September 17th 1892: Erik
Meg and I spent most of the rest of the journey pondering over other possible suspects, yet none of those who came to our minds seemed as likely as the first two she had told me about. This was mainly due to the fact that we had thought of those working at the opera, and not many people there knew Christine in person at all. It had been more than ten years since she had been a singer; most chorus girls and stage hands from that time had found new jobs by now or weren't working at all anymore.
It was a sad realisation that if it hadn't been for the story involving Christine, the Vicomte and me, maybe no one would remember her at all.
"You've got to understand this," Meg said. "You know how quickly things develop in the world of opera and theatre. When Christine played the role of Elissa in ´Hannibal´, everyone knew her name, more or less over night. But now… the public isn't interested in people who don't do anything fascinating or outrageous. As far as I can recall, the last time there was something about her in the newspaper was when Philippe had been born… and I believe you were the one responsible for it."
I nodded, remembering the birth announcement. It had been a good idea. Still I didn't understand why Christine wasn't famous anymore. I had worked so hard for her success, and now nobody knew her name. Yet no matter how much I disliked it, it was rather good as far as our suspects were concerned. If she had still been the diva, there would have been a lot more people who hated her because they were jealous. Talking to all of them would have taken me days.
Yet under the given circumstances, even the two people Meg and I had discussed before were too many. After all, I couldn't tear myself in half, talking to people at the opera at the same time as protecting the family at home.
"You could take Christine and the children with you and let them stay in your home while you look for Liliane and the uncle," Meg suggested when I explained the problem to her.
"At least I'd know they were safe," I acknowledged. "This would solve one problem, but create another: The more people see Christine at the opera, the more rumours there will be about her return. So the attempts to stop her would become more drastic as well."
"That's true," Meg agreed. "But maybe you could… invite the two of them to tea, on two different days, of course. Then you'd be able to talk to them, knowing everyone's safe."
"And where exactly do you suggest I should invite them?" I asked. "Dow to my lair? No one in their right mind would come there. In the best case possible they'd only think it to be a joke and throw the invitation away. In the worst case they'd take the police with them. And if I invited them to the de Chagnys' home, they could pass on information about what it looks like from the inside. Besides… I'm not the kind of person who hands out invitations to tea. Don't you think it would be a little suspicious?"
She nodded reluctantly.
"The image people have of you doesn't include tea parties," she said. "Moreover, if you invited Liliane, it would probably be Estella who'd show up. She'd seize the chance to try and seduce you right away." The idea made her chuckle, and I couldn't help doing the same. It was just too absurd.
"Estella… hmm," I made. "I'll have to deal with her as well, in my very own way."
"Will that way involve her death?" she wanted to know, looking at me anxiously. "She's a little stupid and very arrogant, but she doesn't deserve to die."
"No one said anything about death," I muttered. "There are other methods… Perhaps I should indeed start with her, since she's so desperate to meet me. Then I wouldn't have to talk to her friend at all."
"But you wouldn't really… let her seduce you, would you?" Meg asked quickly. "It would break Christine's heart."
"Of course not!" I assured her, shocked that she even thought me capable of doing that. "The only person I ever let seduce me was Christine herself." It took me a moment to realise what I had said, but then I blushed deeply. Giving away that much hadn't been my intention, even if Christine had already talked about it to her friend. "I… erm, I didn't… mean…" I stammered.
"It's all right," she whispered. "I know what happened between her and you… and I don't think it bad," she added. "It was bound to happen sooner or later. There was this… tension between the two of you. It was there ten years ago, and it's there now."
I couldn't keep a broad smile from spreading over my face.
"It was good," I said, for the lack of a better description. If I ever invented an own language, I'd think of a word for those wonderful feelings first.
"I know," Meg gave back, grinning. "Christine told me so."
"And did she also tell you whether there were things that weren't good? Things she didn't like?" I asked. I couldn't help it. If we hadn't started this topic, I'd have kept the question to myself. Yet now that we were talking about it, I simply had to utter it.
"She enjoyed every single moment," Meg replied firmly. "She enjoyed it because it happened with you, and that was what she wanted. You don't have to worry."
"Thank you," I muttered gratefully. I had got the information I had wanted without asking Christine directly, which was worth a lot. It had spared me the embarrassed silence such a discussion would have surely caused.
"That's what friends are for," she remarked casually.
My jaw dropped. I couldn't believe what I had heard.
"F-friends?" I repeated. "Are you serious?"
"Of course I am," she assured me. "We've had several long conversations about our feelings, we've given each other advice, and you saved me in a life-threatening situation. I think this journey qualifies as the beginning of our friendship… unless you don't want to be my friend." She raised an eyebrow.
"There's nothing I'd rather be," I said truthfully. "I'm just a little surprised. Things are developing so quickly at the moment. One day I don't have anyone, and the next I have a wife, a godson and a friend."
"Well, but before that, your life had almost stopped, hadn't it?" Meg asked softly. "Christine told me a few things, my mother told me a few things, and a few things I've seen myself. You haven't been a very happy man in the last ten years, if I may say so."
"I've never been a happy man," I corrected her. "Until now."
We were silent, and I was certain that she was thinking of the same thing I thought of: Once the Vicomte would be back in Paris, reclaiming his place in the family, I wouldn't be happy anymore. Perhaps I'd never be happy again.
It was strange to have a friend now, someone who cared about my feelings, someone who'd be nice and sympathetic in times when life would be anything but nice. Would this make everything all right if Christine chose to leave me? Of course not. There'd be the same agonising pain, the same amount of tears, the same questions repeated over and over in my head. I knew that at the end of the day Meg would always be Christine's friend rather than mine. Yet I hoped she'd also be there for me, at least a little.
We reached the Tavoire estate about a quarter of an hour later. There were lantern burning all the way up to the entrance door, which probably meant we were already being expected. Even the gate was open. The moment we passed it two servants appeared on either side of the coach. One of them seized the reins of the horse, while the other one helped Meg leave the coachbox. She exchanged a few words with him, and he hurried back into the house.
"He'll get help to carry Hugo," she explained. "It would be best if we could get the coach as closely as possible to the house."
By the time we had done so, the servant had returned with another one. Each of them placed one of the coachman's arms around his shoulders, and together they helped him into the house.
"My God! What happened?" a male voice asked, and Jean Tavoire emerged from a room. I hadn't seem him for a while, but I knew it was him. I had seen him at the opera as well as on their wedding, even though I had not been on the guest list. "Why are you coming this late? I was so worried about you, my darling." He took Meg into his arms. She briefly outlined the events to him, promising a more detailed version once they'd be alone.
"And this is Erik, Jean," she finished. "He's a friend of Christine's and also of mine. We know each other from the opera."
"Oh," he made, throwing me a glance that stopped abruptly at my mask. His eyes grew wide. "This cannot be… surely you're not… not the Opera Ghost, are you?" he asked.