"And if you knew winter
You would know it
Cannot be undone, only
Pressed beneath the fields."
-Kate Ford
Once ushered safely (if not a bit roughly) back into the house, Erik slammed the door shut.
"Erik, please say something," Christine begged worriedly.
"Go to your room, Christine." I could tell by the way he drew out each word that he was trying very hard not to lose control.
"But--,"
"Didn't you hear me? I said GO!" He lashed out suddenly, causing Christine to break down in tears.
"I didn't do anything." She cried before running to her room. Erik promptly locked the door.
"What are you doing? Have you gone completely batty?"
He whirled on me, absolute fury raging through those amber eyes like fierce rapids in a murky river. "I might ask you the same question."
"What are you talking about?"
"The Vicomte de Chagny!" You let him know of our little outing, didn't you? You've been acting as a go-between, a little mole in my employment!"
"Are you mad, how can you possibly think that?" He was out of his mind, making accusations completely untrue! I had never even met the Vicomte.
"You take me for a fool? You expect me to buy that it was mere coincidence he fancied taking a stroll on exactly the same route at exactly the same time as us? As far as I'm concerned, both of you planned this in hope no doubt her knight in shining armor would rescue you, too!"
"How could I tell him when I didn't even know?" I pointed out. "It was your surprise, your planned outing. We were with you the entire evening!"
"Erik, leave her alone!" Christine's muffled cry seeped through the door. "We haven't done anything to conspire against you!"
"I haven't even met the man!" I added. But Erik was on a roll. Like a lit fuse, once it started there was no way to stop it.
"Silence, you fraudulent vixens!"
He held his head in his hands as if to keep it from exploding, to block our voices out—or other voices in…it was one of the first moments I truly questioned his sanity.
"The lying Delilah," he spoke to the door imprisoning Christine, "and the Jezebel," he spat at me. "Two of God's finest masterpieces. You play your parts so very well, pretending my face inflicts no feeling of repulsion in you. I thought you could be different, especially you, Christine!" He sobbed broken-heartedly. "I gave you more credit than that! But now, I see it was all just a game, a well-acted game…but I've won. You'll both remain here, locked away forever with a monster."
He was doubled-over, crying, Christine was crying. It was a highly emotional moment but I could not find it in me to cry as well. I was angrier than anything else. Angry and thoroughly annoyed.
"Look, you honestly can't—,"
"Honestly?" he interrupted, head snapping up to look at me with such disdain that I shut my mouth. "Yes, that was another mistake: in believing you to be an honest person, a woman of her word, especially considering all the circumstances of our "relationship." I expected it even more from you than from her." By now he was standing at full height, advancing on me.
"I. did. nothing." I drew out slow and articulately.
Before I registered what was happening, he had me once again up against the wall, hands around my throat.
"You lied! 'I believe there could be more to you'" he mocked, referring to what I'd told him the night I'd first seen his face. "Do me a favor; do yourself a favor by not lying to me now. You couldn't wait to get Christine and yourself out of my grasp and run far, far away from here. Just say it! You can't stand the sight of me!"
Jesus Christ… "You crazy bastard, it's you!" I screamed.
His hands were already trembling so badly it didn't take much effort to throw my arms up in between us and thrust his away. He stumbled back a step at the outburst.
"It's not your face, it's YOU! How can anyone stand you when you act like a spoiled child?"
For once, he kept quiet and regarded me as though I'd just slapped him, to which I was more than willing to oblige but kept my clenched fists at my sides.
"You are not responsible for what people think about you, but you are responsible for what you give them to think about you!"
And before I gave in to any drastic impulses, I fled the room and into the library (having nowhere else to go at the moment as I was locked out of my staying room), slammed the door and pushed a table against it seeing as the lock had no key. I knew it wouldn't keep him out if he really desired to get in, but it was something and something was better than nothing. Right now, we all just needed to be alone with our thoughts. Him, most of all.
This is how the next day's events took place:
I awoke to see the table still in front of the door. I had curled up in the arm chair and fallen asleep. Was it still night or morning? As there were no windows it was easy to lose track of time in this place. I pressed my ear to the door but all was deadly quiet. Sliding the table back into its original place, I noticed a slip of folded paper on the ground. Unfolding it, I recognized Erik's handwriting.
Maggie,
I sincerely apologize for my ill behavior last night. It was uncouth of me to impose such accusations on you and I sincerely hope you might find it in your heart to forgive my inexcusable outburst. Furthermore, I have something to discuss with you and Christine whenever you should choose to rejoin our company.
Most humbly,
Erik
I released a little smile after refolding the note and stuffing in my undergarments (Christine's gown, which I still wore, had no pockets). Perhaps, he wasn't such a bad seed after that Erik was nowhere about, I tiptoed to Christine's room and tapped lightly on the door. "Christine? It's me."
The door abruptly opened and I was greeted with a tired, chalk-white face. Purple circles ringed her eyes and I knew she didn't sleep so well, either.
"Hey there, Delilah." I joked. The corner of her mouth lifted slightly.
"Good morning Jezebel."
We chatted softly as I changed out of her now-wrinkled dress and back into my own clothes. Christine told me that Erik had already been to see her earlier that morning, flinging himself at her feet and begging like a dog for forgiveness. I thought about the brief note of apology he'd slid under the door to me and couldn't help but compare it with the effort and enthusiasm he put into his apology to Christine—face to face. Of course, she didn't have furniture barricading the door.
We talked for a long time. She shared things with me I knew she'd never dream of sharing with Erik—like her notes to Raoul for example. Sometime between her triumph onstage and her disappearance, Christine had gone to Perros-Guirec to visit her father's grave. It was the anniversary of his death and being a devout Catholic, wanted to pay her respects. She admitted having written a note to the Vicomte (who had been desperately trying to see her), informing him of her plans. He had met her there at a little inn the following day but she wasn't exactly hospitable towards him.
"Erik—before I knew he was Erik—was to be at the cemetery in Perros, as well. Back when I believed him to be my Angel of Music, he promised he would be in the churchyard and at precisely midnight, play the Resurection of Lazarus on the violin for me."
"And you were afraid of what he would do if Raoul followed you? Well, that would certainly explain why he was quick to accuse you for his untimely appearance last night."
She nodded. "I'm sure Erik blames me for last night, especially after what happened in Perros."
I quirked an eyebrow. "What did happen in Perros?"
"As it turns out, Raoul did follow me. I had no idea at the time. We'd met in the churchyard earlier that evening where I'd decided to finally tell him about my great secret—the Angel of Music."
"And what did he say?"
"He didn't believe me, of course…thought it all to be some joke. Needless to say, we had a rather bittersweet farewell at that meeting."
Truth be told, in all that Christine ever told me about the Vicomte de Chagny, I never took much of a liking to the man. According to Christine's countless recollections and descriptions of Raoul, yes, maybe he was a sweet and courageous if not headstrong boy, but that's all he really was at the time—just a boy, and she, just a little girl. Though we were all around the same age, they were really just love-sick children, swimming in naivety until they drowned in it. Maybe all I saw was a spoiled little brat sitting on a comfy title and flawless life; maybe it was the stench of aristocracy and everything I was against; maybe I was being prejudiced or jealous of things I never had, never could have…just maybe…
So, you can't imagine," Christine continued, "how shocked the landlady and I were to find Raoul half-frozen on the inn's doorstep the next morning."
"What?"
"Apparently, he'd been found in the churchyard, sprawled across the steps of the high altar. Poor Raoul, he must've had a terrible scare!" She grew thoughtful for a moment as if about to make a great decision. "Maggie…I know we haven't been friends for very long and I know you've been dragged into this awful mess by Erik and I—,"
"Christine, quit beating 'round the bush and just say what you need to say."
"Would you deliver a message for me the next time you go up?"
"A message? For whom?"
Her eyes shifted away from mine. "For Raoul."
She reached into the drawer of her vanity and pulled out an addressed envelope without a postage stamp. I bit my lip. "I don't know, Christine. What if Erik finds out?"
"He won't," she reassured, "he trusts you enough--,"
"No, he doesn't!"
"More you than me. Please? It's just to let him know I'm alright and that he must never attempt to see me again."
Her tone sounded so sorrowful, so resigned—resigned to a fate she could not avoid, so I conceded to her request.
"I'll get it to him the first chance I get." No sooner had I said this when there were three short raps on the door.
"Christine? Is Mademoiselle Buquet in there with you?" came Erik's muffled voice.
Fear drained any remaining color in Christine's face as she shakily thrust the letter into my hands, which I proceeded to stuff into my trouser pocket.
"Yes!" She called out, "She's here."
The door opened tentatively as Erik poked his head in. "Oh good, you're decent—or at least one of you is." He eyed my usual masculine attire but not with his usual look of distaste. Some other look brushed through those golden eyes, one I couldn't quite put my finger on. Dare I call it mirth?
"Shove off," I retorted just as playfully.
"Now, that's hardly an appropriate farewell." He smirked at our confused expressions as he walked to the middle of the room, hands clasped behind him. "I'm letting the two of you return above. I know it's not exactly been the full week we originally agreed upon, but I think it would be for the best."
Christine's eyes immediately brightened, bringing on a bout of excitement that I'm sure Erik anticipated.
"However," he held up a bony finger, "there are conditions. The first: you will no longer associate with that boy."
Christine's face fell, extinguishing the light that flickered there only seconds before, but she said nothing.
"Secondly, have you ever heard of the Bal Masque, Mademoiselle Buquet?"
"A what?"
"Once a year after the Christmas season, the Opera Populaire puts on a masquerade where the company and their guests can act ten times more idiotic than they do the rest of the year."
"I take it you're not much of a party animal."
"I'm not finished. The Masquerade will be held around the New Year, which is little more than a week away. I will give you each a substantial amount of money to go and find yourselves suitable costumes."
"Thank you, Erik. That's very generous of you." Christine said, rather emotionless. It was a toss up whether she was still stinging from Erik's forbidding her to see Raoul again or feeling obligated to accept Erik's money.
He looked to me for some sort of response. "This masquerade—it will be formal?"
"Most of the time, yes. Although, I've heard that this year's ball is to be more bohemian than ones in the past."
"Will I have to wear silk stockings and corsets, and all that frilly shite*?"
His eyes narrowed at my choice of words. "I suppose that would depend on what gender you choose your costume to portray."
"And there will be lords and ladies…aristocrats?"
"Unfortunately."
"Then what makes you think I would want to go?"
Christine grasped my hands. "Oh please, Maggie! It's not what you think, not at all!"
"She will need someone to accompany her." Erik added in a tone that left no room for protests.
"Then you do it!" I retorted, throwing up my hands in frustration, before marching out of the room and back to the library, which had recently become my safe haven.
I heard their muffled voices through the door, but couldn't catch many words in their conversation. Sick of being shut up in the library, I decided to go down by the lake and cool off. However, I encountered Erik in the hallway.
"Buquet, I want to talk with you."
"Well, as you can see, I'm not in much of a mood for talking." I muttered, trying to shoulder past but he blocked my path.
"Listen for a moment, you stubborn girl! I'm not going to make you chaperone Christine. We talked and…well, you were right. I need to give her some time to herself. She's not such a child anymore. I can't keep her in an ivory tower forever."
"That's good." And I meant it.
Maybe Christine wasn't the only one doing some growing up, realizing that love's hand cannot be forced or bound. And I couldn't help feeling some sense of accomplishment. I know it sounds prideful but hey, I'm Irish, we're born that way.
"But you should still attend."
"I've never been to a ball and I have no interest in them." I was finally allowed to pass, only to have my reins jerked back by his next words.
"In reality, what you're saying is that you're afraid to go." Turning to face him, I caught the challenging glint in his eye, eager to get out. "And here I had the impression you were the sort of girl who's up for anything; laughs in the face of danger."
"Drunks in penguin suits are hardly dangerous."
"Then you wouldn't mind proving it…by going with me."
"What?" He walked up to me—quite close I might add, and I had to crane my neck to meet his eyes.
"I'm asking to escort you to the Masquerade Ball."
What trick was this? Take me to a ball? Ridiculous. Maybe that's why he suggested it…so he could bear witness to whatever humiliation might befall me amongst a crowd of the social elite. Perhaps this was all just for his amusement, one of his twisted games in which he was the only player. But as I stared into those intense amber eyes, I saw no tricks, no mischief—just a hanging question awaiting an answer. He held out his hand.
"Think of it as an adventure."
I thought of something a wise man told me once. "Sometimes you go a thousand miles just to learn one thing you couldn't learn at home. You're a beautiful young woman, Maggie, and there's nothin' wrong with showin' that sometimes. It doesn't make you any less smart."
"Well, as my da' would say, sometimes you go a thousand miles just to learn one thing you couldn't learn at home. I never did much to make him or my mama proud, so for one night only, I'll learn to be a lady."
I hesitantly placed my thin calloused hand in his cold skeletal one. It was bony, it did have a strange smell and it was so cold it sent chills up my arm—at least, I believe it was the coldness…but honestly, none of that bothered me.
"Besides," I continued, "I never was a girl to pass up an adventure."