Two Weeks – Chapter 19

"I have never entered through the main entrance," Christine says, looking up and turning around to take in the grandeur of the grand stairway. "Did you design all this?"

"If I told you yes, that would be a lie – to be honest Charles' taste is far more flamboyant than mine – the artwork – if you could see the chandelier up close, you would see his name engraved there."

"But you said…"

"My role was the structure of the building itself – making certain the foundations were secure and the building would last beyond all our lives."

"That sounds so practical…hardly something I would think of when hearing your music."

"My life has been about survival, so structures – places to live and work – things kept in order as much as I can achieve are important to me."

In truth, he felt much of Garnier's design to be overdone – many elements superfluous and diminishing the elegance of the simple lines he himself preferred. In that, the Shah was more astute, encouraging a more delicate touch with an eye toward the practical – elements serving purposes beyond being appealing to the eye. Physical beauty would never be his personally, but he could create beauty.

Odd, that she should speak of his music. He has to admit, much of his opera reflects his feelings about his appearance…discordant and bordering on the grotesque, but it was not always so.

"Why could you not have been born normal?"

"What is normal, Maman?"

"Normal is not asking a million questions. Normal is not drawing sketches of houses with a gift greater than some famous artists…or playing the violin and piano without lessons."

"But I love knowing things and drawing and music…I really love making music," he said. "I do not like wearing this hood all the time. No one else wears them. I know because I see other children walking by the house. Why do I have to wear one? Why must I stay inside? Maybe if I took it off, I would be more normal."

"No. Leave it be. You are simply too much of everything…it would be different if…"

Head cocked to one side, he asked, "If what, Maman? What would make things different? Tell me how I can make you love me?"

"Sing for me. Everything becomes well within me when you sing."

"Pappa never thought much about such things as houses or anything practical," she says, stroking the carved balustrade of the staircase. "Besides playing, his favorite thing was telling tales about the north…Vikings…but also about mystical beings…like the Angel of Music. I was so happy when Mama and Professor Valerius took us in – no longer worrying about where we would sleep – or if there would be enough food to eat. Then Madame Giry's kindness and now being in your home."

"Speaking of homes and living arrangements, these are things Adele will bring up when you speak with her."

"You will not be present?"

Erik shakes his head. "I will be close by."

"I want you to be there."

"Follow that couple," Raoul calls out to his driver.

"Monsieur?"

"That man and the woman in the blue cape. I want you to follow them."

"I cannot turn around here."

"Then go back to the carriage entrance and drop me off."

Risking an outburst from his erratic passenger, the driver says, "Perhaps you might just walk – it is only a few meters. They do not appear to be walking at a fast pace."

"You do not wish to follow my instructions?"

"With deepest respect, Monsieur le Vicomte, the Comte told me to not indulge your whims as happened the other night. A number of people reported a man using a coach with the de Chagny seal on the door behaving erratically to the magistrate. It seems there were a number of accidents as a result."

"He questioned you?"

"I was your driver." The tone curt, if patient.

"And you confirmed the accusations?"

"He is my employer," the driver says matter-of-factly. "I have a family to support."

'He said nothing to me of the kind."

When the driver does not respond, Raoul jumps out of the carriage.

"Do you wish for me to wait for you at the carriage entrance?"

"I will take up your insolence with Phillippe," is Raoul's answer as he slams the carriage door shut.

"As you wish, Monsieur le Vicomte, I am only following his direction," the older man replies unemotionally. "Shall I wait for you at the carriage entrance?"

"Yes. Fine," he says, running across the road, dodging the traffic. Slipping occasionally on the wet street, he manages to avoid horse dung not yet cleared by the street cleaners.

Reaching the other side, he catches his breath only to realize the couple is no longer in sight. Turning back to look for his coach, that, too, has disappeared from view.

"Monsieur, le Vicomte, why are you wandering about here – you said you were returning home, or at least that was what I assumed when you left?" Nadir Khan asks, tapping him lightly on the shoulder.

Startled, Raoul recoils at the touch, pulling away from the Persian. "I might ask you the same thing. I thought you were doing your charity work with the workers."

"I decided they could make it home without my assistance. The men seemed capable of caring for their friend…and I have some unfinished business here that was interrupted."

"The man will be alright?"

"It would seem so – thankfully his co-workers were there," Nadir says. "Another few minutes and he might have died."

"Dangerous work," Raoul mutters. "Did he tell you what happened?"

Nadir shakes his head. "He seems to have no memory of the incident."

"No memory, eh?" The easing of the tension encircling every part of him since Buquet's fall leaves him almost limp with relief. He grabs onto the daroga's arm to keep from stumbling.

Nadir helps to steady him. "Are you quite alright? Too much whiskey?

"No, I was just anxious about leaving him – had I not left when I did, he might not have fallen," Raoul says, taking a deep breath. "I suppose my relief is greater than I thought."

"You said you heard an argument."

"Did I…oh, yes, I thought I heard voices, saw a man in a black cape out of the corner of my eye…did not wish to interfere so I left," Raoul says. "Do you suppose it was the mythical phantom everyone talks about?"

"What happened here?" Adele asks Jacques. Looking first at the ladder, then up at the catwalk hanging at an angle above her head? "This is completely unsatisfactory. Where is Joseph?"

The master fly man's assistant finishes gathering the rope cut away from Buquet's body, wrapping it in a coil and hanging it over his shoulder. With his other hand, he lays the ladder on one side and lifts it up. "Had a mishap, went home to recover," he calls over his shoulder as he walks to the rear of the stage.

Adele slams her staff onto the boards. "Stop. You will not dismiss me with such insolence. What happened?"

"No one is supposed to know," he says with a deep sigh. Turning back to look at her, dropping the rope and ladder before falling to his knees. The heavily muscled man buries his head in his hands and starts to cry.

"Jacques – what happened?" she asks walking as quickly as she can to his side, laying a hand on his shoulder. "He is not dead, is he?"

A rough shake of his head tells her no.

"Then what?" she asks.

"He almost died – got tangled in the lines somehow – they got wrapped around his neck. Henri and me, we got him down. I was on the fly walk – Henri got under him on the ladder."

"Where is he now?"

M. Khan came in with the Vicomte de Chagny as we were getting him down," he says, getting to his feet, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. "He took him home with Henri and Albert. I said I would close up."

"Which one? M. Khan or the Vicomte?"

"The Persian fellow…the Vicomte left first."

"What did Joseph say happened to him?"

"Nothing. Could not remember. I just know I heard a ruckus and saw the walk was collapsed from the back. Heard some moaning. Called for Henri and Albert to the stage while I climbed up. He was just hanging in mid-air."

"You should have told me…or the managers."

"They never showed up today and I did not know you were here."

"Do you suppose it was the…"

"Opera Ghost?" he says using a mocking voice. "Well, there is no ghost and whoever the man is, he only acts up when Carlotta is singing. Place has been quiet as a mouse since the other singer took over and then went missing. So, no I do not believe it was a prank gone wrong."

"True enough," she agrees. "Well, get on with your work. Please keep me alerted when you know more about Buquet. He as an overactive mouth which could have offended most anyone. Still, he is a good worker and I am happy to know he is alive. The last thing we need is an odd death – whether or not the Phantom is real."

Before returning to her office, she looks up again at the catwalk and shudders. Buquet always seems to be looking for trouble and appears to have found it. Despite Jacques' comment about hearing a ruckus, she hopes it truly was an accident and not the result of some sort of dispute.

At least now she knows why Nadir…flushing slightly at using his given name…did not appeared for their appointed meeting. Shifting her thoughts back to referring to him even in her private thoughts as M. Khan, she chastises herself for supposing the elegant, soft-spoken man might be interested in her in other than a business way. The time for such things were long past for her.

"Madame," Christine exclaims as she jumps up from the sofa, running to greet Adele as she returns to her office. "It is so good to see you. I have missed you."

As she hugs the girl, she questions Erik with her dark eyes, mouthing the words, "What is this?"

"Christine would like to return to the stage and I quite agree," Erik says, rising to his feet as well. "The world deserves to hear her sing."

Stepping away from the embrace, Adele clears her throat – her smile, if not smug is knowing, "I would certainly agree with that." Moving behind her desk, she take a seat. "Sit down. Both of you."

"I think it best if I leave – allow Christine to speak freely…" Erik says, making his way to the door.

"No," Christine says. "I want you to stay."

Erik looks at Adele. With a nod and a tilt of her chin, she indicates he sit down. "Before we discuss anything about Christine…and I must say I am pleased to see you looking so well and happy – the blue is a very becoming color for you – and Erik, your new scarf is a nice addition to your usual black – we need to talk about something that occurred earlier on stage."

Both Erik and Christine exchange a look of concern.

"What happened?" he asks.

"I take it you two have been together for the past several hours?"

Christine nods. "Erik left briefly this morning for our breakfast, but that was hours ago."

Adele cocks her head toward him.

"It was quite early – the patisserie just opened," he says. "Do you want to know what I bought? I suppose I could get a testimony if necessary – they have come to know me there."

"Face to face?" Adele is incredulous.

"It helps that it is still dark…and cold. With my scarf wrapped high on my face, and my hat tilted low, I am fairly well disguised. As I have become a regular customer, I am certain they would be happy to give testimony."

"Well, I would not ask for such, but your method is quite creative…maybe you can start doing all your own shopping from now on," a teasing note in her voice.

"I shall be taking care of many of those necessities soon, you have been most helpful these past weeks, but it is only right I help with our household duties," Christine says, smiling up at him.

"Your household?" Adele hides a grin behind her hand.

"A matter we have not yet decided upon," Erik says, a puzzled look crossing his brow at her comment. Nothing has been discussed between them about her living arrangements in the future. He dared not think beyond the fact she still wants to be friends with him. Unsure of how to address this new element of hope of a relationship with Christine, he returns to Adele's question of where he was several hours ago. "As far as my whereabouts this morning, I am happy Christine will vouch for me. I suspect there was some sort of mishap that would land on my shoulders if I did not have an alibi."

"And you would be correct…Buquet had an accident and, apparently, came close to dying."

"Shame."

"Shame about the accident or shame he did not die?"

"Madame Giry!"

"There is no love lost between M. Buquet and myself, my dear," Eriks says. "I would say both. Despite his desire to expose and blackmail me, he is good at his job. Finding a new fly master would be a challenge, although Jacques is quite good."

"Jacques actually saved him."

"Then he is honorable as well. Some in his position might have just let him die," Erik smirks. "What happened?"

"There were some noises suggesting an argument or scuffle. When Jacques went to find out, he found Joseph hanging from the lines connecting the catwalk to the ballast."

"Oh, no," Christine says. "How terrible."

"You wondered if it was me."

"Why would she think it was you?" Christine asks.

"Dear, innocent Christine…Erik is the Phantom…the Opera Ghost," Adele says. "You did not suspect this?"

Pursing her lips, brows furrowed, she says, "I suppose I knew…I mean, once I realized the Angel of Music was Erik. Even before, though, it never mattered much. Pappa always talked of ghosts and creatures from other worlds. Besides, no one was ever hurt. The fuss always seemed silly to me."

"You really are different from the rest of the troupe are you not?"

"Yes. I suppose I am. Is that bad?"

"Not at all, my dear." Erik steps in. "Now that we have determined Christine is a most intelligent and talented young woman, can we get back to the incident?"

"Judging from what Jacques said, no one other than the corps de ballet and Carlotta think there is a real ghost roaming these halls."

"The building is not old enough for one thing – no one has died here…except, perhaps, for some workmen during the building process."

"You forget about the war and the communes," Adele says.

"I can hardly imagine any military sorts wishing to haunt an opera house – they left everything behind when they left, likely afraid they would blow themselves up…no dead bodies from what I could determine," Erik says. "Besides, they would be bored silly." Relaxing back into the couch, he begins to enjoy his ideas about the possibility of actual ghosts haunting the Palais Garnier. "Although one might imagine the souls belonging to all those skulls in the catacombs having quite a party in the Grand Foyer. Charles would be appalled, of course, to think his precious masterwork was being overrun by the spirits of plebeians."

"In any event, Joseph does not recall what happened."

"How convenient," Erik says. "Where is he?"

"Apparently, M. Khan and the Vicomte arrived shortly after the incident and M. Khan leased a carriage to drive Joseph and two of the other workers back to their rooms."

"He was well enough for that?" Christine asks. "Someone almost dies and just goes home?"

"One can come close to death from strangulation and recover to tell the tale," Erik says as he loosens his cravat and strokes his throat.

"There you see," the master thuggee said. "You can decide whether you want to kill someone or just frighten them."

Whatever he wished to respond, his body would only allow him to throw up the small meal he had eaten an hour before in between choking and coughing, hoping his heart would continue to beat. There had been a point where he knew he lost consciousness. A black space in his memory from the moment the man slipped behind him as he sat polishing his knife, to wrap the garrot around his neck, to where he found himself now, lying in the dirt easily ten meters from the table. Had he died in that period of time and returned by some strange twist of fate? Another one of God's jokes played at his expense.

The touch of her hand surprises him, the look in her eyes even more so. Was he that transparent? The memory came quite unbidden, yet she seems to know. Turning his eyes to Adele, he sees she is aware of his former pain as well.

"In any event, it is unlikely taking him to a hospital would have served any good purpose," Erik goes on, his voice still rough with emotion. "Nadir escorted him, you say?"

"And Raoul as well? What was he doing here?"

"Likely looking for you – if there has been anyone haunting this place with his presence, it would be he," Adele sniggers. "He left before the others."

Controlling the emotion rising within him at the mention of the Vicomte, Erik cannot help but feel a rush of heat rising in his belly. So he was still a matter to be dealt with. Perhaps this was a mistake, bringing Christine here. It was too soon, but now it appears to be too late. Whatever wishful thoughts he toyed with when she mentioned their household, he puts them aside. "And Nadir?"

"I had an appointment with M. Khan," she replies.

"Another meeting – he is still a meddler I see."

"Not everything is about you, Erik," Adele replies. "There have been other security issues affecting the opera house not related to the opera ghost."

"How boring," he says, getting to his feet.

"Where are you going?" Christine asks taking hold of his arm.

"I am going to allow you some privacy to speak with Adele about your work here and receive her guidance about your living arrangements," he says, patting her hand. "I, on the other hand will be inspecting the catwalk and, if our wayward Persian reappears, will engage him in a little chat about what might have happened here earlier."

"You will be back?"

"Of course – beef pies for dinner."

Tipping his hat to the two women, he leaves the office, closing the door softly behind him. Unsure as to what confuses him more – Christine's seeming willingness to continue with their current living arrangements or Buquet's accident…if it was an accident. There were many times when he wished the arrogant busybody would meet his end, but this was all wrong. The man was too good at his job to become tangled in the lines without some sort of provocation.

Checking out the ropes and the walk would occupy his mind to prevent him thinking too much about Christine and Raoul. Raoul. Just the sort of person Buquet would be able to roust. Wealthy and not terribly bright. Hoping the daroga returns soon, sharing his thoughts with the former sheriff would likely solve this mystery.

In the meantime, check the ballasts.