Disclaimer: Don't own POTO, or Corpse Bride. Or Howl's Moving Castle. Just a random thing there. There are so many great films coming out; and I'm in school! Not fair! And my sister's going to university on Saturday! I won't be able to watch any of them with her! WAAAAAH!

Hooray for flust! And bookish darogas! And pretty glass pens, in pretty boxes, with white ribbon and writing on the box! And e-pics of Butler (yayness!) Not so much for my bad taste in rooms that look like brothels! (Shudder.) And Greek mythology! And aid with starters to posts! And yummy, yummy pomegranates; if you get the chance, buy one and eat it, they're gorgeous! And also yummy apples! And Persephone and the coming of winter (my favourite season)! Not so much bad Italian, dammit! And pointers on potentially stolen kisses!

Ahem. Calmness is the key to a good, balanced lifestyle. Heh.

So, once more unto the surface, dear friends, once more! And back to regular normality. I guess…anyway; both Meg and Cecile know that Christine's missing. But soon they won't be the only ones…

All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players…

Shakespeare

Discoveries

Carlotta opened her eyes quite suddenly; to instantly close them again against the light that, however dim, seemed to burn into her eyes like red hot pokers; and into her head.

Silently, she swore that she would never drink spirits of any sort, ever again. Even the smallest drop seemed to set off her headaches. And when she got her headaches…

Though thankfully this time, she didn't feel sick. Well, at least not much.

She burrowed under the covers, pulling them up and over her head; encasing herself in a warm and comforting, if slightly stuffy, nest of both eiderdown and pillow. Then, on second thoughts, she wriggled her head out of the makeshift fort and turned her pillow over, so the cold side would soothe the pounding in her head.

She settled down upon the blessedly cold material; and at once the heat went away. But the pounding remained.

No…on second thoughts – which hurt a lot – it wasn't inside her head; it was coming from somewhere else. It wasn't annoying, or irritating, it was just – persistent.

And it was coming from the door. Someone was outside, knocking to come in.

She didn't open her eyes. She didn't know what time it was, but in her opinion it was far too early to get up. Maybe if there wasn't an answer, whoever was outside would get the message and go away? She burrowed down under the covers again, taking her pillow with her.

But the person outside didn't seem to have thought along her line of reasoning. The rapping went on, and on; an odd noise, as if the one causing it didn't dare to make it so loud that other people would hear, but not low enough so that she could not ignore it.

Dio…

She fought her way out of the coverlets again, and muttered as loudly as she could, "Go away!" Some tiny part of her was mortified to hear the laconic whine that infused her speech, making her sound like a sulky child; but most of her didn't care. Maybe that would get the message across?

Apparently, it didn't.

"Mademoiselle Gudicelli?"

That made her sit up. It didn't sound like Isabella, her own maid. Much more like Christine and Meg's maid – Cecile Jammes, she thought she was called. But why was she knocking at her door?

Unless…something is wrong?

Rubbing the sleep out of the corners of her eyes, while trying to focus on the door, she said resignedly, "Come in, then." The time, what was the time?

The door creaked open; and Cecile's pale and worried face came into view, lit up by the light of the candle she held in its holder. Extremely worried, as far as she could see. And as her eyes became more used to the light, and she made out more and more of the girl, she could see that she had obviously dressed rather hurriedly; and her hair, which she had never seen in anything other than an iron hard not, was now simply tied back at the nape of her neck, loosely – as if neatness simply was not an issue any more.

Hastily dressed…coming to me…

Carlotta felt as if the bottom had gently, though not particularly comfortably, dropped out of her stomach, even as she asked, as calmly as she could, "Well? What is it?"

Raoul looked blearily up from his bed at the two girls, both pale faced, even Carlotta; and both trembling. Carlotta's arms were crossed across her breast – as if the dressing gown she had wrapped around herself did nothing to protect her from unwanted eyes – as if she was cold. But he knew that by now even Carlotta was fairly acclimatised to the temperature…

And the light that Cecile held was quivering in her grasp…

"I'll be ready in five minutes," he muttered affirmatively, pulling the covers aside as they retreated to the doorway again.

Woken up in what seemed like the middle of the night, by two seeming wraiths…he felt as if he were dreaming.

Half an hour later, safely barricaded into Meg's room, he still felt as if he were dreaming. Only now his dream was turning very sour indeed.

"But where could she have gone?" he asked yet again, from his seat on the bed, onto which he had sank, with a little aid from Carlotta, when Meg had first revealed the dreadful news. "I mean, where…?"

"I'm sorry, Raoul; I just don't know," said Meg, biting her lip, from where she sat at her dressing table; rubbing her hands together as if trying to wash them clean of her horrible confession.

He didn't know what to say; what to do. What could he do? He felt sick; he felt so sick. On instinct, he bent over, trying to calm himself, trying to dispel the feeling of dread that was flowing into his stomach and hear and threatening to well up his throat and burst out in a scream. She didn't know? Christine was missing, and she didn't even know where she could have gone?

He could feel the saliva level rising in his mouth.

"For how long?"

"What?" Meg blinked, in what seemed a very stupid way to him.

"How long has she been missing?" The words came out quite calmly, some detached part of him managed to note, even as he struggled to quell the surge of pure panic mixed with terror that was flowing into every other part of his mind.

"She went off yesterday afternoon. She didn't come back."

"Yesterday afternoon," he parroted. Now the sick feeling was going, to be replaced by a dreamy state, as if he were being shut off from all of his senses.

But he was damned if he was going to faint, or some such thing. Especially since another thing was pouring through him now.

Rage.

With an effort, his head came up again; and Meg swam back into view, her lip now quite bloodless from her biting.

"Meg… why didn't you tell me?"

The girl made no sound except a gulping sob. Suddenly he was up off the bed and coming towards her; he had no idea why he was doing so, except that he was angry with her.

Why did she lie?

"Why didn't you tell me?"

She shook her head, and tried to edge away; but his hands were on her shoulders, pulling her back to him.

"Why oh why didn't you tell me?" It was almost a wail; wailing out his fear and anguish for Christine. And when Meg still didn't reply, but only stammered and sobbed, he almost shook her with frustration. "Why didn't you tell me?"

And then there was a grip on his shoulder, and an explosion of light and harsh pain in his face; he staggered backwards, feeling the horror and rage seep out of him as the pain took over. He opened his eyes, and saw Carlotta glaring at him, shaking her hand – she had obviously just dealt him a rather hard slap across the face.

"Sit down," she commanded, pushing him backwards and back onto the bed. "Mi Maria! This is not the time to be having temper tantrums, Raoul. If Meg did not tell you, I am sure she had a reason. Didn't you, Meg?" she asked, now talking to the other girl, who was massaging her shoulders and casting frightened glances at him. Cecile, who had been a silent witness of the last few minutes, still had her hands over her mouth, as she stood by in the corner.

Raoul tried to massage some feeling back into his cheek. It felt as if it would take a while.

"I'm sorry," Meg wailed; and now the tears were spilling down her own cheeks. Raoul felt the rest of the anger drain out of him, as he watched; the poor girl had been coping with this situation for much longer than he had – what right did he have to blame her? "I'm so, so sorry, Raoul – I know I should have said something, but Christine said she would be back, and I just didn't know what to do!" The last word turned into a wail of her own, as she buried her face in her hands.

"It doesn't matter, Meg," he said, as well as he could through a rapidly swelling lip. "For now, we have to tell my brother and grandfather; they'll send people out at once-"

"No, we do not."

What?

Meg brought up her face from her hands again, her eyes newly red, her mouth open; her face a perfect reflection of what his own face must surely look like. "Carlotta, what are you thinking?"

"I know what I am thinking, thank you, Meg. And do you know what I am thinking? I am thinking that if the elders in the de Chagny household find out that Christine has willingly stayed away from the house for a whole night, they will not be so inclined to allow this wedding to go ahead. That is what I am thinking."

"But-" Raoul began; and then he saw the logic in Carlotta's words. If Philippe the Elder alone found out about this, he would jump to conclusions at once; and he could easily guess what those conclusions would be.

Meg, however, failed to see the said logic. "I don't care! We're not talking about her staying away; we're talking about her being missing! Anything could have happened to her, Carlotta, anything! We have to get people to find her!"

"Meg, listen, listen to me." Carlotta ducked down by the chair, seizing Meg's hands in hers. "Christine is sensible and brave; I doubt that she will let herself get into trouble. If she is staying away, then she is staying away for a reason."

"But why?" he burst out – the thought that Christine stayed away from him for choice made him feel as if he'd been punched in the gut. "Why should she do such a thing?"

"For the same reason that she went to visit the Pastor, I would guess," Carlotta shot over her shoulder. "Meg; Meg; we will send Buquet and the other grounds men to look for her. We know they can be trusted. But we cannot tell anyone else, for her sake."

Raoul had managed to pull himself together by this time; and added, "It's true. If…Grandpére and Philippe found out about this, they would never let us marry. They'd pack Christine off as damaged goods, if..." he steeled himself; and continued. "When she came back."

Carlotta gave a wan smile. "I have lived in this country for two months. I know how it works by now. Men are allowed to do whatever they wish; women must stay pure as fresh snow."

Meg hesitated, and then nodded.

Carlotta glanced around the room. "Apart from Buquet and his helpers, we cannot tell anyone," she said, slowly. "Do you understand, Cecile?"

Cecile, from her corner, nodded. Then again, she seemed so afraid she didn't look as if she would do anything else in such a situation.

"Yes, Mademoiselle Gudicelli. Only…" she trailed away, as all three looked at her.

"Only what?" he said hoarsely. I do not need this.

"Well…Mademoiselle Daaé's absence must be kept a secret…but she is meant to be at the masquerade tonight."

There was silence in the room for a moment. Then Meg sniffed, and stood up decisively. "And she will be there."

It took him only moments to realise what plan was going on inside her head, and for his own mind to run and hide.

"Oh, no." He stood up himself. "I know what you're thinking, Meg. It won't work."

Carlotta looked from one of them to the other, clearly at a loss. "Is there something I should know about?"

"Meg here is planning on dressing someone else up in Christine's costume, I believe. And I believe that it will never work."

But Carlotta was already looking thoughtful. "If the dress is there, then Christine will be there too, I would guess."

"For goodness sake!" he barked, making all the girls jump. "This isn't one of your romantic tales! It's who's inside the dress that's important; and I seriously doubt that my relatives are going to be fooled by someone pretending to be my fiancée, just because she's wearing the dress and the mask!"

"But it's a masquerade! Illusion is all part of it." Meg's eyes were gleaming. He couldn't believe this; she actually believed her crazy scheme would be a success!

"Oh, really? And who's going to play the part in this illusion? We don't have a suitable candidate to pose as Christine running around, inconvenient as it is! Unless you would like to volunteer, Meg? Or perhaps Carlotta?"

Meg bit her lip, perhaps only now beginning to see the flaws in her plan.

"Cecile, would you please get Mademoiselle Daae's dress?" she said slowly. "Help her, Carlotta."

The two other girls, now totally bewildered, silently made their way into the adjoining room. Within a minute they were back, lugging the elaborate dress between them, careful not to let it drag upon the floor.

Raoul marvelled. How did we get here from Christine's absence? But at once his stomach seized up.

Don't think about Christine. It made it easier. Don't think about it. Don't think about it. Don't think about her…

Oh, God…Christine, where are you?

"Hold it up, please." She was walking around it one way, skirting around Carlotta and Cecile's skirts, and then slowly back the other way, examining the bodice and waist line most carefully; now the iron hard schemer, instead of the weeping flower.

What is she doing?

Eventually she came to a halt, and sighed; in a way quite reminiscent of her mother. "Well, it would seem that the only person that dress would fit is also the only person who would be able to pass for Christine more than a little effectively."

"Look, Meg, what do you-" Raoul began – and then realised she wasn't looking at him. Her eyes were fixed on Cecile.

Cecile had caught on before he had, and had already let go of the dress, leaving Carlotta to sway under its weight, and was backing away, her hands over her mouth again.

"Oh, no; please, Mademoiselle Giry!"

"For heavens' sake, Cecile, I'm not going to eat you! Sit down!"

Cecile collapsed into an armchair, visibly trembling now.

"Please, Mademoiselle, don't ask me to do this. I…I can't…"

"Meg," Raoul said, for the younger Giry was already advancing on Cecile with a calculating expression, "I won't let you force her into it!"

"I wouldn't force her, Raoul," Meg said quietly, without turning around. "It is Cecile's choice." Making her way to the chair, she took Cecile's hand. "Cecile. Do you love your mistress?"

The dark haired maid looked up at her, gulped and nodded.

"Then, for your love of her, please help us." Meg squeezed her hand. "I would not force you to this task; but no one else can help us in this. Please, say you will aid us in preventing Christine from shame."

Raoul felt as if he wanted to cry.

Cecile gulped again; but this time she shot a glance at the dress, and her eyes lingered on the gorgeous garment.

"If they find out, I'll loose my place, I know I will, Mamselle," she mumbled.

"You shan't as long as I employ you," Meg said firmly. "I won't let them do anything to you. Believe me, you will be in no danger. Say you'll do it, Cecile! Oh, say you will!"

Understandably you might think that Raoul isn't too annoyed at his fiancée going missing, but shock is a strange thing – it creeps up on you, and then wham! It gets you by the throat, and you're crying and gasping and sobbing and feeling like you might have a breakdown. Hee hee. Also, the whole sketch with Cecile dressing up as Christine is a sort of spoof on all those operas where somebody doesn't recognise someone they know very well just because they've got a mask on. Umm, yeah. Sorry if it's a bit rushed; but I wanted to get this over and done with so I could get on with the better angst and stuff later on. Also so I could get both plot points out of the way. Not very good chapter, but hey! That just means we get more E and C next one! Also, hope all you Raoul lovers liked; it's been a while since I did a chapter mostly from his point of view.

Reviews for the half Irish seamstress. PLEASE?