Sorry, folks, this chapter doesn't really reveal any more of the story of what the de Chagny brothers are up to... Hopefully this chapter, as fluffy as it is, will at least help take people's minds off the current state of the world. I think we all could use some mindless fluff right about now.
Chapter 35. July 1887.
Erik firmly knotted the rope that held the boat to his little pier, and picked up the lantern. He went to his front door, and worked the complicated lock he had installed there, which came undone silently, a testament both to his original ingenuity in creating it and to his care in seeing that it was kept well oiled. He did not need it for advance warning, should his home be breached when he or Christine were in it; his recently reconstructed alarm bells took care of that. He swung the door open, equally silently – and froze.
Not one, not two, but three women's voices were coming from inside the Phantom's lair. This was not something that had ever happened or even been conceived of before, and its owner stood still in shock. Gradually he was able to discern one voice from another; one was his wife's sweet voice, which was the only one which belonged there. One was the strong tones of Madame Giry. And the other... Christ Almighty, Christine had brought not only the widow but her harebrained daughter down here as well! Yes, that third one was undoubtedly the shrill, inane sound of Marguerite's voice. "Meg;" a silly nickname for a silly girl.
Bloodthirsty shahs and sultans, greedy gypsies, street toughs, pirates, authorities in a dozen countries, meddlesome Persians, and jealous noblemen; all of these Erik could, and had, dealt with easily and efficiently, all the while keeping the upper hand. Three females all at once, however, were too much. Cloak swirling around his ankles, he ducked silently back out of his entryway, closing the door but leaving it unlocked, and prowled around the edges of his house's outer walls in frustration, wondering what to do. Due to his speaking tubes, he could hear most of what the women were saying.
Another cooking lesson appeared to be in progress. Madame was patiently explaining something about sauces, while Christine seemed to be alternating between asking the older woman questions, and carrying on a conversation with Meg about fashions, with the occasional digression to discuss the coming baby, which made his stomach churn to listen to. Not a conversation which would benefit from the introduction of a man to it, that much was obvious. The three women were chattering away to such an extent that he had to listen hard to make out a complete sentence from any of them.
" – don't boil it down too far – "
" – still getting sick in the mornings, Christine?"
"Yes, unfortunately. I got some nice cambric for baby gowns, it's very – "
" – thought of dimity? Celeste says her mother used it for her younger brothers – "
" – maybe. How do I know when to take it off the heat?"
" – thickens about this much."
" – you think of that fabric called 'jersey knit' for daytime things?"
" – one that's named after that English actress who wears it?"
" – she was one of the Prince of Wales' mistresses – "
"Meg!"
"What, Mother? She was, years ago, everyone knows it."
"That's what I heard as well," said Christine. "Have you seen the pictures of her? She's very beautiful. And such a figure! No wonder he liked her. I've always heard Prince Edward has an eye for handsome women."
"That will be quite enough of this conversation," announced Adele. "Oh, dear, we forgot to get out some wine, and we'll need it in just a few moments."
"I'll go get some."
"No, Christine, you must keep on stirring that sauce, and check that fish for doneness in – four minutes. I'll fetch the wine."
Erik's eyes flew wide in outrage. That domineering old bat, pry through his cherished wine cellar? How dare she?! Given the perversity of women, doubtless she'd pick out one of his best ones, to waste on whatever mess Christine was going to make him eat tonight. He was about to burst into the house in a rage, when he realised there were better options. And perhaps, some amusement to be gained... ?
He thought quickly, then carefully positioned himself and threw his voice through the speaking tube.
"Allow me to offer you some from my own cellar!"
It was one of Mephistopheles' lines from Gounod's second act. When Christine and Meg heard it sung out of nowhere and in the eerie tones of the Opera Ghost, the response was instantaneous, and most gratifying – for the ghost, that was. Both girls shrieked loudly, and there was a shattering sound, as one of them apparently dropped something which smashed. More faintly, he heard running footsteps. That would be Madame, coming up from the wine cellar. Another scream. That was Meg, not Christine. No mistaking that sound; he'd heard it too many times. A door banged.
"What in the world is going on in here?!"
"Ho there, lord Bacchus, wine please!"
Meg let out another screech – really, it was a good thing she was not trying to be a singer, she'd be ruining her voice – and Christine yelped. Erik thought he heard a third voice gasp; had he actually managed to scare the redoubtable widow as well? That would be a feather in his cap.
"It's only Erik," said Christine weakly. "I'm sure he thinks he's being funny. He must be just outside the house."
"Oh, for heaven's sake!" Madame sounded extremely put out, and Erik was further amused. "Well, now he's out two of his dinner plates, and serve him right. Calm down, Meg – oh, honestly, girl, you know perfectly well it's not really a ghost – "
"It's all right," said Christine, and Erik heard clinking, which was probably his wife trying to pick up the pieces of the broken dishes. "He can be awfully frightening when he's got a mind to. Even I was startled, and I'm used to him."
With a wicked grin playing on his face, Erik let a sinister chuckle float through to his victims' ears. Madame, evidently, did not approve.
"This is ridiculous! For a grown man to behave in such a fashion – " He heard stomping feet, and hid just in time. Adele threw open his front door and scowled ferociously round the cavern, jaw jutted forward like a bulldog.
"Erik! Come out here now! How dare you play your iniquitous tricks on us?"
In response, she got only another menacing laugh, which Erik let bounce off the walls so that she could not possibly tell where he was.
"Come out, I say!"
What an excellent opportunity she was offering for him to quote yet another bit of that opera!
"Run after me? Heavens!
I do believe that this merciless
Old lady, by fair means or foul,
Was determined to marry the devil!"
She wasn't actually quite as old as he was – but it was in the libretto. Adele looked thoroughly furious, and turned to go back inside, slamming the door behind her. Erik waited till the coast appeared to be clear, and then emerged only long enough to head into the new tunnel that he'd built to get out to the Rue Scribe. He would go and see if the daroga were at home, and if so, if he might be interested in a game of chess. Masculine company, even that of the bothersome Persian, was far preferable to what awaited Erik in his own home just at present, and perhaps if he dallied long enough at the little flat on the Rue de Rivoli, the Girys might be gone when he came back. If he were lucky.
O-O-O
When they were at the table once more for dinner that night, Erik put a bite of cold poached trout in his mouth and nearly spat it back out again. It was dreadfully overcooked, and tasted like rubber. And its accompanying sauce was curdled. He forced himself to swallow the loathsome mouthful, not wanting to be uncouth, and then saw his wife watching him.
"How is your dinner, darling?" she asked, and her poisonous tone was unmistakable.
"Lovely, thank you," he said coolly, reaching for the salt.
"Madame says it's very important not to overcook fish, or béarnaise sauce. What a good thing that no one interrupted us while we were cooking and made us forget to take them off the heat."
"Quite," said Erik, picking up another forkful and sliding it into his mouth in a marked manner. Silence reigned for the rest of dinner, and he made a point of finishing every last bite of his fish – but not without noticing that she had given him a very large serving.
O-O-O O-O-O