August 6th 1892: Christine
"Maman…" Two small hands landed on my shoulder. "Maman, are you awake?" A minute ago the answer would have been ´no´, but thanks to my child´s gentle persistence that was no longer true. Turning my head slightly and opening my eyes I mumbled: "Yes, Philippe, I am.". It was only then that I noticed I was lying on my stomach, which was quite an unusual and not very comfortable position for me.
Groaning I straightened up, pushing damp strands of hair aside. My eyes were aching, and the skin surrounding them was sore and swollen. I wondered how long I had been crying. Hopefully my son wouldn´t see it. "What can I do for you?", I asked drowsily, turning around to look at him. His appearance was different from that in the afternoon, yet I couldn´t place my finger on why this was so. The answer didn´t come from him, but from Jacqueline, who, as I only realised now, was standing a few steps behind him. "He´d like to have his ´good night´ kiss.", she explained. "I tried to keep him from waking you up, but he insisted on seeing you before he goes to bed."
Bed? Blinking several times I suddenly understood the difference in his appearance: Philippe was already wearing his nightshirt. "How late is it?", I wanted to know, my eyes wide with shock. After a brief glance at the grandfather clock Jacqueline replied: "It´s half past nine. I know that´s a little too late for him to go to bed, but he was playing so nicely with his presents that I couldn´t bring myself to making him stop. After all, it´s his birthday.".
A look out of the window confirmed my suspicion. "It´s dark.", I breathed. "Of course it´s dark. It´s always dark at night.", my son informed me, giving his innocent little laugh. "That´s true.", I muttered absent-mindedly, stroking his hair. When she saw in which state I was Jacqueline approached us and took Philippe´s hand. "I´m very sorry about having woken you up, Madame.", she told me with an apologetic smile. "We´ll go now. Come on, little one, time for bed!" "No!", I said instantly, seizing his other hand. What if Erik would come later? No one but I could protect my child. I had to- I could never finish the thought for in this moment there was a knock at the door.
"Mme. de Chagny?", Jacques called. He was much too discreet, let alone bashful, to enter this bedroom. "Thee´s someone at the door. I´ve tried to get rid of him, but he insists on talking to you in person. Could you spare a moment of your precious time and come downstairs?" My pulse had sped up with every word, and now my heart was pounding in my chest like a hammer. Did Erik really have the audacity to simply walk through the door like an ordinary visitor and demand my boy?
My knees were weak as I stood up and tried to smooth out the dress I was still wearing. "I´ll be right there.", I replied, opening the door, only to see that Jacques had already left, doubtlessly busy with another important task. When I made my way down the stairs my thoughts revolved around a single question: What could I say to change his mind? "It´s a pity he doesn´t care about rings and necklaces; I´ve got them aplenty.", I mumbled bitterly, remembering the story Antoinette had told me this afternoon.
The closer I came to the entrance door the slower my steps grew. Maybe a part of me was hoping he might already be gone. But of course I hoped in vain. There was someone standing at the threshold, yet… I could hardly believe it: It was not Erik. A boy, perhaps one or two years older than my daughter, was looking at me curiously as I suppressed a sigh of relief.
"Are you Christine Countess de Chagny?", he asked. I nodded. "How can I help you?" I had quite a reputation for giving generous sums of money to the poor; surely the boy had heard my name in the street and wanted to beg as well. He was lucky; in my current mood I was willing to donate almost everything. But when he opened his mouth to reply it was no plea that came out. "You know I´m not used to waiting. If I don´t have the boy by midnight, your husband will pay for it. Norway can be quite a dangerous country, if you know what I mean…"
I stared blankly at the boy, who had spoken with the same indifferent voice I had often heard at the recital of poems. It was clear that he hadn´t thought of those sentences himself. So I wanted to know: "Who gave you that message? Was it a tall man dressed in black with a white mask covering half of his face?". I could barely keep myself from seizing the boy by the shoulders and shaking him to get the answer more quickly. But it didn´t take him long anyway. "No, a boy told it to me and made me learn it by heart. He said he had got it from a man." Scraping his feet impatiently he went on: "Can I go now? Or do you want to hear the message again?". "No, no.", I whispered. The boy turned on his heel and ran away, probably on the search for his next job.
It couldn´t go on like that. This thought was stronger than anything else in my mind as I watched the boy leave. What kind of life would I have if I had to be afraid of every person at the door, every letter, every article in a newspaper? And what kind of life would Philippe have? One day my constant protection would suffocate him. I didn´t want him to grow up like in a prison. There was just one logical consequence: I had to go to Erik.
Of course I had no intention to hand my child over to him. But I had to talk to him, to persuade him that the idea of raising Philippe was ridiculous. What could he want to do with him? With a determined snap I closed the door and went upstairs again. After a little detour to Raoul´s study I entered my bedroom. My son and Jacqueline were both sitting on the bed now, glancing at the expectantly.
"What would you say if we took a ride in the coach, my dear? Just the two of us…", I offered with a much too cheerful smile. As much as I hated the idea of Erik seeing my little one, I had to take him with me. What if he came while I was on my way to him and snatched the boy away from Jacqueline? I´d never forgive myself. Philippe´s eyes, which had had quite a sleepy expression before, lit up with joy. "Oh yes, Maman!", he called, coming to his feet quickly and seizing my outstretched hands. I picked him up to cradle him in my arms. "We just have to dress you properly first.", I explained. In a slightly louder voice I then asked: "Will you stay with Antoinette for the night, Jacqueline? I don´t know when we´ll be back and I don´t want her to wake up and find us gone.". "Of course, Madame.", she said. "But don´t you want to tell me where you´re going?" I merely shook my head and left the room with my son.
When he arrived in his room I dressed my boy in dark blue trousers and a white shirt and combed his beautiful blond hair. After all, he was Philippe de Chagny. I couldn´t let him run around like the child of a beggar, just because of the man we were about to visit. In vain I tried to persuade myself that this was the only reason why I also used the comb for my hair and tied it back with a dark blue ribbon before we put on light coats and went out of the house.
Jacqueline was a very thoughtful maid; she seemed to have called for Jacques the moment I had told her we´d go out. The coach was already waiting for us when we left the garden behind us. I lifted Philippe onto the bench before glancing at the very tired- and even more grumpy-looking coachman. "And where can I take you this late at night?", he asked, stifling a yawn with his hand. "The Opéra Populaire.", I replied, my voice shaking ever so slightly. "The Rue Scribe entrance."
The relief about the short distance was visible on in his face even in the semi-darkness. He nodded, and I entered the coach as well. A moment later the horse started walking, at a slow and uneven pace. Apparently it wasn´t too pleased about having been dragged away from its hay. When the coach abruptly jolted to the left my hand brushed against something hidden in the inside pocket of my coat. It was the reason why I had been in Raoul´s study: his pistol. I patted it with a strange little smile. Whatever Erik might have in store for me I was prepared.