A/N: Thank you so much for your continued interest and feedback! :) And now, onward and upward… or maybe downward and back? ;-) Time shall tell…
Chapter XVI
.
"I trust that all of you have enjoyed your stay thus far."
The Maestro's voice flowed like aural honey: sweet, warm and pleasant to the ears; but the look in his eyes was chilling.
La Carlotta and the Vicomte gaped at the presence of the dark silver half mask, before averting their eyes in unease. The Vicomte stepped forward and struck out his hand. "Monsieur Rochester, I am the Vicomte de Chagny. My family has recently offered patronage to the Paris Opera House. The managers told me of another investor offering capitol, in secret, in support of the arts. I presume that to be you?"
"Did they really?" What exactly the disdainful words referred to - the family's patronage or the managers' betrayal of his private aid - he didn't clarify; nor did he answer Raoul's question. A glacial look was cast toward the Vicomte's proffered hand before he lifted his eyes. "Henceforth, I prefer to be addressed as Maestro."
"Oh, uh, of course."
The affable expression on Raoul's face diminished into confusion as the Maestro shunned his handshake and turned his steady gaze toward the women. "And now, let us go to supper. Madame Giry," he stepped forward and offered the hand he had refused Raoul. "If you will accompany me…"
The slender woman in widow's black trimmed in burnished-gold lace stood to her feet, accepting his aid and his arm, and the two exited the parlor. Christine and Meg followed, with Raoul taking up the rear and accompanying the diva.
As they walked along the corridor and into the dining room, Christine noticed how the Maestro inclined his head to Madame Giry, the woman just as absorbed in the private conversation they shared. She must be ten years his senior, but Christine suspected they shared a closeness that belied Madame's previous remark of 'only meeting with him on the rare occasion.' And she neither liked nor understood the bitter feeling that twisted her insides at the discovery that their association might run deeper than Madame expressed.
As Christine approached the long table, never taking her eyes off the black-clad pair before her, she was thrown against its edge as Carlotta swiftly stepped through the space between her and Meg, knocking into Christine's shoulder in her rush to reach the remaining seat of honor, close to the host.
The Maestro turned as if he actually heard Christine's soft indrawn hiss from the jolt. Surreptitiously, she rubbed her skirts near her hip and the bruise that surely had formed. His eyes met hers.
"Miss Daaé, as my hostess, you may take the seat to my left," he motioned to the chair at his elbow, completely ignoring Carlotta who had come close, while Madame Giry walked behind the Maestro to take a seat on the opposite side at his right. "Mademoiselle Giry, you will of course wish to sit near your friend, so as to easily converse."
Meg gave a faint smile of agreement and slipped into the directed chair. The Maestro took his place at the head, Christine at his left and Madame at his right, with Meg sitting beside Christine. That left the two place settings far down the table, near the foot, where Christine and Meg sat during previous meals. Carlotta had no choice but to turn in an offended huff and slink to one of the outcast chairs, the arrangement making clear in the hierarchy of the seating system what little importance the Maestro attributed to his remaining two guests.
It was clearly intended as a slight, one which by the reddened face of Carlotta she did not take well, though she'd done the same, Christine having learned that the diva arranged with Dorothea to place two settings far down the table, since the first evening Christine joined the dinner party. With the animosity most of the staff felt for Christine due to the interrogation over the missing mirror, the maid had readily complied with Carlotta's wishes.
Christine felt little sympathy for the diva, the tables now turned, literally, though perhaps the Vicomte did not deserve such ill treatment. Never once had he snubbed or insulted her, though his interest for her to sing had caused her nerves to fray. Raoul took the demotion from head to foot in stride, making no remark of the changed seating pattern. He took the chair across from the diva, exhibiting a cavalier manner, perhaps as a noble gesture so the insulted woman might at least try to calm her flustered feathers.
Christine allowed one glance toward the pair, then no more, as she brought her attention to those seated around her. Madame Giry questioned the Maestro on the situation at the Opera House, and he spent the greater part of the first course of Mock Turtle Soup, Ducks Alamonde, Sallad, Bottle'd Peas, and French Pye relaying all he'd found.
"Then the fire truly was accidental?" Meg piped in.
"I would not classify negligence and gross incompetence as accidental, Mademoiselle Giry," he contradicted. "A cigar, still lit, carelessly found its way into the rubbish bin that created the fire upon which a scenery piece combusted. From there, the conflagration caught the stage curtain. You know the rest."
With his left hand, he took up a crystal glass and carefully sipped his red wine, as careful as the manner in which he then slipped the tines of a fork between his lips with the smallest of morsels he had cut. Surreptitiously watching him, Christine realized it could not be easy for him to dine while wearing a mask. She wondered if he usually ate so encumbered…if ever he took it off…
"The idiot culprit was singled out and has been sacked," he continued, "having found his new home behind prison bars. The management will need to find a new lead tenor."
Far down the table, a sudden bout of coughing disrupted the conversation. Christine looked toward Carlotta, who had clapped her napkin over her mouth, choking into it. She raised furious eyes toward the Maestro.
"Ubaldo! You had my Ubaldo arrested?" she accused.
"No, Madame," he directed his first words to her of the evening. "That particular pleasure was awarded to Messieurs Firmin and Andre."
"Play-zhur!" She threw the napkin down on her heavily laden plate. "My aunt's fanny if Ubaldo had anything to do with thees fire! It was that Phantom menace – mark my words! Why you not hunt him and put him behind bars?!"
Unfazed by her affronted outburst, the Maestro took another sip of wine before responding. "Sigñor Piangi confessed," he said smoothly. "Doubtless, with the influential friends he keeps, his stay in prison will be a short one. Perhaps if this Opera Ghost, of which I have heard, plagues your sensibilities so strongly, you should consider finding work elsewhere. I hear Teatro La Fenice is holding auditions for La Traviata."
"Auditions? I have no need for auditions – I am a star! My following and experience speaks for itself."
The Maestro softly snorted and blotted his lips with his napkin. "Everyone has need to audition and especially when joining a new establishment. Be that as it may, I have no interest in what you choose to do if it does not involve the opera house in Paris. As for this 'Phantom menace'…" he paused with a smirk, and Christine noted the sharp glance Madame Giry directed his way… "May I suggest that you cease to incite him to act so fiendishly, so that we might all co-exist in peace."
"You cannot mean... you wish me to give in to his demands?!" she nearly spluttered.
"Upon consideration, I have found that his demands can only improve the opera."
"Including his demand that I should not sing the lead?!"
La Carlotta looked fit to explode while the Maestro sat back in his chair with a nonchalant shrug of his hands. "Perhaps it is best for all invovled."
"I disagree," Raoul put in, earning him a scowl from the Maestro. "The opera is no place for extortion or threats which this coward, who parades around as a ghost, has the temerity to deliver. Or so I am told."
The Maestro's lips thinned. "Perhaps, monsieur, as you are not well-informed, being so new to the theatre, it would be wise not to speak of matters of which you know nothing."
"As one who has offered his secret patronage before I arrived, perhaps you would care to inform me of this Opera Ghost and remedy the situation?"
Christine wondered if she was the only one who noted the sudden tension that charged the room. A look across the table at Madame's thinly compressed lips and worried brow assured she was not alone in her observation.
As if recalling that two important patrons sat within her presence, the diva's manner shifted into one more gregarious and falsely sweet. "Allora, allora - I have the answer! I shall let you gentlemen decide with the production of our play. Si, si, - I will sing for you!"
Not to Christine's surprise, the diva brought the focus of conversation back around to her.
"The lines are all spoken," Christine said and received a waspish sting of brown eyes directed her way for her input, silently demanding her silence.
"That can be changed." Carlotta decided with a nod of her red head. "I will sing,"
Madame took a hefty swallow of her wine while the Maestro tersely cut into his meat as if it had betrayed him. If the Vicomte hoped to get a recounting of the 'ghostly' situation at the Opera House, he was bound to be disappointed, for it did not appear as if the Maestro had any inclination to satisfy his curiosity.
The next course was served, sumptuous dishes Christine had helped plan but wasn't sure she had the appetite for any longer. She watched the footman enter the room and come to the Maestro's side, bending low to speak quietly near his ear. The mask he'd chosen to wear failed to cover all of his expression as in days past, and as Gregory straightened to await his orders, the Maestro's mouth tightened into a grim, forbidding line, his skin whiter than its normal pale hue, his golden eyes instantly aflame with barely contained rage.
"I regret to inform you that I must leave your charming company," the Maestro stood to his feet, the barest trace of sarcasm coloring his tone. "Please, continue with your meal. Mademoiselle Daaé, a word with you."
He strode to the open door without waiting for Christine to rise, and she shared a nervous look with Meg before following him out of the dining room. They walked a short distance from the doors and waited for Gregory to hurry past, before he shared what was on his mind.
"I presume Adrienne is with her nurse?"
"Yes. She takes her evening meals with her."
He nodded shortly, as if unconcerned with the reason or too distracted at the moment to care. "You are to inform the nurse to keep her there tonight. Under no circumstances is she to come downstairs to the parlor to entertain."
Slightly addled by his demands, she studied his burning eyes and tightly drawn mouth in question. "Is everything alright, monsieur?"
"It will be," he said with harsh resolve and took the corridor leading to the library, where she assumed he was headed.
x
Christine did not delay and hurried to the staircase and Adrienne's small sitting room, adjacent to the child's bedchamber, where the girl and her nurse took their dinners and Christine and Adrienne took luncheon.
The door stood ajar, so Christine didn't bother to knock but walked directly inside. A glance to the corner directly opposite showed the nurse Elita in a chair near the hearth, reading what appeared to be a religious missal. The small table held two plates with no more than crumbs and bones left from their supper, the serving dishes covered and awaiting retrieval from the maid. The nurse looked up at Christine's entrance and nodded in a greeting Christine returned before she turned to seek out the child.
Adrienne stood in front of a far window, the curtains drawn back by her small fists as she stared out at the dark landscape. Clearly seen through the diamond panes of glass, a full moon hung over the forest, large and orange in color.
The girl looked over her shoulder at Christine's approach, a wicked twinkle in her eye. "Mademoiselle, have a care – and be sure to lock your windows and doors. For it is on this night the Harvest Monster scours the land, looking for those he may devour…"
Adrienne's words, dramatically low-pitched and grim, jarred Christine into the traumatic childhood memory of being locked inside an attic by her wretched cousins. A night she regrettably had never forgotten. Frozen in place, she felt a blast of the old horror chill her veins with its icy breath.
"Who told you those words?" Christine asked, willing her voice to remain steady.
"It is the legend; everyone in the village knows of it..."
It made a wicked kind of sense; terrible legends could be passed from village to village and town to town; it is what they were designed for – to spread like a virus and inflict those sensitive to fear.
"It is said he has the face of a demon," the child gleefully continued in her dark and dismal recounting. "One look at his face is so horribly frightening it will petrify you where you stand so that he might better devour you. He goes after children, but you are so slight that he might mistake you for one- so beware! –"
"That is enough!" Christine's words came out sharper than intended, and she noted the surprise that made Adrienne flinch.
"I meant no harm, mademoiselle. It is only a tale I heard a boy say to other girls and boys in the village last year. I thought to recite it tonight."
"Tales that are meant to wound should never be given the breath to exist."
Seeing the girl's wide eyes of confusion to witness such uncharacteristic, erratic behavior from her quiet governess, Christine forced herself to calm. She had overreacted, too familiar with the subject to be impartial. "I came to tell you that the Maestro ordered you are to stay in your rooms tonight."
"I cannot come downstairs to entertain the guests?" Adrienne's lip quivered in a pout.
"Not tonight, but I do have some good news." Christine felt remorseful to have perforated the lonely child's happiness, no matter its sinister source, and smiled though her heart wasn't involved. "The Maestro has said the play may resume…" Adrienne's pout bloomed into a grin of delight. "Yes, I thought that might cheer you. And I need you to look through the libretto and find a place for La Carlotta to sing."
Perhaps it was a stretch to say the Maestro had given permission, due to his bitter words on the subject – but in a roundabout way he had agreed, telling her to do as she wished. And she was certain the diva wouldn't forget her selfish pronouncement and would harangue them at every opportunity until a place was carved out for her to sing.
Once she left a somewhat pacified Adrienne and returned to the main floor, Christine mulled over the dinner conversation. She had never heard the diva sing, but the Maestro's silence and expression of contempt led her to believe he had done so and wasn't the least bit impressed. Not wishing to return to the role of interim hostess any time soon, sure the dinner party could manage on their own, Christine turned at the corridor that led the library. She wasn't entirely sure why she was seeking him out, only that she preferred his company to the rest, Meg excluded, and was curious about the cause of his irritation, especially since it must have to do with Adrienne. As she approached the closed double doors, she heard the Maestro shout from within:
" - A fool's errand! I wrote to you and your imprudent brothers never to come here!"
"I have every right to see her," a man's voice responded, his words heard more faintly but with a distinctive accent. "I was a boy then, too young to have a say!"
"Your presence here can do nothing but instigate more problems! Do you wish to take her with you back to Italy? Provide for her? See to her every need? No? – then get the hell out of my home!"
"You cannot make me go. I will do what I must …"
Words came softer and Christine drew closer to the door, putting her ear to the carved wood and ignoring every sound rebuke that told her this was wrong and she should go.
"Oh, can I not, Sigñor?" The dim rumble of a chuckle could be heard.
"You cannot keep her from me!" the man insisted. "You have no right!"
"I have every right, or have you forgotten the scheme into which your brothers trapped me?"
"I had nothing to do with that! I was too young to be included in their plans, but I did not agree with their methods -"
"You knew of them! You could have warned me!"
Their words dwindled into rhythmic murmurs, indecipherable, as they conversed in lower tones, and Christine furrowed her brow in frustration, pressing even closer against the wood in a futile effort to hear.
"No," the Maestro's deep distinct voice came low, but strong and definitive.
"I will see her!"
"The devil you will! If you do not leave here of your own accord, I will throw you out, an act you would most assuredly regret. I am no gentleman and do not cater to foolish courtesies of alerting the authorities when it comes to intruders. You might wish to reconsider, Sigñor Russo: a broken bone or two received through such an undistinguished exit might hamper your future."
"You, sir, are no more than a scoundrel!" the stranger shouted in fury. "You have not heard the last of this!"
A rash of hurried footsteps coming her way caused Christine to hastily draw back from the door and step into the shadows of a tall statue nearby. Both doors flew open as a young man, diminutive of stature with black hair, mustache and goatee burst out of the room and stormed down the corridor in the opposite direction Christine lingered. She waited until he disappeared from sight before moving tentatively to the open door and peeking around its edge, just in time to see the Maestro hurl a glass goblet into the hearth fire. It gave a sudden roar and blast of flame. Immediately he whirled to his desk, the tails of his frock coat swinging about his legs. With one vicious swipe of his arm, the golden firebird and stack of ledgers went crashing to the tiles. Papers riffled, glass smashed, and metal gave a dull clang as the clutter of his desk hit the floor, but the Maestro's shout of fury was what unnerved Christine the most.
"Damn you!" he growled, "and damn your conniving brothers! Curse the lot of you…" His last words came softer as he wearily dropped to his knees, and she watched with wide eyes as he grabbed the edge of the desk and pressed his forehead to it.
Being witness to such excessive rage made her tremble to her core, and she might have remained apprehensive of him had she not seen his stone fury crack to reveal the vulnerable core of his own torment.
Never had she seen him so enraged…nor so distraught
Compassion urged her to draw closer, to aid him however she could, but sense ordered her hasty departure before she was spotted and he turned his unfettered rage upon her.
Avoiding the dining room Christine headed to the parlor, wishing for a moment's solitude before she must return to the guests. From what she had been able to surmise of the volatile conversation, Sigñor Russo was somehow related to Adrienne – perhaps one of the absentee uncles…
If the Maestro was so adamant that the stranger not see her, having commanded that Adrienne remain upstairs, did this mean the unwanted caller was a danger to the child?
x
Late that night, the wild wind howled a mournful tune, the limbs of the tree outside the window clacking together like the disturbed bones of a vengeful skeleton, their twigs like bony fingers scratching against the panes with frequent diligence - and making sleep impossible.
A perfect night for such a frightful legend, and Christine sat in her bedchamber, huddled before the small hearth fire, soaking up its blessed warmth, her sketchbook on her lap. Able at last to hold a pencil without discomfort she forced her mind to cheery thoughts, planning another visit to the mystical gazebo soon, before the weather grew too cold to allow for the artistic outing.
With idle strokes, she shaded in lines while her rebellious mind again revisited the evening's more unsettling events. She should not have eavesdropped; ethically, it was wrong. But, may God forgive her, she was glad she did. Adrienne was assigned as her charge, but the precocious child had become quite dear to Christine in the month since she arrived at Thornfield; now aware that Adrienne might be at risk from outside threats, Christine would do all that was in her ability to help protect her.
A face took form beneath the charcoal tip, and she realized with a start that it was the Maestro's…
To see his eyes stare up at her from the paper brought a subtle twinge to her heart, and she poised the charcoal above the left side of the paper to sketch in a mask then hesitated. He may choose not to reveal himself to her, but that didn't mean she had to condone such inflexibility in her artwork. A bold move on her part, but no eyes but hers would ever see...
From Madame Fairfax's account, the right side of his face was 'afflicted', what Madame called 'a tragic sight.' So much so that it disgusted his mother who had insisted he wear a mask from the cradle.
Christine studied what she had sketched, then filled in the right side of the paper with the visible side of his face, the slope of proud nose, the half she'd seen uncovered by dark silver, the high cheekbone above a hollow cheek and the firm, lean jaw, with its faint shadow…all she remembered when she stared at him at the dinner table, all she had memorized of features always hidden by the full black mask he'd previously worn.
There.
Satisfied, she mirrored the left side of dark perfection to the right side of his face, then with a pensive eye to her work, added sweeping lines and smudged their edges with her fingertip.
Frowning, she set her charcoal down after a few minutes. Shadows and indistinct lines no longer made features resemble a normal man's, and yet…this was no visage of the beast he thought himself, either. Of course, her humble attempt was only an interpretation of a vague description, perhaps not one bit close to truth's palette, but it did give her an idea of what might lie beneath the mask…
So absorbed was she in her bold creation that the sudden sharp rap at her door- two swift knocks - startled her hand into jerking a heavy black line that sliced across his entire face. Blast! She frowned at the damage done and reluctantly closed her sketchbook, standing to her feet and setting the book in the chair.
Curious who would seek her out so late - perhaps Adrienne suffered from a nightmare and couldn't find her nurse – Christine tied her wrapper securely about herself and moved to the door to open it.
Her jaw dropped to see the Maestro standing there.
The half mask, his golden green-eyes – at the moment annoyed and impatient – were the only things recognizable about his demeanor. His black hair was mussed, several strands loose from the ribbon at his nape, as if he'd been busy at a grueling task. His formal tail coat and waistcoat of earlier were missing, the shirt he wore partially ballooning from where it was tucked inside his trousers. Once before had she seen him so disheveled, the night of the fire, and then as now, his presence set her all a-quiver inside. She clutched her dressing gown near her throat and regarded him with wide and wary eyes.
"I have need of your aid," he said without preamble. His probing gaze did a quick sweep of her form. "How long will it take you to dress?"
"I…" She mentally grasped at lucidity when confusion fairly smothered the room. "Fifteen minutes?"
He frowned. "That won't do. You will need to come as you are. Grab your cloak and make haste!"
It was on the tip of her tongue to refuse, to insist that he tell her for what purpose he expected her to leave her bedchamber in her nightclothes in the dark of night and accompany him to parts unknown, but clearly something was amiss, and mutely she obeyed. Once she closed the door behind her, fully cloaked, he regarded her as if something just occurred to him.
"Are you averse to the sight of blood?"
She felt her own life-giving fluid seep anxiously from her face at such an alarming question. "Blood?" At his terse nod, she struggled to find an answer. "I-I don't think so…"
"Come then." Swiftly he resumed his trek, and she followed, sensing that whatever answer she gave wouldn't have mattered; he would have involved her on his mystery task, regardless. "I rely on your discretion," he said as she hurried up to walk beside him. "Speak of this to no one."
"Of course," she agreed, nervous as to what exactly she agreed to. Surely he wouldn't ask her to do anything immoral … No, he had treated her burns, tended to her fever, and through those benevolent acts gained a level of her trust. His mention of blood unnerved her, but not enough to refuse to accompany him, though she was hardly equipped to provide medical treatment and certainly, he had proven his superior skill in such matters.
"Has someone been injured?" she asked, unable to bottle her curiosity any longer as they reached the opposite side of the manor.
Never breaking stride, he turned his head only long enough to briefly put a finger to his lips for silence as they continued onward. Apparently, he wanted no one in the manor to overhear and get wind of their actions, should anyone else be about.
As quickly as he moved, Christine felt thankful she could again walk unhampered and clutched the edges of her cloak tight around her form against the invasive chill, as they entered the wing and the corridor that held the long succession of family portraits. The way wasn't lit by candles, the disc of the large, orange moon all that offered illumination to their path from the long panel of windows to their right.
Only one exit could be found at the far end she realized with dawning shock, and once they reached it, he opened the door that led to the forbidden entryway of the south tower...
She gasped in stunned horror at the sight that met her eyes as the Maestro moved toward a man who lay prone at the foot of the stairs. One arm was bent at an unnaturally wicked angle, and a gash at his temple bled into a small puddle on the floor, its cause, perhaps, the broken shards of silver glass that glinted in the low light of a lamp fastened to the rock wall. The backing of a mirror lay nearby, dully gleaming, its familiar tin shell engraved with decorative scrolls.
Her mirror, and with another glance she recognized the injured man as the evening caller with whom the Maestro had been so furious.
"Miss Daaé," he clipped, breaking into the fog of suspicion that suddenly clouded her mind. Woodenly she moved forward to see better. The man lay insensible - or perhaps dead…?
"I must collect my box of remedies," the Maestro said. "You are to remain here, do not leave his side. If he awakens, do not allow him to move from this spot."
"How do you suggest I stop him?" she asked doubtfully, relieved to know the man yet lived. But she was reminded of his obstinance, to see Adrienne. From what she could see of this man, he was small, but his shoulders and physique appeared strong – stronger than she was certainly.
"Do what you must – sit on him if necessary – just do not let the wretched fool leave this room!" With a growl of disgust Christine felt wasn't directed to her, the Maestro exited the small antechamber.
Chilling tales of harvest monsters failed to seem like no more than legend as she sat alone at the foot of the dark stairs with the victim of whatever diabolical fiend inhabited the south tower.
xXx
A/N: And so, the plot does thicken… Just a reminder -this story follows several variations of Jane Eyre (book and movies) but does its own thing too. So, did you enjoy the dinner? The events that followed? Oh, and yes, rest assured - a long awaited moment (one of them) is just around the bend…. ;-)