Chapter 35
When the hansom cab stopped outside my apartment, the sun had not yet begun to rise.
The shadows thrown by the streetlamps were long and so dark I didn’t see the figure outside my door until I was almost upon them.
“Meg?” I exclaimed, alarmed to see her at such an early hour.
Her hair was mussed, and her eyes were rimmed red, as if she’d been crying.
“Christine!” she gasped, and rubbed her cheeks with trembling hands to smudge aside tear tracks. “I’m so glad you’re here! I know it’s early, but when you didn’t answer, I got so scared, and I didn’t know what to do.”
“What’s the matter? Are you all right?” I asked, fear staking my heart. I recognized the look of grief on her face. I knew it all too well, having seen it in my own reflections, and instantly conjured up the worst thing that could have happened for Meg. “Is it—is it your mother?”
She frowned in confusion. “What? No, no, she’s fine. I just…Could I come in?”
“Of course! Give me a minute to find my keys,” I said, fumbling with my reticule. “What are you doing up so early?”
“I haven’t been to bed,” she admitted. “I haven’t been able to sleep since—”
My door opened, and she hurried inside. She bustled about the apartment, turning on lamps and filling my kettle with water before lighting the stove.
“You’re coming home awfully early,” she said, holding up the still-lit match. “Or very late.”
“Late,” I agreed. “There was…Something happened to Raoul…” What had the physician called it? “An altercation.”
Meg let out a gasp and flicked aside the match as it singed her fingertips. “What happened? Is he at the hospital? Oh, Christine, how awful!”
“He’s fine,” I said, stepping around her to run a towel under the tap.
“His doctor was able to see him at home, but I stayed until he’d been treated.
I’m more worried about you.” I wrapped the cloth around her hand, cooling her fingers, and guided her to the settee.
“You’re shaking all over. What happened? ”
She pressed her lips together, as if fighting to hold back her thoughts. “I…Now that I’m here, I’m scared to tell you. It’s so bad, Christine. It’s bad and terrible and just so…wicked.” She pushed back a fresh set of tears before they could fall. “I’m so scared you’re going to hate me.”
“Meg!” I sat down beside her. “There’s nothing in the world you could ever do that would make me hate you.
You’re my very best friend. I…I don’t know what I’d ever do without you.
Tell me. I swear to you I won’t be mad. I won’t…
” My voice trailed off and I was unsure of what I could say to ease the look of apprehension painted across her face.
“I…I just…I’ve been so mad at you!” It burst from her like a crash of cymbals, and she quickly covered her mouth, her eyes wide with horror. “I’m so sorry!”
I sat back, burrowing into the cushions, unsure if I wanted to laugh or cry. “Why?”
She shook her head, miserable. “It’s not even you, not truly. And I know that. But it’s been so easy to blame you. And I just…I was out with Frederick tonight, and we were talking about it, and everything hit me all at once, the unfairness of it all.” Meg sighed and collapsed back into the settee.
“The change in operas?” I guessed.
“I know it’s not your fault. I know that,” she said. “But Tannh?user was going to be my big chance. I…I wanted to show management just how good I could be…I wanted…I so badly wanted to show everyone what I could do.”
“I’m so sorry, Meg,” I began, feeling as if I was walking on eggshells.
There was no way to move in any direction without breaking something.
“But just because they pushed the opera back again doesn’t mean they won’t perform it ever.
And…and you have a solo part in Don Juan Triumphant, right? The coquette, with Ubaldo?”
She grimaced. “I can be so much more than just that.” Her voice sounded so painfully wounded and small.
“I know,” I affirmed. “And the managers do too. They already cast you in Tannh?user. They won’t forget that.”
Meg nodded glumly, and I could see that my words had done nothing to cheer her.
“I don’t even know why I’m feeling this way.
At the start of last season, I knew I’d be dancing in the corps for a year.
At least. And I was all right with it. But then…
” She looked down at her hands. “Then everything happened for you, and I could begin to see it happening for me. I began to want it, to wish for it.” Meg frowned.
“I hate this feeling. It hurts so much.”
“What does?”
When her eyes met mine, I wanted to look away.
I’d never seen Meg look so bare, so painfully vulnerable and stripped raw.
“Ambition.” She pushed herself from our shared seat and began pacing about the room, struck with sudden frenetic energy.
“I feel like it’s consuming me alive. I burn with it, with the wanting.
I need it all so much, Christine. I never knew how much I could want something.
Not until I saw what was possible with you. ”
She stopped before me and dropped to her knees, clasping my hands with fevered fervor. “Help me,” she begged. “Please.”
“There’s nothing I could—”
“Oh, but there is!” She stiffened, struck by the idea like a bolt of lightning. “Your Angel. That was him at the masquerade, wasn’t it? People are saying it was the Opera Ghost, but—that was him, right?”
“It was,” I said uneasily, not at all enamored with the direction our conversation was heading.
“Could you…would you ask him?”
“Ask him?” I echoed. “Ask him what?”
“To help me. To do…whatever it was he did for you. To give me his blessing or powers, lessons or coachings or anything. Oh, please, Christine! I know under his tutelage, my career would take off, just as yours has.”
“I don’t think it works that way, Meg. And…believe me, you don’t want his attention. It’s…” My words fell off as I remembered how Erik had whirled around, striking Roaul without a moment’s hesitation, without a shred of remorse.
Meg’s expression turned hard and stormy. “What do you mean? Do you think I’m not talented enough? I’ve always believed in you.”
“No—no!” I reiterated, nearly shouting. “I’m saying you don’t need him. You’re a beautiful dancer. You don’t need his help. You don’t need him at all!”
She studied me, and I could see her emotions—anger and wounded pride—seething within her. “I…I…” She blinked. “I can’t believe you, Christine Daaé!”
“Meg, I—”
“No! You don’t want to help me! After everything Mother and I have done for you…you don’t want to share your secrets. You want to keep him all to yourself!”
“It’s not like that,” I protested. “It’s not like that at all!”
“Then tell me how it is,” she spat, her face bright and red.
“Tell me exactly how it is, Christine. Because from right here, all I can see is you not wanting to help your friend—your very best friend,” she emphasized, throwing my words back in my face.
“You found someone who could help you, someone who could change everything for me, and you don’t want to share.
You want to keep him and all the glory for yourself! ”
She grabbed her purse and readied to leave the apartment, but I stood up, waylaying her.
“You’re wrong about everything. I don’t want any of this!”
Her laugh was bitter and barbed. “I don’t see you turning away the attention.
The managers are falling over themselves to elevate you—I even heard Monsieur André wonder if you’d need a nicer dressing room—and you had that enormous bauble around your neck on New Year’s.
Don’t think me so stupid that I didn’t know it was an engagement ring.
Do you really think a vicomte would have noticed you all the way in the back of the corps? Of course not!”
Meg’s words, designed to tear into my heart, glanced off me like water off a duck’s back. I knew she was upset—rightly so—but she was taking it out on the wrong person. It made everything I needed to do and say so much easier.
“I’m not singing the role,” I said, cool and measured. “Aminta, in Don Juan Triumphant. I’m not going to be a part of it.”
She snorted. “Of course you are. How could you turn it down? The lead role. Everyone looking at you. Everyone in awe of the great Christine Daaé. ‘Isn’t she marvelous? Isn’t she such a wonder?’ ” she minced, putting on airs. “It’s everything you wanted.”
“It was,” I agreed. “But not anymore. I’m not singing it. I’m not singing anything, ever again.”
Her look of shock was painful to behold. “What? Why?”
“Because of him! Because just a few hours ago, he attacked and tried to kill Raoul.”
Her bag fell from her hands. “What do you mean?”
I shook my head. “I’d gone to the cemetery to visit Father’s grave, and—it’s not important, only…You don’t know the whole story, Meg. You don’t know who he truly is, nor what he’s capable of. He claimed to be an angel, but an angel wouldn’t do any of the things he’s done. Think about it.”
“Tell me,” she insisted.
I wanted to. I wanted to take my best friend’s hands and explain everything.
There was so much that had happened. There was so much that she didn’t know.
I couldn’t remember when things had changed between us, when we’d stopped sharing all of our lives with each other.
I hated the secrets I’d kept from her. My music lessons…
the night I’d gone with Erik to his world beneath the opera…
Raoul’s proposal…my impending retirement…
I wanted to spread them all out before her, leaving nothing behind.
But I was so tired.
So tired, and dangerously close to tears.
And there was still something I had to do before I could rest.
“I will,” I promised. “One day, I swear I will, Meg.”
“I miss you,” she admitted softly, the fight suddenly deserting her. She looked as hollowed out as I felt.
“I miss you too.”
I started to embrace her, but the kettle on the stove began to whistle. Its sharply pitched note made us both wince.
“Tea?”
Meg reached out and touched my cheek. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you look terrible, Christine. You should…you should rest.”
“No, I want to…” I began, but she’d already picked up her purse.
“Rest,” she said with a finality so absolute I couldn’t tell what she was thinking or if my words had made any impact on her.
“Meg…you believe me, don’t you?”
My heart cracked when I realized I couldn’t decipher her smile. It was as though I was looking at a complete stranger, not the friend I’d once considered as close as a sister.
“I’ll see you later, Christine,” she said, already at the door before I could stop her. “Sometime.”
After she’d gone, I sat on the settee for a long while, motionless with terror, unable to rest.
When I’d left Raoul’s town house, I’d been ready to write my resignation. I’d mentally prepared all the words and phrases I’d use. I’d imagined signing my name to it and casting my aspirations and every connection to the Opéra Populaire aside.
I was going to do it to save Raoul.
I was going to do it to save myself.
But now…
There was more at play than simply securing my own safety, my own well-being. There was more to consider than just me and my love.
It would be easy to run, to retreat to Raoul’s estate in Burgundy and to never set foot inside the opera again.
But that wouldn’t stop Erik.
He’d still be there, writing his notes, making his demands. And with me gone, his fixation would be free to fall on someone else.
Someone like Meg…
I balled my hands into fists, squeezing so hard my nails left little crescent moons indented into my palms.
This had to stop.
And I was the only one with the power to do it. I could draw Erik out. I could make sure he was caught. With him behind bars, the opera would return to its usual business. The singers, the dancers, the whole of the company would no longer be subject to his threats and whims.
By risking myself, I could save them all.
I crossed over to my writing desk and removed the pretty stationery I’d intended for my goodbye.
It wasn’t even a question. All my doubts and fears had ceased, and I felt a sense of peace sweep over me. My decision was made.
M. André and M. Firmin, I wrote, my handwriting spreading with bold confidence across the page.
I am happy to accept the role of Aminta in your upcoming production of “Don Juan Triumphant.” Please send the rehearsal schedule along at your earliest convenience.
Warm regards,
Christine Daaé