Chapter 14: Difficult Conversations and Shadowed Doubts
"I still think we should report the incident and that man to the police, Christine."
Raoul turned again, his dark grey morning coat fluttering slightly as he paced back and forth across Christine's new dressing room. In his tone, concern mixed with a pinch of irritation, and Christine shrank on the small ashen rose sofa, resisting the urge to pull her knees up to her chin.
"You know I can't do that to him, Raoul," she protested faintly. "I admit that he scared me a little during the masquerade, but it's not like he did something against the rules. Besides, I…" She hesitated for a moment. "I've started to have some doubts about our course of action…"
"Doubts?" Her childhood friend raised one eyebrow, glancing at her as he spun on his heel next to her.
Christine's stomach knotted nervously. They had postponed this conversation, not wanting to spoil each other's New Year celebration more than the Phantom's arrival already had, but now it was already Monday, the second of January, and she could no longer avoid the topic.
Trying to remain calm, she forced herself to nod.
"Yes, doubts. I still think it was a good idea to resign from the lessons, but… well, the more I think about it all, the more confused I am." The soprano lowered her gaze. "I mean, what if we are doing everything the wrong way?" Her fingers brushed the folds of her new burgundy gown.
"I can't deny that the Phantom really frightened me the night of my debut, but now I'm starting to wonder if I overreacted. I just wrote him a letter with a cold explanation, and then ignored most of his notes. It certainly isn't how I should treat someone who has done so much for me in the past. So, recently I've started to think that…" She swallowed hard, and her words became even quieter: "That maybe I should at least talk to him face to face one last time…"
Raoul froze mid-step. "Pardon?"
The utter incredulity in his short question made her feel like a scolded child. Christine's cheeks coloured a little.
"Well, it's not like I would meet with him alone," she added in her defence. "I admit I wasn't considering it before, but… During the ball, his apologies seemed sincere and…" She glanced back up uncertainly. "I can't help but start to feel bad about how I've treated him, Raoul. Back then, at the masquerade, he… he just seemed so sad…" she finished weakly.
The viscount's previously disbelieving expression morphed to one of shock merged with abhorrence.
"You can't be serious, Christine. He seemed SAD!?" Raoul's voice rose in indignation, then quickly lowered to a strained hiss as his eyes darted towards the door leading to the corridor. "He seemed mad, Christine. Mad and manipulative! And I don't want you anywhere near him!" he ground out in a hushed tone, his eyebrows pulled down.
Christine felt a lump forming in her throat.
"He seemed honest to me. And you said yourself that you didn't think he would do anything."
In response, her friend huffed.
"Yes, I said so, but that was before I saw that madman in action. And what's more, you never told me he was like that!" Raoul waved his hands in an exasperated gesture, and she frowned, not sure if he meant her teacher's impudent behaviour or the fact that he wasn't the fragile elderly man Raoul had imagined him to be. Not that it mattered, anyway.
The tense silence hung in the air between them. A moment later, Raoul exhaled loudly and straightened his aureate Ascot tie, adjusting the pin.
"I don't want to argue with you, Christine…" Soft, concerned notes replaced his previous irritation, and somehow that made her feel even worse.
Christine lowered her head. "I don't want to argue with you either, Raoul. But I can't help feeling bad about treating him like that…"
Her future fiancé sighed again. The floorboards creaked as he moved, and then he came into her field of vision, kneeling down in front of her.
"I'm sorry if my words were too harsh, but I simply don't trust that man. And I'm afraid that he only tries to abuse your good faith…" Raoul's vivid blue eyes met hers, tender and serious.
"I'm not saying that he is completely incapable of any acts of kindness, but it doesn't change the fact that he is clearly unstable. While even a bedlamite can do something good, he could be dangerous and should be placed in an asylum. If your teacher had really wanted to talk with you, he could have acted like a decent person and gone to the managers, asking for an appointment, even if he didn't want to reveal his full identity. He hasn't done that. For me, it's clear proof of his questionable motives, so please promise me you'll be careful…" His hand reached for hers, gently enclosing it in his own, and his forehead furrowed a little more.
"I don't want to make you feel that you don't have any right to decide for yourself, so if he comes to the opera as a normal visitor, asking for a meeting, I'm not going to prevent it. Though, I will certainly insist on taking extra precautions. Would such a solution be acceptable for you?" Raoul looked at her expectantly.
Christine considered it and let out a heavy sigh. "I think so. But I would like to send him a letter at least. I'll promise I won't do anything unreasonable, though. And I'll make sure to never be alone in the opera house, just as you want."
Raoul's face relaxed visibly. "Thank you…" He took a deep breath, running his fingers through his sandy brown hair. "Darn it, if I could, I would put you in the carriage, bring you to the port and take the first ship to England…" It was half joking, half serious, but enough to tighten a small knot in Christine's chest.
The soprano lowered her gaze again, reaching for a loose curl slipping out of her elegant chignon.
"You know I can't do that yet, Raoul…" she whispered. "I told you that I could go with you to England, but I can't just leave everything like this. The opera has been my home for over seven years, and I need time. I would like Meg and Madame Giry to go with us, but I haven't even discussed the matter with them yet, and–" she broke off, and Raoul sighed.
"I know, Christine. I wish we could put an end to all this madness, but I would never force you to do anything against your will…" The corners of his mouth lifted up in a warm, affectionate expression, and he tenderly squeezed her hand again, making her smile faintly back.
"It'll be all right, Christine…" Raoul promised, with the unwavering confidence only he could manage. He rose and sat next to her, gently pulling her into an embrace. "We'll get through this together." His breath brushed her tied-up hair.
Somehow, with these words and the safe scent of his cologne sweeping over her, it was indeed easier to believe that everything would be well in the end.
For a moment, they simply enjoyed each other's presence, and then the viscount let out another sigh, pulling away from her.
"I hate to break another moment we share, but I think the cast interviews that you were asked to attend are expected to start in about five minutes. Do you think you can do it?" His eyes searched her face for the answer.
After a short pause, Christine nodded slowly, and Raoul's features brightened.
"That's my brave Little Lotte," he cheered playfully, then leaned forwards to place a fleeting kiss on her forehead, bringing another tiny smile to her lips. Still beaming, Raoul gallantly offered her his arm, and so they both left the room to face together all that awaited them.
Sitting on a wooden crate, Meg once again glanced at the Phantom, who was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed against his chest, his posture tense. The man was clearly in a bad mood, or – as she should probably say, considering that she hadn't actually seen a good one so far – worse than usual.
Meg had more than a hunch what could be the cause of it; like the other employees, she had been unable to miss the guards that had appeared in the opera house that morning. She also had no doubts as to why Raoul de Chagny had demanded that Christine be given a new dressing room – one located far from the stage and close to the janitors and cleaning staff's offices, where somebody was always nearby. Yet, save from that one guess, the Opera Ghost's thoughts remained a mystery for her.
It was a bit awkward to talk with somebody who stood almost on the other side of the room – even in a relatively small room like this. It was also strange to see the Phantom of the Opera for the first time in the daylight seeping from the small roof window, but she wasn't exactly sure why.
Today's interviews with the main cast members had given her a perfect opportunity to sneak out, and the storage room was located in a rarely visited corner of the opera, so the chances that anybody would accidentally find them here were slim. She had even needed to bring her own lantern to traverse the last few dark and empty inner corridors leading to the room. First, though, she had had to pass by a few technical opera employees on the staircase, and she couldn't help but wonder how the Opera Ghost moved around unnoticed.
The few floors below the top roof were located just above the ceiling beams and the catwalks over the stage where she had first seen him, so she guessed that maybe he had some hidden passages between those places too – especially since they were already connected by the impressive stage mechanisms placed there. Nevertheless, she hadn't dared ask about it.
For the past fifteen minutes, she had simply continued her polite "interview" regarding less mysterious topics, but it was quite an arduous task. The most interesting thing she had learned so far was that her interlocutor actually had a formal job contract under the initials "O.G.", which required him to provide advice for every production, and also to send some of them in "the Opera Ghost's style".
The agreement hadn't been formally terminated when the new managers had arrived, but Messieurs Andre and Firmin treated it all as a distasteful joke, ignoring most of the musician's notes. Unfortunately, the only person who could shed some light on the matter – the previous managing director, Monsieur Lefevre – was currently residing in Australia. Thus, his response to the Phantom's recent letter and his explanations for the new management were unlikely to come earlier than in a few months.
Meg understood better now why the Opera Ghost was so angry with the current opera managers, but apart from that, she couldn't say that she had achieved any great success. The Phantom – or, rather, Erik Engelgerd, as she was trying to think of him – treated her with respect, but kept his answers short and terse, revealing only dry facts, and she was slowly starting to think that all of it was taking her nowhere.
Perhaps it was just a naive idea to start with…
Meg sighed inwardly and went to another question from her mental list.
"Were you also that mysterious benefactor who aided our fundraiser for Cecile Jammes's family when they had financial problems last year? Even though, according to gossip, the Opera Ghost had previously sent the manager a letter criticising her dancing?"
The Phantom's mouth pressed into a thin line.
"Little Jammes was a fresh member of the ballet team back then and was dancing terribly out of time, focusing only on her steps. La Sorelli wasn't paying enough attention to the youngest dancers while you and your mother had a cold, so someone had to politely point it out." His steel gaze moved to her, and his voice dropped a few tones.
"And as for helping them – I couldn't let a family with four children lose their lodging. Especially when both Cecile Jammes and her mother work hard at the opera house. They deserved to be able to pay for basic food and rent while her father was looking for a new job."
Meg could only blink, astounded. As far as she knew, the support the Jammes' family had received from the anonymous source was much more than just "to be able to pay for basic food and rent", but she decided not to comment. It surprised her that the man knew even that Cecile had three younger siblings. She had already known that the Phantom was a perfectionist who demanded the same from the opera employees, but it seemed that he really cared about them.
The dancer lowered her gaze to her clasped hands, feeling a peculiar ray of warmth slipping into her chest, along with another wave of shame caused by her first opinions of the Opera Ghost. Her mother had already told her a lot about his irreplaceable help for the Palais Garnier, but still she kept finding out about new things she would never have suspected him of.
The corners of Meg's lips lifted up in a tiny but soft arch.
"I think it was a really noble thing to do," she said quietly. "That, and some other things." She looked back up and saw something twitch in the Phantom's expression.
"I asked Maman and I learnt that, in these past years, you've been a great support for the opera house in many more aspects than the artistic domain. I didn't know it before, but apparently you stood behind a lot of changes that improved safety and working conditions for us – the opera employees. So, I think we really have a lot to thank you for." Her gentle, grateful smile widened. "It seems that you are not only the Opera Ghost, but also our guardian angel sometimes…"
To her surprise, her praise seemed to have the reverse of its intended effect. The Phantom's features hardened, and he averted his gaze.
"I was only doing what could be expected from the manager's adviser."
His terse answer sounded almost harsh, and Meg was flooded with confusion. What had she said wrong?
As the silence between them grew prolonged, the ballerina swallowed hard and tried to steer their conversation in another direction, but the change of subject unfortunately didn't help much.
Throughout the rest of their meeting, the Phantom, though still stiffly polite, seemed to be even more reserved and guarded. When their appointed time finally reached its end and Meg requested yet another meeting, she felt only exhausted and lost.
She also wasn't any closer to finding a good solution for this whole tangled and shadowed situation…
About an hour later, Meg's unsuccessful conversation with the Phantom still clouded her mind. Despite her disorientation and disappointment, when Christine opened the door to their shared bedroom, the ballerina forced herself to smile.
"So, how did the meeting go?" Putting her book away, Meg slid closer to the edge of the bed from where she sat by the wall. "Are you already as famous as La Carlotta, so I can start bragging about knowing you anywhere I go?" A warm, jocular grin tugged at her lips.
Her attempt at brightening the mood seemed to work, for in response an evidently tired Christine smiled a little too.
"I'm not sure about the last part, Meg, but the meeting went rather well," she said, taking a seat on the opposite bed. "We got a fairly positive reception. But some of the journalists also brought up the topic of the Opera Ghost's appearance at the ball…" Her expression dimmed, and she sighed, lowering her head.
"A few of them actually congratulated the managers on the idea of such an interesting show. Messieurs Andre and Firmin stuck to that version, letting everyone believe it all happened according to plan. As for myself… well, I did all I could to avoid that topic…" A tiredness slipped into her voice. Christine's hands clenched around the folds of her gown, and Meg couldn't stop a wave of guilt and worries from flooding over her.
"Are you all right?" She rose from her place to sit next to her best friend.
Christine sent her a sad but grateful look.
"I think I am…" Christine exhaled loudly. "But there is still some part of me that can't stop worrying about it all…" An air of helplessness tinged her tone again.
Meg's chest was pierced by another pang of guilty conscience.
On New Year's night, when Christine had finally returned to their room, they had talked about the incident at the masquerade, and Meg had done her best to ease her friend's doubts and worries as much as she could without revealing what she had learnt recently. It was not like they had found any real solutions, though.
The ballerina sighed inwardly.
She felt even more torn trying to act as a secret intermediary or peacemaker. A part of her wondered if she should help the Phantom meet with Christine to somehow solve this all, yet at the same time she wasn't quite sure what his reaction might be – judging by his previous attempts, it might end badly. Not to mention that now, with all the precautions Raoul de Chagny had already implemented, smuggling Christine anywhere bordered on impossible. She couldn't blame the viscount, but she had an impression that it only worsened the situation.
Meg took a deep breath and reached for her friend's palm, squeezing it gently.
"I really wish I knew what to do, Christine…" she whispered. "As we discussed before, I think it would be a good idea to send your tutor another letter, but I don't know what else to do. I believe that everything can be solved with time, though. You have me and your handsome viscount, so you are not alone." She smiled slightly, and Christine returned the gesture with some effort.
"Thank you, Meg. I know I can always count on you…" A warmer, less troubled expression lit her brown eyes.
A part of the burden on Meg's shoulders was lifted.
"Well, that's what friends are for," she responded softly, reaching out to embrace her almost-sister. Christine did the same, and they locked each other in a warm hug.
After a longer while, Meg pulled away enough to look again at her friend.
"Since we've already established that we can always count on each other, then maybe we can move on to another activity that friends and sisters are good at?" A tiny, impish smile played on her lips. "I heard from Cecile's mother that there are still some clafoutis and gingerbreads left from the ball. What would you say to grabbing some along with tea and having a small talk about more pleasant things?"
This time Christine grinned fully too. "It would say it's a wonderful idea." The soprano gave Meg another squeeze. Then, both friends rose to their feet and, in unison, directed their steps to the kitchen.
As the door closed behind them, Meg forced herself to listen to her own advice and push her worries away for some time. It was not like continuing to worry could bring her and the others any good, anyway – as she often reminded herself. She would definitely need more time to find the right solution, but – despite her doubts and the fact that she felt a bit as if she were wandering lost among shadows – she still believed it was not an impossible task.
Author's notes:
1) An Ascot tie is a type of a cravat (a neckband with wide, pointed wings) that was popular in the 19th century. It was folded over or tied in a knot and fastened with a pin or a clip.
2) The word "bedlam" (and so also "bedlamite") originates from the name of the London psychiatric institution: Bethlem Royal Hospital (also known as Bedlam), so I thought it would be a proper word for Raoul to use after living in England.
3) Clafoutis is a type of French cake with fruits, traditionally cherries. Apparently it was also a popular dessert in the 19th century.