Disclaimer: All references to the characters from the Gaston Leroux's The Phantom of the Opera belong to their pertinent parties and publishers. I do not claim ownership to the characters, any iteration from a major production of the same material, and / or the original source material.
De petite souris a monsieur chat: Chapter 7
August 1882: Workshops of the Opera House
"Christine! What brings you here?" Little Meg exclaimed with joy upon seeing her friend and taking the singer's outstretched hands in her own.
"To see you, of course!" Christine replied with a deft lie. She had told Raoul that she would visit Meg and her friends at the Opera House; she was simply making her cover story a fact in order to avoid any suspicion of where she had been for an hour. By luck, she had run into Eleanor the seamstress shortly after exiting the secret passageway from Erik's subterranean realm. The older woman was laboring to bring bolts of cloth to her backstage workshop. Christine offered to carry one, but Eleanor stubbornly refused to let the diva turned Vicomtess help. They had found Meg waiting in the workshop still dressed in her practice uniform.
"A surprise? For moi?" Little Meg feinted surprise dramatically, which made Christine laugh. Why had she avoided her friend Meg? She had a knack for making light of situations.
As Eleanor measured and draped Meg in fabric, all three women conversed and gossiped about the latest happenings. Christine was surprised to hear of who left, who stayed, who was promoted, and who was demoted. She also laughed at Eleanor's tales of her husband the stableman and his motley crew of stable hands. Her hand covered her mouth in surprise to hear of La Sorelli leaving to live somewhere in the countryside. Rumor, of course, but word around the Opera house spoke of her swelling belly and the Comte Louis-Philippe being the father. Christine wondered if Raoul already knew and if La Sorelli had (or would) contact the de Chagny family matron.
"I hope she doesn't," Christine found herself admitting honestly. Meg and Eleanor looked at her a little surprised. Christine sighed and twisted a curl around her finger. "Mother de Chagny is very..." She searched for a word and decided upon the one Erik used. "Puritanical. She would probably not acknowledge the child unless Phillippe left proof with La Sorelli."
"Oh dear," Eleanor breathed before sticking a pin back into a nearby pincushion. "We shall have to keep an ear out for our prima ballerina."
"Indeed," Meg agreed before pegging Christine with a look. "You sound as if you and your mother-in-law are not on good terms."
"Not at the moment, no," Christine confessed. "She wishes for me to step away from the stage entirely and provide the de Chagny line with an heir."
"What about Raoul?" Meg asked letting Eleanor focus on her measurements. "What does he think?
"To my knowledge, he does not disagree. He asked me after church to consider going on holiday during the upcoming season. He thinks a trip to the coast may alleviate me of my troubles and help us conceive a child."
Meg huffed in disapproval. "We need you here. The new soprano is good at acting, but she is worse than Carlotta. Her understudy has promise, but she fears the older woman. Tell Raoul you can sing AND make a baby here in Paris. Staring at the sea won't procure him or his mother a child any faster."
"Ah, Christine..." Eleanor said with a motherly smile as she stepped away from Meg. The hands roughened from numerous years of pricking needles and pins tried to stifle a laugh. "Sit, Meg. You should hear this as well. Now, young ladies... marriage is not easy. There is a give and take, an ebb and flow like the sea, which must occur in order for both husband and wife to be at peace. Christine, you want to sing but you also want to be a good wife. I suggest you to talk him. See if he agrees with his mother's ideas. My dear Jean and I had our troubles for a time. We struggled to find work and to have children, but we have learned to support the other and work together to make the other happy. Compromise is key."
"That is what good marriages do," said a voice from the doorway. All three turned to see Madame Giry in her mourning black with her graying her pulled back into a ballet bun. Her stern countenance broke as she smiled and offered a hug to Christine. "It is good to see you, child. It sounds as if you and your husband are at odds?"
"We are," Christine affirmed. "He wishes for me to leave the Opera."
"And you don't want to. Hmm... Take him up on what he offers." She held up a hand at Christine's protest. "In return, give this option - that you wish to sing privately for the patrons at least once a season. Your voice draws them in like bees to wildflowers in spring. We would be grateful to have you here, but don't risk your marriage for us."
Christine blinked. Why hadn't she thought of that? She could still perform and not be bound by the demands of performing night after night. She could give Raoul and her new life the time it needed to grow while she held onto her music. It would give her an excuse to see and sing with Erik again. "Madame Giry... thank you!"
"What a brilliant idea, mother," Meg agreed. "Christine, why not propose such an idea to the managers once you have convinced your husband? At the moment, the managers are at their wit's end as to what to do since you haven't spoken to them. They are eager to regain the Opera's prestige since... "
Of course, Christine thought to herself as Meg's voice trailed off. While she had been on her honeymoon, the opera had languished. The infusion of money from the new benefactor had helped, but the latest performance and singers were droll. Her old home would surely die and she would no longer sing. She clutched the skirt of her dress and looked down at her hands.
"Please, Christine, talk to Raoul and the managers. If you are ready to return, we'd all be glad to have you back, but we understand if this place holds too many hurts for you," Meg said taking Christine's hand and patting it. "We have not heard from him since that night. No letters, no voices, nothing."
"I will. Thank you, Meg. Eleanor. Madame Giry. I will let you know and visit again soon," Christine said smiling. She gave Meg's hand a squeeze and rose. "I should return home before my husband begins to worry. Thank you all again for your advice and consul. You are good friends to have."
Christine hugged each woman before walking with Meg through the opera house to the front door. The singer's heart felt lighter since admitting her troubles and having a solution at hand. Christine only half-listened to her friend's latest musings. Mostly it centered around the other ballerinas and who would replace La Sorelli. Meg hugged her once more at the doors, and Christine walked out into the twilight to hail a cab back home to Raoul.
Erik listened from between the walls of the seamstress' studio. So, Christine's "wifely duties" were to produce an heir to the de Chagny line? He was not surprised that she affirmed his thoughts, but he held mixed emotions over the news. A child, a normal life with Christine would never be his, but... he was pleased Raoul could not at this time offer her that dream. He was also unsurprised at Madame Giry offering the best advice. The woman was wise; a tad blunt with her advice, but the advice was good in this instance. Christine would continue to sing at least in some small measure. A private performance here at the Opera would also allow him to see her perform again, to shine again. He would know for certain once she returned for another lesson what the outcome would be. He smiled to himself at the thought of her voice once again intertwined with his, of her presence close to him, and of her soft lips upon his once more. He lingered in the glow of the memory until Madame Giry's words from the room chilled his daydream.
"I hope Christine does not return."
"Why, Antoinette? She is like a second daughter to you, no?"
"Her dream was never to sing for fame; her dream was to sing for her father and the man who loved her. She does not need the Opera anymore. She has a man who loves her. She should stop daydreaming of the stage and focus on her reality."
"True... she is silly to think she can return to this life simply because the Ghost is gone for good."
"Exactamente. She has a new life, and she needs to grow into it." The firm click of Antoinette's cane followed by her hard boots sounded on the wooden floor. "When will you start on the costumes, Eleanor?"
"Tomorrow. I need Jean's help to bring more fabric from the store, and we need to visit mon petite's grave."
"My apologies. I forgot today was the anniversary of her passing."
"No apologies needed. We've both had our hardships. I will send one of the girls to you once I have begun the work."
Erik listened to Madame Giry's footsteps fade away into the hallways behind the Opera. He listened to Eleanor humming a hymn softly to herself before she too left the workshop. He remembered the day he failed to save the little girl from falling to the stage. She had been wandering in the rafters, a mere five-year-old unafraid of the heights above the stage. The girl saw him and frightened out of her wits, she had tried to run. Before he could grab the girl, she slipped and fell. Her small body hit one of the massive beams running across the stage. The crack of her small bones echoed in his ears as he watched her body tumble like a scarecrow to the stage. He ducked into the shadows and prayed no one saw him. The ballet girls screamed. A stagehand had run to the girl and covered her tiny frail body with a blanket. Little Meg, barely older than Eleanor's daughter, clung to her mother's skirts. Erik blamed himself, but he knew it wasn't his fault. The child shouldn't have been up there. Listening to Eleanor hum, he felt the guilt tug at him. He felt sorry for Eleanor and Jean; they never had another child.
Carefully he crept out of his hiding spot and maneuvered his way back to his subterranean realm. There was nothing he could do for Eleanor and Jean. He had given them both gifts - a bolt of fine cloth delivered "by mistake" to Eleanor and new shoes magically replaced Jean's worn ones one evening. It was all he could do for them. Gradually, his mind turned from the guilt to his master plan of winning Christine back. His plan had worked, but in order for it to continue, Christine had to be the one to convince Raoul to let her perform.
"I would have let her sing if she stayed with me. I wouldn't being keeping her talents from the world; I would keep Christine like a bird in a gilded cage!" he muttered to himself upon entering his home. He stoked the fire back into life and turned the gas lamps on. Ah, but she would've been a canary in an iron and rock cage, pointed out the nagging inner voice. You wanted to keep her song for yourself. Wasn't that the original plan? To make her your prisoner? Your pure white bride in this realm of darkness?
"She would've had our music to keep her alive," he argued jamming the poker into a charred log. Sparks flew upward through the flue and out of pipes to the sewers.
A person can't live on music alone. They aren't like you.
"Shut up." He felt a chilly hand grip his shoulder. Turning, Erik knew there was no one else in his lair.
The voice came from the fire then the very walls of his domain. You will never get her back. She will torture you by returning and leaving again and again. She only wants the Angel of Music and not the man behind the voice. She despises you. She hates you. She fears you.
"SHUT UP!" he shouted covering his ears. The voice didn't stop. It repeated itself over and over. She despises you. She hates you. She fears you. She despises you. She hates you. She fears you. She despises you. She hates you. She fears you.
"ENOUGH!" The voice stopped. Breathing heavily, he sat down in the plush faded blue side chair. "Enough. Why can't you leave me alone?"
The fire eating away at the wood was his only response. He sat in his chair staring at the flames dancing in the hearth. He wondered how best to keep Christine in his life and how to win her love again. He would deal with her husband another day. Another thought nagged at him, but he mentally pushed it aside.