A/N: Thanks to all who took the time to comment. It means a lot! :) And sorry for the late update, my writing course was fantastic but also really exhausting and so I only made little progress on the chapter I was working on. The lines Erik quotes are from Christina Rossetti's poem "Despised and Rejected".
Chapter 4:
The note was small and neatly folded. Her name was written on it in red ink yet it bemused her to see that the ghost could clearly afford expensive writing paper but refused to invest just a little bit more into envelopes. It was a trivial matter, of course, positively laughable yet the mysterious figure was such a nuisance to her life that it didn't take much to annoy her.
In the darkness of her bedroom, the note seemed to glow and beckon her with its strange, spidery handwriting.
Guiltily, her eyes slid to the door while she pondered whether or not she should take another look. Babette's voice kept ringing in her ears and under no circumstances did she want to encourage further insinuations or gossip. Édouard deserved better than to have his memory tarnished. But the drive to re-visit the note was stronger. Had someone challenged her to explain this obsession she would've struggled to find an answer. The fact that it filled the hole Édouard's death had left in her life she wasn't prepared to face just yet.
The small candle on her nightstand was within reach and she lit it with trembling hands, her eyes continuously slipping to the door to check for any signs of movement. But the only sounds she could make out were the creaking floorboards from the servants' quarters above her.
As the candlelight flickered and illuminated the darkness around her, she finally tore her gaze away and directed it towards the note instead.
Madame Doucet,
It has come to my attention that you now hold the key to my Opera, in a manner of speaking. Permit me first to apologise for being remiss in making your acquaintance, something I wish to rectify shortly as you will see in just a moment. I fear your assistant, Monsieur Moreau – by the by, an amusing, little fellow – appears to have decided to keep us apart. Perhaps he'd rather not share my attention, or perhaps he simply considers you unsuitable for the position or unable to handle the situation. I am certain we both agree that this is rather tactless of him and, if I may speak candidly, a waste of time and resources – and I must admit I grow rather testy when dealing with incompetent people.
But we have only just met and, therefore, I am prepared to overlook these…difficulties. Teething problems, shall we call them? From now on, I shall make sure these correspondences reach you and you alone. There will be no more excuses from now on, take my word for it, for I have eyes and ears everywhere and will know when you are lying.
My demands are simple enough, and I am certain you will follow them to the letter. My salary of 20,000 francs will be delivered monthly to the armchair in box 5 by Madame Giry. She has handled previous transactions and proven herself to be trustworthy. Likewise, box 5 is to be reserved for my exclusive use. Should this demand be ignored I will be forced to find a seat elsewhere, and we know how much trouble an uninvited third party can cause. Lastly, I find the operas you have selected rather offensive to my ears and require an indefinite period of rest. Should even a single note reach my ears, I'll be forced to take drastic action as I have done multiple times in the past week – perhaps I'd recommend a chat with Monsieur Moreau who will, no doubt, be happy to further enlighten you.
I trust you'll find my demands to be reasonable yet I suggest a meeting to formally settle matters. This Friday at 6 o'clock in the morning will suit us both, no doubt. I shall be waiting for you in my box and am delighted to formally make your acquaintance.
Until then I'll remain your obedient servant,
O.G.
The nerve of the man, the very arrogance that oozed from each of his words was so infuriating she wanted to scream. Yet somehow she managed to remind herself that only a level-headed approach would help her deal with him. After reading the note a second time, she still had no intentions of complying with any of his ridiculous demands, but she was determined to keep this opinion to herself until she had spoken to him. Then she'd ponder which further actions would be worth taking.
There was, however, one piece of information that had made her curious, although she was under no illusion that he had accidentally let it slip. Whether she wanted to or not, Madame Giry would have some questions to answer…
Babette had been quiet and dutiful since speaking her mind so bluntly, despite Julianne's frequent attempts of putting her at ease. This morning was no exception. She helped her into her dress without wasting a single word and answered her questions most simply and politely when putting up her hair.
Her behaviour pained Julianne because it plunged the house into even greater silence. She hadn't established many close friendships in the past and had found the good-natured chatter of her maid a welcome distraction.
Downstairs in the courtyard, Alexandre was at hand again to help her into the carriage. The young man had aged considerably since her husband had passed away and there were certain days, when she wished to reach out to him and ask him what he missed most about Édouard. It would've been inappropriate, perhaps, especially if they were to be seen alone in each other's company, but surely it would have felt more comforting than the prying words of acquaintances and family members.
Paris was awakening around them as the carriage slipped through cobble-stoned streets. Vendors were setting up their stalls, passed occasionally by well-dressed men in crinkled frocks who appeared in no hurry to return home. Once or twice in a life that now felt foreign, she and Édouard had been amongst those few stragglers, spilling out of Café Jacquin in the early hours of the morning. Those few times when Édouard, after all a prominent diplomat, had brushed aside her concerns and insisted they enjoyed themselves, irrespective of the gossip that was sure to follow. There had been a twinkle in his eyes then, the same she had seen when he had slipped Alexandre an extra coin at the end of a particularly stressful day.
Gripped by a sudden wave of emotion, she paused when the young man helped her out of the carriage at one of the deserted side entrances of the Opera.
"I hope you're well, Alexandre, and continue to be happy in our employ?"
The "our" slipped out, refused to shrink down to the "my" which felt raw and exposing. Two small letters, big enough to expand in her chest, stealing all room for air. She wasn't ready and it wasn't the truth. Édouard was still with her, perhaps he would always be.
"Of course, Madame." Alexandre replied politely and bowed, but his eyes with the kind laugh lines remained empty.
His sadness touched her own and unable to stop herself, she reached out to squeeze his hand. No words would have been powerful enough to express the sympathy she felt, so she hoped that the gesture would suffice.
Unable to tolerate the magnitude of the moment for much longer, she tore herself away and strode up the stairs and into the cool darkness of the opera house. Registering no voices or movement, she granted herself a second just to breathe. Gradually, the knot in her chest loosened and she continued towards the office.
She dedicated several hours of her time looking through the drawers of the big oak desk, trying to unearth more secrets that it might contain. But with nothing concrete to look for, the task soon became tedious and so she briefly ventured outside the office to send for Madame Giry. The older woman did not take long and appeared in the office not five minutes later. The only hint of light in her otherwise strict, black dress was a white blouse. It made Julianne wonder if they had more in common than she'd expected.
"I apologise for interrupting your work," she began softy, "and I regret that we only formally make each other's acquaintance now under these circumstances."
Madame Giry maintained the calm but indifferent demeanour with which she had entered and offered no word in response.
"I remember seeing you instruct the girls when Édouard," she swallowed; saying his name felt like having to share a part of him which, in turn, was nothing more than another fresh loss, "when my husband first took his position. I greatly admired the respect the girls displayed towards you."
"But that is not why you have asked me here," Madame Giry said directly but without impatience or hostility.
Nonetheless, Julianne found her to be slightly unnerving.
"No," she shook her head, "as you know I am trying to find out more about this ghost that keeps disrupting our performances. It has recently come to my attention that you appear to know him better than you at first let on."
She paused to observe the effect her words would have but no emotion betrayed the other woman's thoughts.
"I must admit I would have preferred it, had you stepped forward when I asked for details about Christine Daaé but I'd be grateful if you offered your assistance now."
Madame Giry did not strike her as an easily frightened woman, yet it didn't escape her either that her eyes suddenly darted across the room.
"I'm afraid I must decline once again, Madame," she answered respectfully.
"Madame Giry, if he is threatening you," Julianne began, rising out of her chair but the dark-haired woman was quick to cut her off.
"I can assure you the Opera Ghost has never troubled me. But you must excuse me now. My girls are easily distracted and if there's to be any hope of a decent performance tonight, we must rehearse rigorously now."
"He will disrupt the performance yet again if you don't help me!" Julianne exclaimed angrily but Madame Giry had already turned around and left.
Box 5 was an inconspicuous looking space that, on the surface, didn't differ from any of the other boxes in the building. Granted, it stood at an almost perfect angle to the stage, awarding a view of even the farthest corner, but that wasn't reason enough to justify the ghost's insistent ownership of it.
Looking around a bit, Julianne eventually took a seat in the armchair and waited for the arrival of the ghost. She had hoped to enter this meeting with enough information to put them on mutual ground, but after her unsuccessful conversation with Madame Giry, it seemed the whole ensemble had made it a point to avoid her. Removing her bonnet and veil, she continued waiting while the minutes silently ticked by, listening for any sign of movement from the corridor outside.
"Your punctuality is commendable, Madame."
His voice appeared out of nowhere, startling and surprising her at the same time. Having heard the demented laughter on the eve of the premiere, she had not expected it to sound so soft and silky. It was strangely beautiful yet utterly repulsive in its arrogance and conviction.
"I wish the same could be said about you, Monsieur," she replied, "disappointing, since you insisted on this encounter."
His quiet laughter made her feel cold and ill.
"You are rather outspoken, Madame," the voice remarked, nothing more than hissed whisper in her ear.
She swallowed and subtly wiped her moist palm on her dress.
"And you are cowardly, trying to intimidate me with cheap tricks," she held against him, stoically staring ahead and refusing to give him the satisfaction of looking around for the source of his voice. "Who are you then to feel the need to hide and torment others?"
"I dwell in darkness as a dead man out of sight; And none remains, not one, that I should tell to him mine evil plight."
Impatiently, she grasped the hem of her dress and pulled it together in her fist. She could not shake the image of a sly cat that was deriving pleasure from playing with a half dead mouse.
"Since you seem determined to waste my time, Monsieur, allow me to cut to the chase. Both of the demands outlined in your note are unreasonable, especially when considering that you also expect me to stop performances indefinitely. How do you suppose I shall raise the 20,000 francs if not from our ticket sales?"
"That hardly concerns me, Madame," the voice replied. "Messieurs Moncharmin and Richard found a way, as did Monsieur Poligny before them. I am certain a woman of your standing and affluence will hardly struggle to do the same."
"Perhaps not, Monsieur," she said, rising to her feet, "but unlike them I am not inclined to give in to senseless threats. This Opera matters a great deal to me and for as long as I am here, music will continue to entertain and please the audiences willing to attend."
Without a second glance towards a possible source of the disembodied voice, she strode out of the box and back towards the office. Nonetheless, the voice suddenly appeared in her ear, whispering gleefully: "Then I am inclined to accept the challenge."
Those whispered words, the triumph and warning within them, were impossible to shake and accompanied her home that evening. She could only begin to guess what dreadful acts the ghost was capable of, acts whose consequences she alone would be responsible for. She desperately needed someone she could beg for guidance but no suitable person came to mind.
"Madame?" Alexandre's gentle voice tore her out of her thoughts and when she blinked she realised that they had arrived back at home.
"Forgive me," she smiled tiredly and took his hand to leave the carriage, "my mind was elsewhere."
"That's quite alright." He reciprocated her smile and walked her into the house. "I also think about him often."
Guilt tore at her heart but for his sake she nodded bravely and then ascended two flights of stairs to her bedroom where Babette was waiting for her.
"Madame?" She approached her cautiously. "This letter was delivered while you were away."
Expecting it to be another black envelope she waved her hand dismissively and sat down on the bed. "Just add it to the others."
"The messenger said it was urgent, Madame," Babette hesitantly explained, stepping forward to offer up the letter again.
Tiredly, Julianne sighed and accepted it.
Madame Doucet,
Perhaps you are right. I am willing to tell you everything I know but not at the Opera, not where He can hear. I will ask my messenger to return tomorrow to collect your reply.
Sincerely,
Madame Giry