Two Weeks – Chapter 20

"So tell me again about what you observed when you were here earlier," Nadir says to Raoul as they enter the stage from the wings.

With the exception of the work light left on when Jacques left, the auditorium is dark. Ambient light comes from the hallway leading to the offices adds to the eerie setting. The scrims depicting Hannibal's palace hang at awkward angles. Nadir assumes this is a result of the accident.

Never during his attendance at performances has he given much thought to the scenery or props – his attention always given to the performances – including those in the orchestra. Now seeing things out of order, he recognizes there is more going into a production than the performers. He finds himself rather ashamed at this lack of appreciation, especially since his own life's work deals with the unseen…the unrecognized elements of a crime.

From what he has learned by listening to the tales about the so-called Phantom, his old acquaintance, he now understands how unsettling his pranks must have been. One does not expect the scenery to fall. One expects a table or chair to be situated in a certain place. If a dancer is expected to hold a garland of flowers when she dances – the garland must be there when she looks for it. Such seemingly small changes likely did upset the performing cast, most likely the Prima Donna, a high-strung person to begin with. However, one small incident can lead to a domino effect, causing the entire show to go awry.

Even with his amateur's eye and knowledge about the backstage of an opera, he recognizes that what happened with Buquet was likely the result of one simple misstep, probably by someone like himself with little knowledge of the workings of the flies. That person was certainly not Erik. Erik, if he was inclined to injure someone, would have been very deliberate in his choice of the event and…he would not have failed in the execution of the deed…or the person.

Nadir also understands from Adele… Adele. His minds wanders off at the thought of the ballet mistress. Such a simple name…plain…one might have thought she would be called Adeline or Angelique or Antoinette since she was Prima Ballerina in her youth. Adele it is, however, more suited to a ballet mistress. Belle Adele, he chuckles to himself. Admitting to himself he is mildly smitten with the fierce and independent woman – so unlike his beloved Mitra who ruled him with her softness and gentle manner. Forcing his concentration back to his original thought, he recalls Adele telling him Erik's concerns were always for making things better. The pranks were created to rid them of Carlotta…plain and simple.

"There is nothing to say," Raoul says, interrupting his reverie. "I thought I heard arguing. When I looked up I believe I saw a man in a black cape up there." Waving his hand toward the opposite end of the catwalk where Buquet was found hanging.

"So you left?"

"Yes."

"But you came to see Madame Giry?"

"I was told she was with Christine."

"But that is why you came…to see Christine…why did you not continue?"

"I thought it would be best to wait – to see if Christine came out. Madame Giry is not fond of me."

"But you came to see her," Nadir repeats. "Who told you Christine was with Madame?"

"Buquet."

"But you said you did not speak with him."

"Earlier…he told me earlier…at another time…he said he overheard Meg Giry telling the ballet girls that Madame Giry thought Christine would be coming back. I have been coming every day in the hope this was true."

"So you did not speak with him when you saw him here earlier."

"I told you no," Raoul growls. "He was up there." Glancing up, he turns away quickly. "With someone talking to him."

"He is lying."

The voice in his ear comes from out of nowhere. A grin forms on his face, unbidden. Green eyes glance up searching in the darkness above the stage.

"The catwalk you are looking at is still unsafe to use. You will not be able to see where I am hiding from where you are. Buquet appears to have been repairing this walk and never finished the task. The cause of the accident came from below. The line ballast was disturbed…on the deck, not far from where you are standing. Someone moved the rope. Some of the fibers may have been rubbed off…the floor is often covered with the stuff when the lines are being worked on."

"Monsieur le Vicomte, of course, of course, I understand perfectly now."

Raoul frowns as he turns to face the daroga's smiling face. "You believe me?"

"Why would I not believe you?"

"The questions."

"It is my nature…old habits from the past," he says, patting the younger man on the shoulder. "Ah, it seems you have dirtied your coat while being on the stage. Let me clean it off." Taking a clean handkerchief from his waistcoat, he wipes gently on the black gabardine. Gathering the debris in his hand, he deposits it into the white linen cloth, tucking the packet into his pocket. "There, much better."

"Thank you." With a look of annoyance, Raoul rubs his own hand against the fabric on both shoulders. "I shall have my man clean the jacket when I return home. This place is quite dusty."

"One can easily be trapped into seeing reality in what is false. The most successful theater is to relieve the pressure of our daily lives, not to replace it."

"What do you mean?"

"The wonderful Mr. Shakespeare wrote in one of his plays:

All the world's a stage,

And all the men and women merely players;

They have their exits and their entrances…*

"While perhaps not what the author meant to imply – he goes on further to discuss the seven ages of man – I also take it to mean not to take too seriously what you see or hear in life. In most circumstances you are not seeing or hearing the entirety of a person. We often lie without even knowing we are doing so. Self-protection is a very strong need."

"You really do not believe me then."

"About what?"

"Buquet. The man in black."

"Why is it so important I believe you?"

"You are affiliated with the police. I could be accused."

"By whom?" Nadir asks. "Buquet has no memory. There is, of course, this man in black…I assume you are referring to the so-called Opera Ghost."

"He kidnapped Christine."

"Did he?"

"Well, why would she go with someone she did not know?" Beads of perspiration form on his brow.

"That is your assumption – you said yourself you have not seen her in years. It would seem she did know him."

"That is what Madame Giry keeps saying."

"More than once?"

"Every time I ask if she has heard from her."

"You said you believed Mlle. Daae would be here today."

"Yes, I believe I saw her earlier…outside…walking toward the main entrance."

"Indeed?"

"Yes, she was with a man – likely her kidnapper," Raoul tells him. "That is where I was going when you saw me – to rescue her."

"Walking down the street with her kidnapper, interesting concept, however, If that is the case, I am sorry I have held you up, you must certainly rescue her."

"You are mocking me," Raoul snaps. "You think I am a fool."

"Being smitten with a young lady is hardly foolish. I am not clear about why you think her kidnapper, as you insist on calling the man, would bring her here, however, if it is Mlle. Daae, she may well be with Madame Giry as we speak."

"Of course, you are correct. I must admit I am concerned about confronting the man." Raoul begins to pace the floor.

"'Faint heart never won fair lady' – Iolanthe, quite a wonderful operetta I was able to attend when visiting London. A newer piece by Messrs. Gilbert and Sullivan, much more amusing than Hannibal I have to admit, even if my knowledge of the English language is less than perfect," Nadir laughs. "But I am keeping you from your inquiry to the ballet mistress."

"Yes," Raoul says, "You are quite correct. If the couple I saw outside was indeed Christine and her…um…friend. Now is the time to deal with things."

"Good thinking."

Stopping before he reaches the hallway, he turns back. "You said you had an appointment."

"I did…do, but I think I should like to nose around here for a while – again my past employment driving me," Nadir says. "You go ahead and see if Madame Giry will see you. Perhaps Mlle. Daae is with her as you hoped. Perhaps she is even alone with her. If that is the case, a mystery has been solved. No?"

"Yes, I think I will," Raoul says eagerly. "Having seen her again after so many years, then her disappearing, I fear I have become rather witless."

"Women often have that effect on men," Nadir laughs lightly. "Go. If I do not see you when you leave, I shall say good-bye now."

"Yes, well, good-by…wish me luck."

"Luck, then." Scanning the area above the stage once again, he calls out, "You can come out now. He is gone."

"Stop straining your neck," Erik walks out from behind one of the upstage scrims, securely in place. "You have certainly become a chatterbox." Motioning to Nadir to join him, he says, "This is the ballast that was disturbed and caused Buquet to fall. I noticed it immediately when I came to examine the situation."

"The chatter, as you call it, was meant to unsettle him and it worked," Nadir replies. "Do you think the vicomte disturbed it?"

"Most likely…purely by accident I would imagine," Erik says. "His leaving the scene was telling, though. Not a crime, however. Buquet is alive?"

"And talking."

"Is that so?"

"Was not aware of who was with him, bit of delirium – thought he was with his comrades."

"Blackmail?"

"I believe the idea crossed his mind, why he was feigning a memory loss…but then blaming you was another option."

"Joseph and I are not the closest of friends," Erik says. "How was it left?"

"That is yet to be determined," Nadir says. "I left the coach once I realized he was not seriously injured and I knew what he was up to. I am curious as to what his decision will be. Just talking about a crime is not enough – you do have an alibi, I take it."

"As luck would have it – yes," Erik says.

Nadir examines his face. "Even with this strange lighting, I do believe you are blushing."

"Except, perhaps, for those moments right after your debut, I must say I have never seen you so happy," Adele says, carrying a tea set over the couch, joining Christine. "The sadness in your eyes has completely disappeared."

Giggling lightly, covering her mouth with her hand, Christine says, "I am happy. Being with Erik in his home is the kind of life I always wanted for myself."

"Is it now?" Adele asks, pouring the tea. "Milk or lemon…sugar?"

"Sugar and milk, please." After accepting the cup and saucer, she takes a sip, then puts the cup down on the coffee table. Folding her hands in her lap, she shifts her position on the couch to face her guardian. The desire to talk to someone about her new life is fairly bursting inside of her.

Meg would have been her first choice – being of her own age and having talked about being in love and having a home where the fear of not having the money to pay the rent was a constant worry. Both of them knew that only some miracle would present either of them with a respectable man with honorable intentions.

"A fortune teller told Maman I would be an Empress."

"Really? Where did you meet a fortune teller? I would see them at fairs when Pappa and I were travelling, but he would never let me go near one."

"Here, he was talking to Maman one day, all mysterious in a black cape and hat. I could not see his face, but he had the most wonderful voice."

"How did you come to talk about who you would marry?"

"Oh, he read my palm." Holding her hand out, she traces the line identifying her marital future for Christine to see.

"What did Madame say?"

"She just laughed and told him to be about his business and not to bother the troupe with his stories."

"Did you ever see him again?"

Meg shook her head.

"That is too bad, I should like to have my fortune told – even if what I was told was just a fantasy."

Both agreed the most they could hope for would be a wealthy sponsor, such as La Sorelli had with the Comte de Chagny. Even so, the Prima Ballerina was aware time was not her friend. Meg told her Madame Giry said they were she was so smart and able to run the opera house better than any of the managers, otherwise, who knew what sort of life they might be living.

"I must admit I was confused and a little frightened at first, but once I realized he was my Angel of Music, I knew there was nothing to fear. He has been nothing but kind and gracious," she says. "I have all these new clothes, a lovely bedroom, food I am fond of eating and other small gifts. I am learning to cook a little bit and in addition to my vocal lessons, he is teaching me to play the piano. We read and talk…I knit. There are carriage rides in the evening now…my life is quite wonderful."

"I understand those things are very important to you."

"Life was always so unsettled with Pappa…I never felt safe."

"Living on the road?"

"Yes, that. Not always knowing from one night to the next where we would be sleeping. Never having enough food…but also afraid of being accosted on the road."

The man appeared without either of them being aware of his presence.

"Hand over yer coins."

Pappa looked up from the small camp fire he had just finished lighting. "If I had any coins, I would be sleeping at the inn in town." Glancing at Christine, coming from the behind a large bush after tending to her personal needs, he gives his head an imperceptible shake.

"Then I will have yer pack," the man dressed in clothes showing greater wear than anything they owned, moved toward their bedrolls and backpacks.

"I am afraid I cannot allow that," Gustave said, rising to meet the man, a good bit taller than he, but ever so thin.

The light from the fire showed him to be young, perhaps only a few years older than she. Fear gripped her stomach – however thin he was, he was surely stronger than Pappa. Without thinking any more about the danger to herself, she jumped out from the trees and rushed the man, grabbing him from behind, pushing him to the ground, giving Pappa the opportunity to jump him.

The next moments were filled with scuffling between Pappa and the man, with her trying to get to her feet to find a weapon…something to stop the robber. As things turned out, there was no need, as Pappa found a rock and crushed the man's skull.

"Pappa did not mean to kill him…at least I do not believe that. He cried for hours after we dragged the body into the woods and buried him as best we could under some branches and leaves.

"The critters will take care of the rest."

Adele reaches out to take the younger woman's hand in hers. "I am so sorry. That must have been terrible for you…for both of you."

"After that, Pappa made certain we had the means for some sort of lodging, even washing dishes at the inn or tending the animals as barter."

"Does Erik know of this?"

"Not that incident, but we often talked of those times…while he was still my Angel of Music."

Adele nods. "You never spoke of this to me."

"You terrified me – besides, I did not think you would care" Christine shrugs lightly.

"You would rather be talking to Meg," she sighs. "I understand – I can be quite fierce."

Christine shakes her head. "No. Yes. I suppose."

"It is alright," Adele says, sitting back picking up her cup of tea. "Does Erik speak to you at all about his past?"

"Are you trying to tell me he is some sort of criminal I need to be afraid of?"

"No, not exactly." After tasting her drink, she adds another cube of sugar. "What is it about tea that one must add cube after cube of sugar to give it any sense of sweetness?" With a sigh, she gives her attention back to Christine, saying, "I am only wondering how well you really know him."

"I feel safe with him."

"What about love? Marriage?"

"Why do I need to think of such things?"

"Be serious, you are not a child – you are not Erik's ward – he may be older than you, but he is not old enough to be your father, certainly not elderly and uninterested in being married, " Adele instructs her. "I know you and Meg talk and I know how Meg feels about romance. Besides, you are aware how the world is…the desires of men."

"He has never touched me. In fact, if I merely graze his shoulder he draws back – almost as if he is afraid of me."

"He does not wish to offend you, but he may want to court you at some point," Adele says softly, gripping her forearm. "Christine. Have you seen his face?"

"Yes. Sort of. Only for a moment." Moving away from Adele's reach. "I know he is ugly. He is ashamed of his face – why else would he wear a mask?"

A loud knock has them both look toward the door.

Adele gets up, holding out her hand to prevent Christine from following. Walking slowly to the door, she stops before opening it to look back at Christine. "Yes? Who is there?"

"Raoul de Chagny," says the male voice. "I am looking for Christine Daae, Madame. I believe she might be with you. May I come in?"

"Raoul," Christine gasps, her eye wide in confusion.

"Should I let him in?" Adele whispers. "He has been coming every day."

The thought of Raoul has not crossed her mind since that brief meeting in the dressing room what seems a lifetime ago. What a different person he is from Erik. One would never be concerned about his face. Is that what matters? A face? How many years did she fantasize about having the life with him she is experiencing now. The temptation is strong to turn him away.

"Christine are you in there," he calls out. "Please I must see you."

The eyes of the two women meet. Adele cocks her head. "It is up to you."

"I suppose I should see him," she finally says. They were friends after all. What harm could there be in speaking to him for a few minutes? "Yes, let him in."

*As You Like It.