"I pray she never uses this level of force onstage," I commented wryly. "That racket is almost enough to crack the chandelier." I made a gesture of silence and opened the office door, slipping into the room under the cover of Carlotta’s rage.
"Misfortune, indeed!" she was shrieking, ignoring the ministrations of Ubaldo Piangi and M. André. "It will take more than vague threats to frighten me, Monsieur Vicomte!"
"I will not stand for these slanderous accusations!" Ah, you did make a fine sight, monsieur: your tousled hair shooting carelessly to and fro as you lunged at the enraged diva, hampered only by Firmin’s restraining arm. "And I will hear some intelligence on Christine Daaé’s whereabouts, or I shall be forced to take my patronage elsewhere."
"Monsieur, we have already informed you of our ignorance—" Firmin tried to explain.
"Ignorance is the right word—I’ve a good mind to march out of here and—aah!" The look on your face when you saw me standing at the door was too amusing; I couldn’t help but smile.
"Good morning gentlemen…Signora," I said calmly, deliberately acting as if I hadn’t walked in on a frightful row. "M. de Chagny, I believe you were inquiring after Mlle. Daaé. I can assure you she is quite well, as I happened to be in her company not half an hour ago."
"What—where is she?"
"At this moment, I believe she is en route to her home." I glided past Carlotta’s sullen form to Firmin’s desk, where a cursory glance showed me a small pile of letters kindred to the one I carried with me. Erik had indeed been busy recently, and in an odd moment of motherly concern I wondered if he’d been getting enough sleep.
"She was still…rather overwhelmed by the gala, and needed to recuperate," Meg supplied. Clever girl, my daughter.
"Her address—give me her address."
I could only sniff disdainfully at your demand. "I beg your pardon, Monsieur, but I do not think it would be a good idea for the girl to have…visitors at this time." Yes, I knew your intentions were not as base as I insinuated they might be. I must confess, I only did it for the purpose of ruffling your fur.
And it worked, didn’t it? "Now see here—"
Firmin interrupted. "Mme. Giry, what do you make of this?" he interrogated, planting a condemning finger on the sheaf of notes.
"There’s nothing to make of it," I replied with an offhand shrug, "They’re from the Opera Ghost." While Firmin blustered over that, I turned to his partner. "Incidentally, M. André, I think you will find Christine eager to accept the understudy’s contract as soon as she has fully recovered." Carlotta let out a wretched moan.
"I know, darling, I know," Piangi said, clearly agreeing that she was utterly misused.
"It’s a trifling necessity, Signora," André cooed. "We know nobody can truly replace a magnificent—"
"Will you come back to this ghost business!" Firmin shouted. "We’ve all received some very insulting letters, demanding money…"
"He said I was to have no further contact with Christine!" your voice rang from the other end of the room.
"And since you seem to know so much about the whole affair…" Firmin continued with an inculpating air.
"I know no more than anyone else," I said, feigning innocence. "I only have been charged with certain duties, and I have the sense to carry them out without complaint. Speaking of which…" I removed the note from my bodice.
I am very disappointed to learn that you have thus far not heeded my council regarding the proper supervision of my theatre. (Here M. Firmin snorted.) However, as I am in a genial mood due to the success of the gala, I shall provide you with one final opportunity to prove your willingness to cooperate.
Your obedient servant,
O.G.
The letter did have one profound effect: it managed to render Carlotta silent for several moments. She opened and closed her mouth like a fish gasping its last, for once too enraged to even speak. "He expects me to play a mute role?" she finally puffed. "Of all the ridiculous—"
"It is not to be borne!" Piangi declared. "This insult upon our beloved prima donna must be vindicated!"
"Calm yourselves," André said. "You surely realize neither M. Firmin or myself have any intention of being guided by some unknown lunatic."
"Unknown—hah!" Now that the initial shock had passed, Carlotta’s temper was working towards its utmost might. "I can tell you now who your Ghost is—that man, your cherished patron! Everyone knows he’s tumbling the girl; he means to frighten us all in order to advance the career of his little tramp!"
"How dare you say that? Christine would never—" Meg cried indignantly, no less infuriated than yourself.
"For the thousandth time, I haven’t laid eyes on Christine for nearly two days, let alone anything else! Why does everyone insist—"
"Come now, Signora," André continued, ignoring both outbursts. "Your Countess di Montevaldi is one of the operatic legends of our day. We wouldn’t dream of casting another woman in the part—isn’t that right, Firmin?"
Firmin muttered something under his breath about diva’s tempers and "it all sounds the same anyway."
"Don’t try to pull the wool over my eyes," Carlotta pouted theatrically. "It is always this way with you men…you ignore years of faithful service and cast an aging woman aside for an unseasoned girl…" Meg rolled her eyes at me, and I nodded in agreement. Would that the great Carlotta acted this well onstage, I thought.
"I won’t abandon you, cara," Piangi solaced, apparently oblivious to the fact that his comforts were being ignored.
"Why would we take our chances on a barely tested child when we have one of the great ladies of the stage in our midst?" M. André said. "We are not fools, we know nobody can match your gifts…" He eyed his apathetic partner. "Nobody can draw crowds like you…"
"Yes, of course!" Firmin brightened up at that notion. "Nothing like a famous talent to sell tickets."
"You’re just trying to coddle me." But Carlotta was clearly enjoying the attention.
"Of course not! Believe me, Signora, you shall perform as the Countess on Friday night."
She sniffled. "And Christine Daaé?"
André shrugged in an apparently offhand gesture. "I think she’d make a very fine Seraphimo, wouldn’t you?"
"Oh, indeed!" Carlotta gloated. "She has a rather boyish look about her, doesn’t she?"
"I will thank you not to say such things about Mlle. Daaé in my presence!"
You weren’t the only one to take offense to the remark: Meg looked like she was ready to erupt. I motioned for her to curb her anger. "Monsieurs, are you sure that is a good idea? After all, Christine’s talent was quite evident at the gala; it seems a waste to cast her in a mute role."
"Yes, yes," André coughed uncomfortably, glancing sideways at the diva, "but I don’t think we should be too hasty, it might have been a fluke…"
"He’s doing it to placate Carlotta, the bastard!" Meg hissed.
"I know, and watch your language," I murmured back. Then I said aloud, "M. André, I must speak plainly. I have been at the Opera since its opening, and I can tell you that no good has ever come from ignoring the Phantom’s wishes."
"Oh, for Heaven’s sake!" Firmin swore. "Lefèvre was right about you people, wrapped up in superstition…you’d think it was the Dark Ages…" But I ignored his tirade, for I noticed distrust being directed at me from a pair of sky-colored eyes. You suspected it even then, didn’t you? Perhaps you were not as obtuse as I believed.
"You shouldn’t be too harsh on her," Carlotta said with a sneer. "A woman who doesn’t take care to preserve her looks must find other ways of attracting attention." Piangi laughed as if cued by a script.
"If your idea of preserving one’s beauty is an excess of greasepaint and more sweets than are good for a body, I think I prefer to abstain," I replied, taking pleasure in watching her smug mien vanish.
"This is our decision, Madame," André insisted, "and it is your duty to abide by it."
"My vocation is to abide by your decisions. My duty is to be as honest and forthright as possible, and as such I must say that I believe this course will prove injurious to you and to this company. Christine, in any case, has too fine a voice to be relegated to a mute role. And this direct opposition of the Opera Ghost is certain to lead to disaster."
"In that case, your opinion has been noted," Firmin dismissed. "Good day to you, Madame."
"I have done what I could," I said in parting. "I can see you are determined to see your intent through, and gloat over this erroneous prediction of doom. For your sake, I hope you have the opportunity to do so. Good day."
Meg followed me out the door, but we had not gone five steps down the corridor before another set of footfalls joined ours. "Mme. Giry, may I speak with you?…In private, if you please."
"Meg, go and prepare for rehearsal. I’ll be with you in a moment," I dismissed my daughter, who left with only a minimal display of irritation. "What do you wish, Monsieur le Vicomte?"
"You said earlier that you spoke with Christine. Did she…I know it sounds foolish, but did she say something about…an Angel?"
"I have heard her tell of an Angel from her father’s stories, one who would visit her in a time of need," I said evasively. It has always been my conviction that it’s easier to tell part of a truth than make up an outright lie.
"She claimed she had been visited," you asserted.
"And perhaps she has. The messengers of Heaven come to us in many forms and guises, is that not so?"
"You’re speaking in riddles." That bright voice had gone rough with suspicion. "I wonder why you take so much trouble to avoid answering simple questions? Perhaps MM. Firmin and André should seek the author of those notes in the one who bears them."
I did not need to pretend my offense to the accusation. You were not the first to make it. "If you wish to believe I am directly responsible for them, monsieur, then that is your choice," I said coolly. "And your mistake."
And with that, I turned and continued my path through the hall.
* * * * * * * * * *
If Meg had deduced any more of my secrets from the scene in the managers’ office, she was too outraged with the outcome to mention it. "Vain, selfish hag!" she muttered as I joined her en route to the main studio. "I hope the Ghost opens a trapdoor under her feet!"
"Meg, you shouldn’t wish misfortune on others, no matter how much they seem to deserve it." Although the notion of Carlotta vanishing into a hole in the stage with a horrible scream did bring a smile to my face.
"Well I do," she said crossly. "She struts around like she owns the place, and that simpering idiot André goes along with…you hear that?"
I directed my attention to the nearby wings. Sure enough, I could hear the tittering of young girls, underscored by a repellent, fetid voice.
"Oh God," Meg groaned, her face drawn with disgust. "Buquet."
"Run on ahead to the studio," I told her curtly. "I’ll handle this." And I strode into the backstage gloom.
A cluster of girls huddled in the wings, intent on the words of the grotesque figure at their center. "A horrible, wretched decay of a face it is, with beady eyes like a reptile. Most folk who lay eyes upon it never live to tell the tale, but the Phantom couldn’t catch old Buquet…I found the way to slip out of his trap. See here…see how the lasso coils around the victim’s neck, but hold one hand at the level of your eyes like so, and he cannot ensnare you…"
That was all I needed to hear. I rapped my cane against the floor, the sharp sound reverberating through the flies above. "Girls!" I snapped. "I believe you’re here to dance, not listen to fireside tales. To work—now!" They all disappeared in a flutter of gauze tutus, and I confronted the old man.
As you’ve no doubt realized, Joseph Buquet did not hold a very high place in my estimation. Heaven forgive me for saying so, but I think the world became a better place when he quit it. The other stagehands spoke of him as a horribly lazy man, one who never did more work than he thought necessary and who believed he was entitled to more than he deserved. But that wasn’t what brought me to despise him. His lechery was notorious, even in the backstage corridors of the Opera where a lax attitude toward such matters was commonplace. Nor was he content to direct his often-undesired attentions on the elder members of the company, but hunted out even the young ballet apprentices, innocent girls who had not yet emerged from the androgyny of early youth. He never, to the best of my knowledge, outright violated one of my dancers—I certainly wouldn’t have stood for it if he had!—but over the years numerous corps members of varying ages had flinched and shied whenever he came near, and I did whatever I could to keep him as far away from my charges as possible.
But try as I might, I could never catch him in a serious offense, and as a result he developed a nasty contempt towards me. "Come now, Madame," he said glibly, a rotten smile mangling his face. "Let the girls have a little fun…after all, they’re only harmless stories…"
"M. Buquet, do not insult me by using the word ‘harmless’ to describe any of your activities," I retorted, my nose wrinkling in disgust. "I have told you that my girls are off limits, and I will not be defied again."
"What do you intend to do—set your pet ghost on me?" he replied with a derisive snort.
"The Opera Ghost is not my pet, nor am I his." The words came easily, borne of a long practice of secrecy. "And you should take care of how you speak of him. The Ghost does not look kindly on those who show him disrespect."
"Come off it," he snorted. "There’s nothing supernatural in this building, and you know it better than anyone else does."
"I don’t know what you’re talking about." I kept my expression placid, but fear began to tingle in my spine.
"That’s right, go on and turn your nose up at me," Buquet spat, years of bitterness in his voice. "Just like all the rest…don’t think much of old Buquet, do you, don’t think he’s smart enough to see what’s going on under his own nose. Don’t think he’ll notice…well, I’ve noticed plenty, plenty that the Sûreté would be quite interested in…unless, of course, you and your macabre friend can make it worth my while to keep quiet…"
I retained my composure with increasing difficulty. The urge to shake whatever Buquet knew—or thought he knew—out of him had to be bridled; Erik’s life depended on it, Meg and myself depended on it…
"Twenty thousand francs a month," Buquet was musing with undisguised greed. "That’s what they give him, isn’t it? Can’t imagine what he does with it all…not likely to be going out on the town in that condition, is he? Surely he can afford to share his good fortune…"
I gave him a contemptuous smile. "M. Buquet, you are indeed a fool if you believe you can blackmail the Opera Ghost…"
"Oh, of course not," he agreed nastily. "But you, on the other hand…I’ll wager you see a pretty portion of that twenty thousand a month, don’t you? Yes…I’ll bet he’s been very generous, he can’t afford for you to have divided loyalties. Certainly it’s worth a portion of your—wages—to keep your employer out of trouble, not to mention guarding the famous Giry propriety? You could always ask him for a raise…"
I turned my back to the grinning, odious stagehand. I would not let him see my anger…I would not give him anything to incriminate me…
"No? Well then, perhaps I should talk to that little slip he’s taken up with…what was her name? Ah yes, Christine Daaé…"
I found myself leaning on my staff; it suddenly became impossible to carry my own weight. "Now there is an idea that appeals to me," Buquet continued with libidinous glee. "I doubt she’s getting…monetary compensation for her favors, but there are other methods of payment…she wouldn’t cringe to much at the prospect either, would she? After all, it seems she’s not very demanding when it comes to age and appearance…what do you think, Madame? Do you think she’d be willing to make—arrangements to protect her paramour?"
I could no longer hold my tongue. I turned around, prepared to defend Christine’s honor…but a movement above us caught my eye, and my protests died in a scream.
It was one thing to know what Erik was capable of, but it was another thing entirely to see him in the flies above us, leaning over the stage with his cloak swirling into the shadows behind him, the murder in his gaze clear even at that distance. For one terrible moment, I was certain he would dive to the stage like a bird of prey, crushing Buquet’s life even as I watched…but he did not. Instead he hovered there just long enough for Buquet to follow my terrified stare, to see his death in those silver eyes…then there was nothing above us but darkness.
No sound remained except the hammering of terror in my ears; it felt as though Erik had taken the air with him when he vanished. "You fool," was all I could mutter, the sting of tears in my eyes. "You damn fool…if you stay here I wouldn’t wager on you living another forty-eight hours."
I fled the wings, hoping despite my loathing of the man that Buquet would heed the warning, that he would run from the Palais Garnier and never look back. To this day, I’ve never understood why he didn’t. I can only assume that, in spite of whatever he had learned, he never believed the threat, never truly thought that Erik would act on that immense rage he had unwittingly inspired.
And that, as you know too well, was the greatest mistake anyone could make where Erik was concerned.
Go on to Chapter 20
My dear managers:
By this time, I am certain the worthy and wise Mme. Giry (the words caused me to blush for some reason, though Firmin was eyeing me haughtily) has informed you of Mlle. Christine Daaé’s return from her leave of absence. Having been convinced of her genius by her triumph on the gala night, I am quite eager to see that she is given further opportunity to prove her merits. Therefore, I think it best that she be cast as the Countess in the upcoming production of Il Muto. I have no doubt this role will suit the beauty of her voice and the natural charm of her stage presence. As for la Carlotta, I consider it appropriate that she be given the pivotal role of Seraphimo, (Meg, who loved Carlotta no more than I, giggled) as it is the only character in the piece truly fitting for a woman of her talents.
I expect to attend the performance in my usual box, and so once again I must stress that it remain unsold. As you have been given ample forewarning in these matters, gentlemen, the consequences of ignoring my requests will be on your heads.
Return to the Chapter Index
