A/N: Thank you for your fantastic reviews! (note: because the word "a capella" was "alla capella" in this time period, I used the archaic spelling. Also it made for easier reading at that point.) And now…
Chapter XL
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Once Christine tidied herself and exchanged her dress for a clean one, she retraced her steps to the Phantom's chambers. In her head, she repeatedly went over how she should phrase her dinner invitation, tossing aside every idea as too informal or too verbose. Wondered also when she should broach the subject, dithering on whether to do so at once or to wait until after her practice ended.
To do so at once would just as swiftly calm her nerves over the matter of issuing the invitation.
To wait might help ease her nerves, but it could also very well cause her to lose her courage.
She straightened her shoulders in affront at the wayward thought, pressing her lips together in determination. She was no coward! And certainly she did not fear the Phantom. Once perhaps, in the week she first arrived, but no longer…
Another curious truth in the hodgepodge of those that made no sense.
The matter was summarily ripped from her control upon seeing his grim expression at her entrance. "We have lost precious time, Madame, and tonight I will need to cut the practice regrettably short as I have business to attend above. Come now. Do not dawdle. Take your place for Act III."
With her carefully framed selection of an invitation crumbling to dust in her mind, Christine hid her disappointment and quietly moved to her spot.
He had explained the blocking procedure that would be expected of her on stage, training her here in his lake chamber to stand where expected at each moment of the production and never drift out of her tight circle. Remembering the near fatal end of La Carlotta and the falling statue, Christine took such directions seriously. She doubted he would topple any of the scenery on her own head if displeased, but ballet dancers had strictly choreographed steps and she wouldn't wish to stray into their path and cause a collision.
"From the top if you please," he instructed, stepping away from his organ and down the stairs to join her.
Since last week, once she learned the songs with the music he played, he often dispensed with the instrument so as to scrutinize her portrayal of her role while she sung alla capella.
He stopped her midway through the first verse.
"Keep your mind on the opera," he barked. "Cease to daydream. It is clear your mind is on other things."
Other things, yes. Such as what business had arisen to produce his need to end her practice early, the very idea that he would do so shocking. She had thought nothing, save for the world's utter destruction, would preempt the longevity of her practices. Not when each day he stressed what little time they had left for her to learn and excel. Nothing to him was more important than the business of his opera. His task must be life threatening indeed to cause him to end practice early - not that it was any of her concern. She would welcome the rest, he had been working her so hard of late.
"Why are you frowning?" He interrupted her disparaging train of thought, and she lifted her eyes from the restless water to his face. "Aminta is eager to meet her Don Juan in the orchard. You look as if you're preparing to visit your own execution."
"My apologies, is this better?" She smiled, baring her teeth at him.
He threw down the sheaf of papers he held with an angry whisk of his hand. They flew across the stones in a wash of bleached parchment.
"Must you fight me in every damn thing, Christine? Can you not simply do as you're told without rancor, or must we forever engage in these fruitless battles?"
The unexpected sound of her given name coming from his lips, even growled in anger, caused her heart to give a little lurch, but outwardly she remained unaffected. Reminded of her prior decision and the farfetched hope for amity between them, she clenched her jaw tight and gave a curt nod of assent. She didn't know what had happened between now and the end of morning tea, when she spied him being playful with Jacques, but the surly beast was evidently in residence again.
"Gay and frivolous. Understood. Shall I start over, Maestro?"
"Please, if you would be so kind." He inclined his head in polite mockery.
Biting back an equally sarcastic retort, she achieved what she hoped came off as a blithe expression. He grunted something incomprehensible but waved his hand for her to continue.
Her curiosity got the best of her. "Did you say something?"
A trace of amusement that had heretofore been missing flickered briefly in his eyes and at the corners of his lips. "Only that when you put your heart into it, you are a most sublime actress, Madame."
She narrowed her eyes at him, the complimentary words sounding suspiciously like a decided insult.
A truce, she reminded herself. This steady quibbling to and fro was getting them nowhere. In that matter alone she acknowledged a shared mindset.
Three times he stopped her for what she felt were inconsequential matters, but she bit the side of her tongue and bore his criticisms. How on earth could he tell how she breathed or whether she did it through her diaphragm or not when he stood that far away? Her singing sounded no different, certainly not "constrained" as he scolded. But she stood even taller, retaining the carriage he'd taught, though now her actions felt stiff and unnatural as she raised her arms to the sky as per the libretto.
Congratulating herself when she made it more than halfway through the aria without interruption, her elation deflated at his sharp reprimand to stop.
"Oh, what is it now?" she allowed her frustrations to escape in an irritated whine.
Crossing his arms, he stared down his masked nose at her from the step above. "I'm sorry, was there somewhere else you needed to be?"
"Not I," she mumbled beneath her breath.
"Pardon?"
"Not at all." Her smile came stilted. "However I cannot think what it is that you have to complain about this time. My breathing and posture were correct, since my spine feels as if it might break in two its stretched so taut. The notes sounded pristine to me, pure and clear as a bell, and I smiled until my cheeks ached while I stood in my blocked circle - so what in God's name did I do wrong this time?"
"Precisely that. You stood."
"Pardon?"
"Per the libretto, you are to be walking."
She blinked. "Yes, led by Don Juan. Since he isn't here to hold my hand and lead me, do you wish me to hold my hand out and make believe an invisible actor is doing so?" She ended her words on a little scoffing laugh of disbelief, but he didn't look at all amused.
"Yes…" Something flickered in his steady eyes, noticeable even from that distance, something that put her instantly on her guard and made her heart give a sudden jolt. "But perhaps it is too much to expect you to portray your character as she is meant to be played, without someone opposite to guide you."
He spoke the words quiet and slow, though they seemed to resound madly within her mind as he matched his pace with his words, moving down the step and toward her. She took a measured step back, hardly aware she did, and stared up at him with wide, uncertain eyes.
He came to a stop within reaching distance and held out his hand.
"I…"
"Cease with the personal dramatics, Madame." His tone did not increase, in fact grew softer. But the hard glint in his eyes gave away his displeasure at her betraying act of nervousness. "You must learn to captivate the audience not only with your voice, but also with your supposed affection for your lead. No matter the identity of the man to whom you will be paired, no matter if you possess a strong aversion to him for whatever reason, when on stage you must convince all watching that he is the mate of your soul…the one who breathes life to your heart and gives it the will to beat."
His dark, emotive words made her mouth go strangely dry, his voice like rich velvet, sensual and deep. Without a second thought she placed her hand in his, palm to palm.
Tingles of fire spread along her arm as he curled his thumb and two fingers about her wrist, his other fingers resting warmly against the underside of her forearm. She loosely wrapped her fingers against his hand, never breaking contact with his mesmerizing eyes, but could no longer remember the words to sing.
"Could you…where should I start?" she whispered.
"Where you left off."
Frantically Christine tried to remember when he interrupted her, not wishing to admit her mind had become a blank. She blinked a few times then closed her eyes in concentration. For once, the winds of good fortune sent a faint breeze her way as the lyrics materialized in her mind. She smiled in relief and began to sing as he began slowly to lead her from one side of the staircase to the next.
Familiar with the layout of his home the Phantom rarely watched his progress, walking backward and keeping his eyes fixated on her. His heart lapsed a beat to see the natural smile that so suddenly lifted her lips. This smile came freely, unfeigned, reminding him of bygone days together on the moors…
Christine felt a sense of lightheadedness, as if she walked on air, paying little attention to where he led. Transfixed by his compelling golden eyes…
He glanced over his shoulder and turned slightly to take the first stair. Mindlessly she followed his graceful ascent, her hand trembling in his as she realized he led her to his bedchamber. Upon hearing the waver enter her voice he did not command that she stop and begin anew, only ending their slow walk at the same time her song concluded.
They had stopped at the foot of the bed, but he did not release her hand. Did not move. Did not even speak for several fractured breaths.
Though it was scripted, she watched in awe as he lifted her hand to his lips, his fingertips tracing a path of sparks to her wrist as he brought her hand upward. She gasped at the sensation that made her go warm inside throughout all of her body, but before his mouth could make contact with her skin, something attacked the bottom of her skirts from behind.
Christine gave a muted shriek, snatching back her hand in the process and stepping sideways. Quickly she scanned the ground to see a dark blur of fur dart beyond the bed. She looked back at her teacher whose expression was grim.
"That was an improvement," he said gravely.
"The cat," she explained, hoping to forestall his ill temper. "I was frightened. That is, it frightened me."
"Faust enjoys the game of stalking prey."
"Mozart knows I am hardly his prey."
The discussion was foolish, but it helped to ease the strange tension that had built between them ever since he'd taken her hand and led her spellbound, like an enchanted maiden being sensually coerced by the dark lord of the castle.
No, no longer a maiden and hardly an innocent in ways that counted, no matter that she'd never lain with a man. Though in what seemed another lifetime, she almost did on one stormy day…
Frissons of tiny shivers raced along her spine at where her mind wandered and the thought of again rehearsing the song and all that went with it. Unconsciously she backed up a step, rubbing her arms.
"It's rather cold." She winced at the inanity of her statement. It was always cold in these dark caverns. His eyes seemed to burn into her, scorching her to the bone, and she looked away.
Frowning, the Phantom observed his protégé, doubting the chill was the cause of her actions. He dearly wished to know what troubling thought now burrowed in her mind, certain it had to do with him.
"The weather has taken a turn. There is a brisk chill in the air that settles onto the lake from an opening above." He watched her take a few steps to the entrance, shifting her head and shoulders to try to see the rock ceiling of the main lake room, which had no such aperture. A grudging smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "In the other chamber. Your bath chamber window looks out onto that part of the water."
She turned her head so sharply to look at him, he imagined the pain that must burn along the side of her neck as she winced and grabbed it. Her entire face grew rosy with a flush.
"Are you alright?" He studied her curious behavior.
"Yes, I…" She fanned her face with one hand as if now too warm. "I turned too quickly."
"Would you like to sit for a moment and rest?"
Her eyes darted to the bed behind him then away again. "No, I-I'm fine. Really."
"Then we should proceed."
"The same song?" Her eyes were huge, anxious pools of startled brown.
He withheld a weary sigh. "No. We will take up where Don Juan leaves Aminta to attend to affairs in town," he said brusquely. Clearly she did not desire his touch again. Nor did he wish to extend it. "Continue."
"Here?" She looked at her surroundings in mild alarm, as if she'd never once visited his bedchamber or had taken up residence in it for over a week.
"It hardly suffices as a garden, but it will do." He crossed his arms over his chest in impatience. "Come, come, Madame. I haven't all day." He pointed to a chair. "That will serve as the bench upon which Aminta sits when the young gypsy finds her and tattles about what she's seen."
Her brows lifted with a faint hint of amusement. "And will you play that role in this practice as well?"
"Of Don Juan in the arms of another woman?"
She frowned at him. "Of the girl who speaks the truth to Aminta."
"You feel the need for a prompt with that as well?" Intolerance lay heavy in his tone.
"No." She briskly shook her head, winced again and touched her neck, then sat heavily down in a rustle of skirts.
The emotion of joy had not been her strong suit earlier in the lesson, but she managed jealousy and offense well, allowing the inflection of pain and anger to waver mildly in her tone without damaging the overall presentation of the song.
All too soon the time arrived for his departure and he announced an end to the practice, which at least had progressed more smoothly than before.
Again in the main lake chamber, Christine looked at him uncertainly while toying with her bandage. He noticed red spotted it and frowned.
"You should change that. You'll find more linen in the kitchen."
"Yes, alright." She glanced down at her mummified finger then at him. "Would it be alright, since Jolene hasn't yet returned, if I…if I made dinner while you're away?"
The question surprised him. "You have to eat, of course. Try not to burn the place down in my absence."
She glared at him and a sudden thought occurred. He took several intimidating steps toward her. This time, she did not flinch.
"I want your word that you'll not attempt another escape. I will remind you of your last pathetic effort and its near tragic results. This time, I won't be here to see to your rescue."
"There's hardly a point anymore, is there?" she lashed out, her words as soft and terse as his own. "I married you, didn't I!"
The declaration came out as an accusation, the words themselves engendering a sudden intimacy that made her go warm all over a second time.
"What does one have to do with the other?"
"I kept my word, damn you! I made no attempt to escape then."
He narrowed his eyes. "Yes…However, should you change your mind and attempt to leave - and by some stroke of luck escape all my traps - should you ever go back on your word - then be assured, Madame, I will no longer abide by mine."
Her angry frustration gave way to curious dread, though his tone made his intention clear. Still she could not refrain from seeking clarification.
"Meaning?"
"I will kill the Vicomte. And any other interloper who gets in my way."
A film of tears rose to her eyes. "Why must you always be so bloody hateful?" Her words came out in little more than a whisper.
"I never feigned to be noble."
"But you give no mercy - none whatsoever."
"I gave into your plea to save that wretched boy!"
"Only at the price of my freedom!"
His lips twisted in a snarl. "I have no time for this."
Before he could fully turn to go, she clutched her skirts, taking a step forward.
"Why did you marry me, monsieur?"
"We have visited this subject before. Nothing has changed."
She furrowed her brow, unsatisfied with his response. "But - what is it that you expect of me in the role of a wife." He stared so hard she had trouble breathing. "I-I mean, am I to launder your clothes? Cook your meals?"
He waved an impatient hand. "Jolene takes care of that."
The reminder did nothing to alter her dour mood, instead darkening it further.
"Then you do eat. How remarkable. I had begun to wonder."
He glared at her. "I am no true phantom, as you have seen, Madame. Even a monster needs sustenance to survive." His smile was wicked. "Be thankful that I don't bite the heads off small children for breakfast or eat ill-tempered young divas for my main course."
"You are one to speak of an ill temper, monsieur!"
He lifted his brow in mockery. "Did I call you by name?"
"I hate you," she seethed under her breath.
"I expect nothing less."
He stepped closer. She stood her ground.
"Rest assured, Madame, nothing need change as far as our personal lives are concerned. You were a means to an end. I have achieved my purpose."
His words flowed like silk but she smarted from their sting. She lifted her chin and glared at him.
"What personal life have I in this tomb? To eat and sleep and sing?"
"Precisely."
"And you, monsieur? Will you go on as you have before?"
"Meaning what?"
At the curious hesitation in his voice, she realized what she had just so snidely said. Dear God, surely she would not have questioned him about his notorious liaisons with other women! She bit the unwelcome accusation from the tip of her tongue. She did not care who shared his bed or met with him in dark corridors!
"Nothing - I meant nothing."
His expression hardened again. "Be slow to speak if you do not know your own mind. And never say to me what you do not mean. I prefer your sincere abhorrence to lies that flow so glibly from a forked tongue."
He hissed the last words, their echo reverberating in her mind as some of the last words Erik spoke to her, and in that same tone. She had said she hated him, too, and she was still paying for that mistake. Forever would she reap the consequences of false words rashly spoken to soothe her injured pride.
"What is the matter now?" He looked at her suspiciously.
"Nothing."
Feeling suddenly weak, she brushed away with her fingertips the moisture that trickled beneath her lashes and stepped back, stumbling. His hand reached out and grabbed her arm to prevent her fall. She righted herself and wrenched from his hold.
"I bid you, leave me be!"
At her strangled plea, he released her as if he could no longer bear her company.
"As you wish, Madame. You loathe the very sight of me. Everything is as it should be. Nothing need change. Nothing ever will change. Nor was it meant to…"
His last words came more hoarsely, when suddenly he pivoted on his heel and exited through his bedchamber.
Christine stared after him, a hopeful flutter of curiosity trumping her inexplicable despair.
He had sounded as if he tried more to convince himself of his declaration rather than express what he thought her feelings were in the matter. Nor was it the first occasion he had done so, since the night she had come to his lair.
She had been unwilling to tell him that he couldn't be further from the truth, since every word she uttered he assumed a lie.
Why should he believe her when she could scarcely believe it herself?
.
xXx
.
The Phantom was so overwrought by his encounter with Christine that at first he failed to notice another presence inside the cavern, near the exit to the world above.
His objective had grown muddied these past weeks, the need to remind himself of his true purpose in bringing his tempestuous songbird to his underground domain a continual necessity. Yet there was no excuse for such a total lack of awareness that could one day lead to his capture and demise, and he silently cursed this tangled web of unwelcome emotions and the exasperating woman who caused them.
Thankfully, the interloper yet remained unaware of his presence.
With measured stealth he slipped up behind the cloaked and hooded figure, wrapping his arm tightly around their middle while clapping one gloved hand over their mouth. A woman, he instantly realized by the narrow waist beneath his sleeve and the strangled feminine gasp of surprise against his glove; slight in carriage, but too tall to be Jolene.
He held his captive against him, surprised when she did not struggle but remained perfectly still. Even if she were to scream, no one would hear from above, and with that knowledge he lowered his hand from her mouth, wrapping it around her throat. Not so strongly that she couldn't breathe, but firmly enough to issue a warning.
"Why have you hunted me out and trespassed inside my caverns?" he said quietly near her ear. "Who told you how to find this place?"
He had no need to ask. In angry disgust, he already knew the answer. Only Jolene would have known to tell her of the hidden door covered by a tangled growth of shrubbery, in the opposite direction of the door to the Rue Scribe where he'd taken Christine. Only the foolish French slut would know of the key buried beneath a rock to enter the door, and the lever fifteen feet into the cave that one must pull to avoid a trap, for the trespasser to have come this far.
When she gave no reply, he continued, "I have killed men who so foolishly dare to cross the threshold and enter my domain. Yet you dare take the risk. Why?"
Arabella willed her heart to stop pounding so fiercely. Having met Jolene by happenstance that morning, in the company of Giselle, Arabella had not waited to act. Jolene had been surprisingly helpful, eager to share what she knew of Christine's captivity, including directions to enter this underground cave. With Raoul absent, Arabella had seen no reason to detain her mission to seek out her dear friend.
Now, held tightly against the full length of her captor, she sensed his whipcord strength, his soft leather encased fingers that pressed casually against her skin no mild threat. His words were gently fierce, his voice sensual and seductive. Without even seeing him, he emanated a dangerous but captivating quality that left her feeling weak inside. After recent stories she'd heard, she entertained no doubt who held her imprisoned in his grasp.
"You are the one known as the Phantom of the Opera."
The Phantom knew surprise at the controlled calm of her statement, noted also that she spoke with no French accent.
"Yes, mademoiselle." When she offered no further reply, he insisted, "Having been apprised of that knowledge, you do not fear me?"
"If you meant to kill me, you would have done so already."
"Can you be so sure?"
She had spoken with conviction but was unable to withhold the tremor of uncertainty in her voice. The woman was no fool, did not believe her own words, but she had shown extreme bravado or utter recklessness to seek out his dwelling alone after hearing of his exploits, of which the Phantom was sure many above were quick to inform her. Which description fit his captive, he was uncertain. But he had no time to unveil such mysteries.
"Why have you come here?" he demanded again.
"To see Christine."
He narrowed his eyes in derision, the identity of his intruder now apparent. "You are the Vicomte de Chagny's cousin, I presume?"
He sensed her shock at the manner in which her body tensed against his. "You know of me?"
"I know everything that goes on inside my opera house…"
"Your opera house?"
"…And I will not tolerate your family's continued interference, here in my abode or above in my theatre," he continued as if she had not spoken. "I have spent the past three years rectifying the damage the former managers caused with their pathetic excuses for portraying the arts. I will not have some young upstart with no proclivity for or understanding of the opera intrude and demolish all that I've created. Nor will I have that ignorant boy sneak through these caverns in order to rescue a damsel who is in no need of rescuing. You may tell your cousin that, in case his recent visit to my dwelling has so soon escaped his memory."
She was silent a long moment and he wondered if he had paralyzed her mind with fear. Good, and good riddance. Perhaps the Vicomte told her of his experience with the water trap.
"What of Christine? Is she then your prisoner? Did you abduct her from the dressing room as they say you did?"
She sounded unperturbed, even cross, and he felt a small degree of grudging admiration at her pluck. He had supposed her as weak as all the de Chagnys, having truly glimpsed this woman only once, the tragic night of the ball…the same night that forged the beginning of Christine separating herself from him.
He frowned. "Christine is well."
"That doesn't answer my question."
"She is not chained to the wall and is free to move about at will."
"But she is not free to leave this place?" He didn't answer, and she insisted, "I wish to speak with her."
"That is not possible."
"Why? If she is free? Why did you take her to begin with? What has she ever done to you?"
At the harsh memory of those bitter days, the tide of anger swept through him and he was hard pressed to keep his identity secret. This cousin of the Vicomte's was partially responsible for turning Christine against him. Damn the intrusive noblewoman, she deserved to suffer too.
"Tell me what you've done with her! If you have harmed her in any manner -"
He tightened his hold around her throat. She gasped, both her hands clutching his arm but failing to pull it away.
"I think you are under the misconception that I am like other men, mademoiselle. While I most certainly am a beast, I have not harmed one hair on Christine's head, nor do I intend to. Continue to annoy me with your wretched insinuations and the same cannot be said for your own fate. Do I make myself clear?"
She gave a brisk nod.
"Excellent. This conversation is now concluded. When the time is right she will return above to join you. That is all you need to know."
At the muffled gasp his unwanted captive made and the feel of her fingertips digging into his sleeve in a frantic effort to pull his arm, her other hand clawing around his glove, he loosened his grip. He had no intention of killing her, had never directly killed any woman or child. But neither did he want her to ever entertain the idea of returning to his caverns once he let her go. The need to instill such fear was necessary to that purpose.
"You will return her?" She faintly rasped the words, sounding surprised.
"I have said it."
"But why take her to begin with- ?"
Her persistent question was cut off at the distant melody of Christine's angelic voice coming suddenly to them from a fissure high in the wall. His intruder turned her head swiftly in that direction.
"There you have your answer as to her well being." The Phantom noticed that his pupil practiced the aria from the third act, when Aminta confided in a peer of her plan to shyly confront Don Juan, in retribution for her injured vanity - to force him to fall for her charms and ultimately surrender his heart, so she could then scoff at him and break his.
"She's singing." Sheer disbelief mixed with wonder lay thick in the trespasser's tone. "She's actually singing."
"Yes," the Phantom responded warily.
"But why?"
Why? Her question confused him. However, he had no time for a long discourse and no further patience to withstand her wearisome inquiry. "You will learn the answer soon enough. At present, you are interfering with my plans for the evening -"
Christine's song came to a rapid close mid stanza as she let out a bloodcurdling cry. The Phantom's heart froze in terror, partially thawing when he heard the almost instantaneous sound of her bubbling laughter.
"You dare sneak up behind me with a goblet of water, young lad?" Her words were a faint echo but clear enough to be understood. "Well then, let's see if you would like some of the same!"
More of her easy laughter followed, interspersed with gay little shrieks, and the Phantom winced, wondering if on his return he would need to clean up the spoils of another food battle.
"You have a child there, with Christine?" his irksome trespasser whispered in dumbfounded amazement.
The Phantom scowled at her rash words, when shrewd silence would have been a far wiser course.
The imprudent Lady de Chagny had discovered too much.
He had no choice but to act accordingly.
.
xXx
A/N: Oops. Arabella seems to have found herself in a very bad situation. I wonder what the Phantom will do... (cue the Gothic music)
And yes, we are getting close to one of those "long awaited moments" judging by reviews. Actually two of them. That's all I'm going to say.
0-:-)