Chapter 32: Forget me nots, cornflowers and violets
Erik scowled and started to pack the things scattered on the bed. Averting his gaze, he threw the evidence of his previous life back into an old leather case and put it at the bottom of a carpet bag. Right after it followed a fairy tale book and a carefully wrapped package concealing a carving knife and a tiny wooden figure with the faded engraving "For E. from J.G." on the base.
The awareness that Madame Giry had seen all of these filled him with embarrassment.
Hell, he was an utter fool to keep them, wasn't he?
The Phantom gritted his teeth, and cursed under his breath when his cheek throbbed unpleasantly. The cut had mostly healed, but it still didn't exactly go well with his "unique physiognomy", as the doctor had said politely.
Erik winced and tried to relax his jaw muscles.
He only hoped that Madame Giry hadn't discovered the invitation to the ball from Meg and the thank-you card from the festival, both of which were tucked inside the book's cover.
A slight flush crept up his neck.
A fool, indeed.
The Opera Ghost let out a frustrated growl and returned to the task.
Anyway, his nonsensical sentiment was also the reason why he had decided to go through the harder process of getting documents based on his real identity instead of buying completely false ones, and now he was grateful for that. Before the catastrophe at the opera house, he had even hoped to obtain a passport for travelling to England.
A lump formed in his throat, and he swallowed hard, focusing back on the pile.
A few folders with his best compositions, records monitoring his finances and investments and a tied file of the most important letters regarding his work for Opera Garnier landed back in the bag. Soon afterwards, only two items were left on the bedcovers: the extra documents that he was supposed to show Raoul de Chagny and a small wooden music box.
A few days ago, the viscount had asked for access to all the legal documents and evidence, as well as permission to consult with the lawyer Erik had hired. Today the Opera Ghost was supposed to discuss everything with the aristocrat. The music box was supposed to be Meg's birthday present, but he doubted he would be able to give it to her personally…
Erik swallowed hard.
For the past few days, he had repeatedly told himself that he should keep his distance, but Meg deserved to at least know how much her help meant to him. The investigation was gaining momentum, and he was slowly running out of time.
His fingers traced over the ornaments he had carved and painted on the tiny wooden box.
Handicraft wasn't his forte (a diminished sense of touch in one hand definitely did not help), but thanks to all the carving lessons he had received from Monsieur Giry, the final effect was satisfactory. He had used the same flowers Meg had had in her wreath at the New Year's Eve masquerade ball – blue violets, forget-me-nots and cornflowers. He wasn't exactly sure why she had chosen them then, but he felt they described her perfectly – her loyalty, thoughtfulness, artistic intuition, honesty and her undaunted spirit. They also fitted the message he wanted to convey.
A declaration of friendship, remembrance, respect and devotion.
A strange feeling slipped into his chest, and the Phantom quickly chased away the thought of one more meaning. He couldn't allow himself to think about such things now. Fragments of the newspaper headlines and articles he had seen a few days ago flashed before his eyes.
Horror on stage. The Phantom attacks during the performance!
The police are still searching for a suspicious man who caused the recent fire in Opera Populaire. Can we sleep safely?
It was like a nightmare. We have to comb the city and drag the monster who hides behind the mask and his accomplices before justice, says one of the opera guards.
An invisible band closed around the Opera Ghost's lungs, and he clenched his hands on the music box. Meg and Madame Giry had left for the meeting in the opera house, but thankfully they had returned safely some time ago. Causing them more problems was definitely the last thing he wanted right now.
His mind wandered back to the most recent events, including the day he had regained consciousness – his shameful outburst and Meg's soft embrace.
Guided by a strange impulse, Erik lowered his head and lifted his mask. His left arm's movements were still limited and caused some pain, but almost a week after the shot, the wound had partially healed, and he was finally able to use his left hand to a certain degree and reach his face. His fingertips brushed the rough, unnatural meanders and bulges of callous, deformed skin. Just as he remembered, the sensation was nothing but abhorrent. The new scar undoubtedly didn't make it any better either.
As monstrous as always in every aspect.
The Phantom mouthed a swear word and dropped his hand with a scowl. He had no idea how Meg had been able to stand such a touch for longer than a second.
Swallowing again, he picked up the music box and hid it inside the triangular cloth that served as his sling. Then, he rose, pulled the fabric strip that was connected to the bell a floor below and waited patiently.
The requirement to do everything under supervision filled him with fury, but thankfully Raoul de Chagny's butler and right hand in one turned out to be a surprisingly tolerable person. Phillippe Roche had the stoic manner of a good servant, but also a polite and unjudging attitude towards other people, combined with a pinch of his own will. Due to an old throat injury, the man's voice was raspy and only a little louder than a whisper, but from what the Opera Ghost had learnt, Roche didn't hesitate to state his opinion, even when he disagreed with his young master.
Hiring partially disabled servants as well as having truly friendly relationships with them wasn't so common, and reluctantly Erik had to inwardly admit that perhaps Raoul de Chagny wasn't so spoiled and vain as he had once believed – at least in that aspect.
A moment later, a short knock announced the butler's arrival, just before the door opened.
Erik straightened. "I've prepared a few extra documents that Monsieur le Vicomte asked for." He stiffly gestured at the stack. "He wanted to browse through them before we talk. I would be obliged if I could use this time and exchange a few words with Meg Giry."
Phillippe Roche only nodded politely.
"Mademoiselle Meg should be in her room with Mademoiselle Christine. I'll be right back to escort you, monsieur."
If he had some thoughts about this request, he didn't show any, and Erik thanked him inwardly for that. The butler took the documents and left the room. After a few minutes, he was back, and together they headed up the long corridor.
Meg and Christine's room was located on the other side of the manor, as far from the Opera Ghost's lodging as possible. This fact was another painful reminder that he was not a trusted or welcome guest here. Stifling the remains of his pride, Erik obediently waited at the door until the butler announced him and signalled that he could come in.
Meg and Christine had been sitting at the tea table, but they rose to their feet as soon as the Phantom strode into the room – the former with visible joy, the latter with something more akin to respect mixed with a pinch of nervousness. An awkward silence hung in the air, then the ballerina turned to the butler.
"Monsieur Philippe, do you think you could give us more privacy by leaving us alone for a few minutes or at least by waiting further down the corridor?"
The man hesitated, but bowed obediently. "I'll be by the staircase then, mademoiselle."
When he left, Christine's gaze skipped between the Phantom and her friend. "A-and I… I'll wait in the drawing room," she stammered and also headed to the exit, giving the Opera Ghost a wide berth.
His presence evidently still made her a bit uncomfortable, but Erik had no idea what else he could do about it. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the soprano stop, her fingers constricted on the handle.
"Angel… I mean, Erik?"
Erik turned to her slowly, trying to relax his taut muscles and look less intimidating.
Christine timidly averted her gaze. "I… I wish it had all gone differently," she began uncertainly, "but… I'm truly grateful that you were by my side in those days and that you helped me find my voice. In more ways than the most literal one." Her eyes moved to him, and a shy smile touched her lips, surprising him.
His larynx constricted slightly. "I think that I owe much more to you, Christine."
His hoarse response seemed to take the soprano a bit aback, but just a moment later, her expression brightened again. Before he could react, Christine took a step forward and caught him in a tiny, fleeting hug. A heartbeat later, she was already gone, the door closing behind her.
Meg grinned at him again and came closer.
Part of him couldn't help but notice that she looked incredibly charming in her elegant deep azure gown with pale lace, which she had worn for the official meeting at Palais Garnier. The well fitted cut emphasised all the advantages of her figure.
"You wanted to talk?" Meg's gentle voice brought him back to the core of the matter.
The Phantom's better cheek got warmer as he realised that she must have caught him staring.
"Yes."
Meg's lips twitched slightly.
"If you want to hear the news from the opera house," she said good-humouredly, partially guessing his thoughts, "then the repair works are going well. Your anonymous instructions helped a lot, and many of the patrons also offered support during the meeting. Gossip is still buzzing in the air, and a few obtrusive journalists asked me and Maman about Christine, but thankfully Maman quite effectively brushed most of their questions off."
Erik felt a tiny knot form in his stomach.
"It definitely wouldn't be wise if you revealed too much." His words sounded harsher than he intended, and he cursed inwardly. "I'm glad everything went well, though." He swallowed hard. "And as for the reason I came, there is one more thing; I wanted to give it to you as a birthday present, but with all that is happening right now… Well, I'm not sure how much time I'll have next week."
A faint shadow flickered across Meg's countenance, but she nodded.
"I understand."
"Good." Clearing his throat, Erik crossed the room in a few long strides and placed the music box on a small table.
After a short pause, Meg joined him, eyeing the small ornamental casket with interest. "It looks beautiful."
Erik slipped his left arm from the sling. "It's a music box," he explained, taking the gift into his hands. "The lower drawer is empty, so you can keep some trinkets there. In the smaller one above, you can find the key." He pulled out the mentioned element, continuing the demonstration. "You have to put it in this hole, turn it a few times until you feel resistance, and then raise the lid." He wound up the mechanism and drew back to make a place for Meg.
The dancer glanced at him, then slowly approached and opened the box.
Gentle notes took flight, and that same second, a miniature wooden ballerina sprang to life, gliding across her little dancefloor. Her tiny arms rose, matching the music.
Meg gaped.
"I know this song! It's Elissa's aria!" Her smile bloomed into its radiant full version, revealing a tiny dimple in her left cheek, while she enthusiastically clapped her hands, bouncing on her heels.
It was as if spring sunbeams had slipped into the mansion.
Erik smiled gently. Against his will, something shifted in his chest, and the delicate words reverberated in his mind.
Remember then, do not forget me,
When our paths have split.
I can't ask much, but sometimes,
Please, think of me a bit.
Meg's eyes widened as she finally noticed one more thing. "Oh, my goodness, she's dancing my choreography, isn't she?!"
Then you find the things we've shared along,
So many things we yet could do.
Her astonished gaze moved to him, and he wasn't able to suppress a crooked smirk. "Must be a coincidence. Are you sure that you are not mistaken?"
Meg sent him a glare, but there was no real irritation in it. "I'm sure; I still remember the sequence."
Whenever I have a while,
I'll always think of you.
Erik raised his serviceable eyebrow in a further challenge. It earned him another half-harsh gaze, ruined by Meg's smile.
"I'll show you, Monsieur Disbeliever." Meg moved away from him. Her graceful moves easily synchronised with the melody and her little understudy. Now it was his turn to stare in fascination. Her skirts fluttered in the air as she made an elaborate pirouette, and her half tied-up blonde waves spilt around her, shining in the kerosene lamps' light.
She was like a sunburst of music.
Meg fluidly passed to another figure, seeming to almost float above the floor, and that was when her velvet voice filled the room, taking his breath away even more.
"Nobody said love is an easy thing,
I know our dreams won't always thrive.
My heart has just awakened;
Why do you have to leave?"
Her intonation wavered slightly as she moved, and the perfectionistic side of him instantly noted two fragments she could improve, but he had to admit that she sang well. She definitely wasn't a fully trained opera singer, but her voice carried a wonderful sweetness, and each of the words vibrated with emotions that instantly captivated him.
Meg waved at him encouragingly, and it was all the cue he needed. His lyrical baritone joined her mezzosoprano, supporting it strongly but not dominating it.
"Think of me still
when we walk singly.
Oh, please, do not forget me,
and come back safely."
Not being able to resist this pull, Erik drew closer, drinking in every detail – every tender note, every ethereal move. Meg whirled around him so close that the hem of her dress brushed his legs, sending shivers down his spine. Their voices entwined even more, creating a wonderful harmony that resonated deep within him.
In that short moment, there was nothing else. No masks, no walls. Just the two of them and the music embracing them.
"I'll think of you, so think of me
when the morning sky gets bright.
Recall the past, and listen:
You've filled my world with light."
Meg quietened, absorbed by the more elaborate poses, but he didn't stop. The next lines poured straight out of his soul along with all his gratefulness, hope mixed with despair, bewildered joy and heart-wrenching pain:
"Sun-touched memories,
They'll guide me through the night,
Give me the strength to fight anew.
It will never be possible
For me to forget you!"
His last notes soared up, thunderous and yet strangely fragile. Meg finished her final pirouette and found herself just in front of him, panting slightly, her cheeks reddened. Her long eyelashes fluttered as she raised her gaze to him.
A few short stanzas like those should have been a trifle to him, but somehow he wasn't able to catch his breath either. While he had written the music and the overly sentimental lyrics to suit the opera's heroine, he hadn't suspected how true they would become.
His line of sight slid down Meg's soft features to a stray golden strand plastered to her cheek, and then to her parted lips. Maybe it was just his imagination, but he could have sworn that the dancer shifted closer. Before he could rethink, he moved too, bending a little to reduce the rift between them that suddenly became insufferably hard to accept.
Meg's warm breath tickled his neck, filling him with a wave of heat, and that was when the reality of the situation fell on him with full force.
A twinge of panic pierced the Phantom's chest, and he straightened abruptly, striding away towards the table with a thumping heart. He had the impression that his face – no, his whole cursed body – had been set aflame.
Just what the hell was he doing?! How could he even stare at Meg like that, not to mention imagine kissing her?!
Shame pulsed in his temples.
A tiny voice at the back of his mind pointed out that the ballerina seemed equally eager to try, but he hurriedly stifled the idea. He was supposed to keep his distance, for blazes' sake!
With trembling fingers, the Opera Ghost closed the music box, hoping it provided a good enough excuse for his sudden retreat.
In the cold space that stretched between them hung a heavy silence. There was a longer pause, and then Meg spoke quietly.
"I… I've never heard you sing before. You have an amazing voice."
There was a tinge to her tone that he couldn't quite name, but somehow it was enough to make his heart thud faster.
Swearing inwardly, Erik tried to will the wretched organ into obedience. "I rarely sing for an audience," he muttered.
"Perhaps you could change that habit."
The Phantom let out a bitter huff that barely passed as an imitation of laughter. "I highly doubt that anyone would want to truly listen to a singing circus freak." Deep down, he knew that he shouldn't vent his frustration on Meg, but it was easier, safer than focusing on this hellishly confounding tangle of feelings she brought inside him.
The ballerina exhaled loudly.
"You are not a freak," she said decisively. "And I bet there would be a lot of people who would gladly listen. Including me." Her footsteps padded softly against the wooden floor as she walked off the rug and stopped on his left side, arm to arm.
Erik raised his head to avoid her gaze. The silence once again slipped between them. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her bite her lip.
"Is… is there any reason why you chose that particular song?" she asked.
The Phantom gritted his teeth, ignoring the slight discomfort in his cheek.
"You seemed to like the melody, and your choreography deserved to be remembered." His statement sounded too stiff even to his own ears, and he silently mouthed another swear word. "Besides, Iwanted to thank you for all you did for me." A treacherous hoarseness overtook his voice, and he broke off, ashamed.
For a moment, they both stood still, then Meg reached for his clenched hand, giving it a tiny squeeze. "Thank you." Releasing him, the dancer trailed her fingers over the music box's ornaments. "Is… is there anything else you wanted to tell me?" Perhaps he was imagining it, but her fingertips lingered a little longer on one of the carved cornflowers.
The Opera Ghost flexed and unflexed his hands. Yes.
"No."
Meg glanced at him as if she wasn't fully convinced, and he was flooded with another wave of heat. Hell and blazes, why could everyone in the Giry family cast such a soul-piercing gaze?
Erik cleared his throat. "Anyway, I should be going. I was supposed to show the viscount the documents I gathered." Straightening again, he headed towards the exit, but a petite hand grabbed his right sleeve, stopping him mid-way.
"Erik…"
He turned only partially, so that his mask still separated him from the ballerina.
Meg's fingers slid down to grasp his deformed palm. "I… I don't want you to push us – me – away from you again," she whispered.
A lump formed in his throat.
"I do not push away anybody," he rasped. I only try to keep a safe distance.
"Yes, you do." The ballerina squeezed his hand stronger with both of hers. "When we tried to discuss our strategy with Christine and Maman, you barely spoke and excused yourself after five minutes. You withdraw from our conversations. And for the past few days, you've hardly looked at me for longer than for a few seconds."
The Opera Ghost's jaw clenched harder. "That's not relevant," he ground out.
"Yes, it is."
"No, it isn't."
"Yes, it is. You are not meeting my gaze even now, and I don't even know what I did to deserve it!" Frustration slipped into Meg's intonation, and he felt his own patience fraying too.
"You did nothing wrong," he hissed. "And now, pardon me, I must go."
He tried to snatch his hand from Meg's grip, but she held him firmly, digging her heels into the rug, and he was afraid to use too much strength. He pulled again, but only resulted in dragging her a few steps.
"Let. Go," he growled.
Meg hesitated. "But we…"
"There is no 'but'!" he snapped. "And there is no any 'we', either! As always, there is only I!" He spun towards the dancer, jabbing himself in the chest. Meg recoiled with a start, finally releasing him.
Freed, the Phantom gesticulated violently, punctuating his words. "I have enough on my conscience already, and I refuse to add any of you again to that list, do you understand?! I REFUSE to drag you all down with me! If it goes public now that you are connected with the Phantom of the Opera, then–" His voice cracked, and he abruptly turned away, crossing his arms.
The fragments of the newspaper articles flashed through his mind again, constricting his throat. His fingers involuntarily stroked the latticework of scars hidden beneath his shirt and waistcoat.
There was a tense pause, and then Meg exhaled loudly.
"Erik, do you consider us mindless and weak creatures who are unable to decide for ourselves?"
The steel undertones resounding in her question shocked him to the core. "Of course not!" He looked back at the ballerina.
"Then why do you try to make decisions for us?"
Erik opened his mouth, but the answer didn't come. He wasn't doing that, was he? He wasn't like the irritating viscount who believed himself superior to everybody else!
Meg sighed again and took a small step forwards.
"Erik, we are not going to run around Paris with signs reading 'The Phantom of the Opera's accomplices' or take unnecessary risks, but we want to do something. We can discuss the level of our involvement in the case, but we want to take part in it." Her gaze met his.
When Erik finally spoke, his voice was shamefully hoarse. "I… I'll consider it."
"Promise."
He hesitated.
Meg frowned. "Promise," she repeated stronger.
The Phantom sent her a glower. "I promise," he yielded reluctantly.
"Thank you." Meg's expression brightened, and she smiled at him. "For a genius, you have a deeply frustrating tendency to wrongly assume that you have to deal with everything on your own, so I had to make sure."
Erik scoffed, feeling his good cheek colour a little.
"And you have a deeply irritating inclination to believe that you are responsible for everything. And to be a prying little Delilah."
Meg grinned.
"Well, there is some truth to that. Though, I have no idea how I earned the title of Delilah. I've had to keep secrets, but I've never intentionally tried to deceive anyone. And I don't think that I've ever seduced anyone." Her eyes rose to him with a playful gleam.
The left side of his face turned red, and he shifted his gaze aside, so that she couldn't read the answer from it. "Right. You would be a completely different type of heroine."
Meg studied him for a brief while. "And you would make a wonderful hero."
He couldn't help but snort. "More like a villain."
Meg shook her head. "No, a hero," she countered firmly, stepping a little closer and tilting her head to look at him. "A rather unconventional one, with a touch of an antihero, but a hero, nevertheless. And one who is not alone in his fight." She made a move as if she wanted to embrace him, but refrained from it, seeing how he stiffened. Instead, she took his hand in both of hers, giving it a tiny squeeze.
"Please remember that, all right?" she whispered, biting her lip.
Not wanting to argue more, Erik nodded politely. There were dozens of things he wanted to say, but he couldn't find the right words. Uncertainly, he returned the ballerina's gesture, gently covering her petite hands with his free palm.
"I really have to go now," he said hoarsely. With this excuse, he turned and finally left the room.
Raoul glanced at his pocket watch once again, then returned to flipping through the documents stacked neatly on the mahogany desk in his study. He had promised Christine he would give the Phantom a chance, and so he had arranged this meeting, even though a part of him doubted the results.
For now, the aristocrat could only say that the Opera Ghost was surprisingly organised and thorough for a person of such volatile temper and sanity; all the papers Philippe had brought earlier were meticulously sorted and supplemented by short notes.
The right pile consisted mostly of the evidence and statements regarding "the Devil's Child case", and with a twinge of discomfort, Raoul had to admit that what had befallen the Opera Ghost couldn't be called fair.
Nobody should be convicted without a just trial. And nobody should be treated that way.
An unpleasant feeling slipped into the viscount's stomach as he thought again about the deep scars marring the Phantom's back and sides, which they had seen during the doctor's first examination. In a few places, small pieces of flesh had been ripped out, leaving ragged cavities.
A nauseous feeling rose within Raoul.
On their way to his estate, Madame Giry had mentioned the circus to him, but back then they hadn't had time for delving into details. So, the aristocrat had primarily assumed that most of the marks had been gained by the Opera Ghost because of his reckless, aggressive behaviour. The truth had shaken him more than he wanted to show.
Darnation, how could anyone do something like that to a child?
Raoul ran his hand through his hair. Perhaps his first opinion hadn't been fully accurate. For the past few days, the Phantom had behaved as if he really cared about Meg, Christine and Madame Giry. Of course, it could be just an act, but the letters from the lawyer and the gathered documents that were supposed to protect the Giry family from the punishment for hiding a convict suggested otherwise.
Raoul sighed loudly. Learning the man's backstory had certainly helped him to understand some of the Phantom's violent reactions, but it didn't mean that his transgressions should be easily forgotten.
A polite knock pulled him from reverie.
"Come in."
In the doorway appeared Philippe, followed by the Opera Ghost looming in the shadows. Raoul nodded at his butler, giving him the sign to leave them.
The Phantom came closer, stopping before the desk. His half-masked face and stance were definitely less hostile than during their last conversation, but it was hard to miss the tight set of his jaw and squared shoulders.
"Monsieur le Vicomte," he greeted the aristocrat stiffly.
Raoul resisted the ungentlemanly urge to keep the man standing just to show who had the upper hand.
"You may sit."
The Opera Ghost scowled slightly at the commanding note in his tone, but obediently took a seat.
Raoul bore his gaze into him. "I have to admit that you are an enigma to me, monsieur," he began. "Your actions contradict themselves. The reign of the Phantom of the Opera definitely isn't something I approve of, but apparently you are not completely heartless; Madame Giry told me about other aspects of your… spectral activity." Raoul exhaled loudly. "What's more, according to Christine, you helped her a lot when I couldn't be by her side after her father's death. And for that, I'm eternally grateful," he added more quietly.
Maybe it was just his imagination, but for a split second, the Opera Ghost's stone expression crumbled a little, revealing a flash of surprise and something Raoul couldn't quite name.
The aristocrat looked away and cleared his throat, running his hand through his hair.
"Anyway," he continued, "the documents you've gathered are really helpful. I've talked with Monsieur Justiarre, the lawyer you chose, and his line of argument seems very solid when it comes to 'The Devil's Child Case' and assuring that the Giry ladies should come out of this ordeal unscathed. The lawyer who represents my family matters in France doesn't exactly specialise in criminal law, but I ventured to ask his opinion, and he agrees with Advocate Justiarre. Nevertheless, the problems start with the recent events at the Opera Populaire." Raoul drew his eyebrows together and glanced back at the Phantom.
"The cases will definitely get connected in some way. In both, we have some hard evidence, but a lot will depend on statements – word against word, presumptions and judgement of your character, which, toput it gently, isn't currently the best, according to the majority. I'll personally do everything toprotect Christine and the Girys, but to plan my strategy, I need to know one more thing: Do you plan to run away?" Raoul sent his interlocutor astern gaze.
The Phantom's features tensed.
"No." His mouth pressed into a tight, defiant line, but just a second later, his shoulders sagged, most of his abrasiveness vanishing as he looked down. "I believe that it's the only way to end this once and for all and make sure that Meg, Christine and Madame Giry will be safe," he said more quietly. "I had hoped to close the circus case and fix the mistakes I made, freeing myself of the charges. I'm also aware that recent events definitely complicate the matter." His gloved hands clenched into fists.
Raoul frowned. "If you get accused of causing harm to others by non-observance of rules or via anintentional act, you will be punished not only with a fine, but also with imprisonment. Even worse if someone assumes it was arson."
The Phantom only nodded grimly.
The aristocrat felt his eyebrows go up. "You are aware of that, and yet you still want to take the risk?"
The burning glare that the Phantom gave him could send the more faint-hearted to their grave.
"Yes, despite some opinions to the contrary, I am not completely deranged," he hissed. "I'm well aware of the risk and that's precisely why I asked you, monsieur, to take care of the ladies in case I can't."
Raoul couldn't help but stare. The man he saw now didn't exactly fit the image of the ruthless Phantom, threatening and manipulating others for his own gain. Perhaps Christine was right, and most of that roughness really was just a facade. A mask.
Anyway, there was only one way to find out. Raoul smiled to himself slightly and rose from his seat, making his decision.
"Well then, you can count on me, Monsieur le Fantôme," he said loudly, reaching out his hand. "I'll do all I can to make this trial fair."
The Opera Ghost eyed him and his palm with incredulity.
Raoul waved his fingers encouragingly. "I promise that this time it's not a trick, but a true peace offering. I wouldn't be a gentleman if I couldn't acknowledge that my first judgement was a little wrong."
The death glower returned, but then the Phantom stood up and – hesitantly but firmly – returned the handshake. "I suppose I've misjudged you, monsieur, a bit too," he admitted coldly, surprising Raoul. "But if we don't want that to continue, I would prefer to be called by my real name – Erik Engelgerd."
Raoul's smile widened. "It's a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, Monsieur Engelgerd. Ionly regret not meeting sooner; it would have certainly saved us some trouble."
The Phantom – or, rather, Erik Engelgerd – shot him another murderous glare.
The aristocrat apologetically raised his hands. "Yes, I know, it was partially my fault." Raoul exhaled and rubbed the fading bruise on his cheek. "I never wanted the situation to get so much out of control. Nor for you, monsieur, to get shot. I apologise for that." Thewords didn't pass easily through his lips, but he knew it was the right thing to say. "Nevertheless, from now on, we can try to achieve some form of peaceful cooperation. Especially if we don't want to get scolded by Madame Giry," headded in astage whisper.
The corners of the Opera Ghost's mouth twitched. Raoul wasn't sure if it was more an irritated grimace or a pinch of amusement. Perhaps both?
"Anyway" – the aristocrat cleared his throat slightly – "I've arranged a meeting here with Monsieur Justiarre for tomorrow afternoon. And this evening, I would appreciate if you explained to me a few more details. But before we focus on that, there is one more thing: Christine obliged me to ask you to have a longer honest conversation with Meg."
Erik Engelgerd's face instantly closed.
"I'm not dishonest towards her," he growled.
Raoul sighed. "I think she meant rather being more clear about your intentions. Or, as I should probably say, feelings," he clarified gently. "I'm not enthused about discussing this topic further, but even I can't fail to notice some things. And the truth is I've never seen awoman fight more fiercely for someone else's sake." A smile returned to his lips. "Therefore if, absolutely coincidentally, you did want to talk with our little ballerina again, Isuggest you do it first thing in the morning."
Author's notes:
1) In the Victorian era, the language of flowers was quite popular. The flowers could have a few different meanings and they could vary a little depending on the region, but generally:
– cornflower – often represented searching for true love, and they were sometimes worn by young, unmarried men or women to show that, but it also meant devotion, patience, delicacy, hope, honesty, blessedness, courage and strength;
– forget-me-not – meant literally "don't forget me" and symbolised a promise to keep someone in your thoughts, but also devotion and true love/respect, memories;
– blue violet – was a symbol of faithfulness/loyalty and modesty, but also remembrance, thoughtfulness, friendship, the message "I'll always be there for you" or "I'll always be true", faith, sometimes intuition or artistic abilities.
I hope that it explains better the extra depth in Meg's choice of flower crown for the ball and Erik's decision to use the same flowers in the music box's ornamentation. :)
2) The lyrics that Meg and Erik sing are my flawed version of Andrew L. Webber's amazing song "Think of me". I do not have any rights to the original.
3) If you enjoyed this chapter, I would love to hear your thoughts. As always, thanks for reading and sorry for another delay – I've had a bit of a hard time (mainly because of work). Your messages are like little rays of sunshine that reach me even on cloudy days, and I can't express how grateful I am for each of them! ‹3