Christine dans Deux
An Alternate Multiverse - A Phantom of the Opera Story
Nyasia A. Maire
© 2006
DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One
Chapter Twenty-Two – Traveling
I cannot respond in kind to her. I would wish otherwise than to be here with her. My heart longs to be with my beloved, my betrothed, mon chére cœur and her daughter. Taking my seat and closing my eyes, the scenes of the past days replay in my mind. The memories of our passion take my breath away and I am unable to sleep. I hear Christine's breathing pass into the deep regular breath of sleep. My mind refuses to cease its meanderings. The necessity of the visit to my ancestral home weighs heavily on me. Soon after the discovery of my parentage, I had made my first and only journey to Bretagne as an adult. Strange to know that I had been born there and both of my birth parents still lived there. I felt no kinship with the land. No tie to the place. Of course, I had still been marked with the disfigurement of my birth, so I had gone not as son to father. Thinking back to that earlier pilgrimage, I am now not certain why I really went there. Did I go to torment my parents? No, I think not. Am I lying now? Perhaps. Looking back on that visit, I believe I went there in a vain attempt to find love. Any love I could. I was sadly disappointed. My father, cold as stone, unwittingly goaded me into threatening his life. My mother ran from me weeping hysterically. I let her go for even then I had been able to see through my pain and see that my mother may have been more of a victim than I was. I have come to believe that my conception was the result of a man confirming his fertility and his wife's sterility and not that of a man and a woman loving one another. The theory is my own. I have no facts to prove or disprove it either one way or another. So, I blame not my mother. She, a servant, was powerless in this matter. She could do no less than to submit to the will of her master. I believe that she feels my disfigurement was God's punishment for her sin. Sadly, as an adult I witnessed the fact of her continuing guilt when she ran screaming from me down the hall of the château.
Then, on the other hand, there is my father. The man is an enigma to me. And, I must admit that most of my opinions about him based on information that is at best speculative. It seemed that my father considered my disfigurement proof of his continuing streak of bad luck. It appeared that he never gave a thought as to how I felt about it. I am simply one more disappointment in a life full of disappointments.
My grandfather had lived an exceptionally long life, so my father had been forced to wait until he was 34 to inherit.
His arranged marriage to Gwendyn, the daughter of a distant Welsh relative was meant to rekindle the family ties with Britain and strengthen the family bloodlines. It did neither. His bride proved infertile and unfortunately for my father, she lived just long enough to prevent him from beginning again.
His wedded ties with Wales proved more a burden than a boon. His wife's family had a name as ancient as his own did, but nothing more. The family home, Castle Harlech, had fallen into disrepair and Gwendyn made constant demands of him for funds to keep it running. What my father failed to realize was that while Gwendyn's requests for funds were honest, her brother, Andrew who held title to the Castle was not. He was a very sharp man indeed. When Gwendyn had left her family home, it had been in a dire state. Andrew used his sister to cajole funds out of my father. However, when at last Monsieur le Comte de Mornay cut Gwendyn's family loose from his purse strings, the Castle Harlech was in much finer shape than it had been for more than a century and the Château de Montmuran much poorer.
As to his hope of gaining political power (albeit English power) through his marriage, a number of acts passed by the English Parliament robbed him of those hopes. In 1847, the Bishopric of Manchester Act passed which limited the number of bishops entitled to sit in the House of Lords. Gwendyn's property was held as a bishopric and gradually their political power faded away. Until the family at last lost their seat in the House of Lords when their church was disestablished in 1869 as a retired bishop cannot sit or vote in the House of Lords.
My father, once a man of infinite promise, never realized any of his ambitions. His life spent watching his holdings dwindle as his investments went bankrupt and his wife demanded more funds for her family. Bit by bit the doctrine he had been raised by slipped from his grasp. Now, all that is left is an embittered old man in a loveless marriage. And this is the man with whom I intend to attempt one last reconciliation.
I believe my transformed face will be met with either cries of joy or terror. It is difficult to predict as the province of Bretagne is a strange mix of superstition and Catholicism. Calveries and menhirs. But be that as it may, my Christine's mother had a saying … where there's life there's hope … so I will present myself to my father and hope for his acknowledgement.
Whether he acknowledges me or not, I will demand that he provide sanctuary for Christine. As a Catholic noble, he cannot refuse aid. Especially, if she makes her declaration in the chapel of the Château de Montmuran. As a Breton, he feels more allegiance to his province than to France. For the inhabitants of Bretagne are considered by those outside the province as not truly French. The family de Mornay of Brittany has no ties to the family de Chagny of Champagne. The family de Chagny is a relatively new line. Nouveau riche from the Champagne province. A common family grown wealthy off the fertile soil of the region. A common family who felt it beneath them to accept into their midst the lead soprano of the Opera Populaire. I feel a small smirk growing on my lips. I believe it will afford my father a small measure of satisfaction in thwarting Monsieur le Vicomte Raoul de Chagny's effort to retrieve his runaway wife from the Château de Montmuran. To afford a powerless old man some semblance of power in even such a trivial matter as a wayward wife is the least I can do for my father. I imagine he will relish being able to order de Chagny out of his home.
The sound of approaching footsteps brings me out of my reverie. I open my eyes and check to be certain Christine's condition is not readily evident. She must have had the same thought as mine for she is propped in the corner covered with a large woolen cloak. A small rap on the door precedes the man's entry into the compartment.
"Reims, five minutes monsieur."
I nod and hold up my hand to stop him from leaving. Motioning towards the hall, I wave him to the corridor and follow him out.
"I'd like to arrange passage for my sister and me to return to Paris, please."
"Of course, monsieur. He removes a booklet from his pocket and the ticket punch. The man pauses for a moment.
"You wish to return to Paris?"
"Yes, my sister feels unwell and we must cancel our trip for now."
The man shakes his head and with a knowing grin says, "Women, eh?"
"Yes, the root of all evil, but a necessary one or so I'm told."
I return his jest and smile.
He nods again and punches two tickets.
"That will be two francs, monsieur."
I pay the man, he hands me the tickets and returns to his rounds. I return to my seat as quietly as possible and await our arrival at the Reims station. I am not pleased that we must return to Paris, but due to the limited rail lines, I see no other option. The Vicomte can easily trace his wife's route to Reims and then back to Paris. Once in Paris, however, if I purchase the tickets and keep Christine hidden within her cloak, I believe it will cover Christine's trail and increase our chance of arriving in Rennes unnoticed. I feel the train slowing.
"Christine … Christine … we're in Reims. Time to go. Christine?"
She comes slowly awake and seems surprised to see me here. As she comes fully awake I see her eyes widen. She smiles and it lights up her face with an ethereal glow.
"You really are here! I'm so glad. Where are we going?"
"Time to change trains. We're going back to Paris. From there I'll take care of the travel arrangements. That may permanently throw him off your trail, but I think not. He has the means to find us, but this will provide us with a head start."
"Paris." The word leaves her mouth like a leaden weight.
"I used to love Paris until I became Raoul's prisoner there. Taken out and put on display for his social functions. Paris is so beautiful now. Especially now that the renovation of the city is long in the past. The trees have matured in the parks and the Seine is beautiful. Life is vastly improved since the time of the Second Empire. Napoleon III and now Napoleon IV care for all of our people. They build ever more roads and rail lines. We have become as modern a city as London. And the electric lights! Erik, tell me what you think of it? Have you seen it?"
"Ever the little chatterbox, aren't you? Yes, Christine I have seen it. And I have seen the great, great grandchild of electricity, remember? We must continue this conversation at a later time. We must go. Please wear your cloak and cover you head."
"Very well."
"Do you have any bags?"
"Yes, there and there."
She points at two of the overhead compartments. I open them, retrieve the bags, secure the doors and open the door for Christine.
"After you, my Lady."
She pulls the cloak about her carefully covering herself. We exit the train and make our way to the Paris gate. The train for Paris is already boarding. We hurriedly board and then seek out an unoccupied compartment. When at last we are safely ensconced within the privacy of the compartment we let out a collective sigh.
"It is a strange thing." Christine begins and then stops. She seems embarrassed, but I have no idea what has caused her discomfort.
"What is strange, dear friend?"
"Oh, I was just thinking that I have never been with you in public before. It is nice to see you in the real world, Erik."
"It is nice to be seen and be as everyone else. I still am unused to walking about like this. This face I now wear is still new to me and I must constantly remind myself that I have nothing to fear if I am seen. If it were not for the fact of my two Christine's need for me to walk in the light, I am certain that although my face is whole my walking would still be limited to the shadows. Old habits die hard, yet for the sake of you both I have adapted. The thing I find most difficult is remembering that I appear normal and there is no reason for me to hide in the shadows."
The train lurches and begins to move forward.
"You are quite convincing." She stifles a yawn. "How long to Paris?"
"About an hour and a half, perhaps two hours. Please, sleep. You will need your strength and energy when we reach Paris."
"I do believe I will take your advice. Have you been able to sleep at all or do you still find sleep evades you?"
"Much the same as before. And yet, I have experienced the bliss of true sleep."
"Oh, Erik, the look upon your face is precious! You are thinking of her after your lovemaking, aren't you?"
I turn my face from her unable to speak with her about this subject. My cheeks burn and I know I am red with embarrassment. I cannot speak of lovemaking with this Christine. My experiences of it are still too new and with my beloved being parted from me, too painful. Later, perhaps there may come a time I can speak of it with her, after I have been reunited with my beloved, but not now.
"Christine, rest now and I will awaken you when we are nearly there."
"You try to do so also. You will do none of us any good, especially if we must confront Raoul or his men, if you are exhausted. Besides, you must look your best when you present yourself to your father."
"You are correct on both counts. I will try. That is all I can promise."
"Your promise to try is better than most men's oaths to do. Good night, Erik."
"Thank you and good night, Christine. Sleep well."
"You too."