Chapter 11: Decisions; or, a Ghost and a Gift
The day after her unfortunate escapade, Meg, thanks to her mother's decision, was excused from the usual routine of warm-ups and exercises and allowed to stay in bed under the pretext of feeling a bit under the weather. Her tiredness and slightly hoarse throat were clear proof for everyone that she was probably getting a cold (and she herself wasn't exactly sure that it wasn't true), so no one questioned the decision.
The only thing she felt bad about was that she could not be honest with her best friend. Christine made it a point of honour to take care of her, bringing her warm tea and extra blankets, which just increased Meg's feeling of guilt. Despite that, she didn't dare risk breaking her promise to the Opera Ghost. And in spite of those pangs of conscience, a part of her was actually grateful that she was given the opportunity to sleep off the last events and have some time alone to sort out her confused thoughts.
It was still hard for her to believe that her parents had been hiding a runaway or to imagine the fearsome, towering Phantom as a vulnerable boy, but at the same time, it explained a lot of things. It was as if all the strange events she had once rejected as unimportant suddenly gained a deeper significance. Like elements of a puzzle finally falling into place and forming one picture…
Those few autumn and winter months, when she had been seven years old, during which her father had spent most nights outside their home and her mother had started returning from the opera much later than usual.
The boy's clothes she had found in their flat about half a year later.
Her parents' weird behaviour.
Her mother's strange disappearances and her interest in the Opera Ghost's letters whenever one had appeared.
And, also… the tiny wooden soldier – similar to the ones her papa used to carve and give out to children in their neighbourhood – that had mysteriously appeared next to her father's photograph in the opera chapel after his funeral five years ago. Though, perhaps it was silly of her to suspect that the Phantom of the Opera would act in such a sentimental way…
Meg sighed and glanced at the long, narrow scab on her palm, left after yesterday's cut.
She still didn't know what to think about the man hidden behind the mask, but hearing his story had made her see him in a different light – much more like another human being than an unknown threat. He certainly was an unsettling figure, and she did not approve of most of his recent actions, but could she really call him a bad person?
Her eyes moved to the ceiling above her bed as if she could find some answers there.
Now, as she thought about it, a lot of good things for the opera house and its employees had happened thanks to the Opera Ghost's letters. If he really was their author, then he was almost some sort of benefactor to them. And, despite what Joseph Buquet's blood-chilling tales said, he had never harmed anyone. Well, at least, as long as she didn't take into consideration the intervention during Il Muto's premiere – though, even then, no serious harm had been done.
During both their meetings, the Phantom had been verbally harsh towards her, but at the same time, he hadn't taken any actions against her. He had even given her his cape upon seeing her shivering. Furthermore, he had actually saved her life. Probably even more than once, if she counted that incident on the catwalk…
Meg felt a wave of guilt flooding over her. There was a lot of the Phantom's fault in this, but she hadn't treated him fairly, had she?
The ballerina groaned and ran her fingers through her hair in frustration. Her hand rested at the back of her neck.
Should she somehow apologise to the Opera Ghost? Should she try to do something to fix this whole situation? Was there even anything she could do?
Meg bit her lower lip, and her fingers unconsciously moved to her pendant, finding some sort of comfort in feeling the familiar edges of the small cross engraved on it under her fingertips.
Her mother was truly worried about the Phantom's recent behaviour, but unfortunately it seemed that he didn't want to hear her advice. Would he listen if she tried to talk to him? She had serious doubts about it, but she just couldn't sit and do nothing.
Meg furrowed her forehead, considering her options, and that was when an idea came to her mind. It was a slightly odd plan and she would definitely need some time for it, but she should be able to implement the first part on Christmas…
Three weeks later.
Erik stood in the small room above the Avant Foyer – or, more precisely, in the narrow corridor hidden in the wall separating it from the upper part of the Grand Foyer, looking down through a narrow gap at the people gathered below.
The previous manager had started a tradition of organising Christmas Eve supper for the employees who didn't have any family other than the opera cast to share it with. The new management had fortunately kept that custom, so now almost every piece of space was decorated with fragrant pine, spruce and fir branches, tinsel and many other colourful decorations, illuminated by the soft glow of candles as well as gaslights. The whole central part of the hall was taken by joined tables, almost bending under the weight of festive food, from a roasted turkey to a chocolate bûche de Noël, and the air was filled with muffled hearty laughs and echoes of merry conversations.
A moment later, the voices quietened down as the managers stood up to make a speech, and then everyone prepared for the toast, wishing each other all the best. Madame Giry raised her glass and tilted her head back, glancing straight towards the place where he was hiding.
Erik flinched and took a step aside, averting his gaze. He knew very well there was no chance she could see him, but he couldn't stop himself from looking away, and that only made him feel even more irritated.
For the last three weeks he had stayed in the shadows, even though something inside him turned upside down every time the young viscount sent Christine one of his infuriatingly smug grins, or when the managers made another stupid move.
The events of Il Muto's premiere had been on everyone's tongues for a long time, but still nothing had changed, apart from the fact that Joseph Buquet had started to act like a little more like a decent and more sober human being (though, if it was the result of his intervention or instead the mechanic's guilty conscience towards Madame Giry and her daughter, Erik couldn't tell). The Opera Ghost had kept himself away from the centre of attention, just as the ballet mistress wanted, that didn't mean he accepted her point of view on other matters.
She had no right to tell him what to do. He had started it all years ago without her consent, so he did not need her acceptance right now, either.
Anyway, how did that hellish woman even know he was here? Erik gritted his teeth. He probably shouldn't have shown her so many entrances to his secret passageways…
Not many people concerned their thoughts with pondering how many technical spaces were needed for such a building as the Palais Garnier. Most of the spectators looked at the stage, not guessing how many gears, ropes and other mechanisms were concealed just beneath its surface or mounted on the catwalks above it and at the coulisses. The visitors – just like the non-technical staff – walked by the ventilation grilles without thinking about the unseen, elaborate air ducts behind them, passed the small, unobtrusive doors placed between the walls without even sparing them one glance and never wondered about the kilometres of hidden pipes that delivered gas to the jets lighting the edifice's interior.
Hardly anyone was aware how many empty spaces there were in the theatre walls, leaving the room required for all these installations. And that was exactly what he had taken advantage of.
Some of the areas could be accessed from the maintenance closets, and that – after some modification of his own design – allowed him to move unnoticeably (though rather uncomfortably) through some of the main sections of the opera house, making him a real ghost of the place.
Feeling obliged towards Madame Giry, he had informed her about many of these passages, as well as those below the ground. Now, he was really starting to regret it.
With a quiet huff of vexation, Erik turned his attention back to the people gathered below.
Christine was there too, seated between Meg Giry and the cursed viscount. In her elegant pale pink gown, she somehow looked even more beautiful than he had remembered. A moment later, the soprano giggled softly at something her companions were talking about, and he found himself longing to be there even more than before, and at the same time knowing that it would never be possible.
All he could do was to be a spectre – a pitiful observer of the lives of the ones who could really live, while he was chained forever to darkness. A shadowy figure who was only sometimes allowed to make an impact on the real world…
The smiling aristocrat said something more and Christine beamed, turning to him and gently resting her delicate hand on his forearm. With a twinge of pain in his heart, Erik averted his gaze.
He had sworn not to give up without a fight, but it seemed he was already losing miserably.
His nails dug into his gloved palms so hard that, if not for the layer of leather, they would definitely have left some marks.
A quiet voice at the back of his mind once again whispered that Christine would never be able to look at him the way she gazed at Raoul de Chagny. But despite that, he felt that he could not let that foppish boy take her away from him completely. He had been connected with Christine by the beauty of music, but there had also been something more, and he was not willing to relinquish that so easily.
The Opera Ghost clenched his jaw and forced himself to once again look down through the narrow hole in the wall.
Both Christine and Meg Giry were now turned towards the young viscount, clearly engaged in whatever discussion they were having. A moment later, the blonde ballerina leaned slightly backwards on her chair and, following her mother's line of sight, glanced towards his hideout, giving him a strange feeling of being watched. The dancer held her gaze there for a brief while, and a hint of a faint smile flitted over her lips, almost as if she were greeting him. Then, the girl turned back to her conversation partners, leaving him in a state of utter shock.
Just what in blazes was wrong with these two women?!
He was aware that, even though both ladies Giry must suspect he was there, they couldn't really see him. They were probably sending strange glances towards the juncture of the ceiling and the wall even when he wasn't looking at them, but still… well, he wasn't exactly sure what he thought about all of it.
Over the duration of the supper, Madame Giry sent a few more furtive glances in his direction, as if indicating that she wanted to include him in the celebration. Some tiny part of him was strangely touched by the gesture, but the rest focused more on the feeling of vexation.
He didn't need the ballet mistress's exhortations, and her pity was even less welcome!
He probably wouldn't even have come here today if he hadn't needed to busy his thoughts with something. Since the premiere of Il Muto, the memories of his past had redoubled their efforts in tormenting him, and all he wanted was simply to forget about it all for a moment. He certainly hadn't come here for these ridiculous sentiments!
While he was making these inner self-assurances, a few orchestra musicians who were taking part in Le Réveillon, having apparently satisfied their initial hunger, rose from their seats and moved to the instruments they had brought with them. Shortly afterwards, the familiar sounds of violins and flutes filled the room with a peaceful melody, in which he easily recognised a popular seventeenth-century carol. It was quite well known, so soon some of the gathered joined in, singing softly the words of "Un flambeau, Jeanette, Isabelle".
Erik felt his irritation slowly subside.
When they finished, the musicians moved to "Minuit, chrétiens", and as the first gentle notes drifted into the night air, the Opera Ghost finally gave up and let the music carry him somewhere far, far away…
It was well into the night when he finally decided to return to his quarters, but somehow he felt more rested than before.
Erik slipped quietly into the secret passage behind the Foyer de la Danse that led to the underground, and groaned inwardly when he noticed a brown paper parcel waiting for him there. He wasn't exactly pleased, but it didn't surprise him to find it – Madame Giry tended to do something like this every year, even after he told her several times that there was no such need. However, what he hadn't predicted was the second package lying innocently next to the first one…
Not exactly sure if he was more irritated or intrigued, the Opera Ghost crouched down, putting the lantern aside, and reached for the smaller parcel. Untying the string revealed a small pile of books and a letter filled with small rows of Madame Giry's scrupulous and angular handwriting.
Erik winced slightly and moved on to open the second parcel. Inside, he found his cleaned black cape (which someone had finally deigned to return), but also a smaller package accompanying it. On top rested a folded sheet of paper attached to a card which he – to his slight puzzlement – recognised as an invitation for the New Year's Eve ball that the managers had given to all the major employees.
Confused, the man reached for the note and found that it was filled with neat, but round letters.
–
Monsieur,
I know that our first two meetings haven't gone well, and I have to admit that I am partially to blame. I haven't treated you fairly, and for that please accept my sincere apologies.
I hope that, despite our rocky beginning, we will be able to reach some agreement, since I am also involved in all of this now. There are still a lot of things I have yet to understand, and I would be glad if you could help me fill some of the gaps. I would be honoured if you could talk with me during the New Year's Eve Masquerade.
In return for the favour, I attach something I hope you find suitable for the upcoming ball.
With best regards,
Meg Giry
–
Erik felt his eyes widen in disbelief. Was Meg Giry in some way inviting him to the masked ball?!
He glanced once again at the short letter, but the words he had just read refused to change.
Well, when he thought more carefully about it, he had to admit it was quite a clever idea – by inviting him to the masquerade, she could talk to him without risking revealing his identity to anyone. At the same time, she would have a feeling of safety from being surrounded by other people.
Not that the last precaution was really necessary…
A scowl twisted his mouth.
Sure, he would gladly see that irritating smug smile wiped from the young viscount's perfect face, just as he would gladly teach the managers and a few other people a pinch of respect, but he was not going to fall so low and resort to force or any dirty tricks. Especially towards a woman.
A tiny part of him obligingly reminded him of the night after Christine's debut, as well as La Carlotta's throat spray, and something in his stomach clenched into a tight knot.
Those had just been mistakes. Failures he intended to fix and never repeat again.
Erik swallowed hard and reached for the attached parcel. Furrowing his forehead, he unfolded the paper, and his eyes widened again as he discovered a well-sewn elegant waistcoat. Even more perplexed, he raised the garment.
The navy blue material gleamed slightly in the lantern light, revealing a darker, embroidered ornamental pattern, and leaving him no doubts that it was good quality cotton satin and definitely not some cheap fabric. What was more, the waistcoat seemed to be more or less made for his measurements.
Meg Giry must have spent a large part of her monthly salary on this…
Only, why would she have done something like this for him? Erik's eyebrows pulled down.
Well, it didn't matter anyway. He had a plan to execute, and no doubts, gifts or letters were going to stop him. He had already decided what he had to do during the ball, and there was no turning back now.
With that thought, the Phantom gathered the newly acquired items and rose to his feet, plunging back into the darkness of the underground corridors.
It was true that he had been just a dim spectre for most of his years here, but the Opera Ghost could take a corporeal form too. And the New Year's Eve masquerade was an opportunity he was going to put to good use.
Author's notes:
1) I have never learnt French, so I know next to nothing about French customs, but according to what I've read on the Internet, people in France celebrated/celebrate Christmas Eve (i.e., the night before Christmas) by having the festive nocturnal meal Le Réveillon – traditionally after attending the midnight or earlier evening/night mass (though sometimes the order could/can be interchanged).
Both carols mentioned in this chapter have French origin (according to Wikipedia), and both of them have been translated into English: "Un flambeau, Jeanette, Isabelle" – "Bring a Torch, Jeanette, Isabella", "Minuit, chrétiens" (also known as "Cantique de Noël") – "O holy night".
La bûche de Noël – a "yule log" – is a traditional Christmas cake in the form of a roulade.
2) I find 19th-century technical solutions and installations quite interesting, but unfortunately I couldn't find any specific information about the ones in Opera Garnier, so most of what I have mentioned in this chapter – though, based on some facts – is made up. However, if you go for a virtual tour on the Paris Opera website, you can see that there are indeed some mysterious doors in the walls – for example between the Avant Foyer and both the Rotonde de la Lune and the Rotonde du Soleil or the latter one and the Galerie du Glacier. I have no idea what's behind them, but my guess is that they served some technical purposes. Maybe for the main gas valves? Certainly not as hideout entrances for brooding Opera Ghosts. ;)
3) I wrote the first version of this chapter a long time ago (almost 2 years), but since I'm posting it in December (2022) and it's thematically connected, I would like to already wish you all a merry Christmas or other Seasonal Holiday you may celebrate. Thank you so much for reading! We are one third of the way through the story now.