Disclaimer: The characters and plotline of the Phantom of the Opera on which this story is based are – to the best of my knowledge – the property of Gaston Leroux and Andrew Lloyd Webber. Nor do I own any of the songs or music used or referred to within this story. No infringement of copyright is intended nor is this story written for profit as I have the greatest respect for their work.
Chapter 62
Thankfully, this time it was just Dr Poligny. She hadn't thought much of Mr. Debienne the last time, and was grateful for his absence. Dr Poligny had seemed at least willing to listen to her, unlike his colleague who appeared to be more of a finances man and had therefore been biased towards the Guidacellis.
When she was seated in front of him, he took a very familiar piece of paper from out of his pocket and slid it across the desk to her. Once more, she found herself grateful for the months of silence when she'd schooled herself to be both extremely expressive and unreadable with her face. Revealing nothing in her features, she took the white parchment, attempted to ignore the startling red skull and began to read the contents.
Dr Poligny,
Unfortunately, it is with great sorrow I find myself writing to you once more. In the time that you have served here at the Ravelle, you have allowed the Institute to flourish and be somewhat worthy of the reputation it claims. You have also respected my advice and wishes as they have been presented to you, for which I am honoured and remain ever grateful.
However, the same cannot be said of your colleagues, your staff, or your students; something which the following two matters will illustrate. You are aware of the traditional Halloween 'Ghost Hunts', a tiresome exercise, albeit one of the few I indulge the students in for the sake of my reputation. You will also remember the damaging turn the latest of these Hunts took, and my anger at the situation.
I find that anger has returned and with greater cause: another took place last night, not part of any tradition, but undertaken with malicious and harmful intent to both property and person. Much more damage was inflicted on my house, which insubordination, you will understand, I cannot tolerate.
The other matter that should concern you is that one of your students was in residence at the time. Thankfully, said student was removed before any physical harm could befall them, though I cannot vouch for mental or emotional damage. Your student will undoubtedly wish to return, although sadly, the house is at present in no fit condition for that.
I have dealt with the main perpetrators, and trust this will be the last incident of its kind. Should this behaviour continue, I will not be so forgiving in the future.
I trust the damage will be repaired swiftly, and remain your humble servant,
O.G.
"He always sends a note after performances and at the beginning and end of each academic year. I can probably count on the fingers of one hand the number of notes I've received from the Ghost other than that." Seeing her surprised expression, he elaborated, "Yes, I believe in the Ghost, Miss Daaë. Granted, it took some time before I did, but I was inevitably convinced of his presence. He has done the Ravelle a lot of good with his 'advice' over the years, in spite of the obvious downside.
"Miss Daaë, as I said, I rarely receive unexpected notes from the Ghost, but when I do, I usually act on them. I kept this concealed from the others, as I don't believe the contents would do anyone any good were they to be made known. I've spoken to Joseph Buquet, and I know he led the hunt. He shall be dealt with officially. I've also spoken to Madame Giry, and she tells me that you are the student who lives in the house mentioned in the letter. Now don't be alarmed, tell me first of all: are you alright?"
She was stunned. The Dean of the Ravelle actually sounded like he was on the Ghost's side.
"Miss Daaë?"
"Yes, yes I'm fine."
"These lines that mention you suggest-"
"I know. It just stirred up a few memories. I'll be alright in a few days." He nodded, looking at her carefully.
"Since the house is uninhabitable at the moment, am I to assume you have made alternative arrangements?" Christine's face softened as she thought what had already happened thanks to the 'alternative arrangements'.
"Yes. I'm staying with Madame Giry again."
"Good. Now, I think it's safe to say that our Mr. Buquet led the 'Hunt' last night, based on what we found this morning. Do you know if anyone else was involved?"
Christine fidgeted uncomfortably, guessing how it would sound if she answered that. When he prompted her again, she spoke.
"I recognised a few of the stage hands. I think they work directly under Mr. Buquet, but I couldn't tell you their names."
"Anyone else?"
"Carlotta Guidacelli." She said quietly. "I know it must sound terrible, my naming her, after everything that's happened, but I swear I'm telling the truth."
"I believe you. I wanted to hear it from you of your own volition before I told you."
"Told me what?"
"Miss Guidacelli went to collect her things this morning, but her dressing room had been vandalised."
"Vandalised?"
"The mirrors were broken, her pictures and music torn. The only things in the room that weren't damaged was the furniture that had originally been there. It was too carefully done to be anyone without deliberate cause and purpose. Her wall was inscribed with the word 'violator' in a similar fashion to Buquet's . . . 'message'.
"Miss Daaë, I do not believe you had a hand in this and Madame Giry has vouched for you, but we have received several notes from the Ghost in your favour, which I'd have to say, based on your performances, I fully understand. But the notes also speak very negatively of giving Miss Guidacelli any kind of prominent role, so based on the circumstances, I have to ask, do you know who the Opera Ghost is? Please think carefully before you answer."
"No."
"You are certain?"
"I don't know the Opera Ghost." He considered her a few moments, wondering why she had changed the wording.
"May I enquire as to your vocal coach, aside from Professor Gardiner? I understand he's done tremendous work with you. Perhaps he could benefit some of our other students."
"He's an old friend of my family. I'll be sure to pass that on."
"An old friend of the family? How is it you claimed not to know his name?"
"I've always addressed him by title, rather than name. I met him through my father. It'd feel strange to ask his name after so long."
"Very well." They sat there in silence a few moments, regarding each other, considering the conversation.
"Miss Daaë, before I let you get back to your work, there is one last thing: as I've said, I receive very few unexpected notes from the Ghost. I like to believe there is a healthy respect between the two of us, which is why whenever I do receive a missive of this nature; I try to be discreet about any action I take. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Sir."
He finally dismissed her. Calmly, she walked away from the old building, across the campus and back to the main theatre. Halfway through her walk, she spied the hint of a shadow out of the corner of her eye. Resisting the temptation to look, knowing she wouldn't see anything, she continued on, somewhat reassured by the idea that he would be waiting when she got there.
Shutting the door behind her, she closed her eyes, revelling in the peace her sanctuary brought. When she opened them again, he was stood before her.
"Did you . . . did you really . . .?" Knowing what she wanted to ask, he answered.
"I do not allow anyone to harm what is mine, Christine." He spoke with such conviction and such a look in his eyes that Christine couldn't help but think he wasn't talking about the house.
"You lied about me." Feeling slightly overwhelmed by the situation, she simply looked at him, using his trick of silence to get an explanation. "You said you didn't know the Opera Ghost."
"I don't." His turn to be silent. "I only know my Angel."
"Christine, they are one and the same." His voice rose in frustration. Whilst there were many aspects of him that he would rather she didn't know; were she to ignore that one obvious side, then he stood a greater risk of losing her in the long run.
"I know. But I only know my Angel. You've hardly ever been the Ghost to me." It was true. Rarely had he ever allowed his darker side to surface around her. If there was any beauty to be found in his soul, she brought it out into the light.
"You said I was an old friend of the family."
"What else would you call my Father's promised Angel?" Feeling confident in the direction the conversation had taken, she finally approached him. "Angel, I won't lie about you, but I won't betray you again." Looking down into her eyes, filled with sincerity, he couldn't help but believe her, though everything within him was screaming not to trust in the beautiful words.
"Angel, did you overhear Professor Gardiner today?" Christine asked, finally sitting down.
"Yes, his rendition of the 'essentials of Il Muto' was laughable enough to keep me entertained for weeks." She let out a small giggle, surprising, but delighting him.
"I didn't think you'd appreciate it if you heard it. But I meant-"
"His thoughts on the casting. Yes, I heard. At least Gardiner is sensible enough to recognise some of your gift, though I doubt he realises your full potential. You needn't worry, my dear, the board will remember whose Opera House this is." Worried by the vehemence with which he once again spoke, she gestured for him to sit down and carefully took one of his hands.
"Angel, I understand that you know best and that you want me to succeed."
"You will, Christine." She smiled at him reassuringly.
"I trust you, my Angel. But not everyone feels the same way." He froze beneath her touch and her eyes lowered. "I think part of the problem might be the way the Ghost favours me."
Taking his hand from under hers, he stood, backing away. She dared to look up at him and saw sheer disbelief written across his features.
"And you would have me leave you in order to pacify those fools." Beneath the icy steel that would have ordinarily frightened her, she heard the hurt and realised she had already broken her promise not to betray him. That had her terrified.
"Angel,"
"No! I am no Angel. And clearly I am no longer welcome, even in my Opera House. So be it, Miss Daaë. I shall leave you to-"
"No!" As soon as he had mentioned leaving, she had sprung up and moved to his side; clinging onto him for all that she was worth. "That isn't what I meant."
"Then do explain yourself, Miss Daaë, since I've once again managed to misinterpret your wishes." He said, wrenching his arm from her grasp. The look of pain on her face cut him to the quick by the same degree that he had hurt her.
"Not everyone appreciates the Ghost the way Dr Poligny does. A lot of them resent the hold you have over the Ravelle, and I think they're trying to get back at you by going against your wishes as far as I'm concerned." Silence. "They think that by casting someone else against your instructions, they're showing that they're in charge. They're trying to exert a bit of independence from the Ghost."
"As you do?" He asked, his voice a little softer, her reasoning having struck a chord with him.
"No." She pleaded. "Please don't think that, my Angel. I need you." The last three words she whispered, her eyes lowered in defeat as she gave her last defence.
He took a step toward her and tilting her chin up, searched her face. The words were not all he had hoped for, but they were still the sweetest music he had ever heard.
"I told you once, I will not leave you. I keep my word, Christine." Her lips parted in wonder and she fell into his arms, letting out a small wordless cry of relief. Astonishingly, it was almost a reflex as he returned her embrace – something he never thought he'd be able to claim.
"Christine," she looked up to him again and he held her face in his hands, "I cannot stop being the Ghost. It is who I am, how I live. Do you understand?" A frown creased her brow briefly.
"I understand. Just so long as you understand that it is not all of who you are." This time, he was the one to draw her back into his arms. "Although I have to admit, Buquet was very funny this morning."
"He abhors being made a fool of, and I doubt he will live it down in the near future. It should keep him in line for a while." He felt her smiling against his chest.
So lost were they in the moment that neither of them heard the lock click in the door. It was only when it began to open that he reacted and turned so Christine was well out of view – she being the easier to hide at that point.
"You should be more careful. I'm not the only one with a key, you know." He loosened his almost suffocating hold on Christine at Madame Giry's voice. "You can release her now, she has classes to attend."
Christine frowned, both at her teacher's acquiescence and at the disapproval that was more than obvious in her guardian's voice. She gathered her things and headed towards the door. Turning, she called to her dark Angel's back before it disappeared through the mirror.
"Shall I still come back for my lesson?"
"Of course."
The look he sent her was filled with warmth, but at the same time so apologetic; she couldn't help but wonder what had happened to change his mood so suddenly. As Madame Giry locked the door and reclaimed her key from her second daughter, her face was so resolutely stony; Christine knew that something had happened between her two guardians.
The only trouble was which one to ask.