A/N: Another week, another chapter... This one is rather heavily referenced from the musical.
Wild Concerto: Do you like that song too, then? Hehe. I thought it was a rather fitting title to describe Erik!
Savannah White: It's definitely a good thing that Erik didn't freak out!
Nikki1991: Hehehe having a lovable heroine is always good. Amelie must have had a lot of influence from Madame Giry; in my mind, the two are very alike.
Masked Man 2: I'm so glad you enjoyed the chapter! I do so like to write emotional scenes, they're so much more fun than boring verbose chapters meant to get us through the story. Hopefully this chapter does not disappoint.
Aria: I agree with you! Christine's reaction should be something very natural- she had never seen anything like that before, and she was frightened by it, and she acted in fear. But it's a good thing she was mature enough to calm down and apologize, though I'm pretty sure Amelie's scolding had something to do with that too. Unfortunately, Christine's going to do some rather stupid things in the next few chapters, but hopefully she'll earn that respect back!
Lydia the tygeropean: I hope that's a good thing, though! (:
phantom girl: I update every Monday, around 9-11pm (+8GMT) if I don't have anything urgent to stop me from posting! (: Thank you for liking the story.
Many thanks to arissaprincess321, DreamaLirit, Nikki1991 and windwolf1988 for the favourites/follows! I'll do my best to keep the story going! (:
Chapter 34: The Missing Diva
Paris, 1896
Richard Firmin sat at his table in the manager's office, reaching for the stack of newspapers on his table greedily. The previous night's production of Hannibal had been a dashing success, in his opinion, with crowds and grandeur and all the pomp and glory that he had always wanted for himself. Well, except for the minor disruption of a missing diva, and the distraught patron who could not find the girl.
He unfolded the first newspaper, grinning from ear to ear as he saw the front page article. 'Diva goes missing from the Palais Garnier', it proclaimed in big bold letters. Firmin chuckled at the publicity that the opera house would garner from its stint on the front page of most of the major newspapers. Le Figaro had proclaimed the production of Hannibal to be a roaring success, with the discovery of the splendid Mademoiselle Daae, newly dubbed the Swedish Songbird by the reporter. The article had ended with a rousing paragraph about the mysterious disappearance of said songbird, supposedly due to a mysterious phantom who haunted the cellars of the opera house. It was the stuff of gothic romance novels.
Firmin smacked his lips with excitement. It was even better than he had thought it would be; he was sure that the new production of Il Muto would do just as splendidly, and soon, he would be catapulted upward amongst the social ranks. He would be remembered as the owner of the illustrious opera house, not as a collector of junk metal. Though of course, there was the matter of a lack of a prima donna now, seeing as both Carlotta and the new girl were no longer around. He sighed.
The door to the office burst open. "Oh Firmin, what are we to do?"
Andre rushed in, his blond hair askew and messy, as though he had run his fingers through his hair far too many times. His face looked haggard and frazzled, and he rushed toward Firmin, brandishing yet another newspaper with a front page article about the disappearing diva. "Firmin, we are ruined! Every person in this country knows that our diva disappeared mysteriously, stolen away by some sort of… ghost of some sort. We will never get business this way! The crowds will run! Nobody wants to visit a haunted opera house!"
"Oh, hush, Andre!" Firmin waved his hand dismissively. "Gossip is worth its weight in gold. The crowds will flock to our theatre, mark my words! Everyone loves a good scandal and this publicity will only be good for our opera house. Just think of it!"
Andre paused, breathing heavily, to think about Firmin's words, but his eyes narrowed when he spotted an errant letter lying on the desk. "What's this? I received one this morning as well." He fished around in his pocket, extracting an identical envelope, sealed with red wax and stamped with a skull. Firmin shrugged his shoulders; he had not seen the letter until Andre had mentioned it, so caught up was he in his daydreams of a wildly successful opera house under his thumb.
Andre frowned, slitting open the letter. He scanned through it briefly, and his face turned an alarming shade of red. "What… gibberish is this?"
Firmin whipped the letter out of his hands. "Whatever do you mean, my dear Andre?"
The letter was exact and to the point.
Greetings, gentlemen, and welcome to my opera house.
I must remind you that my salary is due, and that Box Five is to be left empty for my use at all times. Should these instructions be ignored, a disaster beyond imagination will occur. You have been duly warned.
Your obedient servant,
Opera Ghost
Firmin sputtered indignantly. "What is this? Who the hell is he? An Opera Ghost? Good Lord, this whole opera house is obsessed. First La Carlotta storms out because of some prank played by a supposed ghost, and now we receive letters from that ghost demanding a salary and a box? This is simply ludicrous!"
Andre opened his mouth, about to agree with Firmin, when the door to the manager's office flew open yet again, with so much force that the doorknob smashed into the wall. Andre was about to shout at the intruder, when he realized that he was face to face with the opera house's new patron, and he did not look happy at all.
The Vicomte de Chagny had spent many hours searching the opera house the night before, bellowing for Christine and refusing to leave until he found her. When dawn broke, he had reluctantly left the opera house, if only to eat some breakfast and freshen up his attire. It seemed that he was back now, and waving a very familiar looking envelope under Andre's nose.
"I do not appreciate this note, messieurs. It is simply uncalled for! What do you mean by sending this ridiculous note to me?" He shouted, his face red with anger.
Firmin frowned. "What do you speak of, monsieur le vicomte? We did not send any note to you at all."
Some of the angry colour left the young man's cheeks and he looked a little embarrassed. He lowered the letter, saying more calmly, "Then… you did not send me this note?"
"No, we did not. However, if I may-?" Firmin took the letter from the vicomte and unfolded it to reveal black script that was identical to the one in the letter he had received. The envelope was similarly stamped with the gothic red skull, leering up at Firmin with a toothy grin. He shuddered.
Do not fear for Mademoiselle Daae, for her Angel of Music has her safe and sound. But a word of warning—do not attempt to see her alone ever again.
"What is this? We most certainly did not send it." Firmin asked nobody in particular. It was not as if anyone in the room could answer his question. There was silence in the room.
There came the echoing footsteps of high heeled boots down the corridor, accompanied by blustering in a low male voice and high pitched squawks that sounded distinctly familiar. Not for the first time that morning, the door to the manager's office flew open with a thud, rattling the paintings on the wall, and La Carlotta stormed in, clad in all her finery, her hair flaming in a spectacular style around her face. She was followed by Piangi, who looked as though he had been running quite a bit to keep up with her.
Andre stepped forward, dripping with charm. "Oh, signora! You have come back! We are so pleased, so delighted—"
Carlotta cut him off with an imperious snap of her fingers in his face, her painted talons pinching the air perilously close to his face. "Oh, do not give me that…that… empty frippery! You horrible man! I have not come back, certainly not for you. You replaced me with that nobody, and the great La Carlotta does not forget so easily! I have not come for you, I've come for him. Where is he?"
Andre looked nonplussed. "Who do you speak of, signora?"
"Your precious patron, where is he?" Carlotta sneered. "Your high and mighty handsome young patron, who thought he might push me aside, me! I have been leading soprano for nineteen seasons yet and I will not be upstaged by a young uppity upstart who thinks to put his paramour on the stage instead!"
Andre gaped at her language and accusations, but the vicomte pushed him aside angrily, colour high in his cheeks. "What baseless accusations you make, signora! This is slander!"
Carlotta stared at the vicomte unwaveringly, and she fished in her sizable reticule for an envelope, which she waved in the vicomte's face. Firmin caught sight of the envelope, and recognized the red wax. He groaned. Not another one!
"I have evidence, monsieur!" Carlotta spat angrily, ripping open the envelope. "How dare you send me something of this nature? Was it not enough that the little… nobody, sang in my place last night?"
The vicomte's face twisted in confusion. He took the letter from Carlotta and unfolded it, scanning through the words quickly.
Signora—your time in the theatre has come to an end. The Swedish Songbird will be one soaring on the wings of music from now on, and La Carlotta will be no more.
Firmin, who had been reading over his shoulder, coughed in alarm. "What in the world is the meaning of this letter? Who wrote this?"
Andre had collapsed weakly into one of the chairs in the office, moping his brow vigorously. "Oh, we are ruined, just ruined! All we have heard since we arrived is this… Mademoiselle Daae's name, and naught else but threats from a ghost!"
"I know who wrote this letter—the Vicomte, that ballet rat's lover!" Carlotta snarled, her chest heaving with anger. "A night of passion, and he is wrapped around her little finger!"
"How dare you!" Raoul roared, shaking his cane at her. "What a preposterous thing to say!"
"It is true, is it not?" Carlotta screeched in response.
"What else could it be?" Piangi agreed with her, placing his hands on Carlotta's shoulders in an attempt to calm her down, but she shrugged him off in frustration.
"Signora, how dare you accuse me of such an act. Even worse, to slander the innocent Mademoiselle Daae-?"
"Enough!" Firmin shouted, slamming his hands on the table. "Please, calm down!"
The rising cacophony in the room died down, but Carlotta still looked mutinous, and the vicomte's face was still flushed with anger. Firmin took a few deep breaths, massaging his temples. This was an absolute nightmare; he had never imagined there to be such trouble in managing an opera house. Andre was still in his chair, sighing heavily and wiping his face with his handkerchief.
"Now that we have all calmed down," Firmin began, breathin heavily, "shall we discuss this matter in a civilized manner?"
Before he could say anything else, there came a crisp knock at the door, and Madame Giry stepped in, followed by a little blond ballerina that Firmin assumed was somehow related to Madame Giry, for the two bore a significant resemblance to each other.
"Oh for God's sake! Do not tell me that you have received a letter too, Madame Giry?" Firmin exclaimed incredulously. "Are you here to blame somebody in this room for having sent you a letter?"
Madame Giry leveled him with a cold stare that had him feeling like a child. "I do not go around mindlessly accusing others of sending me strange letters, monsieur," she informed him sharply. "I came to enlighten you of the fact that Mademoiselle Daae has returned. Though in fact, I do have a letter for you—I found it outside the room."
She held out the letter to him, but Firmin did not take it. "Mademoiselle Daae has returned? Wherever is she? What is her explanation?"
He moved forward to leave the room, to search for Christine Daae and question her, but Madame Giry moved to block his pathway. She gestured toward the letter she still held in her hand with a jerk of her chin.
"Mademoiselle Daae is resting, monsieur. Surely you cannot deny her a little rest, after the night of excitement she had?" She tapped her cane hard on the floor. "As her ballet mistress, I refuse to allow her any visitors at the moment."
The vicomte stepped up, worry creasing his brow. "May I see her?"
"No, monsieur, you may not."
He was about to open his mouth to rebuff the ballet mistress for her audacity to speak to the patron thusly, but the little blonde ballerina piped up, "she needs her rest! Christine was exhausted when she returned, and completely not in the right mind to receive visitors. Please, monsieur, you will only tire her further."
The vicomte's mouth tightened in a displeased line, but he said nothing. Madame Giry held the letter out to Firmin, and he took it, rolling his eyes, slitting the envelope open and removing the letter inside.
Gentlemen,
Mademoiselle Daae has been returned to you, and I am anxious for her career to progress. In the new production of Il Muto, you will cast her in the lead role of the Countess, and Carlotta in the role of the pageboy. I will be watching the show from my normal seat in Box Five, which I trust will be kept empty for me, as it has always been done before. Should these commands be ignored, a disaster beyond imagination will occur.
I remain your obedient servant. OG.
As he finished reading the letter aloud, Firmin's face flushed an alarming shade of puce, and he crushed the paper in his fist. "Who is this 'OG', and how does he know that our new production is to be of Il Muto? We did not reveal it to anybody yet!"
"The pageboy?" Carlotta shrieked to nobody in particular. "The mute role? What nonsense, what complete rubbish! Me, La Carlotta, to play the mute role of a pageboy? You must be insane!"
"Who is this mysterious sender of the notes, messieurs? You made no mention of this when I signed on to be the patron of this opera house!" The vicomte demanded, pointing at the letters on the table. "I require an explanation now!"
"Oh Firmin, we are ruined, just ruined! What are we to do—should we give in to his ridiculous demands?" Andre groaned.
Antoinette took the opportunity to wave Meg out of the room, and followed her daughter out, shutting the door behind her. Let them fight it out between themselves. She could still hear the shrill shrieks of Carlotta demanding for justice to be done, and the thunderous bellows of the new patron, asking for an explanation. Antoinette heaved a sigh of relief to be out of the room.
For a few moments, she had thought that their plan would crumble. Amélie had returned from Erik's house with a trembling Christine, who had tear tracks streaked down her face. Antoinette had directed Amélie to bring Christine to her room, before hurrying to her own rooms, to wait for Erik's appearance, for she was sure that Erik would not have been sitting around in his house idling about. True enough, after a few minutes of anxious pacing, Erik had emerged from her wardrobe, a letter clutched in his hand. His hair was unusually messy and his mask a little crooked, and Antoinette had a very bad feeling in her heart about what had happened. He had briefly and quickly told her of the letters that he had had sent to the managers, the vicomte and Carlotta, and bade her bring the final letter to the managers.
She had wanted to ask him what had happened, but he had quickly turned and headed back to his house, and she in turn had to rush to the manager's office. When she opened the door, she found Meg standing outside, looking at her oddly and trying to peer into the room. She had no doubt that her daughter had heard a man's voice from within the room, but could not see anybody inside. Meg had wanted to ask questions that Antoinette would not be able to answer, and Antoinette had quickly shushed her before running to the manager's office as fast as she could.
Now that the spectacle was over and done with, Meg was looking at her strangely yet again.
"Maman—", she began, but Antoinette cut her off with a shake of her head.
"Meg, dearest, there are some questions that even I cannot answer for you. The answers to the questions will come soon enough, but until then, I cannot reveal anything."
Meg did not like being kept out of her mother's secrets, especially when it seemed to be such a dangerous set of secrets, but she nodded her head grudgingly. Antoinette patted her on the back.
"Now, why don't you go and have a talk with Christine, and try to calm that poor girl down? I'm sure she could do with some company, Meg."
Meg looked unwilling to leave her mother, but Antoinette gave her a gentle push toward the dormitories and Meg set off slowly. Antoinette sighed. What can I do now, besides listen at the door to hear what the managers are planning now? She walked to a nearby corridor, and looked around to make sure nobody was around, before opening up a secret passageway Erik had once shown her. It led to a little alcove within the walls right next to the manager's office where she was able to hear without being seen.
A/N: Demanding divas, maudlin managers, and a spooky spectre... whatever next! As usual, please read/review/fav/follow! xx hazel