Chapter 6: Opera Populaire, Paris, France, 1881
Christine Daaé watched as the gathered cast and gentlemen cry in disbelief and terror as the Madame read the conditions of the Opera Ghostafter witnessing Carlotta's abrupt aria.
"-And commands that you continue to leave Box five, empty for his use. And reminds you that his salary is due."
'A ghost with a salary?' Christine furrowed her brows, completely baffled as to what she was hearing. 'My...what has happened in the last decade? Ghosts with private boxes, salaries…whose idea of a jest is this?'
"The Vicomte de Chagny will hardly pay a…a…phantom!"
"Whatever you say, but do not say I did not warn you messieurs." Christine watched Antoinette order her students back into their positions.
'Antoinette seems to actually believe in this apparition. That's odd…she's always been so sensible… so serious…'
Christine sighed heavily. This is not what she had expected to come back to. She felt confused and even more mentally and physically fatigued than when she had been in those jolting coaches on her way from Marseille.
Marseille.
She had come here hoping to forget that horrid place. What had happened to her beautiful Opera Populaire? What rumor dared destroy her place of refuge?
Now, the only thing she could do was wait. Wait for Antoinette to pull away from her dancers, just for a moment, just for an opportunity to talk to her…to explain….
Suddenly, an eerie sensation stole into her body. She could feel a scrutinizing gaze bear into her back, freezing her solid. The hairs on her neck and arms rose and goose bumps formed on every inch of her skin. Christine was painfully aware that most men in the opera house couldn't be respectable if their life depended on it. She had grown up around it as a girl; she knew. The gaze intensified and Christine felt as if she was suffocating. Her lungs constricted in incomprehensible panic. She dare not look behind her.
'Breathe…in…out…in…out…'
Christine shut her eyes, every forced breath shaking in terror.
"Mademoiselle?"
Christine jolted, her chocolate-brown eyes wide.
"Mademoiselle, are you well?"
"M-Madame Giry?" The young girl gasped.
Antoinette Giry was standing a few feet in front of her, her smooth brow wrinkled in polite concern. At the mention of her name, the ballet mistress stepped closer, her hazel eyes betraying slight confusion and curiosity.
"Yes I am Madame Giry. Can I help you?"
'She doesn't recognize me…'
Christine swallowed hard and opened her mouth to speak but no sound came out. Anxiety and fear paralyzed her voice into silence.
Compassion filled the older woman's countenance and she placed a comforting hand on Christine's arm.
"Perhaps, you are looking for someone? A dancer or a chorus member?"
"I…" Christine shut her eyes once more and took a deep trembling breath. "I-I was looking for you."
"Me? Pourquoi mon chéri? " Antoinette chuckled, kindly prodding to assist the poor girl.
"Because…because…I-I was hoping you… you could help me." Christine's voice quivered.
"Oh? Interested in the ballet? Well, my dear you have come at a tremulous transition in management and I am afraid you would have to come another time to-"
"No!" Christine exclaimed rather abruptly, her sudden assertive statement causing Antoinette to stop in mid sentence. Antoinette frowned at being so rudely interrupted by a younger person.
Christine immediately realized her mistake.
"I-I mean 'no' to the ballet, Madame…I could never dance very gracefully."
"I see. But why exactly are you here? As you can see I am very busy and I must return to my students."
Christine sighed. "Forgive me Madame, I didn't mean to. It's just that…it has been so long… I just wanted…I wanted to…oh!"
The girl had lost all self-control. Forgetting the fright that had threatened to consume her sanity, Christine threw herself at the other woman. She collapsed in Antoinette's arms, sobs wracking her petite frame. Antoinette stood rigid in shock but quickly recovered and instinctively soothed the young girl.
"Shh…my dear…it's all right." Madame Giry cooed her alto voice calming.
"I-I thought…I'd never s-see you again…Papa said we would never come back…he…he swore at me when I… I asked him to… bring me here to see you and Meg…and…and…"
Christine wept, her salty tears soaking Antoinette's dress. The older woman hardly noticed.
"Who has done this to you ma jeune fille?" Antoinette gasped, scarcely understanding Christine's cries.
"Gustave…" Was the quivering response, so soft the woman wasn't sure she heard right.
"Gustave?" Madame Giry repeated confounded, then, her heart stopped. 'It can't be…'
Grasping Christine by the arms, Antoinette pulled the young woman upright to look her in the eye.
"Is Gustave your father?" Antoinette inhaled sharply, trying to keep from trembling.
"Y-yes… he is…"
Madame Giry suddenly noticed the curly brown hair, the chocolate-shaded irises, creamy-colored skin… Her own hazel eyes widened in realization.
"Christine? Christine Daaé?" she whispered.
"Y-yes…it's me…"
Antoinette gave a cry of astonishment and clutched Christine into her embrace. The two women grasped each other desperately, both of them sobbing uncontrollably.
"Mon dieu…mon dieu… Elle est vivante... Elle m'est retournée…" Antoinette murmured, stroking Christine's dark locks.
"Oh Madame…I've missed you so." Christine breathed in the calming scent adorning Antoinette and steadied herself as best as her emotions would allow. Madame Giry rocked the girl in her arms scarcely believing what was happening.
By now, several of the dancing girls had begun to stare and whisper as they witnessed the odd sight of their usually solemn instructor weeping. It was certainly something they didn't see everyday.
"Who is that girl?" A red-head asked her friend.
"I don't know, Sorelli." The other girl replied, "But she must be important to have the Madame crying."
"What a strange day, Josephine," Sorelli mused. "First Monsieur Lefèvre's retirement, the new management, with that dashing patron and the Opera Ghost's-"
"What's going on?" A sweet-sounding voice asked worriedly. The two gossips turned abruptly to see Meg Giry, the prima ballerina step up to them.
"You don't know?" Sorelli spat rudely. "She's your mother is she not?"
Meg's status as the Opera Populaire's best female dancer didn't exactly make her the best liked; particularly to vain girls such as Sorelli. In addition to her being the head mistress's daughter some thought she didn't deserve the prestigious position. At twenty-five years of age however, Meg had clearly earned her place as prima ballerina.
"What she means to say is that when we had finished the Slave routine, we saw you mother sobbing all over that poor girl." Josephine explained placidly, "We have no idea why."
Meg's blue eyes became troubled and she wrung her hands in anxiety. She had never seen her mother so distressed before, and certainly not in public.
'Whatever is going on it must be serious to have mother in this state…'
She became even more concerned as a small crowd had begun to gather around Antoinette and girl, and neither seemed to notice. Meg decided to try to give Antoinette as much privacy as possible.
"Thierri!" Meg called one of the older, more experienced male dancers, "Gather the all dancers in the ballet foyer. Tell them to take a few moments to rest their feet. We will resume shortly."
Thierri nodded and escorted the buzzing crowd out to the foyer behind the stage. Meg hastily told Maestro Reyer to excuse the dancers for a few moments and cautiously tiptoed toward her mother and the mysterious young woman.
"Remercie Dieu vous êtes sûr…" Meg heard her mother say, her voice aquiver with intense emotion.
"Mother?" The blonde girl spoke softly, not wanting to startle to two women. "Mother is everything all right?"
Antoinette turned to look at her only child. A joyous smile lit up her features and she whispered into the other girl's ear.
"Look my dear."
The brown-haired girl lifted her tear-streaked face from the Madame's bosom to stare at the bewildered Meg. Her wide doe eyes took one glance at the ballerina and slowly released her firm hold on the older Giry.
"Meg?" She questioned as if speaking to a hallucination.
"Yes, but how-"
The young woman squealed in delight and squeezed her into a tight hug, shocking the reserved Meg Giry considerably. Meg glanced at Madame Giry in confusion and stared down at the other damsel who was crushing the air out of her lungs. Antoinette just laughed, a warm chuckle bubbling in her throat. Meg thought that her mother had gone mad.
"Mademoiselle…do I…know you?" The dancer gasped desperate trying to make sense of the peculiar situation.
"Know me?" The maiden exclaimed, quickly loosing Meg from her grip. "It's me…Christine!"
Meg choked, her blue eyes widening in disbelief.
"C-Christine Daaé?" She squeaked.
It was Christine's turn to giggle at the older girl's shock. "Do you know any other Christine's?"
"Saints and angels! You're alive!" Meg pulled Christine back into her arms. "I thought you were in Marseille…we didn't know…we heard nothing…I was afraid you had…that something had happened-"
"I am quite fine I assure you." Christine grinned at her friend's stuttering, she herself finally recovering her poise.
"B-but look at you!" Meg cried her astonishment still evident.
"What?" Christine worriedly glanced down at herself, suddenly aware of her slightly mussed dress.
"You…you've…I mean you're…you're…"
Madame Giry laughed once again, stepping up to her daughter and Christine.
"I think what Meg is attempting to say is that you have grown up. We hardly recognize you, my dear!"
"Oh that," Christine sighed, relieved they hadn't found something unsatisfactory with her. "Well it has been a life changing decade, Maman."
Antoinette smiled at the cherished term Christine had used to call her as a child. The aged woman clasped Christine, convincing the both of them that, in fact, the other was real.
"It has been far too long, mon petite."
"'Mon petite'?" Meg smirked, a conniving twinkle sparkling in her eyes. "Mother, I do believe Lotte was 'petite' last time we saw her. She was flat as a board! Now look at her! Her figure marks the sign of a woman. I'm surprised she doesn't have suitors kissing the ground she walks on!"
Christine blushed modestly, acutely aware of how she had filled out during her teenage years.
"You flatter me, Meg."
"Flattery is false praise, my girl." Madame Giry placed a hand on Christine's cheek. "You are beautiful, Christine."
The three ladies stood in comfortable reflection, staring at each other and thanking whatever divine power had put them together once more.
"Madame Giry?" The piqued voice of Maestro Reyer broke their moment.
"Maestro..." Antoinette faced the frail figure of the nervous monsieur, barely remembering the fact that Hannibal was to be performed in a full house in a few hours.
"We are supposed to be rehearsing!" The poor man exclaimed, quite oblivious to the significant presence of curly haired damsel. "We have only five hours left until the gala tonight and your dancers are…are…resting, doing nothing! I would expect that from someone like La Carlotta b-but you Madame…it's… unheard of! Madame you know how utterly necessary it is to resume immediately. "
"Oh...yes. Forgive me Monsieur. Give me a moment."
"Madame I am so sorry I had no idea-"
"Shh, my girl," Antoinette placed a finger on Christine's lips, "Not now, we shall speak soon. Meg take her to my private quarters to rest and then come back to resume practicing."
"Oh no, I couldn't impose!"
"Nonsense! You are staying here." Antoinette turned a critical eye to her daughter, "And be quick about it Meg, I can't have you running around in that costume."
Antoinette placed a kiss on Christine's forehead and then whisked away, composing herself once more into the head of the corps de ballet.
"Come on, Lotte!"
Meg grabbed Christine's wrist and pulled her toward the backstage platforms. They speedily winded their way through the bustling stagehands, scene-shifters, lighting and wardrobe attendants, until they reached a quieter system of hallways leading in every direction. Meg led them through a narrow walkway, toward the far side of the opera house. They slowed their pace, and linked arms as they had done when they were adolescents.
"Oh Lotte I've missed you so." Meg said, breaking the silence.
"And I've missed you," Christine replied, "I thought of you everyday in Marseille. I was so lonely."
Meg sighed heavily.
"Mother wrote so many letters to your father and tried to convince him to bring you back, but we could never locate you. She even contacted the police in Marseille but they did close to nothing for us."
"Unfortunately, the local government is very corrupt. They do nothing for anyone. Unless of course you can expand their purse."
A heavy silence ensued as they walked down the semi-lit corridor, the both of them thinking on how life could have been.
After several moments, Christine softly broke the sad reveries.
"Meg?"
"Hmm?"
"Can I ask you something?"
"Of course! Anything Lotte."
"What…whatever happened to Erik?"
Meg suddenly stopped dead in her tracks, her breathing becoming ragged and her face drained of all color. Christine held her breath in anticipation as her heart thudded in fear of what the answer might be.
"He…I …" Meg tried to speak but she couldn't help feeling as if the walls were suddenly listening to her every word. Meg closed her eyes and inhaled sharply. "I don't know."
Christine could only swallow the forming lump in her throat and keep the burning tears from spilling over.
"Oh." Was the only thing she trusted herself to say.
Meg squeezed her hand and neither said anything as they walked the few more feet to Antoinette's room. She reached the door and unlocked it with a skeleton key she had hidden in her slave girl's top. Meg led Christine into the simple but elegant room with several pieces of furniture and medium-sized feather mattress.
"Make yourself comfortable, Lotte." Meg said, lighting a lamp. "If you need anything-"
"Oh no," Christine interrupted, "You and Maman have done enough already. I don't how I will ever repay you."
Meg placed a hand on Christine's arm. "You being alive and well is more than enough Lotte."
Meg and Christine hugged, holding each other in a comforting sisterly embrace.
"Get some rest." Meg smiled at her friend, gracefully strode to the door and closed it firmly behind her.
Christine was finally left alone, her exhaustion and anxiety manifesting itself in aches all over her body. All she wanted to do now was sleep. Placing her reticule on a nightstand, she unpinned her hair and slipped out of her traveling dress and corset. She took off her shoes and stockings, messaging her throbbing feet. Deciding to sleep in her undergarments, she blew out the gas lamp and crawled into the bed, groaning as her fatigue melted into the linen sheets.
She closed her eyes feeling safe and protected for the first time in ten years.
"Thank you," Christine whispered to whatever guardian angel or saint was listening.
Before she fell asleep however, her mind's eye portrayed an image of a never-forgotten sight.
A boy with gray-green eyes and a white mask.