiled back at her.
"Mademoiselle Christine," she said, stepping back and allowing her entrance. "Please come inside. We have been expecting you," she added, gesturing towards the open doored parlour.
At her curious words, Christine raised an eyebrow. "You have?" she asked in vain as the girl proceeded to scamper off into the kitchen. Christine was about call her back when she suddenly realised to what the girl had been referring.
"Christine!" a voice squealed from inside the parlour.
A wide grin spread across Christine's face as she recognised the person now bounding towards her. "Meg! This is a surprise," she said, pulling her into a rough embrace, both females giggling in sheer amusement at their own eagerness. "How good it is to see you again," she continued, holding her excited friend away at arm's length before her little, yet strong, arms could succeed in suffocating her. "Let me see you! Oh, how well you look!"
Indeed she did. Meg Giry was a youthful child of eighteen, but did not indulge in others announcing her age. Her slender body and lovely face, tailored with a smooth olive-toned complexion, were ahead of her mind in terms of maturity and Christine always inwardly envied her for that.
"I am extremely well, thank you. And what of your health, Christine?" Meg asked, smiling at her with a genuine kindness she had not witnessed in months.
"If you two ladies have quite finished, then perhaps I will be able to wish my daughter a happy birthday," another voice said from behind them.
"Mamma!" Christine exclaimed, rushing inside the parlour and over to where her guardian was seated on her armchair.
"Happy birthday," she spoke lovingly, gently wrapping two shaking arms around her ward's frame before leaning over to kiss her cheek. As Christine straightened, Mamma Valérius commented, "You are glowing, dear," as her aged eyes fell up and down her decadently draped figure. "And your clothing, well, I must say it is the finest thing I have seen you in."
"And that necklace!" Meg chimed, walking towards her friend with her fingers outstretched towards the jewels. "How beautiful. Are those real?" she asked, staring at them in disbelief, wondering where she had got them from, or rather who she had got them from.
"I have a suspicion that they are, and I would appreciate it if you keep your prying fingers away from them!" Christine teased, causing her friend to giggle once more. It only took a little to make Meg Giry laugh.
"Please sit, Christine," Mamma Valérius said, extending an old hand towards a nearby chair. From there they proceeded to talk about anything their minds could muster up, each sipping occasionally from a glass of sherry. "How is your dancing coming along at the Opéra, Meg?" Mamma Valérius enquired.
Christine gazed down at her lap as the subject was broached, but the two women did not seem to notice her momentary lapse in conversation.
"Very well, Madame, thank you for asking," Meg replied eagerly. "Maman says I have made excellent progress recently, which I am very pleased about. Although, we have had trouble keeping a suitable number of cast members ever since the... incident." Her eyes flickered to Christine at that moment and suddenly she wished that they were alone. There was so much that Meg wanted to ask her friend about that night below the Opéra. How little she had been told and, like a child, it felt as though she were being sheltered from the truth.
"I hope for your sake," Mamma Valérius murmured, "as well as everyone else's, that business has not been terribly bad these past few months." A frown appeared on her already wrinkled brow as she tried to recall the distant details. "How long has it been since the incident? Forgive me for asking, but my memory is not what it used to be."
Christine gazed sympathetically towards her surrogate mother and was about to murmur a few soft words of reassurance when, to her surprise, Meg replied, "Eight months, Madame. It has been eight months."
Eight months.
"How time has flown," Christine whispered to herself pensively, echoing her very own words from the day before. "But how have things changed since we last saw each other, Meg? What news is there from the Opéra and its... occupants?" Her words hung in the air for a moment before she regretted even opening her mouth. To anyone else, 'occupants' was just another word to describe the theatre dwellers, the stage hands, the performers. But, to Christine, it much more than that—the musicians, the managers... the patrons.
"Everyone is well," Meg replied and though she did not realise her friend's true meaning, she still held a suspicion over her. "We are slightly concerned, however, since we have just started rehearsals and our new Prima Donna seems to have taken things into her own hands."
This caught Christine's attention. A new Prima Donna? "When did this happen? What ever happened to Carlotta?" A wavering worry settled itself deep into the pit of her stomach and yet she drank more from the small glass in her hand just so that she would not have to speak again. After all these torturous years, had Erik finally succeeded in banishing the ill voiced soprano from the stage? Immediately, she berated herself for thinking such a dreadful thing, but... there was always going to be that lingering doubt with Erik and that was what Christine feared.
"Her name is Amélie-Armand-Duram," said Meg, pulling her out of her thoughts, "and I dare say she has more of a mouth to her than Carlotta did! I do not know if you have heard that we are rehearsing Le Nozze Di Figaro at the moment, but, even if you have, you would not be able to comprehend the amount of stress that she is able to cause everyone."
Christine swallowed a forming lump in her throat but could not bring herself to look her friend in the eye as she asked, "And... Carlotta's fate?"
"Oh," Meg sighed and nonchalantly leaned back into her chair. "She accepted an offer to sing at La Fenice a couple of months back. You know that after she croaked, she rested for several months until returning to finish La Traviata's run. Though, you know, as well as I, that her reputation in Paris would never recover after such an unforgettable performance. Sometimes I cannot help but pity her, but that was when she received her offer. You should have seen her reaction! Overjoyed, she was. Though, to be perfectly honest, I feel sorry for Italy for playing host to such a prestigious, irritable, old hag!" Mamma Valérius tutted at Meg's enthusiastic words and wondered whether the drink was to blame, or whether her tongue was just naturally loose. "Oh, but she really was dreadful though, was she not, Madame?" she asked, turning to the elderly woman. "That does not explain why she was so popular, though."
An offer; that was all that had happened. Christine released a deep breath, exhaling all her worked up worry. She could not believe that she had even suspected Erik of being responsible for Carlotta's departure! How foolish she was... and how guilty she now felt.
"Perhaps her looks had something to do with it," Mamma teased. "After all, some only go to the opera to see the pretty faces and a pair of legs on show."
Meg snorted rather loudly which made the old woman grimace and gaze down at the last droplets of sherry which swirled about rather fiercely in the young girl's hand. She hoped she would not ruin the furniture in her merriment. Christine, on the other hand, could not blame her friend; Meg's manners had always been appalling. "Yes, but one could hardly call her beautiful."
"Meg Giry, you should hold your tongue if you know what is good for you," Christine scolded her as her mouth curled up into a smile, betraying her stern words.
"It is true! She was no great beauty." Meg laughed loudly, her dulcet tones filling the air with a pleasant atmosphere. "Giry... Yes, I do suppose I shall miss that name."
Christine's smile fell in confusion as she turned her head between the two women. Perhaps she had missed something in her daze. "What are you talking about?" she asked, leaning forward.
Beaming, Meg bit her lip before blurting out quite rapidly, "Oh, Christine! I am to be married!"
A warmth crept over her neck as her eyes grew wide, her mouth hung open in utter shock. "Married?" Christine repeated. It seemed to be the only word she could say.
"Yes! And not to just any old pompous man. No, I shall be wed to none other than the Baron de Barbazac," she exclaimed proudly. "I would even go as far as to declare him the most handsome man in all of France!"
By the end of her little speech, Meg's excitement was barely contained and she appeared to be summoning every ounce of her self-control not to bounce up and down in her chair. Christine, on the other hand, was aghast. While it was true that Meg was not much younger than herself, and she knew of many girls who married before their eighteenth year, she certainly was not thinking of marrying at that age. And what of her promising career? Had she not just said that she has been making excellent progress? Would Meg throw away her chance at performing in Paris... like she did?
"My girl, congratulations!" Mamma Valérius told her. "You will make him a fine wife to be sure."
"Oh, I do hope so, Madame." Meg turned to look at Christine, her head titled, and in that instant she knew that something was troubling her. "Christine, won't you say something? You are, after all, in the presence of a Baroness-to-be," she laughed haughtily, but to no avail.
Christine blinked a few times before managing a short reply. "A Baroness..."
"Yes," Meg spoke softly, sceptical over whether or not her friend was pleased.
And, at first, Christine was not pleased. Not at all. Jealousy, untapped and potent, coursed through her veins at the thought of the forthcoming marriage. Meg would have everything she ever wanted; a loving husband and a household of her own where she could live in comfort and security. A sigh escaped her and as Christine's tongue darted out to wet her lips, she noted that the bitterness there was not a result of the sherry. Meg wore the veil of a blushing bride and Christine knew all too well of its rose coloured perspective. Anger, pity, remorse, regret, confusion... It all began to bubble within her until her eyes shone with unshed tears.
"Meg," she whispered, grateful for the softness in her tone as she gazed at her friend in only adoration now. "Oh, do not mind me! I am so happy for you. Can we see the ring?" she asked after recalling no ring being on her finger when she had first arrived. Meg nodded and held out her left hand, impatiently waiting for a reaction.
Sure enough, a ring was placed on her finger and Christine wondered how she could ever have missed it. It was a beautiful silver band, encrusted with a sapphire and diamonds. Though a sharp pang shot through her chest at the sight of it, Christine had to admire how fitting and natural it appeared upon Meg's hand.
"Oh," Meg breathed out a content sigh, pulling her hand back to inspect the ring herself. "I feel ecstatic when I am near him!" A sad smile suddenly broke out over Christine's now trembling mouth, reminiscent of her past love. She did not wish to stop Meg's giddiness though, not when this was the happiest Christine had ever seen her. "I think I am so in love that I fear my heart will jump out of my chest when I next see him."
"Congratulations again, Meg," Christine whispered quietly.
"What is the matter? Have I upset you?" Meg widened her eyes. "I should not have mentioned it! Why did I ever open my mouth? You should have silenced me."
"Oh, you are silly sometimes." Christine tried her best to laugh. "It is perfectly natural for you to be excited about your marriage, so do not be worried about keeping your emotions hidden." She looked down at her feet and shuffled uncomfortably in her seat. "Meg?"
"Yes?"
"May we speak privately for a moment or so? There is something... I would like to discuss with you."
"Only if Madame Valérius allows it," Meg said, casting a grin in the older woman's direction.
Mamma Valérius looked over the rim of her glass and nodded before taking a larger sip of her sherry, barely taking notice as the younger women rose from their seats. Christine thanked her with a hasty glance before walking into the dining room with Meg in tail. As soon as the door swung shut behind them, Christine froze.
"What is it that you wish to talk about?" Meg asked, her tone laden with concern.
"If I am not so bold in asking," she started, not quite believing herself to be saying this question aloud. "I wish to know, how did you first know you were in love?"
A frown creased the young dancer's forehead. "You surely know what it feels like to be in love. Why ask me?"
Sighing, Christine sat down on the nearest chair, leaning her elbows on the polished surface of the dining table. "Please tell me, Meg."
Meg, too, sat down to the left of her, leaning forward to rest her hand gently upon her friend's sleeve. "Christine, why do you need me to tell you? Are you... Are you doubting your feelings for the Vicomte? Are you not in love with him?"
"I am... not certain," she started slowly, staring straight at her, sparing her no hidden view of her emotions. "I am not certain of anything anymore. I find myself re-thinking everything I have felt and have known within the past year and a half. I am so lost at times that I do not even know what is real. To make matters even more baffling, I do not think I believe in my feelings for Raoul all those months ago." She laughed dryly, looking down at the comforting hand on her arm. "No," she continued. "No, that is a lie. I am adamant I loved him. I did, I am most certain of it."
"Then," Meg began gently, "what is it that you are wondering about?"
"I feel... changed. I do not know how to explain it. I only know that I have grown to care for someone and it terrifies me," she whispered.
"I... Who are you speaking of?" Meg said slowly, her loose grip slowly tightening in understanding. "Oh, Christine, you do not mean the Opera Ghost! I can scarcely believe what I am hearing!"
"Oh, Meg." Christine sighed, drooping her head wearily into her hands. "He is but a man; he is not a ghost. A man with a troubled and tortured soul. That is where I have been, Meg, with him, in his domain." She looked at her hands. "And he loves me, most passionately. But it scares me, his love. I am not sure that I can return it on the same heights. I... I fear that it... that I will not be enough to save him."
Erik's devotion and, what one might call, eccentric declarations always managed to startle Christine and leave her awkwardly, yet patiently awaiting his next move. But she found the lengths to which he would dive for her affection to be truly awful. He was willing to kill for her favour, but did not seem to understand that killing would also drive her away. She did not wish to believe that he was too far gone. She was still certain that there was good left in him, and there was. She had seen it.
Meg slowly removed her hand from Christine's arm and settled it in her own lap. She exhaled slowly, taking her time to process this new information. "All this time I thought, we all thought, that you were living in retirement outside of Paris. And now I find out that it wasn't true. You have been living with him."
"Please, you mustn't tell anyone," Christine said, reaching for Meg's hand and ensnaring it with a sudden surge of strength. "Promise me."
Meg studied her and leaned into the back of her chair. Anxiously, she turned her head away and glanced down at the floor. "I will promise, but I do not pretend to understand what is going through that head of yours. There was so much I had wanted to ask you... and now I am sure I want to."
Unexpectedly, Christine smiled. "I do not pretend to know what goes on in my head either. But, tell me, what do they think happened to him? Do they truly think him dead? Is he... safe?"
"There have been many rumours around the Opéra," Meg explained, not wishing to dwell on her friend's apprehensive expression. "Some believe that he drowned in his own lake and ended up drifting down the Seine. People are paranoid when they are looking for a corpse, so paranoid that they often mistake others for being said corpse. And that is what happened. On several occasions, men brought in a battered old body claiming it to be him. Others say that he simply vanished since he has not been seen or heard from in these past eight months. Those who believe this are insisting that his work at the Opéra is done and that he is now travelling the lands in search of another building to haunt. It is all very morbid, but there are some who claim that he is still alive and watching us even as we speak... I suppose they would be correct."
"Then... he is safe," Christine concluded, almost to herself.
Meg cared dearly for her friend, though she was at a loss at her behaviour tonight. She had never seen her act in such a way, and to witness her genuine concern for the man who had cheated his way into her soul was startling.
"Christine, may I ask you something?" Meg said, a slight tremor to her words as she considered the possibility. "Are you in love with—"
"No," she said automatically before she pulled her lips into a thin line. "I couldn't be." The thought of not being able to return Erik's love had always been present in her mind, but never had the thought that she could... that she was already...
And yet, it could not be love. With Raoul, it had been so different. With him, she had been safe. There was a time, long before now, when Christine had feared her heart would break if anything were to happen to either of them. She sighed, running a hand over her hair. Raoul. She had not seen nor spoken to him in what seemed like an age and she felt guilty for not sparing him a thought now and then. Though, she knew it was for the best. She had encouraged him to move on with his life and she had hoped that he had done just that. Perhaps, she mused, he had even found himself a wife, someone whom he could love unconditionally and without complications. Christine wanted him to be happy.
Her eyes lingered on Meg's engagement ring before asking, "How do you feel when you are with the Baron? Please, I need to know, Meg."
Need, not want. Meg looked into Christine's eyes and saw her silent plea. Though troubled at the very idea of the man who may hold her friend's affections, she could not deny her answers, not when she so desperately asked for them.
"You have asked me this but I cannot give an answer, not one that you had hoped for anyway," Meg murmured, leaning forward and catching Christine's hand. "If I were to answer then it would not be right. If you were to ask another then they would answer differently. Love is a very personal thing. I don't think you would ever hear the same two answers. I could describe a relationship befitting a fairy tale but it would not be enough for you, I think. Am I wrong?"
No, she was not, Christine realised and she squeezed her hand in gratitude.
They rejoined Mamma Valérius soon after that and Christine guiltily drank two more glasses before being handed gifts to take back with her. She accepted these with a smile, though deep down her heart was still restless.
"Christine?" Meg asked, pulling her out of a daze. "Is anything the matter?" Her fingers brushed over her cheek but Christine hardly noticed her touch. "Are you ill?"
"No, I am not, I just... I think I just in need of some air. It was lovely to see you again, but I think that it would be best if I take my leave ow."
Mamma Valérius was saddened by her words but offered her a kind smile. "Of course, dear. You must have the rest of the evening planned anyway. We would not wish to detain you further."
Christine wrapped her arms around her guardian in a warm but brief embrace before turning and meeting Meg's arms.
"I hope you make sense of it all," she whispered in her ear.
Christine pulled back and gave her an acknowledging smile before saying, "I promise I will write to you, to both of you."
She then bid both ladies a fond farewell, pressed a kissed to Mamma Valérius' soft cheek, and walked out the front door, gifts in hand.
Breathing in the night breeze, Christine filled her lungs greedily with each intake. Somehow the air was of a different taste now, more sharp and refined, the darkened atmosphere more comforting compared to her satisfactory time indoors. It was strange—it was almost as though the air had been cured of pestilence.
Christine peered up at the blanket of black. The stars were looking down upon the Earth, each one a watchful eye, observing guardians. She often wondered, if her father were among these eyes.
The distance between Christine and the carriage door seemed to stretch on and on before her but she made her way over to it with determination. She would not let her confusion spoil their evening.
She had not even sat down on the black seat before Erik turned to her and spoke, "I did not expect you back so soon. Are you all right?"
At the very sound of his soothing voice, she relaxed into the seat and breathed deeply, lolling her head to the side to face him. "Yes, I am quite well."
He studied her carefully and found her gaze rather unnerving, even though he was certain that she could not see him properly. "Do you wish to go home?"
She took little time in answering, "Of course not."
He continued to glance her way for a few more seconds, suspicion making his head tilt slightly. "Are you certain you are all right?"
"Yes. I am merely feeling a little... overwhelmed, that is all." It was not completely a lie, but Christine knew that she would need time alone to dwell on her thoughts later. "I was given some lovely gifts from Mamma and Meg," she told him, looking from the decorated boxes and then back up to him. "Thank you for arranging that, Erik."
He grunted and as he tapped the carriage roof, it sprang to life, carrying them into the night.
Christine's hands began to fiddle nervously with her dress skirts, necklace, or any other insignificant detail that she felt needed perfecting or tweaking. As her fingers continued their work she could feel Erik's gaze on her. It did nothing to help her suddenly poor nerves.
"May I tell you something, Erik?"
"What?" he replied distantly, his voice almost lost amongst the sound of the wheels rumbling against the road.
"Did you know that Meg is to be married?"
"Ah," he mumbled, staring at the dark window on his side. "That is good to hear. I often wondered if her mother took my letter seriously or not."
At his queer words, Christine frowned and sat up, questions flying around her head. "What letter?"
When his mask turned towards her, a mysterious glint shone in his eyes, the same mischievous glint she had seen earlier. "Have you ever wondered how Giry came to work for me?"
"No, I haven't. Why?"
"A few years ago, after one performance—Rigoletto, was it?—I left Giry a sealed envelope upon my seat in box five. She would usually leave things such as programmes or notes passed on from the managers and would only return after I had departed. That was how I paid her, you see; I always left a sum on money on my seat. Only this time, I left her a letter addressed to her. I will not bore you with its contents, but I will say this. I wrote that, should she deserve it, little Giry would become a woman of nobility through her marriage to a man of high class."
This was certainly the last thing Christine had expected to hear. "You... you knew that this would happen? How? How could you possibly have known?"
"Some things are better left unsaid, would you not agree?" he replied cryptically. All the same, Christine reminded herself to ask Meg in her letter whether or not she knew anything about this. "Now," he continued, "I think a little fresh air is in order, don't you?"