Well go on, you might as well say it. You think I should have told Christine the truth from the first, don’t you? It’s not as if I delighted in lying to her, but you must try to understand my position. I had several reasons for not exposing Erik’s deceit, not the least of which being what he might do to me if I did. And I had more than my self-preservation to consider. Prior to Erik’s entrance into her life Christine might have been one of the walking dead, so listlessly and apathetically did she carry out her existence. His presence had brought strength to her shoulders and brilliance to her eyes, and I couldn’t bear to be the one who ended her dream. The reality would be hard enough when it came…but I really think that if I told her then, the truth would have killed her. Assuming she even believed me to begin with.
So I kept my silence while those around me marveled at the inexplicable change in her character. She still remained quiet and aloof, and never did have too many friends in the chorus apart from Meg. But that immense sadness left her, and in its place that mystical aura which surrounded her became more striking. I overheard more than one unkind comment about "that odd girl with her head in the clouds," but Christine took no notice of their words and so I looked the other way. After what the poor child had suffered from Violette, a few petty remarks were an improvement.
Meg, meanwhile, considered the change to be entirely favorable. "Her improvement is remarkable," she told me. "I’d love to know how you managed it."
"You give me entirely too much credit," I replied with a smirk. "Christine’s making her own destiny. I’m just along for the journey."
"And I’m Queen Victoria. There was no helping her before she started confiding in you, and now—" She spread her hands to emphasize the point. "What on earth do you two talk about, anyway?"
"You’ll sooner get tales from her confessor than you will from me. And don’t pout," I admonished as she exhibited her displeasure. "It was hardly charming when you were ten, and now that you’re eighteen it’s less so." I don’t blame Meg for being put out with her exclusion from Christine’s secret. After all, she was supposed to be the bosom companion, and my intrusion on that role must have rankled. But neither Christine nor I were in a position to divulge any information, so my daughter was forced to suffer our silence.
Besides, it’s not as if my position was an enviable one. I was not only burdened with the obligation of concealing Erik and Christine’s relationship from the world in general; I also endured some painful confidences I would have preferred to remain ignorant of. Day after day, I was forced to watch Erik wrestle with his own heart. He was clearly tortured by his desire for the young chorus girl, all the more so because he could not bear to bring himself to acknowledge it. Admitting his yearning would mean owning up to his humanity, his sensibilities…his helplessness. He had endured so much torment at the hands of others that he had forced himself to believe he did not need what people had refused to give him, and now that conviction had come crashing down on him. And he wasn’t the only one who suffered…
"Is everything all right? You’ve hardly touched your food," I inquired of Christine as we took lunch in a small café. I had long ago learned—as some never did—that in certain circumstances it was preferable to hold a private conversation in the midst of the unconcerned public rather than in a seemingly empty room of the Opera.
"I’m in an awful dilemma," she admitted. "Madame, isn’t it true that the angels in Heaven have no use for…desire?"
"So we are told in the Scripture." My brow furrowed pensively. "Why do you ask? Has the Angel been making some form of proposition?"
"Oh, no!" She nearly laughed with the apparent audacity of my question. "A fine Angel that would be, who leered at girls like that horrible man Buquet! No," she continued, sobering, "he has not suggested anything of that sort. To the contrary, he insists I must live chaste, as if I had taken holy orders."
"That doesn’t surprise me," I said, sipping my tea. Although I knew Erik’s reasons for the taboo were not entirely virtuous, I couldn’t fault him for imposing it. "At this time, it would be wise to keep yourself free from all distractions. And many of the men who frequent the Opera are best avoided under any circumstance."
Her eyes widened in surprise, and she nodded. "Those were nearly his exact words," she responded. "And I know he’s right; I’ve heard some…awful stories. And yet," she bowed her head shamefully, "I’m tempted, Madame."
"Tempted? By whom?"
"Haven’t you guessed? By him!" She paused as the waiter returned to collect our used dishes, while I registered her confession in stunned silence. After he left us, she began to speak again. "It’s not just his voice, though God knows that would be enough. Sometimes he stays with me after my lesson, and we talk…mostly we talk about music, of course, but I haven’t been able to talk about that with anyone since Father died, and I’d forgotten how much I’d missed it. And sometimes he tells me the most remarkable stories, about exotic places on the other side of the world, or about the foolishness of some over-proud member of the company. His words remind me how wonderful it is to be able to smile, to laugh, to dream. And when he sings to me…" A shiver passed through her. "When I sleep, I dream of that voice, whispering songs of love as he takes me in his arms…"
I clung to the table as though it could root me to the ground, for I had a terribly clear vision of Christine in Erik’s embrace, her eyes closed with sensual luxury as he bent to croon softly in her ear, his elegant fingers tracing a caressing line across her torso….The vivid image scalded me with a mixture of agony and voyeuristic pleasure. "And this disturbs you?" I asked when I could find my voice.
"How can it not?" She buried her head in her hands. "I try so hard to please him, and yet this sin continues to torment me…."
"Christine," I forced my voice to remain calm, "I am no priest, but I cannot believe that desire—love—is sinful."
She looked away, loose strands her of hair swaying across her face. "If it were a man, a common mortal such as you or I, I would say that you are right. And I would not be distressed then, for then my feelings would be ordinary yearning and I would count their denial a simple price for my devotion. But this—" She turned her sad eyes to me. "How can I presume to love one of God’s own messengers? Surely it is the worst form of folly, to hunger for his touch and his presence, when I am not even worthy to look upon his beautiful face—"
I choked on my tea, stupefied by the remark. "You’re certain he is handsome?"
She smiled wistfully. "He is from Heaven, how can he be otherwise?"
I gazed numbly at the tablecloth before me, unable to look upon her blithe innocence.
"The ways of God are not the ways of man," I said, half to myself. The echo of her careless words brought cold dread to my heart.
She doesn’t love him. She’s in love with a dream, the perfect guardian of her father’s tales, and she’s not prepared for the truth behind that illusion… And although I felt bitter anguish at the realization, at the same time it stirred a sick sense of triumph in me, a petty arrogance that I couldn’t even begin to explain. After all, Erik was a dear companion…a friend. His sufferings wrenched at my soul as intensely as if they were my own. I should be hoping against hope that his heart’s desire would be granted. Shouldn’t I?
I told myself I was only concerned for my two confidantes, for I could see even then that the course they traveled was a dangerous one. This idyllic state of affairs couldn’t last, for Erik never did anything by halves. Sooner or later, he would cease to be content as Christine’s aloof and paternal guide and the truth would have to come out. And when it did…well, Christine might find much in Erik that was attractive. But she would also find much to fear. And Erik was frightfully demanding; could he keep his temper in the face of the girl’s shy reserve? The passion that had warmed his heart could very well immolate them both, if he was not careful…
Yes, it was only concern, nothing more than the anxiety normally felt by a worried mother, or teacher, or friend.
The only other possible answer was unthinkable.
Go on to Chapter 14
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