A Whole New World Chapter Eight, a phantom of the opera fanfic

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters nor any trademarks mentioned. The song belongs to Natasha Bedingfield and is from her album Unwritten.

A Whole New World

Chapter 8

I feel these four walls closing in

Face up against the glass

I'm looking out, hmmm

Is this my life I'm wondering

It happened so fast

How do I turn this thing around?

Wild Horses by Natasha Bedingfield

Christie hurried down the long and winding corridors, trying to hold back the tears prickling in her eyes. Her head was a mess, thoughts racing back and forth. She could already feel the headache coming on. And above all, there was the image of Erik, regal and grand in his impeccable clothes, sitting behind his massive oak desk. The Phantom of the Opera, in all his glory. Her Erik, alive.

She must've been dreaming.

The message in the newspaper, all those years (had it really only been three?) ago, had been clear. Erik is dead, it had said. She had known at once that it was him who was dead, that it was her to whom the message was addressed. She had read it and she had believed it and she had lived by it. And now it came out she had been wrong after all.

She remembered the letters she had written, begging for his forgiveness, letters that were never to be posted, letters that still remained amongst her few possessions, hidden deep underneath her best afternoon-gowns. Letters that no-one, not even dear Raoul, had ever read. And all the prayers she had said for his soul, so that after death he may be granted the love he never knew in his lifetime.

And yet… he was alive. There was no mistaking that man – she had recognised him immediately. No one else had such an aura of power. No one else had a voice with the same hypnotic quality. No one else could make her feel like an inexperienced child and a grown, world-wary woman at the same time.

It was him. It had to be. There was no-one else… It had been three years. Three years without music. And now her Maestro was back. How was she supposed to react to finding out that he was indeed alive and now the master of this household?

There were simply too many questions. And no answers, at least none that came to her.

Instead, memories came to her head, memories from a long ago. The two of them, standing on the stage. His hands on her waist, his lips close to her neck. She was burning, burning…

She wasn't about to think of that now. She couldn't. Not with her thoughts and emotions already spiralling out of control.

She had to concentrate on her problem. The decision as to whether she stayed or went was in the hands of a man whose heart she had broken and tramped on. A man whom she had betrayed, humiliated, destroyed…

She shook her head. Of course he wouldn't let her stay. He was probably just waiting until the evening to order her to gather her few belongings and be gone from this house.

Perhaps I should be grateful for that. I am working for a man who abducted me and almost killed Raoul. I should be glad to get away from him!

But she wasn't.

He was also the man who had given the greatest gift she'd ever received (her voice), the man who had taught her to live. Remember, you used to think you were in love with him, wasn't it so?

Not true! I loved Raoul. I have always loved Raoul.. I have! Only Raoul, always Raoul…

If only she could convince herself.

She forced herself to stop thinking about the past. It neither helped her nor made things easier. With Erik, nothing was ever easy.

Confusion had always been one her strongest feelings regarding him. No matter whether she loved or hated him, he always puzzled her. He was so powerful and yet so powerless when it came to her. He could turn grown men into whimpering fools and yet he could refuse her nothing, or so it seemed. He turned from an attentive teacher to a raging maniac in a matter of seconds and just a moment later he was once again deathly calm.

He was so passionate, and when he sang in that angelic voice of his, it seemed as if the stones themselves would start to cry.

And yet he could kill without a thought.

He had always, always been a mystery to her.

In many ways, it had been easier when she thought he was dead. She had never been able to let go of the past fully, but his death had made it impossible to go back as she had wished during her most insane moments. Now, it seemed as if she had the chance to fix everything. And she wanted that more than anything, although she knew it was impossible.

Shaking herself out of her revelry, she realised that she had reached the door leading to the kitchen gardens. After a slight hesitation, she stepped outside.

It was still raining. But she didn't care, because the rain seemed to be exactly what she needed right now to clear her head.

Yes, a walk would do her good.

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Isabelle was worried.

Christine had been the last one to meet Lord Destler. But that had been more than four hours ago. The young maid knew very well that Christine could have just gone for a walk, as they had the afternoon off, but she was still worried.

It was because of that worry that the knock on the door made her jump. Taking a second to collect herself, she stood up and was halfway to the door when it opened, revealing Mrs. Hutchison. Isabelle froze in her position, trying to come up with a reason for the housekeeper's presence. It meant no good, of that she was certain. Perhaps she had done something wrong? Waiting, she just continued to stand there, dumbfounded as the elderly woman walked into the room, glancing around as if looking for something. Isabelle watched Mrs. Hutchison inspect the little personal touches in form of little things every girl had placed around their respective beds.

Finally, the older woman broke the silence.

"Where is Miss Daaé?"

The question was so perfectly unexpected that it had Isabelle scrambling for an answer. "She… I think she's taking a walk. It's our free afternoon, isn't it?"

Mrs. Hutchison nodded. "Very well. I'm afraid we don't have time to wait for her, though. Could you pack her things?" She swept her eyes over the little room. "There cannot be too many of them, it shouldn't take too long."

The young maid was confused. "Pardon me, Madame, but… Is Christine going somewhere? We only just arrived here, didn't we? Where is she going?"

Questioning her superior like that was not something Isabelle would have done had the matter concerned anyone else. But this was Christine, her dear friend. She had to know what was wrong.

"Miss Daaé – Christine – is leaving this household. Such are orders from the Master. She has to be gone by morning."

The young maid felt apprehension settle in. This is not good, not good at all.

"Why does she have to go? She cannot possibly have done anything wrong. She is a very good maid, always correct and always does what she has to. I think she's the very best one out of us all! It is true that she has little experience, but if that is the matter," Isabelle was almost rambling now, "then she will learn! And she does everything so well already, and everybody gets along with her, and she is so very kind and nice to everyone. And she has no-where to go. Please don't make her go."

In any other situation, such unsolicited voicing of opinion would have earned the little maid a punishment, or at the very least, a warning, but Isabelle was lucky. Amanda Hutchinson was not the strictest of mistresses, and the emotion in the girl's voice had made her smile. She, too, had been young once. So instead of a reprimand, she answered Isabelle in quite a gentle manner.

"I understand your worry, girl, but milord wants her gone. She will be given three months' salary and should she want it, she will also get a recommendation. It will make it much easier for her to find another place to work at. "

"But…" Isabelle didn't know what to say. "She has just started working as a maid, and her English is not all that good, and… You know she will have trouble finding another occupation. And she has no family and no friends besides the people here, who will she go to?"

Mrs Hutchison sighed, sitting down on Isabelle's bed. It was the first time when Isabelle noticed how tired and old she seemed. "I understand, my dear, but there is nothing to be done about it. You said it yourself, she works hard, she'll manage somehow. Milord has made his decision, and unless you want to make him reconsider-"

"I will talk to him!"

Silence. Isabelle tried to keep her head straight and to not turn her eyes to the floor. The old housekeeper was looking at her intensely and she suddenly found herself having second thoughts. For Christine… You can face that man for Christine. He might be intimidating, but you're no coward, are you, Isabelle?

Are you?

"Well." Mrs. Hutchison's voice brought Isabelle back from her thoughts. "If that is what you wish." Then, without another word, the old lady stood up and walked out of the room. Isabelle hesitated for merely a fraction of a second before following.

After all, Christine would've done the same for her.

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"No, no and no, Amanda. That's absolutely unheard of! Milord has no time for a servant girl. He's working on a new piece; he needs to concentrate. I'm not allowing some mere servant to bother him. No, she cannot talk to him." John stood there, refusing to listen to anything Mrs. Hutchison told him. Isabelle was waiting outside, unaware of the argument taking place inside.

"Fine, John. Don't let her talk to him. But then you must talk to her yourself. She is determined to help her friend and quite ready to do anything for the other girl. It is an admirable show of character, especially coming from someone so young in years."

He considered this for a moment. "Very well. Perhaps she'll explain to me what it is all about."

"Perhaps," was all Amanda said, before leaving the room.

A moment later, a young girl in maid's uniform entered the room. He recognized her as one of the girls from Lady Matthew's house. Now looking at her, he noticed how small and frail she looked. But when he looked into her face, he saw determination and stubbornness rarely found in a person so young.

"Well?" He was back to that formal and curt tone he used with everyone else except Amanda and Lord Destler.

Isabelle hesitated for merely a fraction of a second. Then, she spoke. "Sir, I… I wanted to ask why is Christine – mademoiselle Daaé - leaving?"

"Milord's orders." He didn't bother with a longer explanation simply because he had no idea. Lord Destler had always been (or at least for as long as John had known him) a peculiar man. When he said he wanted a servant girl gone from his house, John didn't ask questions. He just followed orders.

All of Isabelle's fear and uncertainty disappeared hearing this sentence, replaced by anger and protectiveness over Christine. Was this the best they could? The same answer to her question – why didn't they tell her the real reasons? Did they even know?

"I know that, sir. But I want to know why she has to go."

The butler turned his back on her, walking to the window. "I don't think that's the way you should talk to your superiors, girl."

The young maid blanched. She couldn't anger him. For Christine's sake. He wouldn't help her if he was angry.

"I'm sorry, sir. It's just that I'm worried about her. It won't be easy for her to find another job here."

John glanced at her. "Well, I can assure you that she'll be taken care of. We will give her three month's pay in advance and she will also get recommendations if she so wishes."

I wonder if they memorized that text, Isabelle thought. He sounds exactly like Mrs. Hutchison. She shook her head slightly to clear it. Sarcasm will get you nowhere.

"Well, yes, but… It'll still be hard for her. Plus, she's only recently lost everyone she had and so she needs friends. In a new place, she'll be amongst strangers. It will be very hard for her. But here, she's got us. And if it's her work that is the matter," she rushed to continue before he could say anything, "if there's something wrong with work, just tell her. She'll try harder next time. She really wants to stay. And she's such a nice person – everyone loves her. Surely no-one could possibly have anything against her. Please let her stay. You'll see – she'll become the best maid you can possibly wish for. Just give her a chance, sir."

John looked at her silently, before answering: "I hope you realise, girl, that I'm not the one who makes the decision."

Isabelle nodded. "Yes, I know. But, sir, how much does Milord know about what's going on with his staff? He won't even notice if you allow Christine to stay. I know it is not something I should ask, and in an ordinary situation you would never even consider this… But Christine is a good worker. And one of your old maids is leaving, I heard. It makes no difference if you pay to Christine instead of her. Except maybe that Christine will actually get the work done. And if it is necessary, she can stay away from him. Please, please, please let her stay."

He looked at her.

Silence filled the room.

John remembered the Daaé girl they were talking about. He had noticed her right the moment she walked through the door. A young girl, so very beautiful and, somehow, so… tragic. Like the suffering heroine of a novel, perhaps. But he didn't believe the girl wanted to be tragic – it had seemed more like there was nothing she could do to escape her past.

He was a human, and, naturally, he shared the two very human traits: empathy and curiosity. He wanted to help that girl and he wanted to know more about her and her past. He could do it both only by letting her stay.

But by doing that, he would be disobeying his master's orders. He couldn't possibly do that. He was paid to do everything he was ordered to. And he had always done everything he was asked to. He couldn't possibly go against everything he was.

But then again… The young servant girl standing in front of him, Isabelle, had made a reasonable argument. She had said that Lord Destler probably wouldn't even notice when, instead of hiring a new maid to replace the one who left, he just let Miss Daaé stay.

While John battled himself, Isabelle watched him. She didn't know what to think. On the outside, the butler looked perfectly impassive – there was not a single hint of any inner conflicts. Isabelle could only hope that he was thinking about Christine and the situation at hand.

After what seemed like an eternity to the young maid, John spoke again.

"On one condition: she shall keep out of his highness' way."

Relief flooded Isabelle as she realised she had succeeded, that she wasn't going to be sent back home and that Christine, too, was allowed to stay. Her boldness and daring had paid off and she felt proud.

"Merci, merci monsieur. I mean – thank you, thank you so much. I will explain everything to Christine; do not worry. She will stay out of monsieur Destler's way. Really, you have no idea how important this is to Christine. I -" she stopped abruptly as if suddenly realising who she was and where she was, she lowered her eyes and continued quietly. "I should go. I have… work to do. Thank you, thank you from the bottom of my heart, monsieur." With a hurried curtsy to the butler, she left the room.

Once he was alone again, John sat down. He had a difficult situation to deal with.

Having just risked his position and broken the one rule of a great servant - never to disobey his master – for the sake of a pretty face, there was much he had to think about.

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