Author's Note:
Dear Readers,
For all fanfic writers who don't write modern fanfics, please look into Dicken's Dictionary of Paris, 1882. IT IS A WEALTH OF INFORMATION FOR A WRITER! I'm loving every minute of reading! I don't know if it can be gotten in a hard copy but it is on Google Books.
sarahandmarquis
Chapter 16:
"Christine? Christine, are you awake?" The blonde Comte inquired as he slipped under the sheets beside his dozing wife. Blue eyes fluttering open, she yawned quietly before she snuggled into his shoulder.
"Yes. How long did I sleep?" She asked quietly, peering up at him through sleepy eyes.
"Several hours. It's nearly supper time." A small laugh teased the corners of her mouth as she entwined her pale fingers with his strong ones. He returned her quiet gesture of affection with a gentle hand squeeze before kissing her forehead gently. "Would you like a little walk by the ocean before we eat? Do you feel well enough?"
Christine's breath labored for a moment before she nodded, shifting in the small bed to sitting up.
"That would be nice. I'll waste away in this bed." A self-depreciating chuckle echoed between thin lips. "I look no better than him." After a year, Raoul found his bride referring to her angel more often and with less horror. Her mind had recovered, now her body had to follow.
"I'll fetch your cloak." He whispered as he slid from the bed and disappeared from the room. returning several moments later, he helped his unsteady bride from their bed and wrapped the cloak about her shoulders.
"Thank you, Raoul. Is the beach pretty right now?" He nodded and guided her out of their small villa on the shore and down a smooth rock path to the sandy shore.
"See, it's quite lovely." The weary girl nodded and leaned heavily on him as they ambled along, Christine pausing only once to remove her shoes to enjoy the sand between her toes. When they reached a flat boulder, Christine gestured for them to rest.
"This has been a nice holiday, Raoul. Thank you for bringing me here. I feel better almost every day. I'll soon be ready to return to Paris." Despite his wife's mentioning that cursed city nearly every day, Raoul had long ago determined that she would never go back, except perhaps to see her father's grave.
"I have been thinking, Christine, and…and perhaps it isn't wise for either of us to go back to Paris." He slipped an arm around her shoulders and kissed her temple. "We would do much better to stay away."
"No!" She gasped and clutched his lapels with all the strength her weak body could muster. "No! We must go back. I must bury his remains. I promised, Raoul. I fell ill and couldn't complete it. But, I must now I am better. He is long dead. We have nothing to worry about."
"Christine, you're still so sick. I don't want to risk your health, mental or physical, anytime soon." His blue eyes softened kindly as hers welled up with tears,
"You think I'm crazy, don't you!"
"No! No, I don't think you're crazy. It's just…you've been ill and, I would never risk your health intentionally. I love you, my darling. I love you." Containing her whimpers, Christine laid her head against her husband's chest and whispered,
"I love you too."
E-OC
My dearest Christine,
Erik begs you not to be alarmed at receiving this letter. He is sure you believe him to long interred into the soil beneath his Opera House but, that is hardly correct. He has had a fortunate run of luck and has been reinstated at the Opera Ghost.
He shall get straight to the point. The Opera is putting on its first performance since its temporary closing and we must have a soprano that Erik can trust. He could think of none but you.
Christine, Erik trained your voice to perfection. You must come and sing. Erik will not try to meet with you. He will avoid you. He loves you but you must be happy with your young man.
He let you go. He will not recant his promise.
Your Angel of Music
After scratching his signature into the parchment, Erik glanced back through his letter. Surely, she wouldn't deny him this? Surely, she would be kind to the memories of her angel. Surely, she would come sing for him once more, even if it were for his alias.
Carefully folding the message, he stamped it appropriately and sealed it with his skull seal. Setting the letter aside for posting later, he picked up a sheet of paper and began to plot daily plans for the Opera, refusing to ponder why his confession of love had been so hard and his promise of avoidance so easily written.
Certainly, it was just his fear of rejection.
It had to be just that.
E-OC
"What do you think of forest green?" Reine asked as she held up a scrap of cloth and frowned at it. "Would this be a good color for a Christmas Masque?" Candela shrugged and took the color from the Duchess.
"I don't know. It's very much a Christmas color but I always preferred red."
"Ah, that's a good one too. Let me see what I have…" She dug through her cloth pieces and withdrew a handsome blood shade. "How about this? It's a good red, reminds me of the holly berries back home." Candela took the color strip from her and nodded.
"Yes, I like it. Maybe some white added in for accent and the decorations will be perfect."
"Maybe it will snow and add to the mood!" Reine offered excitedly and set the red cloth aside and pulled out a paper covered in party theories they had drawn up several weeks previously at their first meeting. Adding the color choice to the page, she set it aside and pulled out another page.
"I'll commission the curtains and other décor this afternoon. Yesterday, I arranged for the meal and appetizers as well as the silverware and dishes." While chewing on her bottom lip, she scratched off those items on the list. "All we need to do is write invitations. I bought cards and had the invitation printed. All we must do now is write each name. What are your opinions of writer's cramp?"
"On behalf of a good cause, I shall endure it with joy." Candela declared happily as Reine passed her a stack of cards, a pen, and a list of names. Settling comfortably into her chair, she began to carefully copy names just as they were listed.
After several moments with no sound but scratching of pen on paper, Reine spoke up,
"Tell me about your childhood, if that's not much a problem." Glancing up from her work, she dipped her pen in an inkwell and continued speaking, "I don't mean to pry at all, I'm just curious how you came to live here."
Candela paused for a moment, her pen dripping once onto the card before she finished writing the name.
"I was born in a small town in the mountains to Valentina de la Vega. She was a barmaid in a small cantina. Until I was thirteen, I lived with her there and was raised to follow in her footsteps when she was too old to work." For a moment, Reine's forehead creased in thought, the name sounding familiar to her. Yet, she quickly brushed it aside, assuming her mother's name was common in Spain. Surely her mind had thought of someone unrelated to her friend.
"Sounds awful." Candela shrugged, a slight smile tugging at her lips.
"It wasn't so bad. Not that I knew anything different."
"Where was your father?" So far in her brief biography, no father had been mentioned, leading Reine to think he might have passed on, a point on which Candela quickly corrected her,
"I never knew my father. My mother told me he was a French nobleman. I'm beginning to wonder if she even knew his name for she never told it to me." Finishing the last of her cards, Candela blew the ink dry and set it aside. "When she died, I came to France to look for him and have failed these six years. I've basically given up. He might be dead by now for all I know."
"You have not an idea of who he might have been?" The Spaniard shook her head solemnly and tucked her legs under her body.
"Nary a notion. When I first came, I thought I would know my father the moment I laid eyes on him but, if I ever have, I never did." She lowered her eyes the carpet and Reine leaned over to patted her shoulder, pitying the lady.
Despite not having a good relationship with her parents, especially her father, she'd always had them. Never once had she questioned her lineage. But, this girl didn't even know half of her family tree. They had been ripped from her by some fool's mismanagement of his actions.
"Whatever man he is, I can't imagine him being a very good man. Perhaps it is better for you not to know how bad he might have been?" The girl looked up and chuckled.
"Good point. I've done well enough for the past nineteen years without him. I suppose I don't really need him." Candela offered a faux smile, ending the conversation effectively there without having to cause embarrassment.
Evil or not, she still wanted to know her father.
"Why don't we go to the decorators and plan the décor?" Reine offered as she stood up and picked up the cards, inserting them carefully into envelopes.
"Sounds like a plan. Let's bring our notes." The Duchess nodded quickly and scooped up the objects, tucking them away into her reticule. As they were walking to the door, both their stomachs rumbled quietly, inciting twittering laughter between the women.
"Lunch before we return." The Duchess declared as they strolled down the street.
E-OC
"Well, that went quite well!" Reine declared as she shed her gloves and helped her friend out of her cloak and hung it up. "Will you come help me decorate? You have helped me so much in determining what we should do or not do." While Candela didn't agree with the Duchess on her assessment, she nodded her agreement. If anything, she enjoyed assisting the Duchess.
"Wonderful! Now, we need to –"
"Reine!" The Duchess paused mid-sentence and turned to face her cousin as he approached. "Reine, the Comte d'Aboville visited this afternoon while the pair of you were absence and gave us these." He handed four admissions to the Duchess. "Mam'zelle Nitouche is being performed tonight at Théâtre des Bouffes-Parisiens. I had hoped both of you would be willing to accompany me?" Candela's eyes lit up, the prospect of a fancy evening out very appealing to her.
"Thank you very much. I shall have to ask my uncle but I don't see why I couldn't go."
"Why don't you invite him as well? Do you think he would enjoy an operetta?" Candela shrugged in response. To be honest with herself, she didn't know whether Nadir had a fondness for music. While aware he had attended the Opera House before, she couldn't be sure if he did it for society or for the pleasure of the music.
"I shall ask him. I've heard its fun little story." Candela gathered up her cloak and gloves and continued, "I have some errands to run before this evening. Shall I meet you here or at the Théâtre?" Glancing between the Duchess and the Marquis, she gave each of them a kindly smile.
"Meet us here and we shall take my carriage to the Théâtre. Say, seven o'clock?" She nodded her agreement and gently tossed the cloak about her shoulders once more.
"I shall see both of you then." She dropped a light curtsy to both, the Marquis grasping her hand and lightly kissing its back, and then quickly left the mansion, her aim the Opera House, her quick steps carrying her easily through the bustling crowds of people.
A giggle escaped her lips as she slipped into the alley and down into the cellars. Upon reaching the subterranean home, she flitted into her bedroom and removed the one dress fitting for the occasion, her purple gown from the last time she attended a show with the Marquis.
Running her hands over the velvet, she sighed contentedly and began the long process of changing out of her afternoon dress into the cumbersome garment she would have to don to be acceptable.
As she tightened the last of bit of the corset, loosely enough to determine that she could breathe easily, she heard a knock at her bedroom door. Turning around and tying a little bow to hold the instrument of torture in place, she called out,
"Come in, Senor." Grabbing a dressing gown, she tossed it around her shoulders and tied the sash for the sake of her modesty. After a moment, the door opened and the Phantom filled the doorway with his dark presence.
"Good afternoon. I hadn't expected you to return so soon." He said, appearing to frown under his full-face mask. His golden eyes peered out at her, raking her form with their yellow gaze and taking in everything to determine the reasons behind his statement.
"I hadn't expected it either." She remarked as she gestured towards the fancy gown. "But, I was invited by the Marquis to attend an operetta with his cousin so I had to return and change. I meant to tell you that I won't be here for supper."
A scowl passed through his eyes as he leaned against the door frame.
"You are here so little anymore, it's a wonder Erik doesn't fire you." Candela scoffed quietly at his comment and turned to find her hairbrush.
"You need someone here. A person can't live alone all their lives."
"I don't see why not." The Phantom snarled, his tone surprising the maid so she turned back to face him, a curious expression painted on her face.
"And what has irked the almighty Opera Ghost? The ballet missing their marks?" A hiss answered her remark as she drew her brush through her hair. "The baritone unable to hit a difficult note?" The Phantom growled at her playful query. "Your soprano worse than Carlotta?"
She meant it as a tease, not serious in her comment but the Phantom practically exploded.
"You will not speak of her in such a way!" In a moment, he stood with a breath of a her. His golden eyes burned with liquid gold flame. His hands lashed around her neck, thumbs pressing against her windpipe.
Black dots appeared before her eyes.
Gasping for breath, she clawed against his hands, leaving blood trails coursing down his yellowed fingers. Desperate to get air before she lost consciousness, she tried to kick him in the shins, failing due to height difference.
Whatever words he roared fell upon deaf ears as her vision turned black.
E-OC
When Candela's eyes finally opened, she found herself crumpled up on the hard floor, the dressing gown still saving her modesty. As she sat up, her head spun and she coughed, her throat immediately complaining. She struggled to her feet and glanced at the full-length mirror, gasping at the purple, finger-shaped bruises that twisted around her throat.
Lightly she brushed the dark marks and glanced back at her chosen gown, realizing now she couldn't wear it. The low color would reveal the injury and Candela preferred to not have any questions asked. Once the purple velvet had been carefully hung in the wardrobe once more, she withdrew a simple silver garment, the collar and lace high enough to hide the marks.
Her eyes damp with tears, she pulled on her remaining articles of clothing, finishing with simple shoes. Checking her small pocket watch, she was relieved to find it was only four in the afternoon. She still had time to visit Nadir.
Perhaps he would know what was wrong with the Phantom.
"All I did was mention the soprano? What could be so wrong with that?" Her throat hurt with every word she whispered, something that would prove difficult to explain to her evening companions. Donning her cloak and fetching her reticule, she slipped out of her bedroom and through the small house, disliking the relieved feeling that slipped into her stomach at hearing the violin screaming from his bedroom.
In a moment, she had crossed the lake and sprinted up the cellars, catching a carriage at the Rue Scribe to Nadir's apartment. Her throat burned from her exertion. Candela allowed herself a few tears of confusion before she arrived at the modest door of the Nadir's home.
After paying the cabby, she lightly knocked on the door, Darius admitting her moments later. His kindly dark eyes gazed at her but he asked no questions as he took her cloak and hung it up, silently escorting her into the study.
"Candela! What a pleasure to see you!" He rose to greet her. "Come in, sit down." He gestured for her to take the comfortable day couch and he occupied the chair near it. "Are you well?" He inquired as he noted her pale cheeks.
Without a word, she unbuttoned several buttons on her collar and slowly pulled the lace and cloth aside to reveal the bruises.
Nadir gasped.
"He didn't." He whispered as anger and compassion filled his face for a moment before he stood up. "I'll fetch you some tea to help your throat." He lightly patted her arm before disappearing for a moment. When he returned, he joined her on the day couch. "Darius will be here in a moment with some mint tea. Tell me what happened. How severe is it?"
"I don't know what I did to set him off. He seemed to be in a bad mood and I playfully asked if it was his chosen soprano and compared her to Carlotta. He attacked me." Nadir's jade eyes hardened and he took her hand tightly in his.
"You will come live with me. We shall go right now and gather your things and move them into my guest bedroom. It is smaller than yours but you shall be safe." Candela gasped and quickly shook her head.
"No, I can't leave. I intend to find out why he reacted so badly. I can't leave him right now." Nadir shook his head. No way would he allow this Spanish angel to return to the Opera Ghost's lair. Before, he had considered her safe, mad girl that she was, but now, now Erik endangered her.
"I always declared you were a mad girl but this is pure insanity. You can't go back to live with him. I have been so wrong. I thought you would be safe. But, no, you must come live with me until you can find another situation or the Marquis proposes to you." Before this moment, Nadir had considered speaking with her about her exact opinions of the Marquis and the possibility that he wasn't the answer to all her desires.
Yet now, he had no choice. She had to leave Erik immediately and the Marquis would be her permeant escape.
"I won't leave." Candela declared, panicking suddenly at the thought of abandoning him. Wisdom lay with Nadir's advice but something within her cried to go back to the home beneath the Opera House, cried to learn why he had lashed out as a wounded animal might, cried to bind his wounds as she had a year previous. "I don't want to leave him. Not now. I shall discover his reasons behind his actions and determine if I am still in danger. If I am, then I shall seek another employment and another residence."
Rising to her feet, she secured the buttons and lace about her throat, once more concealing the bruises.
"You can't be serious!" He exclaimed, standing up as well and incredulously staring at her.
"I'm not scared of him." Candela declared, confident in her feelings on the subject. "I can't leave him right now. Something is wrong with him. Something set him off. He needs me more than ever now."
"He could have killed you."
"He didn't." She shot back as their argument was temporarily interrupted by Darius entering with a tray. After the servant bowed and left, Candela poured some tea for the both and sipped on it, relived to feel the pain lessening from the application of mint to her throat.
"He's killed men before. You didn't know that, did you? Now, I don't believe he's ever killed a woman but that doesn't mean he won't start." Nadir warned her, unbelieving of her recklessness.
"I suspected it." In the darkest recesses of her mind, she knew the Phantom's hands were not innocent of blood. The Comtesse's comments while Candela had been her lady's maid had been enough to prove those suspicions. "I don't believe he will kill me."
"You didn't think he would harm you either." Nadir pointed out, finding the one little flaw in her logic.
"A person can be wrong once yet still have some honesty to her name. I will trust him until he has proved himself otherwise." She adamantly declared, finishing her cup of tea and returning it to its saucer.
"Ah, so when he kills you in his torture chamber or strangles you with his hands or that Punjab lasso, then your dead body will determine it wasn't so wise a move to live in the lair of a killer?" The Spaniard didn't care to admit that Nadir had several interesting points to his argument. Yet, her determination still stood.
"Perhaps it will. Perhaps I am madder than you always thought I was. But, I can't leave him. The thought of abandoning him so quickly rips my heart out."
"That's what you would do when you married."
"At least he would have known." Candela whispered, once more confronted with the reality of one day never having that home to herself. Even now, it was close to being lost to her.
"Do you think he might not want you there at all? Maybe this was his harsh way of bidding you goodbye?" Nadir sensed his words stung the tough girl but he deemed it necessary. Better for some emotional scars now as opposed to death later.
"Then, I will hear it from his own lips." The maid resolved as the clock hanging on the wall opposite his desk chimed five times, alerting them both to the current time. "I did come here with other intentions other than arguing. The Marquis has extended an invitation for me to accompany his cousin and him to Théâtre des Bouffes-Parisiens for a showing of Mam'zelle Nitouche. They had hoped you might come with us?"
Realizing Candela wouldn't bend to his wisdom, Nadir allowed the subject to drop in hopes that she would at least consider his words. And, after a moment of thinking, the operetta sounded like a lovely diversion from their heavy conversation.
"Sounds lovely. I should like to continue my acquaintance with the Marquis and meet his cousin. When are we to meet them?"
"Seven o'clock at their home."
"Excellent. Then we have time for some supper. Would you join me in the dining room, Mademoiselle?" He offered his arm and a friendly smile, in the hopes that the olive branch would mend whatever injuries his truthful words had incurred.
The subject would return and he would repeat his sentiments.
Perhaps then she would listen.
"I would be delighted." Candela remarked, accepting his arm and allowing him to lead her into the dining room. As they walk, her mind swam, mostly consumed with a single thought.
Why didn't she want to leave?