Disclaimer: I did not write the Phantom of Opera (thankfully, or I would be dead now, ha ha) or the musical. I do not claim any ownership of the characters from said book and adaptations. I only own this original side plot and any characters I have taken the liberty to add.
Chapter 2:
The Foundling
Philippe woke late the next morning with a hangover that challenged many of his past hangovers for the first place as his worst. Groggily rising from bed and stretching, he nearly jumped out of his nightclothes when seeing the time: eleven o'clock on the dot. Moving as quickly as his protesting limbs would let him, Philippe got prepared for facing the day. He purchased and gratefully downed a quick shot of espresso at a café and munched on a small croissant on his way to catch a trolley traveling to the other side of town. With a sigh of relief Philippe sat down and leaned back to watch as Paris life and buildings sped on by, checking his watch every few minutes or so. His mind wandered and as a way to avoid thinking of his mother to directly he decided to write his sisters a letter after his meeting with Honoré. Philippe hated taking trolleys or coaches or trains alone because such modes of solitary travel left him unoccupied, forcing him to be alone with his gloomy thoughts.
Finally the trolley reached his stop and he got off. Quietly singing one of the many delectably lewd drinking songs from the night before, Philippe leisurely strolled along the Rue St. Antoine, on his way to the main headquarters of the Parisian police. He met a harassed looking Chief Honoré d'Chevalier having a smoke at the building's central entry. At the sight of his young friend, the police chief attempted a tired smile and the men shook hands in warm greeting.
"Honoré, you old man, how are you? It really is a pity you could not join us last night. We had quite the time!"
"I can see that, my boy. Had a few too many drinks, did you?"
"Oh, I suppose you could say that. So, what's the plan then?"
Honoré stamped out his cigarette and showed Philippe inside, smiling apologetically.
"I am glad to see you, Philippe, but I am afraid that I will not be able to go to the café with you today. We had a bit of an eventful morning, don't you know. Had to arrest a young street urchin for stealing food from several stalls at the market. She didn't take to the idea of being arrested to keenly, though. Put up quite a fight for a young slip like her. Caused a bit of a ruckus down in the market, I don't mind telling you. Had to go down there myself. Have to feel a bit of admiration for the girl despite the trouble she caused, talk about spunk! Fought tooth and nail, that she did, and still somehow managing to keep hold of most all of her booty at the same time! Took six of my best men to finally get her into custody."
Philippe nodded understandingly, responding appropriately in all the right places throughout his friend's narrative. His mind was still lingering upon his night out and was still recovering from the effects of over-imbibing. Honoré paused for breath as they reached a landing on the stairs before going on. "What I find most strange, though, is the amount of food the child was trying to get away with. Usually we have urchins who steal food and eat it before we can stop them. But this child … I have a suspicion that she is working for someone else, an adult. So, I decided that I had better keep her here until we find any leads as to her, ahem, employer. She is surprisingly quiet and well behaved when she is not trying to claw your eyes out. These street children do make me so very sad, don't you know?"
"Yes, quite a pity really. I wish something could be done about them, but there are so very many of them, and new ones popping up everyday too! I imagined they cause any number of problems for you and your men, do they not?"
"Oh yes indeed. But I do try to keep sympathy in my heart and those of my men for these children's plights. So many of them starve. Sometimes I think there are children who actually want to be arrested because our prisoners get daily rations. My predecessor wasn't so kind, though. He seemed to think that these children were merely miniature adults to be beaten and punished the same way as a mature individual!"
"Yes, well, there are many in this city who would agree with him, I am sure. You are quite uniquely good natured, my friend."
"I suppose so … I do have trouble keeping my men from going at these children with their clubs, and some of these children don't seem to be children at all by the way they act. It can be difficult to remember that many of them are barely out of infancy, you know." Honoré sighed wearily. They had stopped before the closed door of the chief's office. Philippe gazed around and smiled a greeting at an approaching officer before turning to question his weary friend. Attempting to lighten the mood somewhat, he kept his voice cheerful.
"So, where is the girl now, then?"
"Oh, right here in my office actually. Keeping herself busy, drawing away. She doesn't talk much though. I hope you don't mind her presence, do you?"
"Oh no, not at all!." Philippe smiled warmly. Honoré smiled slightly in return and shrugged as he reached for the door handle. He stopped to hail the passing officer.
"Hello there, Officer Jerome. Do you mind popping by over to the café to grab us all some coffee and refreshments?"
"Certainly, sir. Right away," Officer Jerome replied with a sharp salute.
"Why not something for the child as well?" Philippe piped in before Officer Jerome could run off. The young man paused and looked at his chief for approval. Honoré shrugged, smiled, and nodded his head, shooing the young officer off. Honoré and Philippe shook their heads with poorly suppressed chuckles as they watched Jerome run awkwardly off down the hall and out of sight. Still laughing quietly the men finally entered the Chief's office, Honoré holding the door open and politely allowing his friend to enter first. Philippe only made it a few steps past the door when he froze, his breath momentarily lodged in his throat.
There, in the corner of Honoré's office, a slip of a girl sat quietly upon a three-legged stool. She was avidly sketching away upon a pad of scrap paper with a piece of charcoal of diminishing length. Sounding girl and stool, sheets of paper - graced with finished and abandoned drawings both - were left scattered across the floor as so many autumn windblown leaves. In hindsight, Philippe was never able to pinpoint exactly the reason the child had caught his interest so quickly and completely, but thought that perhaps it must have been because of her inexplicably golden eyes – eyes which shone with alert curiosity and keen intelligence belying her apparent youth. She looked to be about six years old, but she might well have been older by one or two more years since her small stature was more likely that of a malnourished child than of one younger. Despite her disheveled appearance, she was the most beautiful thing Philippe had ever seen. And although the child did not look up to acknowledge Philippe's presence until he had stared at her for what felt like a good long while, he had the uncanny sense that she was watching him in return. But finally she slowly lifted her gaze to look back at him and, from the moment their eyes met, the rather flummoxed Philippe knew deep in his soul that he was bound to her inexorably.
Gazing long into those shinning golden eyes, Philippe felt both disturbed and enamored by what he saw therein: a strange, discordant harmony of purity and corruption; the innocence of infancy and the worldly wisdom of adulthood; gentle longing and bitter resignation … a raging inferno of fury burning upon an ever-changing sea of sorrow beneath an eternal sky filled with youthful hopes and dreams; joyful wonder and hateful guardedness: fear and insecurity paired with courageous defiance; weakness, vulnerability and strength; desperate need and independence. Long he stared into the eyes of this golden storm that raged beneath a silent, emotionless mask of delicate features and milky white skin jarringly offset by a spectrum of bruises and a strong jaw set in firm defiance. As the child returned his gaze, Philippe sensed that she was asking him a question … no, questions. So many questions were asked of him, of everyone, and Philippe was dismayed to find he could not answer for her a single one, feeling that he was barely out of childhood himself. The two of them would instead have to settle for his taking her under his wing, and perhaps, in time, they might find the answers together.
Philippe knew that he would offer her the shelter and nourishment and unwavering devotion that comes with a father's unconditional love, that he would care for her as he would any daughter of his own. He would raise this girl that no one else had wanted, this child who was neither infant nor woman yet at the same time was both. She would be his reason to become the responsible man he had to be. Just by seeing her and coming to such conclusions seemed to have made the hole in his heart left by his mother's loss just a little bit smaller.
But of course none of this thinking was entirely conscious. It seemed a generally ignored part of Philippe had shot ahead after gaining strength from the girl, leaving the rest of him to catch up, struggling with confusion.
"Philippe, please have a seat." Philippe was startled from his reverie by the voice of Honoré. He was surprised to find that he and his host had moved fully into the chamber and Honoré´ was standing by his chair at his desk, gesturing Philippe to the chair opposite. Philippe nodded his thanks and the two men sat down. Honoré´ gestured to the girl in the far back corner and said, "She says that her name is Nicolette." Philippe smiled and glanced at the girl.
"Hello, Nicolette. My name is Philippe. Won't you join us?" The girl looked between Philippe and Honoré before shaking her head and burying her nose in her papers. Philippe felt decidedly awkward. Honoré smiled apologetically again.
"I believe I did tell you that she is shy," he intoned across the desk quietly. "But I think the promise of food will be enough to bring her out of her shell."
And indeed, Honoré was proved correct when a nearly breathless but grinning Jerome returned with coffee and pastries for the men and a lemonade and an especially sugary looking confection for the girl. He placed it all on the table, with Honoré grinning over his shoulder as he returned to his seat from opening the door.
"I do hope you got something for yourself," Honoré told his young officer with mock sternness. Jerome smiled and blushed a deep crimson before nodding. Honoré patted his back heartily and handed him some money. Jerome picked up a croissant and his own coffee and stumbled backwards toward the door.
"Thank you sir. Thank you. Enjoy your coffee. I must be going. Thank you."
"Oh no, thank you, Officer. You ran all the way to the café and back. Good job, young chap! Better turn around before you trip and spill all that coffee on your uniform, now." Jerome blushed even deeper red if that were possible and did as his Chief instructed him. Philippe nearly spewed his sip of coffee from attempting to control his emerging guffaw.
"My, what a jolly old boy that Jerome is, eh?" Honoré laughed with him and sat down.
"Indeed he is, but don't let him fool you," Honoré grew a bit serious and continued. "He is one of my best officers. Very brave, does his job. And respects his superiors," he added with a wink. He turned to the girl, who was trying very hard not to make it obvious that she was staring at the desk and drooling. "Well now, Nicolette. Don't just sit there. Come and join us." The girl's eyes widened in disbelief. Philippe gestured to another chair by the desk.
"Come on, child. We won't bite." The girl's wary natured seemed to be warring against her stomach, but it wasn't long before the stomach won. She slowly unfurled her slender form from the stool and sidled cautiously towards the table, her poorly shod feet making no sound upon the wood floor. Finally she reached the desk, sat after some encouragement, and stared at the food and drink proffered towards her. "Oh, really. You look like you haven't eaten in months, girl. Eat up, it isn't poisoned you know." Philippe winked at her, and she blushed, but the jest managed to eek out a small, shy smile. Almost to fast for the eye to follow, she had snatched up the pastry and began gobbling it up as if someone might snatch it back away from her if she did not finish all of it immediately. Philippe put a light hand on her shoulder, causing the girl to jump and shove his hand away, a wild look in her eyes. It disappeared as soon as she saw him sit back in his chair and sip his coffee. "Slowly now," he chided her lightly, "you'll make yourself sick, eating so fast. Enjoy it. Have some lemonade." She did so, eyeing him all the while. Honoré chuckled.
"You sound like a right mother hen, Philippe. Who knew a young scallywag like you could act maternal?" Philippe was very tempted to throw the contents of his coffee cup over his friend's head.
Just then there came quiet a ruckus from down the hall, the sounds of shouting growing in volume as the sound of running feet came toward the office. Honoré frowned and stood up. "I wonder what the bloody hell all that hubbub is about." Philippe turned around at the sound of the door slamming open, and saw the girl drop her food and drink before scurrying at top speed between Honoré's legs and underneath the desk.