"Gaston! What are you doing?"
Meg felt her legs go weak when she saw Amelia Barineau. Her hands flew to her mouth and she sank to the floor the moment Gaston released her. The shock and horror in Amelia's eyes suddenly changed to something much harder. "What are you doing in here?" Amelia demanded, her voice frighteningly calm. She knew she was done. If Gaston didn't put her and her mother on the streets, Amelia definitely would. "What are you doing in here with her?" Meg cringed at the sound of the clear disdain in her voice.
"What are you doing here?" Gaston shouted, leaving Meg forgotten in the corner, at least for the time being. "You're supposed to be home!"
"And you're supposed to be in London!" Amelia shot back. "You've been gone for weeks! You couldn't bother to send word so I came looking! I needed you Gaston and you were off with your little slut!" Meg clamped her hands over her mouth to prevent herself from speaking and making the situation worse as her presence seemed to have been forgotten for the moment, but she longed to scream that Amelia was wrong; she'd never willingly put herself in this position. But Meg noticed a large bruise on Amelia's face. What had happened to her?
He grabbed Amelia's arm and pulled her close to him so their foreheads were touching, his face contorted with rage. "What I do is none of your business," he hissed.
"None of my business?!" Amelia screamed. "I'm your wife!"
The fighting between the couple grew more intense as Meg stayed as still as she could, forgotten in the corner. Both women flinched as Gaston raised his hand, but instead of hitting his wife like they both thought, he simply pushed her away. "You'll do as you're told and you are to stay away from the Populaire."
"Why? So you can have your way with the entire corps du ballet?"
"Because I am your husband and you are to be obedient to what I say!"
Meg flinched as Gaston grabbed the back of Amelia's neck and marched her out the door, still shouting at the poor woman. Once she was certain they were gone, Meg wrapped her arms around herself, pulled her knees to her chest, and began to sob. She was doomed. Nothing short of an angel would protect her from the wrath of the Barineau couple.
The sound of soft footsteps drew her attention. Meg looked up and was met with a pair of shiny black boots. Looking further up, she saw a man dressed in black eveningwear, with a stark white mask on his face and a noose in his hands. A gasp escaped her lips and Meg tried to back away from him, but she had nowhere to go. "I have no intentions of hurting you Miss Giry," the Phantom said, extending his free hand to her. "I simply came to make sure you were unharmed."
"I'll live," she replied, furiously trying to wipe away her tears. She gave another cautious glance at his Punjab lasso. "Hopefully."
He stretched out his hand a little further. Meg hesitantly accepted, and he helped her to her feet. "You know Miss Giry, Monsieur Barineau is lucky his wife got to him first, because I can assure you Mademoiselle that had I gotten to him first, or if he ever comes near you again, he'll not see another day."
"That's well and all Monsieur if I were going to have a position here after that."
The Phantom began to chuckle, which surprised Meg. "Miss Giry, do you really think that I would allow that fool to send away one of the most talented prima ballerinas this place has seen in years, not to mention your mother who is one of the best ballet mistresses in France, if not Europe. No Miss Giry, you have my word that you have nothing to worry about."
Meg was confused. This wasn't the Phantom of the Opera of the stories. She had been onstage the night they performed Don Juan Triumphant, the night he had kidnapped Christine and destroyed the interior of the Populaire. That man wouldn't care about a single ballerina would he? "There are some lines even a monster such as I would not cross and it's despicable that someone ever would," the Phantom said, seemingly reading her mind.
"Please Monsieur, don't tell my mother," Meg begged. "She's already so stressed dealing with the reopening, and if you're telling me the truth, I don't want her to worry unnecessarily."
He nodded. "Very well Miss Giry. But I shall be keeping an eye on you to make sure that this never happens again."
"Wait Monsieur!" Meg cried as he turned to go. The Phantom turned around to face her again. "You had something to do with Madame Barineau returning didn't you?"
"I haven't the foggiest idea what you're talking about Miss Giry."
"She hasn't been at the opera in weeks and suddenly she magically appears right when and where I need her most with you right behind. Am I supposed to believe that you had nothing to do with that?"
The Phantom just smirked. "I think that you're supposed to believe that today is your lucky day because Madame Barineau just so happened to be nearby and that I know everything that happens in my opera house." Before Meg could question him further, he turned and with a swish of his cape, he disappeared without a sound. It was then that Meg realized that the only reason she had heard his approach was because he chose to let her. She was touched that he had decided not to frighten her even more. But she couldn't help but wonder if he truly had something to do with Amelia's miraculous appearance.
The tension between the Barineau couple was palpable the entire carriage ride home. "How long have you been back?" Amelia asked through clenched teeth.
"That's none of your concern," Gaston snapped, clenching his fists to control his rage. He had never physically hurt Amelia before, but it was taking all of his willpower not to do it right now.
The carriage lurched to a halt before Amelia could respond. The moment the driver opened the door, Gaston grabbed her arm, pushed her out of the carriage and forced her into the house. "Welcome home Monsieur and Madame," the servant who opened the door said warmly, clearly blind to Gaston's rage. "How was your trip to London? I trust it was pleasant for you both?"
Gaston immediately rounded on his wife. "'Both?!'" he screamed.
Amelia cringed at his shouting. "I haven't been home since the Masquerade either," she admitted.
"And why the hell not?" Gaston hissed. "Where have you been?"
"Raoul was right," she replied evasively. "The Populaire has brought us nothing but trouble."
"What are you talking about?"
She opened her mouth to say something, but suddenly her hands shot up over her ears and her legs buckled, sending her to her knees. The servant rushed over and quickly helped Amelia into a chair. "Are you alright Madame?" he asked.
"I...I don't feel well." Her face was deathly white as she closed her eyes and her whole body tremored slightly.
"Where have you been?" Gaston repeated even more forcefully this time.
His wife raised her eyes to meet his gaze as she stopped shaking. There was something different about her. She seemed much calmer than she had before she collapsed. "Gaston darling, as I told you I would before the masquerade, I went to visit Raoul."