Cecily groaned quietly, attempting to will her headache into submission. It wasn't working. Late hours of crying did not bode well for the following day, and with all the fuss over Erik's opera, it was cause enough to want to go back to bed. But then Raoul had engineered his genius plan. Despite Mme. Giry's warnings, it seemed that the managers thought it was the best way to go about things. Her stomach was knotted. They were going to kill Erik if he came. And they all knew he would come. Christine's voice would draw him like a bee to nectar.
"Are you all right, love?" Nicholai stood in the doorway, watching her with concern.
She smiled and kissed his cheek. "Fine, just a bit of pain in the head from all the stress." Noting his doubting glance, she waved him off. "Really, I am. I just need some rest."
"You be sure to get it. I have to go; the Count has some business he needs me for. You're sure you're all right, though?"
"Yes! Now scat before I have to push you out myself."
"Fine, fine, I'm going." He kissed her; he still hadn't shaved.
Turning back to her work, she sighed. What a complicated life it was! And whatever to do about Erik…
"Mademoiselle?" She turned toward the voice. A young police inspector who had failed to knock was standing in her open doorway, regarding her uneasily.
"Come in, Inspector. And feel free to bring your partner with you." He entered, looking warily around the room as if something were about to jump out and bite him. "Can I help you with something?"
"You are Mlle Cecily Pencombe?"
"Yes."
"I am Inspector Larite, but of course, you already knew that I was an inspector didn't you?"
The tone of his voice was not one of amazement at her varied intelligences. Rather, it was a pointed jibe at the fact that she had an above average knowledge of the gendarmerie. Cecily straightened in her chair. She had no desire to play games with a silly, self-important police brute. "I can see that you are familiar with my past. But can you inform me as to why you are intruding on my present?" She stood up and began to arrange paperwork into various files.
The yet-un-introduced partner closed the door, peeking outside to make sure no one else was within hearing range. "We are here regarding a murder."
Cecily's spine stiffened. If they were going to harass her about that lowlife wretch… She forced a bitter, but polite, smile. "Oh? Of whom?"
Larite moved closer, his stooge following suit. "We are familiar with your record, Mademoiselle."
"Yes, we've already clarified that," she said curtly. "Now, would you be so kind as to answer my question?"
"This morning we discovered a body. Fortunately, the deceased was carrying work papers, so we were able to identify the corpse." He looked like a cat waiting to pounce. "The deceased was positively identified by her employer as Sophie Pencombe."
Cecily swallowed hard and her breathing went shallow. Surely this was some kind of cruel joke? Clutching a chair, she braced herself against it. "Wha," her voice cracked, and she coughed a little to clear her throat. "What did you say?"
The inspector grinned horribly. "A Mlle Sophie Pencombe was discovered near the Rue Morgue in the early hours of the morning. A rather odd place for a young lady of good community standing to be. She was strangled by a small cord, which is not at the scene. Presumably the killer," he emphasized the word and stared harshly at Cecily, "took it with them."
Cecily's eyes went blank, and she collapsed into the chair. "Oh my god. Sophie. I just…She's not dead. She can't be. She just got a new job and things were looking up and oh my god!" Tears came, but she was too distraught to care, and they flowed unchecked down her cheeks.
"I'm sorry for this shock, mademoiselle, but we must ask you, as next of kin, a few questions." Opening a box, he proceeded to stuff his pipe.
"Monsieur," she muttered, "I would rather prefer if you didn't smoke in this office." She felt hard and empty, a shell. "What questions?"
"Let us start with the basics. Did your sister have any enemies?"
"No, none that I can think of…" Questions! Horrible suggestion after horrible suggestion poured from that worm of an Inspector's mouth, each trying to incriminate Cecily.
"And finally, and this is only for reference, Mademoiselle, what were you doing between the hours of ten o'clock last night and five o'clock this morning?"
"I was at the masquerade." It was an automated response. She was too shocked to formulate anything extensive.
"Ah, yes, but it seems that the Opera's masquerade was interrupted rather…rudely…around one o'clock in the morning. After that, you did what?"
Closing her eyes, Cecily tried to distance herself from her emptiness, if only for a moment. "I took Meg Giry and Christine Daae to my room to sleep."
"But you didn't sleep, did you?"
"No," she murmured. She was so cold. "I was with…" Her mind suddenly snapped into gear. She had gone to see Erik, but certainly she couldn't tell the police she had gone to visit the Opera Ghost.
"You were with?" pried Larite.
"With Mme. Giry." Surely the woman would be able to understand that she needed her help. If not, oh God, if not…
"She will be able to verify this?"
Cecily gave a shuddering breath. "Yes."
"Very good. Couchon, bring this Mme. Giry in here. I do believe that she is the ballet instructor."
For several minutes, Cecily stared into her lap, doing her best to empty her mind completely. She couldn't bear to think of poor dear Sophie. Who had done this? The police obviously thought she had, but who had truly committed the crime?
"Ah, Mme Giry. We have been told that you were with Mlle Cecily Pencombe last night during the period lasting from the disruption of the Masquerade until five o'clock this morning. Is this true?"
Mme Giry was never one to be taken blindly. Upon entering the room, she had observed two uniformed police officers alone in an office with a crying Cecily. Cecily never cried without reason. And after the masquerade, she had been with Cecily, but the girl had disappeared for awhile in early morning. Upon returning, she had been crying also, but she had not been so empty. Rather, she had looked turmoiled, as if she had some choice to make. With startling force, Mme Giry realized where Cecily had gone, and why she had told the police that she was with her. "Of course I was. We were all in Cecily's room for most of the time. Once or twice we each slipped out to fetch water or such things, but only for a period of several minutes at a time. Why do you ask?"
"Madame, you said 'all of us.' Who else was in the room?"
Annoyed, Giry shook her head. "Why, my daughter Meg Giry and her friend Christine Daae. The two young girls were sleeping early on, but Cecily and I remained awake until well into the night."
Nodding at Couchon, who departed to get the two girls, Larite spoke, his voice smooth. "And why were all of you in one chamber? You have your own quarters, I presume, as Ballet Mistress, and the girls presumably also have bunks in the dormitories."
"Indeed, but it is best to remain together and alert when the Opera Ghost is displeased."
"The Opera Ghost, Madame? Surely you do not believe such things!"
She fixed him with a glare that Cecily was sure Giry had learned directly from Erik. "Do not mock the Opera Ghost or myself, Monsieur. There are many people who saw the Ghost last night, and it would have frightened any of us. Even you, as brave as you may be, would grow weak-kneed after seeing his work." Certainly, it seemed all it took to make Inspector Larite grow weak-kneed was the sight of an agitated Mme. Giry. It was a rather intimidating sight to the most courageous of men.
"Yes, yes, of course," he sputtered. "Ah, Couchon, brilliant timing!" He coughed, trying to settle his voice into its proper baritone rather than the agitated soprano it was drifting into. "Now, I have a question for the two of you," he spoke slowly, as if to a small child. "I want you to think carefully before answering. The truth is very important."
Meg sighed, affronted. "Monsieur, are you going to give us a schoolgirls' lecture, or do you intend to actually ask the question at some point this afternoon?" Cecily smiled a ghost of a smile; Meg had obviously inherited her mother's sharp tongue.
"Yes, well," he blustered. This interrogation was not going at all the way he had pictured it. "Were you with Mlle Pencombe last night after the masquerade?"
Meg looked as if she was about to laugh. "Cecily? Of course! We stayed the night in her room."
"And was she there the entire time?"
Christine looked at Mme. Giry and Cecily. Both wore a look of knowing worry. "Of course. I did slip off to sleep, but every time I woke, the four of us were all there." Her soft voice was juvenile, but convincing to the incredulous inspector.
"Ah, well then, thank you, girls. You may return to whatever it was you were doing." He waved a hand, dismissing them. Walking quietly from the room, Christine wondered what all of it was about, and why Cecily had needed their corroboration on a lie. True enough, they had stayed the night in Cecily's room, but Cecily had been conspicuously absent for a period in the early morning. Still, she trusted Cecily and Mme Giry.
"I suppose that takes care of things, then." He looked rather proud of himself, though for what, Cecily was unsure.
"Yes," she stated angrily, "it nearly does."
"Nearly?" Larite was confused.
"Yes, nearly. As Mlle Pencombe's next of kin, I have an express order on the treatment of this case."
"Mademoiselle, it is an ongoing investigation…"
"Don't lie. Your first hunch fell through, and she was not a high-profile victim, so in all likelihood, you will leave things as they lay. But in future discussion of this case, with anyone, you will never again use my sister's proper name. Mlle Pencombe will suffice. If I find out that anyone else knows of the death of a Sophie Pencombe, and trust me, I will find out, there will be severe repercussions on your career, Inspector. Do we understand each other?" She was donning a blanket of power, the same as Erik did when he became the Phantom, and it was working brilliantly.
"I understand," Larite squeaked.
Opening the door to the office, the inspector seemed to regain some of his gusto. "I am sorry for taking all this time, Mademoiselle," he said loudly. "It was simply that, with such a close relative as a sister having a record and such…It seemed like a closed case to come to the opera house and find Mlle Pencombe's sister, who was already a confirmed murderer…Ah well, again, I'm sorry for your time." He promptly closed the door behind him, leaving only enough time to see several gaping chorus members staring at her.
Cecily raged. He had done that purposefully! Intentionally calling out the fact that she had spent time in prison for murder so that all the Opera could hear it! The wretched fiend! And treating Sophie as if she was a prize in his belt! She should simply…
Nothing. She could do nothing. Disheartened, she sank into her chair. The entire opera house would know in a matter of minutes, and everyone from Firmin to Meg would know where Cecily had come from. And oh! When Nicholai came back to the opera house, they would tell him! She suddenly felt very sick.
"Oh, sister!" Just as she had instructed the police to never use her Christian name, neither would she again, not for a long time. "Why is this happening to us? Who has done this? Oh sister."