September 18th 1892: Erik
The moment Estella entered the stage, a few girls stopped practicing and rushed over to her. It looked as though they had waited for her to come for hours, not just a couple of minutes.
"There you are!" they cried. "Where have you been? Did everything went fine? Did he – ?"
"I don't want to talk about it," Estella replied flatly, making me smile. We hadn't talked explicitely about whether to keep the details of our conversation secret, but I was glad she did.
The other girls shrugged, apparently losing their interest in the answer within moments. But then, they probably had far more important things on their minds than a meeting with the Opera Ghost. One of the girls, whom I recognised as Liliane, Estella's best friend, took her by the arm and led her away from the girls who were still practicing. Judging by the way she looked at Mme.Giry, she was about to say something the ballet mistress wouldn't have approved of.
"You really missed something," Liliane told her friend in an excited whisper. "Mme.Giry told Lucille off for wearing too much lipstick. ´The audience is interested in what dancers do with their arms and legs, not with their mouths. There's no need for you to paint yours with coulours so bright that it can be seen from a distance of twenty miles.´" Her imitation of Mme.Giry's voice and manner of speaking was surprisingly accurate. It was a pity that she didn't use her talent for something more worthwile.
Estella giggled a little, but grew serious again quickly. She made a tentative step in the direction of the others, but Liliane didn't seem willing to let her out of her clutches yet.
"Wait!" she hissed. "There's more! I can't let you go before you know all about Glorietta."
"What did she do?" Estella asked. Even my little Philippe would have noticed the lack of enthusiasm in her voice, but her friend apparently wasn't that perceptive.
"She forgot almost all her steps in the second scene," Liliane informed her. "And Mme.Giry said that girls on their first day at the opera usually had a better memory than her, and if Glorietta really had so many important things on her mind that she couldn't fit the steps into it as well, she should think of doing them instead of dancing on a permanent basis."
I glared at the insolent girl, but of course she couldn't see it. I quite agreed with Mme.Giry scolding girls who painted their faces as if they were dolls, and I didn't mind other girls hearing it as well. Yet I couldn't imagine the ballet mistress saying such cruel things to a girl who forgot her steps. Mme.Giry knew only too well that the excitement on the day of a performance could have strange effects on girls.
Growing impatient, I cleared my throat loudly. I had more important things to do than listening to rumours and lies about each and every chorus girl. Those few minutes had only underlined my opinion that this had to stop.
Estella's head jerked in my direction, and she nodded slightly.
"I don't want to hear any more gossip now," she declared firmly.
Liliane looked at her in confusion.
"But… but I haven't even told you about Meg yet," she whispered. "It was so funny. She – "
"No!" Estella hissed. She took a deep breath and marched into the middle of the stage. Her friend followed her, the puzzled expression still on her face. "Could you all stop practicing for a moment, please?" Estella called. "I've got something to say."
"Estella!" Mme.Giry's voice sounded slightly shrill as she came over from a corner of the stage, where she had been helping two younger girls. "What gives you the right to interupt everyone? I'm sure that you think the rumour you've just heard has to be spread immediately, but I advise you to wait till the lunch break. So unless a fire has just broken out or there's a snake in your dressing room, be quiet now and start practicing at last!"
Estella threw her a nervous glance, apparently at a loss for what to do now. If she simply continued talking, even though Mme.Giry had forbidden her to, she risked having to leave the stage. But if she didn't say anything, she'd have to face my wrath later. It wasn't an easy choice, so I decided to help her a little, figuring that if she left the stage now, I'd never hear her apology.
"Let her talk," I said, making it sound as if I were standing right next to Mme.Giry and were whispering into her ear. "You'll like what she has to say." The ballet mistress looked confused for a moment, then she nodded. She had learned to trust me a long time ago.
"Very well," she muttered. "I give you one minute." With these words she stepped back to the side of the stage.
"Thank you," Estella whispered. Then she went on in a louder voice: "Well… I don't want to keep you from practicing, so I'll make it quick. Meg? Could you come here for a moment?".
Meg, who had been standing next to her mother, complied reluctantly.
"What is it?" she hissed, in a voice so soft that only Estella and I could hear it. "Do you have enough of talking behind my back and want to do so in front of everyone now?"
"Yes… I mean, no," Estella gave back. "I just want to…" She swallowed hard. "I want to apologise," she called. "I've been very unfriendly to you, and I'm… I'm sorry about it. You're not a bad dancer. In fact… in fact you're a very good dancer… yes… and you deserve being admired by everyone… That's all."
No one said a word. The chorus girls and Mme.Giry stared at Estella in disbelief. A moment later the first girl burst into hysterical laughter. A second and third one joined in, and before longh half of the chorus girls were laughing, some openly, some behind their hands.
"You're always so funny," Liliane called, giggling as though she had gone insane. "First you pretend to be all solemn and honest, and then…" She was laughing too hard to go on.
Mme.Giry's face, however, showed no sign of amusement. Meg had gone pale. So, to my surprise, had Estella. She was looking at the chaos around her, the chaos she had unwillingly created, and she was chewing her bottom lip nervously. I knew that she'd never manage to convince the others that she was serious if she didn't get help, and by the look on her face, she knew it as well.
Yet without meaning to do so, Mme.Giry helped her.
"Silence!" she bellowed, and silence fell upon the room as suddenly as if all girls had been struck mute. "Estella Piqué," she went on in a dangerously low voice. "How dare you?" She was so agitated that she had to take a deep breath before continuing. I seized my chance immediately. If the only thing Estella learned today was that being friendly was followed by being yelled at, she'd never try it again. I couldn't let that happen.
"She means what she said," I whispered into the ear of the ballet mistress. "So support her!"
Mme.Giry's reaction was instant: Her piercing gaze moved away from Estella and to the other girls.
"How dare you all laugh about what she says?" she called. "How dare you make fun of someone who sees a mistake and tries to fix it?" She went over to Estella, who seemed just as stunned as everyone else, and patted her shoulder. "It took a lot of courage to do what you did," she added in a low voice.
"It wasn't my idea," Estella said truthfully. "I… I was persuaded to do it by… someone."
"Oh yes, that ´someone´ can be very persuasive," Mme.Giry remarked dryly. "I believe he's got his very own… methods…"
She looked at her daughter pointedly, and at last Meg seemed to understand. She let her gaze wander over the stage, but couldn't spot me anywhere. Still she mouthed the words ´Thank you´.
"You're welcome," I muttered.
I had to admit that being selfless for a change made me feel rather good. Well, it did have its advantages for me as well, because fights among the chorus girls could mean bad performances, and I didn't want my opera to gain a negative reputation. Yet I had mainly done it for Meg's benefit. She had been so nice to me, so it was only natural that I was nice to her as well.
Besides… I simply couldn't keep my thoughts from drifting off into a selfish direction. What if Meg told everyone what I had done when we'd eat together at her home? Surely it would make me appear as a good person, and perhaps Philippe would realise that my face wasn't that important and forget his questions about it. At this point I could hardly keep myself from banging my head against a nearby wall. Philippe was a five-year-old boy, for Heaven's sake! It was absurd to expect such a reaction from him. He wanted to satisfy his curiosity, and that was what he'd do.
I watched Meg and Estella shake hands and exchange first tentative smiles, but the scene had lost its appeal for me. I just wanted to go… someplace where I'd be safe from my own thoughts. Yet such a place probably didn't exist. So I merely walked down a corridor, then another one. If I walked long enough, I'd eventually end up somewhere, wouldn't I?