The Crystal Rainbow
An Alternate Universe – Phantom of the Opera Story
Nyasia A. Maire
© 2007
DISCLAIMER: I do not hold the rights nor did I create any characters found in The Phantom of the Opera or Phantom, nor have I received monetary compensation for writing this story.
The faster a person runs from the truth,
the swifter it is that it catches them.
A Fool's Book of Wisdom
Chapter Five – Flight
She drew in a deep breath and slowly released it.
"Oui, Erik. Now, I pray that you please be silent. I wish to observe her undetected before we set upon the poor thing. I hope to discover some clue as to the type of person she is. Just because I feel the power in her does not necessarily mean she is the proper one to wield it. I walk upon unfamiliar ground and do not like it. Yet, it is my lot to be the first without an heir of my body, so I must hope that the power will provide me with one in another way. Her spirit calls to me with a strange kinship I have never before felt and I cannot refuse its call. But, I am …."
She muttered a word so quietly that even Erik's perfect hearing almost failed to catch it, but he heard the word and felt a wave of sadness for the woman he had grown to love as a mother envelope him.
"… afraid."
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She moved silently, a shadow among shadows as she collected the few provisions she would allow herself to take from the Comte's household. Her first stop was the larder. After fumbling with the latch for a moment, she pulled up on the root cellar's door and carefully rested it against the wall. She cautiously made her way down the stone steps and, as she had no lamp, she found it necessary to rely solely on her sense of touch to find the bags of dried apples. Removing one from the bag, she sniffed it and sighed.
"Definitely an apple. It just would not do to find myself on the road, hungry and pull a turnip from the bag. Now, I will just put a few of these into this bag over here and now, I have room for cheese and bread." She turned around. "Oh, the stairs …."
Her return trip seemed to take even longer than her foray down into the cellar and she had to prevent herself from releasing a sigh of relief when her eyes were once again able to guide her feet. The pantry was her next target and she quickly filled her bag.
Her final stop was the chateau's laundry, where she dug through the large bin containing the Comtessa's barely soiled clothing. The Comtessa had a wan complexion with watery blue eyes and straw colored hair. Her figure had been lovely when she first arrived at the chateau as the Comte's blushing bride, but it seemed that with each passing year, the woman's waist thickened and bosom expanded. Earlier in the week, Christine had heard the shrill voice of the Comtessa berating her maid over the improper laundering of her clothing. Christine had snickered when she heard the woman attempting to blame the laundress for the fact her dresses no longer fit her.
"That woman is simply too fond of her desserts. I find it difficult to feel any compassion for the woman. She is selfish, vain and, while not deliberately cruel, she is completely oblivious as to the consequences her displeasure reeks upon those serving her. The Comte is so besotted with her that he would dismiss the entire household staff, if she asked it of him. As if it is anyone's fault other than her own that her clothes are too tight. If she did not indulge in quite so many sweets each day and restrained herself from eating more than one portion at meals, she would not find her seams ready to burst. Be that as it may, I foresee the Comtessa growing ever older and ever wider. It is a shame, really. As she most likely eats as a means to distract herself from her unhappiness. Unhappiness she will never examine or admit she has. Strange. It seems that everyone living beneath the roof of this chateau is unhappy with their life in one way or another. I wonder … was this place always this way? When I first came here with my Papa, did the shadow of despair hang over this place? I do not remember it being here, so when did it first appear? Oh, yes! Of course, how foolish of me, this place never recovered from the losses the Comte suffered! The chateau became a morose place after his first wife and his son, the boy, Raoul died. I suppose I was too deep into my own grief to notice, but I find it curious that I never thought about it until now. I almost feel guilty for not doing something to help, but that is an absurd thought! How could I, a child of nine years, have been of any possible help? The Comte was a grown man. He did not need my help. It was the Comte, who helped me by not sending me to an orphanage and allowing me to live in the chateau. How odd it is that I should feel this way …. I have never felt a responsibility towards anyone in this place before this moment. Why now?"
The young woman shook her head to clear the unsettling thoughts, which ran through her mind and distracted her from her task. She concentrated once more on the reason she was searching through the Comtessa's laundry. She smiled wryly as her hands tugged and tossed aside various items of clothing.
"Oh, well, it now seems that the Comtessa's unfortunate gain is really a fortunate turn for me. I cannot believe my luck in overhearing that conversation or I might have borrowed dresses the woman would have missed. I do not wish to draw any more attention to my loan than necessary. After all, it would be a disaster if the Comte filed charges against me. Oh! Perhaps, I should not take these things. I do not wish to steal from the man that provided me with a roof over my head all these years, but I need to look presentable if I am to audition at the Opera Populaire. If I am not presentably dressed, how can I expect them to take me seriously? No! I cannot do this. The opera house shall have to judge me on my merit alone. I cannot take the Comtessa's dresses. I cannot steal, for that is how my actions will appear whether I leave a letter promising payment or not. I will not bring shame upon my Papa's good name, or on mine."
After picking up the few pieces of clothing that had fallen to the floor and returning them to the bin, Christine retrieved her sack and returned to her small room. She carefully hid the bag in the bottom of the trunk, which served as her dresser. Her hand moved through the small pile of clothing and grasped a plain white muslin chemise. She began to lift it from the trunk, but halted.
"Why do I wait until tomorrow night? I have everything I need now and the hour is not too late. There is nothing holding me here. In fact," she paused and performed a quick calculation in her head, "I believe my final wages should cover the cost of the food I took. I do not know why I did not think of this sooner. Yes, I shall leave a note instructing Madame LaBreche to use my final wages to cover the cost of the food I took and then, I shall leave this place tonight."
Christine straightened and a relieved smile crossed her normally solemn features.
"I shall leave this place beholden to no one and with a clear conscience. A true fresh start."
She grabbed the worn, large carpet bag from the trunk and quickly placed her two plain black skirts, her one black blouse, her one white blouse and her undergarments into the bag. Removing the food sack, she tied it to the strap of the bag. Christine placed the bag on her bed and then slowly pulled her bed away from the wall. She knelt, removed a loose floorboard and retrieved a brown, leather pouch. Quickly returning everything to its rightful place, Christine sat on her bed and opened the pouch.
"Well, hopefully this and the money in my purse should be enough to buy me passage on the train to Paris and lodging for at least a week. After that, well, best not think on that too deeply."
She drew the drawstrings tight and tied it closed. Leaning down and lifting her dark blue skirt, she carefully stuffed the bag inside her boot. She wiggled and shook her foot until the pouch lodged itself beneath the arch of her small foot. Lowering her skirts, she hopped off the bed. After smoothing her skirt, she walked across the floor, listening carefully.
"Good! I do not hear a thing. Almost ready. I must write that note."
Christine went to the rickety bedside table and opened the small drawer, removing a scrap of paper, quill and inkwell. She quickly wrote the note, blew on it until it was dry, folded it over once then wrote the housekeeper's name on it and left it leaning against the lamp.
"Now, one last thing and I shall be ready to leave."
She knelt on the floor next to the bed and snaked her hand beneath the mattress. After groping for a moment, she withdrew her hand, in which she held a small coin purse. Christine stood, her hand unconsciously smoothing her skirt, hefted the small purse and then placed it in the bodice of her corset. The young woman removed the cloak from the hook on the back of her bedroom door, quickly secured it about her shoulders and pulled the hood over her head. After glancing about the room one final time, she slung the carpet bag over her shoulder, blew out the lamp and left the room, which had been her home for the last nine years. And, never once did she turn back.
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"Afraid? You? Helen, I have never known anything to frighten you. How can a girl frighten you?"
The woman turned and silenced him by placing her finger to his lips.
"Hush! Look!"
She breathed and pointed down the hallway. Erik's eyes followed Helen's guiding hand just in time to see a door open and a small figure cloaked in black slip into the hall. The dark shape closed the door and quickly began to make its way down the hall away from the frozen pair. Erik released a breath, which he had not been aware he was holding.
"That was a close thing. Now where do we go? Where is the girl? Are we close?"
"You talk too much, Erik. As you ask your questions, she is slipping away from us. The cloaked figure was the girl. Come! We must make haste! She intends to leave the chateau tonight." Helen paused for a moment, her head cocked to one side in silent contemplation. "In fact, she is leaving now. I hoped she would wait and leave tomorrow night as that is when we told everyone we were leaving, but it seems she is a hasty little thing. Le sacre! We must hurry! Follow me and follow my lead, if we are lucky enough to catch her. I have an idea."
The woman seemed to fly along the corridors with the young man's long legs straining to keep up with her. Making one last turn through a doorway, Erik halted abruptly as he found himself in a large kitchen. The breathless young man searched the room for the older woman, but she was not in the room. After casting his eyes around the room a second time, he noticed an open door and as he approached it, he heard the sound of Helen's softly mumbled curses. Erik bit his lower lip to still the smile from spreading across his mouth.
"Just in time, too! She would have cracked me a good one if she had seen that grin."
The woman held several jars in her arms and waddled to the large rough hewn table. She placed the jars on the table.
"Erik! Make yourself useful and open those for me. Merde! Where on earth do they store the bread in this kitchen?"
A sudden gasp caused both the young man and the old woman to turn towards the source of the noise. Erik felt his entire body erupt into flames at the sight that met his eyes. A beautiful young woman stood staring at them from the doorway. The hood had fallen from her head, releasing her dark mass of curls from its restraining grip and shining through her thick lashes were her curious eyes.
Helen paused then turned towards the girl. Without revealing her relief at the sight of the girl, Helen spoke.
"Do you happen to know where the bread is stored? My companion and I find we are in need of something to stave off our hunger. Can you help us, Mademoiselle?"
Erik smiled at the sound of Helen's enchanting voice and noticed that the girl had not run away, but had taken several steps closer to Helen. The girl hesitated as she glanced towards Erik. As their eyes met, he felt a fire engulf him for the second time that night. Her reaction to him surprised and pleased him. She smiled and he watched as he saw her rigid posture relax. A slow smile warmed her expression.
"You are the pair that sang for the Comte and Comtessa tonight. I heard that you have heavenly voices. I wish I could have heard you sing." She paused. "Oh! How rude of me. You were inquiring about bread, Madame. Allow me to fetch it for you. Please, take a seat, both of you and I shall return in a moment."
The girl carefully unslung a rather large and careworn bag from her shoulder and placed it on the floor next to the door. She scampered through another doorway and quickly returned holding a large loaf of bread in her hands. She set it on the table in front of Helen.
"Here you are, Madame. Can I help you find anything else? A knife? Perhaps plates and cups? Something to drink?"
Erik watched as Helen drew the girl under the calming spell of her voice. Outwardly, he seemed his normal, placid self, but inwardly, his tumultuous thoughts blazed.
"Those eyes! I know those eyes and those curls, but it cannot be! She is not real. She exists only in my dreams. And, yet, here she is. My angel and Helen's niece are one in the same. How can this be?"
Author's Note: Well, I was beginning to think this chapter would never make its way out of my head. Between Trystin's dental appointments, auditions and callbacks as well as trying to make certain we have everything ready for school, I haven't had much free time. And now, now, I've gone and caught something. My throat is scratchy, I'm coughing, losing my voice and I just ache all over, but I finished the chapter! Hope it makes sense! Fondest wishes! --ny