Chapter 16: No Compassion Anywhere
The Opera House was in a chaotic pandemonium.
Even under the careful eyes of the gendarmes hired by Monsieur LeFevre, Piangi continued to claim his innocence, leaving him little choice but to bar the entirety of the staff from making a hasty departure.
Within moments after being carried off stage, Carlotta was met by a doctor in the privacy of her dressing room, leaving behind droplets of blood that trailed from the center stage in her wake.
Nervous staff awaited news of the Prima Donna's condition crowded in the hallway before the door, hushed murmurs and whispers the only sounds that were heard. Others shared accusatory glances as the distant sounds of appalled patrons echoed around them as they filed out of the auditorium.
Meg and Élodie listened in from several floors above with the other members of the Corps de Ballet who had been looking on from behind the curtain, bearing witness to the miraculously quick actions of Christine.
Christine, Christine, Christine.
Her name was upon everyone's lips.
"Who could have done such a thing?" A quiet voice piqued the two ballerina's attention from behind them. "Could it be the Opera Ghost?"
Meg turned to face the young girl of fifteen with an uncertain look. "I don't know, Sorelli. Something doesn't feel right about this, there's no note!"
"No note?" Sorelli pulled at the bands that held her hair in a tight bun, the golden tresses spilling over her shoulders. She fiddled habitually with the band nervously, the pitch of her voice rising in question. "What do you mean?"
"At the very least we would expect a warning," came Meg's wary response. "Just as Monsieur LeFevre receives a note shortly before he is to receive his monthly salary".
Élodie hummed amusedly. "I believe this is the first time you're not blaming the Opera Ghost for something, Meg".
Having spent many years of her life living within the Opera House, she had become well acquainted with the dealings between her mother and box five, keeping a trained eye for sudden movements during every rehearsal.
Most of the staff, especially the Corps de Ballet, would vouch that she was the most superstitious of them all, especially considering their belief that her mother was, in fact, in league with the Opera Ghost.
A question even Meg herself couldn't answer.
Nevertheless, there was a meticulous ritual to the ways of the Opera Ghost, and there was no tell-tale calling card proclivity that would've warranted the brutal action against the Prima Donna but the intent of cold-blooded murder.
She was swiftly pulled from her thoughts when the Doctor stepped out of the dressing room, addressing the crowd with a wave of a hand and an upward curve at the edge of his lip.
As if it never happened, everyone scattered away, leaving the silhouettes of Monsieur LeFevre and Madame Giry speaking in hushed tones behind a column.
Meg quietly grasped the elbows of the two beside her and they silently crept down the stairs, peeking and eavesdropping from around a nearby corner.
"Are you sure we should be-"
Élodie held a finger before her lips. "Hush, Sorelli!"
They listened intently to the exchange between the Ballet Mistress and Manager.
Madame Giry leaned against a nearby wall outside the dressing room with an impassive expression, paying no mind to the surrounding staff that lined the long hallway.
Rather, her eyes occasionally flickered to her daughter and the other girls from the Corps de Ballet, who loomed over the banister above with interest.
Words of praise of her charge were exchanged in all directions, and she could not help but push back a surge of pride.
On that distant day she had escorted Christine from Calais, it took but one look upon her to see that there was no denying that she wore her heart on her sleeve, and had so much to share.
Christine had made her protectiveness of her family abundantly clear with a ferocity no one dared challenge…except the Prima Donna.
Despite the animosity betwixt the two, Christine was the first to her side, saving her life, an action even she herself couldn't begin to grasp.
It seemed almost otherworldly to be faced with such a skill coming from Christine and surely others shared the same thought.
Madame Giry had prodded the Corps de Ballet to move upstairs, clearing an efficient path for the gendarmes to escort Signor Piangi from the stage.
Everything seemed a blur after that, with all the staff surrounding her, until she was caught by the arm and whisked away by Nadir, murmuring only Christine's name.
Upon opening the door to an isolated office on the other side of the theater, she was welcomed to the sight of Christine in a chair behind a desk, her head slumped on the hands of the Opera Ghost.
Through the slit on the masked side of his face, she was cognizant of the gaze he looked upon her with. His glassy hazel orbs had flickered to her, then back to Christine, rousing her from the uncomfortable position she sat in.
She and the Opera Ghost had a mutual understanding and dissatisfaction pertaining to how the theater was run, seeing that it was also their home they held the conditions in high regard.
The arrangement was simple. He pulls every string and she in turn delivers the remuneration issued by Monsieur LeFevre.
Madame Giry may not have scorned her at that very moment, but she made her censure evident on her expression, and they pulled apart.
But the moment those poignant, frantic emerald eyes met her stare, her motherly instincts had risen to the surface, consoling her as best she could.
Christine's strong resolve she had kept up for two and a half years had all but dissolved, revealing that terrified young woman who had no outlet for bereavement.
Despite her opinion on the matter, Christine was adamant about departing for Calais that night, whether it be alone or chaperoned.
She had turned to her Maestro, begging to take Caesar until she castigated her with a firm reprimand.
And then he stepped behind her, his deep voice reverberating around them as he pledged to look after her.
A man and a woman alone in a house. Unmarried, and unchaperoned.
She detested even the slightest thought of what could take place in that isolated house by the sea but found herself to be ever the slightest at ease when his hand came to rest on her clavicle and she didn't waver or bat an eye in response.
Begrudgingly, she gave Christine her blessing, but it was not without a threat to the masked man behind her. A threat she would surely follow through on should anything happen to her.
Should he do anything to her.
Of age or not, Christine was just as much her daughter as Meg.
After ensuring they were off, she reconvened backstage where she currently stood awaiting the final condition of the Prima Donna.
In the corner of her eye, she made out the form of Monsieur LeFevre pushing past the crowd, striding in her direction until he stood before her stiltedly.
With a dip of her head, he began. "Madame, have you any idea where I can find Mademoiselle Daaé?"
"That depends Monsieur," Madame Giry clucked her tongue. "May I ask what this pertains to?"
The manager shifted his hands behind his back. "The gendarmes are looking to question her about her actions tonight", he lowered his voice.
Her head tilted slightly in confusion. "Actions? Miraculous as it was, she saved Signora Giudecelli's life. What more could they have to question her for?"
The blood seemed to drain from Monsieur LeFevre's face, and he inhaled sharply. "Madame, you may find that inquiry is better left unanswered".
Taking a step closer, she tapped her cane harshly against the ground, her brows knitting and a scowl crossing her features. "Christine Daaé is my charge. I am entitled and privy to anything the gendarmes wish to communicate with her. So I ask again, Monsieur, Why do they wish to question her?"
"They are formulating a belief that this was staged between her and Signor Piangi, that both would benefit should the Prima Donna have died upon that stage tonight. An accessory to attempted murder". His hand came to rest on the side of his temple, and he sighed deeply.
Madame Giry staggered where she stood, grasping the cane to the point where her knuckles grew pale under the iron grip she held. Distantly, she could feel her heart rattling in her chest. "Monsieur LeFevre, you know this not to be true! Christine would never, she could not possibly do such a horrendous thing!"
Monsieur LeFevre held his hands up in an attempt to assuage the situation. "Which is precisely why the gendarmes must interview her so they can rule her out", he held his hands before her pleadingly. "Now you must tell me where Mademoiselle Daaé is".
Realization began to set in, and her heart plummeted. Oh, God…
"Madame Giry?"
"I cannot, Monsieur!" Her composed nature deteriorated, eyes flickering to the Manager.
He raised a questioning brow. "Pray tell, why not? Surely you understand the importance of this urgent matter!"
"Becuase I sent her away, Monsieur! Christine Daaé left moments before you barred the doors!" Shakily, she leaned against a nearby column.
Monsieur LeFevre shook his head belligerently. "Do you comprehend the severity of this situation, Madame? Have you lost your mind?" He paced around, fingers drawing at his chin, before perking his head up. "I must inform them of this blunder…"
"You mustn't!" Madame Giry reached out, gripping the sleeve of his coat. "Monsieur LeFevre, do you understand will happen when the gendarmes hear of this?"
"I don't know, Madame. But I can imagine that nothing good will come to her following this incident", he told her solemnly.
In her absence, time was of the essence. An idea began to float its way through her mind.
"Christine is already suffering at the moment. Their formulations will only further distress the poor woman". Maintaining her grip, she pulled him close to whisper to him. "Notify them in a quarter of an hour. I shall send an advisor for her immediate return".
"I'm afraid I cannot do that, Madame. They are on me like bloodhounds", he tilted his head in the direction of the two that stood outside Carlotta's dressing room down the hall. "The moment I walk away, they will request Mademoiselle Daaé's whereabouts".
She eyed the gendarmes and nodded, raising her voice to a volume that the gendarmes could listen to. "I'm sorry, Monsieur LeFevre, but I've not an idea as to where Christine Daaé could be. I'm afraid you'll simply have to ask someone else", she gave him a stern look and they parted opposite ways.
What have I gotten you into, dear child? God help me.
There was only one person who could help her now.
Meg slammed the dormitory door shut behind the two ballerinas who trailed in behind her, all sharing horrified glances as they were too stunned to speak.
Élodie anxiously paced the floor whereas Sorelli clambered upon Meg's bed and Meg onto Christine's. There was an eerie silence as the three processed what exactly they just witnessed.
Christine, the very one who had stood up for them all against the woman she had saved, was accused of being an accessory to intentional injury.
"Unbelievable", little Sorelli murmured. "This is all but an absurd canard. Surely they don't believe Christine would ever do such a thing…" She shook her head indignantly.
"Where was Christine before the show? She was not backstage was she, near the propmaster?" Élodie looked over to Meg, whose head sat slumped in her hands.
"She was with me, in here, then we both went to the stage together, to the barre", came her muffled voice. "But you both saw, for we were all performing together for the rest of the show. Christine was nowhere near the propmaster!" Meg told them cogently, looking up to reveal the discernibly smeared black makeup around her eyes.
There was a pregnant pause before they both nodded.
"That's right. So then we must ask the propmaster if anyone came within reaching distance of the table set for the final act!" Élodie said adamantly. "We must do this. For Christine. For our best friend. After all that she's done for us".
"But there are gendarmes everywhere!" Cried Sorelli, whose hands flew out to her sides in a panicked motion. "It is of no question that the propmaster is speaking to them at this very moment. How would you suggest we do this? We will find ourselves in an uncomfortable situation should we be caught".
"Then I suggest we plan accordingly and not get caught, Sorelli. Do you intend to help us?" The two women looked to the younger ballerina in question.
Sorelli nodded, and Meg didactically ushered them over with a crook of her finger, and they took a seat on the floor in front of the bed.
"Here's what we'll do…"
Madame Giry hastened in her steps as she retraced her steps back to the far side of the Opera House, a deluge of worry and dread culminating within her.
Although she and Monsieur Reyer denigrated and consistently backbit at each other, there was little to trust that he would not give away the details of their conversation.
But even if he did, it would be in the best interest of the gendarmes to question her, detracting the attention from Christine.
Striding down a dimly lit corridor, she swung open the office door Christine had occupied but an hour ago, finding the oil lamp to still be burning on the desk.
Quietly closing the door behind her, she turned to Nadir, who knelt on the ground hunched forward, his head grazing the floor and his hands placed flat beside his head in prayer.
In the alleviating atmosphere in the room, she allowed herself to release the suppressed shudder that had crept its way up her spine.
Her normally composed nature crumbled, and she fell collapsed in a heap into the armchair behind the desk, elbows leaned against the desk and her head falling into her hands.
"A simple knock would have sufficed, and been greatly appreciated, Madame Giry…" he spoke in a formally crisp tone. But as he stood and turned to take in her appearance, all formalities quickly abandoned him.
"Allah above, Antoinette!" He appeared at her side, deft fingers pulling her hands from her face to reveal her creased features. "What has happened? Are you hurt?"
Madame Giry shook her head and swallowed dryly. "Nadir, I fear I have made a grave mistake, sending Christine away with him".
There was a sharp inhalation from him. "Are you concerned about Erik's intentions with Mademoiselle Daaé?" He gave her a knowing look. "I may not fully support their esoteric relationship, but I can assure you that Erik is a gentleman and-"
"A valid concern, Nadir, but that is not the most pressing one at the moment".
He raised a skeptical brow in response as she continued. "The gendarmes are looking for Christine to question her, but by now she is far from Paris".
"Can we not make a statement representing her?"
"They believe her to be an accessory to tonight's events", she elucidated, her voice wavering.
"That is preposterous!" He eyed her indignantly with unbridled disbelief.
"Indeed", she muttered bitterly. "But now you see? Once they gain word of this, it will only further incriminate her, and I fear the repercussions she will face should she not make a hasty return".
Nadir groaned in agreement, and his finger restlessly tapped at the desk.
"You were once a Daroga, Nadir, and you understand the severity of the situation, and that is why I must ask if-"
"If I can bring her back. Is my assumption correct?"
There was an overwhelming sense of guilt that gripped her, and she slowly nodded. "They have barred every door. We are the only two who are aware of the exit that leads to Rue Scribe besides him. If I were the one to go, they would take immediate notice of my absence. You, on the other hand…"
Nadir stood resolutely, and in a firm voice told her, "I would not be interrogated. Easily circumvented". He heaved a long sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Christine is residing in Calais at the moment, correct?"
"Escorted and consigned by Monsieur le Fantome himself", she attempted to keep a demure tone.
A pressure built on her hand, and she glanced down to discern that he still held her hand in his, and she diffidently pulled it away.
Nadir looked down and there was a slight stutter as he said, "My apologies, Madame".
He continued on, "Contrary to popular belief, the Phantom does what he does out of necessity. But the man inside, Erik… he is just as human as the rest of us. He cares deeply for Christine, I've seen it with my own two eyes", he placated to ease the disquieting tension, but he remained earnest in his words. "There is nothing he wouldn't do for her".
An ephemeral chuckle slipped her lips. "I told him should anything befall her, I would garrot him myself".
Nadir laughed heartily at the irony. "A perfectly reasonable reaction". His hand fell from his face. "Where precisely in Calais will I find them? I know the way to the city, but I wish to not draw attraction to myself and them by requesting the villagers for her residence".
"I trust you are familiar with the long road that stretches from Paris, then? You must heed the fork in the road and veer right into the forest. It will take you straight to the valley with the village below. In the clearing, you will see the house by the sea, nearing the precipice of the cliff bordering the sea. There you will find them", she intoned.
He took her hand once more, bringing the back of it to his lips. "Christine will be protected at all costs, Antoinette. I swear it. Do not fret".
Her lips curved upwards ever so slightly reverently. "Thank you, dear friend".
Dropping her hand, he made for the office door, hand resting on the knob. It was not without a parting glance that he said, "Please be careful, and keep an eye on Meg. I can't begin to imagine how she fairs with her friend having suddenly disappeared".
And with that, he was gone, leaving Madame Giry to ruminate on her next course of action.
I pray her return is swift and safe. What have I done…?
Sorelli discreetly peeked from around a nearby corner outside Monsieur LeFevre's office, where a gendarme stood rigidly, bayonet in hand.
The distant muffled cries of Piangi could be heard from behind the guarded door, the guard heeding no attention to it.
Much to her chagrin, she stood tremulously with abject anxiety as she remained out of direct eyesight, and her mind replayed the plan they had set in place.
For Christine. For Christine.
Gathering her equanimity, her pointe shoe swiftly pointed out before her, stepping into the candlelit hallway, laying down a comportment of desperation and terror upon her complexion.
She ran to the guard, gripping the thick material of his coat sleeve between her pale fingers, tugging him away from the door as false tears brimmed at her vision.
"Monsieur, come quickly! I believe I have just spotted Christine Daaé. Oh, God! I was so scared, Monsieur surely if there is a person who attempted of murder they shall target her next!" Sorelli cried, internally praying her acting was believable enough the disquiet the gendarme before her.
And thankfully for her, the gendarme stiffened, twisting his head to glance down both ends of the hallway. "One minute, Mademoiselle. That is all I can spare. Show me the way".
Sorelli kept her grip on him and broke into a sprint, dragging him away from the door. "Please hurry Monsieur! I fear for her life! Oh, Christine!"
Meg held her breath as Sorelli and the gendarme darted past her as she stood behind a column.
Once they were out of sight, she hurried to the office door and twisted the knob, closing it quietly behind her.
There, huddled on the floor in the corner of the room was Signor Piangi. His body was wracked with sobs, the sounds muffled against the material of his costume.
In a frantic whisper she called out to the lead tenor and he looked up to her, eyes wide and bloodshot.
"Mademoiselle Giry, you are not supposed to be here! Leave now, before you are discovered!" He insisted, shifting to push her away.
Meg easily blocked him, defensively holding her arm up before her. "I must know, Signor, were you aware of the switch? Who attached the knife to your belt before you went onstage? I must know!"
He shook his head. "Do you honestly believe I would take the prop had I known it was a real dagger? Oh, God, my beloved Carlotta. You must tell me, is she alive?" His hands came together as if in prayer. "Tell me!"
Her reassuring hand fell upon his shoulder. "She is alive, but will not be returning to the stage anytime soon. Have you any idea who would do this, or what would impel them to such a drastic thing?"
Piangi stood up, pacing the room at a panicked pace. "Anyone, Mademoiselle Giry. It does not fall upon deaf ears to know that most people hold incriminating animosity. But one must be vengeful, have such a malediction that would drive them to murder".
"But who attached the dagger to your belt? Was it the propmaster?" Meg persisted, her voice cracking.
Three raps on the door sounded behind them and she twisted her head to make out Élodie's figure through the blurry glass.
"You must tell me now, Signor Piangi, I beg of you!" Her voice raised sharply.
"It was a woman. She donned a brown bustle and a pin cushion strapped to her wrist", Piangi stuttered, a hand dragging itself down his face as he recalled the vague details. "Hair like midnight and eyes resembling sea glass".
Another three percussive raps sounded.
"I must go, but I will find the miscreant responsible for this!" She seethed out her vow, turning to leave.
"Why do you involve yourself in this quagmire?"
Meg paused reticently. "Your lives are not the only ones at stake tonight".
Opening the door, she quietly slipped away, grasping Élodie's hand and racing down the hall to hide behind a nearby column.
The tell-tale pitch of Sorelli's voice echoed with what they might add were very convincing sobs.
"I apologize, Monsieur. It seems the day's events have left me frightened", came her timorous voice.
"Completely understandable, Mademoiselle", the gendarme vindicated, peering into the room, ensuring the lead tenor remained.
Sorelli sniffled, and the two women took their cue, racing out from the darkness with their arms outstretched to her.
"Sorelli, where have you been?"
"You are as pale as a ghost!"
The young girl leaned into the arms of Meg and Élodie, prolonging the charade. "It was horrible, absolutely horrible!" She wailed, wrapping her arms around them.
Élodie's eyes flickered to the gendarme, who simply nonchalantly stared ahead, stoic in formation.
"Let us retire for the night, then. This has all gone over our heads", Meg urged softly.
The two nodded solemnly and saw themselves safely to the dormitories.
The bedroom door had not even been fully shut when Élodie said, "What did you learn?"
Meg raised a careful finger before her lips as the door closed, moving to her bed. "He said a woman who wore a pin cushion attached the dagger to his belt. Would either of you happen to know the names of the seamstresses or costume designers?"
They both shook their heads.
"Alright… He gave me the description of the woman, though. Brown bustle with black hair and eyes resembling sea glass. Does any of this ring a bell?"
There was no response from either of them and Meg groaned, burying her face in her pillows.
"It has been a trying night. Perhaps it will be better if we continue our investigation tomorrow. No sleep will do us no good", Élodie told them.
"I agree", Sorelli said through a long yawn.
They neared the door and Meg told them as they walked out "Sleep in here with me tonight! I do not wish to be alone".
And they did, returning several minutes later in their chemises. Sorelli grasped a small bin of candles while Élodie held several pillows and blankets, setting up the makeshift bed on the floor.
"I shall join you".
Meg pulled the mattress off her bed, as well as Christine's, forming one large bed for all three.
Sorelli lit several candles, strategically placing them near the door, window, and other dark corners of the room untouched by light.
Pulling back the covers, they huddled together, with young Sorelli in the center and the older girls on the opposite sides.
There was a knock at the door, and for a moment, their breath's hitched, Élodie quickly grabbed the nearest blunt object, a candelabra.
Madame Giry walked in, and the object loosely slipped from her hand onto the bed, and she receded under the covers once more.
Meg sat up. "Maman?"
"I wished to check on you. However, it appears you are in great company", she glanced at the two beside her daughter.
There was an uncomfortable silence that settled over them, an unspoken question hanging over them until Meg summoned up the courage to speak those words.
"Where is Christine, Maman? Please tell me she is alright…" She shuddered as her mind filled with such discomforting notions. "I cannot bear the thought of it".
Madame Giry knelt by the makeshift bedside, cupping her daughter's cheek and wiping away a stray tear.
"Such an admirable compassion. I reckon you both feel the same", she briefly glanced over before flickering her eyes back to her. "Christine has gone to Calais with her tutor, you need not fear. She is in the safest hands possible".
Meg and Élodie gasped softly, repeating the words with immeasurable surprise.
Christine is not just in safe hands, but expert hands, Meg chortled to herself.
Madame Giry planted a kiss upon her temple before standing, hand brushing the smooth fabric of her dress.
"Madame, have you a clue who the perpetrator could be?" Came Sorelli's hesitant inquiry, but was quickly met with a negative shake of her head.
The familiar sound of cane meeting wood snapped their attention to the ballet mistress. "Bar your door tonight, ladies, and do not leave this room until morning. Are my instructions clear?"
"Oui, Madame", they replied in unison.
Élodie, with the help of the others, brought the center nightstand to rest below the doorknob at a tilted angle, effectively barring the door.
They found themselves curled close together under the warmth the blankets provided, the flickering candlelight in the darkness of the room lulling them to restless sleep.
The Opera House was quiet when they awoke the next morning, and like any other day, they dressed and filed down to the kitchen, snatching a plate from the pile and serving themselves the fresh fruits and much to their uplifting spirits, chocolate croissants.
They sat beside a window, the rising sun hidden, yet highlighted through a cluster of impending storm clouds.
Sorelli blindly stabbed at the fruit in her bowl. "What a gloomy day".
She was was definite Élodie had said under her breath in response, "It certainly fits the mood", but paid no heed to it.
"You look better today, Meg. Are you feeling any better?" Sorelli continued.
Meg nodded, mouth full of the chocolate treat. Swallowing the food, she replied, "I feel all the more content knowing Christine is safe", she released a long sigh. "Are you willing to take a trip to the costume department and seamstress with me after this?"
"We've come this far, haven't we?"
Meg opened her mouth to respond when a shrill scream echoed through the room, the many voices in the dining room dwindling to silence.
Everyone held their breaths, eyes detracting from their food to the large doorway that led down the hall.
"You both heard that-"
Another scream sounded, and the three shot from their seats, abandoning their breakfast and breaking to a sprint into the hall, where they were met with several gendarmes stepping into the Prima Donna's dressing room and other staff gathering around the door.
Meg nimbly slipped past them into the room and saw an inconsolable Carlotta backed against the furthest wall, her hand trembling violently as she directed a finger to her vanity.
Several gasps sounded around her, and her head peeked out from the gendarmes gathered in the room.
A deep red marred the mirror, spilling down the words spelled out across the glass.
BLOOD FOR BLOOD, BITCH. YOU'RE NEXT.
Sorelli's frightened voice was suddenly next to her ear. "Is that blood?"
It wasn't until Élodie's words came that made Meg's heart plummet in her stomach. "Counter question is whose blood it is".
"Oh, God…!" Meg scrambled, aggregating the attention of multiple gendarmes. "No time for questions, Monsieur's! Come with me, or we shall be too late!"
They wordlessly followed the ballerina, who broke into a sprint down the familiar path leading to Monsieur LeFevre's office.
She skidded to a halt when the gendarme beside the door held a hand up. "No one is allowed beside this door, Mademoiselle-"
Meg blatantly ignored the gendarme as she ducked under his arm, pushing open the door.
Her legs gave out beneath her, and her stomach churned. It took everything to prevent the acidic bile from rising in her throat.
There, in the center of the room was Signor Piangi, dried blood caking the white tunic of his costume as he lay limp across Monsieur LeFevre's desk.
Murdered.
Hello, Lovelies!
I apologize for the late update. It was my belief I would have time to write over Easter Break, and I was most certainly wrong. The end of the semester is only two weeks away, so hopefully, I may soon have more time to update more frequently. Feel free to leave a review, reading them makes my day so much brighter. Until next time!
Your Obedient Servant,
-Emma51020