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 16
January 1883: The Opera House (or Letters Between Us)
When Meg had returned from the mass celebrating the epiphany, she found a letter with a blue seal stuck between her door and the jamb. She looked at the seal and recognized the elaborate coat of arms of the Chagny family. Smiling, she slipped her finger under the letter's lip and opened it.
My dearest Meg,
I hope this letter finds you and your mother well. I apologize for not sending word sooner. Raoul surprised me with a trip to Calais to take my mind off of the opera house. The weather has been unfavorable, but the city is quaint. Calais reminds me very much of the sea I remember from my childhood.
I fear I do not know if we will return soon. Raoul has business to conduct here, and I fear, we may have to leave for London or parts elsewhere if Raoul cannot settle the matter. He refuses to confide in me upon the matter. Ergo, I am unable to determine if I will be available to give a private performance as requested by the managers. Please give them my regrets.
Dear Meg, I fear I may have given up one cage for another… I sorely miss your guidance and your mother's sagely advice in such matters. With heartfelt wishes,
Your friend, always, Christine
Meg ran a hand through her hair as she read the letter a second time. Frustration crept into her shoulders and the tension rose to a painful degree. With a sigh, she tried to relax. Christine had not left her with a return address so she could not write back. Also, Meg realized glumly, she had failed to write back after Christine's first letter from months ago. Now with Christine gone to Calais for an indefinite time… Meg groaned. I neglected to write Christine about mother's passing. She will not take the news well when I do see her.
The ballerina rubbed the bridge of her nose feeling a headache come on. Of course, Christine would not have told the managers either. I'll have to inform the managers. They will not be pleased, Meg thought as she fussed with the locked door. She glanced at the letter again. Christine's normally fluid hand seemed to grow tighter as the letter went on. Meaning she wrote this in a rush to post it. I wonder why… Meg imagined first Firmin's reaction then Fornier's as she walked to the administrative offices. Mdm Chagny neé Daae drew a crowd; crowds meant money, which means a loss for the revenue focused pair. Meg groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose as the headache increased. The managers had a Hell of a time finding the new soprano and two tenors earlier in the season.
If Christine flippantly promised to return to perform… and the managers expected her to come back, they may have already started planning something big for her. Probably something to coincide with a masquerade or ball. It would be like them to do such a thing… They are ignorant of prima donnas and their mercurial emotions even after dealing with Carlotta. Meg shook the offensive letter in her hand. Now this. Loss of revenue, less prestige for us. Christine is hurting US with her childish behavior… yet again. Without know it, she is squelching our hopes.
Does the Phantom know? The question came out of nowhere, and Meg stopped walking. She knew Christine had visited Erik when she was last in Paris since that was how Meg and the Phantom first talked. Thinking about the circumstances, Meg wondered if Christine had already told Erik of her possible departure from the city or troubles for the newlyweds. She doubted Erik would know about Christine possibly leaving for London though. He may even be pulling the managers' strings to orchestrate a return performance for his angel of music. A part of her felt obligated to tell him in person; the other part didn't want to. She shuffled as she forced herself to keep walking. The ballerina set her thoughts aside when she raised her knuckles to rap on the managers' office door.
Upon returning to her room, she paced back and forth. Her mother would have scolded her for wearing a hole into the already threadbare rug, and the thought made Meg feel a twinge of heartsickness. She shook her head and tried to focus on her options with the Phantom again. I owe him nothing; yet I feel obligated to tell him in person. He doesn't deserve to be blindsided by Christine's childish ways… and perhaps he already anticipated such a move by Raoul. Perhaps he won't be angry… Meg thought desperately. But, on the other hand, Erik still loves Christine. He mourns with a broken heart. Do I really want to see the pain there? To cause him more heartache?
"Why do I care?" she muttered out loud. She knew the answer before she spoke the question. Because I care. Because I care about others. Because Mother care for him in some small way. More importantly… Meg stopped pacing and stared at the hiding place underneath the rug. Her father's pocket watch hadn't been wound in years, but she liked to imagine she heard the soft clicking of time passing underneath the floorboard. Papa cared about him. He saw the good in the Opera Ghost, the potential for something great. Papa had faith; he believed any man could redeem himself… Why can't I believe the same thing?
A soft knock from a small hand at her door made Meg jump out of her skin. In the silence of her room, it had sounded like the bass drum booming in the orchestra pit. Meg looked over her shoulder and saw an envelope slide underneath her door. Receiving letters in such a manner was not unusual; what was unusual, however, was the black seal staring back at her.
With her heart racing, she leapt and threw open the door. A startled, younger ballerina stared at her with wide-eyed surprise from the end of the hallway. The mousy brown haired girl shrugged and continued walking down the hallway. Looking towards the other end of the hallway, w few men in tail coats and top hats were flirting with a few older girls. No one else. No one in an opera mask. No one in Persian garb. Meg didn't know what she had expected to see as she slowly retreated back into her room. She locked the door before crouching down to examine the letter. Same type of paper. Same black wax. Same insignia sealing the outside. Picking it up, she opened the letter with her thumb and read the red scrawl.
Little Mouse, I humbly request your presence this evening around ten. I trust you can find your way here. - the Cat
Her back thudded against the door. Meg weighed her options. To not go would prolong the inevitable and possibly upset the Phantom. To go would mean she could tell him about Christine's letter or go, not tell him, and face his wrath later. She sighed before standing up. Now was not the time to decide. An afternoon performance of a few ballet acts from various works was to begin in a few hours. Meg began to stretch her legs and flex her feet in an attempt to concentrate on her own matters. She resigned herself to a plan by the time she made her way to the change rooms.
In the afternoon, Erik listened to the orchestra play a number from La Sylphide far above him. He would've dearly liked to have seen the afternoon show and examine the new members to his Opera family. Vaguely he wondered who was prima ballerina - one of the girls from the old troupe or a new comer who had surpassed the others? He had snuck into Box Five for a few of the rehearsals, but often he found himself having to leave his seat for the actual paying customers during the performances. From what little he had seen, Erik approved of the new singers and chorus members hired by the managers. The new soprano wasn't like Christine at her best, but she also wasn't Carlotta. The woman was older than Christine with a regal bearing on the stage and a maturity to her voice that didn't grate on his ears. She was good and sang with some passion. The tenor, on the other hand, sang loudly but not passionately. He reminded Erik of Piagni when the older singer was younger. Erik hoped that by next season, the tenor would find his love in the music and actually sing to captivate an audience. If not, Erik thought to himself, he could coerce Nadir and the managers into selecting an opera involving masks. He could take the stage to wow the crowd with his musical prowess. He had done it once before, he thought smugly. The smirk of pride on his lips faded remembering the consequences thereafter - a murder, an unmasking, a mob, and a beautiful angel gone from his world. An angel that returned because of a desire that wouldn't die... and left him again in his own personal Hell.
Retreating to his rooms behind the bookcase, Erik wondered why Christine had not attempted to contact him. He wondered if Raoul found out but dismissed the thought. That man was an idiot. Christine would've found a way to tell him. He had read the dailies and found no hint of an ad to O.G. or anything even hinting at a message from her to him. Perhaps he should place an ad to see if she was waiting from him to contact her. He shook himself remembering the smell of her blond hair, the feel of her body against his, and the quiet moans she made. She was a spot of light that day in his dark world. She had played upon his baser desires, touching and stoking his strings until... she said in her breathy voice her husband's name. Raoul. The sound galled at him painfully.
That day he would've forgiven her mistake, taken her away from Paris to parts unknown, to where they could sing and revel in each other. He wanted to take her in the tunnel that day, propped against the dank walls or laid out underneath him on the dirty floor. She must've wanted it too because she hadn't stopped him. She had clawed at him, breathing hotly on his neck. The moment played again his mind's eye and he fought his rising ardor. He would ignore the end in favor of his imagination giving him an alternate ending.
Much later, Erik found himself lying on his couch staring at the darkness above his head. Mind blank, he felt cold reality threaten his peace of mind. The few drops of Laudanum were slowly wearing off and his body craved more. Yet he couldn't bring himself to rise and find the precious little bottle of sedation.
"She doesn't want me," he whispered to himself. Voicing the thought did little to comfort him. She never wanted you, Erik. She wanted the Angel of Music, that messenger sent from Heaven by her father. She only wants to be close to you in order to live in a daydream. The voice had nagged him over and over on this point whenever he sated his desires by himself. Still he held onto that last albeit painful memory. In vain, for he knew it would never happen, he hoped Christine would return to him and not the angel who seduced her with song.
The soft chime of the clock on the mantle drew his attention. He counted the hours and realized Little Meg would make an appearance in an hour. Perhaps I should seek out the night air to clear my head, he thought to himself as he rose from the couch.