"Carlotta’s going to have an aneurysm when she hears about this."
"There’s something I wouldn’t mind seeing—serves the damn cow right, after all those times she’s tried to upstage us…"
The familiar backstage rustle soothed my agitated nerves, bringing me back to myself. I caught a couple dancers and made them understand I wanted the chorus to assemble in the studio at once. Their faces fell with the pronouncement; no doubt they recalled the travesty of their performance tonight. But there would be time enough for that when I had finished paying my compliments to another.
Christine stood in a cluster of well wishers, resplendent in her gold-trimmed costume and laden with magnificent bouquets. Her face was flushed and she looked a little bemused, but the smile that burst over her face when she saw me was everything joyful and euphoric. "Oh, Madame—" she breathed, the magnitude of her accomplishment preventing any further expression.
"My dear, you were marvelous," I said tenderly, maneuvering my way around the flowers to embrace her. With my head near her ear, I added in a whisper, "Angels sighed to hear you sing tonight. He is very pleased with you."
Her wide green eyes trembled with delight and modest gratification at those words, and I knew a strange moment of petulance. She is so young, hardly more than a child…How can he look on her so longingly, when he knows he’s old enough to be her father? "Enjoy your acclaim—you’ve surely earned it," I added in parting, and turned to the more unpleasant task of addressing the ballet corps.
The girls were seated on the floor of the studio when I entered, looking for all the world as if I was about to sentence them to the guillotine. "I can see by your faces I don’t need to tell you that was a disgraceful display," I said severely. "Perhaps you would care to explain why you showed such mediocrity on such an important night."
Lisbet stood up, her tumbling gold hair standing in contrast to the determined strength in her face. "There is no excuse, Madame," she said in her warm German accent. "We know the dance, and we did not make those mistakes in rehearsal. You are right to be angry—many of us are angry with ourselves."
"Your candor does you credit," I commended her. "And I am inclined to agree with you. Poor performance nights, unfortunately, are as much a part of the theatre as good ones. Nevertheless, I think we should rehearse the dance at once to refresh our memories." Audible groans greeted this statement. "Don’t mope about it," I chided. "You’ll still have plenty of time afterward to celebrate, and I’d rather we did this now instead of tomorrow morning when most of you are recovering from all the wine and absinthe." My eyes glanced over the upturned faces, and noticed one was missing. "Has anyone seen Meg?"
"If you please, Madame," a younger dancer quavered, "I think she might be with Christine. She said something about wanting to talk with her."
"Why didn’t any of you—never mind," I sighed. "Lisbet, you are in charge of rehearsal until I return. That means dancing, girls, not gossip. I trust most of you know the difference."
I swept through halls that were rapidly emptying of other occupants. Few people were anxious to remain around the theatre after a gala; there were parties and restaurants and other enticements outside the Palais Garnier’s doors. And so, I was quite surprised to hear a bright voice calling "Madame, a favor—" I turned to find myself being approached by a man in evening clothes. He was a fresh-faced youth, as I recall, with hair like sunlight and eyes the color of the sky.
"Would you be so kind as to deliver this to Mlle. Christine Daaé?" said he, offering an envelope. "I would convey it myself, of course, but apparently the ogress in charge of the ballet doesn’t like patrons hanging about the dressing rooms…"
"Then your mission would appear to be lost, as I happen to be the ogress," I replied acerbically.
"Oh! Forgive me, I didn’t realize…" To his credit, the apology was the soul of sincerity. "You have your reasons for the ban, I’m sure…but could you not make an exception, just this once? I’m quite anxious to see Mlle. Daaé, and I assure you my intentions are quite honorable..."
"I can see that." There was an earnestness in those eyes that could not be manufactured even by the greatest actor, but the sight of it disquieted me for some reason. "But you must understand that I am not only trying to defend the persons of these girls, but their reputations as well. Too many people consider us the equal of whores—it is my wish to prevent that as much as possible."
"Of course…" He clearly had not considered the impropriety of being alone with a woman in her dressing-quarters. "But you will give her my message?"
"I shall." He expressed his gratitude and turned to leave, but I halted him. "Monsieur, might I inquire your name…?"
"Raoul, Vicomte de Changy," he replied with a courteous inclination of the head, before vanishing into a turn of the corridor. I stared down at the missive in my hand with great misgiving.
A young man—a handsome, wealthy young man—interested in Christine…I breathed a futile prayer that Erik would never know about it….
Upon arriving at Christine’s dressing room, I paused outside the door to determine if there was anyone inside. Sure enough, I heard two female voices in conversation.
"No, I don’t think you’re mad," Meg was saying carefully. "But…I must be honest, Christine…you do look quite pale, and your hands are like ice…"
"Meg, I know it sounds incredible, but it is true," Christine insisted with unusual force. "And I am not alone…if you doubt me, you must ask—"
I quickly knocked on the door to halt the disclosure, and without waiting to be invited entered the room. "Meg, the dancers are rehearsing. It would be to your advantage to join us."
"What, at this—yes, Madame, I’m on my way," she sighed with resignation and slumped past me out the room.
I waited until she was gone then held up the letter I had been given, making sure it could not be seen by the large mirror at my back. "My dear, I was asked to give you this," I said simply, waiting only for her to take the note from my hands before leaving her alone.
Meg was waiting for me in the hallway. "I’m very worried about Christine," she confessed as we walked back to the studio. "I asked her who her teacher was—"
"Meg, you should have known better than to intrude on the matter," I reproached. "We must respect the wishes of Christine and her maestro."
"Mama, I think there’s something amiss," she insisted. "Christine told me her father promised to send her an angel, and that she’d been visited by him…"
"And who are you to say she hasn’t? As the English poet said, there are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy."
"You really don’t think it’s possible, do you?" she demanded. "That her father sent one of God’s messengers down to earth for no other purpose than to teach her?"
I paused. "Perhaps not in the way the Virgin was visited by Gabriel, if that is what you mean," I said cautiously. "But I do believe that, in a sense, Christine has been given her Angel of Music." And I still believe that, even after everything that’s happened.
* * * * * * * * * *
The rehearsal lasted only a short while, as I was soon reassured of the corps’ abilities. "Very good," I said. "I think we can chalk tonight up to bad luck. Unfortunate, but there’s nothing to be done for it now. You are dismissed."
The girls filed out rapidly, as if afraid I might recant. While Meg was changing out of her costume, I retraced the path to Christine’s room, on the intent of asking if she needed a carriage to take her home. But as I approached the turn in the hallway, I heard the sound of a door being forced open, and a voice calling Christine’s name…I hurried down the corridor to find the Vicomte standing alone in the dressing room. "What are you doing in here?" I demanded.
He turned panicked eyes on me. "Where is she?" he asked in an accusatory tone. "Where is Christine? I left her to get my coat, and when I came back I heard voices…"
"And might I inquire as to why you were in her room, knowing it was prohibited?" I kept my face impassive, but inside a knot of dread had seized my stomach.
The young man blushed. "I— M. Firmin said…"
"M. Firmin is not in charge of the well-being of these girls," I said harshly.
"There was a man in here already!" he shouted with sudden vehemence. "It must have been a member of the company, he was singing…"
"You must have been hearing things." But inside I was praying, Please, let him be mistaken…it’s too soon, too soon for both of them…
"He said he was an angel…" He clutched my arm. "For God’s sake, don’t just stand there! Someone must have taken her!"
"Let’s assume you are right," I replied condescendingly. "Even if there was a man in this room with Christine, and that she left with him, what makes you so certain he was an unwanted visitor?"
"I invited her to dinner only a few minutes ago!" he cried as if pointing out the obvious.
"Indeed? And did she accept this invitation?"
He faltered. "She made some excuse…I thought she was speaking in jest…" he mumbled.
My opinion of this young man was rapidly plunging. "Let me make sure I understand this. You came to this girl’s room, uninvited and in disregard to regulations. You offer to take her to supper, and you do not take her seriously when she declines. And now, you are surprised to find her gone when you return to collect her?" He stood staring at his feet, like a child caught sneaking sweets. "I think you should go, Monsieur le Vicomte," I concluded, clearing the path through the door. "It is unseemly to loiter around a woman’s dressing room in this manner."
"There’s something wrong here, I know it," he muttered as he left, casting a glance at me that hovered between suspicion and shame.
As soon as I was alone, I turned to the mirror and pressed my cheek against the cool, silvery glass. For a moment I thought I could hear, very faintly, a familiar voice calling in enticing song. Pulling away, I saw my own face, carved into worried lines made all the more distinct by the gaslight. Trembling, I sank onto the vanity stool, hands clutching at my crucifix as I gazed fixedly at the vase on the table and its roses, which seemed to mock me with their heavy, sad scent.
Go on to Chapter 17
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