by Heather Webb
“There’s someone here to see you.” Claudette looked in on me in the study.
I shot her a puzzled look. “Monsieur Delacroix again?”
Claudette lowered her voice. “A gentleman. A very handsome gentleman.” She grinned at my startled expression. “The Vicomte de Chagny requests your presence, Mademoiselle,” she said with mock formality.
A fluttering began beneath my rib cage. Raoul? I rushed to the mirror on the wall. My hair appeared in order, but my violet day dress was rather plain. With no time to change, it would have to do. I pinched my cheeks and took a deep breath, though it didn’t slow my suddenly racing pulse. He had found me somehow, must have asked someone for my address.
When I turned, Claudette whispered, “You’re gorgeous as always. Must not keep him waiting.”
At times Claudette seemed like the sister I never had. I tugged on one of her loose curls before following her from the room.
In the foyer, the vicomte held his hat in his hands. When I joined him, a smile crossed his face that could devastate a room.
“Bonjour, Mademoiselle Daaé. Allow me to introduce myself. You probably don’t remember me, but we met as children. I am Raoul de Chagny.” He smiled. “The boy who rescued your scarf in the surf? We spent the whole summer on the beach in Normandy, terrorized crabs, and spied on my brother.” He chuckled.
Still surprised he stood in my apartment, I remained speechless, forcing myself to continue breathing in and out.
“I hope I’ve not interrupted something important.” He frowned. “Forgive my impertinence. I should have written to introduce myself.”
“No! Not at all.” I reddened as I realized the vehemence of my reply. “Of course I remember you, Monsieur le Vicomte. It’s a pleasure to see you again. May I offer you some tea or coffee?”
He bunched his hat in his hands. “Would you allow me to escort you on a walk instead? After two days indoors from the rain, I’m feeling rather cagey. Your maid could accompany us, of course.”
“Only if you will consider dining with us after, Monsieur,” Claudette said, before I could reply.
My eyes widened at her bravado. Claudette rarely held her tongue—something I adored about her, usually—but her forward behavior wasn’t appropriate with nobility, least of all a vicomte about whom I admittedly couldn’t stop thinking.
Raoul released another of his powerful smiles and said, “I would like to join you very much.”
I couldn’t prevent the grin that leapt to my lips.
“Very good, Monsieur.” Claudette curtsied. “I’ll let the kitchen know right away.”
I hid my amusement. We didn’t have a kitchen staff, and her curtsy looked more like a stumble.
“A walk, Mademoiselle?” Raoul persisted.
“I would be delighted, though I won’t have an escort, I’m afraid. Forgive my impropriety. We are . . . short of staff just now and I have no siblings.”
“Think nothing of it,” he said, smiling. “I will be a perfect gentleman.”
As I slid on my pelisse and pinned on a bustle hat with black ribbon and plume, I was grateful he couldn’t hear the galloping horses in my stomach.
A gust of fall air greeted us at the door, sweeping through Raoul’s naturally tousled locks.
“You must wonder how I found you, after all this time?” he asked, breaking the silence. “I saw you at Carlotta’s party. You were leaving, and I knew I had to find you.” He stopped, as if realizing he had said too much.
He had to find me? The horses in my stomach began to race again. “Oh? It’s a shame I missed you that evening. I knew very few there and felt a bit out of place.”
“It was an odd gathering, I’ll admit.”
“Is Monsieur le Comte well?” The words felt stiff on my tongue. I had never called Raoul or his brother, Philippe, by their proper titles.
“Please, you must call me Raoul. That hasn’t changed.”
Relieved, I smiled again. “As you wish.”
His smile reached his lovely eyes, and the world felt more joyous, my heart lighter. Embarrassed by the rush of emotion, I focused on the cobblestones leading to a row of manicured hedges that ringed a fountain. Still wet from the rain, the stones glistened in the fall sunshine as if coated in silver.
“Philippe and I have been arguing these days. I am a sailor, but Philippe insists I quit the navy and return to our estate. He would like us to manage it together.” A muscle in his jaw clenched. “It is a large job, but I’ve never felt at home there. I haven’t been able to bring myself to stay. Besides, I know my brother well. I would be underfoot and he would resent my interference. It’s best I carry on, create my own path.”
“And your father?”
“He passed away some time ago.”
“I’m so sorry. Forgive my intrusion.”
“He has been gone a long time. The summer after Normandy he passed.”
I wanted to squeeze his arm, to tell him I understood the pain of his loss. Instead, I continued on in silence, gravel crunching underfoot as we wandered along the garden paths.
On a patch of grass, two children played with their cup-and-ball toys. With a flick of the wrist, the wooden ball sailed into the air as far as the attached string allowed, and then the children attempted to catch it in the cup. The little boy hadn’t mastered the delicate nature of the toss. Over and over the ball bounced from the edge of his cup and dangled beside the handle. I smiled at his puckered brow, his tongue poking between pink lips as he concentrated on his task.
“It isn’t fair!” the boy said, crossing his arms over his chest. “You always win.”
“You’re flinging it too hard.” His sister demonstrated her maneuver several times.
We sauntered around the edge of the park, beneath a row of maples shifting to a fiery hue with the autumn change.
Raoul held his hands behind his back in an easy manner. “You are Carlotta’s understudy, I hear. Congratulations. You were always a fine singer.”
I felt myself redden from the tips of my ears to my toes. “Thank you, yes. It’s an honor.” And a frustrating one, I wanted to add. The woman was threatened by me and I didn’t understand why. I was no one, and she was a star.
“She’s an excellent singer, if a bit difficult at times.”
An absurd sense of pleasure rippled through me. “Many adore her.”
“Forgive me for my blunt nature”—Raoul paused to look down at me—“but she also puts off many people as well. I would like to see the directors give you a chance. Your talent might very well match hers. And she doesn’t have half your beauty.”
I blushed again, but this time it spread over my whole body, warming my core.
His good humor fled and his eyes appeared contrite. “I’ve put you in an awkward position. I should apologize, but I’m not sorry. Seeing you again after all of these years, Christine”—he paused, his tone growing serious—“I would like to call on you. To be your friend again.”
My lonely heart lurched as if awakening from an era of dormancy. When we reached the fountain, we peered down at the water swirling with leaves and debris fallen from the onslaught of rain and autumn winds. I frowned, remembering Carlotta’s warning. Did Raoul wish to court two women simultaneously? Though thrilled by the prospect of our growing friendship, I didn’t see how he could be nearly engaged to another woman and yet still call on me.
Confused, I removed a glove and reached toward a red leaf, curled at its edges and floating atop the water like a tiny crimson boat. I pushed it gently and watched it glide over the surface until it snared on another leaf. What would Carlotta do when she discovered Raoul pursued me—even as just a friend? I would have to tread carefully. I couldn’t risk dismissal from the opera.
Raoul peered down at me with guarded eyes. He seemed to be holding his breath.
“I would like nothing more.” The words sprang out, surprising even me. Yet I felt a smile spreading across my face.
“I was hoping you would
say that.”
Timidly, I accepted the arm he extended. We wound through the park and down the avenue past a café, finally crossing the street in front of my apartment building.
“Will you still dine with us tonight?” I asked, my face aching from constant smiling.
“Indeed, as your maid so kindly invited me. I will see you soon.” Raoul leaned in to plant a customary peck on my cheek and paused, inches from my face.
The world around me evaporated, except for the light on his honey-colored hair, the mirth in his eyes, the fullness of his lips.
He grazed my cheek and my breath caught.
“Good day, Christine. Until tonight.” He tipped his hat.
It was so wonderful to be happy for a moment, to think of something else beyond the terrible machinist and my constant uncertainty at the opera house. Grinning like a schoolgirl, I watched Raoul stride away past the café across the street. And then I noticed him—a man at the café peered over the edge of his newspaper. When he caught me looking, he covered his face with it.
I frowned. His frame, his hat . . . I would swear it was Monsieur Delacroix.
10
Dinner with Raoul flew by in a haze of laughter and memories. Madame approved of his visit and made it clear she hoped he would come again soon.
When he had gone, she grabbed my hand. “He’s perfect, Christine.”
I sighed. “I know, but this was just a friendly call. He’s soon to be engaged, from what I’ve been told.”
“But he is not engaged yet.” She winked and rolled toward her bedroom.
The next afternoon, as I drifted toward my dressing room at the opera house, the memory of Raoul was far from my mind. At every corner, I looked over my shoulder. If Joseph tried anything, I would be ready. My fingers closed around the ivory handle of Madame’s two-barreled pistol, safely tucked inside my handbag. Heart beating wildly, I exhaled. I shouldn’t carry a gun, despite Madame’s insistence. I hadn’t the slightest idea how to use it. The thing might not even be loaded, and I was too afraid of hurting myself to find out. Still, I hoped its appearance would prevent Joseph or Serge from bothering me.
A Schubert melody streamed from an open doorway through the corridor. I welcomed the distraction and poked my head inside the ballet practice room. A dozen ballerinas performed a brisé in unison before moving through a series of pliés, arabesques, and other moves I couldn’t name. Their tutus bounced merrily with each leap, and their sinuous limbs glided from one step to another with simple elegance. I considered the strength they must possess. Though singing demanded muscular power from my legs to my throat, it didn’t match the rigorous demands of ballet. Many days I watched the ballerinas backstage, massaging their bruised feet and stretching their aching muscles.
“Christine?” A soft voice called from inside the room. “You’ve returned!”
Meg slipped from her place at the barre in the back of the room and met me in the hallway, her steps seeming as light as clouds. “I’m glad you’re well again.” She kissed me on either cheek. “Come, I have something to tell you, but not here.”
I followed her down a staircase and into a secluded room. An impish face made of bronze popped from the tiled wall, its grin mischievous and its watchful eyes trained upon us. Only one lamp burned in the room. The somber ambiance made me shiver.
Another place I should avoid being caught alone.
Meg leaned close and whispered, “It’s Joseph Buquet, the machinist.”
My stomach rocked violently. “What is it?”
Meg looked past me to ensure no one was listening. “He hasn’t been seen in a week. I assumed you didn’t know since you’ve been absent. Everyone is talking about his disappearance.”
I swallowed hard and tried to slow my reeling thoughts. “He could have quit. Moved on. Has anyone looked into it?”
Her curls bounced around her cheeks as she shook her head. “Serge DuBois reported that the opera ghost attacked Buquet.”
She looked down, her lashes sweeping the creamy rounds of her cheeks. “DuBois mentioned your name to the directors, too. He said you were a busybody, looking through the storage rooms, and that you should be questioned. Since you’ve been gone the length of Joseph’s disappearance . . . Well, rumors have been raging.”
Bile rose in my throat. I had been abused by the wretched man, had run for my life, and now Serge had implicated me in Joseph’s disappearance?
“I didn’t harm him, Meg! I swear it! I wandered through a few of the storage rooms, it’s true. Georges showed me around because I was curious about the sets and the mechanics of running a show. And then last week, I looked through some old costumes. I was feeling listless. I never get to perform, Meg. I—”
“You don’t need to explain.” She took my hand in hers. “Of course you aren’t responsible for Joseph’s disappearance. The very suggestion is absurd.”
I squeezed her hand, grateful she believed the accusation baseless. “Will the directors dismiss me?” The blood drained from my face. “Or— You don’t think I will be arrested?”
“No! Oh, Christine, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” She threw her arms around me. “The directors laughed in DuBois’s face. They didn’t believe for a single instant that a beautiful young woman, so innocent and sweet-natured, could harm a large man like him.”
I remembered the coolness of the gun in my hand, the nightly lessons with the ghost. Innocent indeed. A shrill laugh escaped my lips.
Puzzled by my reaction, she looked at me quizzically. “I am glad you aren’t upset.”
Meg had proven herself a friend, in spite of her possible gossiping, and deserved a note of honesty. “I must admit, it alarms me. If the directors believe I’m a kidnapper, I don’t know what I’d do. The gossip alone!”
“You need to dissociate yourself from the opera ghost.”
I looked down. “I’m not sure how. People will see what they wish, regardless of what I do.”
“I’ll defend you. Try not to worry. Those who count think it’s absurd your name has been brought into this.” Meg linked arms with me. “Now, I need to get into costume.”
Meg led me to the dressing room. Along the way, she babbled about who was kissing who, which singers were always late to practice, and the scandal of Monsieur Richard’s new Russian ballerina mistress. My thoughts crowded out most of her words.
Joseph had disappeared? He must have fled the opera house, or perhaps he was still searching for the ghost underground. Somehow I knew, in the pit of my stomach, he hadn’t left. I pulled my cloak tighter to ward off the chill seeping into my skin. I couldn’t help but imagine the worst. He was here, somewhere in the building.
“I’ll see you after the performance,” Meg said, turning down another corridor toward the cast room.
“Good luck.” I rushed to my dressing room and locked the door behind me. Without pause, I yanked the vanity drawer open and thrust the gun inside. I couldn’t carry it around with me as I had planned, or I’d risk being caught with a weapon. The minute my lessons with the Angel concluded—or Joseph’s whereabouts were uncovered—I would return the gun to Madame’s desk drawer. It had been a foolish notion to accept it in the first place.
I paced the length of my dressing room. I should talk to the directors, but staying out of their sight might be better. Out of sight, and hopefully out of mind. I could call out to the Angel, but with everyone not yet on stage, it was risky. And what if he didn’t show? The muscles in my shoulders tightened. I needed to talk to him and find out what had happened.
A flash of pale blue caught my eye in the mirror.
I whipped around. An envelope sat propped on the sofa’s armrest. As I tore the envelope open, the scent of jasmine perfume wafted from the paper. I knew that smell—Carlotta reeked of it, as did her home. Sighing, I read the letter.
Christine,
Forgive my direct speech, but I will come right to the point. I am troubled by what I have heard regarding your comportment
with the Vicomte de Chagny.
He called at your residence yesterday and from what I understand, you encouraged him. I thought we had agreed you would steer clear of him? Let me restate my point. He is as good as engaged. Should you continue to see him, I will have you terminated from your position.
Avec tout affection,
Carlotta A.
The “C” of her name was larger than the other letters and curled possessively around her name. Her punctuated surname looked as if the point had been made with force.
How did she know Raoul had visited me? I felt as if I could no longer move about the opera house—or the city—without being watched. I remembered the man in the café across the street. It must have been Delacroix. I hadn’t been sure at the time, but how else would Carlotta have known about Raoul’s visit? Though, surely Delacroix wouldn’t spy on me; he could just as easily come to my home and ask me. Besides, what did he care if I befriended Raoul. None of it made sense.
A slight stirring came from behind the mirror on the far wall.
My heart leapt into my throat. “Angel?”
A sharp rap at the door split the silence. I cried out in surprise.
“Christine, are you all right?” the chorus director called from the other side of the door.
I exhaled in relief and scurried to open it. “The sudden noise startled me, is all.”
In spite of his impeccable grooming and expensive clothing, Gabriel’s pinched expression gave his weaselly features a frightening look.
“Carlotta won’t be singing tonight.” He tugged at the sleeve of his frock coat. “She claims she has a sore throat. She was perfectly well yesterday,” he added warily. “In other words, there’s no time to waste. You go on in an hour.”
I sucked in a breath. I would be singing—tonight!
“I’ll prepare immediately.”