September 18th 1892: Erik
After just a few minutes I heard laughter and voices in the corridor. They surely belonged to some of the chorus girls, but I didn't know their voices well enough to know whether Estella was among them. I couldn't open the door and have a look either, for I didn't want anyone to see me and think me impatient. The Opera Ghost had to act in a more dignified way. So I continued waiting.
Letting my gaze wander over the dressing table, the chair, the small wardrobe and the dusty sofa, I realised why nobody had claimed this room as their own for at least a year: It wasn't exactly the prettiest room there was at the opera. It was small, the carpet was old and dirty, and the pieces of furniture didn't match. I couldn't blame the chorus girls for preferring to share a dressing room with someone else rather than staying here.
Yet for my purposes that didn't matter. Actually it was quite good, for it would show me how determined Estella was. Besides, it added to the mystery of the Opera Ghost. Lurking in the shadows, having secret meetings in abandoned rooms – those were the things my reputation was based on. And I didn't want to disappoint her by not being the way she expected me to. That wouldn't have been very polite.
I waited for at least twenty more minutes before there was a knock at the door.
"Enter!" I called, retreating into the shadows a corner of the room provided. It wasn't necessary for her to see me right away. My voice alone would do the job very nicely for the time being. Moreover, it added an element of discomfort to the conversation if only one person could see the other.
The door remained closed for a few more moments, and I could practically hear the girl standing outside, taking deep breaths and trying to decide whether to go in there or just walk away and forget about it. Yet when she did come in, I saw that Christine had been right: She was indeed a pretty girl, with long light brown hair and huge green eyes.
Yet the most striking part of her appearance was the light green dress she was wearing, which clung to her curves in the most flattering manner and didn't leave much to the imagination. I wondered whether she had walking around like that outside, in streets full of people, and realised why it had taken her that long to get here: She had apparently read my note and decided to change into something more ´suitable´ for the occasion. I couldn't help noticing that it had been quite the success. She looked stunning.
"M. Opera Ghost?" she called, her voice shaking ever so slightly. "Are you here?"
"I am here," I replied shortly, making sure that my voice sounded as if it came from all corners of the room at the same time. I didn't want her to spot me. "The question is why you weren't here sooner. I don't like to be kept waiting."
"Oh, I'm very sorry, Monsieur," she muttered. "If I had come to the opera sooner, I'd have been here sooner as well, but I only arrived here half an hour ago. And when I saw your note, I had to change, for I didn't want you to see me in my old clothes. Do you like my dress?" she added, her voice growing stronger.
"I haven't come here to discuss your sense of fashion," I answered matter-of-factly. "My time is too precious for such nonsense."
"Oh… of course," she mumbled, bowing her head meekly. I was aware that I had dealt her self-confidence quite a blow, but that was good. Keeping her down was the best method to get what I wanted.
"Where are you?" Estella asked after a moment, looking up again. "I… I'd like to see you." Of course I knew the reason why she wanted to know where I was: It was hard to seduce a man one couldn't see. But I wouldn't make it that easy for her.
"That's strange," I remarked. "As far as I know, no one ever wants to see me…"
"I do!" she said instantly. One thing was certain: That girl seized every chance she had. "I really want to see you because… there is this thing I want to talk to you about."
"I know that you want to talk to me," I informed her. "Otherwise you wouldn't be here."
"Yes, yes, you know everything that happens around here," she muttered, trying her best to sound awe-struck rather than annoyed, but failing. "Well, in that case you already know about my sister, Yvonne. She's a fantastic singer, really, but she simply isn't appreciated at the opera she works at. Even though she's the leading soprano, no one supports her enough – she doesn't even have a decent singing teacher. So she's looking for a new occupation."
"Such a ´fantastic singer´ shouldn't have problems in finding one," I commented. Estella smiled in a self-satisfied way, oblivious to the fact that I had my own reasons for saying the things I said. She may have thought that she was the one in control of the conversation, but she wasn't. This was what made listening to her that amusing.
"Exactly," she agreed. "She could work anywhere… but she doesn't want to. She wants to work at the most famous and most popular opera of all – this one." She underlined her statement with a nod.
"Indeed?" I asked, suppressing a chuckle at the same time as trying to sound genuinely surprised. "Well, this shows that her taste is good. But then, there's a tiny problem: We already have a leading soprano."
"Yes, but…" She paused for a moment, her face screwed up in concentration as she tried to find the right words. "…you don't like Signora Marchesi anyway," she finally went on. "She was so unfriendly to you and to… that boy." It was this expression that did it. Even if I had been willing to listen to her before, it would have changed now. She didn't even remember Philippe's name.
"And what makes you think I'd like your sister any better?" I asked shortly.
Estella didn't reply for a few moments, and I was just wondering whether I had been too hostile when she did say something, in a surprisingly gentle voice.
"Everyone knows that you're still hoping Christine Daaé will return to the opera one day. But how likely is that after all those years? And even if she did return, it would take her months, maybe longer, to reach the standard of an opera singer again. All those months you'd still have to endure Singora Marchesi, and who knows what she'd do to that boy in the meantime? If you decide for my sister, however, she could start as soon as you want her to."
She was good, no doubt about it. That low voice could surely be very persuasive. Even I found myself wondering whether her sister wouldn't be a nice alternative to the diva, before I stopped myself, shaking my head.
"But what if Christine wanted to return to the opera after all?" I asked slowly, steering the conversation into the right direction. "Wouldn't you be afraid that I'd dismiss your sister again?"
I held my breath as I waited for her reply, waited for her to say that Christine surely wouldn't think about coming back, because she, Estella, had made sure she didn't want to leave the house. Yet instead she answered:
"Well, if that happened, Yvonne would easily find employment at another opera. Having worked here would be a very good recommendation. Besides… I don't think it will happen.".
"Why not?" I wanted to know, hoping she'd give the right answer at last.
"Well… I've heard about certain… things that have happened to her family lately…" she said cautiously. "Beggars blocking her gate, her windows being smashed… If I were her, I wouldn't leave my family alone at such a difficult time, just to continue my career." She smiled slyly.
"How do you know about all those things?" I asked, trying to suppress the note of excitement in my voice.
"Friends of my parents live in the same street as the de Chagnys," she replied readily. "They've told me about it. Terrible, simply terrible…" She shook her head.
I gave a soundless sigh, telling myself that it would have been too easy if she had confessed everything right away. Yet her story did make sense. The only aspect I had to check was whether there really were friends of her family living near the de Chagnys, but I couldn't do so now. So I decided to change the subject for a while. At the moment she had an answer to all of my questions. Maybe I'd manage to catch her unaware later.
"Let's come back to your sister," I said. "What exactly would you like me to do?"
"Just talk to her a little, listen to her voice – it would surely convince you," she answered eagerly. "And then you could tell the managers about her."
"Yes, I could do that," I muttered. "Or else I couldn't. You see, I still wonder why I should do so. The Opera Ghost doesn't do anything out of sheer generosity. So… what can you offer me?"
Estella's smile windened. It was the smile of a little girl who had been examined a long time, only to reach her favourite subject at last. Running her hands over her dress suggestively she all but purred:
"I'm sure there are many things I could offer you. Just come here, and we'll find a way to enjoy ourselves.".
So I stepped out of the shadows. After all, who was I to deny a girl a wish?