September 16th 1892: Jacqueline
M. de Changy's revelations made me feel dizzy. It was good that I was already sitting on the floor, or I might have fallen down. The last time when I had been trapped between the wishes of my two masters had been more than difficult, and I hadn't wanted to repeat it. And now such a situation was there again, even worse than the first one.
My other master would live in our home for the time the Comte wouldn't be here. That part wasn't too bad, actually. I had been worried about staying in the house without a man able to protect us, and if the stories I had heard from my sister could be believed, the Opera Ghost was just right for the task. Dozens of rumours at the opera were dealing with his almost legendary strength and cunning.
The other news, however, hadn't been that positive. If it really was my other master's intention to seduce Madame, there was nothing I could do about it. He was stubborn and didn't change his mind just because someone told him to do so, that much I knew from experience. Besides, I wouldn't dare tell him anything. I was dependent on him.
And Madame wouldn't make things easier for me either. Had her husband forgotten how violent her mood swings were? I wasn't a doctor. How could I know why she did what she did? There could be a thousand reasons for her to be cheerful or sad, and my other master was only one of them. And of course I couldn't just ask her. We got along very well, but such questions would have gone beyond the limits of our friendship. And even if I knew for sure she wasn't feeling good, how was I supposed to help her? At least that was a question I could utter.
"Of course I'd do whatever is necessary, Monsieur," I assured him. "But what exactly do you want me to do if I… realise that man's presence is bothering Madame, for instance? How can I help her? Surely you don't expect me to throw him out of the house, do you?" A slight note of panic had sneaked into my voice during my last words. I doubted my other master would show mercy under such circumstances, not even to someone who was working for him as well.
In the face of so many questions the Comte seemed to grow a little helpless.
"Maybe Jacques could help you," he suggested half-heartedly. "Or maybe Gabriel will be healthy again. He's strong and – " Seeing the sceptic expression on my face he interrupted himself, sighing. "Yes, I know it's not easy," he said. "But if you really have the impression that you can't handle things yourself anymore, there is another solution, one that you should only use in emergencies."
"What?" I asked, fervently hoping it had nothing to do with any kind of weapon. I couldn't hurt a fly, except when it was bothering one of the children.
"You can send me a letter, and I'll come back," he replied. "You see, in the contract I have with him, it says he'll leave as soon as I return, no matter when it'll be."
I nodded. It sounded like a good idea, especially because it didn't include the use of violence.
"I'll do that," I promised. "But I'm still not sure how to gain the knowledge whether something is going on between Madame and… the guest. I mean… do you want me to listen at the door of the bedroom at night?" I gave a nervous little laugh.
Apparently M. de Chagny misinterpreted that sound, for he said:
"I know how ridiculous it had to sound for you, and I also know it won't be pleasant to do such things behind my wife's back, but it's important.".
Quickly I glanced into the other direction, so that he didn't see me blush. If he had any idea how often I had stood at their door at night, listening hard, just to make sure they weren't awake and having a conversation I had to tell my other master about, he wouldn't be sitting here with me that peacefully.
A few moments passed in silence while I continued putting toys into the box, waiting for him to either say something or leave. The former happened.
"Oh, I feel terrible doing this!" he remarked. "Asking you to sneak after Christine and tell me what she does – this is not how things are supposed to be between husband and wife. Shouldn't there be trust?"
Since my face had taken its normal colour again, I dared turn around to him.
"But you do trust your wife," I told him. "You just don't trust… well, him, and with all the stories I've heard that's only natural. If he's really still in love with Madame, it would be foolish to trust him…" I continued talking, but my heart wasn't in it. In a way I actually trusted my other master. He was a very eccentric man, that was true, but he had always kept his promises. Yet I couldn't possibly tell M. de Chagny about that, for it would have revealed too much. So I simply said what I thought he wanted me to say, feeling terrible for being disloyal.
After a while he stopped me, a thin smile on his lips as he covered my hand with his.
"It's very friendly that you try to support me," he muttered. "But it's not true. I… I do not trust my wife."
"Oh…" I made, although I felt more like gaping at him or shouting: ´Do you know what you've just said?´. Calling me ´surprised´ would have been an understatement. ´Shocked´ was the more fitting term.
"´Oh´ is just the right word," he commented with a bitter laugh. "I always trusted her, you know, even though most people thought me insane for doing so. I trusted her for all those years, and now… I just can't do it anymore, at least not blindly. There are situations in which I trust her, yes. Otherwise this relationship wouldn't work anymore. But when it comes to the Phantom…" His voice trailed off as he absent-mindedly picked up a doll's dress and let it fall it the floor again.
I felt increasingly uncomfortable. I just wasn't the right person to have this conversation with. It seemed wrong that he was sitting on the floor, playing with a tiny velvet dress and discussing his problems with a servant. Admittedly the border between the two groups of people living in this house was never too strong, but it existed. At the end of the day, the Comte was paying me. So I had to say what he wanted to hear. Yet what on earth was that?
"If it's any consolation to you, Monsieur, I don't think anything will happened between them," I said. "I mean, why should she want to take him, when she already has you?" I gave him a warm smile. Flattery usually was very good for the male soul. I had noticed that the whole story involving the Phantom had damaged M de Chagny's self-confidence considerably, and if a few nice words could help build it up again, I was willing to assist.
I hadn't expected him to take my rhetorical question seriously, but he did.
"Oh, there are many reasons," he replied. "So many things connect the two of them: their history, their love of music… Sometimes I wonder whether she wouldn't have been better off marrying him instead of me." He glanced at me miserably, and I realised that I had been wrong. This man was past the stage in which flattery could be of any use. I had to take more drastic actions.
"You're right," I told him cheerfully. "She should have indeed married him. But it's not too late to make things right. All you have to do is go to Norway and never come back. Then he can take your place, live as Madame's husband, maybe even become the father of a few children and be happy, while you're sitting in Norway, being lonely and sad for the rest of your days." I beamed at him, as if this were the most obvious solution.
He stared at me.
"Are you insane?" he called, pulling his hand away from mine as if he had touched a hot kettle. "I would never do that! I love Christine, I love my children, and I wouldn't just leave them for good!"
"Then why are you talking as if you had already given up?" I asked him, trying not to be intimidated by his outburst, which contorted his handsome features into a grimace. "If your wife wanted to be with another man, she'd do so. She had a thousand chances to leave you, every time you've been away from Paris, but she never did it… because she loves you."
The Comte calmed down visibly, his face relaxing.
"What shall I do then?" he wanted to know.
This time I seized his hand.
"Just try to trust her," I answered. "If you come back and nothing has happened, you'll perhaps even be able to trust her forever. And if I notice something is seriously wrong, I'll let you know."
"Thank you," he muttered weakly, squeezing my hand lightly.
We sat there for a while, lost in thought. Picking up a small wooden horse and letting it trot over his arm, the Comte remarked:
"When I was younger, I thought that the older I'd become, the easier my life would get, because I'd be able to make my own decisions. But just the opposite happened.".
I merely shrugged. So he thought his life were complicated? I was the one who was torn between two masters. If I lost the trust of one of them, either my sister or I would be plunged into misery. Some people had no idea what real problems were.