September 15th 1892: Christine
Unsurprisingly my initial reaction was fury. How dared Raoul insult Erik like that? Yet when I looked at him, prepared to hurl insults at him, I couldn't bring myself to actually doing it. He was already ducking, ready to jump up and hide behind the sofa if it would be necessary. In a moment of absolute clarity I saw what would happen if I started shouting now: He'd defend himself, eventually beginning to shout as well, and in the end neither of us would have achieved anything but hurting the other one. What we needed was a sensible discussion – not an easy thing when the subject was Erik.
So I asked:
"What makes you assume it could have been Erik?".
Raoul threw me a puzzled glance, clearly astonished that I wasn't yelling at him yet. Confronted with such a question he needed a few moments to find the right reply.
"Well, it seems fitting," he started not very convincingly. "The letter was written in red ink, juts like the notes he used to send the managers."
I raised an eyebrow. If that was all he had to say in order to underline his theory, I wondered why he had bothered opening his mouth at all. But he wasn't finished yet.
"There's more," he went on quickly. "The Phantom has a reason for being angry at both you and me. The two of you didn't make love, and he certainly blames me for it as well. He blames me for everything." He looked at me in a way that clearly said ´See? I believe what you told me, even without having talked to him as well.´ I was rather impressed, yet that didn't keep me from pointing out a mistake.
"You're forgetting something," I corrected him, although I was reluctant to bring up that topic again. "It was Erik who refused my offer, not the other way round."
Raoul merely shrugged.
"That was a decision he made in the heat of the moment," he claimed. "But later, when he thought about it more closely, he regretted it. All the time he was with you today he thought about how he could have missed such a unique chance. And since he can't blame himself, he takes it out on us."
"It could be a reason," I admitted slowly. "But Erik isn't the kind of person who would do something like that. He loves me. He'd maybe send me a piece of jewellery, but never… that. It's just not… his style."
"It's exactly his style," Raoul contradicted me. "Have you forgotten all the strange things he has done ten years ago? And what about last night at the opera? He didn't act like the sanest person in Paris there…"
Now I didn't know what to say. My first impulse was defending Erik at all costs. But then, Raoul did have a point. My former teacher indeed had a rather weird way of reacting. And my husband didn't even know all the things he had done between the wedding and today. Of course I didn't plan to tell him about them. It would only have confirmed his suspicion that Erik was the person responsible for the box.
Still… in my heart I was absolutely sure he hadn't done it. Erik loved me, and he'd have never done something like that, just for the sake of scaring me. He was aware that if I ever found out he was the guilty one, I'd never want to meet him again. Moreover, I wouldn't let Philippe close to him anymore. He wouldn't risk that for the momentary satisfaction of his anger.
Besides, he hadn't even been angry. No matter what Raoul told me about the subject, I didn't think Erik regretted not having made love to me. He had been so affectionate and caring in the morning, not at all like someone who was angry. He had even thanked me again for our night together. And during his stay at our home, he had been very friendly and polite. Was this the behaviour of a person who had an evil plan?
But I knew that my husband would only laugh about such arguments – either that, or he'd grow furious, accusing me of being in love with my former teacher. Neither option was desirable. So I had to say something which he couldn't contradict, something like… solid facts.
"You may be right about that," I replied at last. "But have you ever considered the time?"
"The time?" he repeated, his triumphant smile fading.
"Yes, the time," I said slowly and clearly. "Erik couldn't possibly have sent the box and the note because he didn't have the time to do so. When he left our home after lunch, he had the children with him. Don't you think they'd have noticed it if he had stopped somewhere to get a dead bird? He wouldn't have exposed them to such a sight." Raoul nodded reluctantly, knowing I was right. Not even he could deny Erik's love for the children.
"And he couldn't have done it after bringing Antoinette to her teacher and Philippe to the opera," I went on. "The box arrived only half an hour after they had gone, and the journey to Mme.Tadoux alone takes that long."
"Maybe he already had it with him before he came here," Raoul argued.
"Then I'd have seen it," I dismissed his idea. "After all, it's not so small that he could have hidden it under his cloak. And he couldn't have had it in the coach before either, for he simply hired the first coach he saw in the street."
I took a deep breath, rather pleased with myself. Now Raoul had to understand that Erik had nothing to do with all this. Yet he still didn't seem to be content.
"He could have already prepared and sent it last night, after the end of the performance," he said.
"But Raoul," I muttered with a little sigh. "Now you're forgetting the reason you've told me a minute ago. At that time Erik had no idea I would come back and we wouldn't make love. So what would have been the point in threatening me? We parted on good terms."
"All right, all right," he said, giving me a lopsided smile. "You've convinced me. But if it wasn't him, who was it?"
"If only I knew that…" I murmured. "There's no way for us to find out at the moment, and the police would just laugh at us. All we can do is throw the box and the note away and hope it won't happen again." We looked at each other, fully aware that it probably was a futile hope. But there truly was nothing else for us to do.
Raoul stood up and pulled out the box from under the table, the expression on his face one of utmost disgust.
"I'll dig a hole in the garden and bury the little bird," he announced in a surprisingly soft voice. "After all, it was not its fault that it was used in such a dreadful way, and I don't like the idea of cats coming to eat it… Maybe I could use some of those flowers." Following his gaze I noticed for the first time that there was a bouquet lying on the floor next to the door.
"Oh, did you buy me flowers?" I exclaimed. "That's so nice of you. Thank you." Getting up as well I gave him a kiss on the cheek, momentarily forgetting my worries. I loved receiving flowers, and those were particularly pretty with their pink and white blossoms. Quickly I made my way to the door and picked them up. "Of course we can use some of them for the grave," I told him. "And the rest we'll put in a vase." I chose three especially beautiful flowers and handed them to Raoul. "Burying the sparrow is a lovely idea, by the way," I added. "Do you mind of I come with you?" He smiled at me.
Together we went into the garden. My husband chose a spot at the back, directly at the high fence. I watched him dig the hole with a spade he had brought with him and put the box into it. Then he covered it with earth and placed the flowers on top of the small grave. All the time I tried hard not to burst into tears. Yet even though it was just a bird, whom I had never seen alive, I couldn't help being sad about its death. It would have deserved a happier end than being murdered, just to make someone frightened.
When he was finished, Raoul came to stand at my side. He seized my hand and held it tightly.
"Goodbye, little bird," he whispered hoarsely. The lump in my throat grew even bigger as I heard how close to tears he was.
"Yes, goodbye," I muttered. "I hope you had a good life." The birds in the trees high above us were singing merrily, a farewell song for their deceased friend.
We stood there for quite a while in the sunshine coming through the leaves. The minutes that passed weren't exactly cheerful, but I was glad about having someone like Raoul to share them with. His kindness made up for his pointless accusations. I squeezed his hand gently, and he returned the gesture.
It was only when we went back to the house that I noticed the unpleasant side effect digging a hole had had on Raoul: His suit was dirty.
"Maybe you should have changed your clothes before coming out here," I said, although this suggestion would have been far more useful a quarter of an hour earlier. "Look at all those stains…" I gestured at the earth on his trousers.
"Oh no!" my husband exclaimed. "I wanted to wear that suit in Norway when I - " He bit his lip.
I stopped dead, my hand slipping out of his.
"What?" I muttered, throwing him an incredulous glance.
"Oh, Christine, I didn't want to tell you like that," he said miserably. "But now that it's out… yes, I'll leave for Norway tomorrow, and I won't be back for a couple of days."
"So you're leaving me alone?" I whispered, suddenly feeling very cold. The birds' song was over.