A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews (loved the letter to Santa! lol) - Merry Christmas my dear phriends! :)
Chapter LX
.
Arabella sat at the table, her cup held frozen in her hand. She stared at Raoul where he stood before the mantelpiece across the room, his somber gaze on the fire he had just stoked to a merry blaze.
"You cannot be serious." Incredulous, she set down her morning beverage on its china saucer.
"I am only relating what I have learned," he said wearily.
"But that is preposterous." She shook her head. "Surely you don't believe a word of what you just said."
"Whether I do or don't isn't the issue. I have decided this is the only manner by which Christine can remain safe –"
The door to Arabella's bedchamber opened, and the subject of their discussion emerged wearing her costume from the previous night beneath her long cloak. At her appearance, Raoul glanced at her then swiftly away, back into the fire. Arabella noted the lines of strain on her white face and the faded circles beneath her eyes. Though Christine had remained silent once Arabella had retired late in the night, Arabella sensed she had not been sleeping, and her appearance proved it.
"Did I hear my name mentioned?" Christine asked quietly.
Arabella glanced at Raoul, who continued to look into the fire, then regarded Christine with a tight smile. "Good morning. Please, come sit down and have a cup of this delicious chocolat." She poured some into a second cup. "I have developed quite a fondness for Paris's morning beverage and shall miss it whenever we do return to England."
Her words came taut and trite as she attempted to tighten the reins of conversation between her silent dour cousin and their quiet downhearted guest.
"I can stay for one cup," Christine said, "but I must be getting back soon. Rehearsals will start in little over an hour."
Arabella directed a sharp stare toward Raoul, one which this time he returned. Their silent interchange did not go unnoticed.
"That is, I assume rehearsals will proceed as planned today?" Christine looked at Raoul for an answer.
He gave a short nod. "They will go on. We managed to convince the public, namely the media, that Buquet's demise was an accident. However, there will be no performance tonight. The opera will again open to the public next weekend."
"That is a relief," Christine said, releasing a long breath. "I think we could all do with the respite."
"You won't be going back."
She set down the steaming chocolate she had just sipped and stared at him in shock. "But – of course I'm going back. Surely the police are not still investigating, if they have decided last night was no more than an accident…"
"The inspector will return this afternoon. While the press was convinced of the absence of foul play, the police were not. Neither am I."
"Then they are still investigating," Christine whispered, looking into her cup. "How much longer will it take?"
"Today. This entire week. I honestly have no idea." Raoul shook his head. "But of one matter I'm certain – it is not safe for you to go back there at this time."
She sighed. "So that's that then."
"Not exactly."
"Oh, for God's sake, just tell her, Raoul."
At her quiet outburst, both Christine and Raoul looked at Arabella in surprise.
"Most of the problems that we are currently dealing with and have dealt with for years stem from secrecy and the fear or even the refusal to speak when we should, and put matters to right," Arabella explained with no little exasperation. "Let us desist from such foolish behavior once and for all. Say what you must, Raoul, and let us go from there."
Christine looked at her oddly, drawing her brows together in slight confusion at Arabella's forthright accusations, however true they were. But she did not question, instead again looking to Raoul for answers.
"There is something you have to tell me?" she urged.
He hesitated, glancing at Arabella as if displeased, then moved toward the table. Stopping in front of Christine he pulled something from inside his waistcoat, setting it down on the table before her. Arabella watched as what little color Christine still possessed drained from her face.
"Is that yours?" he asked quietly.
Christine picked up the narrow ribbon of black silk and looked at it in dread. She pulled at the ends of her tousled hair, bringing the ringlets against her neck in a nervous gesture.
"Does it matter?"
"One of the chorus girls mentioned that you wore one like it during rehearsal, around your neck, or is that the one you wore?" When she gave no answer, he continued, "I found that near Monsieur Buquet's body. I took it before the police could find it."
She looked up in shock. "Could you not get in trouble if someone saw you?"
"Do not concern yourself with the possibility, however unlikely. There was no one near at the time, I spoke to the girls afterward - but know this: I'll do anything I must to protect you." Arabella looked down at the table upon hearing his firm declaration. "You are like family to us, Christine. I'll do what I must to protect every member of my family." At the grim determination in his voice, Arabella looked up, surprised to see that he was looking at her.
"You have always shown such kindness to me, even when I did nothing to deserve it," Christine sadly whispered. "While all I have done is cause you nothing but endless trouble." She sighed and shook her head. "There is no way to tell if it's my ribbon, Raoul. Other dancers wore them too, as part of their costumes."
He nodded distantly, staring hard at her. "Is there any reason you know of why that stagehand would have had it?"
She gave a vague shrug. "Why would I know anything like that? I imagine he could have had it for any number of reasons."
"That is not all I have to relate. He had bloody marks on his face as if he had been in an altercation with a woman and she scratched him."
She clasped her hands tightly in her lap. "That comes as little surprise. I – I heard that he spied on the chorus often and – and made himself known to the ladies. I'm sure there are many there who grew weary of his attentions." She rose to her feet. "If there's nothing else? I'm not hungry this morning, so if you'll excuse me ..."
"Christine, you must eat," Arabella urged. "There are these lovely croissants."
She shook her head. "Perhaps later. I just would like to go back to your room and rest."
"Alright, I suppose. I do have something I need to discuss with you, but it will keep." Arabella could no longer carry the guilt and must at last confess to her friend that long ago day when she had joined forces with Raoul to keep Christine's gypsy from seeing her when she was ill, at The Grange.
Raoul looked as if he wished to say more but only shook his head. "That's all I need to know for now. Go and rest."
Christine nodded and returned to the bedchamber.
Arabella watched an expression of helpless frustration cross Raoul's features.
"She's hiding something, though damned if I know what it is or why she won't tell us."
Arabella gave a sharp laugh. "Truly, Raoul? You treat her as if this is an inquisition and she's on trial, then question why she distrusts you with any secrets she might have?"
"Better I do the questioning than the gendarmes! If only we could return to England, but I dare not risk it," he muttered.
"You believe there is that much danger for her here?"
"What I believe is that the Phantom is stalking Christine..."
"What?" Arabella let out the word in a nervous breath, looking at him in shock. "I seriously doubt that -"
"...And that the ghostly fiend is also behind the death of the stagehand," he continued emphatically, as if she'd not spoken. "But he will not get away with it. I'll see to that!"
Arabella blotted her lips with her napkin and rose to her feet, taking Raoul by surprise with the suddenness of her act.
"You are going somewhere?" he asked.
"I need to send a message to Lord Cavendish and cancel our luncheon appointment. In light of all that has happened, and with Christine staying with us, it doesn't seem suitable to keep it."
"You've been seeing a great deal of the Marquis this week."
"I should think you would be pleased. Is that not one of the duties that Uncle has appointed to you? To find me a wealthy and titled husband?" She moved forward and patted his cheek then walked away. "If all goes as well as I expect, Lord Cavendish will be contacting you in the near future to ask for my hand."
"Is that what you want, Arabella?" he asked quietly. "You wish for him to be your husband?"
She shrugged, refusing to show her true feelings. "Why not? He's as good as any."
"The man is likely three times your age and certainly old enough to be your grandfather!"
She turned with sardonic grace at his disparaging tone. "Does it truly matter? I'm not getting any younger, as you so considerately pointed out the night we left England, and let's face the facts, Raoul. If not for my dowry, my prospects would be slim. I am not what one would call becoming, I am wont to speak my mind and interfere where I should not, I despise being controlled, and I take sinful pleasure in dancing the ballet in an empty ballroom. Not exactly traits a nobleman looks for in a wife, but Lord Cavendish is also rather unconventional, and I believe he would be willing to overlook them. Especially if I can give him an heir so that his line does not die with him."
He flinched at her candid words. "You love him then?"
Her chin lifted, her features grave, a sad shine coming to her eyes and making them glimmer like precious silver.
"No, Raoul. I don't know him well enough to love him. Nor do I think I ever shall. But love is never a significant issue in marriages for our kind, is it?"
She swept out of their suite, her head and shoulders held high.
He watched her go, clenching his jaw in provocation. Snatching up the ribbon of black silk he stared at it a long moment, then crumpled it in his hand and stalked to the hearth, throwing it onto the flames.
.
xXx
.
Time, in all its exasperating tenacity to cling viciously to each second before letting the next emerge, was progressing forward with the diligence of an apathetic sentry. It kept her bound to this luxurious prison, her soul and heart weeping in a state of frightful urgency for the freedom to do what her heart told her she must.
All she wished was to be elsewhere, in a cavern far beneath the earth. How odd, when she had always preferred the light and feared the shadows that masked the unknown. But without him near, the daylight was more frightening than the darkness, the days a darkness unto themselves, no matter how brightly the sun shone.
This was a darkness that shadowed the soul.
Christine stood at the French doors of what had become her most recent prison and stared avidly into the nighttime sky across the peaked rooftops at what little she could see of the opera house. The Phantom had come to her once in the black of night. Perhaps he might do so again.
He had also come to her another time, as Erik, and she had never known it ... until two days ago, when a dark secret came to light, and it too, cast a shadow on her heart. Upon learning the truth of Arabella's foolish interference, she now despised the woman she had come to consider as close as a sister, refusing even to speak to her.
It was the third evening of her internment in the de Chagny hotel suite, and she felt frustrated that she had no ongoing knowledge of what was going on at the theatre, and more specifically, with Erik.
The little the Vicomte would tell her failed to satisfy, and his cousin promised she would visit in the morning to discover what she could, likely in an attempt to rectify what harm she had caused. But nothing could undo the past. After having confessed in a few nervous sentences that she had lied to Christine that long ago day at The Grange - and Erik had actually come to visit her while she'd been ill, but was ordered to leave and never return - Christine felt betrayed. Raoul, she could more easily forgive though she was furious with him as well – but he had never masked his ill feelings with regard to Erik. She had confided in Arabella, thinking of her as a friend!
Arabella's pathetic defense of her vile act had been that she'd kept her silence to protect Christine, agreeing with Raoul at the time that Christine's gypsy was dangerous and could impede her recovery. Little did she know the course such deceit would take – that had Christine but known Erik made a valiant attempt to see her – even coming to the front door of the manor and demanding entrance – she would never have stayed those five weeks away from him at The Grange, and she and Erik never would have fought that last day together on The Summit ... But there was more. In her high fever, she had not dreamt his presence at all. He had been there that first night - risking capture to break into the bedroom where they took her, only leaving when he realized she could be better taken care of at The Grange until her recovery.
At this moment, all these past four years, they could have been living a life together, creating their music, raising their children. Christine never would have suffered so harshly and Erik never would have gone to Persia and lost that part of himself she now felt so desperate to reclaim.
Where was he now? Was he safe? Had they caught him?
Christine felt impatient to learn what she needed to know and dashed away a tear with a hasty brush of her fingertips. She scowled at her impetuous curiosity, which lately more than ever had proven to be a curse. Her insistence to learn all of Erik's secrets had brought about his morbid confession. It was still inconceivable that such horrific words could possibly be true, that Erik, her Erik, was a murderer. Not once, as she was, or even accidentally, but many times over and with malice. Countless times - he did not even know the exact number! And yet, though she adamantly wished to disprove such a terrible revelation, the truth had been apparent in his indifferent stare and icy-calm words. The awful truth that reverberated on and on in her mind throughout the sleepless nights and trying days. The same truth he had told her after abducting her, that first time they had talked beneath the earth. Indeed, he had never hidden that he was a murderer, even boasting of it as if it were something to be esteemed. Then, she had thought him only a stranger, the terrible Phantom of the Opera, and it had not affected her so much ...
But it had been no stranger - it had been her Erik!
Dear God, what had happened to him?!
Christine hugged herself, rubbing her arms briskly, though the cold air she could sense through the closed panes was not the source of her sudden chill.
She had spent the majority of hours alone, barely slept, scarcely ate, stiffly refusing each of Arabella's quiet offers for company, in order to think through all of what occurred, to try to come to terms with what should transpire compared to the inevitability of what must be.
And in the confusion of her mind's meanderings, one truth stood out with crystalline clarity:
Despite the horror of what Erik had become, her feelings for him had not altered one iota. She wanted him as much now as she did before receiving the bitter truth of his malevolent actions.
A woman with sense would walk in the opposite direction – no, she would run that way. But Christine clearly had no sense where Erik was concerned. He laid claim to a part of her soul that would forever be his. They had shared far too much in recent months, and too much history throughout all of their years together. She had given him everything, and could cut him out of her life no more than she could cut out her own heart. The latter of which would surely cause the least amount of torment. In making her choice, she, too, would be guilty, in doing what she must to aid and shield him from all those who meant him harm. She was already guilty…
And her heart was torn from that realization, completely ripped asunder.
According to his harsh confession, three nights ago in this room, her childish folly of bygone years had led to the near complete emotional destruction of his character, and she hoped it wasn't too late to somehow piece together what shards remained. Though he had unfeelingly proclaimed his unthinkable deeds, in his beautiful golden eyes she had beheld a quiet sorrow, as if his soul masked his true feelings and he was not as indifferent as he proclaimed – his smug revelations an act played out on an invisible stage and performed to deceive her. The silent, harrowing years had caused great strain between them, but she could still see into his heart, which was not all black. And it was that inkling of humanity left that Christine desperately wished to nurture.
The task might very well cut her to the quick, the months he had held her below proof of that, but she could not give up her dream to be with Erik now. She could not! She had not suffered all those years without him, thinking him dead, only to find him alive and again let him go. She would do what she must to protect his secrets and his whereabouts, even lie for him ...
Just as the Vicomte so often lied for her.
The reminder of Raoul's steadfast loyalty brought little comfort, when she presumed that she understood the reason he went to such great lengths to help her. And she feared that his feelings had not changed.
Raoul told her yesterday that the police wished to question her, curious about her absence the night of the murder, and he informed them she had taken ill shortly before the opera's opening act, and could see no one. He had assured them she had nothing to do with the situation, even going as far as to say that Arabella had been with Christine the entire time. For the moment the authorities were appeased, but she wondered if that would last.
A light knock at the door pulled her out of her solemn reflections.
"Christine? May I come in?"
She let out a quiet sigh to have her solitude interrupted and stepped away from the balcony doors. She had no wish to talk to anyone right now, but at the same time was anxious to hear any news he might bring, though did find it odd that he would enter her bedchamber.
"The door is open," she replied.
She watched Raoul enter, bearing a cup and saucer in his hand.
"Arabella mentioned that you barely touched your meal again. I thought you might like a cup of this liquid chocolat my cousin is so fond of. If she had her way, this would replace every other beverage on the menu in Paris – likely in England as well."
Despite his lighthearted greeting, the tension between them remained as palpable as it had been when he brought her up to the de Chagny suite of rooms three nights ago.
By routine, she took the cup and saucer with a half smile she forced, held onto the china a moment, then set it down on a small table by the window.
"Have the police finished with their investigation? Did they find anything new?"
Christine asked the same question she did whenever he returned from visiting the opera house, and just as he had on each of those occasions, a mildly exasperated look crossed his face before he turned from her to answer, this time looking out the window.
"The gendarmes are taking their time, going over every inch of the theatre. With the manner in which the rope was wound around Buquet's neck, they are sure it was murder, though of course the public still believes it was a clumsy accident, with Buquet getting caught in the ropes. I was finally able to convince the inspector that you know nothing with regard to the situation. They no longer seek to question you."
The news marginally brightened her outlook. "Then I shall be able to return to work soon?"
His smile disappeared. "I don't think that's wise."
"I don't see any reason to stay away any longer. And I certainly don't want the managers to come to prefer my understudy as the lead." Worse yet, for Carlotta to return and seize it.
"Don't see any reason?" he repeated in disbelief. "The fact that there is a murderer on the loose at the opera house, and you very well could be in danger if you return has escaped your knowledge?"
"Raoul, I'm in no danger."
"In the immediate moment," he countered stubbornly. "And I intend to keep it that way."
His grim tone caused her to regard him warily. "What do you mean, you intend to keep it that way?"
"I have considered the matter – you're not going back there again."
She gave an incredulous little laugh. "Of course I'm going back. Don't be silly."
"No, Christine, you're not."
At his obdurate stance, she shook her head in aggravation.
"But - what of the opera?"
"You did say they have an understudy. They will not unduly suffer when they reopen in four nights, once this unfortunate business is finally behind us."
Christine blinked, the harsh memory of her last lesson with her teacher in the chapel coming back to haunt her. Erik had been angry and distrustful of the Vicomte's motives, and Christine had actually defended him.
"I made an agreement, Raoul. I cannot go back on my word!"
"If you persist in this and act accordingly, then I will have no choice but to order your release from the opera."
Her eyes opened wide in hurt disbelief. "You can't do that …," she whispered, knowing the managers looked to him and he very well could. "You know how important the opera has always been to me, ever since I was a child at my father's knee, listening to him play his violin and speak of his glory days, performing for kings and queens."
Seeing the stubborn set of his jaw did not alter, she hugged herself and turned, slowly walking back to the balcony doors. She dully stared out the glass into the dark night.
"It has long been my dream to sing on stage. I lost everything that mattered to me, even a reason for continuing to exist, but I found hope again here in Paris, at the opera. I rediscovered my dream – and now you wish to deprive me of it, to seize it from me again?!"
Her thoughts went to Erik and how even in his plot for revenge against her, unmerited as it was and the reasons for which she still did not fully comprehend, he had brought her to embrace her hidden desires once more. Had stirred within the embers she thought long dead and again made her soul soar - with him, with their music ...
She could not let Raoul do this to her and leave her with nothing yet again!
He came up behind and clasped her arms below the shoulders. "I don't mean to upset you, Lotte, and I certainly have no wish to deprive you of anything - but someone has to look out for your welfare since you don't seem to care to do so."
She stiffened her spine at the old endearment that now seemed like a claim he tried to foist upon her – in keeping her a little girl in constant need of aid and supervision. She fidgeted and turned in the narrow space allotted her between the window and her hopeful protector, who stood close. Too close.
With a gentle but firm push of her hand, she forced him a step back.
"No, Raoul, that is not your place, and I am not your possession."
He winced at her frank reply. She did not wish to hurt him, despite how he always had stood between her and Erik as a barrier, in the past and in the present, both knowingly and unknowingly, but the words needed to be said.
"I appreciate all you've done for me, in helping me to flee England and putting your own reputation and safety at risk to do so, but this is where it ends. I would like to maintain our friendship, if it even can be salvaged after all that's happened, but not at the cost of sacrificing my dreams. And I ask that you reconsider your decision to discharge me when I return to the theatre, for return I will. But no matter what you decide, I'll not stay in this hotel one more day than I must."
He regarded her as if he'd never seen her before then faintly shook his head.
"Christine, be reasonable, what will you do?"
She lifted her chin, determined to keep her resolve strong. "I have made friends at the opera house. They will advise me. If you go through with your threat, then I will find other work in Paris, with the hope that one day in the future I can again take the stage."
"If it is only the singing that matters so much, there are other cities and opera houses. I could investigate into the matter."
"No, Raoul - this is not your decision to make, and I will not leave Paris. The city has become my home and here I will remain."
He shook his head in confusion.
"Christine, what has come over you?"
He could not know that she fought to stay close to the Phantom he was so sure would harm her, and he could certainly never learn the identity of her masked lover.
"I only want you to understand my feelings on the matter. You cannot order me to do your bidding like one of your servants or the staff here at the hotel. You don't have that kind of control over me."
"I don't think of you as a servant, Christine." He sounded wounded. "I never have."
"And I can be no more to you than a friend," she stressed gently. "Nothing has changed."
He did not look surprised or bothered by her words and Christine hoped that her earlier assessment was wrong and perhaps his heart had been pulled in another direction.
"A friend looks out for another's friend's best interest – that is the extent of what I'm trying to do for you. I had great respect for your father and perhaps I do feel an ... inclination to watch out for you, having had two years' experience when you lived at The Grange and relied on us for everything. I care about your welfare, and it is difficult to so suddenly let go of that responsibility, since you have again sought us out for help, help I gladly give. But I was never trying to control you, Christine."
"Then you will reconsider terminating my employment at the opera house upon my return?"
He blew out an exasperated breath and studied her determined features.
"It really means so much?"
"Yes. It is my lifelong dream, as I told you. My father also wanted this for me."
He narrowed his eyes in thought. "Perhaps we can come to some sort of arrangement, one that will allow you to fulfill your aspirations and give me peace of mind."
Christine tilted her head suspiciously. "I'm listening."
"You may sing in the opera, without interference from me, if you will agree to visit the opera house only for practices and performances. You will not live there, but at the end of each work day you will return to the hotel. I'm not convinced that you're in no danger, and I do not wish you to spend one more night under that roof. Call it control if you wish, but I'm concerned for your continued safety and as the sole patron in charge of the opera house, I'll not bend on this matter."
Exasperated with his persistence to believe her life to be in jeopardy, but realizing the nugget offered her was the most she would receive, at least for now, she knew when to concede. She was willing to agree to almost anything in order to return to the opera house, and to Erik. Now that she had at last reached a resolution with regard to what must be done concerning their relationship, she had no desire to spend another day away from him.
"Very well, I agree."
"And you will be accompanied at all times by Arabella, Meg, or Madame Giry in attendance."
"Raoul - really!" She let out a frustrated breath. "That is too much. Besides, your cousin might have other plans. She's been busy of late, with her new gentleman friend."
His mouth turned down in a grimace. "I am certain that Arabella would be willing to change her plans if it meant the continuance of your safety."
Knowing it would be useless to point out again that she wasn't in any danger from the Phantom and never had been, she looked at Raoul closely, sensing his irritation was twofold and did not only concern her well being. The thought pleased her.
"She has been keeping time with Lord Cavendish a lot lately, hasn't she?"
"I hadn't really noticed."
By his evasive answer Christine was certain the opposite was true and he had noticed a great deal.
"Perhaps you should concentrate more on what's going on with Arabella and not be so concerned about me, when there is no need. Take her out to dinner and talk with her."
"And if I were to follow your advice, would you slip away from these rooms once we left?"
She scowled. "Then I am no more than a prisoner here?"
"That sounds rather harsh. Think of these rooms as your sanctuary."
"A sanctuary is designed to bring a welcome feeling of peace. But I have not ceased to feel uneasy since I left the opera house, and that won't change until I return."
"I have told you my conditions."
"Yes, but think of it! I cannot possibly work well under such absurd conditions, if I'm never to have a moment to myself. I will surely go mad..."
How in the world was she to find and talk to Erik if she was constantly being shadowed?
He chuckled, making light of her distress. "Christine, I believe that you're making too much of nothing. It won't be the difficulty you think it."
He took hold of her shoulders and brought her slightly forward, bending down to kiss her cheek.
.
xXx
.
Concealed within the darkness at the front of a closed shop, the Phantom stood across the street from the hotel and stared in an agony of disbelief toward the third story where two silhouettes of a man and woman stood visible from the balcony window of a bedchamber he recently had visited. He had watched the Vicomte's cousin exit the hotel with an older gentleman and knew to whom those shadows belonged.
The taller shape bent to the shorter one, moving close in a kiss. The woman did not pull away at once, though to her credit, seconds later she did.
The Phantom's heart felt bruised, his hand closing hard around the rose with the note he had thought secretly to leave for Christine, and he threw it to the ground with a vicious snap of his hand.
He had foolishly shared with her the truth of his past crimes and frightened her into running back into the arms of her wretched Vicomte. Her continued absence from the theatre should have been enough to convince him, but he had needed to witness the truth for himself.
If not for the gendarmes posted around the hotel, he would make another little visit to his runaway bride. Yet he could not risk capture a second time. There was too much at stake.
He had acted against character and tried to be selfless, to give her back to the daylight, but they had gone too far beyond ill-fitting noble gestures. She had repeatedly sought him in the shadows and he had at last heeded her call. After his dark confessions of murder, he may never gain her love as he wished, but he would settle for intimate companionship, since it was more than he thought ever to know from her, and with the memory of their last kiss burning on his lips, she still seemed eager to experience it...
If not for the interfering Vicomte, who stood in the way.
The Phantom closed his eyes in angry determination. A storm was brewing, the moment to act most assuredly would come, and he had fostered an idea to hasten its arrival. Having had a coveted taste of the stage and the gala and the music she so adored, she could not resist its allure for long.
She would return -
The fire had been lit in her blood ...
He had planned and waited for more than a year to bring her to him. A little more than two weeks more would hardly matter -
And Christine would forever be his.
xXx