Chapter Three

It was silent for nearly a whole minute before Christine heard faint shuffling coming from the other side of the door. The knob turned and the door flung open, revealing a young woman, just about her age. Her blonde hair was tied into a tight knot atop her head and she wore a plain gray dress with an ivory apron wrapped around her waist.

"Can I help you?" she asked.

Christine took a deep, steadying breath through her nose and smiled kindly, saying, "Good evening, I am Christine Daae. I was told to ask for Madame Giry to apply for the position as a maid."

The girl eyed Christine up and down before grinning, her tawny eyes brightening. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Christine. I am Marguerite Giry, but you may call me Meg if you wish," she said eagerly and rather quickly.

"Meg," Christine echoed, pleased to see how welcome she was to the chateau.

"My mother is upstairs but she will be down very soon to start the interviews," Meg explained, stepping aside and allowing Christine to enter. She glanced at the two cases and, without a word, bent down and took them in her hands to set them on a console table. Christine did not protest as her arms were awfully tired from carrying them for so long; even the short carriage ride wasn't enough to ease the pain.

The entrance hall was far from extravagant with simple scarlet wallpaper and mahogany floor boards. There were hardly any paintings on the wall, though there were outlines as if someone removed the ones that had been in place for years. The few paintings that were left were rather beautiful pieces that looked to belong in an art exhibition. Two console tables, one of which housing her cases, sat on either side of the hall, both lacking in any decor as well. Perhaps they were renovating and needed to keep the area cleared.

Following Meg into the equally empty parlor, Christine did in fact notice the massive portrait of a sapphire-eyed feline with pale fur and a darkened face sitting atop a man's lap. Unfortunately, only part of the man, from the center of his chest to his knees, was visible. His hands, however, were very much visible, and they were large with long, slender fingers. She wondered what the rest of the man looked like and if he was the master of the house. Would she meet him during her interview?

"This way, my dear," Meg ushered, tugging on Christine's arm, breaking her attention away from the painting.

"Thank you," Christine said, allowing the girl to lead her farther into the parlor.

"Go ahead and take a seat anywhere you like and I will see about some tea for the three of you," Meg said before rushing from the room.

It was then that Christine realized that there were two other women there already seated side-by-side on one of the couches. Her heart fell to the pit of her stomach, all the hope she had was quashed as the two women were clearly older than her and surely had more experience in being a maid.

Christine settled onto the couch across from them and did her best to ignore their whispers, instead focusing on a loose thread on her sleeve. Once she had plucked it away, she smoothed down her skirts and crossed her ankles, sitting up straight to at least seem somewhat apt to be professional.

As she was admiring the few paintings, the red-headed woman caught her attention, saying, "Do you know the master of this house?"

"No," Christine said softly, leaning forward as her interest had been piqued at the mention of the man. "I have only just arrived to stay in Paris so I have no knowledge of anyone."

The ebony haired woman held out her hand, which Christine hesitantly accepted, shaking it only one. "I am Colette and this is Anna. Now you know at least two people."

"It's a pleasure to meet the both of you."

"Yes, a pleasure indeed," Anna muttered, crossing her arms over her chest. "You are awfully young. Are you certain you have the experience to keep a home this large?"

"Why yes, I have kept many–" but she stopped, unsure of how she would be perceived if she admitted to cleaning manure out of the caravans that housed the livestock. Instead, she lied, "I have kept many houses much larger than this. Have you?"

The women glanced between each other and giggled in unison. Finally, after several seconds, Colette admitted, "Believe it or not, we have never cleaned a day in our lives! We are only here to see if the rumors are true."

"What rumors?"

"Every woman–dozens of them, I might add–that have applied to be the maid here have been frightened away by a ghost!" Colette cried dramatically, clutching her heart. "It's horribly disfigured and jumps from behind bookshelves and cabinets!"

Christine gasped and argued, "There are no such things as ghosts."

They had to have been trying to make her leave so one of them would be hired and she wasn't about to give them that satisfaction. She was staying, ghost or not, she would not be scared out of a job.

"Don't catch a fright, we don't mean to scare you," Anna laughed. Then she was deathly serious and leaned forward, whispering, "Besides, we don't think it's a real ghost and we are going to prove it."

"What makes you say that?" Christine asked, truthfully very confused as to why two women who seemed several years older than her were hunting ghosts.

Anna glanced around and slid closer. "The master is said to wear a mask to hide a horrifying disfigurement."

"A disfigurement? Whatever do you mean?"

Colette shrugged her shoulders. "Some say it was an accident, but most speculate that his mother took to the bottle before he was born."

Christine dropped her head against her chest, trying to fight back the rising sense of pity within her. How horrible his life must have been when he only had a facial distortion. What of the man underneath? Was he to be cast aside and judged solely on what he looks like? That hardly seemed fair at all.

"It must be difficult for him then, to be near people who only see him for his disfigurement," Christine said quietly.

"Well no one has seen him for nearly five years," Colette explained. "Not since the grand opening of the Opera Populaire. His mask was torn clean off and by the account of one woman, he had a death's head!"

Oh Heavens, these women were brutal, Christine thought. They hadn't even met the man and they were already speculating about him through word of mouth only.

"If I were his mother, I would have ended his misery when he was a babe," Anna remarked with a smirk.

Fury bubbled up inside Christine and she shot a glare at Anna, muttering, "That's not very–"

"Good evening, ladies," a voice came from the entryway.

Christine glanced over and a slender woman of medium stature was standing just outside the parlor, her wheaty hair clipped at the base of her neck. It had to be Madame Giry. By God, did she overhear their conversation?

"Oh, it seems we have a third applicant," the woman said, smiling at Christine. "What is your name, my dear?"

She opened her mouth to answer but was immediately interrupted by Meg entering the parlor with a tea tray, standing directly in front of her mother, saying, "That is Christine! I let her in when you were upstairs."

Meg quickly set the tray down on the tea table and poured three cups, handing one to Christine, then Colette, and lastly, Anna. It was steaming and smelled better than any tea she had ever had.

"Well, Christine, it is a pleasure to have you here," Madame Giry said. "Let us get on with the interviews."