Two Weeks – Chapter 23

"She has gone?" Nadir asks, poking his head inside the door to Adele's office.

Lying back on the chaise, an arm raised over her brow, Adele does not bother to look at him, replying with an a simple, "Yes."

"You look exhausted," he laughs lightly, walking to the armoire. "I must say if the young lady was anywhere near as emotional as our friend, I understand perfectly."

Checking the pot, he adds more water from a crystal carafe and turns on the hot plate. Silently going about cleaning the tea pot, he empties the tea ball of the dregs, refilling it with fresh leaves he finds stored in a decorative tin. Humming softly to himself, he awaits the whistle of the kettle, adds the boiling water to the teapot, drops in the tea ball. Once covered with a cozy the pot, two clean cups and saucers, a bowl of sugar cubes, a plate of macarons and a small pitcher of cream, are loaded onto a tray which he carries to the coffee table.

"You are quite handy, if you are seeking employment, I could use a new assistant…the girl I have in service now is quite clumsy. Wants to dance but the feet match the hands," she sighs. "I cannot put her back on the street."

"You are too kind both toward the girl and to me. I am honored," he says. "As a bachelor, I must take care of my own needs. One learns to cook and clean or starve and live in squalor."

"That or go broke – what with the cost of café and servants, even to do the simplest tasks."

"I find my dietary needs a challenge for most cafes, so tend to eat at home most of the time," he replies, pouring them both a cup of tea. "And, as you say, one saves money, but I also enjoy shopping and getting to know the shops."

"Simply for the food choices?" Adele says, sitting up to take a macaron, taking a small bite. "The patisserie does make the most excellent baked goods. These chocolate cookies are quite sublime."

"As you suspect, I am also interested in the observations made by those who live in the neighborhood. The shop owners know their customers and who does or does not belong there."

"The vicomte?"

"The vicomte. Excellent observation. He is quite out of place – not so much his appearance, he simply has no idea about shopping…or not shopping which is the case. He never buys anything, just walks about aimlessly."

"Just curious – do they know Erik?"

"Another excellent observation," he chuckles. "A regular customer…more so in the past couple of weeks – which makes sense because of Christine – but even before that."

"Any conversations?"

Nadir shakes his head. "A few said they tried to initiate conversations, but he shies away, mumbling about business to attend to, takes his purchases and rushes off." Taking a bite of sugar, he sips his tea. "Most were of the opinion he was injured in the recent war. Some even showed him their own injuries."

"Erik's problems go deeper than his face as you well know."

"Yes – living one's entire life with such damage is different, certainly.."

"But?"

"But not the end of the world – he had you…now me after all," Nadir says. "And Mlle. Daae possibly?"

"Possibly – she is very young – a child in some ways, but wise in others – quite a fascinating young woman."

"Where is she?"

"In her dressing room," Adele says. "She wanted time to be alone to gather her thoughts before Erik returned for her. Apparently the meeting with the vicomte was rather unpleasant. The boy of her youth turned into another gross member of his class and breeding. Officious and crass."

"Yet you handle it well – from what I can determine as a mere observer of the performances."

"I am fortunate for my position here and I would hate to lose it."

"Is there some concern about that? You did seem more distressed when I arrived than I would have imagined dealing with a young girl's angst over what I assume were unwanted advances?"

"I put a stop to the threat before it was made, but our young vicomte has a very peevish nature."

"Cowardly as well," Nadir says. "Have no fear, I told him I found a witness to the accident with Buquet and he was the only one observed to have any contact with Joseph before he fell."

"Did you tell him who the witness was?"

"What witness?"

Adele chokes on her tea, coughing and pounding her chest. Catching her breath, she says, "You lied."

"Is there some law against that? Both he and Buquet were prepared to lie to incriminate Erik. Whatever funny business those two are up to is best nipped in the bud."

"He is still most insistent about Christine."

"One can only hope she chooses the better man," Nadir says. "In the meantime, I should prefer spending the rest of our tea learning more about you, since we seem to have done our best advising and comforting our love struck friends."

The dressing room is dark and lifeless. Even after lighting the oil lamp on her dressing table, a gloomy quality exists...an emptiness. Whatever life she felt during the many days and evening spent here has changed forever.

When Pappa died, her own interest in performing abandoned her. Her instructors at the Conservatory appeared to have given up on her. Papa would have been so disappointed, so she found this abandoned room to try to find joy again.

"The G5 was sharp," the voice said. A voice unlike she had ever heard – melodious, even just speaking such a short sentence with no emotion behind the words.

The immediate alarm at anyone overhearing her singing changed to alarm that there was someone actually in the room with her.

"Who are you?"

"No one."

"You must be someone. You just spoke."

"True."

"Well? Who are you?"

"I have heard you sing and this was not your finest expression."

"You have heard me sing?"

"Did I not just say so?"

"Where?"

"Here. Have you been singing anywhere else?"

"Well, no. Not since I left the conservatory."

"Well, your G5 was sharp."

"What of the rest of the song?" Someone was actually interested in her singing. Perhaps all was not lost.

"Technically you have been better, but the feeling you put into this song was quite nice. A folk song?"

A smile broke on her face and she nodded. Then realized he, at least she assumed the voice was male, could not see her and said, "Yes. A song I learned as a child in my homeland…Sweden."

Life overall changed for the better after her first meeting with the Angel of Music as she called him. For himself, he never contradicted the appellation nor offered another name, so Angel he was.

The methods he used were so different than her instructors at the Conservatory.

"Your basics are fine – but there is no life," he said. "Only that once have I heard your soul. You had been crying."

"For my Pappa. He died."

"You must find the same passion in everything you sing."

"I think I should die if I must always remember his dying in order to sing well."

"That is not what I said," he snapped. "Sing from your heart. Do not worry about the notes. As I said, the basics were fine – now add your life. Do you want to be a shrill crow like Carlotta?"

"No…I mean, Carlotta is Prima Donna…"

"A crow," he repeated. "Now try the aria again. Think of someone you love. Now, go."

Shortly afterward she was given a regular assignment in the dance troupe, no longer having to worry about whether she would perform or not, thereby ensuring monthly pay. In addition, Madame Giry brought her into her home to live with her and her daughter Meg. Any fears she had about being cast out into the street from the room she shared with three other dancers were gone as well.

The appearance of the Angel of Music into her life was a miracle. She felt sure her father was watching over her, protecting her from where he was in heaven.

"Pappa," she says aloud, reminding herself of the reason for her return here. Opening the drawer of the vanity, she removes the daguerrotype of her father encased in the silver frame she purchased with her first payment as a dancer with the ballet.

"Oh, Pappa, what am I to do?" she asks the man in the photo with the pale mustache and smiling eyes. Blue, they had been, like her own. "I thought if Raoul ever came back into my life, I would be overcome with joy…and I was for a moment, but Erik is everything I could hope for. Did you send him as the Angel of Music so I might come to know him first? Not fearing him as a man? I feel so much for him. Feelings I dare not reveal to anyone. How I wish you were still alive – that Mama was still alive."

"What is wrong, älskling?"

"Do you love Pappa?"

"Of course, I do, why would you ask such a question?"

"I heard you cry out last night. I was afraid you were hurt or angry at him."

The round cheeks of the blonde woman flushed an even brighter shade of pink than was normal. "No, not angry. We were…um…loving each other."

The puzzled look on the face of the five-year-old told her this was not a sufficient answer.

"Grownups have many ways of showing love. There will come a time in your life when you meet a man and you will want to marry him and then you will understand."

The look on her mother's face made it clear there would be no further explanation. "I am glad are not angry."

"No, I am not angry."

There were moments at Perros with Raoul when she had some idea of what her mother meant. They shared a few short kisses creating a thrill deep inside her, a gentle ache in her groin. When her flat chest began rounding and the nipples became hard and sore she was uncomfortable, rubbing them to ease the discomfort, often creating a similar sensation to what she felt now from his kisses. Before then, she never thought her breasts would be for anything other than nursing her babies as she saw other women do. How the babies came into being was still a mystery to her. But, then there was the bleeding. This was something she knew nothing about.

Not feeling comfortable talking to Pappa, she sought out the landlady at the inn where they worked that summer. The kind woman helped her make some straps to hold the pads made from a torn sheet against her private area to staunch the flow.

"You need to keep clean. It will not do for the blood to show…or if you smell."

Christine shuddered. The woman was matter of fact but spoke in tones that frightened her as almost as much as her words instructed her. "How long will this last?" she asked, tucking the supplies into her pack.

"A few days, unless you be with child. Then it stops for a time while you carry and during the nursing time. Then the bleeding comes again."

"So this will never stop while I am alive?"

"When you have babies – like I said. Or when you are old."

"You?"

"You are a woman now." The woman offered a sympathetic smile. "And bein' a woman has its trials. Now go fix yourself before supper."

The morning of that particular day on the beach, walking along the shore with Raoul, her bleeding started. Despite the cramping in her belly, she did not want to forfeit any time she might spend with the young vicomte. Summer was coming to an end and she and Pappa would soon have to move on to find work for the fall months in order to have enough money for winter lodging.

"I think we need to stop."

Despite wanting to continue the kiss, both her discomfort and Mama's words about marriage returned to have her pull away. Years of being on the road, seeing how men and women behaved with one another at the inns where they stayed, informed Christine of what she was trying to say about her and Pappa loving each other. It became commonplace to be awakened by sounds coming from other beds in the rooms they shared with fellow travelers. She and Raoul were much too young to be married…besides the chances of them being wed was something she never allowed herself to consider in her wildest dreams.

"Why, do you not like me?" he said, pulling her close, his hand moving from her waist to her breast.

Pushing his hand away, she said, "I do like you, but Pappa will be looking for me. I must go now."

When he appeared in this room after Hannibal, his arms around her roused many of the old sensations. She wanted so to be loved and his unexpected appearance was an answer to a prayer.

If Pappa could send her the Angel of Music, could he not also send her a lover? Not like the men who would come to the dance rehearsals and watch them dance, their lust…for she was now aware of the physicality of sexual relations and the repercussions – disease and, in some instances, babies. Being married was her dream.

In the short time with him, Erik was everything she could hope for, except for his face…or rather, his lack of a face…for he always wore a mask or facial covering of some sort. Was his face so terrible? She did not recall it to be so, but even if it was…she had every intention of staying with him.

Then Raoul appeared again and seeing his perfect face had her wonder if thinking about marrying Erik was a mistake. How wrong she was.

Looking at her father's picture, she says, "I am so ashamed, Pappa. You were right about Raoul. You were so right about him. Now I am not certain if I deserve Erik after being so weak willed and petty."

"Christine?"

The soft voice startles her. "Angel?"

A light knock on the door accompanies the voice this time. "It is Adele, Christine. May we come in?"

How silly of her – so wrapped up in her thoughts…and guilt, she actually believed Erik was toying with her, playing tricks with his voice as he often did to tease her. "Of course, Madame, the door is unlocked." Tucking her father's picture in the deep pocket of her cloak, she gets up the from the vanity bench.

"I was planning to leave and wondered what you decided to do…about living arrangements," Adele says walking in, Nadir following close behind.

"I hope you do not mind my presence, Mlle. Daae," the daroga says, offering a slight bow. "I offered Madame Giry transport home."

"Where is Erik?" Christine asks, looking over their shoulders.

Adele and Nadir exchange a look.

"What is it?" Her stomach sinks and she falls back onto the bench. "Oh, no. He saw me with Raoul. I should never have agreed to see him. Is he very angry?"

"Not angry…just unsure," Nadir says.

"He went home," Adele says.

"Then that is where I must go." Rising again she looks at the mirror. Would she even be able to find her way down the stairs, much less cross the lake and find the secret passageway, even if there was a boat to carry her.

"Since I suspect Erik created some doorways from mirrors, much as he did at the palace, I assume this mirror is how you were led from the room after Hannibal."

"He did that?" Adele asks. "I knew there was some secret way out of here, but never suspected the mirror."

"Erik loves them – except to look into," Nadir laughs. "May I suggest the gate on the Rue Scribe?"

Christine frowns. "You know about that?"

"I discovered the vicomte earlier trying to follow a couple fitting your description walking along the Rue Scribe. I suspect they were you and our absent friend."

Nodding, she says, "Yes, most likely. I think he has been watching for a while now. Someone caused a disturbance a week or so ago on the street." Eyes filled with fear, she looks at Adele. "What can I do?"

"Not to worry, mademoiselle, I shall accompany both of you to a carriage. We will drive to Madame Giry's home…"

"No. I want to go home."

"Allow me to finish," Nadir says. "I sent him on his way, but he is a determined lout. If he is watching, he will see us all leave together. If he follows, he will see me drop you off."

Both women frown. "How will that help her get back here?"

"A little trickery," Nadir laughs lightly. "Trust me."

"All right, I suppose just walking back the way we came is not the best idea."

"Once back here, do you know the way to the house from the street?" Adele asks.

Christine nods. "I know the way well."

"Then let us be on our way," Nadir says, opening the door. "Ladies, after you."