Chapter Eighteen - Becca the Bold
Erik slunk into the passage through the Rue-Scribe, adjusting his felt hat and touching his false nose to make sure they were both in place as he carried in his parcels. He moved quickly, heading straight for Angelique's workroom. Though there were things he would much rather leave at home, it was too much trouble to take them back and then go running so that he wouldn't be late to pick her up. Besides, he was certain she would be more than happy to help him.
Arriving at the door, he listened, waiting to hear her voice.
"Thank you, Madame Giry," Angelique said from the other side. "I'll be certain to give it to him."
"Merci, my dear," the woman's voice floated in. "Good night."
"Good night," Angelique answered cheerfully.
He heard the door click shut and the young seamstress heave a sigh of relief. He waited, with his hands full, until she had collected herself and her belongings and pressed the nail into the wall. Angelique's eyes widened and a laugh escaped her as she took in the sight of Erik laden with parcels. "Erik?! What in Heaven's name-?!"
"Erik just returned from shopping," he grimaced. "He hates to ask, but-"
"Let me help you," she giggled, taking several bags from him while he retained several boxes. "Just what did you go shopping for anyways? I thought you were running a few errands and getting supper."
"Erik did. He also got a few other items," he shrugged, shutting the door before leading her back down to their underground home. He didn't want her finding out about the surprises…not yet anyways. "How was your day, dearest?"
"Lovely," she answered. "I got plenty of the costumes finished, and I just thought of a new idea for the party dress for Juliette in Act 1…oh! Madame Giry gave me a note that's addressed to you. It's from the managers."
"The managers?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at the news. They never wrote back, either from fear, disbelief, or resentment. Even the old managers made sure to respond when he made an inquiry about any topic.
"I know, strange, isn't it?" she mused. "At any rate, she says that it was mostly at the request of the new patron that you receive this letter."
"Ah yes, the gentleman who destroyed our moment of private intimacy," he sniffed, earning another giggle from her.
"He's really quite nice, Erik. Give him a chance," she suggested, following him through the secret tunnel to avoid having to pass the lake.
Arriving upon the other side, Erik unlocked the door and motioned for her to enter before closing the door after himself. "Set them here," he told her, entering the drawing room and placing the items on the rug before the hearth. "Erik shall take the bags – those have our supper." He pointed to the boxes upon the floor before waggling his finger at her with a smirk. "Do not open those until I return." He took off, seemingly excited as he ran out of the room.
Angelique sat down in her chair, perplexed at his before selecting a square box wrapped in pink ribbon. She gave it a gentle shake, listening to its contents topple over inside. There was an assortment of these boxes, some large, some slim, some tiny, but all of them were decorated quite beautifully, clearly meant for a female. Her jaw dropped as she made the connection. "Oh dear…"
"You didn't open them, did you?" he asked, his voice smooth and deep as he entered the room once more, sitting down in his chair.
"Erik…are you spoiling me?" she asked, gaping at him with large, stunned eyes.
"Perhaps," he said vaguely, fiddling with the buttons on his jacket.
"Erik, I don't need all this, really!" she insisted when he suddenly took her hand in his and brought it to his lips. "Erik-?"
"All Erik's life, he desperately wished for a wife to take out on Sundays, for a woman to come home to that would not despise or fear him," he murmured softly, raising his sad eyes to hers. "You have suffered much, Angelique, and now that you have made this your home, and you have accepted Erik, he wishes to…spoil you, every so often." Placing her hand on the armrest, he twiddled his thumbs nervously before rambling, "Of course, if you truly do not wish for this, or if you terribly despise them, Erik could-" He never finished his sentence, his lips silenced by hers as she sat on his lap and embraced him.
Pulling away, she removed his mask and kissed his cheek. "Thank you, Erik…I can't remember the last time I was given so many gifts…I just don't want you to squander everything on me."
"Erik would buy you the world, mon cher, if it made you happy," he choked, fighting the tears he felt coming through his eyes. He was still unaccustomed to such displays of affection, extremely grateful that he had found such a loving, caring woman. Giving her a tender smile, he tucked her hair away from her face and motioned towards the boxes. "Go on. Open them."
"But I have nothing for you," she said shamefully.
He touched her cheek, leaning in and inhaling sharply as he dared to kiss her lips for an instant. "You are all Erik ever wants or needs." He felt his stomach flutter as he watched her blush, his smile growing. "Open them."
Defeated, she arose from his lap and sat before the hearth, opening one box after the next, finding an assortment of new shoes and dresses, some meant for work, others for formal events, still others for casual times. "Oh, Erik! You shouldn't have!" she gushed, loving the new outfits. "How did you find out my measurements?"
"Please do not ask Erik that," he blushed, looking away from her as she asked him, causing her to laugh. "He can simply…tell."
"All right then," she snickered, trying in vain to stop laughing. Reaching out, she grabbed the last box – a tiny cube of royal blue velvet, shimmering in the light of the room. "What could this b-? OH!" Her hand flew to her heart as she saw a glowing, circular golden locket, a rose in full bloom engraved on the front. "Erik-!"
"Open it," he whispered, his fingers interlaced and clenched in anxiety as he watched her complete his command.
She gasped as she saw two impeccable, tiny paintings within – one of herself, the other of him, mask-less. "Erik-!"
"If you would rather have Erik with his mask on, or not in the locket at all-" he started, stopping as she sobbed. "Angelique?!" he asked, frightened that he had upset her.
"Erik…this is the most beautiful gift I've ever received," she sniffled, wiping her face in vain as she carefully took the locket out and held it up. "I never had anything like this before…and you added the paintings! Did you make them?"
"Yes," he answered quietly, shyly looking away.
Closing it shut, she sat on the footstool, facing the fire and pulling her hair over one shoulder to expose her neck. "Will you help me put it on?"
With trembling fingers, he did so, watching her as she admired how it rested upon her collarbone, glittering in the light. "Do you like it-?"
"I adore it," she beamed, her eyes shining as she continued to dry her face. She leaned into his hand as he touched her cheek, covering it with her own as she gazed at him. "Thank you, darling."
He sighed, sitting on the edge of his seat as he pulled her into an embrace. "Say it again," he pleaded.
"Darling…my darling Erik," she said, her voice soft and song-like as she happily said the phrase, feeling him shiver in delight. She snuggled into his arms when she felt a soft poke in her apron. "Oh! I almost forgot…the letter," she said, retrieving it from her pocket and offering it to him. "Madame said it was important."
"Hmph," he grumbled, taking the envelope and breaking the seal carelessly. "Just what do those fools think they can-?" He paused, his brows furrowing as he read the letter.
"Greetings Monsieur Opera Ghost,
I am writing on behalf of my comrades M. Moncharmin and Richard, the current managers of this fine establishment. I am the new patron of the Palais Garnier – Lord Rupert Adelshire, recently arrived from London, England. Being that you are the 'Phantom' of this place, I have no doubt that you are already aware of my existence.
I have taken the liberty on behalf of the managers to read through your previous notes, and I see no reason as to not follow your orders. Having come from several years of managing banks and making investments, I know a man in charge when I see one (or his writing for that matter). I can see the reason behind the 'madness' of your demands and have asked the managers to follow your instructions explicitly, at least until the show date for'Romeo et Juliette'. Therefore, you shall be receiving the remainder of your salary for the month within the next twenty-four hours; Miss Rebecca Anderson from America has been hired and is in the process of moving her belongings to Paris; and we hope you will attend the performance next week in your private Box Five.
It should be noted, monsieur, that I am considering purchasing the Opera House, and if all goes well, I shall be needing a manager to take charge. I do not believe that a genius such as yourself would be a ghost – if you are willing to meet and negotiate, I would very much like to hear from you and discuss your opinion.
I look forward to hearing from you soon.
Warmest regards,
R. Adelshire"
"What is it, Erik?" Angelique asked, noticing how he stared at the note in utter shock. "What's wrong?"
"…it has to be a trick, a trap," he muttered, stroking his chin in thought. He mindlessly handed the letter to Angelique, letting her read through the note, her own eyes widening.
"Mon Dieu! Erik, isn't this wonderful?!" she beamed, leaping up and kissing his cheek, startling and distracting him from his thoughts. "Your talents are being recognized!"
"Or it could be a farce," he frowned, shaking his head. "This man cannot be all he seems to be-"
"Erik, I met him. He's a gentleman, a sweet grandfatherly fellow. At least give him a chance," she pleaded, placing her hands over his.
Heaving a tired sigh, he gently took hold of her chin and kissed her nose. "Erik can deny you nothing, my love. Lord Adelshire will be given the week – Erik shall watch him very closely, and if all goes well, he shall be invited to our box."
"Our box?" she inquired, raising an eyebrow playfully at him.
"Why do you think Erik bought you new dresses?" he grinned. "Angelique…would you watch 'Romeo et Juliette' with me-?"
"I thought you'd never ask!" she squealed in delight, placing another kiss on his lips, his mind going into a tizzy as she jumped up and gathered her new belongings. "I'll clean this up – you write a letter to Lord Adelshire so I can take it in the morning!"
Chuckling as he watched her run off excitedly, he shook his head and arose, walking to his mausoleum-like quarters. Sitting down at his desk, he selected a slip of paper and dipping his quill into his famous red ink. "I only hope you are right, Angelique…"
~OG~
True to the English man's word, when Erik checked in his box the following morning, Madame Giry was waiting with an envelope containing his cheque.
"It is about time," Madame stated cheekily as she placed the envelope on the nearest seat. "If you do not mind my saying, monsieur," she added politely. She picked up another envelope that lay close by, the name "Adelshire" scribbled in red ink on the cover.
"I agreed wholeheartedly, Madame Juliette," Erik answered, mulling over the idea of working and speaking with Lord Adelshire. He could not help but feel the same spark of hope that Angelique contained, though he remained extremely wary of it. "You will give that to Lord Adelshire, won't you?"
"The moment I leave, sir," she bobbed her head, the feathers in her bonnet quivering. "He is with Monsieurs Moncharmin and Richard to greet the new prima donna."
"Excellent," Erik nodded, recalling how he had heard of the woman. It was during the masquerade when he had lost Angelique and came back from spying on Christine, when he heard a radiant, piercing voice as he came back to the foyer. The woman was in her early thirties, with bright red hair and stunning green eyes, a wide smile upon her lips. He had heard her speaking with Moncharmin that night, explaining how she was visiting France and dreamed of working in an opera house as grand as this one someday. "Rebecca Anderson," she introduced herself, her American accent barely noticeable. He had assumed that she was partially French, allowing her to speak so eloquently. He had not forgotten her; with the news that La Carlotta was eager to leave, and with Christine gone, they needed someone else, else they would be closed. Before they could hold auditions, he sent the idiot managers a note ordering them to hire the woman.
Now it was coming into place – all because of the British gentleman who listened to him. "That will be all, Madame Giry," he said at last, watching her leave. He waited until she had gone down the hall before slipping out and taking the envelope, ripping it open and reading the cheque. He nodded, satisfied with the amount, and tucked it into his coat pocket before stepping out into the hall, checking to see if anyone was there, and made his way towards the foyer. Slipping into a hiding place behind one of the grand columns, he spied on the group below.
"Welcome, my dear!" Moncharmin greeted the redhead warmly as she stepped into the opera. "We are most delighted you accepted our invitation!
"How could I refuse?" she beamed. "I'm honored you thought of me."
"We had help," Adelshire chuckled, causing Erik to stiffen as he realized he was being subtly noted.
The men introduced themselves to her and were about to guide her in when Madame Giry approached them with Angelique at her side. Erik's heartbeat sped up, wishing he could go out to her and spin her in his embrace.
"Pardon, monsieurs, madame, but I have a note," Giry cut in, handing the paper over to Adelshire, who accepted with a smile.
"Merci, Madame Giry!" he thanked her heartily before turning his attention to Angelique. "Ah! Mademoiselle Archambault, how do you do?! It's so good to see your face again."
"You flatter me, monsieur," she blushed, accepting a kiss on the hand.
"Madame Giry is the concierge here," Richard grumbled while Giry bobbed a curtsy at the new singer.
"And this is Angelique Archambault," Moncharmin added warmly, motioning for Angelique to step forward. "She's the seamstress, the finest in all of Paris!"
"Monsieur, please," she whispered, embarrassed by all the attention. Erik grinned, delighted that she was finally getting credited for her astounding work, a swell of pride filling him. The girl bowed to Anderson, greeting her. "Welcome, Madame-"
"Call me Becca," the woman grinned, shaking hands with Angelique. "All my friends do. I can't wait to get to know you all, I'm so excited! And what about this ghost you have-?"
"Just silly rumors and pranks!" Richard yelped, unwilling to admit the truth.
"I am no rumor, nor prank…I'm here…" Erik cast his voice, eerie and seductive all at once, making them quiver. He smirked, happy to irk that fool Firmin Richard.
"…my word!" gasped Rebecca, a thrilled smile on her face. "I think I'm going to like it here! This will be much more fun than New York!"
"She's mad," Richard hissed to the other gentlemen.
"Ah…the Phantom wishes you a warm welcome," Angelique smiled nervously. "I'm so very sorry, Madame-"
"Becca," the woman insisted.
"Becca," she smiled. "I realize you just arrived, but the show is only a week away and I have several outfits for you that need to be fitted or remade, so I need your measurements."
"Of course!" she grinned, linking arms with the girl. "Gentlemen, you won't mind if I go with Angelique, will you? Thank you so much! Ta-ta!" she waved gaily, never waiting for a response as she scurried off, practically dragging Angelique with her.
Madame Giry gave a wry smile and shook her head, excusing herself before she took off in the opposite direction.
"…Mon Dieu, what have we gotten ourselves into?" moaned Richard.
"I like her!" Adelshire beamed. "Sweet, yet very forward. Perfect prima donna if you ask me!"
Moncharmin shrugged until he noticed the letter in Adelshire's hands. "It seems we have a response."
Breaking the seal, Adelshire withdrew the note and read aloud. Erik held his breath, listening to his own words.
"Lord Adelshire, I am most pleased and surprised by the news in your letter. I shall, however, give you a chance to prove yourself…" He paused, then continued again. "I look forward to getting to know you in the week to come. Your humble servant, O.G."
Erik breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that Adelshire had withheld an important sentence in that short note, one which read, "I shall expect you see you, if all goes well, in Box Five, during the performance of 'Romeo et Juliette', to further discuss the pressing matters you have brought up." He was impressed by Adelshire's discreetness – should the managers find out about his agreement to meet on the night of the performance, they might try to spy, or possibly call the police. Perhaps this man could be trusted…
"Well, that wasn't so difficult, was it?" Adelshire smiled at the men. Tucking it into his coat, he waved a hand at them. "You had nothing to worry about."
"I don't trust that…that thing!" Richard spat.
"Calm down, man," Moncharmin cautioned him. "There's nothing we can do now. Let's just follow through."
"If everything really does work out, I'm retiring," Richard snapped.
Erik chuckled, slipping into a secret door down the hall and walking down the passageway. "Retire after being here only a month? Tsk…Pitiful…what a relief."
~OG~
"What's New York like?" Angelique asked as she unrolled the measuring tape and got to work.
"Loud, crowded, and at times obnoxious," answered Becca. "In a way, a brasher version of Paris. But it's really quite lovely here, and I've already had the idea in mind to move here permanently. I'm waiting for some of my furniture from back home to arrive. I've got a little place set up a few streets away from the Opera House."
"How exciting," Angelique grinned, scribbling the notes on the prima donna's body type onto a slip of paper. "Where were you taught to sing, if you don't mind my asking?"
"Of course not, dearest," she laughed merrily. "I had a private tutor since I was a child, and then attended a school as I got older. There are lots of schools in New York for the arts, you see. I wasn't born there, though – I came from a state called Ohio, my family moved to New York because of my father's sudden success in business."
"That's extremely fortunate," Angelique nodded. Finished with the measuring, she set her materials aside and tentatively asked, "…are you married?"
"Widowed," she answered with a sad smile, showing her wedding band which hung from a chain around her neck. "My husband died a month after we were married. Got himself killed in a brawl…he was a drinker, it was stupid of me to marry a man like that, but God help me, I loved him…" She sniffled, accepting a kerchief from the seamstress. "Sorry, Angie – may I call you that? I tend to blubber and ramble on when I get emotional."
"Don't be sorry," she shook her head. "We've all gone through hard times and need to share our burdens with someone." She patted her shoulder comfortingly, earning a smile from the new singer. "…how would you like to give me your opinion on some designs of mine?" she offered in an effort to cheer the woman up.
"Oh, I'd love that!" she beamed when there was a knock on the door. "You go ahead and grab those sketches, Angie, I'll get the door," she winked, earning a grin from the girl. Turning about, she walked over and turned the knob, tugging the door open in the expectation of finding the managers or even Adelshire. Instead, she found herself staring into a set of serious jade eyes, startling her.
"Pardon," he said, his Persian accent thick as he spoke. "I'm looking for Angelique-"
"Hello, Daroga," Angelique waved as she snatched her papers and hurried to the door, urging him to come in. "Do come in. Daroga, this is Rebecca Anderson, our new prima donna. Becca, this is a frequent visitor of the Palais Garnier. Everyone calls him 'the Persian'."
"Do they?" she asked, raising an eyebrow in amusement. "And the term 'Daroga'?"
"A title from my old country," he informed her, taking in her form and face. "Close acquaintances call me by that name."
"Then what is your real name?" she asked, cocking her head.
He blinked, startled by her forwardness. "…Nadir," he said, his eyes widening in shock as he realized what he had done.
"Why didn't you ever tell me?" frowned Angelique, pouting at him playfully.
"I didn't mean to-" he growled, pinching the bridge of his nose as he shook his head. "Never mind. What's said is said."
"I'm sorry," Becca apologized sincerely. "I didn't mean to put you on the spot."
He waved it off, bowing politely to her. "I did not mean to interrupt, but I do have a message for...our friend," he said, knowing that Angelique would catch on.
"What happened?" she asked, placing her hands upon her hips.
"I just found out through the Comte de Changy…Christine and Raoul have eloped."