Chapter 31: News and Conversations
Meg once again glanced at her reflection in the mirror, adjusting one of her hairpins, then left the lavatory.
She felt a bit guilty for getting up so late, but at the same time, she was grateful that nobody had woken her up earlier. The last few days had been too hectic and stressful to properly take care ofherself, and yesterday evening, she had been so tired that she had collapsed on the bed fully dressed. A full night's rest, a long, warm bath and a more presentable appearance were definitely nice changes.
The ballerina smiled and headed to the kitchen. The smell of aromatic coffee and freshly baked bread greeted her at the threshold, improving her mood even more.
"Good morning. And bon appétit." Christine turned to her with a smile, handing her a full cup and plate.
"Thank you." Meg eagerly accepted the breakfast and sat at a simple wooden table. The de Chagny estate possessed a beautiful, richly ornamented dining room, but somehow, when Raoul had gone to the city on business matters (including bringing back Madame Giry), it was much cosier to eat here.
Christine took the opposite seat, next to the larder door.
"Philippe already brought Erik some food earlier and helped him with changing the bandages," she said.
Meg nodded, simultaneously glad and strangely embarrassed that her friend was so easily able to guess what she most wanted to know. The whole situation was still tangled, but it had been a huge relief that Christine understood the ballerina's feelings and agreed with her decisions. Unfortunately, she couldn't say the same about Raoul. And probably neither about Erik…
Meg sighed inwardly, taking a sip of coffee.
The Opera Ghost's state was improving, and the fact filled her with relief and joy. But no matter how hard she wanted to focus only on that, she couldn't fully chase away a tiny twinge of disappointment; all her affection and acceptance hadn't been enough for Erik to forget about his mask, and that pained her more than she wanted to show. On the other hand, perhaps she shouldn't have expected more? Life wasn't a fairy tale where curses could be lifted with one spell or one act of kindness. Especially curses that had poisoned someone's soul for years.
Meg bit her lip. Erik had undoubtedly come a long way since the day they had met, and she was able to see that he cared about her too, even though he often had problems with showing it more expressively.
Her thoughts went back to their hug, Erik's outburst and apology and everything that had followed.
When she saw the Phantom struggling with the buttons, she had instinctively offered her help and was overjoyed that he accepted it, allowing himself a moment of vulnerability. However, as soon as she sat next to him and reached towards his shirt, all those more complex musings evaporated. The inhuman, tendrils-like bulges spreading from Erik's right shoulder truly looked ghastly, but somehow her attention had been more drawn to the strong lines of his muscles. She couldn't fail to notice how well-built he was. Nor stop her heart from jumping like a cancan dancer or ignore a tiny, unladylike part of her that wondered how it would feel to touch the short, dark hair covering most of his chest and explore that area more…
A wave of heat flooded her cheeks. Swallowing another bite of a baguette slice with jam, Meg hurriedly concentrated back on the present.
"And how are you?" she asked, glancing at her friend. "Did you talk with Raoul last night as you wanted? I tried to wait for your return to our room, but I must have fallen asleep." An apologetic note slipped into her tone.
Christine sent her a gentle reproaching look.
"Meg, you were exhausted. You had every right to go to bed. I know I often ask for support, but that doesn't mean I require it all the time. Besides, I want to do something for you too sometimes." Her expression softened.
A memory of another conversation, in which the Opera Ghost had told her something similar, flashed through Meg's mind.
"Thank you," she whispered, her throat constricted slightly with emotions.
"You're welcome." Christine glanced at her fondly over the edge of her cup, then lowered it back on the saucer, playing with its handle. "As for Raoul and I, well… we did talk. Though, at the same time, I feel as if we didn't really talk at all." A heavy sigh escaped her mouth.
"Since that horrible fuss in the opera underground and his apology, he's tried to listen to what I say, but he still acts as if he knows better. I really love him, and I've always felt so safe with him by my side, but… Somehow, it isn't enough anymore." The soprano's fingers constricted on the porcelain. "And when he still treats me only as a naive, helpless damsel in distress, I feel so… so" – her eyes swept the room in search of the right word – "so angry at him! I have no idea what to do about it!"
Meg couldn't suppress a small grin.
"Well, we could always set up an Association of Being Angry at Raoul, because I'm a bit angry at him too."
The brunette groaned quietly. "Meg, I'm being serious!"
"Actually, I'm partially serious too." Chasing away a jocular tone, Meg sighed and looked down at her cup. "I think that a bit of irritation is fully justified in our situation. I want to protect people who are close to my heart, and I don't want to be treated as if I'm not able to form my own opinions or make decisions. I have the impression that anger rather helps in that." She raised her gaze back at her friend.
Christine frowned slightly.
"You think so?"
"I do." Meg nodded. "And I also think that Raoul truly loves you and cares about you. Despite his doubts, he agreed to help us after the incomplete explanation we gave him in the opera's underground. He definitely has some flaws, but if you tell him clearly how you feel and what you expect, I'm sure he will understand. Just talk with him as openly as you do with me."
Christine exhaled loudly and brushed away a loose curl. "I… I'll try. Thank you, Meg." In her dark brown irises flashed warm sparks, but also an atypical firmness.
For a short while, the friends returned to their meal in silence, and then the soprano spoke quietly again.
"The world definitely would be a much simpler place if some people weren't so frustratingly stubborn, wouldn't it?"
Meg could only agree with a scoff.
"Absolutely. But we are not going to give up, are we?" She grinned and reached for her friend's hand.
Christine smiled and returned her squeeze. "Of course not! Especially when we have each other to support one another."
Meg chuckled and rose to hug her honorary sister. Life and relationships were complex dances you could get lost in, but those moments were also the ones when you could count on your best friends themost.
The rest of Meg's noon and afternoon passed by checking on Erik, persuading him to rest and convincing him to eat without the mask pressing on his injured cheek (it took some time, even when she promised that no one would enter the room). The doctor's visit was a bit tense – especially when the medic wanted to also examine the cut on his patient's face and the Phantom almost burned him with his gaze – but thankfully with her assistance everything went without any harm to anyone.
"Do you need anything more?" Meg glanced at the (once again masked) Opera Ghost, who sat in the armchair and obediently sipped the prescribed herbal and willow bark infusion with a practised tilt ofthe cup and a slight grimace. Though still weakened, he looked much more like his usual self, after he had managed to shave and – with Philippe Roche's help – put on a fresh shirt and a waistcoat. His buttons were back to being stiffly fastened all the way up to his neck (as a tiny part of her had noted earlier with slight disappointment).
Erik averted his gaze. "No, thank you. You can rest." He was nothing but polite, but the bigger reserve that had returned to his behaviour towards her still worried her a little.
Meg sighed inwardly and headed to the exit. "All right."
She understood that the whole situation and dependence on others weren't comfortable for him, but watching him again hide behind the distanced Opera Ghost's mask – both literally and not – wasn't something she wanted to experience. And why did he act as if nothing had happened between them yesterday? Did he assume that she hugged all men like that?
The ballerina let out a tiny huff of frustration.
They definitely had a few things to talk about, but she didn't want to start the conversation now, while they were all anxiously awaiting news from the opera house.
As if on cue, the front door clanked, and her mother and Raoul's voices echoed in the hall below along with their footsteps. Christine's delicate soprano joined them soon afterwards.
Philippe, who had waited for Meg in the corridor, sent her a quick look and also hurried back down.
At the edge of her vision, the dancer saw Erik (or maybe rather the Phantom, considering his rigid posture) rise from the armchair and take a few steps towards the centre of the room. His jaw tightened and he stopped by the table with his right hand closed on the chair's back, his left arm posed awkwardly in its sling.
Meg sent him a reassuring smile, then rushed towards the stairs too. She didn't have to go far, for half-way she was ardently intercepted by her mother.
"Meg!" Antoinette Giry pulled away enough to glance at her daughter, and then hugged her closely again. Christine and Raoul paused a few steps behind, smiling. "Thank God, you look much better too, child. Raoul told me that Erik fully regained consciousness yesterday and that the further prognosis is optimistic. Is he awake now?" The ballet mistress looked at Meg hopefully.
Meg felt a warm smile tug at her lips.
"He is waiting in his room." She gestured towards the corridor, and before she finished speaking, her mother was already hurrying in the direction with a clatter of her heels and a rustle of her black dress.
Meg followed behind her along with the rest. Madame Giry practically burst into the room and stopped several steps in front of the Opera Ghost, pressing her hand to her mouth.
Erik released the chair's back and straightened even more, curling his hand at his side, his fingers just barely twitching. His visible features tightened into a cold mask, as unfriendly as the leather one, but Meg knew it was only a sign that he was nervous.
"Madame Giry." He inclined his head in a polite greeting.
There was a short pause, and then Madame Giry regained her speech.
"I… I was deeply upset because of you, young man." Her usually strict voice sounded uncharacteristically weak.
A spasm went across Erik's face.
"My deepest apologies, madame," he replied dryly. "It was not my intention to cause further problems. Nor to damage the stage and–"
He wasn't able to finish, for Madame Giry covered the distance separating them, almost colliding with him.
"I don't care one bit about any cursed stage, you foolish boy!" she shouted, throwing her hands in theair. "I was worried because you got shot!" A muffled sob escaped her mouth, and her fingers clenched on the Phantom's waistcoat's lapels, shaking him slightly. "For heaven's sake, you could have died and there was almost nothing I could do! Never, never do anything like that to me again, doyou hear me?!" Tears rolled down her cheeks, and she slumped, clinging to the Opera Ghost's right side.
Erik froze in utter shock, arm hovering awkwardly in the air above the ballet mistress.
The whole room went silent, not counting Madame Giry's quiet weeping. Out of the corner of her eye, Meg saw Raoul's jaw go slack. The Phantom sent her a furtive pleading glance, like a panicked schoolboy who was faced with something completely beyond his abilities.
In response, Meg could only smile cheeringly. If the Opera Ghost's gaze could burn, she would have been only one step from being incinerated.
"I can promise I will do my best to avoid similar situations in the future, Madame Giry," the Phantom ground out finally, focusing back on her mother. "Nevertheless, I feel obliged to point out that getting shot wasn't exactly my decision." His lips twisted in a scowl, and his glare fleetingly rested on Raoul.
Madame Giry let out a sound caught somewhere between a humorous huff and another sob.
"I know…" She sniffled. "I couldn't help but think that if you had stayed in hiding as I had asked, or if you had somehow tried to contact me instead of acting by yourself, we could have avoided that whole disaster. But the thing is that I didn't give you a lot of reasons to rely on me, did I? I was supposed to take care of you and protect you. But I failed you completely, didn't I?" Her voice cracked, and her shoulders shook. "I made so many mistakes, and even now I often say only the wrong things. But despite it all, you are someone very, very dear to me, Erik. You know that, don't you?" Her tearful question hung in the air.
Meg saw dozens of emotions flash over Erik's face, even though he clearly tried to hide them. When he finally spoke, the hoarseness in his words was palpable.
"I… I don't think that you failed completely, Madame Giry," he whispered.
Antoinette Giry sobbed and deepened her hug. The Phantom stiffened, but after a short hesitation (and another glance towards Meg), clumsily patted the ballet mistress on the back.
Meg felt her own eyes water. Glancing furtively aside, she saw that Raoul's jaw had dropped even lower and his eyebrows had shot so high that they nearly touched his hairline. Christine, who stood by his side, smiled affectionately at her. All together, they definitely made a strange picture, but they were still a family, weren't they?
Meg smiled to herself, feeling warmth flood her chest.
A moment later, Antoinette Giry sniffled one last time and drew back, regaining her usual composure while Erik straightened his crumpled waistcoat.
"Anyway" – the ballet mistress produced a neatly folded handkerchief and wiped away the last few tears she had shed – "I think we have some things to discuss together, so instead of standing here, my children, I suggest we move somewhere we can all sit comfortably. And maybe also drink something."
"But it wasn't like that at all!"
Interrupting Madame Giry's recount, Christine almost sprang to her feet from her place on the sofa next to Raoul.
All eyes turned to her, and she suddenly felt self-conscious. Raoul always teased that she was unusually shy for an actress, but the truth was that stating her real opinion was indeed harder for her than singing her role, once she got into it.
The soprano swallowed, nervously clasping her hands.
"I mean," she said more quietly, "the guard is twisting the facts. I was there, and I know what I saw. And I'm willing to tell everything to the investigators. That will surely change their perspective, won't it?" She glanced up hopefully.
Meg and Madame Giry smiled at her.
"It's definitely worth trying. Though I don't think it will be so easy." The older woman sighed and rubbed her temples wearily.
Raoul scoffed. "It definitely won't be." Turning to him, Christine saw his mouth twist a little. "The investigators will definitely listen, but considering the nature of your… unconventional acquaintanceship with the perpetrator" – he pronounced the words with distaste – "they may have some doubts about the clarity of your point of view. Especially since the Phantom's recent actions were far from acceptable." The aristocrat shot the Opera Ghost a sideways glance.
Raoul had a point there, but Christine felt a painful prick of disappointment, followed by an entirely different feeling, which, to her surprise, she identified as irritation. She had hardly ever been angered, much less because of Raoul, but on the other hand, she rarely had a different opinion from him for alonger period of time. Now, a tiny part of her wanted nothing more than to throw one of the embroidered pillows at him, and the realisation was both upsetting and strangely liberating. After all, did he really have to be so condemning and contemptuous?
The meeting was arranged in the cosy drawing room, yet the atmosphere definitely didn't resemble a peaceful afternoon tea party. The biscuits Philippe had brought them with tea lay untouched, and she was unable to ignore the tension in the air – particularly between her fiancé and her ex-Angel ofMusic.
Glancing towards the Opera Ghost (or maybe rather Erik, as she was trying to think of him), Christine noticed that his gloved hand had clenched even tighter on the armchair's armrest. Madame Giry must have caught it too, because she quickly spoke again.
"There might be some truth in it, but I still think that there is a chance that giving all of our statements, supported by other evidence, should be enough. From what I heard, Lucien Buquet confirmed that you met a man of" – she faltered slightly on her words – "well, nightmarish face and unusual behaviour, but he also testified that said man wasn't aggressive and wanted to surrender."
Christine felt another spark of hope.
"Anyway," the ballet mistress continued, "I think it will be better if Erik still remains in hiding. At least until the worst moods and the wildest gossip after the fire subside." She grimaced a bit. "As for the rest of us, we can discuss later what course of action we are going to take. For now, I just wanted to update you with the latest news. There is a lot we have to think through, but the situation isn't the worst. Rumours aside, the damage will be fixed completely within a few weeks, and all the employees will be compensated with a part of their pay for that time, so nobody will suffer. All thanks to a note with instructions sent to our panicked managers and an anonymous donation we received."
Her expression softened as she looked up at the Phantom, the corners of her lips curving in a gentle arch.
Meg blinked, processing the information, then beamed and smiled at Erik even more warmly.
The Opera Ghost averted his gaze.
If Christine hadn't known better, she would have thought that his uncovered cheek blushed a bit.
Raoul's cerulean eyes darted between the women and the man, then widened in disbelief as it finally dawned on him. "One of the letters I was asked to send…" He broke off, and his eyebrows pulled down.
"Why did nobody inform me about the money before?"
The commanding edge to his tone surprised Christine, as well as the rest of her family.
Madame Giry turned to the young viscount, a small crease on her forehead.
"I didn't think it was so important."
Raoul's frown deepened. "I'm the main opera patron. And as such, I cannot agree to accept money from the Phantom!" His hand thrust towards the musician.
The Opera Ghost's gaze darkened.
"With all due respect, Monsieur le Vicomte, I can do with my money whatever I please." The low, menacing notes in his voice sent shivers down Christine's spine.
The aristocrat shook his head violently, rising from his place.
"Not as long as I'm around. I refuse to take anything from someone who has built his position on extortion, threats and manipulation!"
Christine saw the Phantom's jaw clench so hard that something twitched under his mask. The musician slowly lifted himself to his feet too, propping himself on the table, his eyes burning. The soprano was inwardly thankful for the piece of furniture that separated the men.
"I've done nothing of the kind," he ground out through the gritted teeth. "All I have is a reward for my hard work. Besides, I've been taking care of the opera house for years, so only a fool would ignore my advice." The left corner of his lips curved spitefully. "Though, perhaps I shouldn't expect much from a man who endangered his own fiancée by setting a badly planned trap."
Raoul's face reddened.
"It's an utter humbug, and Christine was supposed to be escorted away with the others! And if you are such an embodiment of wronged innocence, monsieur, then why–"
"BOYS!" Madame Giry's shout made everyone's heads snap towards her. "Behave yourselves! And sit back down, for heaven's sake! I can't concentrate when you are both looming over my head."
The "boys" sent her and each other dark glares, but followed the plea, obediently returning to their seats.
"Well, that's much better." The ballet mistress rewarded them with the approving look of a strict teacher. "Do I have to remind anyone that we are in this together?"
There were no volunteers.
Antoinette Giry nodded with satisfaction. "I thought so. Since you seem to need to cool down, for now, I will end the meeting. Erik, I think it would be best if you retired to your room. Philippe, Meg… if you would be so dear and escort him." She glanced at the Opera Ghost and the other two.
The Phantom looked as if he wanted to protest, but the soft pressure of Meg's hand on his arm was enough to make him change his mind. The man rose from the armchair with a stiff nod and strode towards the exit. Meg hurriedly joined him, sending the rest a goodbye smile and a short wave. Philippe gave his young master a short look, then followed after the duo.
Madame Giry turned back to Raoul, her thin lips narrowing.
"With you, Raoul de Chagny, I would like a word now, if you please. It seems that I need to explain some things more thoroughly to you." Her eyebrows pulled down with a hint of reproach. Her gaze lost its strictness as she glanced at Christine. "There are some explanations you can listen to as well, Christine, so you can stay if you want."
The soprano swallowed a lump forming in her throat.
"I… I think that I would like that very much. Especially since there are some things I would like to discuss with Raoul too later."
Both Raoul and Madame Giry stared at her in surprise, but just a second later, the lines around the older woman's eyes creased softly. The ballet mistress sent Christine a tiny but warm and strangely proud smile.
"Well, let's begin, then."
Madame Giry left the drawing room, and Raoul allowed himself to slump in his seat and bury his face in his hands, resting his elbows on his knees.
The last time he had received such a reprimand and lecture, he had been just a young boy, still under his governess's care. Of course, unless he counted his conversations with his father…
The aristocrat winced and looked back up. Christine stood a few steps from him, wringing her hands.
Raoul exhaled and rubbed his face in a tired gesture.
"If you want to bring up more examples that confirm that – save from being a rather unsettling figure – your ex-Angel of Music was not only a caring opera house guardian, protector of the weak, benefactor to the poor and heavens-knows-what-else, please spare me your efforts. I've already heard more than I can digest."
Christine twitched and lowered her head.
"A-actually, I mostly want to talk with you about something else…" She reached for a loose strand, which wasn't tied up in her chignon, nervously wrapping it around her fingers.
Raoul felt something knot inside him slightly. She couldn't be so anxious because of him, could she?
Sighing, he rose to his feet.
"I'm listening, then," he said more warmly.
Christine sent him a grateful look.
"I… I would like to talk about us. I know that I often rely on your support and guidance, but…" she paused and looked down, taking a deep breath. "Well, I… also would like you to see me as an equal. Someone you trust. Not as a naive, flimsy, overemotional little girl you think you have to make decisions for…" Her lips quivered, and a single tear rolled down her cheek.
Raoul felt as if he had been hit by a steam piston.
Darnation, was that how she saw this? Or even worse – how he had really treated her?
The memories of his father flooded his mind again. His stomach twisted unpleasantly.
"It's not like that, Christine." Crossing the distance separating them, the viscount reached out and gently cupped his fiancée's cheek, brushing away the dampness. "I was just worried about you."
Christine nodded slightly, not raising her head. "I know," she whispered. "I also know that my knowledge and experiences are more limited compared to yours, but… I do have my own mind, Raoul. And sometimes there might even be things that I may know more about. Like the character of the man who has supported me for seven years and taught me to sing…" she broke off, wrapping her arms tightly around herself.
"I'm aware that we look at the world a bit differently," she continued quietly, "but… if our opinions ever differ again, can we just talk about it and make a decision together? We are not identical, and I think we don't have to be, but I really want to be your partner, Raoul. Someone whose opinions do matter and are heard out. For me, it's also a part of love. And that's all I ask of you." She raised her head, finally returning his gaze; her chocolate brown eyes glistened, brimming with tears and a whole storm of emotions.
Raoul felt his heart melt completely.
"Oh, Christine…" Pulling the girl closer, he enclosed her in a warm embrace. "My wonderful, wise, beautiful Christine." Her soft curls tickled him as he pressed a short kiss on the top of her hair. "I've really acted like an arrogant fool; I'm sorry. Of course, we can talk and try to decide together. Will such a promise be enough? Will you be able to forgive me?" He drew back a little to glance at his fiancée.
Christine smiled slightly.
"I think it will be a good start. And I've already started to forgive you."
Encouraged, the viscount slowly leaned down to her rosy lips. To his utter surprise, the soprano stopped him, putting her hand to his mouth.
"I… I think I need a little more time before we return to this. Romantic kissing the beloved who has caused me so much stress recently isn't something I would like to do right now," she said with an embarrassed blush.
Her gentle resistance astonished him, bringing a pang of disappointment but also a spark of admiration.
His Christine. She had grown up too, hadn't she? And he was learning to love her even more.
The aristocrat withdrew and bowed with a flourish. "As my diva commands."
Christine huffed a chuckle. Her melodic laughter was undoubtedly one of the most beautiful sounds inthe world.
Raoul grinned broadly. "Any more requests?"
The girl returned the smile.
"Actually, there are a few things I have in mind. Though, some of them may sound strange to you. Especially one." Her expression became more serious as she gazed at him. "I would like you to talk with Erik about something. And also to apologise to him."
Raoul's eyebrows shot up.
Well, that was a demanding request. The Phantom was definitely the last person he wanted to indulge. But on the other hand, the aristocrat couldn't deny that there was more to this story than he had once thought.
Raoul ran a hand through his hair and exhaled loudly.
"I'm not sure about this idea, but… I'm ready to listen to your reasoning," he conceded.
The affectionate look Christine sent him was the best reward he could have received.
"Thank you." After a moment of hesitation, the soprano stood on her toes and placed a fleeting kiss on his cheek.
All right, he liked that second reward too.
His fiancée smiled at him, then took his hand and gently pulled him towards the sofa.
"Let's talk."
Author's notes:
1) Willow bark has been used in natural treatment to reduce pain and inflammation for many years, and also had its place in 19th century medicine. It owes its properties to salicin (a chemical similar to Aspirin – acetylsalicylic acid). Salicin and salicylic acid extracted from plants also had medical uses. (Salicin crystals were first extracted from willow in 1828, and in 1838 there was isolated salicylic acid, which was even more potent as a drug).
2) Yay, more hugs for Erik! Do we have any more volunteers? ;)