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 13
December 1882: Auditorium of the Opera House
"Take a break!" called out Madame Webber from the wings of the stage. The ballerinas practically fell into heaps were they stood. Having re-opened the opera house with performances of the Italian's Aida, rehearsals had shifted to focus on the next series of grand programs for the season - Coppélia and Madame Favart. Because of the medical ban, the new ballet mistress and chorus director was intent on doubling up rehearsals to make up for lost time. Madame Webber, a well-trained dancer from Russia, had been hired upon La Sorrelli's suggestion.
When the ballet rats weren't rushing about on stage, they gossiped about the M. Webber. She walked with a slight limp that forced her to use her cane as more than a simple tool to direct the girls. She also spoke French with a strange accent. The rats were smart enough to realize M. Webber's vocal lilt did not match that of the new baritone who indeed was Russian. Gossip fueled rumors flew from one mouth to waiting ears and then onto the next. Meg tried to stay from the crackle of rumor humming in the air. She heard everything from M. Webber being the bastard descendant of Maria Taglioni to the lovechild of the Russian czar. Her friends Cecile Jammes and Marianne St. Michel had help to pass those rumors along, but Meg chose to stay out of the discussion. After what happened, she found speaking untruths about others left a foul taste in her mouth. She watched the woman with her graying auburn hair approach M. Reyer. Meg had found it easy to respect the middle-aged woman, but she wondered if Webber truly deserved the position. M. Webber seemed to have gained the respect of the aging orchestra conductor already.
With a sigh, Meg rose to feet opting to end her stretching to walk into the stage wings. Rather than rehearse in the dance studio, M. Webber had chosen the auditorium stage for the afternoon rehearsal. Leaning against a makeshift wall, Little Giry wondered if the Phantom had found his cape. Like he had instructed her with his mask, she had snuck out in the early morning hours to deposit his cape in Box 5. She hadn't dared to return to the box over the past week to see if her idea had worked.
Her mind wandered to a more recent discovery. As she had cleaned the small room she shared with her mother, Meg found her mother's diary in a secret cubby hole in the floor. The rug had somehow rumbled underneath the bed's edge. Leaning over to fix the rug, Meg had noticed the discolored board that didn't quite match the rest of the floor. The rug had served to conceal it for so many years. Prying up the board, she had found her mother's diary and her father's pocket watch along with a beautiful string of pearls.
Opening the diary, Meg's eyes grew wide. The first date began well before her birth; after reading the first entry, she found it started around the time her mother had married her father. The diary's last entry was made in August of that year, only a few weeks before Mdm. Giry passed on. Meg had immediately returned the diary, her father's pocket watch, and the string of pearls back into the cubby hole. I will wait until this evening to read the diary… Perhaps I can learn something about my Papa, she thought but her hands paused holding the board. Perhaps… I can learn something about Erik as well.
That evening she started to read the diary. The insight into her mother's life was… both amazing and heartbreaking. Her mother's honesty in written words… Meg ached for her mother's presence, but she realized the book was a balm for that ache. However, to her dismay, her mother did not share much about her father. In regards to the Phantom, so far, there had been only two entries - the first was a passing reference to rescuing a poor soul from a gypsy camp and the second to the astonishing survival of that man.
Her mother marveled at how the man - beaten, bloodied, and despairing - had survived in spite of it all. Her mother wrote, Last night the man in the cellars we saved tried to end his life. When we found him this morning, we stopped the bleeding and bound his already wounded wrists. How he managed to do this is beyond Josef and I. He has yet to speak to us even though we know he can speak. Perhaps he is afraid? He cowered from us, covered his face when he had the strength to do so. Eventually I found an unused mask among the old ballerini costumes. Josef cut the mask in half to fit the man's deformed face. To my and Josef's surprise, the poor, inert creature became a man before our eyes. He seems stronger although still in despair. He doesn't cower anymore. The transformation from the imprisoned husk of a creature resembling a man to the semblance of one of God's creatures amazes me. What other surprises from this man will be in store for us?
"Ah, Meg, the woman I wanted to see," said a familiar sleepy voice from the wings drawing Meg out of her thoughts on the diary. The bright blond hair underneath the brown cap framed the pale blues of Dmitri. His smile seemed feral as he approached the resting ballerina.
"What do you want, Dmitri?" Meg asked feeling her body tense. The young stagehand who worked in the catwalks above had been her last lover. A pang of hurt struck at the memory of happier times with him.
"To talk," he replied settling himself on the wall opposite her. Dmitri slid his hands into his pants' pockets as if to appear nonchalant. "I was watching you."
"Were you?" Meg couldn't help but reply dryly. All of the stagehands watched from the catwalks in order to better see down the tops of the ballerinas during rehearsal. You'd think after seeing scantily-clad girls day in and day out they would tire of their lame attempts to be secretive voyeurs. Honestly Meg found them worse than the misogynistic artist who occasionally came to sketch their rehearsals.
"You seem to have grown more beautiful, Meg," he replied as he reached an arm out to lean beside her. "I found myself missing you upon my arm... and your sweet lips upon mine."
"You had me until Anjelica caught your wandering eye." She let her bitterness at this betrayal of trust lace her words. Dmitri had been a good lover until Anjelica joined the troupe last year. Meg had ignored the flirtatious looks Anjelica gave her then beau. Meg had ignored Dmitri staring at Anejlica whenever she was nearby. Meg didn't ignore the situation any longer when she found Dmitri and Anjelica prior to the New Year's masquerade in the heat of passion behind the backdrops one afternoon.
"Let's not talk about her. Why don't we talk about us?" he offered reaching out to brush a stray wisp of her hair back into place on her head. Dmitri lowered his voice. "I've missed you, Meg. You were always so good to me and knew how to please me best. With your mother gone, you must be feeling lonely." He leaned in closer expecting a kiss or some other sign of affection. He didn't expect Meg's well-placed knee to his groin.
"How dare you," Meg seethed through clenched teeth at the young man on the floor. She struggled to keep her voice low so others wouldn't hear. "You snake in the grass! You liar! Deceiver! How dare you try to pray on my emotions and assume I would deign to return to you! Anjelica deserves better than you."
Meg stormed off further into the wings to walk off her anger before the break was called to an end. She wanted to go back and scream at Dmitri. She imagined dragging his pathetic body out onto stage and announcing to everyone present that Dmitri was less than respectable in uncouth words. She could go and find Anjelica to tell her that her current beau had propositioned her. She could tell the other ballerinas and drag Dmitri's name in the mud. On the other hand, Meg was not that kind of person. Dmitri would hang himself in time with his antics. Anjelica's ignorance of his lasciviousness was her own problem. Meg had learned her lesson and Anjelica would as well.
"Mademoiselle Giry!" a strange voice called out making her stop and turn to see a turbaned man approach in the busy hallway. Meg noticed the wake of people that pressed themselves to the walls to avoid the obviously angry ballerina. She felt a tinge of embarrassment. "A word please."
"Monsieur?" Meg addressed him. He was tall or seemed so because of his headdress. A smart black beard of wiry hair set off his dark face and his dark brown eyes seemed amused.
Nadir smiled at the young woman. She was pretty when anger didn't furrow her brow. In one smooth motion, he bowed and produced a letter with a black seal to the ballerina. "A mutual friend wishes to speak with you this evening."
When Meg didn't take the letter, Nadir continued, "Our friend is rather private in his affairs, but he requests your aid in composing the ballet for his most recent operetta." Nadir winked at her.
"Oh! You mean the composer!" Meg said as one of Eleanor's girls walked by with another ballerina. She took the letter from the strange man. She thumbed the ominous black seal. "Is he well?"
"As well as can be expected," he replied sincerely. Meg gave the man a quizzical look wondering if his words were true. She wasn't sure what constituted "well" for a supposedly deceased Opera Ghost. "I will escort you to his home this evening. Meet me in the foyer at 6pm."
"Wonderful. Thank you, Monsieur... I'm sorry, I fear you have me at a disadvantage," Meg admitted with a hint of curiosity overpowering her embarrassment. we have yet to be formally introduced."
"Ah, yes. We have yet to be formally introduced," he replied with another warm smile. Yet he didn't seem to mind formalities. "Call me Daroga, Mdm. Giry, and remember, 6pm. Don't be late." He dipped his head towards her again and turned on his heel to walk back down the hallway. The strange meeting garnered Meg a few odd looks and shrugs. She looked down at the letter.
Before Meg could tear it open, the scramble of ballerinas and the sharp call of Madame Webber drew her back to the stage. Carefully she folded and tucked the letter into her practice costume's bodice as she rushed to the stage. The rest of rehearsal she tried to focus on her pointe work, but Meg found her curious mind returning again and again to the letter. Its sharp, folded corners poked at her skin when she moved a certain way. When rehearsal did end, Meg tried to rush back to her room.
"Mademoiselle Giry!" Madame Webber called out. The young ballerina stopped immediately and turned around. "A word s'il vous plaît."
"Yes?" Meg asked standing in front of M. Webber. She glanced nervously at M. Reyer who winked in a grandfatherly way at her.
"Monsieur Reyer and I are in agreement that you should play Frantz en traviste for Coppélia," the ballet mistress said quietly. "I do so reluctantly because you are not ready for such a demanding role. You spend too much time up here when you should be feeling the music." Webber pointed at her own head with an extended finger.
"Yes, Madame Webber. Thank you. I won't let you down," Meg responded. The surprise left her astounded.
Madame Webber gave a slight frown. "It is not me that you need to impress, Marguerite."
With that, the corps de ballet mistress dismissed Meg with a wave of her hand. Curtseying and giving a quick smile to Reyer, Meg rushed on hurting feet and sore limbs to her room to read the letter. How she obtained the role in spite of Mme. Webber's obvious disapproval would have to wait. Locking the door behind her, she cracked the black seal.
Little Mouse, I request your assistance and knowledge of ballet to complete my score. Please join me this evening for dinner. Trust the Persian. He is a friend. – the Cat
Meg wrinkled her nose as she read the letter a second time. His penmanship was horrible - all scratches instead of smooth strokes across the parchment. The red ink as eerie; she swore she had seen black ink on the composition sheets and on the man's fingertips. Why use red? Meg glanced out the window at the sound of church bells telling the hour. With a quiet curse, she dove for her bedside. Pulling up the faded and worn rug, she pried up a floorboard and pulled out her mother's diary. She had decided to use her mother's trick to keep the diary and pocket watch safe again. Her mother's room had been given to a female manager to watch over the girls since Mdm. Webber had private accommodations in the city proper. Meg placed the letter behind the worn front cover of the diary and returned the book as if it were a precious saint's relic. Shaking herself out of her thoughts of happier times, Meg prepared herself for her formal visit to the Phantom of the Opera.