September 14th 1892: Raoul
It was only when we were standing in the entrance hall of the Opéra Populaire that Christine and I realised none of us knew where we'd be sitting. In his letter Philippe had mentioned that we'd have one of the boxes, but he hadn't told us which one. Looking for ourselves was impossible, and there was no one we could have asked. Few people were here yet anyway. We had arrived rather early, but that had been our intention. Neither my wife nor I were keen on the usual polite conversations. We'd have enough of them in the interval.
Before we could decide what to do, a young girl approached us. "Excuse me, are you Comte Raoul de Chagny and his family?" she asked, giving me a bright smile while almost ignoring the rest of us. I nodded. "I should have known it – I've heard so much about you," she said with much more enthusiasm than necessary. "My name is Narelle. I was sent here to show you the way to your box." "That's very nice," I muttered. Somehow I didn't feel comfortable around the girl. It was slightly eerie how much she focused on me.
"This way, please," she told us… or rather, me. For a moment I thought she wanted to seize my arm, so I quickly grabbed Christine's hand, demonstrating who I belonged to. Looking a little hurt, Narelle went away. My wife and I walked behind her, and Antoinette and Jacqueline followed us. I couldn't help wondering whether the people here had been just as friendly the last time I had come to the opera. For some reason I doubted it.
Just when I asked myself if I should say something, the task was taken over by Narelle. "I've heard so much about you, M. le Comte," she called over her shoulder as we made our way through a corridor. "Erm… you said that before," I murmured, not sure what else to tell her. "People often talk about your business when they come here," she went on. Had she even heard my comment? "You're one of the most important men in Paris, aren't you?" "Well, maybe…" I muttered.
It was one of the strangest conversations I had ever had. The girl kept praising my achievements in all details, even after I had stopped commenting on them. The furious glance Christine had thrown me had reduced me to silence. I squeezed her hand lightly, as if to indicate that it wasn't my fault. And behind us, Antoinette was chatting merrily, unaware of what was going on between the three persons in front of her. I'd have given a lot to be in her place.
The atmosphere grew more tense by the minute. I found myself wondering how long the way to our box could be. Yet I also thought about something else: Why did Narelle know so much about me? There were dozens of businessmen like me in this city, and honestly I doubted there was a lot of talk about me. I was one of the people who liked to stay in the background. Had the managers told her all that? But why should they have done so? The only effect was that my wife was becoming furious, and surely they didn't want that. They had always got along very well with her. So it had been someone else. Of course…
I was about to utter my thought when Narelle came to a halt in front of a door. Opening it she said: "This is your box. If you'd follow me inside…". We entered the box one after the other. At once our daughter rushed to the balustrade. "Look! We can see… everything!" she called, leaning forwards as far as she could. Jacqueline walked to her quickly and seized her by the shoulders, thus keeping our little girl from falling into the auditorium. I was torn between smiling about her excitement and be worried about her carelessness. Given the fact that the maid was with us, the former feeling grew stronger. Jacqueline always took good care of Antoinette. I trusted her completely.
"Take your seats, please. The performance will begin soon," Narelle informed us, although actually there was still plenty of time. I noticed that not even half of the auditorium was filled with people yet. Still I went to the row of chairs, hoping that our daughter would calm down a little once we'd be seated. I sat down at the end of the row. Christine took the seat next to me. Jacqueline had to use all her powers of persuasion to make Antoinette sit down next to her mother. Then she sank down on the last remaining seat.
I turned around to thank Narelle for everything. Now that her job was done, she'd surely leave, wouldn't she? Yet I had thought wrong. She was just settling down on a stool next to the door. "If you need something, just say so, M. le Comte," she called cheerfully. Christine groaned. "Can't you send her away?" she whispered into my ear. "Not yet…" I gave back. "As a matter of fact, there is something you could do," I then told the girl.
She jumped to her feet immediately and came to stand next to my chair. "Yes, Monsieur?" she asked, leaning down so much that I could have easily taken a look at her cleavage… if I had wanted to do so, that was. "I'd like to know who sent you to us and told you to behave like that," I said. Narelle grew pale, and for some reason she threw an anxious glance at the box opposite ours. "I've been given very precise orders from… from him," she muttered.
"From M.André or M.Firmin?" I wanted to know. "And why do you keep looking over there. Is there anything special?" "Box Five," Christine suddenly said. "I didn't realise it before, but now I do… You got your instructions from the Opera Ghost, didn't you?" The girl nodded, her head bowed, and my wife examined her with something like pity. "He sent me a note," Narelle explained. "It said I should meet you in the entrance hall and guide you to your box. And I should be… especially nice to you, Monsieur."
Before Christine or I could react in any way, she had already continued: "I have to apologise for my behaviour. I'm not interested in you, M. le Comte, not at all. I'm happily married. It's just… the Ghost made it very clear that if I don't stay in this box till the end of the performance, he'll dismiss me. I need this job. You see, I have a little child at home… So could you not send me away, please?". She glanced at us pleadingly, and we nodded, almost at the same moment. Narelle breathed a sigh of relief and went back to her stool.
"Do you have any idea what this was about?" I asked Christine, yet she looked just as puzzled as I was. "That doesn't make sense," she muttered. "It would be more like Erik to send someone who's unfriendly to you…" "I think he himself does that very well," I remarked dryly. My wife gave a nervous chuckle. "Maybe he wants to keep you distracted. But for which reason?" We'd have probably gone on with our debate, yet in this moment the lights were extinguished. Even Antoinette fell silent.
To my surprise the curtains shielding the stage from view were not pulled open. Instead, a person in the first row stood up. When he turned around, I recognised M.Firmin. "Mesdames and Messieurs!" he greeted us. "I'd like to welcome you to the first night of our new opera ´La donna bellissima e la morte´. I know that speeches usually aren't held until after the performance, but today it is different…"
He stopped, and for a second I assumed he had lost his thread. But when I saw him glance up at Box Five nervously, everything was clear. Narelle was not the only person manipulated by the Phantom tonight. At last M.Firmin seemed to have found the strength to go on. "I'm sure all of you have heard of the legendary Opera Ghost. Of course he is present today, in his private box…" He pointed upwards, yet it was too dark to see much.
"But he is accompanied by somebody else: Philippe Charles, his heir and future Phantom of the Opera!" He started clapping half-heartedly. A few people followed his example… only to stop just a moment later. Two large lantern had been lit on either side of Box Five, so that everyone could see the Ghost and Philippe. But what had happened to the child? He was dressed in black, complete with cloak, fedora and gloves. It was like looking at a miniature version of the Phantom, only without the mask. "What has he done to my son?" I whispered.