Chapter 45
I still want to call you mine, cruel one,
even though you flee from my eyes.
-L'Arianna, Act I
Tonight there were no curtain calls for the leading lady. Christine was delighted. After the bows, she flew back to her dressing-room so quickly that people stared. She knew she ought to be more circumspect, but she couldn't help herself.
She couldn't leave the backstage area in her costume; singers had lost their contracts for less. But it took all her patience to change, and, quite contrary to her usual behavior, she simply flung it over a chair, heedless of the fact that it was worth a year of her corps de ballet wages. Pierrette, she knew, would have her head for the outrage.
It was a hardship she would simply have to endure, she thought.
Attired again in Meg's green dress, she fled to a back staircase and ran to the highest floor on trembling legs.
When she reached the rooftop, painful memories washed over her of her last visit. How ironic that Monsieur Khan should choose the same place for their meeting.
This time there was no sunset to greet her. The sky was pitch-dark, but the gaslight filtering up from the street was sufficient to see, casting a dismal glow. Paris was called the Ville Des Lumières for a reason - even if all those elegant streetlamps only deigned to shed their illumination on the richer parts of the city.
When she arrived, Khan was already there, gazing out over the city. He turned round at once when she opened the door. "Mademoiselle," he said, startled by her sudden appearance. "Perhaps you would like to catch your breath…"
"No… thank you…" she gasped out after returning his greeting. The words tumbled out of her mouth in one rapid stream. "What did you want to say to me? Is Erik well? Is he safe?"
"Yes. Why don't you sit?" As she was trying to absorb this information, he took her arm and gently led her to the base of the statue of Apollo. Gratefully, she took a seat.
She looked up at him. "You are sure?"
"Perfectly." He smiled.
Christine began to weep. "Thank God. Thank God."
Khan handed her his handkerchief, waiting patiently.
"The... the Vicomte has been stealing my letters!" she managed when she had at last collected herself. "I did not know Erik wrote to me… please, you must believe me..." She trailed off, realizing, from his expression, that he had suspected something of the kind.
"Do not make yourself uneasy, Mademoiselle," he said. His French was impeccable - better than mine, she thought jealously - with only the slightest trace of an accent, and his voice was warm and polished. Not as deep as Erik's (no man's voice was as beautiful as Erik's… no, she must not think of that right now, she reminded herself sternly, or she would give way to tears), but pleasant to listen to. He would be a tenor, she thought. Even at a time like this, a part of her was always thinking of music. But not one of those awful, bleating creatures that strutted around the stage preening like roosters and threw out unnecessary high notes with every other breath. Something with a little more depth. A Heldentenor, perhaps.
She nodded, endeavoring to collect herself.
"You will have gathered by now," he went on, "that I wrote to Erik as you requested."
"Thank you, Monsieur."
There was a pause.
Christine tried to conceal her impatience as she waited for him to go on - she suspected already that he was the sort of man who did not like to feel that he was being pressured into saying anything.
She studied him, but his face gave almost as little away as Erik's mask.
His features were handsomely carved, his eyes a vivid green that contrasted strikingly with the jet black of his hair. His complexion was a clear amber.
He was tall and well-built, and carried himself with the assurance of an aristocrat, but his countenance had none of the arrogance that was unmistakably imprinted in Philippe de Chagny's.
"I received a letter this evening," he said at last.
"A letter?" Christine's heart leapt. "For me?" she asked breathlessly.
"For me-" he said.
"-Oh..."
"-But I think you may like the contents." He smiled and withdrew an envelope from his breast pocket, addressed in red ink.
"May I see it?" she asked as he held it out.
"We write to one another in Farsi - in Persian," he said, but she took it all the same - indeed, she had to stop herself from seizing it rudely.
The letters were still largely unfamiliar to her. But the handwriting, that appalling scrawl that she loved so much, was unmistakably his. Her eyes flew over the page, drinking it in.
"I direct your attention to the relevant passage," Khan said, indicating a line with his index finger. "It says - and kindly note these are Erik's words, not mine - 'Despite all my efforts to coach her, Christine remains an unconvincing actress. I know from watching her onstage that she could not convince anyone she was in love if she was not'."
It took Christine some moments to process this. "Why... then… does this mean... he knows I still love him?"
"So he tells me, yes." Khan smiled.
It was the criticism that made it seem real. Trust Erik to fit in a disapproving remark about her performances even at a time like this, she thought. Christine burst into tears, laughing and crying at the same time, and could not stop herself from clutching the letter to her heart. "Erik..."
For some moments, she blubbered stupidly, dimly aware than Khan was watching her and she must look ridiculous.
In moments, her handkerchief was soaked through. He offered her his, and she took it gratefully, embarrassed to soil the fine fabric.
"Then... then will you tell me how to reach him?" she asked at last, looking up at him and trying to collect herself.
"I must, because he has asked me to."
"Oh, thank you, Monsieur - thank you!"
"There is no need to thank me for doing my duty," he said, but not unkindly.
She nodded.
"But there is one thing I would like to ask first, if you do not mind."
"Anything." Wiping her nose, she looked up at him.
"What have you said to Madame Giry about all this?" he asked.
Christine looked at him in confusion. "What have I said to her about the night when the Vicomte shot Erik, you mean?"
"Yes," Khan said. "And afterwards."
"I told her everything. She has heard in great detail about my thoughts and feelings on the matter. Why do you ask?"
"Well," he said, "She told Erik that you seemed quite resigned about the whole affair."
Christine's blood ran cold. "What?"
"She said if you had not answered his letters, then there must be a good reason for it," he went on.
"Then... she knew Erik had written to me?" Christine's mind was whirling. "And that I did not reply?"
Khan nodded.
"I don't understand. What can this mean? I never told her I did not receive a letter from him," Christine said, trying to puzzle out the situation. After a moment, she admitted, "I confess I was too proud."
"A common enough state of mind, especially in one's twenties, I recall."
"Yes," Christine said. "I was ashamed, and I did not want her to know. I thought it would make her feel vindicated, because..." Christine froze. A chill ran down her spine.
"Yes?"
"Monsieur, she said I should not marry him." Christine's mind was whirling. A thousand things had suddenly begun to make sense.
"Ah," Khan said.
"It was months ago. But I do not think she has changed her mind. She was very firm in her opinion on the subject. She meant for things to happen this way!" Christine cried.
He nodded slowly, having put the pieces together more quickly than she did.
"After Erik said I had not written back, she ought to have at least asked me if I received his letter!" Christine cried. "That would be the natural thing to do, surely, if someone did not have some ulterior motive. Why would she conceal this from me, unless..."
"Yes, I agree," Khan said. "I do not think she would have collaborated with the Vicomte - I do not believe she is capable of that - but I am quite certain she suspected that you had not received Erik's letter for some reason..."
"-And chose not to tell me that he had written to me!" Christine finished.
"Yes."
"And she did not tell Erik what hd happened, either!" Christine felt sick to her stomach. "Did Erik ask her to tell me?" she asked at length.
"No, I am almost certain he would not. He is much too proud. I do believe if he had asked her, if she had made him a promise, she would have done it. Nonetheless, however, she..."
"Yes!" Christine said, agreeing with him. "She had information we did not, information we had a right to, and she withheld it from us! She ought at least to have asked me!" Then, after a pause, "But no, surely she would not commit such a deception... Perhaps she really did think I had received the letter and was ignoring it... perhaps she thought it best not to interfere." But she could hear how doubtful it sounded even as she said it.
"Mm-hm," Khan said, and there was a definite note of sarcasm in his voice. "You will forgive me for saying it, but from what I know of her, she does not strike me as a woman who shrinks from interfering in other people's affairs."
"No," Christine agreed. If there was one thing Mère did, it was get mixed up in other people's lives. It was one of her defining qualities. "But... but she would never knowingly deceive me," she said in disbelief. "She could not have realized what she was doing..." She trailed off. Even as she was saying it she did not believe it. No. Mère had meant for them to be separated.
"I think you give her too much credit," Khan said. "I think you are unaware of how vehemently she is opposed to your romance."
"What?"
"She did not stop at expressing her objections to you."
"What do you mean?" Christine said.
"She repeatedly tried to dissuade Erik from marrying you, you know."
Christine stared at him. Still more pieces were falling into place.
"Is that why... why he kept putting off our wedding?" she gasped at last.
"That may well be the reason. We had frequent discussions on the subject." Khan winced with annoyance. "Every few weeks I was having to reassure him that he was not doing the wrong thing by marrying you. He never came out and said it, but I had the distinct impression someone was planting doubts in his mind." He paused. "You see why I was so suspicious of you the other evening. I thought he would not have been so uncertain if you truly loved him. As much as he thinks himself unworthy of you, if you said you loved him, that would be enough for him. Provided, of course, no one else was manipulating him. I begin to think I was mistrusting the wrong person. I thought because she saved his life that he could trust her. Perhaps I was mistaken."
"How dare she?" Christine cried, hot tears of anger spilling down her cheeks. "She hurt him - I cannot forgive her for that! Expressing her doubts to me is one thing, but for her to try to dissuade Erik - she knows she has influence over him. She knows he still feels indebted to her. She knows how uncertain of himself he is and how much it would disturb him to think she disapproved of him as a husband for me! My poor Erik. How he must have suffered." Christine's face hardened. "I must go and find him myself."
"I am afraid does not want you to go to him yet," Khan said.
"What?" Christine's blood ran cold.
"There was more in the letter. He went on to say that he thinks that you and he ought to take some time to reflect."
A chill ran through her. "What do you mean?"
"He said he fears you two may have been over-hasty."
"No!" Christine exclaimed, leaping up. "What madness is that? Forgive me - I do not mean to shout. But how can he say that? Doesn't he understand?"
"I don't think-"
"-This has gone on long enough!" she cried for the entire city of Paris to hear. Fortunately, they were too high up for the city to notice. "I will not stand for it anymore! I am tired of everyone else trying to dictate how I ought to live! I will go to him, tonight if I must! I will make him understand!"
Khan raised his eyebrows, urging her to be quiet. "You cannot go traveling across Europe by yourself," he said in a hushed voice.
"I will make Mère go with me," Christine said. "Whether she likes it or not!" Then, after a pause, "What do you mean, across Europe? Where is he?"
Khan winced apologetically. "He is in Nizhny-Novgorod."
Christine lost what remained of her composure. "Nizhny-Novgorod? In Russia?"
"I know of no other."
"You must be joking!" she cried. "That is the other end of the world! It must be twenty hours away!"
"Nearer thirty, as it happens," he said.
"Nizhny Novgorod!"
"Yes-"
"-Russia! Why Russia, of all the detestable places?" Christine cried. "They were brutal to Sweden, you know - brutal. They can keep their Nizhnys and their Novgorods. I should be ashamed to set foot there."
"As a Persian, you have my wholehearted support in that sentiment."
"It is nice to see that you take a sensible view of the matter," Christine said. "As for my dear Erik - has he completely taken leave of his senses?"
"The question presupposes he had any left to begin with-"
"-Nyzhy Novgorod, I say to you!" Christine cried.
"Yes, we have now established beyond all doubt that that is where he is-"
"-Nizhny Novgorod! Nizhny Novgorod!"
"I fear you are beginning to sound like a parrot, my dear Mademoiselle."
"Nizhny Novgorod!"
"May I tempt you with some birdseed?"
Anger came naturally to some people, Christine had observed. Some even appeared to enjoy it.
She was not one of them.
Rage did not galvanize her. It weighed her down. She felt heavy and tired and unwell.
Monsieur Khan had been very good to her, seeing her safely back downstairs to her dressing-room, and not making the smallest complaint about the loss of his handkerchief, though she was sure it cost several days of her corps de ballet wages.
Happily, most of the crowd had dispersed for the evening, but even if anyone did see them together, it wasn't likely to get her in trouble with Firmin. After all, fraternizing with the wealthy subscribers was exactly what he wanted her to do. He would not mind if she was doing so with more than one of them, as long as she made sure Raoul didn't find out about it. In fact, he would prefer she was pleasing as many of them as possible. She suppressed a shudder of hatred.
Curious, she thought, how people like Erik and Monsieur Khan, who, she was rapidly coming to believe was a man of sterling character, were regarded with suspicion everywhere they went, while no one could see the evil in Firmin's heart.
The cast and orchestra had evaporated, the younger bound for the nearest watering place, the older for their beds. only the stagehands remained.
Christine liked most of them, with the exception of Buquet and a few others like him.
As a group, they were honest, unpretentious folk. they had never seen her as anything less than La Carlotta, and they did not pay any more attention to her now that she was the star than they had when she was an understudy. she found this state of affairs agreeable for a number of reasons.
When she'd gathered her belongings and signed out, Monsieur Khan had ordered his brougham for her - a discreet conveyance, as unlike the Chagnys' lavish carriages as was possible - and ridden with her to Mère's appartement.
He had been entirely discreet about the fact that she had spent the whole journey alternately trying to stop crying and trying not to start again.
He escorted her to Mère's door - on the uppermost, cheapest floor, like her own - and inquired if she was well before departing. Despite the tiredness that was showing in his eyes, she could see that he would have been willing to stay if necessary.
When she was alone once more, she raised her hand to knock. Her brief fit of furious energy had burned itself out as she rode to Mère's appartement. Now, her veins were frozen. she was a creature of ice. She was denied the satisfaction of pounding on the door. In her present frame of mind, she would not have felt at all regretful if she woke up every other tenant in the building. But she could not have them knowing something was going on, and had to content herself with a discreet, unsatisfying tap.
The ballet had not been performing that evening. But Mère kept late nights - a tendency no doubt attributable to years of waiting up for a wayward chorus-girl daughter and worrying about a certain circus escapee with possible murderous tendencies and a penchant for writing sarcastic blackmail letters - so Christine knew she would still be awake.
She answered after a single knock.
When the door opened, Christine saw that she had grasped at once what had happened.
She sighed, a sigh with all the weariness in the world. Christine perceived that a part of her was relieved not to have to keep up the deception any longer.
"I have found out your secret," Christine said as soon as the door was shut, her words flying at Mère like arrows.
"How did you-"
Christine cut her off, something she had never before done deliberately. "I do not have time to favor you with an explanation, nor to argue with you about your actions this week," she said, her voice so cold it startled them both. "I have come to tell you that I am going to find Erik. I am departing today, and I must insist that you accompany me."
"What?"
"I know - as I believe you have already known for some time - that he is in Russia," Christine said. "I have found out, despite your best attempts to keep it from me-"
"-Christine, I was not trying to keep anything from you-"
"-Monsieur Khan, who I recently made the acquaintance of, cannot take me, of course; he has his own responsibilities," Christine said. "How interesting, incidentally, that none of the three of you ever told me you were acquainted with one another til I found it out on my own. The three of you make a pretty trio indeed. I am tired of being the last person to find out about everything-"
"-Christine, this is unwise."
"I beg your pardon?" Christine cried.
"You do not know the country. You do not speak Russian."
"I sing Russian, and regardless-"
"-That is different," Mère said. "Erik should not be asking you to go trekking across the whole of Europe-"
"-Erik is not asking me!" Christine said furiously. "He-"
"-What?"
"-You have completely mistaken his character!" Christine cried. "He would never dare ask anything of me. He does not want me to come-"
"-Christine, you-"
"-In fact, he is very near deciding he does not want to see me again, and I am very much mistaken if that is not thanks to you!" A sob caught in Christine's throat, to her annoyance. It was very difficult to appear dignified and cooly superior when one was crying. It made her sound hysterical. "He thinks we ought to take some time for reflection. Do you see what you have done? And what will happen if I do not make amends as quickly as possible? I am going to Nizhny Novgorod."
"God in Heaven." Mère buried her face in her hands.
"And I am going of my own free will."
"Christine, I know I cannot stop you, but write to him first," Mère said, looking up. "Try to see if you can resolve this-"
"-Ah, now you want me to write to him!" Christine cried. "That is a sharp reversal from your previous position on the matter."
"Christine, you are angry - you are not thinking clearly-"
"-You try to tell me that I should not decide something because I am angry?" Christine cried. "Why do you suppose it is that I am angry? Whose doing is that?"
"Yes, it is my fault, and that is why I feel it is my responsibility to see that you do not do anything that might put you at risk," Mère said. "Christine, I entreat you to-"
"-You are trying my patience!" Christine cried. "After your actions this week, you have lost the right to ask anything of me."
"Christine, I am not asking for my sake! I-"
"-I have found him and you cannot do anything to keep me from him now. I am going with or without you," Christine said. "I have nothing more to say." She folded her arms and turned away.
She could feel Mère staring at her, her gaze seeming to bore into her back.
"And you wonder why I worried?" Mère said at last.
"What?" Christine barked, spinning round.
"This is exactly the kind of situation I feared you would get yourself into because of him!" Mère cried.
"How can you say that?-"
"-No, in fact, it is worse than I feared, because I always thought at least that you would act more sensibly than this!"
"What?" Christine laughed incredulously. "You tell me that I am not being sensible?"
"I don't know what has come over you, Christine-"
"-What has come over me?" Christine scoffed. "Your actions this week - I feel that I never knew you at all!- To think that you would deceive me this way-"
"-The way you are talking right now only proves that I was right to be concerned-"
"-Ha!"
"-I cannot believe you would be thinking of abandoning your contract- this is not like you, Christine-"
"-And you think that justifies deceiving me- lying to me and to Erik-"
"-What would your father say?" Mère cried. "This is not what he wanted!"
Christine felt as though a bolt of electricity had shot through her. "What?"
"He wanted to see you safe and well!"
"How dare you- how dare you bring Papa into this?" Christine screamed. She had never felt rage like this in her life. If there had been any suitability sized object near to hand, she would have thrown it. "How dare you try to use his memory against me like this? You do not have the smallest idea what he would have done in this situation - that is plainly evident! What would he say if you knew what you had done? Did you think of that?"
"Christine-"
"-He would never have lied to me as you have done!" Christine cried. "Papa would never have tried to keep me apart from the man I love! He would never have told him not to marry me!-"
"-Christine, I-"
"He would be rolling in his grave if he knew what you had done!" Christine screamed.
Mère burst into tears.
Christine quailed. She had gone too far. She opened and closed her mouth, but no sound came out.
"Every day I think of nothing but whether I have done right by you for him. I promised him I would see you safely looked after," Mère sobbed, sinking down on the sofa. "When we see each other again one day, how can I look him in the eye if I know I let you... If I did not give you the best... And Erik... he... he cannot give you that. He cannot give you safety, certainty, a future..." She trailed off, shaking her head feebly.
"Mère..." Christine said.
Mère suddenly looked much older than her forty-seven years. "Christine, I didn't know what to do! I never wanted to make Erik unhappy - I would give my life for him - but..."
Christine sat down beside her. "I... spoke too harshly," she managed at last, not meeting Mère's eye out of a combination of anger and shame. "That was unkind of me. I should not have... I did not mean to... to..." She trailed off. It was as close to an apology as she could bear to come at present.
Mère looked up at her. She seemed to see what this apology had cost Christine. At last, she nodded. "I am sorry for the trouble I have caused," she said at last. "Really, I am. It was wrong of me to keep all this from you, Christine. And I should not have told him not to marry you. I know I have too much influence over him. I should not have used it thus."
Christine nodded shakily. "Yes, it was," she said in a quivering voice.
Silence stretched between them.
"Why did you do it?" Christine said at last, wiping her eyes. "Were you trying to separate us?"
"I don't know what I was trying to do."
"Mère-"
"-But Christine, I know I could never make him stop loving you. He does still love you. I am certain of it."
"You meant to test him, then?" Christine said angrily. Still, she felt calmer. The two people who knew Erik best, save for herself, seemed in agreement that he would still love her. She tried to cling to that thought. It was something to hold on to as the world came apart around her.
"No... no... I don't know what I meant. I wasn't thinking clearly." Mère shook her head. "I panicked. I was frightened."
"Why were you frightened?" Christine demanded. "How can you think of him that way?"
Mère was silent.
"You think he is unworthy," Christine said. "I cannot forgive that."
"No," Mère said. "Not exactly."
"Not exactly?"
There was a long silence.
Mère took a deep breath. "Christine, he cannot provide you or protect you or look after you as a husband should."
"But-"
"-He can never have a normal life. He lives a shadow existence. All those times he has run from the law. that will follow him for the rest of his life." Mère shook her head. "This isn't what I wanted for you. You could never even be seen in public together. No one could ever know you were husband and wife, for more than one reason. That isn't a marriage. I fear you two will not be happy."
"We will be happy with one another."
"Yes, but what of the rest of your life?" Mère said. "It isn't right for a husband and wife to depend entirely on one another. It is unnatural. That kind of thing may sound romantic in books, but-"
"I don't think it is romantic," Christine said. "I think it is hateful and wrong, that he should be obliged to hide away all the time. And that is precisely why I am so determined to see this through. What sort of woman would I be if I forsook him? If I gave him up knowing that we love one another? If I was too afraid to stand by his side as an honorable woman should? It would haunt me for the rest of my life."
"I fear if you marry him, that will haunt you for the rest of your life as well." Mère sighed. "I wish things were different, but i cannot change the whole world's mind, Christine. No one would want anything to do with you. And I know Erik - I know he will insist on absolute secrecy, and I fear it will drive him mad. Do you you think he would stand for loving you from the shadows for the rest of his life?"
"Yes," Christine said.
Mère looked at her uncertainly. "You do? Really?"
"He spent all those years, all that time, teaching me to sing - knowing that likely nothing would ever come of it in terms of glory or adulation for him -simply so he would have a chance to see me every day," Christine explained. "All when he had not the smallest hope that i might ever love him in return." She blinked back tears.
"He told you never to marry," Mère said wryly.
"Yes, but admitted he was in the wrong to do so. I have spoken to him quite firmly about the matter, I assure you."
Mère almost smiled.
"But don't you see, he never meant to have me for himself," Christine said. "It never in the slightest degree occurred to him that it was possible. No one else could ever love me as he does, so unselfishly. If I gave him up, knowing I might have married him and spent the rest of my life with him, I would regret it til my last breath. I would never cease to wonder what might have been. I could never fully give my heart to anyone else. He has touched a part of my heart that no one else ever could. Surely you can see that. And surely you can see how happy we will be, if fate is kind to us and lets us live out our days in peace. That is worth risking anything for."
Mère shook her head. "But for what? What if something happens to him? To you? You would be quite alone. You would have no friends, no allies, no community..."
"we would not be alone if you would help me," Christine said. "The thing that would help most is to know that you will always stand by me and the man I love. That is the best way you can help me. That is what Papa would want. As long as you are always there for us, your conscience is clear. None of us can ask for any more than that."
There was a long silence.
"Then I shall endeavor to show that I will always be there for you," Mère said at last.
Christine took her hand.
Mère smiled sadly. "Christine, I entreat you, whatever you may decide to do, write to Erik first. Do not go yet. If you miss rehearsals this week, and especially if you miss the audition, it will be ruinous for you. Do not break your contract. Don't give up everything you and he have both have worked for for so long. That would hardly be an auspicious beginning to your married life."
"I cannot risk losing him," Christine said, holding back a sob. "Don't you understand?"
"You are missing the most obvious point," Mère said.
"What?"
"He specifically told you not to come."
"Yes, and that is exactly why I need to go, so I can mend whatever this-"
"-What would he say if you broke your contract? He will never forgive you if you throw away the career he has been training you for all these years. Why do you suppose he left you behind at the train station in the first place? It wasn't because he is not still in love with you."
The audition was in a week's time. Christine managed to keep herself reasonably distracted between rehearsals and reviewing her music.
When she walked into the room and stood before the panel, she sang with a passion and fire she had never found before. She could not make them give her the part - indeed, she did not want it, though it outraged her that she was going to lose it for such a disgusting reason - but she could make them look stupid for not choosing her.
It made no difference, of course. Firmin was out for her blood.
The role went to a stunning blonde Parisian soprano, even younger than Christine. La Carlotta was the alternate. Christine was in the chorus, with not even an understudy position.
Many were surprised. Christine was not.
She was delighted, in fact. The chorus rehearsals would not start until next week. These first few days would be reserved for the principals, which meant she was not needed.
That was enough time, just enough. At last she could begin to make things right.
I'm not dead! Thank you so much for reading!
